I'm Sad

Mike left today to go to Tucson for a week in order to pack up our house and move us away from Starfall Place, our wonderful neighbors, ugly wallpaper, Basha's, and everything else that I held dear for the past two years (Kwik Mart, anyone?) I should be happy to be moving on, but I'm not. I wasn't ready and I need closure. I need to hug our cactus and say goodbye properly.

Another reason why I am sad is that I have to give a talk on Sunday. They called me late Wednesday night. Correction: they called Mike, and he idiotically said that HE'D be out of town. HE'D be out of town. Would it have been so hard to have said WE'D be out of town?!!!! I mean, it's one letter off. So now I am talking in church, which is really one of my least favorite things on earth to do. Additionally, I haven't GIVEN a talk in church since 2003.

I'm also sad because I can't seem to find Mayan Chocolate Haagen-Dazs ANYWHERE. Is it discontinued? Was it a limited edition flavor that they dangled in front of us only to snatch it away at the last minute, like so much Hershey's Cookies 'n' Mint? Where is the justice?

Finally, I am sad because I want to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in the movie theater (again) and now that Mike is gone, there's nobody to come with me.

I think that, given a healthy dose of perspective, my readers will see that my predicament is truly disturbing and very, very, very sad.

Farewell, Tucson

Always true to our never-in-one-place-longer-than-two-years philosophy, we are moving away from Tucson. We weren't going to, but then Mike got into this advanced Chinese program in Taiwan--the Harvard of the Orient, if you will--and then we realized that we would have to pay for the program--3200 dollars per two month term, if you want to know--so we figured we'd better bite the bullet and move in with my parents for a few extra months so we can save money. Thus, our brief summer in Utah has turned into a long summer, fall, and part of winter. Am I glad to be in Utah again, where there are 4 REAL seasons and fall leaves? Yes. Am I glad to be away from the searing heat of Tucson and the inconvenience (long commutes, cost of living, a backyard full of dirt) of life there? Yes. Will I even miss Tucson? YES! It's hard to believe, but I feel very mournful and nostalgic about my time in Tucson and am not really ready to leave good old Starfall Place. Not to mention Basha's--Vic, that means you, you big, crazy, wonderful man. It's odd that I went from HATING Tucson and all things desert-related to actually shedding tears of sadness at saying goodbye to the saguaro cactus in our front yard. I will miss you, Tucson. I don't know if you've seen the last of Carly Paul.

Top Ten Things I Will Miss About Tucson This Summer

I admit it: Tucson is growing on me in a quirky, this-many-people-were-never-meant-to-live-in-the-desert sort of way. We are leaving this summer again (to escape the heat and find some work), and I am going to miss some things.

10. Basha's

My favorite grocery store of all time is Basha's. Sure, it's a little more spendy than Fry's, but have you BEEN in a Fry's? Sub-par for sure.

9. Vinnie from Basha's. He makes me want to go grocery shopping on Saturday night.

8. Our swimming pool

7.

I'm Dreaming of Nick Arrojo

I have been obsessed with haircuts and my hair and my lack of style more so than usual lately. Marcy Dibbleblotts can attest that all I talk about ALL day on googletalk is my hair. Philosophical questions such as "bangs or no bangs?" "layers, or no layers?" "how short can I go without a huge backlash of regret?" have been passed back and forth for weeks now. It's gotten so bad that I am having dreams in which Nick Arrojo

and I are eating lunch together and discussing my hair. Unfortunately right as he is starting to give me advice on my hair, I wake up. For those of you who do not watch TLC's "What Not To Wear," Nick is this genius stylist who works miracles with women who think that long stringy hair is their only option. He even gives cuts that are "wash and go," and that don't require a flat iron to look good. He really CARES about people's lifestyles and goals. I have loved him and wanted him to cut my hair for a long time, but a visit to his studio costs $400. What can I say? It would be worth it, if I could scrounge up the extra money and buy a plane ticket, get a babysitter for the kids, etc. etc.

