I Finished the Thing

I'm pretty sure I never finished talking about our cross-country road trip adventure and I'm stuck home with food poisoning today so...what better to take my mind off the sudden betrayal of my one true love glorious food than pictures of my adventures with the husband?
If you need another reminder...

Turns out I've already drafted what happened it was just waiting for pictures! Easy peasy lemon squeezy, look at me being a smart but forgetful blogger.

After our frigid night in the forest of semi's, we left chicago and illinois behind and headed west through Iowa to Nebraska. That, and the road we'd already been on, was a lot of freeway. Open, winding highway weaving through the country. A good portion of it was wonderfully scenic, even with the billowing snow storms pressing in around us erring on "dangerous". With that in mind, we ended up keeping a running tally of the number of vehicles we saw that had been run off the road. Whether by wind or ice or sleep deprivation, it's hard to say. On the long stretch between Pennsylvania and Nebraska there was a grand total of 47 cars/semis/trucks that were lying dark and cold off the side of the highway. It got a little creepy when along one single mile there were 9 cars dumped in the frozen embankments.
Our scariest encounter with this phenomenon however, was while rounding a long curve in the highway, broken in the middle by a deep median overgrown with shrubs and large spindly bushes. We had just been talking and laughing about the last chapter in our audiobook when suddenly Mark gasped and pointed off to the other highway lane going the opposite direction, "Look!"
A fully loaded semi was hurtling up the side of the hill directly off the highway and made an awkwardly graceful leap through the snow, cascades of white powder exploding around the cab as it twisted through the air, landing with a great "whump!" heard even from our enclosed vehicle speeding away on the other side of the highway. It was one of those rare, inexplicable slow-motion moments of awe and surprise. And then it was over and we were around the bend, the truck no longer in sight. We debated calling 9-1-1 before another truck came rumbling along the empty highway and we figured they'd know better what to do and who to contact. Hopefully it didn't turn into a pileup.
After that, watching trucks ahead of and behind us drift haplessly across the highway inspired great caution and a bit of fear as we crossed our fingers that they weren't falling asleep at the wheel.
East coast drivers be crazy! Even here in Arizona, when it comes to monsoon season and the rain comes pouring down in great buckets and the windshield wipers can barely seem to keep up, I am the type of driver that will go 30 and below to get optimum visibility. When we were first coming in to Chicago, the wind was whipping up all sorts of snow and ice, swirling over the road in low clouds and sometimes there was not a bit of dark pavement to be seen. No lane lines, hardly any directive assistance and still people are hurtling along at 60 mph. We were completely content to chug along at our slow, safe speeds. Always keeping to the set minimum.
We stopped in Davenport to gas up and took a surprisingly minuscule detour to visit Mark's old home. He was continuously shocked how close we were without even realizing it, we had almost just passed through without bothering to find his old house. It was seriously not even five minutes off the highway, we're glad we stopped. I took a couple creeper photos and we debated finding a dollar store to buy some cheap plastic sleds and take a couple runs down the nearby hill.

We booked it out to Nebraska to stay at my dear, sweet Aunt's house and it was the best part of our trip. We got a chance to shower, clean up and just chill. We had fun watching the horses and playing with the doggies. Sitting on a blessedly comfortable couch and snuggling wasn't too bad, either.

How gross is that salt muck?

And how beautiful is this house?

Stiff, cold bums and aching backs from driving too long are

no comparison to fleece blankets and mini lap heaters.

The next morning we drug ourselves out of bed a little before nine and attempted to gather all our crap and head out before ten but alas, twas not meant to be.
We had settled back into our van and quickly discovered that it was obstinately not going to be starting anytime soon. We tried and tried to get the engine going. I pored over the owner's manual I'd downloaded to my phone and Mark scoured google looking for possible causes and solutions. We were not very fruitful. Or at least not very certain of what it could be. No use huddling in the freezing van, though. We slunk back up to the house and knocked sheepishly. My aunt graciously let us back in, the dogs acting as though we'd been gone for ages, and Mark settled down at the computer to hash out what we could do or where we could go to fix the problem. We ended up calling for a free tow through Geico (thank ye lawd) but they didn't show up. An hour after their first projected arrival time Mark tried calling. No answer. He called Geico and they called. No answer. We finally heard back and were promised, "twenty minutes!"
Forty minutes later, he finally shows up.
And the van starts up just fine.
The adventures never cease.
We were back on the road way late in the day, near or after four o'clock I can't remember exactly. But it didn't much matter because after the diesel gelling fiasco, we determined we weren't willing to risk it again and would just take shifts to drive through the night and straight on till morning/home. Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico flew by in a flurry of dark highways, small cities bordering on Ghost Town, and a lot of pot holes. New Mexico was exceptionally empty but also quite scenic. Mark had opted for the shortest distance rather than time considering we couldn't really optimize speed in our lumbering van anyway, so we got to go the backwoods route. We had finished our book so we depended on oh-so-reliable pandora to keep our minds alert. We ended up with a lot of silence. But oh well.
Oh! Right, so...as we were headed out of Albuquerque (accompanied with endless Weird Al references by Mark), we stopped along the highway to administer the van's 200 mile motor oil dosage and as I looked ahead I noticed, not 20 yards in front of us, a sign for the Petroglyph Museum off the next exit.
We decided then and there that sounded fun and went to the very empty and lonely visitor's center where the stationed cashier was prepared for us before we even got to the door.
But we both needed the bathroom...badly.
So before the poor guy could start his obviously well-rehearsed spiel we dashed to the restroom.
He seemed elated that rather than dash back out the way we came, we approached the counter and asked about hiking trails. He was very informative and excited about our interest and told us all about a couple of the relatively shorter trails and sent us on our merry way.
We were skeptical about parking charges when he had said, "They take your dollar and you're free to hike all day," but it was literally $1 for the parking pass. Again, we were glad we hadn't just skipped out of town and instead persevered. We hiked around for the next hour and had a grand ole time adventuring and taking pictures. Then we ate at Red Robin and indulged in a little food coma in the back of the van listening to our audiobook. It was a relaxing break to the drive-drive-driving.

