Torrey's Tranquil Cacophony

Cat of the Year

2011-05-30T20:53:00.004-06:00

On Friday when I got home from work, my cat Stockton was in the driveway, waiting to greet me. I got out of the car and watched as Stockton began twisting and turning on the concrete.. this is our daily ritual.

I get home. Stockton rolls around on the ground. I find it endearing. So endearing, that I think EVERYONE should get to enjoy his cuteness. So, I did what any proud mother/pet owner would do... I got out my camera to exploit him.

I ran inside after capturing his awkward/awesomeness to show The Husband.

"Look! Look what our cat does when I get home! Tell me its adorable... tell me its charming... tell me I'm right to think its hilarious! "

I proceeded to show The Husband my video.

I was expecting a big reaction. Side splitting laughter, at the very least. But no. All I got was this:

(bored, monotone) "Hm. Upload it to YouTube. Maybe you'll get a million hits."

Excuse me? No one reacts to my exploitation of my pet with weary disinterest!!! I was outraged!!!

"Fine then!" I said, "Consider it done!"... and I stormed off.

What The Husband should know about me is that I am a woman of my word. Perhaps he does not think our cat is hilarious... but I can guarantee that I will NOT share my trillions of dollars I get from my MILLIONS... no... GAZILLIONS of YouTube hits I get from my cat video. Cats are very popular right now, Stockon is sure to be a big deal.

Consider it done, Husband. Consider it done.

I present to you.... Stockton... Cat of the Year:

Watch it here.

Whatever happened to cool?

2011-05-27T14:24:00.003-06:00

It seems like everything was so much cooler when I was younger. Trees were bigger (and cooler), rocks were cooler, and playing outside with nothing but a few sticks and my imagination was WAY cooler than it is now. When did things start becoming so un-cool?

One summer my younger brother Jake and I spent the week at my Grandma’s house in North Ogden.

One day, while we were playing outside (with rocks and sticks and imaginations) we spotted a real, live MOOSE.

A moose! Walking up and down the paved streets of North Ogden Utah. We were ecstatic, as you can imagine. I had never been so close to a moose in my entire life. Jake and I hurriedly ran inside to tell Grandma about our encounter. She (for our protection, I’m sure) forbade us from leaving the house.

So, we did the next best thing to interacting with a moose… we found a window.

We smashed our faces up against the window and watched the towering moose wander around the neighborhood. He looked like he was having the time of his life, being the center of attention of this little suburban neighborhood. I half expected him to pull on his tap shoes and do a little soft shoe number for us.

Once the moose was out of sight and Grandma thought it was safe, we were released from the confines of the house. We immediacy ran out front to see if we could catch one last glimpse of the moose. We searched up and down the street. Jake spotted him first.

Jake: “Torrey look! There he is!”

The moose was just turning the corner. We desperately wanted to follow him, but we were afraid we would get in trouble by doing so. Instead, we sat under a tree on the rocks out front and speculated about the origins of the moose.

(Jake - Bottom Row, far right. Me - Second Row, second from the right).

Jake: “Where do you think he came from?”

Me: “The forest, of course.”

Jake: “Cool!”

Me: “Did you see how long his legs were?”

Jake: “I bet he could beat up Dad.”

Me: “I doubt it.”

Jake: “We should name him Gonzo.”

Me: “You want to name EVERYTHING Gonzo.”

Jake: “It’s a cool name.”

Me: “What if he’s a girl?”

Jake: “Gonzo can be a girls name.”

Our conversation continued on with a million other similar comments and retorts until a man in a uniform approached us.

Man: “Hey kids, have you by chance seen a moose around here?”

(Classic child abductor material. Am I right? Really though, if I were to nap a kid I would definitely go with the whole “I’ve lost my moose” routine. Because it works!)

Jake and I looked at each other, eyes wide and full of excitement.

Me: “Yeah, we have, and we can take you to him!”

We hopped off the rock and without giving a second thought to Grandma and what she might be feeling when he grandkids turned up missing, we began the great moose hunt.

The street in front of Grandma’s house was on a hill. We had last seen the moose at the top of the hill, so we turned right and headed that way. As we began our trek, we quizzed the man.

(Good idea, question the strange man AFTER you’ve left the safety of your grandma’s yard.)

Me: “Is that moose your pet?”

Man: “Uh, no. I’m with animal control. I got a call to come take care of the moose.”

Jake: “Is his name Gonzo?”

Man: “Um… maybe. I don’t know.”

Me: “What are you going to do with him?”

Man: “Well, first we need to find him. Then we’re going to help him take a nap… with a tranquilizer gun.”

Jake: “Cool!”

Me: “Will it hurt him?”

Man: “No, it will just knock him out so we can transport him away from humans.”

At this point we had made it to the top of the street. Suddenly, I saw a big tall ball of fur out of the corner of my eye!

Me: “There he is!”

The moose was in a nearby yard, just standing there, looking all sad and confused. Poor little moose didn’t know what to do with all of those driveways and mailboxes surrounding him.

Jake and I started to run toward the moose. The uniformed man stopped us.

Man: “Hang on there, don’t get too close. Just because he’s in this neighborhood doesn’t make him any less of a wild animal.”

The man radioed his position to his fellow Animal Controllers.

Suddenly, an entire SWAT team of Animal Control personnel arrived on the scene. They were rappelling from the roofs of houses, some parachuted in, others climbed out of man holes… ok, not really. But a bunch of them really did show up (in boring ol’ cars).

One of uniformed man’s associates quickly got out the tranquilizer gun and propped it up on his car. He took careful aim at the gigantic beast…. And then he shot it.

The moose didn’t seem to notice that he had been shot. He slowly started to walk around the yard, but he quickly became drowsy and soon tumbled to the ground.

My eyes immediately welled up with tears and I began to cry uncontrollably. The uniformed man tried to console me.

Man: “It’s ok, he’s not dead…. he’s just asleep.”

I was not convinced. I had been pretty trusting of the uniformed man up to this point, but how was I to know his buddy hadn’t switched out the tranquilizer dart with a bullet at the last moment? The uniformed man approached the moose and poked him to ensure it was safe to be near.

Man: “Look, he’s still breathing. See? Do you want to come touch him?”

Jake swiftly ran over to the moose and began petting him.

Jake: (whispering in the moose’s ear) “Hey Gonzo, it’s ok, no one’s gonna hurt you, they just want to help you get home.”

I was still wary of the whole situation, but I wasn’t going to let my little brother get all of the face time with the moose. I inched closer and closer to “Gonzo” until I found myself kneeling by his side, petting him.

Man: (grabbing a tuft of Gonzo’s hair and pulling it out) “Here, keep this, as a way to remember him”.

The uniformed man gave each of us a hand full of moose hair.

By this time Grandma had realized we were missing and had come to find us. She couldn’t get too upset at us for running off, after all, a 900 pound moose had just been shot right before our eyes. Tranquilizer gun or not, that is a pretty horrific experience, especially when strange men started ripping the poor animals hair out.

So, instead of scolding us, Grandma took us home and gave us Ziploc bags for our moose hair and ice cream cups to eat.

When we got home from our exciting week with Grandma, I carefully laid my packaged moose hair in my top dresser drawer. I would often retrieve Gonzo’s hair and just sit and look at it. I never took it out of the baggie though, I was too scared that the air would damage it and it wouldn’t last as long (and now that I'm reflecting back on this story, I'm pretty sure something was mentioned by one of the Animal Control people about the moose being rabid... so I could have been subconsciously afraid of contracting rabies by touching the hair... yes, I know that is impossible... but, just sayin'.)

Man, that moose hair was SO COOL. Probably the coolest.

What sort of things did you used to find SO cool?

Late Night Conversations x 2

2011-05-26T20:26:00.007-06:00

(While lying in bed, in the dark, as The Husband is about to fall asleep.... this is when I have my deepest thoughts.)

Me: "Hey."

Husband: (clearly annoyed) "What?"

Me: "I get confused. What's the difference between a paraplegic and a quadriplegic?"

Husband: "Are you being serious?"

Me: (slightly offended by The Husbands total disregard for my deep question) "What? It's confusing sometimes, don't you think its confusing?"

Husband: "What does 'quad' mean?"

Me: "I don't know."

Husband: "Think."

Me: "Um.... (thinking) Four? Four."

Husband: "Good. So a quadriplegic is?...."

Me: (light bulb) "Someone who can't use their FOUR limbs!"

Husband: "Good.. and that would make a paraplegic?...."

Me: "Someone who can't use TWO of their limbs!!!"

Husband: (dripping with sarcasm) "You're SO smart."

Me: "Rude."

(After some more time pondering....)

Me: "So... if 'quad' means 'four' ..... that must mean that 'para' means 'two'. So... if someone can't use just ONE of their limbs... does that make them an unoplegic?"

(Insert seemingly endless uncontrollable laughter from The Husband here.)

Husband: "Seriously?"

Me: "Yes, seriously. 'Uno' means 'one', and 'plegic' means.... 'can't use' or something like that... So, logically, a person who 'can't use' 'one' of their limbs would be an 'unoplegic'."

Husband: "Or, more appropriately, you could say they have a BROKEN ARM or a BROKEN LEG."

Me: (rolling eyes...) "Semantics. It's a 'po-tay-to', 'po-tah-to' sort of thing.... Unoplegic, broken leg. Same difference."

Husband: "Good one babe. Good one."

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is our relationship in a nutshell. Clearly, I'm the brains of this operation.

A Lost Art

2011-05-25T14:01:00.004-06:00

With the exception of being able to pee standing up, I am a stalwart proponent of the idea that women can do anything men can do (and technically, we CAN pee standing up… it just comes with slightly itchy and uncomfortable consequences).

But, I've noticed, that as the equality of the sexes strengthens, chivalry (remember this?) has become a lost art.

Did you know that men used to open doors for women?

I’ve taken to pushing the button that opens the doors for you (intended for those in wheel chairs). This is how it goes down:

Me (pushing button): Oh my! (flirtatiously) Why thank you, what a gentleman. You know, you’re a dying bred.

Handicap Button (as door opens): Buzzzzzzz.

Me (coyly): (giggles) I am flattered, but you know, I’m a married woman.

Handicap Button: CLICK!

Me: Thanks again, have a great day!

Handicap Button (as door closes): Swoosh.

Courtesy, Generosity, Valor, Gallantry, Thoughtfulness. Women swoon over men who emulate these traits.

Did you know that my Great Aunt had NEVER filled up her car with gas until after her husband passed away? A 70-something year old woman with a good 50 plus years of driving experience under her belt and she had never filled up her own car. Why? Because it used to be part of her husband’s chivalrous Saturday ritual: Get up, mow the lawn, wash the cars, fill the cars up with gas. What a hunk!

Can you imagine being the gas attendant working the day Aunt Carmen had her first pump experience?

Gas Attendant (after noticing a car has been sitting at the pump for nearly half an hour): (knocking on driver’s window) Excuse me, ma’am?

Aunt Carmen (rolling down window): Oh finally! I need a fill up and (handing attendant a $5 bill) my windows could use a good washing as well.

Gas Attendant: (giving back money) I’m sorry Ma’am, but this is a self-serve gas station. You can pay at the pump or inside.

Aunt Carmen (obviously “put-out”): Oh. Well, that’s not a problem. (saying more to convince herself as she gets out of car) I can do this. Now, let’s see… (starts pushing buttons… removes gas pump and looks around precariously) … this must go…. HERE! (shoves gas pump in wheel well).

Gas Attendant: Uh…. Ma’am….

Aunt Carmen: Now, to pay! (gets out $20 bill and tries to feed into credit card reader… after some struggling) Why isn’t this working?! (bill falls to the ground in a crumpled up wad) I know! It must not take bills. (gets into coin purse and attempts to put coins into credit card reader).

Gas Attendant: (rolling eyes) Here… let me help you.

Epic, right?

I’ve always day dreamed about getting ready to cross the street at a busy intersection in a rainy New York City (in my favorite pair of Louis Vuittons…. this is a day dream, remember?…) when the reincarnate Sir Walter Raleigh, standing next to me, lays his coat over the dubious puddle in my way so as to protect me (and my designer shoes) from getting soaked.

Giving women flowers, helping us out of cars, offering us your jacket, holding the umbrella, introducing us to your acquaintances. THIS is what separates the men from the boys and please, BELIEVE you me when I say this, the world could do with fewer boys and more men. Believe. You. Me.

Well, as you can imagine… as these feelings of frustration at the absence of gallantry in our society have been on my mind, I haven’t been at all shy about vocalizing my opinions…. to The Husband.

It didn’t dawn on me how well The Husband listens until I got into my car Monday morning to drive to work. As I was backing out of the driveway, I glanced at my dashboard and noticed that I had a full tank of gas. Suddenly my mind was flooded with flashes of exceptionally kind things The Husband had done for me this past weekend. He opened the door for me at church, he made me dinner, he gave me a foot rub, he got me a glass of water in the middle of the night, and now, he filled up my car with gas?!

Although he didn’t shower me with flowers or spoil me with jewels… I realized that I have got a serious hero on my hands. Someone’s getting lucky tonight.

**** (Totally relevant side note!) ****

As I’ve been writing this post, this song has been stuck in my head (Which is not surprising, considering I have a congenital play list called “Show Tunes” continually playing on repeat in my brain):

WARNING – this is not the most wholesome of songs… listen at your own risk.

End of relevant side note… End of relevant post.

Late Night Conversations

2011-05-19T14:01:00.007-06:00

Last night as I was lying in bed I turned to The Husband:

Me: “Hey, what’s the name of the Jetson’s dog?”

Husband: “What?"

Me: "The Jetsons. What was the name of their dog? I can't think of it."

Husband: "Uh….. Leroy, I think.”

Me: “What?! No, EL-roy is the brother, the dog’s name is (thinking…. thinking…) Astro!”

Husband: “Oh, yeah.”

Me: (singing) “Meet George Jetson! His son Elroy. Daughter Judy. Jane, his wife…”

Husband: “Boy.”

Me: “What?”

Husband: “His BOY Elroy. Its ‘boy’ because it rhymes.”

Me: “I don't get it. What's it supposed to rhyme with?"

Husband: "BOY. ELROY."

Me: "Oh…. (after some time) And what was the name of the robot Maid?”

Husband: “I have no idea.”

Me: “Something that starts with an ‘R’..”

Husband: “Yeah, that sou..”

Me: (interrupting) “ROSIE!”

Husband: “Yeah, I think that’s it.”

Me: “Yeah.”

After some silence, sitting in the dark.

Husband: “What made you think about the Jetsons?”

