I Don't Know.

People are going to begin to talk. I somehow managed to give myself this the other day.

No one has asked yet, but this combined with other recent injuries could cause people to talk...

There'll be a Hot Time In My Bedroom Tonight...

I can't believe you. You totally went there, didn't you? I was simply going to share with you the story of my lamp. But whatever, make assumptions.

So the other night, I was sitting quietly in my bedroom, possibly watching MI:5 or some other netflix goodness. I can't really recall what I was doing due to the trauma and all. Anyways, as I sat there quietly contemplating what Mr. Darcy and I will name our children, I heard this kind of pop, pop, fizzle. And I smelled this ooky burnt plastic smell. And I looked over and saw smoke. Coming out of my lamp. And the fizzing was sounding awfully like the sound of a fire that was about to catch. Not good. So I very carefully turned off the lamp, at which point the fizzing stopped. And I very carefully unplugged the lamp, very carefully walked down my stairs with the lamp, very carefully donned my shoes, very carefully opened the door and walked across the parking lot, and very carefully deposited said lamp into the dumpster.

The good news is that my house is still standing.

Also I have a new lamp.

HOW Can You WEAR those???

Have you ever worn high heels and had another woman look at you like you had watermelon on your feet and say "HOW can you wear those?" I have. And I find it irritating. I confess, I enjoy a good pair of shoes with very high heels. I think they are cute, and I like being tall. And contrary to the belief of certain women, they are generally comfortable, if you buy the right kind. Cheaper high heels often come with little padding, or misplaced padding. So if you shop for your shoes at a cheap shoe store, of course you don't like wearing high heels. But really, don't you think it's a little rude to exclaim in disgust at my fashion choices? Especially if you are someone that hardly knows me? I don't exclaim in disgust "HOW can you wear that hideous shapeless skirt and that blouse with the kitten print?" Because I am polite.

A Representation of My Week

As interpreted by cats.

Shoosh.

I watch Top Chef on Bravo, and tonight I'm doing a little catchup. I'm a few weeks behind, so if you watch it don't spoil it for me. I'm currently watching the improv episode, where the chefs are in teams of two and have to do a dish that represents an emotion, a color, and one food as assigned by the comedians at an improv show they went to. I really, really wish that a few of the women would stop talking. One chef in particular, let's call her eyebrow piercing girl, tells us each week when they are given the challenge that she is not going to "dumb down" her food to please the masses, meaning cook food that is simple and something normal people like to eat. She needs to shoosh.

Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate fancy shmancy food. I like rich food, and fancy food, and I want to try some of the dishes they cook on here. But seriously, you're too good for barbecue? Because that's what she was whining about last week. Because apparently only the stupid people of the masses eat barbecue. Smart people eat sea bass and purple potato, and stupid people eat polish sausage. Just ask eyebrow piercing girl. Who I am hoping gets the boot tonight. She is a total potty mouth, by the way, and so negative I want to kick her.

Estrogen Overload is an Understatement

Last week I went back to my alma mater, BYU, to attend a Women's Conference with my mom and my aunt. I was very excited to return to what was for four years my home (more to come on that in a later post). But imagine thousands of women all on one campus. There was much crafting. And a LOT of estrogen. I'm sure whatever men were left on campus wanted very badly to flee for their lives. And also they probably wanted their bathrooms back, because most of the campus bathrooms were changed to Women's restrooms for the weekend to accomodate all the women. (Question: WHY do women take so long in the bathroom? I should not have to stand in line that long. It's ridiculous.)

The highlights of the conference for me, other than being back at my school, were a few of my favorite speakers.

On Thursday, the opening speaker was Sheri Dew.

She gives articulate, insightful talks, filled with firm doctrinal principles and practical ways to apply the gospel in your life. I enjoy her. To read her talks you can look at lds.org and search for Sheri Dew in the gospel library.

Her talk this time was no exception. She addressed the belief by some that in order to have influence, a woman has to have money, fame, or a title. This, she said, is a big fat lie. I don't remember if she used those exact words, but that was basically the idea behind them. She possibly was more eloquent than that.

At the close of the conference the president of my church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints), Thomas S Monson (no relation) spoke.

I got to sit down on the floor of the Marriot Center for both of these talks, which for those of you who aren't familiar with BYU, is a basketball stadium that seats about 29,000. So I was super close. Close enough to take the pictures above. It was cool.

President Monson is a prophet, and when you're in the same room with him the feeling of the spirit of peace is almost tangible. This time he talked about not putting off till tomorrow what you can do now. You know, like telling people you love them, or getting your education, or taking that job, or learning how to yodel. So based on his talk, I hereby resolve to eliminate "some day" and "one day" from my vocabulary. Expect further posts on what I will do now, instead of some day. Once I figure out what those things are. Also, I liked President Monson's advise to never let a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved. Food for thought.

How to Behave in Public, Lesson 1

JennaL and I went to see The Producers at a local theatre in Salt Lake City the other night. The story was just starting to pick up, and suddenly I noticed a small glowy light to my left. No, it was not a fairy. The woman sitting next to me had pulled out her cell phone and opened it up, and exited the theatre with her cell phone at her side. At this point, my thought was, "Is someone dying? Because if someone's dying by all means leave your phone on and take calls during a theatrical production. But then again, if someone is dying, do you think that perhaps this was not the night to be going to the theatre?" I did not say it. I was very tempted to, but I did not. When the lady came back in, she sat down and commenced to tell her theatre companion all about the call in a voice that would not qualify as a whisper by anyone's definition, and her companion answered her back in what was definitely not his 3 inch voice.

Lesson Summary: When at the theatre, turning off your ringer is not enough. You must also refrain from answering the phone. You must also resist using your three foot voice. Three inch voices only.