We had gone through Zuni, NM when I switched shifts with Mark and he continued driving while I clambered in the back of the van and read some Harry Potter. The road there was rather bumpy and full of rolling hills and curves, winding through the half forest, half desert. I quickly became ill and had to put the book down. For the rest of the trip I was a miserable ball of nausea and pain huddled under a blanket.
We pulled into our driveway around 10:30 Wednesday night and it couldn't have come soon enough. We gathered up the electronics and important stuff, stumbled inside and dumped everything inside the front door, clambering up the stairs and slumped in the shower, soaking in the steam. We were both exhausted but somehow couldn't shut down our minds. We were fatigued, but not sleepy. So we stuck on an episode of Supernatural or two and finally made it into bed.
I love that bed. Like, a lot.

So there you have it! Our five-day adventure across most of the United States in the middle of the Polar Vortex/Arctic Blanket hullabaloo.

Thank goodness we can be crazy together.

(I took a zillion photos of the petroglyphs, here are the rest that I didn't post above)

Mark thought this one was a fake.

I thought it seemed legit and looked like a little happy balloon dude with an axe.

Okay one last story, I'm sorry.

We were messing around with the sighting binocular things and I swung it around to pretend like I was looking at Mark and he started laughing hysterically and told me not to move.

Apparently my eyes were comically magnified and he tried diligently to get a photo of it.

It didn't quite work but you can definitely tell there are eyeballs present.

The end.

Weekend Review

I'm not adult enough to attend family outings. 

Every time I'm around other adults, people ("people" meaning mostly my parents) ask, genuinely interested, how life/work/stuff is going and it's not like I'm too lazy to actually think about what has happened and explain in words what is going on in our lives. 

There really isn't anything to talk about.

I spend all day at work garnering a headache and a dire craving for Chipotle because of all the expensed lunches I file for our sales guys (seriously it's like they know it tortures me) and nothing interesting happens. Ever. When I worked at the high school at least I had fun interactions with all those crazy kiddos to talk about, but desk jobs are so. dull.

Does that make me not adult enough, or too adult?

I don't know.

It's depressing.

I finally had another wedding gig this past weekend! That's noteworthy and I will tell you all about it on my harp blog. At some point. It's a work in progress, reserve thine judging plz.

On Saturday I hung out with the marvelous Ali of Happily Ever After and we got quick brunch from Jamba Juice and I learned how to say (or at least how to not say) jarlsberg because it's important to know which fancy cheese you are consuming. 

We went to the breeding ground of thrifting for some claustrophobic shopping at Goodwill. I have visited the one by my house (Apache Trail and Signal Butte) multiple times at differing times of the week/day and it is always, always stuffed like a sardine can and pretty much just as smelly. Half-off saturday is a curse. A blessed, wonderful curse but a curse nonetheless. I had to be careful with my wallet because last time we went (ahem, seriously just the last time it was half-off saturday #ihaveaproblem) I spent just over $50 and basically filled up all my available bookshelves. And I bought an old, pretty, glass liquor bottle which Mark didn't automatically understand I wanted for mere decoration purposes and asked gently if I knew the bottle's true purpose. And a million other things but mostly just books. A lot of books.

So I took cash with me and after having already used some at Jamba I was really forced to limit myself. 

I snagged yet another bag of old sewing patterns. I really cannot explain how I find the courage to trust those because in the back of my head I am well aware of the possibility that they could be ripped and ruined and totally unusable. But I guess at nearly 4 sets of patterns per bag for $1 it's worth the risk.

I found a couple books in good condition to add to my running collection of series and tried to ignore how little hesitation I felt in grabbing the book on the hidden meanings and symbolism in the Harry Potter series. You know you have a problem when...

But then there was the baby clothes; last time when the Al[lie]'s were perusing those aisles I went straight to the book section and that's how I ended up at home with three bags of just books.

This time, I tagged along down the dangerous clothing racks and squee'd and gushed over the tiny little bits of cloth. Ali has her own toddler to shop for as well as a burgeoning baby #2 growing in her belly as well as the upcoming baby shower for Allie to shop for so her quickly blooming pile of baby clothes in the cart was well deserved.

I, however, am nowhere near pregnant, we're not even trying (in fact we're on the far side of not trying) and I picked up probably every other little shirt and onesie, literally hugging a soft set of footie pajamas to my chest imagining a little toddler filling them up and running to me because they had a bad dream or just didn't want to go to bed. It's really a miracle I didn't start crying right then clutching the slightly dusty and gently worn fleece pajamas with the derpy sheep plastered all over the garment. But I did end up finding a couple pieces that will be wrapped up for the aforementioned shower and I managed to eliminate my other pile down to just one obnoxiously 90's dress for my nonexistent, only yet imagined future child...and a miraculously clean and untarnished Easter themed Thumper stuffed toy with the Disney stamp on his foot. Because disney and stuffed animals. I mean, c'mon.

We then went to Wendy's and had some lunch. Apparently all the humans from Goodwill were following us around that day and the line for food was obscene so I took the pregnant lady's order and stood in line for the both of us. Somehow when she was saying she would steal some of my fries if I got any, my brain translated it as, "And a small frosty." I only ever get the vanilla frosty but we had that conversation before and I knew she liked the chocolate one so that's what I got. 

It sat there the entire meal and once we were done eating and were just gabbing I kept watching the top melt into a soupy puddle and contemplated tapping it with the spoon and telling her not to forget her frosty. Pregnancy brain and all that.

But then she grabbed the spoon and ripped it out of the bag and I was glad I hadn't insulted her intelligence by reminding her to eat the soft serve when she proffered the spoon to me and my brain sputtered and died and I stared stupidly at the little bit of plastic.

