Maybe the leprechauns are to blame

It was a rough weekend. One kid has the coughs which means he coughed so hard a little of his dinner came up, which means soon I will have the coughs yadda yadda yadda weak bladder yadda yadda yadda.

Also the Husband stepped on a rusty nail and had to get a tetanus shot.

He told the nurse that his wife made him come get the shot when really he was the one googling tetanus and showing me a little drop of blood on his sock. I couldn’t see it (maybe because I didn’t have my eyes in yet). Also the nurse told him the mortality rate for those with a tetanus infection wasn’t good so, yeah, he got the shot. True story.

Word of advice to those who have a husband who might step on a nail in their life time, the tetanus shot will turn your man into a horrible, horrible version of the man cold sufferer, i.e. whining, incessant whining, more whining, mixed with demonstrations on how high he can’t lift his arm, with a little crazy eyes thrown in for good charm. Well I hope the shot works and the Husband doesn’t get the tetanus. I sort of feel bad for pinching him right in the spot he got the shot, but he wasn’t wearing green and he only cried for a little bit.

Also I took down all my lingering winter paraphernalia and then it snowed the next day. I hate to say I told you so, but I told me so. As I was removing the hanger I used for a winter wreath, Bosco said, “Hey, are you using those Command hanging strips?” and I tucked this away in my brain as proof that my son has a great memory and that the brain filtration power of commercials is frighteningly awesome. I’m still not sure though how or when my four year-old saw a commercial for this product.

Well that was my weekend, with a whole lot of corned beef and cabbage on the side. How about you?

Hello firty-one

For my birthday this year I decided it best to surround myself with family and delicious food. In the span of about twenty-four hours I consumed large portions of massaman curry, pad thai, spring rolls, hamburgers, French fries, ranch dressing, fish tacos, cheesecake, and chocolate.

{That's provolone cheese y'all!}

And did you know this was in existence?

Thanks to my in-laws now I do.

There was also an encore visit to Sundance (Park City).

I was careful to follow all of my previously mentioned guidelines from last year, except I forgot the most important thing: my sunglasses. I have never felt so vulnerable in my life. Naked eyeballs are a major no-no at the Sundance Film Festival and I believe my blunder is the number one reason we saw zero celebrities, unless you count the guy who is in some Cash 4 Gold commercials.

Or a dressed up moose, and perhaps Rosie O’Donnell in a blonde wig.

And possibly Mr. Eko but 99% probably not.

If I had had my shades that would have been less awkward because everyone knows sunglasses are mostly used so we can stare shamelessly, with a little more dignity.

The biggest crowd of the day was gathered around this: a big dog. Look it’s a big dog!

 

But it wasn’t all for naught. Eventually I got asked to audition for a reality T.V. show (which I turned down of course, but it's the thought that counts), got some hot chocolate,

got accosted by a lady,

and finally got spotted by the paparazzi. The whole no sunglasses thing I think threw them off.

And there may have been some tomfoolery with Samuel Adams’ armpits.

All in all I’d have to say it was a fine way to start my one-and-thirtieth year. Cheers!

P.S. I got my so desired new vacuum, and there have been reports that I was found vacuuming at inappropriate hours of the day because I love that dang thing way too much. No comment.

How could I do a real blog post on a day like today?

I watched the last fifty-six seconds of the Super Bowl on Sunday, so in football time I spent five to ten minutes watching the game.

Then I spent over an hour watching the Super Bowl commercials online. This is one of my favorite. You have to pause it and read the entire ingredients list. Mother's Approval! Elvin Joy! Blankety Blanks!




Of course Ferris and Jerry deserve a nod because they are basically two minute movies.

Did you have a favorite? Please tell me it wasn't this one.


Next post: Birthday rundown. Yippy Skippy!

A list of thoughts and internal monologue on a cold, snowy winter’s eve

In no particular order:

-I am in a funk

-All I want to do is sit on the couch, eat chocolate, and stalk people on the Internet. Some may call this depression. I call it hibernation.

