Can You Find The Chupastar?

I know you know what is missing around here on c jane enjoy it.

Chup's photos.

(The above is one he took last year and according to me that is so passe. Passe without the accent on the e because I am too lazy to learn how to keyboard.)

Let's encourage Chup to be brave and take more daily photos.

You might even post some suggestions, ideas and the like.

And if you say, "I'd like to see c jane's Christmas bird ornaments", then you are officially my new best friend, because I worked on those suckas for the better part of November and dang right I want to show them off.

Yesterdays at Segullah

Do not shrink from clicking this link.

(Or you could meet my friend Haley who has just given birth to her own blog.)

Lighting Up A Mid-Season Monday

After a week's sojourn in Idaho a girl needs her Cafe Rio, so we went yesterday and got cozy in line with two girls from the Bon Losee Hair Academy who took every opportunity to look me up and down. Why do we do that? What does that up-and-down look say, exactly? Chup, who witnessed the optical drama first hand kept coming up with excuses, like for instance, "The one girl is self-conscious about her hard-working denim vest and sees you in your turtleneck and boots and is giving you props (with her eyes) for doing something she can't at the moment."
Whatever.
I would like to declare to the world that I am going to really work obliterating sizing-up staring because I think women have a tendency to do it (especially to other women) and I don't understand why. Heaven forbid I should do something I plain don't understand. Behavior must be dissected and analyzed before it can be declared useful. Close the textbooks, Sigmund.
Mid-meal we were visited by some of Chup's movie friends. One in particular, Brandon, I have met on dozens of occasions.
"Hi I am Brandon, I don't think we've met." He offers his hand.
I take it.
"Brandon, I have met you so many times before." I declare.
"Really?"
"It's ok." I sense his embarrassment."I am forgettable. Everyone forgets me. It's weird, but it's my life."
Brandon looks me up-and-down.
What is this? Is there a sign that says PLEASE PERUSE WITH EYES on my body?
"I am sure you are not forgettable . . . not with those . . . boots." Says Brandon and disappears into a sea of CF patrons.
Chup missed the exchange and hurried over to make sure Brandon wasn't perverted in his conversing with me.
"You are red." He observes.
"Your friend likes my boots." I note.
Frankly, I don't know what to do about my forgettableness. It rears its head-o-humility mostly around movie/actor types which I have observed first with the acquaintances of my actor/director/brother Topher and his wife/socialite Lisa. Now it's my own husband's crew. I assure you though, tight shirts are not getting it done. Ideas would be useful.
When we returned home yesterday Chup decided to put up our Christmas lights. We chose color this year and they couldn't be cuter in the night sky.
We drove past ~J's house the other night because last year her neighbors went absolutely nuts with the decoration. Having been an eye witness this year, I am certain that they all met up, tripped on acid, and started to decorate. Things were blinking and moving and projecting and chuckling and generally making me dizzy. What is with the giant Frosty/Santa blow-ups? Mark my word, these blow-ups are going to humanize, (think the Marshmallow Man in Ghostbusters) stomp around in the streets looking for good little children to satisfy the emptiness in their bloated bellies. Haven't you heard the song that goes like this:
When they placed it on his head/
He began to dance around.
Later in the evening I stopped by a neighbor's house to check on her overall well-beingness. Turns out, she was quite ill. I asked her what symptoms were manifested.
"Sore throat, coughing, hard to breath." She rambled.
"Oh. I see. Anything else?" I hoped not.
At this point, her ten- year-old came bounding into the room wearing nothing but his Superman hugs and messy hair to offer one more malady,
"She also has a really bad case of the stinky farts."


And suddenly I didn't feel so bad for being forgettable.

