Who Knew? Snowman Good on Crackers

Say what? Two posts in one day? You betcha. I couldn't NOT show this guy off. I took him to my family party last night. He was massacred one chunk at a time...but ain't he a beauty?

Auntie Teresa in Three Acts

This is my Aunt Teresa. Last night I went to a family party and realized I ought to write a post about this woman. Let's just say that Teresa is unique...and loud...and opinionated...and a teaser of the mean variety. But she's my aunt and you can't pick your family and frankly I kind of like the woman in all her eccentricity. So I decided to share three memories involving Teresa that would hopefully sum up the love/hate relationship I've had with this woman throughout my life.

ACT I--"And She Went Wee Wee Wee All the Way to Disneyland"
When I was six, Aunt Teresa and Uncle Willy (my dad's brother), loaded myself and two other girls she babysat in the back of their Subaru and drove us to California and Disneyland. In a tiny Utah town called Scipio we stopped to use the restroom at the local 7-11 and maybe grab a drink. I and my six-year-old bladder were quite filled up from the last pit stop and I had on a pair of overalls that I couldn't get off without assistance. As I stood dancing and asking for Teresa's help with my overalls in the middle of the "highway robbery" chips and dip/travel sized aspirin aisle, I had an accident. And by accident, I mean flood...and by flood I mean who knew my bladder held that much? The circumference of the puddle kept growing until it spread out across the aisle in a yellow sea. I was certain all pride or ego I had left was lapping on its yellow shores. I felt relieved and awful at once. Teresa refused to clean ME up until I cleaned IT up. The 7-11 employee insisted that cleaning it up was not a big deal. Teresa, on the other hand, insisted that I should be given the mop. The mop that was at least three feet taller than I was. I remember the distinct taste of humiliation as I mopped up my accident. I vowed then and there that this woman was my mortal enemy, Disneyland or not, and I would seek revenge one day.

Act II: "The Salt Block"
This story is family legend. Teresa's favorite about me. Memorial Day. I was 12. I had earned myself a spot in Teresa's back seat again. Destination: A cabin in Southern Montana on the fringes of Yellowstone National Park. The area was absolutely beautiful and I immediately understood the logic behind her yearly journey up here. City girl that I was, this wasn't the kind of "getting out" to which I was accustomed. I loved it. The area was stocked with wildlife. Moose, bears, eagles. The cabins we stayed in had a clearing with a giant salt block which attracted the moose and deer in the area. The first morning, Teresa dared me to walk out to the Moose which was enjoying its morning ceremony at the salt block. (I said she was a teaser, right). The moose looked so harmless out there that I slipped on my shoes and headed for the spot in my nightgown. Teresa laughed on the porch until the moose noticed me staring at it. I'm not sure how close I got, but it was too close because the thing seemed suddenly wary, possibly a bit unhappy. Teresa called me back, laughing all the while. I escaped unscathed. If my mother knew, she would have croaked.

Act III: "Nothing in Moderation"
During college, Teresa and Willy headed for Europe to visit my sister living there at the time. She needed her condo and her dog, Cassidy, watched. For two weeks I moved in with my best friend, Alice. And this is when I got an adult perspective on the workings of Teresa's mind. Beyond the over-the-top 4th of July decor which found its way into every nook and cranny of their home, beyond the limitless collection of DVDs, many unopened, beyond the EIGHT wind chimes that would clang mercilessly at night as the mouth of the canyon 1/8th of a mile away released the wind, beyond the Smorgasborg array of doggie snacks available for Cassidy, let me first of all describe "The Beanie Room." First of all, Utah summers are hot--melt your face off, singe the backs of your thighs on the leather car upholstery hot. And July's in Utah are hotter. Teresa's condo had only two window a/c units. One of which was located in "The Beanie Room," as it came to be known. A second bedroom which housed the computer and Beanie Babies--Beanie Babies in large rubbermaid bins, Beanie Babies displayed on Beanie Shelves along the walls. Big Beanies, Little Beanies, Beanies, Beanies, Beanies. It was a little frightening, in fact, as Alice and I lay on the empty carpet basking in the cool 68 degrees pulsing out of the window unit, staring up at the years of collected Beanie Babies. I'd been threatened before Teresa left for Europe that she knew exactly how many Beanie Babies she had and that if I were to take one, she would know. Because apparently hippie-esque college students obsessed with feminism and Freud had a hankering for Beanies?