-I need to start taking my age seriously. I guess this means cold cream and caftans? Bring it on.

-All I want for my birthday is a vacuum. Eureka I hate the one I have now! Of course Dyson is out since the Husband is turned off by the smugness of the British guy and his "revolutionary" ball design. I guess the Husbo just prefers fixed axles? I don’t think he has anything against Oreck though. Hey Oreck, can your people get in contact with my people (me)?

-Everyone needs to give Paula Dean a break y’all. No one gives Jay Leno a hard time for having his own late night talk show even though he probably shouldn't because he mumbles. P.S. Diabetus!

-What are the odds that when I was taking a shower a water droplet would land perfectly on a mole I have on my leg (creating a sort of magnifying illusion) and then stay there long enough for me to notice and think that the mole was suddenly twice the normal size and absolutely wonky? Yeah, definitely a scary couple of seconds.

-How is it that I’m nearly thirty-one and do not own a heating pad?

-Sometimes I find it hard to listen to classical music because it reminds me of Hannibal Lecter.

-Now is probably a good time to regret laying out in the sun lathered in baby oil, when I was a dumb teenager.

-I should also probably repent of pouring a packet of Kool-Aid mix into an obscene amount of sugar and just eating it straight up Pixie-Stix style . . . when I was a teenager.

-I, Redhead, made and ate a homemade sausage egg McMuffin everyday for the past four days. I am out-of-control pleased, and excited about the whole “homemade” part of that statement.

-I am currently weighing the pros and cons of Nair. The End.

A totally necessary picture of my tired eyeball, and a homemade Egg McMuffin.

Dear Tree, You were a tough old bird. The best one we've had yet.

I had this lovely, touching little post all set in my mind to write, explaining my thoughts and feelings as to why our Christmas tree was still alive and well and still giving off magic in my living room, even after doing so for well over a month, even without being watered for nearly two weeks.

I believed it to be because our tree had yet to see any snow glistening outside the window. There had been absolutely NO snowfall, which was surely uncommon and a little bit saddening. Even I can admit that.

My well thought out post then continued on about this being the main reason why I couldn’t bring myself to take down the tree, because while it’s been with us there hasn’t been a trace of a white Christmas. So taking the tree down while it was still fresh and oh so patiently waiting seemed like a travesty indeed, like depriving a twelve year-old girl of a training bra. Just all wrong and mean. This was the justification I was using anyway, never mind the fact that this argument of ‘trees holding on and hoping for snow’ would have no legs in places like California, Florida, the equator, Mordor . . . yadda, yadda, yadda.

Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if it didn’t go and snow before I had time to write out that post of mine that promised to be one of my best, which I only summarized briefly here! 

It was a meager amount of snow for sure, but apparently it was enough to satisfy our tree because overnight it done checked off the last thing on its bucket list and gave up the ghost. Needles everywhere.

I guess instead I could write about how my theory was actually correct. Too prideful of a post I suppose? Or about how it’s a sad day in our house when the tree comes down. All the barren space, all the back pain. But who would want to read a depressing post like that?

Is your tree still up? Only respond if it's good news please.

Et tu, Herbert?

Our car Herb (short for Herbert, also generically called Subi) decided to disinherit us. I know this for a fact because five hours and fifty minutes into our anticipated six hour road trip to visit family for Thanksgiving, he done lost his timing belt at freeway speeds and ruined his engine. I still wonder why he did this to us, and ultimately himself because, I’m sorry Herbert, you should have known it just didn’t make fiscal sense to spend more to repair you than you were worth moneywise, and if you know anything at all about us you know that we prefer not to do stupid things. Yes, I’m sure you knew this so I’m even more convinced this was a conscience decision to sit in a junk yard rather than be loaded to the brim with all of our crap for even one more road trip. I don’t blame you of course. I tend to over pack, and the kids are just so messy, and the Husband probably didn’t wash you enough, and we probably talked about getting a new car too much while in your presence. Still, the betrayal stings a bit. We’ve had fond memories and such.