[actual footage of my brain activity at that moment]

Through a compilation of half formed sentences and much laughter we finally figured out that I must have heard wrong and I slurped down the remaining unmelted chocolate goodness. 

When we finally parted ways I went home and excitedly showed my flustered husband the cute baby garments I had purchased for the baby shower and he looked at me with wide eyes and asked slowly, "Those...aren't for us, right?"

I assured him quickly they weren't but then sheepishly pulled out the little dress and amended, "...but this is."

The following facial expressions went a little like this...

I should probably care a little more. But I don't. It's cute and it was $1.50 and it's entirely possible my unconceived child will hate it. 

At the very least it will make an adorable first halloween costume (I'll try to upload a picture at some point, it's very Heidi-esque) when they can actually walk around and get candy themselves rather than lay sluggishly in my arms or the stroller as a lump of fabric attempting to be a cute animal or whatnot. 

My dad's sister from Iowa was in town with her family so we had a gluttonous foodie extravaganza at my uncle's house. He's a superb cook so there were hamburgers and grilled chicken and bacon-wrapped shrimp and the most delectable baked beans you ever tasted and salads and jello mousse stuff and chips and salsas and general yumminess. I had the chicken but I put sliced jalapenos and hot sauce on it. That's what we call "poor life choices". In other words, we ate too much. Naturally. 

My mom is basically my favorite human and here's one reason why; we were all sitting around talking and laughing and without getting into the conversation details my dad was walking around serving the bacon shrimps (aka shoving the bowlful under everyone's noses) and as he passed my mom she was cracking some joke but he wasn't listening so she called out to him, "No listen, this is actually funny..." and I don't even remember what the joke was because the most important part is she was totally comfortable setting up the spotlight like that. 

Twenty-four years of marriage means smacking your partner upside the head and exclaiming, "Pay attention to me, ya idjit." Apparently. 

Highlight of my evening.

When we got home we slumped on the couch with our protruding food babies and watched Jurassic Park III because he wouldn't watch the first one with me. I love the third too but my sisters and I used to watch that one all the time so I have too much of it memorized. Not that I don't have the first memorized, but...it's just better, okay!

All in all, it was a wonderful, much-too-quick saturday and I wish it had stuck around longer. 

Sunday was delightful. We woke up late, made an absolutely scrumptious banana cake later in the evening in between watching LotR bonus features and the first movie. We didn't have real milk, only a can of coconut milk which I was wary about, having never baked with it before. And the recipe called for buttermilk even. Hope was worried.

But guys, it was so tasty. Not to mention we only had bittersweet chocolate chips rather than semi-sweet so it could have been a disaster. But it wasn't.

It was so yummy. 

There was a slight mishap getting it out of the pan so it wasn't exactly pretty and I didn't take any pictures but I will be making it again. Probably mostly to get rid of the coconut milk. 

So we ate cake and scolded Odin for licking most of the frosting out of the tupperware in the time it took for us to go downstairs and bring up the cooled cake, (he's very good about not eating food that isn't his, but I guess that buttercream icing was too much of a temptation. I know that feel) while watching Fellowship of the Ring. I also colored three different pages in the My Little Pony coloring book I bought a few years ago. I think it was for a road trip with my mom and sisters so it has to be at least a couple years old. Haven't done near enough coloring lately.

And then I made a card for our anniversary today because we both agreed to not buy gifts this year and just save the money. But I couldn't bear not doing anything to celebrate two years of marriage. Plus, everyone loves homemade cards, right?

And this is what I'm talking about. Our life is terribly boring and mundane, but really quite wonderful. Boring is not a bad thing. I like boring. I am boring. 

I can deal with boring.

In Which I Random

It has come to my attention that I have been raising a bit of a "hullabaloo" lately. Although, I was already aware of how outspoken I have been lately but then it was made known to me that other people have noticed and then I remembered that this is a public blog and actual real-life humans can access it.
So this is me apologizing for flying the Srs Bsns Flag for so long.

[^^my facial expression the last, like, month and a half]

As soon as I can think of anything interesting to talk about we'll get back to our regularly scheduled nonsensical silly postings.

Adulthood is so boring. The more responsible and mature I try to become, the less fun and cool things that seem to happen. I mean, unless you count nearly being swarmed and shanked and simultaneously burning my house down as being "cool" and "interesting".
Except by swarmed I mean literally just insects and by shanked I mean stabbed by a clipped tree branch stub because I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and by almost burning my house down I mean I left food on the stove unattended.
What is storytelling if not gross exaggeration and hyperbole?
I was making parmesan chicken and rice [okay quick sidenote: can someone please tell me the secret to fully cooked brown rice?? I feel like it takes twice the liquid and twice the time to get it not crunchy anymore...] and I needed lemon juice/zest. I have never normally stocked lemons so I usually can't complete recipes like this but now we have a fancy lemon factory (aka overfruitful tree) in our backyard so I was like, "Ooh! Lemons! I haz those!" and went out back to pick a lemon. It's frightening how cool I felt being able to step out back for supplies to finish a recipe. This is why I need a garden. And a life.
Regardless, I had a weird soupy concoction of rice, broccoli and carrots and green bell pepper (because I didn't have frozen artichoke hearts so veggies?), and the chicken broth I made up myself from bouillon cement cubes boiling on the stove and probably burning to the bottom of the not non-stick pan but I ran out to grab a lemon because I'm bad at lining up all my ingredients beforehand.
But it's spring-ish and there are citrus blossoms bloomin' everywhere and I nearly stuck my hand in a picnic of bees. So I decided to grab our picker-on-a-stick (what are those called??)