When Heaven Grants Prayers For Fun

Chup left me to watch the BYU vs. Utah game alone. The Cougars had scored two effortless touch downs in their first two possessions. I was yelling something about a "walk in the park" and shielding my eyes whenever Coach Wittingham's face appeared on the big screen. Coach Witt is a good coach, but I have some issues with the man that may take some time to resolve. Therefore, I don't like to watch him during live TV. Especially when I am exhaustively trying to pull out all my good Karma for a Cougar win.
I don't have a hatred for the Utes. I went to the University for a whole semester and had a good time. I would have stayed longer, but I was called on a unplanned mission to Montreal. When my brother coached at the U I cheered for them ever so slightly less than I did for BYU. I was happy for their successful 2004 season. It worked out well for my brother who left the Utes the next year and sold his BCS Fiesta Bowl Championship ring to someone who cared. For a tidy sum too, I might add.
I also really like Eric Weddle who essentially is their whole team on either side of the ball. This time I just wanted the Cougars to play like they have all season, which is domination of a lesser athletic conference, but digression is oppression and I shall stop.
No sooner had Chup closed the massive garage door did the Cougars come un-glued. Our offense couldn't produce a play and our go-to-guy Curtis Brown couldn't get down the field with the ball in possession. The second quarter was all the Utes.
At half time I got in the shower to divert the feeling of doom that had shrunk my hope to a small pea-sized particle in my heart. Will the Cougars lose to our rival for five years continuously? What emotion would capsize the rest of the afternoon, evening and ultimately weekend?
In the third quarter I stopped watching. Leaving the TV on so that I could hear the silence or screaming of the crowd, I started to pack for home. I folded laundry and heard roars only somewhat louder than the thumping in my rib cage.
Chup came home well into the fourth quarter. BYU was down, with less than a minute in play and needed a miracle touchdown to win. For the first time all season Chup was fully invested as I watched his hands get shaky.
I left and went outside to watch the sunset.
And I know that I wasn't the only Cougar fan praying at that moment.
I made a promise that if the Cougars could pull off a victory...well, I'll just keep that promise a secret for now. Just know that I do intend on keeping it. I mean, I have to because just as "amen" escaped my lips I heard a collective cheer from Chup, Honey and Ringo which was birthed from the family room, swept out across the hallway, found me in the backyard and leapt out across the canyon to echo for me to hear on the natural replay.
We won.
Chup came running out and picked me up in his arms. TiVo showed that last eternal moment when Beck finds Harline in the end zone for the touch down. I jumped, screamed, ran-in-place, jumping jacks, sang, cheered and ultimately wiped the tears.
Later, I called Andrew who was still at the stadium.
"It's surreal. Wish you were here." He said. And if you never get to hear your brother crying because his team just won the game of a lifetime then trust me, it's why I agreed to come to earth.
The hot chocolate from the BYU dairy on a cold autumn night at LaVell Edward's Stadium probably tempted me as well.



That is if you can be tempted in heaven.


Congrats to the Cougars, and most especially from me, to the hard-working Coach Clark and his ever-present coaching of the o-line from the booth. Viva Las Vegas Baby!

If You Are Looking For Me

I am still in Idaho on my In-law's couch. In about two minutes I will be starting the first DVD of Pride & Prejudice with Jennifer Ehle.
I have in other times been quite loud about my dislike of Kiera Knightly's Lizzie Bennet due to the fact that Lizzie absolutely needs cleavage. I use the word need because I mean it.
Jane Eyre doesn't need cleavage.
Emma Woodhouse doesn't need cleavage.
Anne of Green Gables doesn't need cleavage.
But Elizabeth needs to heave it while she is running around being witty and suprised.
If anyone feels inclined to challenge me on this I must remind you to read your morning paper. Some Russian spy was poisoned with a high dose of radioactive substance and he is blaming Putin. In otherwords, there are more important things to stew about.
(Besides I am right.)
Now, if you will excuse me, I gots to do what I gots to do, baby.

Sentimental at Segullah

Get Well Soon Dad.

Nature vs. Nurture: The War Wages On...

There is, I know, something about my personality and overall demeanor that makes the people in my life very nurturing towards me. I spend a lot of mental exercise on feeling guilty--and somewhat helpless--about this lifestyle.

I think that which is to follow are called "vignettes". Please enjoy:

We went with some friends to dinner recently and as we settled in to our seats I noticed a piece of chocolate cake winking at me from the dessert parlor counter. I told Chup about the exchange, and in two seconds he was buying it for me.
"He is really good to you." observed Justine.
"I know." I sighed.

On Saturday we headed to the Cougar game a bit earlier than usual. As we crossed the street I remembered that my glasses were left behind on my mother's buffet. Not wanting her aunt to have to put forth any more energy than was required by a Cougarfan, my sweet twelve-year-old niece Emily ran back into the house to retrieve them for me. Emily also holds my hand as we walk back from the game every week. She doesn't want me to get lost.

Now reporting from Idaho where my Mother-in-Law, Honey wraps me up in her softest blankets and pillows, places me on her dreamy leather couch and lets me watch any movie I want! I watched "Proof" and "Elizabethtown" which are both about dead fathers. Also Jake G in "Proof" once dated Kirsten D in "Elizabethtown". And my brother Christian reminds me of Orlando B who plays the lead in "Elizabethtown" where Christian served his Christian-related LDS mission.

My Father-in-Law Ringo isn't far behind. He made sure the hot tub was just the right temperature last night so that I could simmer while the cool canyon winds ran their small jet stream fingers through my hair.

Which reminds me of my real father who has spoiled my existence from my human entrance. The man should write a book on how it's done!