I must admit though, our Herbert had impeccable timing. This was the hilarious chain of events for forty-five seconds: I was reading Harry Potter (Book 7 by the way!), two boys were in the back yelling for drinks, the Husband said something was wrong, we had no power, we looked up, we saw a rest area exit ramp, the car had just enough steam to pull into a parking spot, the car was dead on many levels, we called for help, my cell phone died. Luck or miracle or just a car with a wicked sense of humor, and a little compassion? I’m going to go with a mixture of all three. Mostly miracle though cuz that’s how I roll.

But sometimes miracles can be disguised or camouflaged I’ve learned because in the moment it feels more like confusion with a shot of hysteria. I had three new pimples by nightfall.

The scariest and most stressful thing that came about as a result of Herbert’s decided demise was not even that we had to buy a new car. The Hubso and I had already been shooting the breeze on that topic for forever and a day. It was that the V-A-N word was mentioned multiple times, in a serious context. Like, “Hey, I don’t know. Eight seats? We only need like four or five right now, but who knows. Maybe a soccer team will need a lift someday. And sliding doors just make so much more sense.” I found myself willing to give up a piece of my soul in exchange for a stupidly obscene amount of space. You know so the kids would have room to play tag or at the very least duck, duck, goose. And that compromise I made in my head scared the monkeys right out of me because I suddenly saw myself as a grown-up. And it just didn’t feel right on me, you know?

It was also very taxing on me emotionally as a stawlart thinker-througher to have to make big decisions in a small amount of time, which would have been obvious if you could have seen the tenseness in my shoulder and lower lumbar regions. It takes me two months to pick out a new set of towels. Imagine the horror when faced with choosing color, style, make, model, year, mileage etc.! I was having a mental fit!

Basically, what I guess I really want to convey is that I haven’t had any time to think about Christmas decorations and if this should be “The Year of the Garland” or perhaps “The Year of the White Lights.” So maybe don’t ask me yet.

An ode of sorts

I am one of those people who prefer to call fall autumn. I’m also one of those people unable to wear nail polish on her fingernails, but that is neither here nor there.

Autumn just sounds more charming and wistful, less foreboding and not so full of imminent despair. So if there’s a word out there that makes the season before winter sound and feel more appealing, by george, I’m going to grab a hold and not let go until spring rolls around again.

But really who needs a fancy word when there are pictures to be had. I am fully aware that a few select people think me hard-hearted, but I would like to remind those people that I like a decorative pumpkin and a well built leaf pile just as much as the next gal, and that I also know when to shut up about the breath of winter that is nearly upon us and declare autumn beautiful, even magical.

A weekend in the mountains does that to a person.

Also, the near month long duration of seventy degree temperatures hasn't hurt my feelings either.

A story wherein I had to tell lots of people I wasn't pregnant.

Less than twenty-four hours before I was supposed to be on a plane to attend a friend’s wedding, I was bent over the porcelain in the upstairs bathroom. To date, that bathroom has the best odds of “getting there in time.”

Every fifteen minutes I found myself returning there to give the heaves a place to ho. You know?

Frantic calls were placed to the Husband. Get here. Fast. The kids are motherless today. No I didn’t feel sick until just an hour ago. No I don’t know what it is. No I’m not pregnant. People throw up for a myriad of other reasons, like a bad batch of swiss cheese or LISTERIA!

More calls to family. Um, I don’t know if I’m going to need you to pick me up at the airport after all. No, I’m not pregnant. Geez.

Then I laid there and felt sorry for myself, and how this is the sort of thing that I’ve always worried would happen when I buy a plane ticket and NOW IT”S ACTUALLY HAPPENING and I thought over and over again about taking a drink of water but knowing full well that I would have to expel it in another ten minutes.