Me: “I don’t know… I just think about them a lot.”

Husband: “Really? That’s weird.”

Me: “Well, I think its because I wish I had that cool contraption they have, where a tube drops down over you and then five seconds later it has done your hair and make-up and has dressed you in the cutest outfit ever.”

Husband: “Weird.”

Me: “Yeah, I guess so. I can’t help it though. I always think about the Jetsons, probably on a daily basis. My mind just always wanders to them. The Jetsons and Rescue Rangers…. (Thinking again…) Hey, what’s the name of the girl mouse on Rescue Rangers?”

Husband: “Gadget. Because she is always fixing everything.”

Me: “Oh yeah… and wasn’t there a fat one too?”

Husband: “Monterey Jack… because he liked cheese.”

Me: “Oh yeah!”

After more silence.

Me: “Wasn’t there another one? I mean, besides Chip and Dale?”

Husband: “No, I think it was just the four of them.”

Me: “Really? I swear they had like, a little guy who was their friend.. like a bug.”

Husband: “Yeah, I think Gadget had a pet lightening bug.”

Me: “What was his name?”

Husband: “I don’t know… Buzz or something…”

Me: “Buzz? That’s a dumb name for a lightening bug. It should have been something like ‘Blinky’, or something… “

Husband: “Yeah, that’s it. I think it was Blinker.”

(SIDE NOTE: His name is actually ‘Zipper”, he’s a green fly and he is NOT Gadget's pet.)

More silence.

Me: “Who was the bad guy?”

Husband: “I don’t know… I think there were lots of bad guys. It changed every episode.”

Me: “FAT CAT!”

Husband: “What?”

Me: “Fat Cat! He was their arch nemesis.”

Husband: “If you say so.”

Me: “I’m positive about this one.”

More silence in the dark.

Husband: (singing) “Chi-chi-chi-CHIP and DALE! Rescue Rangers. Chi-chi-chi-CHIP and DALE!”

Me: (Singing echo) “Rescue Rangers!”

More silence.

Husband: “I can see why you think about Rescue Rangers a lot.”

Me: “Really?”

Husband: “Yeah, that song gets stuck in your head.”

Me: “I know.”

Longest silence yet.

Me: “Hey, remember that one with Baloo?”

Husband: “The Jungle Book?”

Me: “No, the one where they flew a plane… (thinking… thinking… ) Tailspin!”

Husband: “Go to sleep.”

Me: “Yeah… I think about that one a lot too.”

Husband: “GO. TO. SLEEP.”

The Bandwagon

2011-05-13T12:00:00.008-06:00

A while ago The Husband and I canceled cable to save money. It was a difficult time for the both of us. He was lost without his beloved ESPN and I was positive I was going to die without the Food Network. Surprisingly… we are both still alive and well. In an effort to alleviate some of our separation anxiety, we signed up for Netflix which we can stream through our Apple TV (Merry Christmas from Torrey’s work for that lovely little number).

At first we watched exactly 1 bazillion movies. Good ones too: Jewel of the Nile (Romance AND Action? Genius)…. Food Matters (Watch this NOW)…. Grown Ups (Pee your pants funny). And some not so good ones: Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (Can I please have those 112 minutes of my life back?)… 8 Seconds (maybe I just didn’t understand it because I’ve never ridden a bull)… and Salt (I wanted to like this one SO badly… but just couldn’t).

Then we got sick of movies. I think Scott Pilgrim pushed us over the edge. So, we moved on to TV series. Now, here is where I have to make a major confession… I am TV series inept. I blame it on Food Network and TLC. Why bother with any “popular” TV dramas/comedies when you have Paula, Buddy and THESE. (yum.)

THANKFULLY the husband is a bit more well versed in pop culture than I am, so he planned out our series line up.

First up! Prison Break.

Yes, I know. We’re a little late to jump on the bandwagon with this one. BUT! Have you seen it? It is a must see. The problem, is that I get a little TOO into my programs. While watching this, I would worry all day about what was going to happen to Sarah and Michael next. It doesn’t help that every episode ends on a total cliffhanger. We lost a lot of sleep while we were watching Prison Break. Not only because we would stay up late watching episode after episode, but also because I was CONVINCED Theodore Bagwell was going to attack me in the middle of the night.

The husband was glad for Prison Break to be over… I had a not so secret crush on Tweener, Sucre and Linc…. And also maybe Mahone…… and Kellerman…. And maybe Michael too. I even tried to make The Husband buzz his head. We are both SO glad we finished Prison Break.

Next…. Lost.

Again, we’re a little late to jump on the bandwagon. But.. WOW!!!! I used to balk at the many obsessive Lost fans I was acquainted with. I used to think “Really? It can’t be THAT good”… but it is…. Ooohhhhh, it IS!!

Again, I am getting a little too into my programs (and we’re only on season 3). I had a dream the other night that I was married to Sayid… and suddenly I’ve been stricken with the fear of flying. I’ve also had the Lost credits song stuck in my head for the PAST. 4. DAYS. (Yes, I have a crush on Jack, Sawyer, Jin, Desmond and of course Sayid). Don’t worry… we’re not TOO sick of Lost yet. We must push through!!!

Now, I am hooked on Glee.

I don’t feel like I’m AS late to jump on the bandwagon with this one… seeing as it is still in production, but I continue to ask myself why I thought Glee looked so dumb before. The Husband refuses to watch this one with me. I think its because instead of clutching him at all of the scary parts (see Prison Break and Lost) I am jumping on the couch singing at the top of my lungs… and rewinding and re-watching all of the duets until I can perform every word and harmony flawlessly.

I have a secret crush on Puck… but I have mixed feelings about this crush.. since Puck is technically (on the show) a “High School student”… I’m a creep, right?

Anyway… that’s it for now. Once Lost and Glee are over, we’ll need another bandwagon to be too late to jump on. I’m thinking the 9 seasons of The Beverly Hillbillies!!!

Of course, I’m only kidding….

Or AM I?

What I am thinking

2011-05-10T17:14:00.003-06:00

Do you ever wonder what some people are thinking? I do on a regular basis. I constantly find myself thinking "Really? REALLY???!" I mean, people can't really be THAT clueless, can they?

This past weekend the Husband and I went to the new Harmons grocery store down the street. I have to say, its pretty much incredible. Any grocery store that also has an in house gelato bar AND date night cooking lessons will have me as a patron in a delicious low-fat heart-beat.

Our real purpose of our Harmons outing was to check out the new digs, but while we were enjoying a cheese sampling with our artisan bread we decided to pick up a few groceries.

We made our way to the dairy aisle (at which point we also sampled fresh strawberries in cream). I reached for our go-to milk of choice - Fat Free. Suddenly, the man standing next to me strikes up a conversation:

Man: What kind of milk have you got there?

Me: Uhhh.... (showing him my milk)

Internal Me: Who the h*!# are you?

Man: Oh no. You need the good stuff, go for the 2%.

Me: Heh heh (nervous laugh).

Internal Me: I'll buy whatever milk I want to buy.

Man: Why aren't you getting the good stuff? Oh, I know, you're watching your weight.

Me: ..... (silence).....

Internal Me: EXCUSE ME?!?!?! I mean, yes, but... what's it to you? And what gave it away? My spare tire? The love handles? The chubby arms? My thunder thighs?!

Man: Have you had any kids?

Me: Uh.. no.

Internal Me: WHAT?! Are you asking me because you think I look like I've had kids? Who are you again?

Man: Well, you know, everything changes when you have kids. Your whole body changes when you have kids.

Me: Ha ha... yeah...

Internal Me: Ha ha... yeah....

Man: You know, both of my daughter have both had kids and they're both really skinny. Here let me show you a picture.

At this point the man flips out his wallet and proceeds to find pictures of both of his daughters (note, the pictures were those senior picture glamour shots... from the 80's. I found it sad that he didn't have a more recent photo of his children).

Man: See, this one here has had four kids, and his one has had three. Want to know how they keep their figures?

Me: Um.. sure.

Internal Me: Why is this happening to ME???

Man: They both run. In fact, they've both run half marathons. That keeps you in great shape. You can eat whatever you want when you run, even 2% milk if you like.

Me: Yeah.... I guess cardio is the trick.

Internal Me: Thanks for the advice, man I've never met before in my life. I will definitely take your words of wisdom to heart. (Ooozing with sarcasm here friends).

By this time, the Husband has noticed that I have been spending WAY too much time in the dairy aisle and he has come to save me. Seeing that I am deep in conversation with a strange middle aged man (which honestly is not that uncommon) he stands patiently next to me while I finish up the conversation.

Man (to the Husband): Oh, is this your wife?

The Husband: Yeah.

Internal Me: SAVE me Husband!!!! Prove that you love me and save me from this most awkward of situations.

Man: Well, you're one lucky man. (Said with a wink and a smile).

The Husband: Ha ha... yeah, I am.

Internal Me: SOS!!!!

Man: Well, Happy Mothers Day!

Me: Thanks.

Man: Oh wait, you're not a mother yet, are you?

Me: Uh....

(I this point I am so flustered with the whole situation, I just starting saying things... don't judge.)

Me: ... Uh..... No, but I have a mom. Does that count?

Man: (FINALLY sensing the awkwardness of the situation) Yeah, I guess.

Then we went our separate ways.

So, here is the questions... What was that man thinking?!? I was beside myself, I am STILL beside myself. What a completely bizarre situation.

What's worse is that I left the grocery store feeling like a beached whale. I honestly drink Fat Free milk because I like how it tastes (odd, I know). But, maybe I should pay more attention to what I'm eating... maybe I need to work out even MORE.

On the drive home, I confessed my insecurities to the Husband.

Me: Do you think that guy was right? Do I need to watch my weight?

The Husband: Babe, I've been watching your weight lately, and its never looked better! (said with a wink and a smile.. and a suggestive eyebrow raise).

Me: Hey! (To be said as if saying "You and your filthy mind")

Internal Me: Best. Husband. EVER!!!!

Backstreet's back.. Alright!

2011-05-05T13:35:00.007-06:00

Hello? Is this thing on? Is anyone there?

Wow... has it really been a year? I guess it has. I can't say I find it too surprising that I have neglected my blog for so long. I mean, really, its ME we're talking about. But, what do you know, I've caught the blog bug again. For all I know, this singular post could satisfy that blog bug, but for the sake of all of my devoted readers (hey mom) I hope its not.

Let me give you a brief run down of this past year.

I was training for a marathon, but then found out I have bum knees (yes, plural)...

So, I stopped running several miles a day, but continuted to eat like I was... (that was fun)

My little brother left on a mission for Tahiti (really? Tahiti? More like a vacation if you ask me..)

My other little brother got married to his sweetheart which only made me feel ancient...

My cat Malone ran away from home (He is probably living with a mountain lion lady friend..)

Leaving Stockton our sole pet (make that OBNOXIOUS pet...)

(Side note... is it creepy that I take pictures of my pets? I guess that's what you do when you don't have children...)

We took on a blonde sister-wife... wait, no, that's me with a wig on...

I turned into a super-hero...

The husband turned into a Lumber Jack...

And NOW, one year later, my baby sister is 16 (I'm sure she'll love this picture)...

Oh, and I've started working out again... which has been surprisingly, my favorite part of the day.

And this is me now. The same person that left you... only sexier.

So, that's it. That's my update. Sounds like an exciting life, yes?

I don't know why I feel the need to give an update of my life on this blog. Like, I can't blog without explaining where I've been. I guess I feel like if I don't explain what I've been up to, you'll think "This woman can't be trusted! I cannot read her blog without suspicion! There is no explanation for her year hiatus".

Then again, mom (my sole reader), I'm pretty sure you know what I've been up to.... right?

Regardless, try to read my subsequent posts without suspicion. Please and thank you.

It's good to be back.

For My Wee Sister

2010-04-29T15:05:00.002-06:00

How would you feel if you were related to THIS:

Intimidated much? You have no idea.

I have committed myself to blog more and complain less this coming month. Although I'm not quite sure how that's going to work, since most of my blog posts are me complaining.

I guess we'll just have to see.

But, I thought it would be nice to start my return to blogging with a tribute to someone whom I love.... and... it just so happens to be my fave sister's (pictured above) Birthday today.. so that worked out nicely.

Happy Birthday wishes to my #1 sister, I love you! (Photo courtesy of Joanna Taylor Photography).

To a May full of blog posts! Cheers!

I need you.

2010-02-12T09:00:00.004-07:00

It's a sad but well known fact that I am happier and SO much funnier on Diet Coke. Seriously.

I used to think that I got my sense of humor from being the chubby girl. Whenever I was left alone one the swing set at recess, I would think "Well, my thunder thighs and muffin top are not going to get me any where in this life, guess I'll have to develop other worthy and desirable character traits to be successful." Seriously.

So I learned to be funny, make people laugh, partially to draw attention away from my jelly roll. But it made me feel good, like I was worth while. Seriously.

Now, this year, for reasons I cannot currently explain because I can't exactly remember WHY I wanted to do this... but I decided to go off Diet Coke. Seriously.

I was raised on Diet Coke. Since birth that dark carbonated goodness has pumped through my veins. I remember being in a stroller at the mall, my mother feeding me her Diet Coke with a straw. Seriously.

Maybe I'm going through withdrawals, maybe I'm addicted, I can't be sure. But I DO know that I'm one month and eleven days sober and positively miserable. Seriously.

Oh Diet Coke! Why have you forsaken me? Or is it, why have I forsaken YOU? See? I can't even think straight. I'm moody, I'm boring, I'm ornery, I'm bland. I need a Diet Coke right now in my hand. Great. Now I'm rhyming and I'm realizing that, being fat didn't make me funny... it was YOU, DC, you. SERIOUSLY.

I'm hoping things will get better. I really am. Most days are manageable, but really, today I need you, Diet Coke. I need you more than ever. I want to write on my blog and be witty and charming, but I can't without you. One day, several months from now, I'm sure I'll be fine without you, I won't dream about you and crave you like I do now. But you need to let me move on, Diet Coke. Just let me go. Don't look at me from the soda fountain with those sad and lonely eyes. I'm sure plenty of Utah women will love you more than I ever could. Please, Diet Coke. I need to move on. Seriously.

This is my deranged and sincerest Valentine for you.

Love,

Torrey

All Out of Love

2010-02-04T13:50:00.006-07:00

Back in Thanksgiving, the Husband and I hauled ourselves down to Mesquite Nevada to spend some time with family.