And as I was drifting off to sleep last night, all warm in my bed with a view that kills uninspired Insurance Salesmen, I decided that when I am fifty years old I will start nurturing back. The world will encompass a new me. I am going to sit and my stove and cook all the day long and people will just show up at my door for warm soup and hot bread and maybe a back massage (if they don't have back zits) and they can drop their children at my door and there will be crafts and gluing sequins and pony rides. And Chup will have to be the pony because I don't want a real pony because when I am fifty I will have to do all the maintenance for the pony which takes away time from my stove post where I will make my secret chocolate drinks that cures menstrual cramps. And so on.

Because don't get me all wrong, I would start today, except that any of my nurturing attempts fail into a vat of embarrassment. Take for instance my recent mission to cure my mother of a common cold and ended up in engaging her in a therapy session on how I can't get over that Stephanie got the big lips in the family and wondering if I could justify fat injections in my own set. Failed. Fails. Fail.

To sort of quote Lehi, I say there are those who nurture, and those who are nurtured upon. I will be the later for now. It's a good enough ride if you can take the guilt. And as far as that goes I am calling these next twenty years "research" in receiving. In twenty years I will emerge from this sabbatical and sprinkle the humanity cupcake with the nurture of twenty Relief Society presidents and two Nursery leaders.

And now, back to my spot on the couch. Can anyone recommend "Prime"?

Writing My (almost) Local Representative

Dear Sister Pelosi,

I know you are so busy! with all your Political Aspirations and being the first Female Speaker of the House and kissing J.K. and so forth, which is why I am so sorry to bother you with this small question regarding Christmas, but here it goes anyway . . .

What would I rather have for Christmas:

Or

2007 BYU FOOTBALL Season Tickets

Your response means a lot to me.

P.S. Can I call you Nancy?

Heart, heart,

cjane

It's Not That I Have An Eating Disorder, It's That I'm Trying To Be Fashionable.

On Sunday I was chatting with my sister-in-law who is looking extra svelte as of late and I asked her if she had gone and joined herself with a gym.
"Oh no!" she said, "I do the poorman's treadmill."
"Which is?" I asked.
"I run in place every morning."
Which I think is a super idea. She doesn't have to haul the kiddies anywhere. She can watch her own tv and sweat it out without having to pay an insane amount to some silly gym. And yes I said silly because you better believe that I think gyms are the silliest idea ever! They feed compulsions.
But everyone is entitled to their own...(you know the rest.)
The other day I was at Costco and some lady enters in front of us, and it's November and freezing, and she is wearing her little "tennis skirt" with her buttocks hanging out. All I wanted was a cart of lemons. "Ms. Tennis Skirt" wanted to make sure that me and my husband saw her in all her glory. I wanted, so badly to mention that I was sure that at her special gym there were "changing rooms" in which she could change out of her tennis skirt so that she didn't make the whole race of women look more attention-starved than they already are. Don't even get me started...
Now I am grateful that I had that run in with the buttocks of Ms. Tennis Skirt, because it made me remember a quote from the recent General Conference. I can't remember who said it, but it was something about "looking like the world." If I want to wear the fashions of the world (and I do) then I need to have a body like the world (and I don't.)
Here is what you have to do to look good in fashion today: starve, starve, exercise insanely until it becomes an obsession, starve, throw-up, worry, stress and take-up smoking.
Most days I stay in my white robe for as long as I can before I grudgingly get dressed. Clothes just remind me of where I am on the size chart. If suddenly my sweater is too tight, I am on a mental rampage of what caused this tragedy. I hate wearing pants of any flavor, because I have issues with my legs. But I have put the blame on my body for too long. Now I see that it's not my body that is the problem--it's the clothes that I wear.
Instead of excentuating, I want to conceal.
Essentially, I need more mu-mus.
This might be the answer to my allergy of eating. I hate eating and I hate eating even more. I hate that feeling of wearing pants out to dinner and mid-way through the meal being desirous to un-button the top of my pants. If I were wearing a cotton dress instead, I could continue eating and maybe even order dessert.
And never again would I worry about a muffin-top, or leaning over and exposing either the bust or the butt. Or having to wear those lame modest t-shirts that hang over my knees.
I think the Greeks and Romans had the right idea. Just get layers of cotton, embroider here and there and call yourself a dang Goddess. Also, run in place for a half an hour.
I like that idea too.

Hot Orange Rolls At Segullah!

"Mom writes the assignment on the Thanksgiving Dinner invitations. They are hand delivered to your door. Inside the invite awaits your food assignment. That first Thanksgiving I was eagerly awaiting The Knock at our delightful condo on the Upper North side. When it came, I ripped open the envelope and my food assignment slipped out and fell to the floor. Reaching down, I said a prayer, 'Please let me have the relish tray.' I asked."
Read more!

