Category Archives: Getting A Life

Yes, Let’s Go South For The Summer…

Well hello… I’ve been slacking on blogging for the last 2 weeks… and considering blogging is so 2010, my nonexistent Snapchat account thanks me. I have excuses… or at least my brain thinks it has excuses. Last week I was crabbier than a crab tree on a crab salad… and ain’t no one wants to read a crabtastic blog post. The week before I had just gotten back from a quick geekend (that’s not a misspelling) jaunt south to Las Vegas. Yes, let’s go from a fairly hot place (90s), but not so hot it melts your face off, to a place where I’m pretty sure they house the devil’s horns (110s+). To be honest, I really do not like the city of Las Vegas. It’s not my scene on account of the fact that I don’t gamble, drink, party, or smoke. Where’s the senior citizen center!?!?!? Also, Vegas smells like a permanent armpit mixed in with a smoker’s lung as they still allow smoking inside all of the casinos.

But on the other hand, Vegas offers some awesome shows and concerts that you can’t see anywhere else, and so I have been to Vegas on several occasions and I will continue to go to Vegas as long as they offer the shows! Y’all hear!? Good. The purpose for this particular geekend was a Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood extrava-geekza… wherein Whitney fangirled like it was 1997 all over again.

There were the concerts at the new T-Mobile arena… concerts that were being filmed for an upcoming television special. There was a cookbook signing wherein I met and got my picture taken with one of my voice idols since I was 12 and “She’s In Love With The Boy” came out, Trisha Yearwood. And there was a Garth Brooks songwriting show wherein 3 songwriters who had written some of GBs songs sat and told the stories behind the songs and then sang them… oh, and as a surprise bonus, Garth Brooks just happened to drop in unexpectedly about 15 minutes into the show. And lawsy the drunk ladies mobbed the stage at that point.

There were drunken psycho people stories… one story when I sat by some rowdy drunk folk at one of the concerts, 3 of whom had to be escorted out mid-concert… one drunk dude for continually trying to light a cigarette inside the nonsmoking arena and getting pushy and yelly with his girlfriend who was trying to stop him. Another, a lady who got escorted out by 2 ushers who were basically carrying her as she was too drunk to stand up straight and kept fall down in the aisle. She was followed by a belligerent bigger girl who kept yelling things like, “Stacy… you always do this… just because you’re crippled doesn’t mean you can get away with it.” And then she’d get all up into the drunk girl’s face and they’d yell and pull each others hair and the poor ushers would have to separate them again. Tell me again why being belligerently drunk is a fun thing? I was living on the edge drinking my 5-dollar (!!!!!) bottle of Dasani water.

I’m not the type of person who would be into meeting famous people… 1.) I’m wayyyyy too anxiety ridden to even entertain the idea… and 2.) Hello the awkward! But I kept telling myself, you’re here… it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity… shut up and do it… don’t regret it down the road if you don’t do it. So, I did it. Turns out I wasn’t as awkward as I was anticipating and did not ramble on about something weird like the health benefits of sea urchins. She was very nice and down to Earth and easy to talk to, so that helped… even if Madre commented after we left that my hands were shaking. Anxiety is real, y’all.

And if that wasn’t weird enough, my big, walking-around-in-110+-degree-weather-hairdo mug also made it onto Trisha Yearwood’s Facebook page the next day… right!?


Songwriter’s show… In case you didn’t recognize him without the cowboy hat, GB is the one in the ball cap.

****

Days Sugar-Free Count: 57!!!!!!!!! I’ve missed so many national holidays… National Chocolate Day… National Sugar Cookie Day… National just pour sugar onto a spoon and eat it that way day… so many days! I even walked through 2 stories of a Hershey’s store in Vegas and didn’t bat a dagnabbed eyeball. It really is a miracle that the police didn’t find me there that night bathing in a sea of giant Reese’s peanut butter cups!

*****

Who needs a baby BoBo fix? No one? That’s okay, because I do… hinthint Lindsay… send more pics!!!