The day after we arrived it was decided that we must trek up to Zions National Park to enjoy mother nature's beautiful landscape and design... or something like that. Instead of taking our own car we decided to cram in with the Husband's sister and her family. I was a little apprehensive about this car ride. A bad night's sleep on an uncomfortable air mattress + no shower + knees practically smashing boobs because feet are on the hump + three small children + country music on the radio = not my ideal car ride. Hence the apprehension.

The thing I did not take into account, was the miracle of modern technology. Growing up we didn't have iPods, and we weren't rich enough to have Game Boys. All we had was the lovely company of each other and the hum of the road. We were forced to talk or sleep for long car rides. The radio was pointless as we would just fight over what to listen to anyway, so it usually just stayed off.

Imagine my surprise when I got in the car for our voyage to Zions and everyone was silent. Two kids were plugged in to iPods, one was getting ready to take a nap. Yes, my knees were touching my boobs, yes there was country music on the radio, but I was able to zone that out for the most part. I was now excited for a pleasant rendezvous.

(Syepris)

We had almost made it out of the neighborhood, when my niece Syepris decided that she needed to sing along with her iPod. The atmosphere suddenly changed from "quiet and enjoyable" to.... something else. This is what I heard:

Syepris (at the TOP of her lungs): I'm all out of LOVE.. hmmm na na WITHOUT YOU... heh mee neh neh nah, hmmm meh neh naw SO LONG!

Over and over again every time the chorus came along. Once the song was over, she would promptly play it again. I looked at the Husband. He looked back at me. We both burst out in laughter. Why a six year old has Air Supply on their iPod escapes me, but it was brilliant!

I turned around to look at Syepris. She was closing her eyes, one arm reaching out, the other clenching her chest... The Expression! The Emotion! I couldn't believe this rock goddess of a child! Sure she didn't know all of the words, but that girl was a smash!

Soon the singing turned into screaming when Cole tried to silence Syepris with her fist because "She's singing too loud! I can't hear my own music!!!" The country music on the radio was soon turned up in hopes of drowning out the yelling, and the car ride turned into what I was originally expecting.

It wasn't bad, just different.

The very best part of that vacation, by far, was Syepris' rendition of "All Out of Love". Occasionally, when I'm having a bad day, I try to recreate that moment, and it ALWAYS makes me smile. Always.

Sometimes to make the Husband laugh, I'll pretend like I'm Syepris... "I'm all out of LOVE.. hmmm na na WITHOUT YOU... heh mee neh neh nah, hmmm meh neh naw SO LONG!" After laughing, the Husband says its rude to make fun of a little girl. But I'm not making fun, I'm showing how much I admire her. You've heard what they say about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery. It's true.

Recently, the Husband and I were driving home from the grocery store. I had control of the radio. I was in an especially good mood and I was excited to get home to eat the goods we had just purchased.

(Me, the Husband)

I flipped through several stations. Lady Gaga? No. Next station. Beyonce? Meh. Not in the mood, next station. Country? No no no no no. Next! "OOooooohh, what' this?" I thought to myself as I came upon Fireflies by Owl City. I'd heard it once before. Very catchy, and just in my range. I soon found myself singing.

Me (at the TOP of my lungs, eyes closed, arm reaching out, other hand cupping ear so as to hear myself better): I'd like to make myself believe, that planet earth turns slowly. Hmm he neh na-neh meh ne he hah wake when I'm asleep, meeh meh ne ne is never as it seems!

The Husband just stared. He would glance at the road to make sure he was still on it, then he would stare, stare, STARE. I didn't know hardly any of the lyrics. But I dare say I was a rock goddess of a woman!

Then the laughing began. Laughing AT, not with. I soon realized how I must look and quickly stopped and changed the station... to country music. I turned it up really loud, hoping it would drown out my embarrassment.

Sometimes to make himself laugh, the Husband pretends to be me... "I'd like to make myself believe, that planet earth turns slowly. Hmm he neh na-neh meh ne he hah wake when I'm asleep, meeh meh ne ne is never as it seems!" After giving a courtesy laugh I remind the Husband that it's not nice to make fun of his wife, who was once a little girl.

You've heard what they say about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery. Not so sure it's true anymore.

I still like to bust out "All Out of Love" every now and then, but I'm feeling more and more guilty for doing so. It's just so funny, its very hard to resist.

"I'm all out of LOVE.. hmmm na na WITHOUT YOU... heh mee neh neh nah, hmmm meh neh naw SO LONG!"

Waxed

2010-01-18T12:36:00.004-07:00

A few weeks ago I told my girlfriend Alivia that I was going to get waxed. "You're insane" she told me. Although I do greatly value and treasure my dear friend's opinion, for she is a source of over-flowing knowledge, this time I had to kindly disagree. "I'm not insane, I've had it done before."

For the next two weeks I lovingly grew out my leggy hairs, constantly reassuring myself that it would all be worth it after the wax. I actually became quite fond the them in the final days of growth, especially because they were to the "silky stage"... mmmm.... silky leg hairs!

The day of the wax finally arrived. I anxiously waiting all day for the waxing to begin. As I left work Alivia gave me a "I can't believe you're doing this" look and wished me happy waxing. I went home, dressed in my comfiest of sweats and headed to the demise of my favorite appendage's whiskers.

I nervously sat in the waiting room on a deliciously agreeable sofa. I listened to the water feature trickle relaxing beads of water and inhaled the tranquilizing scent of lavender. Little did I know the torture that awaited me.

My esthetician soon arrived and led me back to another incredibly relaxing room. She was a really nice girl. Nice enough to let her see me half naked?... debatable, but I can't think of any stranger nice enough to unclothe in front of. Maybe its just me.

Next thing I knew I was lying half naked on a table with almost-too-hot wax being lathered on my legs. Then the ripping out of my hair follicles began.

It honestly didn't hurt that bad. I HAVE had this done before, so I knew what to expect. The most uncomfortable part was trying to come up with small talk. It felt too awkward to just watch this lady work on my Sasquatch legs, something had to be said. "So.... (long long long pause) how long have you been doing this?". UGH! I am terrible at small talk and I don't do well with strangers, particularly when I am exposed... on a table... with hot goo being poured all over my body.

After about the first 30 minutes the conversation really started to develop. I wasn't quite so nervous. I wasn't in THAT much pain. Not to mention, my esthetician had a great sense of humor to boot! Then.... (nervous pause for the painful memory) THEN, we got to more "sensitive" areas to wax. OH. MY. NUGGET.

(SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT!)

The first layer of wax was applied. The cloth was gently laid atop the wax... then... RIP!!! SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT!!!!!! That was the swear I keep screaming in my head. I don't know where I came up with that, but I silently yelled it to myself over and over. "Are you ok?" the darling esthetician asked. I swallowed the gigantic knot in my throat, then, with watery eyes, managed a small but pleasant "Yep". She, of course, knew I was lying, especially when I looked to see her handy work and blood was seeping out of my hairless pores. I almost fainted.

Eventually she got me a few gossip magazines to help me forget the pain and torture I was being subjected to (albeit willingly). I couldn't even read the articles, I just flipped though the pages, glancing at pictures, wringing the magazine pages in my sweaty hands with each progressive RIP!!!

I may have passed out for a while, I can't be sure. But soon it was over. I was rubbed down with wax remover and told I could finally go home.

I hobbled out to my car, still sticky from the bits and pieces of wax we couldn't get off. I kept thinking, "Liv was right, I AM insane".

The next day was rough, but things have been getting progressively better. I can walk now, and all of the wax is gone. In fact, today I feel great! I even made myself another appointment, six weeks from now.

Sigh.

The things we do for beauty.

Good Days

2010-01-15T14:33:00.003-07:00

Last week my little sister (who really is not so little anymore) said to me, "Torrey, we should go shopping together on Saturday, I think it would be fun." Mmmm... shopping. :) Yes, I do love shopping. Oh how I love it! There is something so... (dare I say?)... therapeutic about the whole shopping experience that has me hooked. The smell of new clothes, the busy atmosphere, the SHOES! I think I'm in love.

Saturday morning rolled around, and suddenly, I really wasn't in the best of moods for shopping. This happens occasionally when I don't want to spend my hard earned cash on frivolous things, or I just want to spend all day lounging in my sweats (yes, you guess it) watching White Chicks the movie with Cheetos and all. After much contemplation and pleading big blue eyed looks from my one and only sister, I thought to myself "Who am I to be a killjoy?" and we hopped in the car and left.

It wasn't a very extravagant day. We first stopped at Hogi Yogi to get a sugar free frozen yogurt (oh those New Years promises I've made to myself!!!), then we bought leggings at Target, and finished the day with knitted headbands at Tai Pan. On the way home, as we were admiring our purchases, my little sister said (after a deep satisfyied sigh) "Today's been a good day".

(Not-so-little Sister)

On wednesday I got to play with my young women. They are always so encouraging. We practiced our lip synching skills as we prepared the entertainment for our New Beginnings in a couple of weeks. I listened to the girls discuss thier woes: school, boys, bodies. After a while we decided to run to Dairy Queen to enjoy icecream. We all squeezed into a booth and chatted as we dipped french fries into our blizzards (don't worry, I resisted). I showed the girls my hairy legs and they tried to make me feel better by showing me theirs. On the drive home as we were singing to music, I heard a voice in the back seat say "Today's been a good day".

I feel like I don't get to hear that phrase frequently enough, "Today's been a good day". It seems like everyone I know only tells me about their bad days, about how stressed out they are, about how terrible their life is. I like to hear about the good days, especially if I have even just the tinyest bit to do with it. It makes my heart smile.

This morning, when I got dressed, my favorite pair of jeans fit just right (these resolutions are beginning to pay off already). My hair worked out exactly as planned. I've had a very productive day at work. My husband made me a tuna fish sandwich with pickles for lunch (my favorite) and we enjoyed "dessert" together (wink wink)... (Is that TMI?...My bad!) Right now, at this very instant, I am sitting here listening to my boss sing to music in his office, it's almost the weekend, I've decided I must eat mexican food tonight, and I'm thinking to myself "Today's been a good day".

What makes your day good?

(Don't be afraid to share, we want to know!)

The Frumpys

2010-01-08T10:20:00.005-07:00

Yesterday I woke up with the worst of dilemmas.... I had a terrible case of the frumpys. You know what it's like. When you get ready for the day and nothing fits quite right. Even your cutest of outfits looks bad on you. Your hair has a mind of its own, you feel extra bloated and even make-up cannot help you. Your eyebrows are in desperate need of a wax. You realize you're out of deoderant AND tampons and you would prefer to just stay in bed. The frumpys. Or, as Alexander would describe it, the start of a "No Good Very Bad Day". FANTASTIC.

Not that I REALLY care what I look like everyday. Some days I'm all about the no-makeup-lay-around-in-sweats-while-eating-cheetos-and-peanut-butter-on-a-spoon-while-watching-white-chicks-the-moive-day. But yesterday I was not. I desperately wanted to look cute. Why? Because sometimes I like to feel like I'm the cats meow, that's why. MEOW.

I finally managed to drag myself away from the mirror, into my car, and then into work. Ta-da! Work was ok. I started to forget about how I looked, until I remembered that there is a mirror right by my desk and that I cannot walk past it without looking at myself. I'm a creature of habit, I like to check myself out. Why? MEOW.

As the day progressed I started doing little things to help my frumpys. Put on lipgloss to make lips plump and shiney? Check. Put on favorite butt boosting high heels that are kept under desk for emergencys? Check. Improved hair with a series of bobby pins while performing acrobatic inspired head movements? Check. Took an elephant inducing coma's amount of Midol? Yes sir. The frumpys started to magically diseappear, oh praise! PRAISE.

On the way home from work, I suddenly had a boost of confidence. It could have been from the enormous emouts of caffine consumed via the Midol, but, suddenly I went from yikes-what-happened-to-you to dang-girl-you-are-fine! I think the music on the radio helped. I was listening to "Sexy Chick" by David Guetta. I really felt like he was singing to me. MEOW.

I arrived home, with afore mentioned song still playing in my head. I decided I was going to give the Husband a sexy Hello!-I'm-home-from-work kiss. (I am really-liking-hyphenating-my-words-today.) SOOooooooo... I walk in, all sexy-like ("Sexy Chick" as my enterance music, of course, because my life is a musical) and I saunter over to the Husband who is absorbed in a sports-something on tv. The following conversation ensued:

The Husband (after doing a double take at me): Are you ok honey?

Me (still doing my walk and in a sexy voice): Yeah, why?

The Husband: Oh, you're just walking really funny.

Me (walk stops immediately, voice changes to insecure): I am? (long silence) Honey... that was my sexy walk.

The Husband (after another long silence and a little bit of scrambling for words): Sorry, it just looked weird.

I had to smile. I really wished I could have seen the whole scene take place from an audience's point of view (not that we have a live-studio-audience at our house... or do we?), but it was epicly hilarious! EPIC.

Later that night, as the Husband and I were laying in bed, I started to think about my sexy walk again.

Me: Honey?

The Husband (in groggy tired voice): Yeah?

Me: What did my sexy walk look like?

The Husband: I don't know.

Me: No, come on, tell me!

The Husband (still groggy and slightly annoyed): I don't know, it was weird. You were like, bobbing your head side to side.

Me: Like this. (I then proceeded to demonstrate the bobbing-of-my-head whilst in bed). What else?

The Husband: You were moving your shoulders.

Me: Oh, kind of like this? (I added the shoulder movements).

The Husband: Yeah, and you were girating your hips. And you were moving your knees. All while walking.

At this point my studio-audience must have thought that I was having an epileptic seizure of some sort as I was recreating my sexy walk laying in bed.

Me: Like this honey?!

The Husband: Can I get you some Nyquil to help wash down the Tylenol PM I want you to take?

Man I was sexy. Sure my sexy walk may need a little work, but I really think it's getting there. I woke up with the frumpys and fell asleep doing a sexy walk. Doesn't get much better than that. MEEE-OW.

A Little Bit of Fuel

2010-01-04T16:16:00.006-07:00

I've been doing a lot of running lately. Running away from my problems? Yes. But mostly running to fulfill a resolution. Oh those dreaded New Years resolutions! They sneak up on me every January and usually spontaneously disappear by mid February.

This year I am resolving to at least keep my resolutions in mind until the end of March. It will be a first.

As I was running the other day, trying to keep my mind off of what I was doing (the PAIN! the TORTURE!), I let my mind wander back to Junior High. This is a time period I generally try to forget, but I'm starting to find that I'm far enough away from that horrific experience to somewhat appreciate it.

I remembered being in 9th grade. Totally awkward, fat, short, desperately trying to fit it. I was deplorable. At the very beginning of spring when it was still quite cold outside, my best friend Brittany got a job. I was in awe, how could a 14 year old GIRL possibly get a job these days, what with child labor laws in place and such. I expressed my desire to earn some cold hard cash, and Brittany assured me that she could get me a job too.