[not an actual depiction of me harvesting fruit]

[considering those are grapefruit]

But in reaching for it behind the tree I forgot the exact location of every sharp branch stump sticking off of the tree and I backed into a particularly painful one on my way back out.
I prevailed however, grated and sliced my fresh lemon to add to the pot and then quartered it and sent the lemon down the garbage disposal. I love having citrus trees right in our backyard.

I never got the rice uncrunchy. Sigh.

I bought a random book, "20 Common Irish Tales" from Goodwill last time I was there (like a week and a half ago, I have a problem) and began reading some of the stories and it's kind of traumatizing me. They're less like leprechaun fairy tales and more like legends from the history of Ireland. Which is still fascinating! But not exactly the taste of culture I hoped to share with my children at bedtime. But it did give me a couple new favorites for baby names.
Gaelic is a beeping trip through crazyland, amirite? Like, I thought french was bad with the whole extraneous, superfluous letters and junk but Gaelic takes the cake.
All who have watched "Leap Year" know the frustration of Anna when she's in the pub trying to ask the bartender a question and the back of his jersey is inscribed with something like "Eoghan" and it's supposed to be pronounced "Owen". (I am also plagued with the frustration of not being in Ireland with a hunky irish man guiding me across country with a hunky name like "Declan". I can handle Declan. Life is rough. I'm married. Oops.) But that's honestly one of the more understandable ones. Or I guess easily understood because I'm sure if I actually studied the language and knew the logistics it would all make relative sense.
But "Conchubar"? Connor.
Aoife? That's an incredible vowel to consonant ratio. Phonetic spelling "Eefa".
And then there are the stories that don't include a pronunciation guide and my brain dies a little inside.
I'm just a dumb, airheaded American gaiz. I can't handle culture and languages and words are hard.

Warning! Do not read further if you have not seen Frozen!

Really though I don't want to ruin it for you.

Spoilers Spoilers Spoilers!

Switching gears, can we talk for a second about Frozen but not at all what you're thinking! I promise! How totally awkward and weird is "Love is an Open Door" now that Hans has been found out? What has to be going through his head this whole quirky number?

italics = song lyrics
bold italics = Hans' real thoughts

All my life has been a series of doors in my face... sah-weet! damaged and insecure, this will be easy.
Sliding down the hall what are we doing, I am an effing prince, this is so stupid, I hope no one sees.
We finish each others'...-sandwiches! what the actual wat.

Jinx! Jinx again! are we in junior high? maybe this wasn't such a good idea
Our mental synchronization oh please not the robot can have but one explanation yep, it's the robot
Life could be so much more with you, with you, WITH YOU, WITH YOU please stahp, don't say it one more time, is this like that orange knock-knock joke, seriously maybe I should just throw her off the cliff now

That is some intense dedication to evil plottery. Which makes it all the more startling and heartwrenching when he, mid-kiss buildup, reveals his true intentions.

But anyway, the sandwich line cracks me up. He can't handle the quirk. Quirk-it, gurrrl.

Don't Hate Me cuz I'm Controversial

Also, it's not my fault.
I was avoiding speaking out on it because I didn't want to be controversial just for controversy's sake. And also it's a complicated topic for me to put in adequate words. But then it got shared on my facebook wall. So now I'm gonna talk about it.

Ready for it?
I hate this parody.
It's really all fine and dandy under the first minute mark, I understand that a parody is used, in essence, to mock and trivialize its subject. It's intended to be merely humorous. But then "Elsa" takes to pointing fingers and, really, shaming the other Princesses for the surface faults of their relationships and then I have a problem.
"You got slipped a roofie." By the evil queen. Snow White was a brainwashed, trusting child that should've known not to take food from strangers. I'm sorry, how exactly do you suggest she get out of her drug induced coma without the aid of somebody. Not to mention the only cure for said "roofie" is True Love's Kiss. So take issue with the dogma then, not the character. Jessica Rabbit comes to mind, having said, "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way."
"You fell for a cheat." What? What form of the word "cheat" are you using here? Aladdin lied and stole and created a false persona to impress the Princess but when did he ever cheat? I guess we could call him impersonating a prince "cheating" but it all gets undone in the end. At the end of the movie Jasmine chooses humble, streetrat Aladdin. She hated Prince Ali until the inner Aladdin started surfacing. Remember that?
"You got really lucky, you've got tiny feet." OH, so "cheat" is to rhyme with "feet". Fine. But this is a terrible criticism. The Fairy Godmother created Cinderella's entire wardrobe so yeah the shoes would fit only her feet. Glass slippers aren't sneakers, or Toms, they aren't nice, pliable fabric that conforms to a general foot size. A glass slipper that would be even remotely comfortable would have to be a basic casting of Cinderella's exact foot. Luck had nothing to do with it. And what does this even have to do with Cinderella needing a man or not?? Sure, the small feet dilemma is convenient to the movie plot but that's not to say that the shoe couldn't have fit Drizella or Anastasia, resulting in either being swept off to the Prince and him taking one look at them and saying, "Nope. Not the girl I danced with FOR HOURS." The logic of the whole movie is off, we all know that. Move on.
"You've got Stockholm Syndrome." Yes, it can be construed that way. In fact, by looking at definitions it would seem that's exactly what it is. But it's a very shallow case of Stockholm Syndrome, based merely in the fact that Belle was forced to stay in the castle and the Beast yelled at her a couple times. (Yelling is not okay. Use your calm words.) Without that little fact it all falls to bits. These are all the complaints we've already heard for years and years. The Beast is, at most, brutish and rude to Belle on a couple of occasions. The most villainous part is when he forces her to choose between remaining in the castle to save her father and being allowed to leave. Which is bad. Yes. Not cool. But it would not a drama make if he was like, "Muahaha I have your dad you must choose except I'm sorry, you're allowed to go and of course your dad can leave too, would you like some hot cocoa?" The movie is about redemption and what truly defines us as humans. What separates us as man from beast. I, for one, agree with this forum posting about Gaston being one of the most scarily realistic villains. Maybe we should worry more about the evil lurking behind ignorance and close-mindedness more than Belle using her talents to help heal a broken spirit.