So I did the next best thing and found pictures of haircuts on his website. And I found my holy grail. It's messy, it's layered, it doesn't require a flat iron, or even a hair dryer, and it seems like my awful twisty cowlick would blend right in! (See sidebar photo). Now the trick is to find a salon in Tucson that will understand the cut and not make me look like I have a mullet. I wonder how bad the backlash of regret will be when I cut it? Stay tuned.

An Apology to that Elusive Temptress, Madam Weather:

Dear Weather,

I've never really been interested in you. In fact, for most of my life I have felt that the discussion of you was rather (I hate to admit it) dull, that when people turned to a discussion of the weather, it meant that the conversation was sliding and in serious need of some sort of lively, baudy anecdote. For this, I am truly sorry. I know I drove you away by thinking you were boring and tedious. But now I NEED YOU BACK.

All this sunshine, in the words of Oscar the Grouch, "is spoiling my rain!" I need a cloud! I need a drizzle! I need it to stop being 80 degrees outside! I know better than to ask for snow, but I would like to be able to wear a long sleeved shirt. Where are you? Poor Hazel was a sweaty mess in her Halloween costume:

Would you deny this poor child the chance to bundle up comfortably?

Most people here in Tucson are calling the days without a trace of you, dear weather, "beautiful," "perfect," "the reason why we love Arizona," etc. But not me. I have sunk low into a pit of despair because you have abandoned me. I lurk inside my house all day, shunning that perfect blue sky and the warmth of the sun on my back, both of which I have come to detest because of their continual, monotonous presence. How I long for a blustery day! Come back to me, in whatever form you choose: a wind storm, thunder, rain, CLOUDS! Force me to wear a jacket outside, I don't mind. As long as I can have some of you in my life again, I will be happy to suffer a little inconvenience. Let it be unseasonably cold!

Please come back to me.

With deepest regrets and apologies,
Carly

P.S.
If I hear one more person talk about how beautiful it is right now, I will do something drastic!

This Was Supposed to be "The Summer of CARLY!"

As my time in Rexburg draws to a close, I can't help but feel wistful that I didn't do more stuff while I was here. Why no stuff, you ask? Well, no stuff because, rather than being "The Summer of Carly," this turned out to be "The Summer of Students Who Lost Their Meds And Therefore Lost It In Class." After wading through all the weird student (and might I add INTERN) issues at school, I was just too tired for stuff. All I wanted to do was go home, walk across the street to Little Caesars for a little "Hot 'n' Ready," go home and flip on the TV. HGTV, take me away...... I honestly feel like I learned more about how to "flip" a house and paint a room than I did about the wonders of the Idaho landscape.

Case in point: we've been here all summer, mere miles away from Yellowstone National Park (which I love visiting) and we have not gone there ONCE. All the planning--the dreaming!--I did in Tucson for the rockin'est "Summer of Carly" went down the drain the moment my students raised their hands and asked "can we get full credit and not do the work?"

Now I don't want to complain too much: I am tickled that I got to see real, natural, running water again. It's a luxury that I almost forgot existed, living in Tucson, where the "rivers" have not held water for decades (but it's "rio" this and "rio" that!). I hope I don't get in trouble with my fellow Tusconans. But really. Why all the water-related names? Who are we trying to fool?

I will be back in Tucson before I know it and the "Summer of Carly" will be over. What will I have to show for it? A great deal of experience dealing with difficult human beings, and a vast knowledge of decorating on a tiny budget ("Design on a Dime," anyone?) I wonder if I will apply that knowledge to decorating my own house, and finally ridding myself of the "Too Close For Comfort-"era wallpaper in my kitchen? Hey, if that's all I have gained from the past four months, it's worth it!

Can you see it? Now, start to hum the "Too Close for Comfort" theme song. Fitting, isn't it? I keep expecting Monroe to come walzing into my living room when I'm home.


It's fabulous! Can you see the Elvis sticker I have on my fridge? I can't wait to go home...

(Note to my friends in Rexburg: I have gained a lot from my association with you. I just don't like to wax cheesy on my blog. It's not good for my street cred. You understand.)

