Rainy Days And Mondays…

… always get me down. Fifty points to whomever can tell me who sings that song!  Think velvet… because just think it.  Rainy days don’t usually get me down unless I have plans to be outside doing something.  I love a good day full of dark cloud play.  There’s just something mysterious and beautiful about an angry sky.  Mondays on the other hand… let’s talk, Monday… stop sucking!  For grieveness sakes…

To add to the rainy day beautifulness, it was also LDS General Conference weekend.  I always enjoy General Conference weekend… even if I did also have to work this weekend.  It is nice to try to settle my ADD brain down and listen to the spiritual messages wearing non-itchy comfy clothing… although this year also freezing my patookus off because some people like having all the windows and doors open… not naming names.  There were some great messages and even a display of pure strength and perserverance by our sweet, hard-working prophet, President Monson.

My motivation was down in the gutter, though.  I had made plans to make homemade applesauce in the crockpot using the 8 billion apples I’ve purchased over the last few weeks (totally addicted to crunchety apples, y’all).  I found me a recipe but then stared at the 9 billion apples (yes, another billion appeared while I was staring) like they were some sort of deadly fungus I shouldn’t touch.  AKA… I couldn’t see myself peeling and coring and cutting 10 billion apples!  So, the 11 billion apples still sit on the counter and here I am, Whitney Of the Lazy Bottom Brigade, blogging about not peeling them.  Also, it takes 800 years to pull out the crockpot from underneath the 12 billion pots and pans on top of it.  It’s just way too much time to be away from a chair.  Maybe I’ll wait until the apples are all black and blue and mushy and moldy and then I can just throw them all in a big bowl and mash them with a tater masher.  Ta Da… crapplesauce!  Does anyone have any magical applesauce-making fairies they’d be willing to borrow me?  I pay horribly, but there will be jokes.

Madre and I stopped into the brand new Logan location of Tai Pan Trading… which compared to the version down south is SMALL!!!!!

And horror of horrors, there were displays like this already:

Santa, take Rudolph back to the North Pole until after Thanksgiving… stat!

There was a visit by Bat Ninja and Bobble Gal…

That’s the face of a Bat Ninja!  Beware thy candy!  Bobble gal is so-named because we made the necklace to match the bracelet.  All in all twas a good weekend… even if my 13 billion apples still remain untouched.  Bring a baseball bat, applesauce-making fairies… Whitney needs a swift tap upside the motivation bone.

BoBo picture of the week… I can relate BoBo… Auntie Whitty Woo can totally relate!

Pretty sure he’s saying, “I shouldn’t have eaten that whole bag of peanut butter M&Ms… what is this belly?!?”

QUESTION OF THE DAY:  How was your weekend?  Did you do anything festive?

PPS –  Happiest of happy birfdays to my sweet pal, Alena this week!!  I can’t believe you are already 25!  My how time flies.  WinkWinkNudgeNudge


Filed under Family

Jedi Training…

Gag… I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what the cream puff a Jedi is, nor for the life of me do I care.  Sorry, Comic-Con fanatics… I’m totally still a member of your nerd tribe, but my nerdery goes in a totally different direction.  In my over-chocolatized mind, Star Wars are simply wars between the Kardashians and the “Insert other famous Hollywood family with no talents here.”  But this post isn’t really about Star Wars or nerds or Comic-Con or heaven forbid the Kardashians!  No!  It’s about the molecular structure of atoms in the form of three of my favorite little dudes!  JenJen and her 2 boys happened to be up visiting her family in Idaho and on the way back to the airport, they stopped in for a little visit!  Cruz and Blaize are growing up… despite my pleadings for them to stop it right now… no one listens to Auntie Whitty Woo Woo.  BoBo is totally going to listen, though… because I plan to stunt his growth by making sure no asparagus ever gets near him… you are welcome!

While they were here there were games and activities of all sorts… my favorite game was the one where we beat up a pinata.  My least favorite game was the one where we jumped on top of Whitty Woo Woo’s head 13 times in a row… because ouch.  I figured all of the activities were basically just training for when they all grow up to be Jedis (if they have to grow up… lay off the asparagus!!)… as is evidenced by the following video.  CAUTION:  If you dislike cuteness, mini light sabers, more cuteness, and basic cuteness, I’d recommend you not watch the following video… and I mean it!

That’s BoBo practicing his Jedi skillz on cuzzin Cruzer… I guess Shayne is his Jedi master.  Also, it becomes a lot more cute if you ignore that incessantly annoying laughing in the background.  I have no idea who that chic is but I’m pretty sure she has no idea what a Jedi is!

Say CHEEZ!!!!