Here’s the time when Baby BoBo and his cute teefins wouldn’t share their mashed nanners with Auntie Whitty Woo. I was very offended.



We were singing… I’m sure of it!

10 Comments

Filed under Getting A Life, Uncategorized

Groovin’ To The Wrong Beat…

I really don’t have the spewing nonsensical sentences desire tonight… Oh, sure I could go on and on for twelve paragraphs about the really uncomfortable things I said to random strangers over the weekend about being a stripper because I requested change in one-dollar bills and making meth with the Sudafed I bought… by the by… neither one of them got the jokes.  Now they probably think I’m a stripping meth-head… and ain’t no one wants to see that… the blind people maybe, but that’s about it. Sarcasm is really a lost art in the grocery industry.

There was also the time we went to the Summerfest and watched a bunch of older dads grooving all off the beat to Beach Boys songs. And no, that is not why I requested the ones… I think. We also learned a new dance move, the groove and walk… I think it’s based off Leslie Sansone’s really groovy keen walking exercise VHS tapes… and to make things even better, you can do this particular dance to pretty much every song out there… slow songs… check… fast songs… check… really nauseating songs… yet to be determined.

I spent most of the rest of the weekend (besides working as it was my work weekend), lamenting the fact that everything my family talks about is about SUGAR!!!! I’ve heard the story of the lemony hand pies eaten at the Summerfest 52 times by now… oh the flaky crust and the scrumptious lemony goodness… blah, blah, blah. And then there was the saga about the blueberry pie-flavored oreo cookies and entire jar of Snickers… and the popcorny marshmallow goodness! THE WORLD IS A SUGAR CUBE and I just live on top of it apparently. Despite all of the sugary saga spewing, I can count today as day #36 sugar-free. Bring on #37… but only if I never have to hear the lemony hand pie saga ever again!

Happy Father’s Day to my pa, and to all of you dads out there who don’t read this blog, so if you’re reading this blog and you have a dad or a dad figure in your life or a husband who is a dad, tell him I said so… and also tell him that I thought he did a bang up job grooving to the Beach Boys greatest hits at the Summerfest!

****

BoBo loves him some Harley chases… pretty sure Harley would rather spend an hour on the spin dry cycle. Go BoBo!

BoBo is the coolest dude in town!!

He even has hims own new chairs, grammy and auntie whitty found for him!

7 Comments

Filed under Getting A Life, Uncategorized

Fuzzy Brain Syndrome…

Y’all… don’t worry about me, my folks are in Italy at the moment and have been texting me very inappropriate pictures of nekked statues. Just because you’re a statue from a bajillion years ago does not mean you get a pass from wearing clothes! The HUMANITY! Alert the church elders! With parents like that it’s no wonder I turned out the way I did! Thank you, Mr. Rogers… and BoB Ross.. and Jem and the Holograms…

In other news, I’m a mess! What’s that you say? How is that any different than any other day. Sit down, smarty pantaloons! I’m messier than normal, which should down right scare the bejeebers out of Northern Utah and surrounding states. I’m having a particularly bad case of fuzzy brain syndrome. Just this weekend, I’ve managed to give away tickets to a concert to a friend wherein I told her the wrong date for the concert… during a visit with a friend (hi Audrey), I managed to call her the wrong name a few times… I forgot to bring my debit card when I went to lunch with a friend and she had to pay and now I’m sure she’s having 2nd thoughts about being my friend (the money is in the mail)… and then there was the incident with the police officer. I’m not a fan of running into police officers. It’s not that I’m not grateful for the work they do… it’s just, you see, I’m intimidated by authority figures. I’m the type of girl who will try to blend into the wall to avoid being called out by someone in charge.