Was she a kid at heart? Probably. Was this a bit too much? Definitely. Some women like Anthropologie, Teresa prefers The Disney Store. But I guess this sums up the psyche of Teresa. She doesn't know moderation and she is slightly childlike in her loud, unabashed demeanor. She is also sometimes generous, sometimes stingy and about as contradictory as the next guy. This winter she cut out scarves, bought hats and gloves for all 65 kindergarteners she works with. 65! She is a woman who could never have children of her own yet she has surrounded herself by children my entire life--nieces and nephews, babysitting, volunteering to read to kindergarteners at a local elementary, playground aide. Faults and strengths aside, this is my Aunt Teresa in all her loud, embarrassing, over-the-top-ness. I love her. Even when she drives me nuts!

My Alternate Ego

Acoustic guitar. That's my favorite instrument. I want to learn to play but never make it much of a priority. I also want to write a book one day and learn to speak another language (Spanish seems practical, Italian more romantic). The world offers itself to me--a million lessons I want to learn. But I really long for that acoustic guitar. I want to write mellow, poetic lyrics and form an alt-folk band that plays in coffee houses, though I don't drink coffee. I'll sing lead vocal for most songs and sometimes harmony with my smoldering-with-his-own-angst-and-depth band mate. I want thick, dark-rimmed glasses, a bob, two vintage cardigan sweaters I rotate between, and a decent pair of trendy yet unique mary janes.

That's what I sometimes think about on days I listen to songs like this one.

Who is your alter-ego?

From "Mary Jane" to "Magic Brownies": Confronting the Myth and Metaphor of Marijuana

When I was a junior in high school, I found out what a bong was. It was while socializing with a group of acquaintances after class at my new school that I realized their joking and pantomime meant that they intended to make a McDonald's Happy Meal figurine into some kind of drug paraphernalia. Later, with a trusted friend, I asked for more specifics because I was in the dark. Naive and in the dark.

Fact: I've never smoked, injested, or been around the drug commonly known as "pot." And while most people can recognize its scent at concerts or catch it wafting out of the neighbor's open window, I honestly have little recollection of what that smell is. I take others' word for it.

Fact: References to cannabis as a psychoactive drug can be found in a limitless number of songs spanning across nearly all genres--folk, jazz, rock, alternative, rap, metal, R&B...

Fact: If you google the term "marijuana," over 2.5 million websites pop up.

Fact: Marijuana is the most widely used drug among America's youth.

Fact: I frequently have students show up to my class under the influence of the substance known as THC, which is found in marijuana. If they do not have evidence of the drug on their person, there is nothing I or my school can do about it.

Each of us holds one opinion or another on the use of marijuana. I know some who are fully in support of its legalization. Others are leading a fight against the use of this drug, especially among adolescents.

Any way you slice it, both sides have strengths and flaws in their argument. I frequently hear from the legalization side that it is far less dangerous than drinking alcohol. Whether that be true or false--what does this have to do with justifying the use of marijuana? Isn't this like saying "Well, technically, this double chocolate fudge chunk ice cream isn't quite as bad for me as the triple chocolate fudge chunk ice cream--so this justifies my eating an entire gallon of it in one sitting."

