Beep Beep Boop…

This wordpress website has a new format in which whenever I want to type a new post, it brings up this box that has the words “beep beep boop” flashing while it supposedly churns out a new screen.  As if there are magical elves on the other side of the inter-waves cobbling together a shiny new post.  What would be even cooler is if those elves wrote up my blog post whilst beep beep booping.  Note to wordpress… beep beep booping is unnecessary and so 80s it makes me want to crimp my hair and join a metal band with leg warmers.

Moving on… my sociology class is quite an eye opening read.  It focuses on the messed up social institutions and laws aspect of why our country is a frigging mess, tackling topics like racism, poverty, gender, politics, class, education, etc., etc., etc.   It’s mostly one big… oh no we just didn’t moment from page to page.  I do know one thing… we need to bag all of the politicians running this nation and get a group full of middle and low class sociologists in office… and STAT!  They know what they be talking about.  Obviously that won’t happen because this nation is run on money and those who have money make all the laws and rules… it’s no wonder the gap between the wealthy and the poor is twice the size of the grand canyon, and the middle class is being squoze out like road kill on a cracker.

All this to say, I had an interesting experience a couple of weeks back.  My friend and I are taking these USU extension classes once or twice a month.  Usually they are classes on how to eat healthily and/or budget wisely… and the eating healthily classes usually come with samples of healthified dishes… all for free!  Although, last class I had to gag down a spinach ball with a side of barley… NEVER AGAIN!!

The people who come to these shindigs vary from class to class, but I always see one particular lady… every single class.  I notice her because she is usually overly bundled up for the weather and is often seen wearing colorful character pajamas.  She’s always been very nice.  One time she sacrificed her seat so that I could sit next to my guest.  Our February class was on heart health and once again the lady was sitting right in front of me.  During a break in the class, she turned around and asked my friend and I where we lived.  She then asked me if she could get a ride after class.  I didn’t think anything of it and immediately agreed.  She told me that I could just drop her off on the corner of 10th N. and 3rd W., to which I replied that I would have no problem taking her right up to her house.  To which she quietly answered that she was homeless.  Thankfully the class started back up again and the awkwardness of it all was forestalled until the end of the class.

As I was driving her to her “corner” she was proudly showing me the new knit hat her mother had purchased her.  I stuck my foot in my mouth about 8000 times when asking about her family.  She told me she had 3 grown sons, I didn’t think and told her she must be an expert at raising boys, to which she replied that her oldest and youngest sons were in prison… her youngest just about to go back in for the 2nd time.  She felt like she needed to explain that he got caught up with the wrong friends as a teenager and couldn’t get out of it.  She was a prime example of every chapter of my sociology textbook put together.  The institutions we have set up for the poor do not help them get out of a neverending cycle of poverty and hopelessness.  There is not much hope for a person coming out of prison to change.  He/she is still poor and still has to go back to the same place he/she had trouble with in the first place with nothing to bolster them into a better sphere.  My heart hurts for those stuck in the neverending cycle of never-enough.

As I dropped that lady off on her corner on a chilly night, I was overwhelmed with emotion.  I said a prayer of gratefulness for all that I have.  I do tend to complain about my situation on occasion, but the truth is there are so many people who would trade me in a freaking heartbeat… and I know I don’t have what it takes to live their lives.  Kudos to you sweet lady with the new hat.  I sent up a prayer that you will see some hope in your future.

****

We had Makayla’s 9th family birthday par-tay tonight…

The owl theme… I’m not at all obsessed with owlie owls!

In fact, no I did not stay up late Friday and Saturday night concocting this lopsided, 12-year-old-could-have-done-better owlie pillow…  I should have asked for help from the beep beep boop fairies!

It sucks to be the brother of the birthday girl during her party… all he gets is this heat pad!

Happy Birthday, sweet girl!

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The Conjugator… I’ll Be Back…

It’s at this point in my life where I’d like to hunt down the inventor of the Spanish language and give he/she a good dressing down… and I don’t mean for prom!  Also, does anyone, preferrably someone who speaks Spanish fairly fluently (I know there are a handful of you reading this), who would be interested in trading brains for approximately a year and a half?  I think that should be sufficient to get me through the next 2-1/2 semesters of my Spanish learning… after I get back from the dress hunting shindig, I mean.

Everything seems to move so dang fast in this class.  I don’t remember moving this fast in high school Spanish… and I took like 85 years of Spanish in Jr. high and high school.  My brain is a lot older than it used to be and currently is so full of English words, it’s hard to cram the Spanish words into the crevices.  Translation:  I can’t remember a dang thing!  I might be a hopeless case.  I hate pronouns… I hate verbs… and I really hate conjugation… particularly conjugating imperfect and preterite tenses!  What the!?!?  Those tenses mean the same dang thing in English, Spanish inventor… get with the times!   I pretty much just have to guess between the two on every test because my translation skillz are horrid at best… 50/50 chance I’ll get it right and so far my running score is 1 right, 85,000 wrong.  Good odds, Vegas-ites… who wants to buy Whitney a lotto ticket!?