I had bad dreams in my delirious dehydrated (non-pregnant) state, you bet I did. Finding dead cats in dumpsters. Loosing my teeth, yet again. Being on an airplane and throwing up all over everyone which made them so mad that the flight attendant grabbed me and pushed me out of a secret hatch marked “TRASHY TRASH.”

The day was almost done and I had a 7AM wake up call the next morning if I was going to make my flight. Plus I had packed nothing in my suitcase. Nothing, because the whole puking thing was still ever present as the waves of nausea ebbed and flowed.

Then a call was made to the friend, the soon to be wed friend. The friend who said I better be at her wedding or I would feel her wrath. Bad news friend. It looks like someone doesn’t want me at your wedding because I’ve just lost my guts, am unable to walk, let alone sit between two smelly men on an airplane, or even worse two perfumey women. No I’m not pregnant. Food poisoning? Perhaps.

To make a short story longer, I went to bed holding on to the hope that my body would miraculously recover in eight hours and I would still be able to go to my dear friend's wedding. The trips to the bathroom had now stopped but the ever-horrible physical after effects of an all day gutting were fierce. I woke up every so often only to realize that barely an hour had passed which my determined self thought was great. More time for this miracle to take place!

7AM. I nervously got out of bed to check my status. If I could walk up and down the stairs and throw stuff in a suitcase and stomach a banana, I was going to do this.

Well, let’s just say someone may have thought it funny to make me lose five pounds in one day, but they also thought it would be a travesty to make me miss this wedding. Miracle received.

Note: There was no secret hatch. I checked. And I did have to sit between two larger men. But they weren’t even smelly. They helped me with my suitcase, and they didn't ask me if I was pregnant. But they did ask me if my husband was going to be okay with the kids and what I thought about the price of gasoline, so it's not like we didn't have anything to talk about.

I got chills. They're multiplyin'.

I'm currently sick as a dog. Whatever that means. I have yet to actually research the origins of that expression, but it sounds exactly like what I want to convey, that being I am really stupidly sickie and it's a good thing I don't have a singing career or I'd have to cancel the tour. And in my real life I have had to cancel any and all laundry loads for the time being. Sorry family. I know how they hate when I rock the boat and cite illness as the cause.

In other unnecessary but compelling news, I bought another dress online. I really am out-of-my-mind sick. I'm also depressed about my carnie feet yet again. Surprise! This happens to me every fall when I have to start living life without flip flops. Boo hoo me.

And some of you may be wondering what's currently playing on my iPod? Oh of course you are. Well, I've listened to this song over and over again this weekend. It was just that sort of weekend as I'm sure you all know. WARNING: Don't let it make you cry. Especially if you are stupidly dog sick.

Like it. Like it a lot. I also plan to start cutting my sons hair in such a fashion from now on.

I'll probably get back to my normal routine of sporadic posting soon. Until then, peace my friends.

Well at least this post made sense in my head

Here’s the jist of it my friends. I’m tired. And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I rarely go to bed before 1:00 AM.

No. It’s more to do with other things. Some important. But mostly not. Tis the lot of a fretter such as me. Fretting equals energy consumption. Fretters fret about it all, big or small. I should have that stitched on my pillow yes?

Well you see here’s one of the things. My Bubba turned two this weekend. And besides the silly amount of time I spent making a dinosaur cake (which looked okay but tasted gross, so says the Husband because apparently neon green food coloring can make icing taste toxic, whatever), I am now spending many an anxious moment quietly pondering how I dislike change very much. But then again I like it very much. But ultimately I dislike it very much. You can see how this can be very tiring.

So along with Bubba's birthday came a trip to a farm to see animals. I sort of dislike all animals. Well that statement is probably not true. Actually it’s more that I feel uncomfortable around most animals because they have brains that I cannot read, unlike humans which have very readable brains. For example, that one time when I was twelve and a bird pooped on my head? I had no idea that was coming. I would have preferred that I could have looked that bird in the eye(s) and known a second before hand that poop was on the horizon, like I can usually do with my human offspring. You know?