[I am not encouraging the act of sacrificing life and limb to help those who are holding you back from living your life. I also do not think that the Beast ever had the intentions of doing Belle harm. That was the last thing from his mind. He was an idiot for trying to control her, but as Belle proved, she was not the type to be controlled. If anything, she teaches to not take anybody's crap and fight for the treatment you deserve. So please don't twist this into me advocating man's control over woman. That is not what I mean at all.]

"You're a spoiled brat..." who doesn't deserve love? What does that mean? What are you saying? Spoiled brats need to stick out their lives alone to be bratty and prove that even brats don't need men in their lives? What? Okay, fine you just needed another rhyme. Whatever.
"You had special talents, but gave them up like that!" A regrettable decision, but one that would contractually require the return of her talents once she succeeded in what she was trying to achieve. Who of us hasn't given up some dream in the efforts of making another come true? Feminism doesn't mean getting everything you want when you want it always, it's being able to make the choice to go after the things that you do want. Ariel gave up her voice to "become human". Not "get Eric handed over on a silver platter". (ew weird images.) She already wanted to be human before she saw Eric. He's just a bonus prize to her already formed dreams.
"Why be confined to hiding behind true love?" If any of these princesses became less of themselves because of the addition of their princes, then I would agree with this sentiment. This argument isn't that these individual princesses and their storylines shouldn't have ended up linked to a male partner at the conclusion, this parody is whining that Disney has stuck to a formula for their princess movies. I do agree that it is unfortunate that we don't have more female role models that write their own story unmarred by love interest and romance. But I also notice that Mulan and Merida and Pocahontas and Rapunzel and Tiana are missing from this opening sequence. Are we expecting every female character to uphold the laws of perceived "Feminism" by not having anything to do with men ever?
"You just haven't found him yet." This is a terrible statement and we really do need to stop saying this to people. It is neither comforting or encouraging.
"Nothing else matters, nothing but him." Scary blanket statements that don't truly reflect the values that these Princesses did fight for in their movies. I hardly think any of them turned into mindless love zombies the moment the prince figure walked into their lives.
"I dreamed of daring quests." What? WHAT? Who the beep says that Belle and Prince Adam didn't go on incredibly daring quests after they restored the castle to it's former glory? As if her time in the castle before the curse was broken wasn't a daring quest in and of itself. She sacrificed herself for family, I'm not sure how much more daring it gets.
"Seeing the world from east to west..." Exactly what I said before, Ariel got herself out of her confined ocean world and found somebody to share her travels with. Show me where it says her and Eric don't go traveling. Maybe she becomes the Ambassador for their kingdom and travels as much as her little heart desires!
"Instead of just sitting inside, stuck in this princess stereotype..." projecting commitment insecurities onto fictional stories that give no indication of the fruition of such "stereotypes" is a waste of everyone's time. The only stereotype that is followed in all these mentioned movies is 'Princess finds Prince', 'Prince helps Princess in some way', 'Princess loves Prince' I don't know where it is determined that they proceed to be "sitting inside" and doing nothing for the rest of their royal lives. Love, marriage, and commitment do not necessitate dropping every dream you've ever had. Often, and when done correctly, it provides a cheerleader, a motivator, and a strength in following those very dreams.

"I'm who I am, I don't need a man." True story. Totally true. I agree, wholeheartedly. However, this parody and this "revolutionary" idea that is sweeping through Disney critics is missing one important caveat that I would like to add.
"I'm who I am, I don't need a man, but it's okay if you do."
It is beautiful and wonderful to realize and know that as a woman I can solve my own problems and choose to do what I wish with my life without needing the attachment of a male partner to do the hard lifting or legitimize the things that I do. But the rampaging movement to cram this idea down the throats of women (and girls) today in the name of "empowerment" is also tagging along an unfortunate case of shaming.
How dare I get married young?
Have you ever been a "damsel in distress", even occasionally, and let yourself accept the help of a charming, attractive male? Go sit in a corner with your shriveled uterus and think about what you've done.
How could I throw away my female prowess and commit myself to a lifetime with another person, a venemous male even, and content myself with a life of being just a lowly "wife"?
What could I possibly do with my life as a wife that will be even remotely important?
That's the greatest part about Feminism. It's my choice what to do with that little thing called MY life.

I will reiterate, the video is cute and I appreciate the idea of it, I just take issue with some lyric choices and the absolute, ultimatum nature of them. I am who I am, and you can't define what that means. Maybe stop pointing fingers and just, ask questions.
"You got slipped a roofie....that must have been terrible. Wanna go get Jamba Juice and chat?"
"You fell for a cheat...but why? I don't understand your relationship, help me understand."
"You got really lucky you've got tiny feet but I totes understand that that's just genetics, do you need to talk about your traumatic childhood? I'll bring the Ben & Jerry's."
"You've got Stockholm Syndrome...but I'm not a psychiatrist, I've only taken a semester of PSY101 in community college. How many books in your craze-amaze library have you read? Can I come visit sometime?"
"You're a spoiled brat...I'm sorry, that was harsh. What was it like living secluded in the forest your whole life and then finding out you're a princess and you live in a castle and you wear a crown and huge ball gowns and woah, an arranged marriage??"
"You had special talents and gave them up like that....oh, wait no you do have a voice? Oh, you got it back! oh okay. I play the mandolin, wanna jam sesh this weekend?"
Instead of demanding that every human with boobs and a vajay live up to your standards of cheap, bullying Feminism, maybe try treating your fellow woman with the same respect and interest and caring you wish to receive.
When will feminism be more about the women involved and less about being the best kind of feminist?

I don't know why I did this, but it felt good...

I enjoy burping.