Short story long… on Saturday I was filling up my gas tank at the new Maverick downtown. I was the only one at any of the tanks, and so there were 800 empty places for people to fill up that weren’t the same tank I was at. But no, this police officer pulls right up to the exact same tank I’m at, but on the other side. I would have given him a talking to, but that would require some pretty strong alcoholic beverages and perhaps a couple of Valiums. I’m all trying to stare at everything but this police officer, and so I pretended I was picking the 7 billion blobs of bird doo off of my windshield (thank you magpies)! After what seemed like a katrillion years, my tank finally finished and I proceeded to remove the nozzle hose majig and put it back on the tank. When done, I then had to answer questions about wanting a receipt and/or a car wash, and I was all flustered because I just wanted to leave.

I finally got into my car and started pulling away from the tank when all of a sudden the police officer came running at me right in front of my dagnabbed car (which was moving by the way), waving his arms. ARE YOU SERIOUS!?!?! Is “too much bird doo on car” a felony now!? I was perplexed because I had made sure I’d fastened my seatbelt and I was going like 1 mph at the moment, so I certainly was not speeding, and it was the middle of the day so none of my headlights or taillights were burnt out… I certainly haven’t been in a drug bust recently… and I made sure to hide all of my open Ovaltine containers! WHAT GIVES!?!?

I tremblingly rolled down my window and must have looked like a frightened DoDo bird with my mouth all hanging open and my lips trembling because I’m about to cry…

“Ma’am, you forgot to put the lid on your gas tank and close the cover.” He said.

Oh…

Ain’t it glorious to be an overreacting woman species, y’all!? I then forgot to put my car in park before I tried to get out, but his legs are fine everyone… GOSH!

***

BoBo and hims teefins pic Of The Week:

 

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the passing of my sweet sweet friend, Janell Fowers.  What a beautiful spirit who is now free from all of her earthly burdens.  She was always so kind to remember me and give me a call to talk her favorite topics, vacuums and Roto Rooter… and to just ask how I was and how my family was.  We also always had a laugh about her having to wear headphones whenever I’d do a musical number in church because I was “too loud!”  My family agrees with you, Janell!   I learned so much from her ability to accept everyone for who they were.  I was definitely not the friend to her that she was to me, but maybe that’s something I needed to learn.  Thank you, Janell! I love you!  You are an angel now, sweet girl!  Much love, prayers, and hugs to her family and friends.

12 Comments

Filed under Getting A Life, Uncategorized

Fat-Shaming: The Last Acceptable Prejudice…

I have always hated the word “fat”.  When people would call me it as a kid/teenager/adult that dreaded hay fever eye burning would immediately cause welling and I’d have to run and hide until the crying jag would pass.  Tender heart?  Thin skin?  Wimp?  Maybe…  Why does a 3-letter word stating truth bother me so much?  I never figured that out as a kid or as a teenager, but as an adult, I had a brief moment of clarity one time (brief is the key word when used in the same sentence as clarity with me) and it hit me like a runaway turnip truck.  It’s the word “fat” used in the following way that I can’t take.

You are fat.  

She is fat.  

I am fat.  

Except… I am NOT fat… I have fat (enough to feed a couple of small villages in Africa)… but I am not my fat.  I also have boogers, but I am not boogers!  It’s ridiculous when you use boogers in that way… and yet fat gets batted around like a Mike Tyson fight at an Ears, Nose, and Throat Doctor Convention.

I’ve let that word define me for so long it’s sometimes hard to see/know who I really am.  I am a daughter (of God and my parents)… a sister… a friend… a cousin… an aunt… a person.  At times I am big-hearted, kind, funny, hard-working, talented, smart.  At other times I am stubborn, bull-headed, anxiety-ridden, impatient.  I am someone worth knowing.  I am more than my outside appearance.  I am Whitney Lyn… the good and the bad all rolled into a giant ball of fluff and heart.

But I am not fat.

A few months ago I happened upon a 2-part docuseries called Fat and Back.  The lady on the show (I hate to use her name because it only gives her more publicity but for the sake of anyone’s curiosity, her name is Katie Hopkins) openly and proudly claims she hates fat people.  She would not hire a fat person to work for her… she would not be friends with a fat person.  In her mind, people who have fat are put into a category one tier beneath people with plague and Robert Durst.  The purpose of her documentary was to prove to fat people that they are lazy losers who should be able to lose weight like it weren’t no thing.  So, she set out to gain something like 40 pounds in 3 months. The 2nd part of her Loser-mentary was her trying to lose the weight over the course of 3 months.  Proof to no one but her ignorant self.  If losing weight were just about the trite calories in versus calories out diatribe, we’d all by Cindy Crawford on Nutrisystem.