It was at a Nursery (tree not baby) a few miles away from my house. I remember Brittany's mom driving us over there one chilly Saturday morning. I was a nervous wreck. I had never had a job before. I stared down at my old tennis shoes and sweats as we drove. I wasn't sure what I would be asked to do at this job, I knew it entailed manual labor... but oh! to be paid for my work! Such excitement!

(Britt and Torrey)

We drove up the long dirt road to the entrance of the Nursery. Britt and I hopped out of the car and waved a quick good-bye. I nervously glanced at my best friend, she gave me a warm assuring smile. We bravely walked up to the group of teens standing around a tall man barking out orders. He gave everyone orders but me.

When the group dispersed to begin their respective jobs Brittany introduced me to the boss.

"This is my friend Torrey, you said you needed some more people to work..."

The tall man stared down at me. I felt as if he were examining my soul.

"BOYS, we need more boys, not girls."

I could feel myself starting to shrink. Like any good feminist/best friend would do, Brittany immediately stood up for me.

"You said to bring our friends, you never said they had to be boys."

The tall man then glared at Britt. I swallowed hard. My faced started to get hot.

"Well, she can work for today, but that's it."

He then gave us orders of what to do and marched off. My mind was running a million miles an hour. What did he have against girls? Was it because I was fat? Why did I even come here? How could I ever show my face to the tall man again? Would he just pay me at the end of the day... or would he make me come back to get paid? Would he even pay me?

I started to panic. Brittany was upset too, but she already had a job, she needed to get to work. She started to walk to her work area and looked back at me. I just shook my head "no" and quickly walked the other way. I knew Britt would understand, she would do the same thing had she been in my shoes.

I started to walked as quickly as I could down the long dirt road. I heard the tall man yelling, but I didn't dare look back. Hot tears began to run down my face. I was completely and totally humiliated. When I got to the highway, my quick walk turned into a dead run. I had to get away from that place.

I cried and cried as I ran and ran down the highway in hopes of reaching home, a place where I never got paid for jobs, but my work was always welcome. I ran the entire way home, it was a lesat 3 miles (not bad for a chubby adolescent). Something about that tall man embarrassing me gave me fuel. It was oddly invigorating.

I looked down at the treadmill to see that I had only run 2 miles, yet it felt like 20. Since I've been running, I've been trying to recreate that fuel, trying to find something to get me to run like that little 14 year old.

New Years Resolutions: 1. Don't let anyone make me feel less than I am. 2. Look up the tall man on Face Book and DON'T add him as a friend. 3. Find more positive fuel.

Love That Kid

2009-12-31T10:18:00.004-07:00

When my brother left on his mission, I was glad. Happy he was serving the Lord? Yes. Elated that I wouldn't have to deal with his incessant teasing? Definitely. Don't get me wrong, he's a great brother, always affectionate, constantly showing his love, my greatest supporter and one of my dearest friends. But he knows how to push my buttons. OH how he pushes them in all the wrong ways.

While he was away, serving the people of Scotland for two years, I saw him grow. He changed from a smallish annoying teen into an inspiring and humble man. He matured. I watched him blossom through his letters. I began to realize that he wasn't the kid who used to wrestle me to the ground and dangle spit from his mouth, sucking it up before it hit my face. Hallelujah! He had changed!!!

Then he got home.

At first he was wonderful! Never did I leave a conversation with him without hearing the words "Is there anything I can do for you?" after. He was respectful and kind. So pleasant to be around. I was so happy to have him for a brother. Then something happened.

I tried to show him some self-defense moves I had learned while he was gone, what a mistake that was. After he had pinned me to the ground, as I was starring up at him, his giant mouth full of spit just waiting to be dribbled before me, I saw it. I saw a little twinkle in his eye, a glimpse of his old self begging to be let free.

Thankfully he resisted. He didn't torture me, but since then, slowly, his old self has been creeping back out.

Yesterday I received a text from him. The day before we had been teasing each other, when he went too far. He pushed it, YES, the very worst button he could push. He teased me about my weight. We all know I'm more than a little self-conscious about my figure... curse you thunder thighs!!! But, he went there. Oh he went there. I was furious, of course.

Thankfully he must have come to his senses because the next day I received the following text:

Jake: Love You

Me: Did you mean to send that to me?

Jake: Yes of course

Me: This is Torrey, you know that, right?

Jake: Yup

(Then, a bit later)

Jake: Can't a bro tell a sis he loves her?

Me: Sure, I just heard you have a hard time loving fat people. ;-)

Jake: I love mum don't I?

What a way with words! So charming, isn't he? The worst part is, I know he meant it (the part about loving me). Yes, he can be a pain, but aren't all brothers? For that matter, aren't all MEN?

His last text made me laugh, it made me laugh like I haven't laughed before! Yes, he teases, yes, he pushes buttons, but MAN, I love that kid.

A Woman's Duty

2009-10-02T10:02:00.007-06:00

I came home from work the other night, excited to partake of a bowl of cereal (preferably something full of sugar), to find that there was not a clean dish in the house. I rummaged through every cupboard, rifled through every drawer, explored every shelf. There WERE a few pots and pans, which I suppose I could have eaten cereal out of with a mixing spoon, but other than that, nothing. There weren't even any clean coffee mugs (which I have been known to use for cereal and other like foods in the past).

I decided to find another solution to my problem before busting out the sauce pans. The dish washer seemed like a logical place to look for clean dishes. Unfortunately my dish washer was FULL of dirty ones. Apparently, it had never been started. I then turned to the sink, to find it full of dirty plates, bowls and cups all soaking in the most rank smelling water I've ever had the pleasure of encountering. We didn't even have any paper bowels in the pantry.

I finally collapsed on the counter in utter disgust. How had I let my clean dish situation get to be this miserable? There I was, weak from hunger and weary from a long days work, a grown woman laying on the kitchen counter. It was despicable.

Just when I thought I had gained enough energy to get up and actually do the dishes, I opened my almost teary eyes to see our garbage can, with pizza boxes and milk cartons stacked half way up the wall. Ugh.

The husband finally meandered into the kitchen to see what all of the crying and slamming of drawers was about. I was so thankful to see him! "Good, you're here! Can you please take out the garbage?" Now, the Husband has never been a cruel man, but he has a habit of loving to tease me in my weakest moments. "Can't YOU take out the garbage?" he asked.

I didn't lash out at him, at first. I tried very hard to control my boiling temper. "No, I can't." I snapped, "Do you know why I can't? Because, HONEY, taking out the garbage is a MAN's job. Are you not a MAN?" I knew, at that very moment, I had won the argument. It was a very nice feeling, especially after all of the anxiety I had been feeling up to that point from the tremendous pile of dirty dishes I had pouring out of my sink.

"You're right HONEY," he said (the man actually admitted that I was right), "I'll take out the garbage, now you get to work on the dishes." Um, 'cuse? At this point, the room fell silent. My husband just stared at me with a snarky grin spread across his face. I stared back, my jaw still on the cold tile floor. He raised his eyebrow, daring me to speak. My eye twitched out of shock. The Husband finally broke the silence, "I mean, you ARE a woman honey, and that is a WOMAN's job, right?"
I don't know why I was so taken back, he was using the same argument I had used on him to take out the trash. Yet, for some reason, I just couldn't see how the task of taking out the trash was equal to the task of tackling the monstrous pile of dishes.

I began to see how weak my argument really was. I thought, sure, I would be more than happy to take the garbage out, why does it have to be a "Man's Job" anyway? But, at the same time, that didn't mean The Husband would do the dishes. In fact, I guarantee that he wouldn't. I started think, hey, I go to work every single day, just like The Husband. I equally contribute to our household income. Doesn't that mean we should be equally contributing to the household work? If this is true, how do I help my husband see that the social norms that he and I grew up with are no longer the "norm"?

Suggestions? Opinions? All are welcome here, my friends, all are welcome here.

Separation Anxiety

2009-09-25T15:45:00.008-06:00

Those of you who have read my blog before can attest to the fact that, well, I'm not so good with pets. I've caused the death of many a marine animal. In fact, I've seen so many pass, I stopped naming the *insert profane expression* things! Its ridiculous. I mostly blame my innate lack of motherly nurturing skills. I really don't know how on earth my 3 current fish are still alive, as I hardly ever feed them.. maybe once every two weeks at best.

I thought I had redeemed myself when we got Dexter. The Husband and I had been yearning for a puppy for a long time. For me it was to temporarily satiate my need for a baby, for the Husband it was to gain a life long companion (well, one that doesn't constantly nag i.e. moi.)
Our ideal puppy was an English Bulldog. Adorable in every way, from the rolls to the slobber, we were convinced a bulldog would be perfect for us. Until we noticed the (wheeze, gasp, choke) cost. I mean, we're not exactly living in rags here, but 2,000 bucks is not exactly "petty cash" to us. So, we decided to adopt.
If you have never had the experience of going to the animal shelter to take a gander at prospective pets, I would NOT recommend it. You will want to adopt every animal there! These abandoned/abused animals stare at you with their giant "please love me" eyes and they are impossible to resist.

After looking at several dogs I pulled the Husband aside and asked him what he thought. Usually, when asked this question he responds with "I dunno", but this time he actually had an answer. "I like the white fluffy one, over there". Well then, ok! I was down with that, besides, I find it incredibly attractive when a man knows what he wants (suggestive raising of eyebrows and winking of eye).

We walked over to the cage of a beautiful American Eskimo. The Husband knelt down and gently opened the cage door. The dog bolted out and immediately jumped up on the Husband and licked his face. The Husband was in love. I've got to hand it to Dexter, he certainly knew how to get adopted. Looking and acting all innocent and loving, he made us believe he was the perfect dog. American Eskimos are known for being smart, case in point. So, we adopt him. We had to, he practically made out with my Husband for crying out loud!

Once we got Dexter home I figured I needed to take a long hard look at my pet keeping skills. A dog is NOT a fish, obviously. Maybe this is hypocritical of me, but I would feel a whole lot worse if I killed a dog via neglect than I do with my fish. So, I made a pledge to myself to treat this dog as I would want to be treated. Live by the "Golden Rule" and such. I swore I would feed him diligently, brush his mangled mane, clean up his poopie, even bathe the animal! I would be the best pet owner of all the freakin' land! And I tried.

Then, the real Dexter came out. Sure he was cute and cuddly, but the welcoming eyes we fell in love with at the shelter gave no indication that he liked to bark. He waggly tail never once led us to know that he liked to poop on the carpet out of spite. His playful and attentive ears wouldn't tell us his REAL secret, never would we have know that he LOVES to bite small children!!!

So after MONTHS of dealing with angry parents, annoyed neighbors, animal control and yes, even the police, I just couldn't take it anymore! I was doing my part, I honored my pledge, but Dexter just wasn't holding up his end of the bargain. I had to get rid of him.

I felt terribly guilty about it, wanting to give my dog back to the horrible place I had saved him from. The Husband was the most depressed out it. It was HIS dog, after all, his life long companion. I made him swear he didn't care if we got rid of Dex, swear on his life, swear on all that is good and holy. He did. I still don't believe him. But, because I am a selfish and small minded human being, I made the Husband wrangle Dexter into the car, one Saturday morning, and we made the long drive back to the humane society.

We walked Dexter into the receiving department, and suddenly, he was so well behaved. He sat quitely as I filled out the necessary paperwork. Happily looked at the camera as they took his picture. Didn't even flinch when we took off his collar and tied a rough leash around his neck.

Then the strangest thing happened. The ladies at the desk asked me to describe Dexter, his pros and cons, his personality, etc. I couldn't think of a single bad thing about him. I couldn't think of how he had chewed up all of my favorite high heels, how he attacked 3 little girls, how he barfed in my bedroom. I gushed about how he was the best dog on earth. He was always so happy to see me when I got home from work. He loved to cuddle and could make anyone smile. He was so smart and funny. The ladies assured me that because he was up to date on his shots he would get adopted out that same day. I said my last good byes to Dex and watched, suddenly stunned, as he walked down the long hallway to the next room.

We walked out the front door and I immediately burst into tears. I mean, REAL tears. Uncontrollable, mascara ruining, snot running down my face, tears. I cried the entire drive home. What is wrong with me?! I know I'm a hormonal woman, but really, I've got problems.

So, the fact is, I'm not so good with pets, or separation for that matter. There's no going back. Dexter has worked his magic on another unsuspecting young couple by now and is chewing up someone elses brown suede stilettos. (sigh) Please bless having kids won't be this hard.

Diploma Dilema

2009-06-29T15:18:00.014-06:00

Today I realized that I have been going to school (and, by "school" I mean "upper level education" aka "college") for 5 and a half years now. Sounds impressive, right? WRONG! Why? Because, I have absolutely nothing to show for it. Yeah, nothing. No degree. No Master's Degree. No Bachelors Degree. Not even a freakin' Associates Degree. Nothing!

I'm not a complete idiot (I know some of you are thinking that... admit it), I just can't seem to settle on a major. So far I have "majored" in Theater Performance, Theater Education, Musical Theater, Anthropology, English, History, and now Communications (Broadcast Journalism). Don't get me started on my list of minors...

I suppose you could say that I'm majoring in college. The problem is that I just want to be so many things when I grow up (I'm still young enough to say that I'm not grown up yet). Perhaps you are thinking "Come on now, Torrey! Make up your mind already!" But, I cannot! The career paths I want to take are all too appealing. To prove it to you, and so you can understand just why Torrey can't decide... here are my Top 10 Things to be:

10. A Rock Star
Ok, maybe this is a little far fetched, considering the only instruments I play I don't play very well, but, I can dream, right? I can just imagine myself, on stage... the lights are dim, I am wearing an amazing outfit that all of my fans will try to replicate the moment they get home from my concert, when suddenly, the flash of fireworks light up the stage to reveal me with my SA-WEET electric guitar, the coolest band mates ever and my wild (but tasteful) hair when I start to produce pure and passionate rock! The crowd goes wild! Not sure any of my previous majors have helped me to achieve this dream, but I don't think they offer a degree in "Bad A$$", as of yet.

9. An Anthropologist/Archaeologist/Paleontologist
Ok, maybe not the Paleontologist thing (I don't want to seem like TOO big of a nerd, I swear I've only seen Jurassic Park once) but seriously I cannot think of a cooler job than digging up the bones and artifacts of an ancient civilization. Pondering the meaning of Stonehenge (and other henges for that matter), studying the stone heads of Easter Island, experiencing the pyramids of Teotihuacan! Is this making anyone else drool?!