But I'm considerate enough to try and keep it to a minimum when I'm around people I don't know (and thus am not aware of their expected level of etiquette) and people I do know that don't appreciate it.

So basically, just tell me, "ew, that grosses me out. Stahp."

And I will.

I like big trucks that are dirty and look at home in the backwoods.

But if I ever wanted a "nice" truck I like the Nissan Titan.

I like listening to the Bluegrass Banjo station on pandora because it makes me feel like I'm in Critter Country (Disneyland).

I also really like sneezing.

I already play piano and harp pretty well but I'd love to be proficient at acoustic guitar, drum kit and steel drums, bagpipes, french horn, cello, and maybe even be able to sing out loud in front of people without freezing up and becoming instantly tone deaf. 

I love food.

Hot dogs, cheeseburgers, turkey legs, french fries, potatoes in any form really, except sweet potatoes, steak, mac and cheese, spaghetti, pasta basically, shrimp, and obviously bacon but most especially spiral cut ham at Christmas. 

I also thoroughly enjoy broccoli of the steamed variety.

Baked goods are my literal soulmate. Because I'm 90% positive my soul is located in my stomach. It might be my stomach. I'm not too sure, I can't really get a good look at it.

I am a big fan of beverages, but I somehow manage to maintain a constant state of dehydration.

It may be because I don't like peeing.

Or going to the bathroom at all really.

I have confused views on my own opinions so I don't talk about them much.

I will do most anything to avoid confrontation.

And debating.

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

I loathe being tickled. Even though it makes me laugh. It only takes a straight minute of tickling for me to start feeling like I can't breathe and then there are usually tears and the possibility of farting.

I don't trust farts.

Mine or otherwise.

I am irrationally afraid of things falling in the toilet.

I cannot come up with an adequate explanation of why that is.

I love a butt-ton of animals. My favorites though are Moose and Otters and Hedgehogs. 

I would like to make it clear however that the latter two have long been my favorites, even since before all this OtterLock business.

(Which I highly enjoy.)

Zoos are my sanctuary.

It's probably why I'm so much more entertained by Jungle Cruise than seemingly most people. I find it highly disappointing when I visit Disneyland and don't get to ride.

Speaking of which; DISNEYLAND IS EVERYTHING.

Disney. Pretty much. All the time.

I won't say I regret leaving the college program early, but I sincerely wish I could go back to working for them. I need more Carsland in my life. Pronto!

I am currently dying to go to the lake and just chill for the weekend.

Camping completes my soul.

My whole outlook on life can be brightened by simply tossing some essentials in the back of the truck and driving out into the wilderness to hang out in the good ole outdoors for a couple days. 

I am completely content to ignore all current obligations and just read a book.

Or laze on the couch outside and listen to the birds.

I sincerely miss rain. Monsoon season isn't enough for me.

Gray is my absolute, unequivocal favorite color.

I don't care that it's technically a "shade".

Shaddup.

Gray, cloudy days are my bread and butter.

But the sun is my secret lover.

I love my freckles.

I am regularly depressed that they have faded from my face. I wish to get them back.

Hello, cancer.

Sometimes I get worried that I have no idea what my family medical history is (because adoption, whattup) because maybe I might die.

I mean, I'll die anyway. 

Moving on.

If I get to be 80 and the thing I've spent the most money on is traveling and books, then I'll have spent my life wisely. IMHO

I'd rather spend my money on adventure and learning, and spend my time with my children adventuring and learning.

My kids won't be [terribly] spoiled. I hope.

Time trumps things.

I miss my bicycle.

Reading a book in a tree is an activity I sorely miss as well.

Somehow I grew up and got fat. How messed up is that?

[Insert Dr. Seuss joke]

I consider it a massive let down that I'm not a mermaid.

I desperately love the idea of riding horses but it seems that every time I get on one I can't contain the fear and panic and the horse, obvsly, sets off running. It's a complicated relationship.

I have the dire wish to be good at "art" but I can't find my own style.

It's frustrating.

I love, love, love getting to know people and "reading" their stories but I hate being recognized myself.

"So why do you blog??"

I got better.

And I also got sick of hand cramps and ink stains.

But seriously if I could be that proverbial "fly on the wall" it would be a dream come true.

Not cuz I wanna spy on people, I just....I like stories.

People are stories.

And each one is different.

And I wanna "read" them all.

My birth-father was ambidextrous.

I am barely monodextrous.

When I was in like, fifth grade (?) I sat behind a girl who had beautiful, clear handwriting and I looked at my sloppy mess and decided I wanted to have nice handwriting.

So I did! I wrote pretty and it was fab.

But then I hit high school and taking time to write things became superfluous and it slowly degraded into a weird morphing of print and cursive that has stuck with me.

I was into calligraphy for like, a month.

I'm trying to convince myself this post is simply a ploy to "find myself" and further solidify who I want to be rather than a disgustingly vain practice.

I haven't yet decided either way.

So my solution is to just avoid decisions and stop.

This is good plan.

Bored Read Pending

I have had a busy week being simultaneously sick and uncharacteristically controversial on social media. If you've been following this blog at all, you'll probably agree that normally my posting MO is that of silliness and ridiculous random. Last weekend I got painfully ill and beginning of this week the illness spread to my spirit as I came across some foul opinion vomit on the internet. Rather than hash over it again, though I'm still sick at heart over the subject, I'm here to just...ramble a little bit.
There's a lot going on in the lives of Mark and Hope while at the same time nothing is happening. Or rather, progressing. 2014 has turned out to be the year to make every difficult, adult-life decision ever and under an alarming time crunch as well.