I call this picture the joys of being a baby brother.  Cruz was wrastling that pinata something fierce and Blaize’s tag team resulted only in a bull leg to the jaw.  Isn’t Jenner Pie a cute pregnant woman?  Jen, you don’t have to give me any money for saying that this time because it’s true!

Baby BoBo took this opportunity to ponder these things in his heart… it’s the thinking baby pose!

Cruzer is going to be a baseball player!  He hit that thing like a boss… and now he enjoys the loot!

Just hanging out!

‘Twas a quick, but fun trip!  Great job Jedis in training.  Maybe one of these days Auntie Whitty Woo Woo will learn what one of those things is and then… nahhhh… nevermind.  Ignorance is totally bliss!


Filed under Family

A Trip Down Bloggory Lane…

So, I have succeeded in procrasternating my homework assignments for this week and so instead of thinking of some not-so-witty new material, I says to myself… “Self… why don’t you re-bloggerversary the post about your parent’s anniversary!”  The brilliance just oozes out of my nose blackheads… TMI, I realize.  Since my parents just had their 40th… count them… 40TH wedding anniversary this past Saturday, September 19th, I think it is appropriate.  So, without further adieu, I present Whitney from back in 2012… and pictures with a lot of ruffles, ringlets, flounces, and lamb chops… THE HUMANITY!  Take it away 2012 Whitney:


Back in 1883… after the wedding ceremony of my parents.  Bwahahahahahaha… I slay myself!  Okay, maybe add a few years to that guesstimate.  My folks celebrated their 119th minus approximately 81 wedding anniversary this past Wednesday… and since I’m such a pain in the butt and yet very thoughtful daughter, I thought I’d walk y’all through a few of their engagement/wedding photos.  Get out your sunglasses.  I warned you!

This here would be a really bad quality engagement picture.  Back in them days they didn’t have no fangled dangled cameras.  A line of monkeys sat out in front of them and drew this here picture with crayons.  Do not adjust your screens.  That is an orange dress.  I hear it was this exact dress that was the inspiration for the prison orange jumpsuit.  That’s the truth!  Also, I guess my dad may or may not have been hungry for lamb chops on account of he just decided to grow them on his face.  Dark glasses and ringlets were big in them days too.

You can’t see them in this picture… the angle is bad… but there were EMTs standing in the rafters just in case the men got choked to death by them there ruffled shirt and bow tie combination.  That’s my gramps Bill, grams Ella, grams Adeline, and step-gramps Bill.  You wouldn’t know it to look at them but they were wondering where the nearest feeeeesshhh plates were.

In case you were wondering, I was not invited to the reception!  THE NERVE!!

I only recognize the one bridesmaid… wut up, Aunt D!?  The rest were hired from Craig’s List… which since they didn’t have computers back then was actually just a dude named Craig who lived in a house and had a list.  You’d go ring his doorbell.  Flouncy hats were apparently in fashion as well.  I seem to remember seeing a plant pot that looked like one of those flouncy hats when I was a youngster.  Who’s missing their flouncy hat?

Happy Anniversary, Madre and Padre!  I spent a lot of time wishing I was never born throughout my life… the faux-tragic-teenager years and the depressed hippo 500+-pound years, but I can honestly say that I’m glad to be alive today.  What a difference a few attitude adjustments make!

Question of the Day:  If you’re married, how long have you been married?  What were your wedding colors?  


Filed under Family

Potholes and Head Banging…

If anyone needs me, I’ll be tending to a head wound from Labor Day’s excursion up the actual road to nowhere inside the actual wagon the Donner Party used… except minus the cannibalistic outcome… and minus the wagon… and minus the head wound.  But it was almost exactly the same.  While scrambling to find something interesting to do on Labor Day amidst me having to work and carry the work phone, we decided we’d venture up Providence Canyon and check out some mysterious waterfalls that everyone and their 3 dogs have been talking about… by everyone I really mean only like 3 people… and there were no dogs involved in any part of this story.  I had done some googling prior to going and found that some dude had written up a description about how to get to these waterfalls and what to expect (probably 20 years ago… considering nothing he wrote about was in the same spot he wrote about).  Dude said, and I quote, “a well-maintained dirt road.”  Now, I know I’m getting senile and crankier by the minute, but last I checked my definition of well-maintained was light years off of his definition.  By his definition the Mount Everest hike is a “pleasant jaunt up a hill.”  PASS!

He also mentioned that there were places to have a nice picnic… no mention of picnic tables, so I wasn’t expecting to walk into the Four Seasons Mountain Pass Spa and Resort… but like a grassy nook or some sort of thing like that would have done fine.