The BIG LETDOWN of 2006

So this is what they told me last night on the news:

"Ohhh it is going to be a blistery morning! Make sure your snow clothes are easily accessible! If you have to commute try leaving a couple hours earlier! Grease your snow shovels! Store extra water! Do you have your food storage? A snowstorm to baptize the Wasatch Front. Tomorrow...just might be...the end of the world! Tuck your little ones in extra tight!"

Last night, sleep eluded me as I thought about the fluffy white stuff spreading thick on my front lawn. I planned my first of the year snowman and placed my pink boots by the front door. And I am looking out the window this morning and it looks like this:

Kids are doing handstands. Puppies, children, green grass.

Watch your back Roland Steadham. Watch your back.

Easy Like Sunday Morning

Years ago I dated a guy who had in his possession a cd entitled "Songs That Make You Want To Love" --which is awesome--and the soundtrack included "Easy Like Sunday Morning" by the class act Faith No More. For the record, that song doesn't make me want to do anything but shop at Albertsons and/or ride in an elevator for an extended period of time.

If you are wondering about this "guy" with this seedy "cd" just know that there was a curb and some kicking on my behalf.

Enter: Chup.

I only mention this because yesterday--and I am not kidding here--was the best Sunday morning I've ever had. As it turns out, the Devil inspired the person in charge of making building arrangements for our church house, and so we start our meetings at 2pm. And if you do the math, that means we get out shortly before midnight. Or what feels like midnight these days. You need a flashlight to get to your car. Not kidding. Ok kidding. (Really not kidding.)

I had no official meetings to go to yesterday, so I stayed in bed until 10:30. Then I decided to make Brenda's Pancakes. I don't know Brenda, only that an enthusiastic woman on my mission gave me this recipe and included a blessing with the card. It reads: May these pancakes bless you in your important work, I pray. Phyllis. You may not believe me, but Brenda's Pancakes got me through some tough times. Being Dear Janed and all...

Chup ate the pancakes with his EYES CLOSED, because MMMMMM they were SO GOOD. And while he was having love with Brenda's Pancakes I started to work on another craft. I am suddenly crafty this season and I've been making do-dads for my Christmas tree. An inner voice warned, "Don't do crafts on the Sabbath" and that was when I picked up some Super Glue (where Elmers would've sufficed) to glue a ribbon onto an ornament, and instead, glued my fingers to the Super Glue bottle on one hand, and on the other, I glued my fingers together. Like really seriously glued them stuck. I started screaming. I thought about having to go to church with the Super Glue cemented to my fingertips. I worried that someone might ask me to lead the music. Imagine that!

Chup acted fast and tenderly helped me unpeel my fingers from whence they were bound. I learned my lesson though, no crafts on the Sabbath. Write that one down in your book of daily thoughts and pleasures.

I had to lie down after all that small, but significant tragedy, so I sat in the sun and read from the Good Word. Chup sat beside me and mocked my recent experience. This continued into Sacrament Meeting as my constant peeling of glue off my fingers distracted his devoted watching of the Primary Program.

The Primary Program is the best. We are still trying to understand why "Scripture Power" is number ONE on the Primary Music Top 40 Countdown, but the kids are loving it these days. I still prefer "Book of Mormon Stories" what with it's Native American-inspired tom-tom beat. Ri-ght-eous-ly.

Ok so I haven't really done a good job at explaining why yesterday morning was so sweet. This is maybe why I didn't do so well at writing papers in college. Sticking to the thesis was never my strong suit.

Brenda's Pancakes

1 1/2 cup white or whole wheat flour

2 tsp. baking powder

3/4 tsp. salt

3 tbsp. sugar

1 egg

1 1/4 milk (I do Vanilla Soy Milk)

3 tbsp. butter

Sift flour, mix and sift all dry ingredients. Beat eggs, add milk and butter. Mix liquid with dry ingredients slowly so there will be no lumps.

-Brenda

An Idea For Date Night, Or Singles Night Out, Or Ladies Night, Or Your Mom's Night In

Last March Chup filmed a reenactment for the Discovery Channel's series I Shouldn't Be Alive. His episode is called Nightmare Canyon and it airs tonight. He plays (seen here in the white coat) the older brother Justin who has a gruesome experience. I have previously viewed it, and I must say it's quite intense (not for the little ones).
Here is the link.

Have a good weekend everybody!

Love Letters From the Men in My Life

Topher, Jesse (Jiss), and Andrew (Lin)
This photo was taking by my lovely sister Nie.

Yesterday was a good e-mail day for me. It first started out with an avatar postcard from Topher which included his autobiographical cartoon portrait, and this little note:


Hello, Cokey!
Since you still have a Yahoo account, I thought you might take a look at my very special avatar. What do you think? It's a dead ringer, eh?
I think you should make one as well. Then you can send postcards like this.
Love, Christopher

"I do have one!" I responded.