So now I'm here trying to simplify my life a smidge and just be silly for a minute.
My dog is a big, heavy ball of wimp. We had leftover BBQ pulled pork sandwiches for dinner last night and the tupperware was slathered in tasty bits of sauce and meat and we let Odin lick at it a little bit. We had it on the floor but the poor guy has to perform a sort of yoga pose that looks remarkably like a giraffe at the watering hole to get near enough to the ground to eat, so we tried to stick it into his raised food bowl.
The second he licked at it and it made a slight scraping noise against his metal bowl he skittered away and wouldn't go near it again until we put it back on the floor. He approached cautiously, glancing up at us with sad, drooping eyelids as if convinced we were pulling some cruel trick and at any moment the tupperware would clamp on to the end of his nose.
We were laying on the floor after rough housing with him the other day and whereas usually his tail remains tucked securely down close to his body, at the time he had it swinging in full force. (We're not sure why exactly he does this, he is a very happy dog and his tail is almost always wagging, but just close to his body.) As his tail was swinging wide and fast he accidentally whomped the cedar hope chest we have set up in front of the couch. He jumped and swung his large head around wildly searching for the source of the startling noise.
I'm also pretty sure he thinks our favorite family activity is getting rubbed all over our bodies with his slimy, slobbery, grimy face just after he's eaten food. He doesn't do this any other time of the day. Or maybe he thinks we're his personal napkins. We've begun to have paper towels lying around the house for these exact moments so we can wipe his face clean.
So basically we love him.
Speaking of love and family, maybe now's a good time to showcase the types of conversations my husband and I have on almost a daily basis:

[Disclaimer]

I have a small inkling that this sort of thing may bug some people.

So how about you bug off whilst I showcase the silly relationship that I so enjoy in my marriage.

Gaiz.

Panic. Greatly panic.

I got a new phone recently. I don't know if I can access my screenshots anymoar.

#sadllama

Although.

In scouring bloggers photo adding capabilities I found...things.

I don't know how this started happening and it is of no fault of my own

(aka I can't take credit for this awesomeness)

but I guess my phone is a gif machine?

Sort of?

Like, wut is even happening?

It's glorious but I don't understand. 

It really likes the snow one. Almost every picture from New York has that...

added feature.

Okay no seriously, I'm gonna figure this out.

I guess screenshots aren't added to blogger in the "from my phone" tab.

To ze Google Drive!

[cue Batman transition]

Yep. Okay. That'll work.

But it's too late now. I will make another post later.

This one's already so crazy. 

BEEP! The blogger meetup isn't until March? Daaang I thought it was this month. #sadllamajr. I sincerely wish it was easier to get together more often with blogging friends because they are the funniest, most uplifting ladies around. But the internet is misleading in the fact that it seems like you're all so close and gathered in one convenient location but in reality it's like, "Dude. you live in a different state. Why." Not to mention children and businesses and jobs and life. 

Adulthood is just so very overrated. Hyped up bunch of nonsense. But the people are pretty cool. 

LET ME LOVE YOU!!

Choo Choo!

Train of thought that I just had right now;

Missisauga - Wreck it, Ralph!

How does the magical land of Canada turn into a Disney film?

Missisauga - Sauga - Saga - Candy Crush Saga - King Candy - Wreck it, Ralph!

What is brain and why?

Today has been so bizarre. Bizarro!

I woke up fighting the urge to take a sick day and just attempt to catch up on life but then I remembered $$$ dolla dolla billz, so I dragged myself out of bed and pinned my hair back and pretended like I'm a high functioning adult with admirable grown up qualities such as the ability to pack a decent lunch.
I made it as far as hot pocket.
Baby steps.
The drive was fine, other than time travelling of course, because I could swear I was running late, I went my normal cruise speed of 65 and got to work 5 minutes early so I sat in my car and acted like it was on purpose.
I went inside and set down to work and everything was grand. And then it was lunchtime and I remembered quite suddenly that I had finished the Harry Potter series last night and I kind of wanted to just lay in the break room and sob.
But instead I decided, "I'll just go on a nice refreshing walk, then! I haven't gone out to the nifty scenic dirt road at the edge of our office complex for a few months..." and I proverbially patted myself on the back for choosing a heart healthy way to spend my lunch hour.
Except I'm a law abider and they finally put up a sign :(

I need front facing camera to take pictures, it turns out. So the letters are backwards, DEAL.
So after I wasted my lunch hour sitting in the dirt and watching funny youtube vloggers, I headed back in to work and was met with the glorious sight of a large Costco cake in the break room. There aren't even any birthday's happening in the office right now. I guess one of the guys was out and about and just decided the break room was severely lacking in the "cake" department. At least some people are staying on top of things...
I am sup totes confuzzled by payroll right now. We were gone two weeks ago (two weeks??! is that all it's been??) and I got a text from a coworker saying that my check had gone to some random other plant for some unknown reason which is fine, we're not scrapped or anything, but then I got back and yesterday...no, two days ago I got an email with no other information inside but "797881264***"...luckily, at least the subject line said "FedEx tracking" so I knew to try and put that in there.
But then it said "Expected Delivery Date: 12/02/2014" and I dunno that seemed a tiny bit off to me. Regardless of what the tracking number was really for considering I have no way to know if it was actually for my paycheck or some other random thing that I've just forgot about because that is also highly likely. Probable, even.
They still haven't answered my emails.
Most likely because of Mother Nature and her tendency lately to end all things work related on the east coast.
I need answers, people!
So basically, I resolved to face up to adulthood a week ago and all of a sudden it's caught up with me and weird crap is popping up all over and I definitely shoulda just stayed huddled under my blanket this morning. Cuz I didn't even finish my cake it was making me feel sick. Probably unaided by my poorly thought-out decision in helping myself to a absolutely hugetastic piece. #sugaroverload
But really about the adulthood thing, Mark and I are making grocery list and actually preparing and cooking meals and writing down chores on the calendar and checking them off when we've done them. It's going relatively well. Except for today, of course. Whatever rabbit hole I fell down.

[WARNING: Spiders ahead]

So I had this dream last night.