Update on the weird class members… donut box/85-ounce soda girl has dropped out, leaving me by my lonesome in the Logan classroom (along with the professor and an aide).  Floor boy is still in the class and is still as inappropriate as ever.  I bow to my profesora… along with dealing with the deer in the headlights look I give her on a weekly basis for the entire 3-hour class, she is also mastering the art of dealing with floor boy’s weird outbursts and interjections… like the time a few weeks back when he blurted out that there was no way he’d be able to take the test before the deadline because he just bought some new video game (insert the name I can’t remember here) and he was too busy to study.  Then, he promptly got out of his chair and left the classroom, only to waltz back in half an hour later eating an entire regular-sized bag of Doritos.  Let me tell you… you ain’t lived until you’ve practiced Spanish with someone who was too busy licking the cheese off his fingers to recall which activity we were on.  I had to work so hard not to tell him to go wash his hands before he touched his book, that I didn’t learn a dang thing that night.  Oh the horror!

Back to this Spanish language inventor… take some notes from the inventor of pig latin next time you invent a language.  Also, you owe me 80000000 brain cells and a brain eraser… I’m never going to get that Doritos picture out of my head otherwise.

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Planconstramine…

I’ve come to terms with the fact that I won’t be having my own children in this lifetime (at some times better than others).  I’ve always felt a bit of a sadness when remembering this fact.  It’s not like I never wanted kids.  When I was a child and we played that M*A*S*H game… the one where you list how many kids you will have and their names, etc., I always had at least 10 kids.  I thought of names all day long as a kid, and even went as far as to dress my cats up in diapers and doll clothes… just for the practice… much to the chagrin of Fluffy and Company.  Life doesn’t always turn out the way you imagine it when you’re a kid… some pipe dreams just aren’t meant to be.  Things happened in my life the way they were supposed to, and though I’ve not dealt with all of my road blocks with as much grace as I once imagined I would, I do know that my purpose for this life is different than most.  I’m not sure I’ve found that purpose, unless it’s to be the germ-a-phobe police in a gallant effort to save someone from the dreaded Salmonella fiasco, but I guess one just plugs along making decisions as they come and living life as best as she/he can in the moment.

Boy, that was a long tangent.  My purpose was to illustrate the fact that I try to adopt other kids in my life.  There are my step-nephews, Christian and Ethan… but they’re pretty much grown up and no longer interested in cutsie things like owlies and piggies and cupcakes…  okay scratch that… I don’t think they were ever interested in owlies, piggies, and cupcakes!  :P  I’ve hijacked my cuzzin JenJen’s sons, Cruz and Blaize… who live way too far away.

I’ve tried to kidnap my cuzzin Angie’s kids, Makayla and Corbin… super fun kids who indulge in my owly obsession!  Example… this past Friday night we had pizza par-tay night… and Makayla made her pizza into the shape of an owlie…

I would have done it too, but that would have meant less toppings and hello… have you seen the size of my mouth?

I asked Corbin to smile with his pizza creation.  This was his best effort.

All this to say, my sister and brother-in-law, Lindsay and Shayne are expecting this coming August.  My first full-blooded niece or nephew.  I plan on kidnapping the little critter just in time for me to require diaper changes and toenail clipping sessions.  Can you imagine this kid’s life?  He/she best be moving 4 continents over before I hit 80!  In the meantime, I’ve got some Salmonella lessons to teach him/her.  Congratulations, Lindser, Shayne, Christian, and Ethan (and let’s not forget Gramsy and Grampsy Wade)!  Oh, and Lindsay… remember how worried you were as a kid that someone might come along in the family and steal your #1 choice for girl’s name, Planconstramine?  Your dreams have come true… it’s still totally available!  In the meantime, I’ll start crocheting a “Kick Me, My Name is Planconstramine” T-shirt!  You are welcome, Auntie Whitty Woo Woo.

Oh, and thank you to JenJen and Ang for allowing me to hijack your chillin’s!

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The Case of the No Good, Very Bad Gargantuan Feet Syndrome…

Yes… it’s a cross I’ve had to bear.  I blame my mother… except my mother is tall and slender and I’m built like a Mack truck on donut day at an all-you-can gorge Chuck-Up-A-Rama conference.  We both wear a size 10-1/2… which would be cool and all, but most shoe companies do not make a size 10-1/2.  They make half sizes for all of the other sizes clear up to 9-1/2, but screw you people in the 10s!  You will be forever cursed with wearing shoes that are either a tad bit too small or a tad bit too large… a 10 or an 11… them’s are my choices.