Mine's not as good as his. I am just telling you in case you've never seen the both of us. My eyes in this avatar came from some distant alien planet. In real life they come from my mom's side of the family. "Petite eyes" I like to say.

And for the record, that is FAUX FUR, Pamela.

Chup also has one. I am too embarrassed to publish it here. There are yellow rubber boots involved. If this were real life, I don't think my alien avatar would be interested in his avatar because she would know that on this planet, men don't wear yellow rubber boots, unless they firemen. The same thing goes for suspenders.

Then it got even better when an e-mail came from my youngest brother Jesse. We are eagerly awaiting the 6:00 kick-off of the BYU vs. Wyoming game tonight at LaVell Edward's stadium (LES). We have four front row seats on the 40 yard-line and infront of those seats is a large concrete step for visitors to sit. It's prime. I've watched many a game from that step. The opposing team is only about ten feet away from you. And tonight I intend to dish the Cowpokes up some Righteous Hell. And yes, there is such a thing.

Note: He includes a line about "pre-game roast beast" which is the chunk of meat my dad prepares at every tailgate party. The same savory roast that Chup married me for (honesty=best policy) :

The punctuation above, specifically this ) : was NOT meant to be an emoticon. I don't believe in emoticons. Clever, true. But not for this emo-atheist.

If You Could Hie to the LES (sing with the tune of "If you Could Hie to Kolob")

Text: Jesse Clark
Music: English Melody

1.If you could hie to the LES on a chilly night in fall
And then continued inward where the Defense swarms the ball.

Do you think that you could ever, through all eternity
Find a better place than the LES where heaven ought to be

2.Or see the grand beginning when the LES did not exist
Or the first game that was witnessed or the last one that was missed

Me thinks that it would never, in all the very least
Kick off the celebration without the pre-game roast beast.

3.The works of God continue, as we crack the top 25
with Improvement and progression the LES will come alive

There is no end to the season, there's no end to Lavell
There is no end to Bronco, the sheer thought is just pure hell.

4.There is no end to the pre-game
There is no end to George Q
There is no end to the event staff
There is no end to Blue
There is no end to the Haka
There is no end to Coates
There is no end to QB Jo. Beck
There is no end to Bart Oates

5.Its the day before the big game, and I cannot concentrate
The game begins at 6:00 bells and we better not be late.

You can come sit on the first row but there will not be a seat
So you better bring a blanket 'cause you'll be sitting at my feet.

Up to the challenge, as ever, my older brother Andrew shoots back another e-mail and requests that I judge the best of the two:

Twas' the Night Before Kick-Off -by Lin Clark

Twas' the night before kick-off when all thru the house, Lin's duckets were calling, from the envelope they came out. The duckets were hung on the refrigerator with care, with visions of Fui, Curtis, and Harline through the air.
When Lin in his jammies made from the gap, had just settled down for an 8hour pre-game nap. When all of a sudden my dreams turned to the feast, what if the Tola forgets the the tailgate roast beast? When what to my wondering eye should appear but, Cowboy Joe Glenn and 60 necks riding a steer. This had to be a dream, "Powder River Let her Buck" then Lin came off the ledge and remembered the cowboys really suck. Back to bed I went my dreams gone in a whistle, calmly I remebered that Jo. Becks right arm is hotter than a pistol. So tomorrow don't panic, don't worry, don't fright. Dream of the Les, the glory, and the game under the lights. I know in my heart ranked 25 isn't enough. Just cheering at the LES with my brother Jiss gives the cougar game all the right stuff. But I heard Greg Wrubel say to Mark Lyons wednesday night, Happy Cougar Game to all we'll see you Thursday night!

Well, what one would you pick? It's a toughie. Of course, if the Cougs win, we all win.

Next a response from my father who won a very tough (sarcasm) hard-fought (more sarcasm) race on Tuesday night. Here are the official results I think you'll agree that is was a knuckle biter:

You sweetheart. You are the only one to congrat me.

What is this world coming to when a man wins a re-election and NOBODY CARES? Benji Franklin would not approve and neither would Richard from Old Richard's Almanac.

Just when I was hearing the violin strings soundtracking the fullness of my e-mail joy. I found this treasure awaiting my read. This is from MD, my sunshine brother-in-law, whom I blog about often because he pays me ca$h. He says it will "help his practice" and promote "sense in the medical community" and other stuff that I tuned out.