And I'm pretty sure it was because of the nasty bunches of cobwebs that I had to clear from our bookshelves as I was rearranging our book collection last night. Yech.

But I dreamt of this old abandoned Victorian house that me and my sisters were going to be staying in for some reason. I missed the beginning part of my dream where everything gets explained, it would seem. But then I was watching this video feed from a security camera in the old house (?) 

and it was following a child that looked like Samara wearing a pale blue, frilly dress as she walked through the door into the kitchen.

But she had a mean face.

And only I could see her.

But then we were in the house, my sisters were running around like crazies, screaming, and pointing at a grotesque looking spider in the corner above the stove. It was large, the size of my palm, and had sharply angled legs and a white, glassy bum that was swollen to the size of a tennis ball.

I had a ziploc bag I was trying to shut it into, but when I touched the web it dropped into the air, swinging around on it's web and obviously trying to get into my hair.

I swooped it out of the air into my ziploc bag but whenever I tried to zip it shut, it would scurry it's way back out of the back so I was stuck trying to shake it back down to the bottom and get the bag closed. 

I eventually did but then suddenly it's legs were 10 inches long, thick and covered in bristly hairs as it wriggled out of the bag and scratching my hands.

I was really worried about smashing it for some reason, like it would only multiply if I punctured the milky sac that was it's butt...

Guys, it was a terrible dream.

I also hallucinated twice during the night, waking up and thinking I could see large bugs scrambling along our ceiling or up the bed posts. The first time there actually was something moving along the ceiling but Mark woke up with me and assured me it was just a reflection of light dancing across the room from a moving car. Ah, the joys of having to remove proper eyesight for the night in the form of glasses and contacts.

All things considered, I should hate sleeping.

But I don't.

It's my second favorite hobby.

#naps4adults

Well this post has been sufficiently random. Bless you for making it all the way through. You deserve a cookie.

Jumping on the Hogwarts Train...aka Bandwagon

As much as I am completely satisfied with the way Hogwarts romances turned out regardless of JKR's surprising interview reveal, I am slightly bothered by the outpouring of articles (here's one example) arguing the validity of Ron and Hermione's relationship. GUYS. You're using bits of evidence from the books that JKR wrote, rendering them completely null and void in light of her recent comments. You get what I'm saying?
Throwing down examples of how Ron is devoted to Hermione and she keeps him from slumming through life is exactly why those of us who ship Romione love them, but it proves nothing. JKR wrote it that way. She just discredited her own writing. All those moments between Ron and Hermione are complete bull now, according to the very author who originated them.
I, personally, wonder if JKR will inevitably regret her proclaimed misgivings on her already well-established writings more than having written them they way she did in the first place. Everyone already loves Harry Potter. What was the need to admit that she was second-guessing herself? Calling it "wish fulfillment" is a bit disconcerting considering the entire series could very well be classified as such. I cringe to admit that it seems a bit of a ploy to remain relevant and maintain that pedestal of devoted interest she's enjoyed these many years.
And again, I am completely happy with the way the books turned out. While I was reading them I felt a twinge of dissatisfaction when Ron and Hermione began drifting together and instead wanted Hermione and Harry to end up together, but then Ginny was brought back as a more well-developed and entertaining character and I was completely taken over by Harry and Ginny. Movie Ginny is disappointing and I'm sorry Bonnie Wright didn't get a better chance to portray her as the fiesty, witty ball of gumption that I love from the books. I'm surprised I don't see more Harry/Ginny supporters popping up with this new viral controversy stirring the pot cauldron.
I would however, love to know how that would have effected the books. At what point would the story arc have changed? How exactly would the hunt for the Horcruxes have gone down and how would it have been different if Harry and Hermione were the ones harboring deep-rooted affections? Would Ron have left? What would he have seen while attempting to destroy the horcrux instead of Harry and Hermione kissing? Or was he still to be the third wheel crushing on his best mate's girl? Very intriguing to wonder what the books could have been like if Rowling had, apparently, gone a different route.
But beep you, JKR, and your weird publicity stunt. I like it the way it is.

Just kidding I love you O goddess divine.

Guess how much I love my short hair...

• Guess how long it takes to blow dry my hair in the morning:
• I don't even know because before I could think to time it I was done.
• Guess how much conditioner I have to splort into my hands:
• Definitely not near the amount I accidentally ended up with because my muscle memory is having a hard time adjusting.
• Guess how hard it is to keep the hair out of my face:
• One simple swipe is enough. One. No bobby pins, no hair ties, no clips. WUT.
• Guess how obnoxious it is to ride in a vehicle with the windows down:
• It's not.

K, but srsly tho.

Blow drying my hair when it was long was a 10 minute ordeal, at least, to get it semi-presentable and leave the inner layers in a partially damp state that would generally stick around till the end of the day. And that's not including the pre-drying combing. 

I had the sense to realize I didn't need as much product as usual when I was getting the shampoo but then I underestimated my own strength and ended up with a big pile of conditioner that I totally didn't need. And my bottle is not conducive to deftly sucking the excess back in. #sadpanda

I literally just have to run my fingers through it to get it out of my face. It's so light it just holds itself up. Before, there was so much, I couldn't really do much to keep it from hanging in front of my eyes. It wouldn't even tuck behind my ears because it was so thick.
We took our "Pirate-mobile" to get groceries a few weeks ago. It's a home-made convertible. Normally I would have to braid my hair or twist it tightly and hold the ends to keep from ending up with a tangled hot mess. But now, I just throw caution (or in this case, my short tresses) to the wind and it's great. It doesn't blow into my mouth or wind around my neck in an awkward chokehold.
Going even three days without shampooing is not a dangerous endeavor and most of the time my bedhead just means a delightful amount of volume.

In essence, if I can bring myself to keep paying for it, I might be keeping the short cut around for a while. At least over the summer because I can't wait to swim with this.

^that's actually not a gif of me. Surprise.