So obviously a day at a farm was taxing. But surprisingly not because of the animals. I sort of enjoyed the docile ones. Like the heifers.

No, it was more the kids that zapped me of strength. Crying, whining, crying, whining, duck food in the face, pleas for water, tractor rides, runny noses, pleas for candy, whining, followed by the heinous cry-whining.

And then to top it off, when the day was done the kids said they had a great time. So I’m left to wonder what family outings would be like if they weren’t supposedly enjoying themselves. Yikes indeed.

So in summary, I have two boys and one husband. One is thirty. One is four and one is two. And I am thirty. Last week we went four days without bananas, and two days without ice cream. I have twenty-eight teeth, two of which required another trip to the dentist (don’t ask). There are twenty-four hours in the day and I wasted two watching the Bachelor Pad, I ordered one dress from the internet and am returning one dress. I have one nose, two nostrils, only one of which is currently working. One throat that is scratchy and two moles that are bumpy. And one nap to take. After I eat one piece of that wretched dinosaur cake.

See you later.

Independence Day: In pictures...

...because I don't have energy for much else after multiple late nights, multiple BBQs, multiple fireworks both professional and amateur, multiple marching bands, multiple tantrums, multiple drops of sweat, and multiple bottles of vanilla cream soda.

Proof that sometimes I do get ambitious, when it really matters. Desserts for example.

Less than stellar view of the fireworks from our house, but it was adequate. You may recall last year we travelled five miles to see the fireworks in our town and spent two hours in the car to get home, which was five miles away remember? With a crying baby in the car . . . Well the Husband may have uttered the words in no particular order "if" "I" "went" "to" "hell" "this" "would" "be" "it" "my" "own" "personal" "hell." I hate to admit it, but the fireworks would have been way more impressive if we had revisited the Husband's own personal hell. But I was nice and gave him a year's respite from such fiery torture.

Storm Troopers ARE real and know when to show patriotic pride; it's in a Fourth of July parade surrounded by people who are for the most part crazy, me included.

Bosco liked the horses and the marching bands. He did not like the gunfire, the kids who threw poppers at us as we were walking, the people next to us with fireworks, the loud sirens, and the cannon. So pretty much 85% of his surroundings made him cry.

And Bubba enjoyed all of it, except for the parts where I had to keep him from sitting on strangers. But really who lays down and sleeps at a parade and leaves themselves open to being sat upon by toddlers?

MAYBE we'll see you next year Sammy. Really depends on the crowds, everyone's moods, the noise level, if I can find red striped pants, how much sleep we'll lose, and if I decide to be ambitious again.

For the record, I am not pregnant (Mother!). It's just all that party planning and pasta.

Betwixt a birthday, a rocket launch, a baptism, and a super hero invasion, this year's Mother's Day celebration of a nap and shrimp pasta was relegated to a close 5th place. And that is totally fine be me. I really needed that nap AND that carbo load.

Actually I think I need at least six more naps and four more unseemly, huge bowls of pasta before I should expose any of you to further blogging on my part. So I'll see you after I digest and wake up.

You're welcome.

{Space makes some people look really happy . . . and bright.}

{The star that wouldn't die, and the bat that did.}

Perhaps I should have been born in England. That makes more sense.

My, my what a memorable weekend that was.

Well first you had that whole regal affair to attend to, as I did most assuredly. Some people woke up early. Not me. I didn't even bother to go to sleep. Coverage began at 2 AM (which is generally my bedtime if I'm being honest) and it just didn't stop from there. All night long. So I went to bed around 5 AM and felt surprisingly energetic during the day. Royal weddings apparently pump me full of adrenaline and magic dust.