NOTE: MD is a Guitar Hero Master who has been eagerly awaiting installment 2. He pays tribute to me and my wizdom. I didn't pay him. I also didn't ask for his right-to-publish permission. That's how I work:

Guitar Hero II

I would just like to take a moment of your time to bear my testimony about Guitar Hero II. This morning I went to Wal-Mart bright and early to get my copy of the game. The clerk informed me that their shipment had not come in yet and I would have to return later that afternoon. I was distraught brothers and sisters. I have had a few trials in my life, but this one was proving to take its toll. I walked past the rolled back prices on two for one antiseptic wipes and ignored the elderly gentleman in the blue vest wishing me a good morning as I left the store. As I stood in the parking lot I felt totally alone. Well, not really alone, because some thirty something soccer mom ran into me because she wasn't looking where she was going while she was talking on her cell phone. I walked back to the car not knowing what to do next when I received a sign. My head was hung low, so as I approached the car I was looking at the tires. A round object w/ two inter lying concentric circles... it could mean only one thing. I was being guided to Target. I have doubted Target in the past, but never again. They had guitar Hero II and I was quickly back on my way home to experience the joy of Axl, Mick, Steven and the gang as I rocked to over 50 classics on my small but sturdy plastic guitar. I have tasted of the bitter fruit of wal-mart and I shall not return. c jane, I should have listened to you all along, I have returned to the fold. Target is the place for me, I shall wander no more....

Bless you MD. May the peace of Target rest upon your soul and make you whole, I pray.

Now excuse me, I have some replying to get to. You understand.

The Holidays Are Starting Early At Segullah

Find out why this is what I looked like last Christmas. And what I look like every Christmas. What is wrong with me?
"After my mission, I forsook the Christmas commercialization and opted for a new Book of Mormon and a laminated copy of Skousen’s “A Personal Search for the Meaning of the Atonement” which, if you’ve never read, is every missionary’s deep-doctrine-come-true. Being pious was my special Christmas gift to myself."
CLICK THIS!

A Tale Of Two Dogs, a Hero And a Snappy Soundtrack

"I can't find the I-pod!" I yelled down the hall to Chup who was busy blowing up cocaine fields on the computer. Getting the dogs ready for a walk takes great energy. I have to get the proper dog-walking clothes on, lace up my shoes, grab the minimal key ring from out of the turquoise catch-all on the kitchen counter, get the dogs from the kennel, unlatch the front gate, open the back of the car for their ascent and make sure that Ralph doesn't bizness all over Nate's lawn in the process. I could walk them no less than twenty-six times daily and still they'd act like I was taking them to Dog Disneyland with the way they jump, run and yelp into the car.
And pant.
And drool.
Shutting the back window on the car, I noticed Chup was coming out of the house. He was frowning, looking down at something in his hands. In an act of technological bravery a couple of weeks ago, he installed Linux on the I-pod so that we could play games and really good games, and basically be better than everyone else. The Linux was interfering with the Mac music capabilities and Chup couldn't navigate it at the moment.
"I am going without it." The disappointed words fell out of my mouth. The dogs were in the back of the car wrestling. I can't leave them in there long without my leather seats going to, well, the dogs.
The best, best part of my day is walking the dogs. We drive out west to places were they can just run for miles and swim and eat dead things. I turn on my music and walk briskly--and when I do so I can admittedly say that I look like an over-animated 80's aerobics instructor . But I go alone so who cares? Ralph and Dutchy think it's the way humans walk their pets. They never seem embarrassed of me, and I afford them the same when I watch them defecate on the side of the road.
I like to listen to new music everyday. Faithless, Chemical Brothers, Alias soundtracks, or a playlist I made for my Dancing Queen Sister-in-Law Lindsey. Have you heard "Reasons" by Faithless? Oh enchiladas I love that song! But the best cd is one that Topher made me a year ago that has all sorts of funky-beated songs, developing divas and just one Sheryl Crow song that makes me think of Lance Armstrong and I get a little saddy. But most of the cd is bomber and dissolves all my worries.
Driving out west, I tried not to focus on the music-less walk ahead of me. We passed the farm fields and new developments while the dogs pushed their faces into the wind.
When we arrived out on the old road, I unloaded the dogs and watched Dutchy--in haste--chase a flock of birds. I tried to put my face in the sun, smothered by clouds, as I moved. Cars passed us, stopping abruptly when my dogs started to chase the back tires. I always wave on the driver.
"Go ahead, they only do this for a couple yards."
My pace was slow. I was cold. No beats to walk to, no Mates of State to sing with, it was all-too quiet.
Down the road, I heard a car coming up from behind. I stopped and called to the dogs in the distance. Without looking behind me, I waited for the dogs to come running to my side. The car behind me slowed down and started to follow me. My heart started beating faster. I didn't dare look around.
Act as if everything is normal and keep Ralph at your side just in case.
The car edged up closer to my side and stopped. I turned to look at my stalker. The passenger side window was rolled down and the driver was leaning over to open the door. I looked inside to see my I-pod and favorite earplugs sliding over the seat.
"I fixed it." said Chup.
He fixed and then drove all the way out to our walking spot to hand it over. Suddenly the overcastment in the sky trickled over the mountains and a blue sky appeared (not added for poetic embellishment). I immediately turned on the Dandy Warhols "We Used To Be Friends", picked up the pace and watched my stalking hero drive out of sight.