(Note to my readers: the funnest part about writing this blog was typing "Monroe on 'Too Close for Comfort'" into google images, and realizing that this is not the first time I have tried to find a photo of Jim J. Bullock.)

Life in the 'Burg.

So I live in Rexburg now. Just for the summer. It's fun. I live in single male housing. That's right. We live in an apartment where six dudes lived. If you multiply those six dudes by the number of semesters that Sunrise Village has been housing dudes, you might start to feel a little queasy (especially when you use the bathroom).

Note the flesh-colored walls, the subtle sparkles, the cute children...
But we've got our industrial strength air fresheners going and we just treat our life in male housing like one big, crazy, summer-long camping trip. Once we put the tarps around, we felt fine about sitting on the couches and beds.

Some fun things have happened since I last blogged. For instance, I had a job interview in which the dean of a college campus asked me why "clique" wasn't spelled "click." Good times. I also got a haircut and developed a deep, abiding fascination with Jack White. It's not really a crush, per say. It's more like the way I felt about dracula when I was little: sort of afraid, sort of intrigued, sort of creeped out, yet unable to tear myself away.

I dropped my cell phone in the toilet the day we moved into our new apartment (pre-air fresheners and tarps), and I walked into the wrong classroom on the first day of class, began confidently teaching, and then was told I was in the wrong place. It was only when the ACTUAL teacher of the class walked in that I realized what I had done. Woopsie daisies. But I love Rexburg. And I like teaching at BYU-Idaho.

I have developed what I like to call a "crapitite." That is, I only ever crave junk food. Ding Dongs and Diet Coke in the morning, peanut clusters and jelly donuts in the afternoon, and potato chips and popcorn at night. Bring it on. It's all I want. How this differs from my usual bad eating habits I'm not sure. Maybe it's just the sheer amount of crappy foods that is so astonishing. I mean, I used to throw an apple in the mix every now and then. Things are different now.

We miss some ASPECTS of Tucson. For example, Frost. And certain people, like Holden's best pal, Jackson. But we like the slow-paced cowboy life in Idaho and are considering opening some sort of bookstore here and never leaving.

I will write more interesting stuff when some interesting stuff happens to me. Believe me, you'll be the first to know. At this point it sufficeth to say that I have a crapitite and a soggy cell phone.
Ta!

Dude, Happy Valentines Day/Anniversary.

Ode to My Favorite Dude

Michael, when I met you I liked how you dressed
Because you wore Carhartts and a train conducter shirt that was not pressed. I tried to flirt, but you had a girlfriend
Thanks to my feminine wiles, I won in the end.
Now things are going great,
And have been since our very first date.
When you took me sledding and we made Chinese food--
That was when I knew that I'd marry you, dude.
Five years later, here we are
Living in Tucson, with only one car.
But you ride your bike to the bus stop every day
So I don't have to get out of bed and help you get on your way.
And sometimes I act like a really big dork,
Dancing around the house, or singing loud, like Bjork.
But you take it in stride, like a good man should,
(I'd change if I could, you know I really would.)
We've watched "Gilmore Girls" seasons 1-5
And season 1 of "Lost" to keep the romance alive.
And it makes me real happy and tickles my bones
That your celebrity photo match is Tommy Lee Jones
Cause a long time ago, before I met you
I said I wouldn't mind camping with Tommy, it's true.
And now we go camping every once in a while, and you bring me hot chocolate
And that makes me smile.
So thanks for all the work you've done
In these five years of marriage that we've undergone.
You're funny and smart, and pretty humble, too.
And you are not afraid to play with Holden or watch Whinnie the Pooh.
You don't like nonsense, and you can fix anything
And I don't really care about a big diamond ring,
As long as you don't roll your eyes when I sing.
Which all of us know is not a pleasant thing.
Here's to Michael, my little Chinaphile,
I'm glad that we've been married for this long while.