8. Book Author
Yes, it is every blogger's dream to get paid for their ramblings, but mine especially. I mean, I'm spending precious time sending my meaningless thoughts out into cyberspace, might as well get paid for it. The only problem is that first of all, I am most likely not as brilliant as I think I am, and second of all, suppose I compile all of my blog posts and get published... who would want to pay for something they could read for free on the Internet? Of course, these are just minor issues, I'm sure, if I could get a great mentor like Richard Paul Evans... Richard Paul? Are you out there? If you have come upon my blog by Googling yourself... let's do lunch. (And please ignore my grammar mistakes, that's what an editor is for, right?)

7. History Professor/Guru
Every time I watch a Ken Burns history production I day dream of having his job. Mmm... Delicious! History, of course, not Ken Burns. I love it when history comes to life, when it becomes important to me, to you, to well, everyone! Besides, the only way we can create a better future is by learning from the past. I want to tell the world about our history! Heal the world, make it a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race... See, there's the Rock Star coming out it me. (Michael Jackson, RIP.) Oh, and Ken, we can do lunch too, I am willing to pencil you in (disregard the "Delicious" comment).

6. Fashion Designer
Ok, I will admit, I have not always had the best sense of fashion in my life... but I swear I get more and more fashionable as time rolls on. It would be so amazing to see one of my own creations, walking down the runway during fashion week in Milan! Not to mention, I would probably make BANK, boi! I'm not THAT into the money, but I seriously wouldn't mind being successful in this realm... or being able to afford all of the clothes, shoes, and purses I could ever want.

5. Food Network Star!
I don't have cable anymore, but when I did, Food Network was by far my fave channel to watch. I think I would be the perfect Food Network star, because #1- I love to eat food and #2- I love to bake food. See, I'm the perfect candidate! I can't cook, of course, so my show would have to be about baking. Hmm... what could we name it? "Torrey's Tasty Treats!" No, that sounds ridiculous. I'm sure Food Network would make up a name for my show anyway. I just need to get my work out there. Perhaps I should consider broadcasting my own show from my basement, like Wayne and Garth (what inspirations!)... only I don't have a kitchen in my basement... I suppose the upstairs will have to do!

4. Lawyer
Maybe its because Legally Blonde is such a great movie, maybe its because my neighborhood is swarming with them, maybe its because I just love blood in the water... whatever it is, I would LOVE to be a lawyer. It just seems like a very satisfying job, bringing people to justice, putting away the bad guys, wearing an ill fitting pants suit! No... not the pants suit part. I just look at these attorney's I know and I think "Wow, this Lawyer sure is Smart, Sophisticated, a Smooth Talker, and Surprisingly Attractive" and then I think "Hey, I pretty much just described myself!" Really though, all joking aside, the life of a Lawyer is a life I'd like to live. Mostly because of the "bringing people to justice" thing, it sounds rewarding.

3. Special Ed Teacher
Ok, I know this seems totally random, but truthfully, I would love to be a Special Ed teacher one day. I think kids who have mental or physical handicaps are the sweetest kids on earth. Yes, they are difficult (I once got lock out of my own car by a Down syndrome girl I was babysitting who happened to be inside of the car) but there is something so heart warming about them.

2. A White Oprah
This is my most current career endeavor, hence the Communications major. I figure, I've already got the struggles with weight loss down, I could easily start my own book club, and I am a true role model... well, working on the role model thing... pretty sure no one modeled their role after me yet... but just you wait! I mean really though... who is the white equivalent of Oprah today? Dina Lohan? No. It WILL be me. Not sure how I'm going to make it happen... but just know that in 10 years from now, I'll be kickin' it with Oprah on the beach in the Bahamas and she'll be asking ME for advice.

1. A Mom
Yes, I want to be a mom. Which just takes the complications of my career dilemma to a whole new level. How will I be able to be a good mom when I'm on tour, digging up remains in Egypt, taking down the bad guys, or filming my next show? I don't exactly have that part worked out yet. But, mom is definitely #1 on the list.

So, as you can see, its no wonder I have no degree after 5 and a half years! It's a miracle I am even a functioning member of society, considering the weight of the decisions I have to make about growing up. Right now I'm thinking of doing it all, and why not? I have an entire life ahead of me, I'm still young. Now, which career should I work on first?...

Even MORE Embarrassing

2009-03-19T16:34:00.015-06:00

There are definitely some items that I purchase at the store regularly that I would rather other shoppers didn't see me buy. Tampons, for one, are always very awkward. I put them in my cart and its like suddenly I have the scarlet letters "PMS" pasted to my shirt. It's true. I know people are thinking "Lucky her", "Glad I'm not a woman", "Her poor husband", etc... because, I will admit, I've thought the same thing when I notice a similar item in other shoppers carts.

It's even worse if I see a guy buying tampons because EVERYONE is thinking "Poor schmuck". Am I right, or am I right? I'm proud to say I've never made my husband buy me ANY type of "That Time of the Month" supplies before,nor do I plan on making him in the future. It's just cruel and unusual punishment, that's what it is.

I also feel totally uncomfortable picking up my birth control from the Pharmacy each month. For some strange reason, even though there are an equal amount of men and women Pharmacy Techs working when I go, the men always help me get my prescription. The reason I hate that, is because I use the Nuva Ring (most amazing birth control EVER... you only need to worry about it once a month), which states on the front of the package (sorry for the bluntness) "Insert Vaginally Once Every 3 Weeks". So when these men Pharmacy Techs retrieve my lovely pregnancy prevention prescription, THEY always get embarrassed, which makes ME embarrassed! After I pay for it they quickly hand it off and then wipe their hands on their smocks... like my birth control has poisoned them!

Of course buying any sort of medicine that indicates you have bowel problems is always fun. Who doesn't love to be seen carrying around Ex-Lax or Bean-O. Tell me you feel the same way! Same with purchasing a toilet plunger. Purchasing one basically screams "I clogged the toilet, BIG TIME"... this item is even more embarrassing if purchased in conjunction with Drain-O AND Imodium.

Or how about gossip magazines. Yeah, I like to read them... call it a guilty pleasure. But there's always that one person ahead of you in line who gives you "the look". You know the look, the "HOW COULD YOU" or "Don't you have a life?" look.

So, I'll admit when they came out with the "Self Check-Out" system, my embarrassing item shopping anxiety was greatly lessened. Sure people still see me in the aisles of the store hauling around Tampons, Pepto-Bismol, Hemroid Creme (never yet, but that would be horrific, I'm sure), and toilet plungers (hopefully only 1 at a time).... but I don't have to stand in line with those items presented on the check-out belt of doom for all (in front of you, behind you, and those checking you out) to see.

Well, the whole entire point of this post is to tell the following story:

The Husband and I were purchasing something at the store some time ago (not sure what we were buying, but positive it wasn't any of the a fore mentioned "embarrassing items") and it was PACKED. It must have been around a holiday. So we had to wait in line to even use the self check-out. Finally it's our turn and this lady just swoops in ahead of us and STEALS our self check-out machine! Seriously, how rude! The Husband and I both looked at each other in shock, and he said something to the effect of "I think we were next in line", just loud enough so that this lady could hear us. She heard it alright. She turns around and snaps at us, "Well, if you would help me, I'm sure this would go a lot faster."

This lady has long insane looking hair and "crazy eyes". She was holding a bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide and a turkey baster. We were both rather taken back. Then she says, "I've got a doggy emergency!" Ok... she's buying a turkey baster and hydrogen peroxide... Several horrific images ran though my mind when I put everything together, but the fact is, I did NOT want to know what type of "doggy emergency" she was dealing with. I was more than happy to let her butt in line.

See, the moral of the story is: Yeah, there are a lot of embarrassing items to purchase, but there is ALWAYS someone buying something even more embarrassing than you.

"Doggie Emergency" supplies, for example.....

Another Fishy Fatality

2009-01-22T09:50:00.007-07:00

Yes, it's true, I've had yet another Fishy Fatality! Last weekend the Husband and I went to feed the fish, only to find Fritz sucked into the water filter! Yes, just like Trevor had been several months before. I was devastated! Poor little Fritz.

Upon discovering this terrible scene, the Husband quickly unplugged the water filter to free our fishy pal. I have no idea how long he had been there, but it caused massive amounts of damage. Fritz's once full shiny fins were now frayed and sparse. The poor little guy barely had any energy to swim around... who am I kidding, the sad fellow was just bobbing at the surface. He wasn't dead though. If I tapped the glass he'd swish his little fin to show he was hanging in there.

When I fed the masses, Fritz just watched the flakey meal float about him. It was truly heartbreaking. I felt especially sad because Fritz was MY fish. I picked him out all by myself. I was drawn to him because of the black mark above his mouth, which looked like a little Hitler mustache (hence the name Fritz, I was convinced he was a follower of the Fuhrer). Not that I'm in support of a fascist dictatorship, I just thought his little mustache was quite endearing.

Now that I think about it, Fritz did kind of rule the roost... er.. school. Hey, maybe he was the one who killed Trevor! Perhaps Trevor was edging in on Fritz's power, so Fritz pushed him into the water filter. Now that I think about it even MORE, one of our fish is named Joe... GI Joe (because of his camo spots)... maybe he over threw Fritz!!! I digress.

Well, unfortunately, the Husband and I had to go away for the weekend so I was unable to watch over Fritz while he suffered in that cold dark tank.

When we got back, however, Fritz was STILL ALIVE. What a trooper! The Husband moved him to his own little bowl, a private healing chamber. But, Fritz wasn't looking too good. When I tapped on the bowl he hardly even moved a gill. Occasionally he would adjust his floating position, but let's just say, he had one foot in a watery grave.

Well, yesterday I got home excited to see some increasing maritime movement in my favorite Fritz, only to be destroyed. The Husband informed me that Fritz had passed on a few hours earlier. He didn't want to tell me while I was at work, knowing it would ruin my day. Poor, poor, Fritz.

I'm feeling much better today, I know he's in a better place now and all that jazz. The thing that concerns me is, why can't I keep a freaking gold fish alive?! Seriously! I've been wanted to get a puppy and of course one day I'll want a baby... but how on earth can I possibly be trusted with more serious things when I've let two of my favorite fish get sucked into and paralyzed by a water filter?! I've got some serious issues that need to be reckoned with. It think I need to go see an aquatic grief counselor...

Just so you know...

2009-01-20T14:11:00.004-07:00

I would just like to say that today I ate the following:

1 Cafe Rio Pork Salad: Black AND Pinto beans (I don't discriminate), Shredded Lettuce, No Pico, No Cilantro, all lovingly topped with the Creamy House Dressing.

.... And I LOVED it.

Torrey through the ages!

2008-12-31T11:38:00.024-07:00

So, I had to go through the ol' photo album the other day to give pictures to our Young Woman's President for a "Meet Your New Leaders" activity the other night, and I'm hooked! Is it not the most fun thing in the universe to look at old photos? I love to see how much the people around me have changed... I especially love to see how much I've changed! So, for your viewing pleasure, I now present: Torrey Through The Ages!!!!

Torrey as a baby! So cute!

Torrey and Evan looking guilty...

Torrey and all of her boyfriends...

Please note that she is stuffing her face full of cupcake...

Also note that she has quite the gut on her.

Torrey and wittwe bwothew Jakey!

Apparently Jake was supposed to grow

up to be a foot ball player?

Torrey on a horse at the famous

Cousin Birthday parties!!!

(PS, I loved that swimming suit,

if only I could still squeeze into it.)

Look at the million scrapes and

scabs I have on my legs!

My first play ever, the Pied Piper!

I'm the bright pink girl looking at the camera.

My one and only line was "And munch them!"

Yeah, I still remember it.

This is me with Katie and Katie, my best friends

in 4th grade. I especially enjoy the donut, granola bar,

soda pop, and KoolAide in my hands. No wonder

I looked like Jabba the Hut!

Ahhh, the Field Day Dance and Burton Elementary!

I was always jealous of the Kindergartners

who got to dance to Teddy Bear Picnic. 5th Graders

had to do a dumb 50's dance... with BOYS! Only,

my partner was a girl because we were the tallest

in our class and all of the boys were shrimps.

In Sea World in 5th or 6th grade... not entirely sure...

love the face.

This picture is in Junior High. I would like to

point out that I am again holding some type

of sugary beverage and a little on the round side.

Strange.

I love this picture because I have SUPER thick

eyebrows and bizarre red-ish hair.

Good ol' high school. Go Darts!

I've finally graduated from High School and

moved on to college. Thankfully there was a change

in hair color.

Oh fun Hale Center Theater. Bless their little hearts.

I loved that wig though. The outfit (which is

conveniently coved up by the bass) I could stand

to do without.

Tay and I at Jake's graduation... that night

was also my first date with Studly Juddly!

Dang I'm sexy.

My favorite bridal picture of all time!

Courtesy of Bee Photography.

Also another great pic by Bee Photography of me and

my sweetheart. Wow, I'm like, REALLY happy.

Again, SUPER happy... maybe it was because

I was finally married.

And, the most recent photo in Torrey's life!

We've almost been married a year!

Again, courtesy of Bee Photography.

Well, folks, did you enjoy the show? Can you believe I used to be so cute... AND so ugly? Really, the softball picture makes me want to hurl. But hey, you know how it goes... Chubby AND Sexy! Right?

Sexy AND Chubby

2008-12-17T15:34:00.008-07:00

Christmas is coming and Torrey's getting FAT! Ok, not really, but honestly, how is a girl supposed to keep a trim figure with goodies galore tempting her? I'm at a loss here. I have always had a sweet tooth and I think I'm now developing a serious addiction to Peppermint Ice cream, plus I've made a terrible discovery... I can BAKE! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's true, I bake!

This week I've made it a goal to bake some kind of sweet every night to take to the neighbors... at least, that's my excuse. Because we all know where the Rolos Cookies and Cinnamon Rolls are going to end up... my butt and thighs. Sigh.

I'm so in the mood to look amazing for Christmas. I want to wear something sexy just becaue I can. I want everyone I know to say "Damn girl!"... except, probably everyone I know WON'T say that, even if I do... I hang out with Momony-Mormons, remember? And, somehow I have a feeling that there is nothing quite as revolting as a chubby girl wearing clothes that don't quite fit, with two fists full of double fudge brownies and chocolate sauce dribbling down her chin, trying to be seductive. (Shudder)

But, here's my question, can't a person be sexy AND chubby? When did big boobs and curvy hips go out of style anyway? I'm positive I was born in the wrong century. Remember when being "soft" was a status symbol, a symbol of wealth?! I'm not saying that we need to promote chubbiness, heavens knows we already have an obesity epedemic... But, what about the women out there, like me who, even with diet and exercise, can't squeeze into anything below a size 6? When are we going to be on the cover of Vogue? When are we going to grace the Victoria's Secret fashion show runway? When? When will we love love-handles again?!!??!!