So, we head out in my dad’s truck.  No offense to my dad’s truck but by truck standards it is definitely baby bear from the Goldilocks story.  No 4-wheel drive, bald tires, and I have to roll down the windows by actually rolling down the windows… no fancy schmancy electronic buttons up in that vehicle.  Beulah the Buick even has electronic buttons.  The road was like stuffing yourself in a dryer and turning it on turbo speed.  I hit my head against the ceiling of that vehicle so many times it’s a wonder I’m not in a coma.  Potholes the size of the Grand Canyon littered the road like an infestation of rabbits during birthing season.  The road was also very narrow and seeing as it was Labor Day there were other recreational vehicles trying to wander the pothole roads, so one would have to venture off to the side until the other passed because both wouldn’t fit.  The people driving 4-wheelers and RZRs were about 12 times smarter than we were, but still had whiplash.  RZR-ing, lashing and whipping since 2010.  It took a good hour of rumbling and shaking and spinning out tires to get up to what dude called a rock quarry.  He said once you hit that quarry, you’ll be able to find 3 different waterfalls.  We found one pretty easily.

I would be lying if I said it wasn’t neat to see water just randomly falling out of a dry old rocky hill.  While we were there this family on a RZR came to look at the waterfall, so we went over while they were eating sandwiches to ask if they knew where the other waterfalls were.  A 20-something-year-old guy in the back gave us some vague directions.  Something to the effect of back over there and around there and ta da… waterfalls!  (when we got to talking with them it turns out they’re good friends with Lindsay’s in-laws… small world!)

We got back in the truck and drove up a little more where we stopped to eat dinner on a pile of rocks… that must have been the famous grassy nook dude was describing… and then I got my senior citizen walking stick out of the back of the truck and started walking to the invisible waterfalls because guy on the RZR said there was no way you could drive up to it.  We didn’t get very far when the same RZR family passed by us and stopped.  The very sweet 20-something-dude got out and started scaling rocking cliffs like he was some sort of magic mountain goat so that he could find the best possible way for us to jaunt up to the waterfalls we couldn’t find.  Ten minutes later, he was back (something that would have took me 12 days and 12 nights to accomplish) and was pointing out a better way to walk up… he was basically walking up an avalanche of steep rocks.  He kept pointing up the mountain… see the waterfall is there…

Do y’all see it!?  Good, because I still can’t find it.  It’s somewhere on that rock pile and apparently he could see it.  I decided to pass on trying to scale Mount Rock Slide and instead we got back into the bald-tired vehicle and jaunted our way back down the pothole hill… but on the upside (or downside depending on how you look at it) there were fall colors to be seen… ALREADY!

Thank you honorary magical mountain goat for trying to guide is in the right direction.  I’ll work on my mountain goating skills and someday I’ll be as crazy as you are!

P.S.  My dad found the bald-tired truck had a flat tire the next day.


Congratulations are in order for buddy Corbin who got baptised this past Saturday and also for my pal Avster and her husband on the birth of a bouncing baby girl who is not named Whitney, Jr.!  Congrats you all!


Filed under Uncategorized

Wimpmeister Whitney…

To those of you giving birth this day… it’s your day… laboring next to an American flag is preferrable today, but if one isn’t available, a bedpan will do.  As for the rest of us, we’ll have to make due on this holiday not for us… change a diaper or something in memorium.  If anyone needs me, I’ll be curled up in the fetal position in the corner with my blanky and a binky.

Meanwhile, I mentioned briefly last week that fall semester started.  I had signed up for my classes, purchased all of my books, and was sitting in a pool of anxiety and dread at the thought of having to take a regular daytime class 3 days a week at my geezerly age of mid-30s.  It’s not geezerly to everyone, I realize, but if you be between the ages of 18 and 22, I might as well be taking my dentures out and walking around in adult diapers in my mid-30s.  I got up Monday morning early and I drug my aspercreme to that class.   Parking was horrendous on the first day and then I passed a dude wearing a pink bunny suit… which nearly made me sprint on back to my vehicle… you seen me sprint lately!?  I didn’t think so.  I made it to the classroom and settled into the back corner… the favorite of all introverted anti-socialites.  Hi Hermit Gertrude!  The professor knows me well.  I had her for Spanish both semesters last year, and I was basically the only student in the Logan classroom amidst 12 TVs from cities all over the state.  She is a sweet lady, but I’m pretty sure I’m older than her by a couple of years as well.  Hi… I’m apparently obsessed with my age.