She has failed to take into account the “why”.  Why people gain weight is the biggest hurdle to jump over… and even when you think you’ve figured out the why and have cleared said hurdle, it can all come crashing down on you.  Having fat is my lifelong cross to bear… and it’s not because I am lazy or I am purposely sitting on my aspercreme amidst a pool of Mallomars every night.  It’s because of my “why”… and my why will be a lifelong struggle.  It’s my biggest trial and I accepted it before I came down to this Earth.  I told God I would take it… and He knew I could handle it… because He doesn’t give us more than we can handle.  The difference between our trials is I wear mine on the outside… yours you may be able to bury deep inside… and if I can find a way to bury mine deep inside, I’ll have invented the last “die”t drug this world will ever need.

My plea is that we as a society stop thinking of fat-shaming as an acceptable prejudice.  We’ve all done it.  Looked at someone walking down the street and commented on their size/shape… but have we ever stopped to realize that there is an actual person with feelings and hopes and dreams living beneath that burdensome exterior?

I will never be accepting of my “fat”… I’ll forever wake up each morning ready to start anew on the journey to the svelte woman in my imagination… but in the meantime, you all can call me Whitney… not fat.

27 Comments

Filed under Getting A Life

El Zone-o de Comforto…

Spanglish is the best language said the gringo in the back of the class.

I’ve mentioned how much I adore my comfort zone.  It’s a beautiful place… in my imagination… all decked out in pillows made of pizza (except… no thanks… how uncomfortably gross would that be… wiping off marinara sauce every time you lay down)!  But it’s a pretty zone… somewhere in nature with waterfalls and sunny days chasing the clouds away (five points for whomever can name that song) and trees… gotta have some trees… except they’re birdless in my imagination… either that or the birds do not have a digestive system… because seriously!  There are a few people in my imaginative zone of comfort, but not a ton of people… gotta have some hyperventilating room up in that there joint.

On the edge of my comfort zone lives a mean ogre named Anxiet-eetodd.  He’s ogre-ish because if I happen to cross that line between the comfort and the not-so-comfort, he is waiting with a keg of sugar and an all-you-can-eat Italian smorgasbord.  Stupid ogre.  That’s what happens when you are an emotional eater… rather than deal with the emotion, you eat it away, which is only good for Anxiet-eetodd because he works on commission from the Pillsbury Doughboy… and all I get is a wagon full of lard sauce.

I’ve had a number of comfort zone-crushing moments the last several years.  It’s a good thing to get out of one’s comfort zone, and I need to think of it that way.  Not only will it get me to try new things, but it will also make me face what I hate to face… how to get through feeling an emotion without stuffing it down.

My latest challenge… dancing… in public… with people around!  Close your eyes and picture me dancing.  When you finish laughing your aspercreme off, I’ll let you know it’s exactly as you imagined it.  Somehow, I… Whitney of the Zumba In the Dark With The Blinds Closed… am dancing for the curtain call in the aforementioned Mary Poppins shindig.  I knew they’d rue the day they decided to invite me into their web of talent!  😛  It’s still not too late to back out, FSTC!  I hope there’s a particularly darkened corner somewhere on the stage with my name on it.  We learned part of the Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious dance this week, where-in Whitney nearly took out the whole back row with her skills.  I’ve been practicing it a little bit every single day since.  The steps aren’t that hard once you get them down, it’s the speed at which we have to do them.  If one of the cute smaller dancers twirls around, it’s like they’re walking around a pole.  If I twirl around, I’m at least walking around a block with change.  I’m leaving the dance moves below in the video for your perusal.  Someone who knows how to do the Mexican tequila bean dance on caffeine, jump inside my skin until July would ya’?  😛

Any tips, fellow dancers? (sorry, I couldn’t say that with a straight face… the “fellow dancers” part!)