I digress. I can't help it though, how can one discuss chocolate mousse with out mentioning their "junk in the trunk"? The funniest part about this whole post, is even after all of my fretting, fraying and complaining, I'm still going to eat peanut brittle until I get a tummy ache, I know myself. And, guess what? I'm going to like it. And guess what else? I'm going to slip... no, squeeze myself into the sexiest thing I own while I eat carmelitas, because, belive it or not, I am sexy AND chubby.

In deep SH*T

2008-12-05T13:55:00.009-07:00

It has come to my attention as of late, that my entire front yard is almost completely covered in poo. Yes, POO. It has also come to my attention that the only pet I own, has poo about the size of pencil lead, if that. It has ALSO come to my attention that even IF my pet had large poo, it could never even make it to the front lawn without dying... seeing as it lives in a watery prison.

So, who's a girl to blame for this atrocious act, this dismal deed, this putrid performance?!? WHO?! Seeing as I had a BIG problem and no answers, I decided to start an intense and thorough crime scene investigation.

The first thing I noticed was that the poops were mostly the same size. This crime was obviously committed by a smaller dog, or dogs. There are many of these around the neighborhood, so it's difficult to say which one it is. I had thought of blaming my parents pups (who happen to live next door): Dill, the schnauzer and Bandit, the pug. They do pretty much have free reign of the neighborhood, and lets face it, they're DOGS (smaller dogs, as a matter of fact), they think they can poop anywhere they please!

Dill and Bandit were looking like prime suspects and I was getting ready to take some legal action... However... upon further investigation of the scene of the crime, I noted that the evidence can only be spotted on the front lawn, not in the back yard or the side yard. I found this knowledge strange, seeing as Dill and Bandit frequent my back yard on a daily basis. Hmmm....

This case was really starting to bother me. I mean, sure, it's just poop... but, it's POOP! Who honestly likes cleaning up poop? Especially if it's not your own pets? I was ready to give up on my crusade, when this morning, a very enlightening event occurred. I was getting ready to leave for school and opened the front door to walk out to my car.

Upon opening the front door, I encountered a man just standing on the sidewalk, facing my house, with his hands in his pockets. He obviously didn't realize I had opened the door, probably because I was being camouflaged by the closed screen door. I was a little disturbed at first, wondering why this man was just standing in front of my house, until I noticed a tiny black line leading out of his pocket. The line was a leash and it was connected to a dog, cocker-spaniel, to be exact. This dog was sniffing around my FRONT LAWN while the owner just stood there.

I was about to just walk out to my car when I heard, "Come on Jackie, go poop". Excuse? Yeah, you heard right, this MAN was prompting his SMALL COCKER-SPANIEL to take a DUMP on my LAWN!!!! I was furious! I loudly opened the screen door and said "uh, HELLO"! The owner, who was OBVIOUSLY guilty... HE WAS CAUGHT IN THE ACT... quickly said "Oh,

Jackie, don't, bad Jackie!" then ran away.

GRAAAAHHHH!!!! Are you freaking kidding me?! So, (as my little brother says) thing wrong #1: It is totally against the law to NOT clean up your pet's shiz, thing wrong #2: It is totally against common decency and etiquette to prompt your ugly cocker-spaniel to "do it's duty" on a perfect stranger's lawn EVERY DAY!!! Ok, maybe not every day, but enough days to make an impact on me. I suppose I'm not exactly a "stranger", seeing as the man lives down the road, but it's not like we're chums or have ever even talked to one another... not that being friends with a person gives you the right to let your dog crap on their lawn anyway!!!!

So, what should I do? It's taken every ounce of strength for me NOT to call the Animal Control and tattle-tell. "Come on Jackie, go poop", argh! That keeps sounding over and over again in my mind. Oh, and on a side note, who names their dog Jackie? Really, pets aren't humans! (I'm in a mad rage right now, so don't take offense if you happened to name your dog Bill or something.)

I've been give a few other more deserving suggestions on "how to deal" with the situation: put the poopie on a plate and deliver it to the owner's home, put the poop in a bag and light it on fire on the door step, and even have someone I know poop on the owner's lawn. But, I really am torn. I don't think the offense had quite reached lynching status... but if I find ONE more piece of digested dog food on my lawn... I'm going to do SOMETHING. I'm not sure what that SOMETHING is yet, but it's going to be BAD... VERY BAD.

Marty the Friendly Ghost... or is he?

2008-11-13T11:27:00.021-07:00

It's official! Either both the husband and I have become VERY forgetful, or we have a ghost.

Yeah, I know you don't believe me, but it's TRUE!

Ok, Ok... I'm still not sure if I completely believe in ghosts or not, but there have been some strange occurrences in my house that have caused me to lean toward the "Ghosts are Real" side of things.

I'll admit, I've always had an overactive imagination. When I was in junior high, I believed there was a ghost/demon/monster/person living under my bed because I could hear it/him/her scratching beneath my head at night.

After several months of forcing both of my parents to sleep in my bed with me, hoping to prove to them that I was NOT crazy, (only to hear "Torrey, it's just your imagination"), we realized I was hearing my hair rub against my ear and pillow. Yes, I know, I'm pathetic! After we discovered I'm just massively paranoid, we dubbed they imaginary personage "Scratch", my family still teases me about Scratch to this very day.

So, maybe I AM imaging this ghost in my house, but maybe I'm not. Listen to what has happened:

Strange Occurrence #1:

While renovating our home when we first purchased it, I went to the downstairs bathroom to fill up a water bottle. Mind you, although we weren't living in the house at the time, it had been fully functioning just weeks prior by the former owners. So, I turn on the sink and no water comes out. I'm a little confused, so I go to turn off the sink and suddenly water shoots out in these short bursts. It really freaked me out!

Old, unused pipes? Or paranormal activity?

Strange Occurrence #2:

The husband gets home from work and takes off his shoes by the door in our bedroom. He goes to the kitchen, gets a snack, watches a little TV, then goes back into the bedroom. His shoes are no longer next to the door, but UNDER THE BED!!!

Forgetful husband? Or a ghost with a sense of humor?

Strange Occurrence #3:

The husband and I are in the kitchen together making a salad (a Broccoli, Bacon, Crasin Salad to be exact... so yummy). I'm on one side of the island making the salad dressing while the husband is at the stove cooking the bacon. I get out a tupperware container to put the dressing in to cool in the fridge. I take off the lid and set it next to the container on the island. I pour the dressing into the container and turn to get the lid... and the husband's keys are sitting nicely on top of the lid.

Me: Um... husband? Did you just put your keys on top of this lid?

Husband: No, I've been cooking bacon.

Forgetful Torrey? Or Scratch the Second?

Strange Occurrence #4:

I am in the kitchen quietly doing dishes all by myself when I see something moving out of the corner of my eye.... I look over at our iPod speaker station and the speakers are bouncing up and down. There was no ipod hooked up, no sound coming out, just speakers moving by themselves!!!

Power surge? Or the ghost strikes again?

Can you see why I'm leaning toward "Ghosts are Real"? Yeah, I thought so. So, I start to do some research and although no one has ever died in this house... the previous owners, the ONLY owners besides us, raised a son here.

This son's name was Marty. Marty grew up in this house and died a few years ago of AIDS. Uh huh, I know what you're think.... Marty is our ghost! It's got to be him! I mean, maybe our house is the only place he feels comfortable. Maybe he can't move on to the other side for some reason. Maybe I need to conduct a seance. Yes! I'll get lots of candles and other paranormal devices. Maybe I could sign up for one of those ghost hunter shows...

I don't think Marty is an evil ghost or anything... I mean, he's obviously got a sense of humor. He's never done anything to harm us, he just likes to freak us out. The problem is, I don't feel comfortable with Marty hanging around. It's our house, not his. So, I'm just going to have to kick him out. Sorry Marty....

I'll get rid of you Marty... if it's the last thing I do. Now... how does one get rid of ghosts anyway?...

Ratta-Tat-Tat!

2008-10-31T10:25:00.014-06:00

So, I'm at the Maverick yesterday, picking up a bottled water to quench my thirst before my night class. I walk up to pay, mindlessly set my drink on the counter, wrangle my wallet out of my purse, hand the clerk my debit card, when SUDDENLY, I behold the most lovely, astonishing, hilarious, beautiful sight I've ever seen...

A Fraggle Rock tattoo on the arm of the clerk. It had most of the characters from the cartoon in this vibrant color, just popping off her arm! It was amazing! In fact, I was so caught up in her body art, that she had to tell me "You need to enter your pin number" three times! I mean, really, this was a great tattoo.

As I was driving to class I was consumed in cognition over the ingenious ink. What made her get it? Why Fraggle Rock? Did it hurt?

I will admit, some tattoos are SUPER lame: the ever popular tramp stamp, the tribal bands around the biceps, the Japanese symbol for "whatever" on the ankle or foot.... talk about unique. (Rolling of the eyes.) But, I would be lying if I didn't say that I've always been envious of anyone who has a tattoo, no matter how lame.

Because I'm a Mormony-Mormon, I've never really considered getting a tattoo, just lusted after them. I know I shouldn't mark my body, but MAN a tattoo would be sweet! So, let's say, for some reason, I just went wild and crazy and got myself that tattoo, what would it be? Just one tattoo.... What a tough decision!

So, if I went the cartoon direction... Scrooge McDuck would be pretty rad, and when I looked at him, I would always remember my aspirations to be filthy rich.

I did watch one of those ever popular tattoo shows once where a girl wanted a bar code on the bottom of her foot. Ha ha! That would be hilarious! Or perhaps a "Made in China" tat. Only... I wasn't made in China. Maybe I could get a "Made in the USA" tat? No... nothing is made in the US these days.

Maybe a Disney style crown that says "Princes" under it... no that's lame.

My friend Mary has a tattoo on her hip of a lightning bolt! It's so amazing, and I am so envious. Maybe I would copy her. I would definitely want something with color, but not something that can be seen easily. Grah! I don't know, such a hard decision that I'll never have to make!!!!

Maybe I'll just go with my husband's name tattooed on my butt.

I LOVE JUDD

Let's hope we never get divorced!

It Perks AND Enhances!

2008-10-10T11:46:00.008-06:00

I've been debating wether or not to write a blog on the following topic.. but it's just too good to overlook. Brace yourself, this post includes more talk of womanly parts...

Because I've been blessed/cursed (you can decide) with, shall we say... a "Bountiful Bosom", the idea of what they will look like one day, after I've had children, often plagues my mind. Let's face it, it's painfully obvious that women with perky capacious cleavage in their twenties end up with droopy, sagging, deflated looking bosoms by at least their mid-forties. Sigh. Is it such a crime to want magnanimous mammaries for the rest of my life? Honestly.

So, I was expressing my fears and concerns to the Husband about a month ago, and more or less joking about creating a "Boob-Job Fund"... for the future, of course. I mean, really, it's not like I want to drastically change my body, in fact, I love my body... I just want to keep it looking like it does now. Ok? I just simply don't want to be at risk of kicking my breasts every time I go for a jog. So, I express these ideas to my husband, who also become GREATLY concerned... but the conversation ends, and I forget about it.

A week later, I get this call:

"I ordered you something today!" the Husband tells me over the phone.

I, of course, am completely shocked! I mean, the Husband is great, but he's just not the type of guy who brings home flowers every night... so I start to get really excited, wondering what he could have possibly ordered me. Was it those shoes I've been dying to buy? Maybe something for our house? Or, could it possibly be?... a day at the spa?!

"What?" I ask him, "What is it?"

"Well... I don't know exactly how to say this... but...ok, I ordered you Boob Creme!!!"

I know what you're thinking... You're thinking, "Boob Creme?"... yeah, I KNOW that's exactly what you're thinking, because I was thinking that exact SAME thing. Yes, the Husband had ordered a free trial sample (with a small shipping and handling fee) of some exotic "Breast Enhancing Creme" that claims it will not only "perk and firm", but also "increase your volume by up to 2 full cup sizes!" Wow. Honestly, wow.

So, I don't want to hurt the man's feelings, so I try to act excited about it. It arrives about a week later, and I carefully take it out of the packaging... but I open the tub of boob creme, and it smells absolutely HORRIBLE! I start to worry.. "What if this is toxic? What if I'm allergic to it? What if my body somehow reacts opposite to the intended results, and my chests end up shriveling up and falling off?!!" You would think the same thing after smelling that stuff, it was rank. After I let the Husband smell the concoction, he decided it didn't seem safe either. So, the boob creme was retired to under the sink, where it will continue to sit until I decide to get brave... brave or desperate (which ever comes first).

Well, about a month after the boob creme incident, as I was looking at my online banking, I noticed something odd. We were missing $150 out of our account that had been paid to a completely random source. I called the Husband asking if he had recently bought something for $150? Nope, wasn't him. I knew it wasn't me either...

We both arrive home, completely perplexed, worried that someone had got a hold of our checking account information. We were about to call the bank... when, we noticed, sitting in the mail box, a package. The Husband watches as I quickly open the brown cardboard box... the suspense was killing us. And what should be in the package?... Yep, you guessed it... MORE BOOB CREME!

You see, when the husband had signed up for our "free trial", it also signed us up for a monthly subscription of the blasted boob creme. We immediately canceled the subscription of the cursed creme, but we now have two giant tubs of boob goo sitting side by side beneath the bathroom sink.

So, if you need a little perk... if you're dying to move up a cup size... or if you just plain want to risk your life by testing a possibly toxic creme on your bosom... you know who to come to. Just call me, the Boob Creme Broker.

Radio Active and Neon Orange

2008-10-08T13:37:00.018-06:00

WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING

WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS POSSIBLY RADIOACTIVE

PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK

So, normally, I would never write about what I'm about to write about... BUT, this is just too absolutely amazing to keep to myself.

Last night, after a long evening of school, I got home and sat down to do my homework...when SUDDENLY!... disaster struck!!!!

First let me give a little background to the story... recently I have been battling some...(OK... WARNING!!!... this topic may make you feel uncomfortable, so stop reading now if you are not a woman or don't have a wife)... urinary tract problems. Ugh! I know, doesn't it make you hurt just to think about it? So, I've been drinking lots of water and even taking cranberry pills since, supposedly, something in cranberries kills bacteria something, something, something... and this has been helping relieve the problem.