There were about 30 or so students in that classroom and I was desperately looking around trying to find my fellow geezer compadres… who were not there!  The class consisted of us introducing ourselves to each other in Spanish in pairs of two, rotating out every couple of minutes.  I hated every minute of it.  When I’m shoved into making small talk with new people, I freeze and my brain gets all jumbled and it’s hard for me to get the right words to fit into the right sentence… and that’s when I’m introducing myself in English… my Spanish was rusty after having not touched a book for 4 months, so I mostly sat there and spoke awkward Spanglish… the language of the anxiety sufferers!  Everyone introduced them to me as being 20… I swear to you… every last one of them was 19 or 20… and so for every introduction I just said “muy vieja” (very old) for my age… that is when I could remember those words in my anxiety-seized brain.  One kid actually told me that because I was old, I’d have more world experience and could guide my compadres through the class.  Please shut thy mouth young fry.  When the class was over, I had made up my mind that I wasn’t ever coming back.  And when I make up my mind (which is rarely as I’m the wishy washy queen), it’s a hard sell for me to change it.

That night, I dropped the class and had to absorb the cost of the book since I had signed in using the access code and now no one else could use it.  Wimpmeister Whitney at your service…

Now, the rose-colored glasses part.  I honestly considered not finding another to replace the Spanish class… which would have messed up my graduation plan drastically and I’d have to attend at least a year more than I would have had I stayed in.  I have a handfull of semesters left before I can graduate and in my major I need at least 4 to 5 semesters of a foreign language.  I have 2 semesters of Spanish and if I were to switch to another language, I’d be looking at 3 more semesters of the other language, instead of 4 semesters of Spanish.  I bucked up and signed up for Italian, which is taught online, went up to the bookstore the next day and bought the book.  Honestly, as wimpy as it seems, I feel 10 times better about my decision now that it is done and over with.  Languages are hard for me to learn anyway, and I might as well make it as comfortable on myself as possible.  There are other things I can conquer the introvert issues with… and not be looked at as Grandma Whitney.

The other class is a requirement for one of the goals in my major, History of Jazz music, which is totally up my alley.  I love me some Jazz and it will be interesting to learn the history of it.  No wimping out there.
Here’s some angry BoBo Bourneo for your viewing pleasure.  He was pretty pissed when I told him about the class too!


Filed under School

BoBo In Da’ House…

There are a lot of things I could blog about this night.  A lot has gone on the last 2 weeks whilst I slacked on blogging… no worries, blogging isn’t the only thing I slacked on.  Common sense went by the wayside as well… you’re welcome thin vanilla Oreos.  I’ll just start with this and see where it takes me in this clouded balloon brain I have attached to my shoulders.  My new nephew was born this past Tuesdee, August 25, 2015… and if he weren’t the cutest little pookle you ever did see said everyone who has ever been related to a newborn baby… translation… EVERYONE IN THE WORLD!  Some of those people may be lying, but I’m totally telling the truth… I’ve even foregone my favorite practice of extreme exaggeration for this very occasion.  His name?  Bourne Lucky Howell (I ain’t jokin’ neither).  The name will have to grow on me, but the little dude has already eeked his way into these family members’ sometimes Grinch-sized hearts.

I finally got the opportunity to go down and see him yesterday… and you best believe that 90-minute trip was for the record books since it was 100 degrees that day and my car has yet to blow any appropriately cooled air conditioning:  Translation… it’s totally broke!  So, here’s Whitney jetting down the freeway with all the winders rolled down in a rusty Beulah the Buick singing out-of-tune showtunes at the top of her lungs because she couldn’t hear the radio over the noise of the wind blowing through the open windows.  A gal has to have some sort of entertainment… and I really enjoy angering my fellow road drivers.  Road rage is real, y’all!

Here’s BoBo with the owlie owl I made and brought for him.  It’s not a modern fabric, so I’m not sure how long it will last in the land of Lindsay chique, but I’m trying to put in some subliminal owly owl  messages wherever I can.

This is BoBo and I sharing secrets… obviously he didn’t participate very well… there’s no excuse for bad manners!

I’ve decided Auntie Whitty Woo needs a nickname for Bourne.  Obviously, I’ve started calling him BoBo, but the possibilities are endless.

B-How (ala J-Lo)
Matt Damon (Hear me out… the dude from the Bourne Identity movies… obviously!)
Luck Be A Binky Tonight

Y’all need to vote… Pick the Nickname!  Lindsay may get 2 votes, but I have faith that enough of you will vote your one vote to overrule her!

BoBo has even already learned how to give me the side eye… will you please stop that infernal baby talking!  Welcome to the world, BoHow!  Congratulations, Lindsay, Shayne, Christian, and Ethan on the new addition to your tribe of crazy… but crazy in a good way!