Back By Popular Demand: Some Thoughts on the Temptation of Gambling

I hate to say this, but I think gambling might be one of my "gospel weaknesses." Everybody's got something: fasting, tithing, three hour church, etc. For a while I thought mine was DEFINITELY fasting, since I have not only been known to come home during Sunday school and polish off an entire tray of rice krispy treats, but I have also had the calling of being IN CHARGE of breaking the fast (i.e., the "ward break-the-fast coordinator"...and yes, I DID serve top ramen). But lately, since I moved to Tucson where they do a lottery, I have realized that I am the most tempted by games of chance. This realization came on slowly, with once-or-twice-monthly conversations with Mike that were inspired by a big lottery billboard (along with dreams of a better lifestyle):

Carly: "Is it wrong to buy a lottery ticket? I mean, just once? I'm not saying that I am gonna get hooked on gambling. I'm just saying instead of buying a soda and a candy bar, what if I bought a lottery ticket? Is that wrong?"

Mike: "Is it gambling?"

Carly: "I don't know, is it?"

Mike: "Is it a game of chance?"

Carly: "I GUESS so, but come on. It's not like blowing your whole paycheck in a game of poker."

Mike: "Or IS it?"

Carly: "But what about those peeps who put a quarter in a slot machine just on a whim and then hit the jackpot? Are those peeps sinners?"

Mike: "Well, why don't you buy a lottery ticket and find out?"

Carly: "You know I could never do that!"

The last time we had a conversation like this, I realized that I have a problem...a gambling problem. And my unhealthy obsession with buying a lottery ticket is just the tip of the iceberg.

This was proven further on our trip through Nevada this Christmas. While driving home from Mike's brother's house in Northern California (P.S. I LOVE the Redwoods!!!!), we crossed Nevada and stayed a night in Winnemucca. As is the case in Nevada, there was a casino conveniently located right next to our hotel. Mike actually said something to the effect of "Hey, why don't you throw a quarter in the slot machine and see what happens!" Well, you don't have to tell me twice.

I picked up Hazel in her carseat and timidly walked into the casino. There I sat at a slot machine. My quarter was ready and I was feelin' lucky. Yes...my fingers were hot that morning. I could feel that something big was going to happen. Then I realized that I had no idea where to put the quarter. There was a place to put a credit card or a dollar. But no quarter slot! I guess slot machines have come a long way since I put a quarter in one at the Las Vegas airport when I was 18. I had two choices: I could either get out a dollar, which to me would have been SERIOUS gambling, or I could get up and wander around the casino looking for a place to put a quarter. I chose option three, and pretended to know what I was doing. After a few seconds, I scooped up Hazel, and power walked out the door and to the car. "Did you win?" Mike asked. "I didn't even get started," I said. Luckily, we had a WHOLE DAY of Nevada ahead of us, so I knew this wasn't my last chance.

But as we stopped at the next gas station and I was able to find the quarter slot, I panicked when I realized that I wasn't trying to play the traditional slot machine, where you crank the lever and the little cherries and dollar signs and lemons spin around, I was playing electronic blackjack! I had no IDEA which buttons to push or what I was doing. The buttons in front of me were labeled "hold" or "hit" and I think I may have pushed "hit" but I'm not really sure. Finally giving up on the endeavor, I stood up and said "oh well" loudly. I am sure everyone at the gas station bought it. A quarter lost is a quarter lost, right? I would have lost it anwyay. They didn't have to know that I had NO IDEA what to do once my quarter was put in the slot.

I gave up after that. I had a surge of yearning as we drove through Wendover and back into Utah. This is your last chance I thought. But who am I kidding? I don't belong in a casino when I can't even put a quarter in a slot machine and pull the little lever (do they still have those little levers?) So when it comes to gambling, I am all talk. No one need worry about Carly having a Marge Simpson-esque gambling crisis. I would if I COULD, but I can't figure out those dang-blasted machines! And of course, we have been strongly warned against the evils of gambling. I realize now that gambling is so evil that you can have a problem with it without ever even putting a quarter in a machine or buying a lottery ticket. Woah.

Pretending to Be Honest in My Dealings

So the other night Mike and I had temple recommend interviews with the stake president. I went in first, right as Mike got a phone call and went outside to talk. To my confusion, the stake president began talking to me as if he knew me.