With careful analysis of the statistics given by those on the opposing side, however, you get the sense that marijuna is taking the blame for social problems that could or could not correlate. Take for instance, this fact posted on a website for the National Youth Anti-Drug Campaign Marijuana Prevention Initiative:

"In 2002, approximately 21 percent of youths (5 million) engaged in serious fighting at school or work, almost 16 percent (4 million) took part in a group-against-group fight, and almost 8 percent (2 million) attacked someone with the intent to seriously hurt them during the past year. Nearly 5 percent of youths (1.2 million) stole or tried to steal something worth more than $50, more than 4 percent (1.1 million) sold illegal drugs, and more than 3 percent (800,000) carried a handgun during the past year. The percentages of youths engaging in delinquent behaviors in the past year rose with increasing frequency of marijuana use."

I guess I bring all this up because, frankly, I'm growing weary of the subtle message that is sent out which whispers "pot ain't all that bad." Many of my students have heard the soft voice of this message and marijuana has become their drug of choice. Watch any movie geared at an audience ranging from adolescence through mid-20's and I would pose that at least half of those films make humorous references to marijuana. Talk to many adults and soon enough confessions of their relaxing weekend drug of choice are allowed to slip. While the law says one thing, society says another. This is made evident when you acknowledge that the number of 8th graders who had at least tried marijuana doubled between 1991 and 2001.

And this all has me worried, because I see students every day who frequently injest or smoke the drug known as marijuana and feel that it is one of the safest recreational activities they could engage in. It concerns me because while many of my students have little to know recollection of what the Holocaust was or why, exactly, we celebrate the 4th of July, nearly all of my students express a strong desire to visit Amsterdam one day and see April 11th as a cause for celebration. Furthermore, it worries me that messages like the one touting the harmlessness of marijuana seem to be the only messages some of my students hear. And these messages are just plain false.

This has me worried because the truth is that pot is physiologically dangerous, especially when used by adolescents. Marijuana is more likely to be highly addictive the earlier you start using the drug. Marijuana causes similar changes in the brain to that of cocain, heroin, and alcohol. Marijuana, when smoked, contains the same cancer-causing chemicals as tobacco. In fact, the tar inhaled by marijuana smokers and the level of carbon monoxide absorbed by those who smoke marijuana, regardless of THC content, are three to five times greater than among tobacco smokers. Furthermore, marijuana users experience a higher rate of anxiety, panic attacks, depression and other mental health problems.

But does giving this message to my students who may or may not be addicted to marijuana even really make a difference? Let's face it, it is adolescents who wear their jeans either too tight--and possibly purchased in the department store section intended for the opposite gender--or too baggy, resulting in a need to both walk as though they have wet their pants AND show their vast collection of undergarments. Apparently this is a population highly uncognizant of the influence media, society, and fashion have on them. So, do I as a mere dorky, annoying, unhip teacher stand a chance against all the glitz, glamour and justification behind marijuana usage?

Those are my thoughts. Comment as you will.

IKEA: Swedish for High Speed Internet

Okay, first of all that title makes no sense whatsoever unless you are in on a little inside joke that probably is only friggen' hilarious if you are "on the inside" with "Alice" and myself. Okay, basically, the joke is lame. It all comes down to those La Quinta Hotel billboards "La Quinta: Spanish for High Speed Internet" and how lame Alice and I think them to be....but I digress.

I hit up the IKEA recently in search of the perfect bedding "ensemble" for my new bed. IKEA delivered...this is a picture of what I found:



And in other news: I rarely blog anymore. Which is upsetting to me. I typically think of three to four things on a daily basis that I'd like to blog about, but I never get to them. Blame it on school. Blame it on the holidays. Blame it on La Quinta and their high speed internet.

Since I can't take the time to blog about everything my heart desires, here is a summary of what I've wanted to blog about in the past few months but haven't gotten around to. Think of this as a blog spew--it's a blast from my past, kind of messy, but it makes me feel better to have it out there.

It snowed on Friday night. Heavy Snow. A lot of it.Reminding me how much I loathe shoveling snow.

So Alice and I made Hot Cocoa and stayed inside.