Then there was the whole "headache for two days straight" debacle. One word. No, two words: sinus pressure. I suffered mostly in silence. Mostly silent meaning no more than five whines per day. 

And then there was breaking news, special reports, a presidential address. You'd think that would be the topper.

But no. To top it all off, I finally got to relax and watch the ever enjoyable Lark Rise to Candleford, because I'm heartily in favor of anything with a British accent.

You might think this post is done. Not yet! While I was watching said PBS programming, one of the show's characters (a redhead mind you) said the following words:

Whenever I hear a man with grand intentions I brace myself for trouble.

The Husband happened to overhear this and for a split second mistakenly thought I had said it in my best British accent and had suddenly acquired wit. So of course he laughed at the exact same time I laughed because that quote could seriously be the STORY OF MY LIFE with him and my sons.*

{I want to be a firefighter. No a bunny! No, a firefighter bunny! Your Easter basket is on fire!}

A TV show based (somewhat) on my life! As my great-grandmother would say, "If that doesn't beat all."

So yeah. This weekend was memorable for a lot of reasons.

*Since I've known the Husband he has voiced an interest in being the following: rocket scientist, nuclear engineer, comedian, apple farmer, mechanic, actor, rockstar, economist, trucker, train engineer or train conductor, politician, surfer. And these are just the ones my meager memory can recall.

I'm not going to cover the Easter Bunny's butt anymore.

Being the planner I am with ample amounts of forethought, I bought Easter basket goodies and toys over a month ago, and placed them discreetly in a closet. When the time came for the Easter Bunny to arrive, we would be ready.

But apparently the universe has been trying to tell me NOT to perpetuate the legacy of the Easter Bunny in our household because my best laid plans met obstacles at every turn this Easter. And usually I interpret obstacles as signs.

Earlier last week when I was rummaging through the closet, the bag of Easter paraphernalia was accidentally unearthed in front of Bosco. He then proceeded to tell me how he had seen that bag before and looked through all of the contents whilst in the presence of Daddy (the Husband just so this is clear). He even took out all the toys, then he, Bubba, and Daddy had a grand ol' time playing with such "cool things". Then after a while Daddy said it was time to put everything back in the closet.

This tells me two things. 1. Daddy knew these things were supposed to be a secret because only secret things are kept in closets. 2. I can trust no one.

Of course I then proceeded to make an attempt at remedying the situation. Basically, I lied, spouting things like, "The Easter Bunny dropped these things off here because he's really busy, and he told me to keep them safe until Easter. Daddy must not have been listening when the Easter Bunny said it was supposed to be a secret. Obviously Daddy did a very silly thing letting you play with them. He's in a good amount of trouble."

Bosco was astonished to find out that the toys he had played with were actually delivered by the Easter Bunny. It's like he had gotten a special backstage pass into Awesomeness.

So with the crisis somewhat averted, I figured the whole idea of an Easter basket could be salvaged.

At least this was my thought today as I filled Easter baskets with the utmost amount of sneakiness. Then, not really thinking about it, I left the baskets in the office and closed the door. I figured I would go hide them outside (family tradition) after naptime was over.

When I announced that it was about time for the Easter Bunny to deliver the baskets, Bosco interjected, "Actually I already saw them. They're in the office. That boat is really cool! I want the blue one."

As you can imagine my perfectionist little heart went to pieces. Nothing is secret in this house. NOTHING. Not even when you close doors! What are those blasted things even good for?!

So I picked up the ill-fated baskets for all to see and hid them outside.

From now on there is no such thing as the Easter Bunny in our house because I'm already working too hard to keep the hope of Santa Claus alive. And given my record, he's one closed door away from non-existence.

P.S. Remember today is the last day to enter the Target gift card giveaway. Winner announced tomorrow. Booyah!

I don't even think a cape is required.

Is there anyone else who just ain’t feelin’ the blogging vibe right now?