"It's so nice to see you. And how are you liking Tucson?" he asked. Okay. He's just trying to be ultra-friendly because he just got called and he doesn't know who I am.

"We are liking it," I responded.

"Now, you were a Goodmunson, right?" Hmmmmmm

"Uhhhh, no. I was a Rasmussen," I answered, my confusion growing by the second.

"OH! So you are President Rasmussen's daughter!" A look of recognition came over his face.

"Well, no. I'm not."

"Oh, okay." (He looked very disappointed). "Well, so I never thought I would see Mike P____ again. If you'd have told me he would get a PhD I would not have believed you!"

This guy must know Mike, I thought. He got our last name right. Mike must not have told me he knows him?

"Oh, I know. It took some convincing, but now he's committed to it," I replied genially.

"What is he studying again?"

"Chinese." With this information, the stake president looked positively ASTONISHED.

"And...where did you move here from?"

"Provo. That's where Mike got his Masters. I went to school there, too." I kept on talking like this, telling him about my Masters, and my teaching, etc. All this time, in the back of my head I am thinking who is this man? But, rather than clarifying the situation, I merely assumed that I was the fool who had forgotten that he knows Mike.

So, he asked his temple recommend questions, including the "are you honest in your dealings with your fellow men" question, and then it was time to leave.

"I'll send Mike in," I said, rising. Then I looked out the door and he was missing.

"Oh, I saw him talking on the phone outside," said the stake president. Further proof that he must know Mike, I thought. And I am just the idiot who doesn't know what's going on. It's happened before.

So I left and found Mike.

"That guy is talking like he knows me," I said in a panicky voice, "so you just have to go along with it. That's what I did."

We parted company and I went into the cultural hall for a Relief Society dinner. As we were cleaning up, I found myself holding a folding table with none other than stake president!

"Oh, hello," I said nervously.

"Honest in your dealings, eh?" he asked, laughing.

Then I burst into a frenzied explanation: "I just assumed that you knew Mike and that I was the fool who didn't know what was going on. I just went along with it..."

This did little good. I am sure that the stake president, though he had never previously met me or my husband, will never forget us now.

24 hours till I am in Provo, by the way. And just three short days till Bono. What will I wear, you ask? I'd like to know that, myself. As none of my pants fit me properly, I am at a loss. Too bad I threw out my intensely hot (and I mean temperature-wise) pleather pants--had to retire them after a particularly raucous Indigo Girls/Bonnie Raitt concert.

This is how I look right now:

YIKES! Though I'd like to think that I don't usually have such a perplexing expression on my face. (It was a candid shot). I'd also like to think that the camera adds a couple...hundred pounds. And wearing those light colored clothes is just asking for trouble. But seriously, I am NOT ready to face Bono this Saturday night.

Expect a detailed report of the concert soon.

Until next time (i.e., the next time I humiliate myself)...

Baby Brag Blog, and Other Important Information (Or: I Am Not A Christian Hater).

To start things off, I want to thank whoever it was that sent me an autumn leaf. I have my suspicions that it was Erin. Thank you, thank you. It actually brought a tear to my eye and is now hanging on the refrigerator: a constant reminder that someone cares about my lack of weather.

Secondly, I just want to express my appreciation for Def Leppard. I have always liked them, but recently I have come to see them as a cut above the other eighties metal bands. Listen to "Pour Some Sugar On Me" or "You're Bringing on The Heartbreak" and you'll agree. One time I thought Mike and I were completely incompatible because he CHANGED THE RADIO STATION when a Def Leppard song came on. We worked through that rough patch and now we have an understanding.

Thirdly, I have removed my May 13th post regarding Tucson and an organization called "Junque for Jesus." Apparently, my gentle teasing about the spelling and name has garnered some very angry attention. When I got the comment in which I was accused of being a Christian hater, I decided that enough was enough. For the record: I love Christians and actually AM one. Also, I respect and admire all that Junque For Jesus does to help the less fortunate.