If that was my only problem, I’d be lying.  I was also born with my dad’s very tender, sensitive feet.  The kind of feet that couldn’t walk on a bed of cotton balls barefoot because it would feel like a bed of glass shards.  I never go barefoot.  Not in the house, not outside, not at the beach (I never go to the beach, but this is beside the point!)… I simply do not like green eggs and ham.  And don’t get me started on those somewhat dressy shoes they sell with the sole the thickness of a paper towel.  Them things are like strapping ice skates to your feet UPSIDE DOWN!  Then if my shoes are ill-fitting and I try to maneuver the world in the ill-fitted shoes with my tender sensitive clodhoppers, it’s like throwing a whale out of the water and telling him to crawl back into it.  It don’t work, Sam!  I’m sure you can all relate to every last one of my analogies this post.  I tell you, I stayed up late putting these suckers together.

So, the point of this post, if there ever is one, is that buying shoes is like trying to find the elusive Bigfoot.  I need new shoes.  I’m hobbling around on a pair of slippers (I call them slippers, they are actual shoes… my slippers have to have a hard sole) and then another pair of shoes that I’ve pretty much worn down to the threads… and I can feel every pebble I step on through.  The week after Christmas I went out to do my least favorite thing… shoe shopping.  I figured there might be some fairly good-ish deals the week after Christmas… and let’s face it… I’m a cheap wad.  After visiting several places and trying on several shoes in the sizes of 10 and 11, I was not impressed… the 10s were a bit too small and the 11s a bit too big… where the helium balloons is my Goldilocks moment!?!?!?  I finally settled on a pair of 10s… thinking maybe I could get them to stretch out.  I just got around to wearing them out and about this past Saturday… and they were horrid.  I will be selling them on eBay STAT!  It was like a Chinese torture chamber up in them hoppers.  My feet could not breathe and I swear I have an abscess on the back of my Achilles tendon from where the shoes rubbed through all day.  BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD!  Hey shoe companies… throw a large clodhopper chic a stinking bone over here.  Humor me with the size 10-1/2, will ya!?

In other news… people with actual real problems are roaming the Earth and I’m over here rambling for 12 hours about feet!  Carry on with your lives, friends!  :P

QUESTION OF THE DAY:  Anyone recommend a nice, comfortable, fairly non-ugly brand of shoes for everyday wear?  

T

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Move Over Comfort… Bring On The Awkwardness and Anxiety!

Some of you may remember how I once waxed poetic about my ability to graciously navigate social waters.  BWAHAHAHAHAHA… that never happened.  Instead, I may have mentioned about 8 katrillion times of my penchant for awkwarding up a social situation with two hands tied behind my back.  It’s totes a gift and one that I wear with humiliation and cheese curds!

It turns out a new opportunity has presented itself for me to display my gift of awkward anxiety… cheese curds anyone?  The sweet people of Four Seasons Theatre Company (they who let me become the old olive tree in a production of “The Garden” two years ago) have once again thought of me for a role in their upcoming musical, Mary Poppins.  I wrestled with the decision of whether or not I’d want to audition for an actual role in a play that included scary things like costumes and makeup… and a solo about 3 keys higher than my vocal range of comfort… low and slow… bring it on!  High and die… wear your earplugs!  I had learned of the role about a month before the actual auditions and had made my mind up approximately 18 times that I was and then I wasn’t going to attempt it.  Three days before the audition, I made my mind up that I wasn’t going to do it and I was at peace with the decision.  But then my madre ran into a lady at church connected with the theatre company who told her they hoped I’d audition.  I somehow made it to the audition.  I really don’t think it was on my own two legs or right mind… it was like I was floating along in a trance of “spoon full of sugar” juice.  The audition didn’t go like I wanted it to… I was extra nervous and my high notes were strained and then I somehow messed up the words and stopped my own audition in the middle of it letting them know that they’d heard a plenty.  GREAT DIRECTION, WHITMEISTER!

They put the cast list up tonight:

I’d like to note that I’m coming full circle on my hatred of all things bird… being attacked by an angry turkey when I was 4, accosted by an angry owl, pooped on by a friendly magpie, and countless baby birds falling into my window well is about to go down.  Also, the resemblance is UNCANNY!

The song I sing, Feed the Birds is a lovely song about not judging a book by its cover… and probably a whole lotta other stuff that I haven’t discovered yet.  In other news, apparently I’m typecast at the age of 36 as “old”.  Old Olive Trees and Old Bird Women… I could probably sign up to join the AARP, considering!  Take some deep breaths in and out, Whit-Knee… time to step outta your comfort zone again.  Do it for the love of all things bird!  Thank you for the opportunity, ye’ sweet people of Four Seasons Theatre Company!