My most recent guilty pleasure: The Twilight Series by Stephenie Meyer






I'm sick of wrapping Christmas presents. Are you?


I love her. She's Alice's, but I claim her.



I recently met up with two of the Three Fierros for a girl's lunch. Kariann was in town and as it's been over a year since we've seen her last it was, of course, great fun. Lili is the happiest baby I've ever met. I wanted to take her home with me. If only she didn't live so far away...(hint, hint). :)

I am a little freaked out by my singles' ward (eh, what else is new?). This awareness has come since being called as half of the dynamic duo of Gospel Doctrine teachers. Were people always making that weird of comments and I just wasn't paying attention?

Just so you all know--my messy fingers resulted in several beautiful cheeseballs that I never showed off...


I love Christmas trees in general, but I especially love MY christmas tree (technically Alice's, but I help decorate).


I went trick or treating with my niece and nephew. We maybe got to five houses, but aren't they cute? (Confession--I still need to send my sister these pictures).


Over a long weekend (way back in October)...Alice and I headed to a Bird Refuge a couple of hours away (part of the "Extra Credit" homework I gave my AP kids). It was a beautiful day. Here are a few shots:



And finally...I miss blue skies. And summer. This place is covered in snow and skiers today. Five months ago it looked like this:

That sums up the highlights of what's been on my mind lately. My chest feels suddenly lightened...my memory card too.

Pillow Talk

Once upon a time there was a bed. This wasn't just any bed--it was a twin size bed with bookshelf headboard. It was firm (maybe a little too firm). And best of all, it came at the basement bargain closeout price of $100 (okay, so it maybe was advertised in the local paper and maybe it was slightly used by a little kid who, luckily, didn't have a bladder problem). That was in 1999.

For the past eight years that bed was my bed. I put my chapstick and set my alarm clock on that headboard each night. I put on my shoes each morning on the edge of that bed. I changed its sheets. It has seen different comforters and color schemes, but the bed has remained the same. Sturdy. Or at least kind of sturdy. It has watched me transition from an awkward eighteen year old, fresh out of high school, to an (I hope) slightly less awkward adult, back in high school all over again. For eight years this bed groaned with me as my alarm went off. And it has been a good bed. Or at least kind of a good bed.

And here is where our story shifts. For the past eight years my body has carved a bit of a groove in one side of the bed--the side that was away from the wall for years. So the firm bed has become a bit lopsided. I even tried wedging a flat pillow between the mattress and box springs--which only switched the side of the lop. Then its springs started springing where they shouldn't have sprung...specifically my ribs. Between feeling like I might topple off into the dark oblivion of night and fearing death by springing, sleep has been more and more restless in the past months. And, while no pea hides beneath my mattress, I awake feeling a bit beat up.

So, I decided that the time for change has come. And change did, indeed, arrive today in a delivery truck carried in the hands of two mullet-sporting men.


This, dear friends and brethren, is a Bountiful Rest "Serenity" featuring a 1" Body Comforming Latex Pillow Top, Queen size. And I am beside myself. Now, I just need to look into bedding (this is my old twin size comforter). Although the night I purchased this bad girl of a bed that stands at about the height of a large Saint Bernard, I sprung for these babies. And they are SOFT!

And that's all I wanted to say. Happy sleeping to all, and to all a good night! I've been looking forward to this night for eight long years.

How I Spent My Time Off

So Thanksgiving weekend worked a little like this:


Wednesday Night: The roommate, Alice, baked pies. I made cheeseballs and rolls. Basically, I made the hugest batch of cheeseball-goo (yes, that is the official term) ever and it ended up being enough for a cheeseball at home, a massive cheeseball for my parents' Thanksgiving dinner and a more reasonable sized cheeseball for Alice's parents' Thanksgiving lunch.





My sister, W, and her two kiddos "Bug" and "Bud" spent the night.