And finally, I do not want my blog to become a baby brag blog. However, this blog often functions as a means for family to keep in touch with me. Therefore, I will provide a link to my flickr account so peeps can view the latest pics of Hazel and Holden if they so desire. Here's a little teaser:

Not to brag, or anything.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! (To Be Sung Like a Heavenly Choir)

Well, I've got one more thing to live for. And that thing is the U2 concert in SLC on December 17th. I know what you're thinking: "But Carly, that concert is sold out!" Or, "But Carly, don't you live in Tucson now?" Or maybe even, "But Carly, won't you have a newborn on December 17th?" These are all true statements. But one thing you are forgetting is the fact that I have the most fantastic sister EVER, and she got me a ticket for my birthday. Erin is always doing nice things for me, but this is by far the best--even better than the cheddar cheese incident of '85 (she took me out for breakfast at McDonalds, and when there was cheddar cheese on my egg mcmuffin, she switched with me. She hates cheese as much as I do, but she took my cheddar and I will never forget that). So I'm going. I'ma leave my kids with my mother, throw in some nursing pads, and be on my way. And this will be the fourth time I have seen U2, not to brag, or anything. I mean, I can't rightly brag about four times because my cousin, Cindy, travels all over the country to see them. She's flying into SLC just for the day to watch the concert. So who am I with my piddly 4 times?? Her U2 CV is MUCH more comprehensive and impressive than mine. But I'll share mine with you, as it is rife with interesting stories:

Concert #1: Zoo TV Tour (when Achtung Baby came out) November of '92

Drove to Las Vegas with my mom and Kacy.
Stayed in the Golden Nugget Hotel, which is featured in the "I Still Haven't
Found what I'm Looking for" video.
Enjoyed the opening show, which consisted of two rappers (one fat and one thin) about whom Kacy kept saying "this is such a great show, is this HEART?"
Had a good laugh when Bono tried to call George Bush at the white house
Sang along to "In the Name of Love" and got made fun of by Kacy
Realized at the same time as Kacy what the lyric "one man betrayed with a kiss" was referring to

Concert #2: Popmart Tour (When Pop came out) May of '97

Received free tickets from an anonymous classmate one morning in choir (thank you,MM. You are the nicest person in the world. I know who you are.
Drove to SLC early to bum around and heard U2 rehearsing at Rice Eccles Stadium
Enjoyed the opening act, which was Rage Against the Machine
Screamed and went nuts when Bono came out and said, "Thanks for being so patient...for 15 years!" (Which referred to U2's long hiatus from Utah).
Enjoyed the giant lemmon spinning around the stage, and loved it when it opened like a spaceship and the band walked out singing and playing
Did not particularly like it when Bono wore this:


Concert #3: Elevation Tour (When All that You Can't Leave Behind came out) November of '01

Bought ticket over the phone (only one available, so Mike was out of luck)
Mike got himself a ticket through a friend and we sat separately (afterall, I
had the better seat)
Holden was dancing inside the womb (I was 8 months pregnant when I went) and the
two teenage boys standing next to me only knew the words to the most recent songs, which deeply offended me
Highlights included Bono giving the American flag a prolonged and dramatic hug,the opening band (No Doubt), and them playing the beginning of Sgt. Pepper's
Lonely Hearts Club Band right before Bono came on stage.
Two words:

OH MAMA

I can't wait to build up my resume with concert #4. It should be a doosy. Thanks again, Erin. More thoughts on Bono to follow...

Top Ten Reasons Why I Love Living in Tucson's Equivalent of "Del Boca Vista"

10. TVs on the block are so loud, you don't even need to buy cable.

9. Roads practically deserted after 4 pm "early bird special" rush.

8. Home Owners Association politics more intense than the 2004 presidential election.

7. Ambulance call buttons in every bathroom.

6. Mysterious rules like "Rocks in yard not to exceed size of Gladys Stum's goiter" keep us on our toes.

5. Discounted hip replacement surgery with proof of residence.

4. Pool practically deserted during non-"adult-only" hours--except for the life-sustaining cocoons and friendly, life-sustaining aliens:


3. Pick-up games of bridge, backgammon, and mah jong.

2. Hardest drug pushed in the neighborhood is Saw Palmetto

1. Sign a twelve month lease, get a free pace maker!

Hello From the Lungs of Hell!