Topher's Some Tunes:
1. Chicago/ Sufjan Stevens
2. The Repudiated Immortals/ Of Montreal
3. Extraordinary Machine/Fionna Apple
4. We Used To Be Friends/The Dandy Warhols
5. Ohio/Damien Jurado (CHUP'S FAVORITE)
6. Eleanor Put Your Boots On/ Franz Ferdinand
7. Pitseleh/Elliot Smith
8. Happyment/Komeda
9. Lay Lady Lay/ Magnet & Gemma Hayes
10. Nothing/ Mason Jennings
11. I Just Can't Get Enough/ Nouvelle Vogue
12. Closer/ matt pond PA
13. Golden/My Morning Jacket
14. Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other Games/Of Montreal
15. Love Affair/Regina Spektor
16. Sylvia Plath/ Ryan Adams
17. Always On Your Side/ Sheryl Crow (RIP Sheryl and Lance)
18. Living Room/ Tegan and Sara
19. The Power Of Orange Knickers/ Tori Amos
20. How To Fight Loneliness/Wilco

Don't Be Silly, I'll Just Tell You

I went to the Association for Mormon Letters Writers Conference with Segullah on Saturday. They even let me present for a couple of minutes on how...um...I forgot what I spoke about. But I would like to mention my peepies who were there:
Queen-and-Editor-of-the-Universe Kathy
Poetess Sharlee
Writer-I-Get-Jealous-Of Kylie
My New Best Friend Melonie
Incredible-All-Around Melissa
Muy-Intelligenced Darlene, Also Flashy Smile.
I don't know if or how often any of them read my personal blog, so all of those compliments probably just went to waste. I only compliment when I think someone is listening. Really because who wants to compliment behind someone's back?
Expressing love and compliment is my way of showing love. I found that out when Page made me take the Love Language test. She didn't really MAKE me, because like this weekend when MD explained to me--via Elder Bednar--we are agents unto ourselves. BUT something about Page's personality impels you to do whatever she asks. Oldest daughter that sort of thing.
Voila! When I show love I do it verbally, with my mouth muscles (not talking about french kissing although Chup may disagree and can you blame him?)
I may not keep in frequent contact, offer hugs (hugs can be disturbing unto me) or offer services (where is this sentence headed?) BUT if I like you, sleep well...or...rest assured...or...whatever that terminology is, I will tell you.
I am realizing also that the more I talk around someone the more I like them. I have a mental list of people who I can't stop my mouth around. MD and Kentucky are tops on my list. As well as my dear friend Naomi. I go to her house to drop something off and suddenly it's Easter.
Here I go again. Another self-absorbent post for the masses. Carp. But carry on.
In the Love Language test you also identify how you like to get love, and that for me is very simple: gifts. Particularly for me: small gifts that cost under $20. Now you know why Target for me is a place of enlightenment and spiritual release from sin. Anything more expensive isn't a gift, it's a decision, and I'd like to be aware of the purchase beforehand. Don't just buy me a Kitchenaid without letting me choose the color (casting a vote for stainless steel today.)
The list of small gifts I have received lately and the giver:
Found on doorstep, divine chocolate cake from swanky Salt Lake Bakery-Azucar
Found on coffee table, meloncholic Halloween music cd compiled by-Topher
Handed to husband for me at church, metallic markers I use daily (see above)-Sister Raintree
Resized large amber ring-S Hod
Honey-hand soap from Bath & Body Works-The Councilwoman
And thus we see, you give me a gift and I will tell you how much I like you. It's really easy being in a relationship with me. Of course, even if you don't get me a small present I will still tell you that I like you. Maybe even love you.

But for heaven's sake, don't let that deter you!



What is your Love Language?

Remember This: Learning to Love Yourself, Is the Greatest Love of All

Ok so my brother is the funniest man alive. And I was just reading his latest post when I followed a link to Celebrity Gossip. If you are a long time reader around here (bless your soul) you know that my weakest link is a desire to inhale Celebrity Gossip, let it buzz around in my brain for a few seconds, and then exhale during drab conversations.
But I kicked the habit recently--no really I did! I haven't even read about the demise of Reecyan Withersphillipe because I am better than that! (Besides, who didn't see that coming? It wasn't news, it was bound to happeness.) So anyway, Chup has an Einstein Bro.'s napkin on his desk and if I don't get some plain cream cheese on a cinnamon and sugar bagel RIGHT NOW I AM SO GOING TO TWITCH!