Thursday we made breakfast then headed first to Alice's parents. You can see pictures and a post here.

Then we headed to my family's party. Now, let me preface this by telling you a little bit about my family. First of all, you know how most people have the good sense to say "It starts at 6" but everybody really knows that things start cracking around 6:30-ish. Well, not my family. In my family if they say it starts at 6 two of my siblings show up at 5:30 and if you aren't there until 6:30 then you've missed the whole thing. Well, my absent-minded-aging-I'm-hoping-she-didn't-have-an-agenda-with-this-action-mother informed both my sister, W, and me, that the thing started at 6. And she told everybody else that it started at 5. Lucky for us they at least didn't start putting things away until after we ate something. That was nice of them.

At 12:01 AM Friday morning, a local mall opened its doors for the start of black Friday. First off, let me tell you that I don't trust in "crowd mentality." By crowd mentality I mean that COMPETITION + SALES + SLEEP DEPRIVATION + ADOLESCENT "WHERE ELSE CAN I GO THANKSGIVING NIGHT" LOITERING = PANDOMONIUM. MAYHEM. CHAOS. My niece and sister joined Alice and myself for a night of sale shopping. We thought it was a great plan. We thought--"ooooh...how fun, lots of crazy sale-shopping moms in their cozy public pajamas getting deals." Wrong. What were we thinking--I'm just saying that the least common denominator tends to come out after midnight. I'm just saying that after the late movie got out, Aerpostale and American Eagle Outfitters were maybe thinking about hiring a bouncer for the holidays. There were lines to get in to the stores. It was crazy.

So after all that craziness and making our purchases at the fabulous "buy one get one free" Lane Bryant sale, we thought maybe a quiet sit down girl talk session at the food court was in order. Afterall, that 5 (or maybe 6...jury's still out) o'clock dinner was hours ago. Chick-Fil-A sounded in order. We wove our way through the crowds to the food court, clinging to one another's coats. We sat down with our chicken sandwiches and waffle fries. And what do we witness at the table RIGHT NEXT TO OUR OWN--

Thug #1: #@$! #$**#% **!)#!# @$% #^$%& %@# BLEEP your BLEEP @!#$# !@#@$%#@%@ ~!##%@#!@# BLEEP

Thug #2: (As he holds Thug #1 by the throat into the fake topiary display) You wanna look at me that way again you !@#@! !@#$#@%@&&%##@@! @#$@%!#$#@$@^ BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP!?!

And the "conversation" went on from there. W, the sister, panicked and called 911--which only resulted in a failed call (that doesn't seem safe). Alice went and grabbed security who was possibly a bit overwhelmed and focused on potential shoplifters. The "conversation" was broken up and taken into custody. We finished our waffle fries and decided that our lives were more valuable than cheap anti-bacterial soap from Bath & Body Works.

Proceed to a 2 hour nap at home. Then at 4 AM we hit JC Penney. Okay, so I did find some cute stuff at 50% off. But after standing in line in the lingerie department for 25 minutes staring at the same santa-inspired negligee, including hat, only to be told that the register was having trouble and I should possibly find another line, I put my stuff down, told my shopping party this was ridiculous, went and dropped the sister, W, off at Toys R Us so that she could stand in line for nearly 2 hours, and headed to the 6 am opening of Target. Which leads me to this conclusion: Target has the good sense to open at an hour at which most hoodlums are either asleep or too intoxicated to make it. Target has plenty of its sale items on display in fire-inspection-safe spaces sans potential death by trampling. From now on I'm sticking with Target on Black Friday...after a decent night of sleep. Target also had these little items on sale:




Which between catching up on sleep and doing laundry, has been pretty much what I've done with my time since the sleep deprived, confusing dream that was Black Friday. Here's to Target and The Office. Oh, and MY LIFE which has been spared for now!

What about you? Any adventures in Black Friday shopping? Anybody else witness a fight or perhaps get in one themselves?