My Book Club is Giving me a Complex

I don't think I am cut out for book clubs. I seem to always find myself in either a) a book club that doesn't actually read or discuss the book, but that just uses the whole "we all read this book" excuse to get together, impress each other with fancy treats and home decor, and talk about ourselves; or b) a book club that is apparently above anything that was ever on the New York Times best seller list and that thinks you are an idiot if you suggest a book that is not epic poetry. I'm either the snobbiest person about literature in the room, or the biggest ditz. Why can't I find a happy medium?

I finally suggested a book at a book club for the first time ever and the response was something like polite disdain. Although the group did settle on my suggestion, it was only after I said "I feel like you don't trust my recommendations" and made the leader feel guilty. Now things are bad. What if the group hates my book? What if they think it's ditzy? What happens when I show up next time and they say "I couldn't even get into this" or "it's only mediocre," etc. See? I'm not cut out for a book club because if someone hates the book I love, it means they hate ME.

I wish I could be like Mike, who never gets his feelings hurt. He doesn't care what people think of him. He doesn't go home and analyze every nuance of an evening, nor does he enjoy sitting and listening to my analysis of every nuance of an evening. But not to worry: I have compensated for his lack of self-consciousness by doubling my own efforts. Now I worry about what people think of me, and my spouse. It's a shameful spiral of self-loathing. I pluck up the courage to, say, suggest a book that I found profound, then I immediately feel shot down, so I back-pedal by pretending to be stupid, then I agonize over what people will think of the book, then I also agonize over whether Mike will wear overalls to the book club......etc. It never stops. Someone help me!

Would You Vote on my New Poll, Already? (and other important notices)

I am having a hard time getting people to notice my polls. I mean, the last poll ended up with, what, 9 votes, but three of those votes were me, sneaking and voting on a different computer--incidentally, I really DO plan to become less materialistic, and I will probably NEVER like my hair for longer than two weeks. Anyway, vote. This poll is even bigger and better than the last one and it was inspired by a Travel Channel show in which a man by the last name of Zimmern goes to strange countries and eats gross body parts of animals. Last night he happened to be in Taiwan. I don't know why the folks at Travel Channel think that we Americans like to watch a portly, bald man take bites of gross food and then react to them--"the consistency is so sinewy!"--but, for some reason it is fascinating! And now I can't wait to eat black chicken meat and fried bees.

In other news, tomorrow is national talk like a pirate day. I am SO DOWN for that. Too bad it's not a day that I teach, but it is a day that I take 5-7 10-11-year-old-girls to a hair salon for styling tips. That is the PERFECT opportunity to try out my "yarg!"

Also, I just feel that I need to announce that when I say such things as "who likes to rock the party," "this rocks my world/the house," "it was freakin amazing/awesome" etc. I am using those expressions in IRONY. I do not really talk like that in real life. Those are my blog persona phrases. In real life I am much more refined and dignified--think Queen of England. Have I ruined the illusion? If so, remember this: even the Queen of England has to go #2. Poo is the great equalizer (expression used in irony to mock Oprah who I hate so freakin' much). So, never be intimidated by either my blog persona or my real life persona.

So, to sum up: vote, talk like a pirate, and assume that all statements that you think are stupid are made in irony, and that the author realizes the possible stupidiy associated with such statements.

Who Likes to Rock the Party?

Well, I know you've all been wondering how my birthday went. Here's my answer: it rocked the house.

It began on Friday night with a trip to Ruby River, where I ordered a New York strip. I'm sorry, Neil. I know you would have seen me eat a rib eye or prime rib, but this was some good steak, and it was just what I wanted. Sadly, while I tried hard to avoid sour cream on my baked potato, I forgot to ask if they also put on cheddar cheese. After I scraped the cheese off, the potato was heaven--I've never seen bigger chunks of bacon on a potato!!!!! Hazel got into the swing of things and did some country line dancing on the bench, but only after getting really upset that she couldn't kiss the giant elk head hanging near our booth. Holden was too scared to order steak and went with his old standby, chicken tenders, but then tried my steak and declared it to be the "best steak in the universe" to the waitress, after which he fell backwards and bonked his head. It was a typical restaurant experience: I had to scrape off some cheese, Hazel squealed and danced, Holden flirted with the waitress, and then did something embarrassing, and Mike ate too much and complained about it.

When we got home from Ruby River, Mike surprised me with a backpacking trip up Spring Creek Canyon. YAY! He had my pack all ready! I changed my clothes and we marched out the front door, down the street, and into the canyon. We pitched our tent in the dark, took some tylenol pm shots, and slept soundly till the next morning, when we heard gun shots and saw two hunters. The fall leaves were pretty, and I was proud that I had done the whole carry-your-own-gear camping thing. It was not your run-of-the-mill trip to the Homestead, or night at a bed and breakfast. Good old Mike!

After we got home from our backpacking, the gifts began pouring in:

First of all, Mike got me this cool camera:

It's a Nikon Coolpix. Only the coolest pics on the coolest camera for the coolest 29-year-old.

Then, Kacy took me to lunch and bought me:

this awesome purse from Mode in Provo. Sam and Maggie both made me awesome cards, and Maggie made me two bracelets, a heart, and a rock. Notice that the roots of the tree on Sam's card spell my name.

Then I got some birthday money from Mike's parents and my dad, so I bought:

this freaking cute wool coat made by the same people who make military uniforms. The question remains: can I pull off a beret with this? Possibly in a foreign country.....

Marcy Dibbleblotts (aka Hoss) sent me this little beauty from Layers:

It's so pretty!!

My mom made a triple layer chocolate cake,

and gave me an awesome Halloween decoration:


Heidi gave me:

a meat thermometer/timer. Now I can grill with confidence!

And I received a series of excellent and hilarious cards, some of which contained swear words (!)

(swear word card not pictured)

I had a good time. And I really like to rock the party.

Happy Birthday, Neil (and what I want for my birthday)

Dear Neil,
Happy birthday! I hope you realize that when I introduced you to your wife, I gave you the gift that keeps on giving. I figure I don't need to send you a present for at least ten more years. Nevertheless, this is a shout-out for you on your special day. We are thinking of you and your awesome steak-making abilities, dissertation-writing skillz, and hilarious anecdote-telling capacity. I'll never forget the story of Neil making the computer voice sing all the lyrics to "Philadelphia" by Bruce Springsteen. I'll never forget when you said "I like it because it is sophisticated" when you were drinking Sam's Choice cola. I'll never forget all those phone calls we had when you were trying to find Marcy Dibbleblotts the perfect engagement ring. And you DID find it, Neil. You sure did. If I were to get you a gift, I would probably get you something like this:

But I hear you already got some. So, Happy Birthday, cuz. We are thinking of you today.

Now, while we are on the subject of birthdays.....it happens to be MINE in just a few days--5 to be exact, but who's counting? I got over my birthday when I hit 25. I mean, who cares anymore, right? I don't need anything special done for me. I don't need such things as:

1. A steak dinner at Ruby River
2. A long, black, charcoal gray, or chocolate brown cable knit hooded sweater with a belt
3. A wallet/organizer (www.fliofax.com)
4. A fashionable trench coat
5. A cash prize
6. A massage
7. A facial and haircut
8. A pair of knee high boots
9. A leather biker jacket
10. The newest White Stripes album
11. Tim Gunn's Guide to Quality, Taste, and Style
12. A red or yellow dutch oven from Le Crueset (or equivalent)
13. My own bb gun
14. Some tater mitts
15. A garlic press
16. A kitchen mandolin

Who needs these things? Not me! And I definitely do NOT need pretty jewelry. No sir.