Every time I went to write one of my silly little posts this weekend I kept thinking about the millions of people who just had the worst weekend of their lives, and are still in shock.

No one wants to hear about how I couldn’t find board shorts on Saturday or that I’m tired because on Thursday I got sicker, then on Friday I stayed up way too late reading tweets about the earthquake and tsunami then couldn’t sleep, then on Saturday daylight savings ruined my routine, and on Sunday I stayed up late again while the Husband sorted collector coins. Yeah no one wants or really needs to know that I’m tired or that the Husband has that sort of hobby.

But then again there are many things in this world that we don’t really need. Disasters, whether they directly affect us or not, have a way of reminding us all that there is more to life than Bachelor finales, bubble baths, comfy sheets, and having clear skin (although all can bring a form of happiness).

What we do need is a little hope I tell ya, that life is good and we’ll be alright. Who knew that my Bosco would remind me of that today. I was watching some footage from Japan of a town being completely overtaken by water. Bosco asked what it was and I told him people had lost their homes and it was very sad. He simply said, “Yeah it is. But you know mommy they can rebuild it all and start over even though they’re sad. Just like how I have to build my towers again after Bubba knocks them down. I’ll even fly there and help them. Superhero to the rescue!”

That superhero of mine is right in many ways. Although it’s innocently naïve, extremely hopeful, and easier said then done, it’s true.


http://www.redcross.org/
http://www.habitat.org/
http://www.savethechildren.org/
http://www.ldsphilanthropies.org/humanitarian-services/

 Just to name a few...

Is it swimsuit or bathing suit?

Somewhere between my first and second pregnancy my rib cage formation has taken on a sort of Picasso interpretation.

It’s so odd it’s sort of funny and beautifully artistic, that is until you try on a bathing suit, which is what I did this weekend partly out of curiosity and partly out of necessity.

I’m talking a tankini here folks. Never been a bikini person. Not planning on changing that about myself. And a one piece is just asking for awkward potty breaks. There’s one place I absolutely hate to feel awkward and that’s the bathroom.

So tankini it is. Let’s be totally honest here though. It’s been about two years since I tried mine on.

This weekend’s fitting results were . . . uncomfortable, mostly due to the aforementioned torso arrangement wherein my ribs have been pushed up and out. I like to call it Funky Hourglass.

Behold a vague rendering of what I’m dealing with:

I’m pretty sure they don’t make a  swimsuit for that.

Let’s not even talk about the paleness. Oh the paleness! But I hear super pale is the new pale, so I’ve got that pretty much covered.

What about you? You got wacky ribs?

In other news, I feel an intense desire/need to own a turquoise colored piece of furniture. Last time something like this happened I got abducted my aliens for two months.

Three things that are complete and total fact

After this past weekend, of these three things I am absolutely sure:

• When I drop an ice cube on the floor I need to be more dedicated in finding it. I cannot wimp out after two minutes of searching because if I do I will come back in the kitchen an hour later and step on its melted wet cold remains. And then I will have unkind thoughts towards ice, which is wrong since ice is rather innocent in all of this, and pleasant in drinks.

• Any mother (who is no spring chicken mind you) who takes her children outside to play in the snow whilst also enduring the freezing temperatures herself deserves much more than the eternal love of her children. She also deserves a plaque commemorating the achievement of perfect motherhood, a lifetime supply of back rubs, and immortality, just to name a few.

{Snow monsters. They do exist.}

{A worthy yet unsuccessful attempt at snow angeling.}

• Bless his ever multi-talented? heart, but James Franco recites scripted lines as if doing so eloquently would make him vomit all over himself. It makes more sense if you think about it for roughly a half hour. And it will make even more sense if you watched the Oscars.

That is all.

How to do Sundance on a wing and a prayer

This is what you need to do if ever you find yourself whisked away to the Sundance Film Festival with your sister and cousin and you a) don’t know what the heck you are doing b) lack patience, charm, and money to actually get tickets to see a movie or attend an event c)want to enjoy all the hullabaloo to an acceptable non-creepy level.