Anyway, back to the story... So, I get home last night and as I start working on my homework, I get that urge... yes, the urge to pee. I mean, this isn't just any ordinary urge, it's an urge like the urgency of the "been stuck in traffic for an hour and a half just after successfully consuming a 44 oz diet coke before getting into the car" urge. Only, I wasn't stuck in traffic, and I hadn't consumed a 44 oz diet coke, in fact, I realized, as I ran to the bathroom, that I hadn't had anything to drink that entire day! Nothing, nada, zip, not a single drop.

So I make it to the bathroom, practically lunge at the toilet, situate myself, and... nothing. Trust me, I tried and tried and tried to get something to come out... but my bladder was completely empty.

So, I dejectedly walk back to my bedroom and curl up into a ball on the floor and start to cry. Why? Because I know I'm in for a very long and sleepless night and the urge is just getting stronger and more and more painful by the second.

For the next half hour I kept running to the bathroom to attempt to "go", only to be completely let down when the toilet bowl winds up empty again and again. Finally I park myself on the bathroom floor, curled up in a towel because I'm in too much pain to go get a blanket, and proceed to moan. At this point the Husband decides to come find out why I'm crouched, butt up, on the cold bathroom floor wailing and gnashing my teeth (ok... probably not the gnashing of teeth part... but that's how hellish the whole experience was).

Now, bless his heart, I love my Husband. He truly completes me, and he's definitely the brains of the two of us. You see, not only does the Husband hate to see people hurting, he is a problem solver. So, next thing I know, he's seat belted me into the car, and we're on our way to the grocery store to find a cure.

We get in the store and he goes for the juice isle, while I head for the pharmacy. I immediately find the cranberry pills and next to them is another medicine I've never tried before: AZO Standard - "For Fast and Effective Relief of Urinary Tract Problems" (really, this stuff is good).
So, we check out and on our 5 minute drive back to the house I've chugged half of my 2 liter "juice box" and my hands start shaking.

We get back to the house and I have the Husband read the instructions for my AZO Standard while I attempt to open the annoying plastic packs every 2 pills come in. "Take 2 pills with every meal, do not consume more than 6 pills daily". So I manage to get 6 pills out of their plastic prisons, pop them all into my mouth at once, and wash them down a huge swig of cranberry juice which, yes, I'm drinking directly out of the carton.

I then pop 2 Tylenol PMs and finish off the Cranberry Juice, and finally, exhausted from the whole experience, collapse on the bed. After about 30 minutes I started feeling pretty good. I was able to sleep through the entire night, and today, I feel great!

So, I got up this morning with the urge to "go", and this time I actually got to. Whew! What a great feeling! Now, here is the totally amazing part, and I expect you all to think this is as amazing as I do... my pee is neon orange! Seriously! It's so weird. It's looks like it's radio active or something. Oh and don't look down on me because I looked at my own pee... you know you all do it too. So, I now have possibly radioactive pee, and it hasn't changed colors all day, its truly amazing. I don't know if it was the cranberry juice, or the AZO pills, or the combination of both.. but if you want to have amazingly neon orange, possibly radioactive pee, you know what to do.

PS. This post was in honor of Laura :) Sorry it was all about potty Laur.

Couch Potato Envy

2008-08-12T16:43:00.006-06:00

Well, just got back from vacation to Yellowstone. It was a nice little trip, lots of food, site seeing, buffalos mating, pointless souvenir buying, trail hiking and campfire smelling. Yes, it was a vacation, but, guess what? I don't feel vacationed at all!

I feel tired. Exhausted, actually. My back hurts, my legs ache, I'm falling asleep at my desk at work!!! How is it that I go on a vacation to have freedom from my monotonous job, to rest and relax and just enjoy life, but come home feeling like I never even left? I am experiencing serious Couch Potato Envy right now.

I know it's probably healthier to be out and about, blazing new trails and all that jazz... but, that's not my idea of vacation.

My ideal vacation has been learned... I've seen my mom do it, and I've seen her mom do it, in fact we've all done it together.... Sit in a lawn chair with our legs propped on a cooler to get a little color, with a diet coke in one hand, and a good book in the other. Ok, I know that sounds super white trash, but, just try it for a few hours and you'll be hooked.

Do you know what I did when I first got home from "vacation"? Take a shower? No. Get something to eat? No. Change into clean clothes?!? NO! I plopped myself down on the couch in front of the TV and watched the Food Network. Yeah I know, you're thinking "Who does that?" I do, people! I feel like I need a vacation from my vacation!

Popcorn, Popcorn, everywhere, but not a crumb to... consume?

2008-07-28T08:30:00.007-06:00

Ah, yes. The beloved "Popcorn ceiling" (found in an old home near you). I was disappointed at a young age to discover that the many popcorned ceilings around my neighborhood were NOT, I repeat, NOT, in-fact, made from Popcorn at all!! But, rather, boring old plaster. What a travesty to society!

Since then I have always had a great deal of animosity toward "Popcorn ceilings" of every kind, and now, even more so that I have a home of my own containing the DREADED.... Popcorn Ceiling!!! Dun dun DUN!!!!

Yes, I know, it's only plaster, and a little plaster never hurt anyone, right? WRONG! Not only does my lovely variety of SPARKLY Popcorn Ceiling make me sick just to look at, BUT it also contains 20% asbestos, which will make removal VERY dangerous! Who invented this horrible stuff anyway?

The Husband and I decided to do the Popcorn removal ourselves, although the "specialist" at the County Health Department recommended we have the professionals take care of the dirty work... but we've never been ones to take good advice.

After a little research on the internet, we bought ourselves some masks and went to work. It was an incredibly laborious job, and I will NEVER do it again.

In the end we both looked like Abominable Snow People, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to get lung cancer because of all of the asbestos dust which I believe made it's way past my mask and into my lovely pink healthy lungs. Fantastic.

At least, if I DO get mesothelioma, the Husband will probably get it too, so we can die together from our cancer ridden lungs. Romantic, isn't it?

I mean, if you're considering removing your not-quite-edible ceiling , the do it yourself approach is very cost effective, and, personally, I can't think of anything sexier than wearing a HAZMAT suit covered in dried plaster. Honest. BUT, here are 3 rules I would stick by to make the removal process more enjoyable and safe:

1. Invite lots of friends to help and take on the role of "Supervisor"

2. Wear an oxygen mask with tank

and

3. If you must do the back breaking work yourself because you have no friends, and you cannot afford an oxygen mask and tank.... Don't do the removal if you have a sore throat! Your mask will end up smelling like a sore throat, thus making the removal of the popcorn even LESS enjoyable if that is even possible.

Trust me, I'm a professional.

Mosaic of ME!!!

2008-07-10T13:24:00.005-06:00

So, I don't think it gets any better than this: An Entire Mosaic... of ME!!! Ha ha ha! Ok, maybe not, but I saw this on D'Acry's blog.. and I couldn't resist... I HAD to do it too!!!

I made a meme--this is how the meme works:
Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr search.
Using only the first page, choose an image.
Copy and paste each of the URL’s into the mosaic maker over at FD's image maker.

The questions:
What is your first name?
What is your favorite food?
What high school did you attend?
What is your favorite color?
Who is your celebrity crush?
Favorite drink?
Dream vacation?
Favorite dessert?
What do you want to be when you grow up?
What do you love most in life?
One word to describe you.
Your Flickr name

See if you can guess the answers to the questions from my pictures!!!

A Happy Wife Is a Happy Life

2008-07-08T14:36:00.011-06:00

I'm all about hair being a means of self-expression. Can I hear an "Amen!" people? I mean let's consider this for a moment... our hair usually reflects who we are, right?.... at least mine does.

For example, usually people with timid personalities, have fairly timid hair styles. Think of it! We've all got that one shy lady in the office with the half wavy, half straight, dish water blonde hair that's never seen an ounce of product, except for maybe a splash of hairspray, so as to not draw attention to the static-y fly-aways covering her head. Yes?

Then there's they guy we all had a secret crush on in high school who was so self-absorbed that he didn't even know his own parent's names! You know the one! And what about his hair? Perfectly manicured, not a hair out of place, the only way you would expect a Narcissus-like human's hair to look.

Then there's people like me... a new hair style every week. I think it's because I have such a muli-faceted personality. Some days I'm that timid lady, other days, I'm totally vain.

It really depends on where I am in life. I have gone through so many hair phases it's hard to say which one best personifies me, but the following are a few of my favorites....the short red bob, the long black locks, accidently orange "mom" hair, and my newest blonde high lighted "just got married so I chopped off all my hair" do. I've secretly always wanted dreadlocks (shhh, don't tell), but I'm not brave enough to make such a commitment.

I believe everyone should embrace hair freedom! I mean, honestly,

nothing feels better than a brand new hair do. And you know what? The great thing about hair is, if you don't like what you do, it usually grows back! It's not like that tattoo you don't even remember getting on a wild night out. Hair is.... well.... HAIR!

So, here's my dilemma... if I find myself such a promoter of "hair-freedom" and "self-expression though hair" and the "it will always grow back" philosophy, why do I have such an issue with the Husband's hair?!? ARGH!!!!

You see, the Husband, bless his heart, has decided to grow out his hair.... for TWO YEARS!!!! The reason? He told my brother he wouldn't cut his hair until my brother gets back from his LDS mission to Scotland. Obscure? Yes. Exercising "Freedom of Hair"? Yes. Is the Husband's wife excited about it? No.

I really wouldn't be so bad, if it weren't for the fact that (honey, skip over this part), he's thinning on top. The Husband really does have nice hair, he's got golden blonde curly locks of beauty... but the sides and back are so thick, and the top is so thin.... Well... you just need to see it to believe it. I have decided that his hair looks quite similar to Wolverine and Bozo the Clown's hair... I'll let you make your own judgements on that one...

Wolverine

The Husband

Bozo The Clown

I know I cannot force the Husband to cut his hair, that would be going against everything I've been expressing in this blog.... BUT!!!... I CAN post a word of wisdom for all of those crazy husbands out there, whose wives begrudgingly let them practice "Freedom of Hair", (and please, for the sake of women everywhere, Men, take this to heart)....

A Happy Wife is a Happy Life

(And don't you forget it!)

Ok, I'm stepping down from my soap box now... THE END.

Fertile Frenzy

2008-06-02T11:19:00.011-06:00

Yesterday the husband and I attended a "Young Married People's Potluck" planned by our outgoing and incredibly social back-yard neighbors. Yay.

Now, I'll be honest, the Husband and I don't have a ton of married friends. We enjoy each other's company and really don't crave the company of other couples all that often.

So, when we first received the scrapbook inspired invitation to the potluck, I was entirely opposed to attending such a pretentious party. I mean, I can do without social obligations. But, after much consideration and self inspection, I decided that we've been much too hermitical and aloof lately, so, the "Young Married People's Potluck" it was. After all, what was the worst that could happened? At the very least it would be a good opportunity to... expand our horizons... right? And expand our horizons, it certainly did.

We arrived at the gathering 15 minutes late. Fashionably late, I thought, but as soon as we walked around the corner, we were greeted with "It's about time! Now we can finally start the party!" Yes. They had waited for us. And, Yes. We were the last to arrive at the engagement.

I set my tupperware of cookies on the table in-between the freshly baked bread, the homemade peach jam, the absolutely delicious baked beans, and the pasta salad (garnished with fresh

herbs)... all presented beautifully on fine china serving plates. My tupperware looked slightly tacky.

The husband and I began to load up our plates when we were interrupted with "Perhaps we should have a blessing on the food first?" So, we reluctantly and embarrassingly put the serving spoons back, set our food down, and joined in the blessing on the feast. After the prayer was over we finished piling on the food, and I spotted some older chairs for us to sit in (I wasn't about to risk spilling on the brand new lounge chairs).

Soon everyone joined us, and once I got comfortable and settled in, I

noticed something.... something, strange. Every couple was either 1. Toting a small baby-aged child, or 2. Wearing their most fashionable maternity clothes. Talk about a Fertile Frenzy. For a moment, I felt like I was in a horror movie. Images of a chubby baby faces, then a gigantic pregnant belly, then a diaper bag, then another pregnant belly, then another taunting baby face kept flashing before my eyes. Oh the insanity!!!! It seemed everyone at the Potluck had managed to "Expand their Horizons" in some way or another.

It was horrible. Don't misunderstand. I LOVE babies. I want at least 4 or 5... but babies aren't really in "the plans" for us right now. So, for these "Young Married People" to just flaunt their round faced babes and baby filled bellies in front of me... I found it appalling! Don't they know? I want a BABY!!! They can't just invite us to a "Young Married People's Potluck", and then try to expose us to their Felicitous Fertile Frenzy so we'll have a baby and join their real clan.... "Young Married People Plus". It just isn't fair!

Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. The laughing angelic babies and glowing expectant mothers finally got to me. I was feeling more fertile just being around them all, and I couldn't risk and unplanned pregnancy. So, we left, and went back to our home... my mother-in-law's home, so I could come back to reality, and remember WHY a baby isn't in "the plans" right now.

The good news, is that everyone really loved the cookies I made (despite the tupperware

presentation). And, it gave me something to look forward to. Yes, it WAS a Fertile Frenzy, but one day, I want to be a part of that. When the time is right, I plan on joining "Young Married

People Plus".

Thalassic Eulogy

2008-05-13T09:40:00.009-06:00

Today we gather together to honor our great and noble Fishey Friend, Trevor Rigby Junior. Many of us close to Trevor affectionately knew him as "T-Bone".

I first met Trevor at PetsMart several months ago while browsing the aquatic aisle. I remember the exact moment when his bulging eyes first met mine, and I knew he would be the perfect addition to our family.

Trevor was always shy, constantly hiding behind the statue of Mozart in his tank, but that was what made him special. He had an endearing, quiet sense of humor. He wasn't afraid to be himself and never gave into peer pressure when tempted to do dangerous feats by his brother Fritz, such as swimming through the Ruins in their tank. Trevor was always true to himself, and we will always remember him for that.

Although T-Bone was sucked into the water filter, causing severe brain damage and paralyzation of his lower half, he still fought on after his accident, living several days longer than the doctors or our family expected him to. He had a heart of goldfish, never giving up.

We will miss Trevor greatly, but as he leaves this watery sojourn and on to the next, we recognize what a great and glorious swirling sea chum he was. (No pun intended). We wish Trevor the best of luck on his porcelain peregrinate, and want him to know, that we will always love and remember him.

To you, Trevor Rigby Junior.