We also held Corbin’s 8th family birthday shindig tonight!  The Lord has certainly blessed me with many talents and gifts… one of which is NOT cake decoration.

Case in point… Firstly, you need steady hands… I have Grandma Berger tremor hands.  Secondly… it looks like they hired that one drunk dude to make the uneven lines on the football field… all in all it was a fun, albeit hilarious kindergarten school project for this chic!  Happy Birf-day Buddy!

Speaking of school… fall semester starts tomorrow.  Anxiety has been my unwelcome friend the last few weeks as I have to go to the 3rd semester of Spanish class 3 days a week in the morning up on campus.  Y’all best pray the senior citizen of the class brings her brain.


Filed under Family

Deer Kralling…

Stop it with the lame titles, Whit-Bot… just STAHP!  Meanwhile, back on the lame farm… summer week 1200 ended with a jaunt up to Deer Valley/Park City because for Madre’s birthday I bought her a ticket to see Diana Krall play with the Utah Symphony.  Those who don’t know who the helium balloon Diana Krall is, get with the times!  She’s a jazz pianist/vocalist and I used to worship the songs she walked on because she has this deep/low range, which meant that I could totally reach the notes whilst singing her karaoke songs without having to transpose them down 12 keys.   “Peel Me A Grape” and “Frim Fram Sauce” anyone?  I rest my case.  Although, I was not happy that they chose not to do those songs at the concert.  I digress.

The thing about Deer Valley is that it’s first come, first serve, so if you don’t get in line the night before you might as well realize you’re going to be hiking to the top of the dagnabbed ski hill.  I couldn’t see her… period, end of story… but that was okay because my hearing is clogged from sticking transcription headphones in my ears every day… besides that fact I was too busy experiencing altitude sickness to care.  :P  That’s not true… the sickness part or the clogged ears part… but the altitude thing is real, folks!   By the by… the dude she had playing the violin for her was mad talent at scatting.  We left half of our dinner in the trunk of the car, but hell if we were going to hike back down to Logan to get it… I’d rather starve than hike back up the ski hill again… and let’s face it… look at me… I got a good 45 years before I’d be able to starve to death.

The older lady who was sitting in front of us with her husband and another couple had like a Mary Poppins magic bag of goodies… she kept pulling out food like she worked for Chuck-up-A-Rama on the weekends.  They had salad and sandwiches and 14 kinds of chips and cookies and cake and trail mix and wine (oh, there was wine), and pretty sure she pulled out a lasagna and half a pig she pit-roasted the night before.  We sat their drooling whilst our food was in the car.  I did hike down the hill and back up it to buy me a lemonade, but I didn’t realize they ruined it be putting mint in it until I got back to the top.  It tasted like I was at a hemp herbal yoga class.  Oh to be classy!

The next day we hung out in Park City pretending we were all coordinated enough to be bikers and hikers in the altitude.  Instead we sat in a park and watched the puffy clouds next to an old mining hospital built in 1904.

Didn’t see any ghosts of miners… but I did keep the peepers open just in case.  Instead some chics wearing sashes and crowns came over and asked us to take their pictures in several different poses and then an older lady carrying a knitting bag and a lawn chair sauntered over and asked me where the concert that started at 1:30 was.  Considering it was 1:29 and the only people in the park were the sash/crown ladies and us, I’m pretty sure she had the wrong location.  She decided to sit down and wait for the concert to start anyway.  Someone forgot to tell me to prepare some numbers… I have a feeling she was tres disappointed when she finally left the park that night… but on the bright side, maybe she finished her king-sized afghan.

On the way home, we had to stop off at the newest Trader Joe’s where I bought pickle-flavored popcorn… PICKLES!  And then I had to go out of the way to hit up a place called Mem’s Fruit Truck.  It’s totally on the wrong side of town, North Salt Lake business district, but holy worth it!  It’s a bag of freshest of the fresh fruit with lime juice and a chili flavoring.  Chili spice on fruit!?!?  Totally weird… but it was holy night dee-vine!  It just brought out the flavor of the fruit.  Now, how do I get them to move up this way so I can buy one every day?

Cantaloupe, watermelon, pineapple, mangoes, cucumbers (I know), jicama, and coconut!   Run, do not walk to Mem’s on Redwood Road!  WERTH IT!

In other news, does anyone want to follow me around with a frim frammed baseball bat and whap me upside the head every time I decide to eat my anxiety and feelings away?  I’m feeling kind of stuck and out of control and annoyed and overall frustrated with myself.  This too shall pass… as they say… but in the meantime, I’m going to need to buy a strait jacket.

What did you all do this weekend?  Happy back to school week for a lot of you mothers out there!  :P


Filed under Life