I live in Tucson now. The inevitable has happened. I put our stuff in a huge moving truck (correction: I made others put our stuff in a big moving truck) and drove away from my little grey bungalow (leaving 19 mouse carcasses behind which I would now give my right arm for just to be back living next to my mother, anticipating a surprise pop-in from Kacy or Erin or Heidi). Kacy's tribute to my departure, by the way, was refreshingly sentimental in her characteristic unsentimental type of way. Really, MASH says it all. She is the Colonel Potter to my Radar.

But it's not so bad here. My house--excuse me, my HACIENDA--is nice, but it has some ugly wallpaper in the kitchen that I can't live with. (Picture soon to come). It's like the type of wallpaper you'd see on "Too Close for Comfort" Remember that show? Remember Monroe? Remember Mr. Rush? Well, I am living in a house with Mr. Rush's wallpaper. Please look at the website and listen to the theme song in honor of my wallpaper.

But besides the ca 1984 wallpaper, I am pleased. I even have a gate with an intercom and a button that I push to make the gate open, like Jerry Seinfeld. Someone pushes the button and the intercom buzzes, then I say "yes?" and they say "it's George" and then I say "come on in" and buzz the gate open. We also live very close to a Quik Mart which I will be referring to as the Kwik e Mart from now on. It's right off MASSINGALE road (I'll let you ladies figure out the joke in that--another 80's television throwback). I also accidentally bought Diet Coke sweetened with Splenda, which I do not recommend. Unless you are one of those peeps that prefers Coke but buys Diet as a sacrifice, you should stay away from Diet Coke with Splenda. Big mistake.

The most exciting thing that has happened to me, however, was a visit to the local grocery store, Basha's. First of all, I love the name "Basha's." Say it out loud right now. Now say it with a little growl in your voice. Very pleasing, no? Second of all, they make their own kettle style potato chips, which I am currently eating. Third, when you order a pizza from them and they call your name to pick it up, they don't just say "Carly, your pizza is ready." Instead they say "Attention shoppers, a fresh, hot pizza from our brick oven is currently waiting for Carly at the deli." If they had released balloons and streamers from the ceiling, I wouldn't have been surprised. It made me feel really special.

So as long as I have a Kwik e Mart, a blog, and a Basha's, I guess I'll be all right.

Farewell, My Blogubines

Well, I am heading out for Oregon tomorrow and felt that my public should know why I will be blogless for the next three weeks or so. I'll be at the beach, where there is neither internet access nor a worldly care (other than wondering how I can make the most of my money at the outlet malls--no sales tax, all right!!!) When I return it will be a mad dash to pack my house and move to Tucson, where, incidentally, it was 108 degrees today.

While I am gone I will be wondering why my former CTR-8 Sunday school teacher still remembers me and chats kindly with me every time I visit him at work, aka visit the drive-through at Wendys. Perhaps it has less to do with the fact that I was a memorable 8-year-old and more to do with how much I frequent Wendys? The uniqueness of my chicken nuggets-only order? I may never know...

I'll also be trying to formulate a blog about the time I visited the batting cages and got hit by the slow softball...multiple times...in front of an entire little league team who was laughing at me. More information to come after two week long inspiration from being on the beach and being pelted by bird dung instead of softballs.

While I am gone I'll also be working on my book: "Pregnancy Fashion for Dummies." Am I qualified to write this book? Not really. Will I fake some designer credentials? Probably not. Will I force Carrie Ann to be a co-author to lend it some credibility? You bet. Will there be a section called "Don't Be Seduced By Jumpers"? Of course.

I may or may not attempt to eat as much chocolate silk pie as a human can while I am away.

I will also obtain a free Oregon Coast real estate booklet and spend most of my time salivating over the idea of living at the beach, which looks like this:


Holden will probably require a naked romp or two on the Pacific City shoreline, followed by a doritos binge, the aftermath of which generally looks like this:


I will require heavy sedation in order to willingly return home, only to move to Tucson (108, 108, 108).