1) Don’t look for a parking spot for over an hour. If you do so, all parties involved will start to get stabby. Paying ten dollars is a great deal considering it will end possibly harmful rages.

2) In this mountainous snowy backdrop that is mecca for movie stars and people who are trying to seem like movie stars, it is very important to wear sunglasses. Even in the dark, even while eating overpriced pizza in a restaurant, even when going to the bathroom. You’ll feel important, and a few gullible passersby will think you are important too. Probably. This will also give you the security you need to stare directly at people without them knowing.

Basically sunglasses at Sundance are a requirement, just like underwear is. If you're not wearing either you are being improper. One of these redheads is following this tip well. The other is not.

3) Now go to the Egyptian Theatre and just stand there. Anyone who is anyone knows famous types may emerge at any second.

4) Keep standing in front of the theatre.

Look like you are sure and positive of yourself. Other people will come up to you and ask why people are congregating here. They will ask you this because you look like you know secrets. Simply respond with a smile. And at that precise moment America Ferrera will quickly exit and be on her merry little way.

5) I should have mentioned before to have a reliable camera out and ready so that when peoples like America pass right in front of you, you will be able to shamelessly snap pictures of them.

6) I should also mention that you will not always be successful, even when trying to get a picture of someone ten feet in front of you because unfortunately there are plenty of other people around you trying to do the same thing. There are also plenty of people who know nothing about everything and they are oblivious to the whole purpose of Sundance, and these peoples will walk right in front of you.

America is standing right behind this gentleman.

7) Keep standing where you are. Eventually a film crew will set up right next to you and start interviewing someone.

You don’t know this someone, but you are asked to remain aloof in case your profile makes it in the shot. You’ll have to find a way to deal with these annoying cameras that may or may not be capturing your fair façade. This is just the reality of Sundance.

8) Start taking pictures of anyone who looks like they may be someone. Like this guy.

He’s got all the classic signs of being an actor type. Brooding, chain smoking, anti-social, unkempt, black clothes, scalp probably smells off-putting, skinny jeans. Like I said, classic. Textbook really.

9) Then consider yourself all knowing when the actress Ellen Barkin walks out and joins this seemingly tormented soul. You may not know what her name is at the precise moment, but you know her face. That’s what Google is for. So snap the picture right when she looks at you. Bingo.

10) Obviously this is fun so keep taking snapshots. It’s always more edgy too if you take pictures of people’s bodies and not their heads. These people are not famous necessarily, but notice how you’re not completely sure because you can’t see their faces. So mysterious!

11) Don’t be afraid to get friendly (or have a cousin willing to do so) with people who look official (they are wearing a headset, and talking into their chest) and can give you important information. If you don’t do this you may be oblivious to the fact that the director of all those Bourne movies you liked so much, yes that director, is standing right in front of you in the black coat and glasses. Click.

12) When you tire of being surrounded by the enigma that is celebrity, buy some stuff in the local shops so you can carry bags around. It cannot be stressed enough how important it is to CARRY BAGS AROUND at Sundance. It’s almost as important as wearing boots.

13) Which reminds me, wear boots. And if you really want to blend in, wear a scarf as well, even if it’s not terribly cold out.

14) Take video of the street performers. They might achieve super stardom someday. Plus they are all actually talented. Plus, plus when they see you recording them it will make them feel special. And everyone deserves to feel special, especially if they deserve it.

15) Pretend like you don’t know those dancing fools when they bump into that lady.

16) Before leaving, stand in a long line to get chocolate. Hot chocolate, chocolate truffles, marshmallows, caramel apples, and the like. Don’t be embarrassed when it takes an awkwardly long time to order all the treats you want. This is Sundance after all. Indulgence is key.

17) Then when you return to your real life, go shop the Old Navy 90% off clearance sale because that's sort of more your style.