T

8 Comments

Filed under Getting A Life, Mary Poppins

Getting It Down In Writing…

This blog of ramblings has really run the gamut of purposes… psychotic therapy… public humiliation… show-and-tell-the-stranger… but there’s always been at least one theme (besides the public humiliation one) and that is a sort of journal of my life.  So one day 800 years from now, they can dig up my writings from the computer graveyard and be like… what in the world is she fligflabbing talking about!?  I know my one (and maybe only) forray into theater was a few weeks ago, but I still needed to write about it before the “memory fades” and all I remember is that I almost fainted 5 billion times…. accurate number by the way.

I can’t remember anything… THE END.  (There’s an out for all of you who could give a rat’s patookus… see how generous I am?)

I had never heard of The Garden before I auditioned… and at the actual callback audition they had me sight read through the main solo I had… and I ain’t gonna lie… I didn’t like it.  The song, I mean (sight reading as well but that’s besides the point).  I thought the melody was ugly.  I kept an open mind, though, went home and downloaded the soundtrack off of iTunes because everything is better when you get orchestral background and a chic who actually knows how it should sound to sing it.  Problem was… after listening to the original recording (which you can listen to here on YouTube), I still wasn’t impressed.  Blugh.  That is such a bummer… because to sing a song that you don’t like is hard… it usually sounds like you’re singing a song that you don’t like.   Novel, right!?   So, I listened to it on a neverending loop of psychotic and each time I disliked it even more than the time before.  It’s kind of like that annoying Call Me Maybe song that I hated from the get go but that didn’t stop it from coming on the radio every time I turned it on… sort of.

When I was a teeny bopper and I was taking vocal lessons, my teacher once told me that no matter how many mistakes you make in a song, as long as you’re singing it with sincerity and emotion, no one will care about anything else.  That’s always stayed with me… emotion is key.  Let’s be honest… I don’t have the best voice in the world… my high note range is null and void… when I’m nervous my vibrato can get really machine gunny… etc., etc., etc.  The one thing I have vocally that not everyone else has is the ability to inject emotion into what I’m singing.  That’s when it hit me… the key to getting to like this song is to attach myself to the story of this old and barren olive tree.  I learned I had a lot in common with her.  The main solo is called What Good Will I Ever Be?  Pretty sure you can find that phrase in every journal entry from age 12 to 18.

The Olive Tree is meant to be an allegorical figure and on the surface, the most obvious symbol is that she’s a woman who is having a hard time bearing children.  I have thought that children are one of the things I will miss out on in my life… and sometimes that has made me sad.  I have been taught all through my life in church that the reason we are here on this earth is to have children and make families… What good will I ever be there?

Another thing this barren olive tree could represent is a person with depression, down on themselves, and longing for the glimpse of light and love that will take them out of the depths of despair.  Been there too.  As I was pondering the words and applying them to all different aspects of my life, I realized… I have been the olive tree.  This song is a plea that should be so familiar to me… and I grew to like the song because it was a way for me to express my own feelings through this character.  I should note that on initial listening to the music, this was the only song I disliked… the other songs I loved.  Maybe subconsciously it hit too close to home?

I didn’t mean to delve this far into the depressive side of things… but my fingers went there and I usually obey.  I was going to make this all light and airy… like the pre-show ritual every night included chanting the words to the songs aka a satanic cult, then praying the cult away, after which I hyperventilated into my shirt, fastened my glasses to my bra strap (they told me the spotlight glared off of them too much), hyperventilated some more, and then mocked throwing up whilst practicing faux Yoga moves.  I recommend it all… totes a great ritual.

All in all, twas a great experience for me to get me out of my comfort zone, to meet some uber fun and talented people, and to learn that despite almost fainting 5 billion times, I was able to stay upright… and I consider that there thing a success!