Domestically Challenged

2008-04-21T10:07:00.008-06:00

Over the weekend, the husband and I were invited to Sunday dinner at my parents house (as usual), which we attended (as usual), at which we gorged ourselves (as usual), because, let's face it, I'm not exactly what some would call "Betty Homemaker". I always joke with the husband that I'm "Domestically Challenged", and he always jokes back that I'm "Not".

It doesn't really bother me, because it's true. My best friend in high school had to teach me how to make scrambled eggs when i was a Senior. I'm good at the laundry and housekeeping, and to be honest I can make a KILLER batch of cookies. But, I guess when it comes to actually making something "healthy", i bomb.

The problem lies in my prideful, self sufficient attitude. I start dinner by following a recipe to the T, I use measuring cups and spoons, I set the oven to the exact temperature as directed, but then, about half way through the recipe, my pride starts to kick in. I start to think "I don't REALLY need to measure everything out" or "I don't think that ingredient is absolutely necessary" and "ooohh!! what if I added in THIS?". See? My pride sets in, and I think I know better than the recipe. In the end, I take one bite of my disaster, it goes down the garbage disposal, and it's frozen pizza for dinner, AGAIN.

I think a big part of it is because I watch my husband in the kitchen: NO recipe, NO measuring tools, not even an idea of WHAT he's going to make! Just a smorgasbord of ingredients and a bowl, and it turns out to be this beautiful perfect gift of sweet nectar from the gods made by a mortal man with an apron and a mustache! Go figure.

Now, some women may be "put out" by their husband's ability to run circles around them in the kitchen, but I've decided to take a positive, perhaps even entrepreneurial take on the "situation". I have decided to get my husband his very own Food Network show. Something like "The Alpha Cook" or, I don't know, "Homemade Husband". He's the male version of Paula Dean for cryin' out loud! (Well, except for the obvious weight and personality differences...) I could make a SERIOUS killing off of his unique skills. PLUS, he'd be busy trying out new dishes all of the time for the show, I'd never have to cook again!!! I could have a homemade meal for Breakfast, Lunch, AND Dinner. It would save me so much time, and make me so much money.

Then again, my whole plan could backfire. I could end up never seeing my husband because he's away, filming his show, and then I'd be stuck eating cold cereal for Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner. But, I'm willing to take a risk. I eat cold cereal all the time ANYWAY, so I have nothing to lose! (Besides the company of a good husband). Ok now, who has Emeril's cell number?

Not so much "difficult" as "formidable"

2008-04-14T14:35:00.007-06:00

It has come to my attention that occasionally I am a somewhat intrusive, un-managable tyrant of sorts. And lately, it seems as if there IS no "right" side of the bed... at least, I can't seem to wake up on it, that's for sure. I don't know what it is. It's like suddenly all of my hormones are completely out of whack! *And men, "hormones" is not a four lettered word... YOU have them too! So, please, let's not run for the bomb shelter every time the ladies mention them.*

The fact is, these past few weeks, I've become this MONSTER of emotions! I'm super happy at one moment, I mean like the giggly happy, where you are just overcome with feelings of b

liss and joy. Then suddenly Mr. Hyde comes out and I get upset at my husband for helping me fold the laundry! It's weird. Not to mention I started crying

when I happened to flip to WWE and saw Rick Flair retire...strange. I'm not so much "difficult" as "formidable".

Most of you may be thinking, "well Torrey, sounds like you're pregnant to me"... but I'm not! Believe me, I almost wish I WERE, at least then I'd know why I'm acting so crazy. The worst part is that my husband has to put up with it all. Poor guy HAS to ride my

emotional roller coaster with me. What a TROOPER! I start to act normal and happy and he'll start to drop his guard, thinking I'm back to my old self... the SUDDENLY I turn on him and become evil again! Or start crying for no reason...

But bless his heart, he still loves me. And sometimes he lies to me to make me feel better "No honey, I DON'T think you're crazy". Ofcourse I KNOW he's lying, but it makes me feel better.

Maybe I should try some ancient Voodoo cure for my multi-hormonal nature. I'd be willing to look into a spell or something... as long as I don't have to eat goat brains or drink worm blood or anything like that. I AM a gemini, perhaps that has something to do with it. Let's see... here's what my monthly horoscope says "You are more peace-loving than usual" WRONG-O! What else?... "You have some great professional energy, romantic energy, and plenty of intellectual energy." If by "Energy" they mean "Raging Hormones", I guess that's true, but other than that, I don't think the Cosmos are of much help.

For now, my only cure is to warn everyone that I'm just a little difficult right now... well, not so much "difficult" as "formidable". This will just have to do until I get a chance to meet with my favorite witch

doctor...

A Potbellied Pal!

2008-04-11T11:17:00.000-06:00

Today I really want a Potbellied Pig. I've ALWAYS wanted a potbellied pig, ever since I was little, but today I'm especially longing for one. (sigh) They're the PERFECT pet, with their cute little chubby legs, watery snout, and adorable furry gut!

My husband doesn't understand that potbellied pigs are INDOOR pets which is why I can't have one. But he also doesn't understand that Potbellieds are the greatest pets in the entire WORLD! So, here are the reasons I REALLY want a Potbellied PIG!!!

First of all, they're odorless. Now, i realize that no living organism is COMPLETELY odorless, SO... I guess what I mean is that these pets don't smell bad ALL of the time. Hey, humans are the same way!

Next, they can be potty trained! Hooray! They will either "go" in a litter box, or in a designated part of the yard! I mean, most small children aren't even potty trained. See why they're so perfect?!

What else... Pigs are incredibly social animals. They LOVE to be around people. They are affectionate and enjoy getting their bellies rubbed. Doesn't that sound SO cute!? I want a little Piggy to cuddle up next to me so I can tickle it's little furry chin while it snorts happily away.

Most importantly, Potbellieds are driven by FOOD! They're food possessed! Why is that important to me, you may ask? Because I'm the same way! Ha ha ha!!!

But seriously, I can't think of a single reason I WOULDN'T want a Potbellied Pig! I'm thinking I may just bring one home one day, I'm sure it'll grow on my husband. And if not, well, he'll have to find someone to adopt it from me, and I'll be super picky about it's future parents! SO THERE!!!

Honestly, WOW.

2008-04-10T08:29:00.000-06:00

Last night the husband and I went house hunting for about the billionth time this month. (It's really getting frustrating). We've looked at so many houses that we absolutely LOVE, but last night we didn't see anything even remotely endearing.

The first house we looked at was tiny, but had a HUGE yard. It looked cute in the pictures, so we thought we'd give it a look. We met our Realtor at the house and he informed us that "this house is currently occupied, but i doubt the owner is home. Most people don't stick around when people walk through their house." How wrong he was. The home owner DID stick around, which made the tiny house seem even smaller.

We shuffled through the living room, past the crying babies and around the corner to the master bedroom, which was FILLED with adult magazines! Now, if you're into that kind of stuff, that's your own business (I personally am completely against EVERY aspect of that industry, I think it is degrading and evil). But honestly people, if you're trying to sell your house, don't you think you could box up the magazines and DVDs for a while? They were spread out all over the place!!! Honestly, WOW.

The next house was also currently occupied, and the home owners decided to stick around yet again! I was SURE I was going to love this house. The pictures on the internet were SO cute! It had beautiful original hard wood floors, a gorgeous kitchen, and TWO bathrooms (a definite plus for our price range). So, we walk into this house with aspirations high, only to be completely let down. First of all, it had the WORST smell ever. At first I thought it was cigarettes, but then it smelled like pet urine, then it smelled like stinky feet, all covered up by a cheap nasty candle. It was gross.

So we walk around trying to look at stuff with the home owners breathing down our necks the whole time. Finally they left us alone while we checked out the basement. Ok, this next part is not for those with weak stomaches, so skip on down if you get queasy easy (ha ha!). We walk down the stairs to greet a giant pile of dog barf. I'm not talking a little dog drool on the floor, this stuff was the size of a size 13 shoe! You could see every little thing the dog had attempted to eat, only it was now all slimy and mushy. I almost lost my cookies, but managed to step over it and move on to the small bedroom. But it was all down hill from there. In every single room of the basement, there were at least 5 piles of dog barf! Gee, I thought these people were trying to SELL. Honestly, WOW.

We moved on to the next house, and the whole car ride over I tried to get the stench from the last house out of my hair, but I never really succeeded. We pulled up to yet another cute house that I, once again, had high hopes for. And, yes, you guessed it, the home owners decided they wanted to stay for the party at this house too. (Sigh). So, we walk in to a living room FULL of teenagers. I'm pretty sure someone was only half dressed before we came because they wouldn't let us in for a really long time, and when we WERE let in, there was a person with a strategically placed blanket sitting on the couch. So, we TRIED to look at the bedrooms, but all the bedroom doors were shut and LOCKED. We TRIED to look at the basement, but alot of the light bulbs were burnt out. So, really the only thing we got to look at was the kitchen. And boy oh boy was it a disaster! There were dishes piled high, the counters were covered in filth and grime, and it look like the garbage had NEVER been taken out. I mean, Honestly, WOW.

Mostly I was just completely taken back by all of these homes. I guess the owners really DON'T want to sell that badly. I really couldn't believe that they expect people to come into their homes in such a condition and expect them to WANT to make an offer. It's sad really. I mean, just, well, I guess I mean, well, HONESTLY, WOW.

Shoes Glorious Shoes!!!

2008-04-09T16:08:00.000-06:00

Well it's definitely no surprise that I am in LOVE with shoes... I'm a woman! And, because of my love for shoes, I've decided that MY shoes deserve their own blog post.

My current favorite pair of shoes are a pair I like to call "Old Reliable". I bought these shoes ON SALE (as I buy MOST of my shoes) which makes them even MORE attractive. They are brown suede high heels that are not only comfortable, BUT they make my legs look amazing! (Seriously, they do.) They have a "Genuine Leather" sole too. Now, normally I could care less if the soles of my shoes are "Genuine" or not, but in this case, it matters. I mean, these ARE my favorite pair of shoes and I want them to last a long time (they've already lasted about a year, and that's with me wearing them almost three times a week!) I have NEVER let ANYONE borrow these shoes for fear that they might be tainted by the borrower. So, if I've totally turned you on by describing these amazing shoes, FORGET IT! You can't borrow them.

My old favorite pair of shoes are now dead, BUT in my life time of shoes, they beat out all the rest. They were white and gold faux snake skin heels. Ah! They were gorgeous! I could wear them with ANYTHING. They were the perfect accessory to any outfit. Then one day i left them out, and my Schnauzer, Dill, ate them. I guess she must have thought they were Candy or something (they definitely were EYE CANDY). I cried and cried when I found the destroyed shoes! So, (and this next part is so completely embarrassing, so you're welcome to skip over it) I tried to glue them back together. Ha ha! I'm so pathetic! They looked alright on the outside, but they were terribly uncomfortable to wear, so I was FORCED to retire them. I'm still looking for a similar pair to replace them (if you find any, give me a holler).

Now, if you're a man, you probably don't understand a woman's fascination with shoes. Let me attempt to explain. In every woman's closet there are three different types of clothes: 1. Fat Clothes 2. Skinny Clothes 3. Betweenies. Just the other day my husband was completely shocked at how many pair of jeans I own, but I can't help it! I don't want to get rid of the Fat Jeans, because I may need to wear them someday, and I just CAN'T get rid of the Skinny Jeans, they're my inspiration! So I'm stuck with a drawer full of jeans and only a few pair I actually wear.

How does that relate to shoes? Well, no matter how wide your hips get, your shoes will still fit! So, what's the first thing a woman likes to buy when she's out shopping? Shoes of course! When you're depressed because you're wearing your Fat Jeans again, a brand new pair of cute wedges will always cheer you up! When you gain back that 5 pounds you just lost last month, those strappy stilettos are a sure confidence booster. And even when you fit in the Skinny Jeans, it still feels great to wear an amazing pair of heels to accent you're rockin' bod!

Does that make sense? If you're a woman, I know it does. So, this is my Ode to Shoes, let it we written, let it be known. Infact, I may just go purchase a new pair today...

First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage, Then Comes...

2008-04-07T16:36:00.000-06:00

So, I've successfully managed to make it over one of life's great hurdles this year... that being Marriage. And, I have to say, marriage has treated me well thus far. I married an amazing man who is amazing to me, and so far marriage has been... well.... Amazing.

You know that feeling when you order a sandwich and they forget to put on the pickles? The sandwich is still great, and you are perfectly happy with the sandwich as it is, but still, you can tell, something is missing. Well, that's how I started feeling about a month or so after getting married. I had successfully managed a husband for a month. I hadn't killed him, he was fed and bathed, and always had clean underwear. But, husbands can take care of themselves, and I found, more often than not, my husband was taking care of me, rather than I him.

I realized I needed something else to take care of... something that would be almost completely dependent on me for it's sole survival... something to fill that void! I needed pickles on my sandwich! So I had a sit down with the husband and I told him how I was feeling. I explained my need for nurturing and caring for a living organism, I explained my want for pickles on my sandwich.

After I gushed all of my feelings to a great husband, he took my hand and after a extra long pause said "Well, honey, if you want a baby, we can have one." Uh... hold the phone there husband... BABY?!?! I quickly had to explain that, those pickles on my sandwich are not a BABY, my pickles are, i don't know, a pet of some kind, maybe even a plant, but definitely NOT a baby.

So, after a huge sigh of relief from my husband we went to the pet store and bought me some fish. After killing four of them and never feeding the other two, I realized something: Maybe things and perfect how they are. I know I'm not ready for a baby, I mean, I can't even take care of a few little goldfish! Yes, I have those nurturing, mothering urges, but, that can definitely wait for a little bit. What was i thinking, getting all excited for grown up responsibilities?! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes goldfish, then comes a goldfish funeral, then comes another goldfish funeral, then comes another goldfish funeral.....

My First Blog!

2008-04-04T14:25:00.000-06:00

So, this is not only my first Blog, but consequently, my first Blog Post. To be completely honest, I feel a little insecure about the whole "Blog" thing. Now, I'm the type of person who LOVES reading OTHER people's Blogs, but I feel totally exposed when it comes to writing one myself ... is that abnormal?

Maybe i have a Peeping Tom syndrome or something. Am I a scandalmonger? Maybe I am. But I think its different when you read about the lives of people you know and care about. (Although I will admit I've read one or two celebrity gossip magazines.... or three or twenty.)

The fact is, I have decided that regardless if anyone actually reads this or not, I need to do this for me. Sometimes I read other people's blogs and I think "Gee, they have the most exciting life!" But I hope that if I reflect on my own life, I'll be much more appreciative for what I have.