My mother will probably come inside my house while I am away (most likely to do us a service or check on things, etc.), and she'll probably smell the unknown stinky smell that resides in our bedroom, which will drive her mad like it has been driving me mad for a week. Febreeze, Lysol, a box fan--nothing works! Why won't the smell go away?? Where is it coming from????

I'll be pondering the Batman/Spiderman condundrum and wishing that I didn't sound so eager to kiss either superhero in my comment on that blog. I'll also be wondering if Batman is less super, more hero. While Spiderman is more super, less hero. It depends on how you define the word "hero." In Readers Digest, there are all kinds of heroes who don't have any powers. But I would like to remind everyone that Peter Parker originally wants to use his super power to make money at wrestling matches. Who is the bigger hero now?

Mike will be relishing in the fact that he successfully (and quite confidently, if you ask me) defended his thesis. He'll also be in China with a list of things I want from the Pearl Market.

I will miss reading your blogs. And I will miss obsessing over the amount of readers who visit my blog, their IP addresses, their search terms ("Hawaii Stinky Feet Girl"?) and their comments (or lack thereof on occasion).

Have a good July...

Breakthroughs and Breakdowns

The following important things have happened to me this week:

Breakthroughs:
I threw caution to the wind and bought a pair of flip-flops. Not just ANY flip flops, mind you, these are turquois with little sequin butterflies at the toes. I have not worn flip flops for several years on account of my medically deformed feet. I usually feel too self-conscious to show that much of my monstrous toes. But Kacy talked me into them and I felt a lot better when I wore them to Savers and saw a woman who had not shaved her legs EVER wearing a short skirt and bare legs. It's a little hard to talk about in detail: needless to say, the sight of her curly-black-haired legs made my feet look really good.

I decided to stop correcting Mike when he sings the wrong lyrics to songs. I learned from Marcy D. that it is not good to correct people (according to Dale Carnegie). I think this is true. Who likes to be corrected? Now I wish GOOGLE would take a page from Dale Carnegie's book and stop saying "did you mean TUCSON preschools?" when I accidentally type in "utscon pre skools." If they have to ask, then they already know the answer. Just give me the links, would you? Google can be so snotty.

I finally explained my fear of camping to Mike. I have been hiding it for our entire marriage. But the real reason why I fear camping is the bathroom situation: I used to be able to "go natural" as they say. Now I just can't do it. I need a real latrine. I'm also afraid that it will just suck, in general, and then what will we do? We'll be stranded! We discussed it into the wee hours of the morning and I think I am ready to try again....

I ordered sausage links from Schwans, and they arrived, and I have been eating them. That's what I call a breakthrough into the world of gourmet sausagery. I'm in, everybody--and I'm LOVIN' every minute of it!

Breakdowns:
Holden had his last day of preschool on Wednesday, about which I was crying inconsolably in the car on the way home. Holden wasn't crying, I was crying, lest you think that last sentence was just a mistake. Through my tears, I asked "won't you miss Nathan?" to which Holden responded "Mom, there will be other Nathans." He does a good job of talking me down.

While watching Winnie the Pooh's "The Heffalump Movie," I broke down crying. What a good message about tolerance and acceptance of others! Holden asked me to leave the room, and my dad came to the door and asked me what was wrong.

I broke down when Mike asked me if I want to go camping this weekend, which led to the aforementioned breakthrough conversation about my camping fears.

I broke down re: moving to Tucson and the fact that Mike was only teasing when he said that the MTC had offered him a full time job. He can't tease me like that. He doesn't know what kinds of breakdowns it causes.

And I broke down when the neighbor kids came over for the umpteenth time to play on Holden's tractor and playhouse. It was awful. They were all...over...me. I think I hate other people's kids. Not mine, and not my close friends' kids, or my relatives' kids. Just neighbor kids.

And that, my friends, is my week in a nutshell. It's been a roller coaster, I'll tell you what. But at least I'm getting my emotions under control.