Yes well, as I was saying. I followed this link and saw this photo of my step-mother Whitney Houston:
I will always love you Whitney. It's good to see intelligence in your eyes again. Me likey the blonde. Me lovey the divorce.

When I was 8 I had an obsession with Whitney--carefully induced by my father who has a weak link for af-am soul singers. He'd buy her albums and anytime we went anywhere as a family Whitney's ballads would come along. I hope she liked all the trips to Laguna Beach.
One time my Dad blasted her music through the speakers on our boat (The Roasted Duck) while camping at Lake Powell. I got on the back of the boat and belted right along with her,
"I'm gonna run to youhoohooho/ So hold me in your arms and keep me safe and warm."
She meant it. I meant it. Invisible musical notes were bouncing off the red canyon walls. My eyes where tightly shut so that I could not just sing, but feel the music. Arms flailing. When the song ended, I looked up to see that a boat of senior citz had stopped to watch my performance. A few of them clapped, most of them laughed. And now I am adding that to my reasons why I don't really like senior citz, and if you are a long time reader of this blog (may thy soul be blessed forever), you know the other reasons that are perched upon that list.
(I think everybody deserves a little prejudice now and then. It's perfectly safe.)
So until she married Bobby Brown and went lunatic (which made my father run away into the sensual arms of Toni Braxton), Whitney and I remained tight. What was with that whole conspiracy she had about Blacks coming from Israel?
She lost me for good at that point. Her singing "I will always love you" crackled and crumbled in the love spots on my brain.
Or so I thought.
I think this is a real comeback she's staging. I can feel it. I haven't consulted with my father yet, but look for us to be the first to buy her newest album. And JT thought he was bringing sexy back. Step aside Mr. Timberlake and Whitney walk through.
I could go on, but I've got to hit Einsteins before the construction worker rush. They all come in and get their coffee. I've seen it before. Officially, I have no prejudices against construction workers mostly because they are hard working individuals that build stuff like Target stores and also because they are on an average good-looking. I have no prejudices against good-looking people. Ugly people? Yes. I am just being honest here.

A Postcard From November First

Note to self: Remember why you write.
This blog is dedicated to perfect days (which never come) so more specifically, perfect moments in imperfect days.
Moments that would pass unnoticed if it were not for a desire to remember them.
Yesterdays moments came with surprises.
I made the front page of the daily newspaper. Well, my pink velour Grandmother-given sweat suit made the paper, to be fully honest.
We went to the movie, "The Prestige" without any prejudices--just a desire to be entertained and to avoid that hateful late afternoon block when the sun stalls in the sky and time drips by. That movie was fabulous! Great ending! Had us talking and thinking and reworking storylines all night long. Plus my girlfriend, Scarlett Johansson, was yet another pathetic scorned lover--the role she was born to play.
After the movie, we watched the credits roll while trying to place the voice of the one who was singing audiences out of the theater. I kept saying,
"It's Travis! I know it!"
Chup stayed unconvinced and we waited around until the soundtrack rolled. Thom Yorke. Lead singer of Radiohead.
I like to leave an empty theater, you get your full money worth, to the very last studio logo.
Later, I found a perfect pillow for my stripped couch, a new autumnal wreath (half-off) now hanging by purple ribbon on my front door, and an improved less-brisly welcome mat. When given a little spending cash it's always dropped on clothes. It was nice to give the house a little make-over. I think it was smiling back at me when I turned the lights off last night.
Ralph and Duchess got an extra-long walk. Chup spent the afternoon by himself, shopping and getting an oil change. I sat in the afforded sun in the living room and studied. Bed linens were changed. Towels were washed. We chatted with Jesse about his handsome baby Max who arrived last week to the arms and energy of big sister Lydia and big brother Buggy.
It was a day lived well . . . but with drops of anxiety.
How could life be so good?
What bad news is stirring up around the corner?
Last night I had a dream that I shared a double-decker bus ride with Sarah Jessica Parker. We became fast friends while she taught me how to ignore cat calls from suspecting men from the back seat.
Not only do I have the perfect pillow on my stripped couch, I have tools of dignity from an A-list celebrity.


How could life possibly improve my life?

So Scary it Hurts

At the Parents On Halloween Night: Topher scared Hugh the dragon with his Hounds of The Baskervilles transformation. Chup actually asked a group of treat seekers to "smell his feet" and The Daily Herald sent their photographer to our house to get some action photos of it all.