Question of the Day:  What do you first gravitate toward in a song (i.e., words, melody, beat, voice, etc.)?  

PS – Some of my family far far away on Judea’s Plains wanted the recording of me singing, so I bootlegged a copy and have uploaded it to YouTube at an unlisted address.  The reason it’s unlisted is for copyright purposes… and I don’t need some random person watching the lump in the background.  If you’d be interested in hearing it (the recording is not the greatest), either leave your email address in the comments or send me an email at whitney78@gmail.com and I will be happy to send you the links.  Otherwise, consider yourself saved!

PPS – Thoughts and prayers and comforting vibes sent to all the people who have been suffering unbelievable tragedies this week.  Boston… Texas… stay strong and know that this Utah chic has been thinking of you often.

I snapped a picture of the stage on the last night… this is the view from the Ram in the thicket’s space.  That there big tree in the back was the olive tree I sat next to…

 

 

15 Comments

Filed under Getting A Life

Meat Me In The Parking Lot…

No, I didn’t misspell that first word, you English majors with a stick up your vocabulary… it is referring to the fleshy creatures one slaps on the barbecue with a side of horseradish… which incidentally does NOT come from a horse… thank you very much, Burger King!  The kind of meat of which I have not sampled for 4+ years as one of those really annoying vegetarian people… which I really regret telling anyone because you know how people are… when they think vegetarian, they think really healthy skinny waif of a creature… not some lumbering rhino in a pink tutu.  Give it up… all vegetarians ain’t Twiggy… and all meat eaters ain’t Fat Albert… it’s the way of the world.  I like to think of it as me bucking the system… take that ye who judge on outward appearance!

That paragraph made sense only 1/3 of the time and I’m only working on 1/3 attention span right now, so you’ll have to forgive my ramblings.  Back to the topic.  Saturday, Madre was heading up Salt Lake City way to take Lindsay to a cooking class at Orson Gygi.  Something about a belated birthday present.  I, of course, said I didn’t want to attend the cooking class only for the reason that it’s hard to get out of sampling all the meat dishes.  I decided very last minute that I’d ride down anyway and sit in the car in the parking lot for 3+ hours reading my Biology textbook and memorizing words for The Garden.  Quality time spent… some creepy chic wearing a Snuggie sitting in the parking lot.  I thought it would be good motivation for me to get those things the crap done… because there was nothing else to take my attention away (coughcough… besides the half hour nap I snuck in coughcough)!   Turns out there are other things to do in a parking lot full of people coming and leaving… I watched a lady picking a wedgie for 15 good minutes of non-quality entertainment.  I also got to experience a nasty overflowed toilet when I thought I should use the public restroom, but upon entering and seeing the floor full of water, I decided I could hold it for 2 more hours… UTI here I come!   It’s a wonder I even had time to crack open the textbook!

When the madre and sister were done, we had to stop by Ruby Snap Gourmet Cookies… holy cowfriends those things are good!  They were giving out samples of some new kind of cookie… described to me as a maple chocolate chip cookie… safe, right?  I bit into it and got a cookie full of bacon!  The HORRORS!!!!  😛  How mature is it to spit out a mouthfull of food?  Because I’m thinking it’s at least 30-something-year-old mature… correct?  Nothing against flabby pig flesh, but I so wasn’t ready to partake in the bacon flavoring… especially next to a chocolate chip… that’s just blasphemous right there!  My favorite of the cookies I tried was a cookie called The Lilly… a lemon cookie with lemonheads and lemon glaze… she’s so silly!  Or there was this cherry one that was fan-freaking-tabulous!  Calorizers of the world, unite!  😛  NOT!

Lessons learned… next time wear blindfolds in the parking lot for 3 hours, bring a catheter, and never trust a maple cookie!  I think that was a day full of accomplishments if you ask me… and nobody did but I’m telling you anyway!

Question of the Day:  What’s your favorite cookie flavor?  What’s the weirdest food you’ve had containing bacon?  

 

12 Comments

Filed under Getting A Life