This view will never be the same.  This is a picture of the former Golden Toaster church.  Sayanora, historic church and view.  I once broke a pew by sitting on it in this church approximately 15 years ago when I weighed 530 pounds.  That’s probably why they tore it down.  :P

This is how Lucy-Fur sleeps.  It’s pretty freaky.  One eye wide open and snoring.  No one sleeps with their eyes open unless it’s a zombie.  Lucy… you got some ‘splainin’ to do!

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Dangit, Beulah!

Beulah the Buick… she may be coveted by many a people on my block, but little do they know the secrets behind her bird doo-ed exterior.  Like the time a few weeks back when the defroster refused to blow any air, causing me to have to hang my head out the window like a dog in frigid weather.  There’s a sight no one wants to see on their birthday… some 300+-pound chic barreling toward them in a frosted over vehicle.  Yes, officer… it was like this when I got in.  DANGIT, BEULAH!  Or like the time this past Tuesday when she refused to start 10 minutes before I was to be at a class clear across town causing me to hyperventilate into a bag of M&Ms… DANGIT, BEULAH!  There was the time just this past Saturday where I took her to Autozone for them to test the battery and alternator, where they proclaimed the battery dead on arrival causing me to dig out too much moolah for a new ticker and also windshield wiper replacement blades on account of the fact that whenever I’d use them it would just shmear the snow and ice all over the window and make it worse.  Upsell for you Autozone employee!  DANGIT, BEULAH!

There was also the time this past Saturday when because we were at Autozone, close to where the new and not-yet-open Dunkin’ Donuts is, we witnessed folks coming out the doors with boxes of donuts.  Oh BEULAH, FOR SERIOUS!?  So, of course you know we had to go investigate this phenomenon… donuts leaving a closed facility!?  How is that possible, Donut Fairies!?  Upon entering the facility, we found out that it was indeed closed but there were two employees there handing out boxes of one dozen donuts for dang FREE!  DANGIT, BEULAH!  And it was the mixed variety too… one of each flavor with SPRINKLES… SPRINKLES!  BEULAH!

I may have matured in my geezerly old age in that I was able to control my donut consumption to a couple the past 2 days… which on a scale from pastry puffery to brussel sprout festival is somewhere in the middle.  It’s a miracle Beulah and I are still on speaking terms after the whole donut kerfuffle.  Maybe next time she could break down next to the cupcake shop.  I’m just saying.

This is why Charlie and I have a lot in common!

Some of us are having a hard time recognizing Cache Valley in January this last week.  No inversion… blue skies?  BEULAH!

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Delightful “Die”ting…

NEWSFLASH… inform the church elders… I hate the word “die”t with like 8000 clown passions!  I’ve mentioned this fact several times, but it’s been a couple of years since I’ve ranted and raved over the dastardly word of doom and glumness!  Blugh!!  It’s right up there with the words moist and white chocolate (Soooooo NOT CHOCOLATE… but also not one word… I digress).  “Die”t sounds so restrictive and short-term and fairly imprisoning.  There’s nothing happy about the word.

GET TO THE POINT, rambling Rose.  Yesterday, I went to a class at Kitchen Kneads in town about healthy meal and snack ideas.  This is the 2nd healthy meal class I’ve taken this month because I like to attend things that keep health at the forefront of my mind… focus, focus, focus… and also so I don’t have to cook on Saturday.  The teacher handed out a packet of the recipes she’d be making and emblazened at the top in big block letters she’d typed: DELIGHTFUL DIETING!  I croaked right then and there.  Oh good… let’s see how many recipes we can make out of kale and seaweed spawn.  Blend ‘em right up into a smoothie and then immediately run me over with a dump truck carrying a baby germ wheat plant.  I guess she doesn’t have the newest edition of Whitster’s Dictionary… the one where I removed the word “die”t and replaced it with calorizing.

Imagine my delightfulness whilst taster testing the recipes (it’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it) I discovered that all of them were stellarly delicious and would be things that I would actually look forward to eating.  I don’t think food that is healthy needs to be termed “die”t food.  You don’t have to eat weird pollum grubs and calla lily nuggets to lose weight.  You just have to be conscious about how much is going into your mouth.  That there is the rub!   Calorizers Unite!  I’m sharing the recipes below.  You can leave out the bloody finger stub the teacher had whilst cutting onions in the first dish.  She said she removed all the ones with the blood on them… but I still had to do deep cleansing germ-a-phobe OCD breaths to take a bite of it.

This one was my favorite!  Sweet and sour chicken… on the menu next week!

This one was second favorite.  An awesome way to get in a lot of veggies in one sitting!

You can serve this with the above veggie recipe!

It sounds extremely odd to add cottage cheese to egg salad sandwiches.  I was sure I’d hate it… but it was really good.  The 2nd recipe on this sheet… um… DELICIOSITY defined!

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