To con the Con

Jeff and I went camping with friends a few times while we were dating. Some of you can attest to this as you were there. However once we got married Jeff refused to go camping with me. Apparently going camping was was just to "con me" into marrying him, and now that we're hitched he doesn't have to play that "charade" anymore. My husband firmly believes that as long as there are hotels, we should "do our duty to support them." Whatever. But now after five and a half years of marriage, I conned Jeff into going camping down in Goblin Valley! Who's the Con now?

And doesn't he just look like he's enjoying himself.

"You're so domesticated"

That's what my mom would say if she saw what I was up to lately. Anytime I would do something crafty, domestic or otherwise traditionally homemaker-esk, she'd tell me I was "so domesticated!" So here are a few bits of what I've been up to that would make my mudder proud:

Brownie Sandwich Cookies

Mr Crocheted Caterpillar

Homemade Grape Juice

And why yes, the grapes did come from the vines in my backyard.

And yes, my sister and I are totally juice'n pros now.

And yes, we were somewhat underwhelmed to get only 8 quarts of juice from a literal ton of grapes.

this delay in programming has been brought to you by:

A severely needed 9 days away in Cape Cod and Rhode Island,

A fabulous meal at Iggy's Doughboys and Chowder House,

Made possible by a happy husband,

An outing to the real Mystic Pizza in Mystic, CT (and yes, the sauce is special),

Brought in part by a ferry to Nantuckett,

Made possible by a generous grant of Dramamine (make that a double),

A beach full of sea shells,

The number 90,

And the letter "S."

love + marriage... oh and torture

As the political season is well underway, we've been watching the different conventions and speeches of the parties. After hearing a mention of John McCain's prison experience, I asked my husband Jeff what exactly happened. Jeff gave me a short explanation saying that, as a POW in North Vietnam, McCain was imprisoned and tortured for five and a half years.

"Wow!" I said. "Can you believe that? Five and a half years? That is such a long time. That's as long as we've been married. To be tortured for that long? Jeff, can you even imagine being tortured every day for as long... as we've... been marr...ied..."

I quickly realized what I was asking, at the same time noticing Jeff had a rather awkward and uncomfortable look on his face. I didn't have him give an answer to my question. And as a good husband, he didn't volunteer one.

GO-O-O UTES!

It's football season friends! It's finally here, which is the true bearer of fall. The Cowboys won yesterday and the Colts lost- can you get much better than that? And as this post is well overdue, let's all sing in honor of the fabulous two Ute games, shall we? All together now:

I am a Utah Man, sir, and I live across the green,
Our gang it is the jolliest that you have ever seen.
Our coeds are the fairest and each one's a shining star,
Our yell, you'll hear it ringing through the mountains near and far!

Who am I, sir, A Utah Man am I!
A Utah Man, sir, Will be 'til I die. Ki-yi!

We're up to snuff, we never bluff, we're game for any fuss.
No other gang of college men dare meet us in a muss.
So fill your lungs and sing it out and shout it to the sky,
We'll fight for dear old crimson for a Utah Man am I!

GO-O-O UTES!

Saturday was the first home game for the Utes this season and we were there, back in good old section 33. I've said this before, but you would think that the student section is the most rowdy that you could find, right? Oh no my friends. Try out the season ticket holders! They are crazy and the smuggled in alcohol is a pleanty! At the final game last year, two guys snuck in a cordless blender and a camelpack full of margarita mix. Did I mention these two are in their mid 50's? It's by far the most entertaining section ever! Once we watched part of a game in another section and it was full of cute little families and such, and it was so boring. If a game is ever going poorly, I don't worry too much because the 80 year old man who sits two rows behind me will start swearing and I'll be happy and all will be well again.

Why instant messaging makes my day

My sister, who is one of my coworkers, sent this chain of gems. While we usually use IM for very official work purposes, occasionally we have bits like this:

M says:
Imagine me setting up bottled water in a bowl of ice because a) it looks refreshing and b) the *@#* water bottles weren't cold enough.
M says:
Imagine people on a conference call around the large table chatting about millions of dollars.
M says:
Not regular people, mind you, artsy people from THE (insert art center of choice).
R says:
well you do need cold water to be artsy. only if you are civilized.
M says:
Imagine seeing artsy people scuffling around and me hearing the word towel
M says:
Imagine me lamely handing a board member a roll of paper towels and hearing That bowl of ice has leaked all over the table and imagine that this board member is my boss.
M says:
Imagine me running downstairs for a replacement bowl and absorbent tea towel.
M says:
Imagine an embarrassed woman dodging discarded office chairs in an attempt to stealthily sneak into the conference room without making any noise to disturb the meeting.
M says:
Imagine a large butted woman in a skirt shoving her way between two annoyed artsies to sop up a puddle.
M says:
Now, if you can, imagine this woman crawling in her skirt, onto the table, trying to quietly sop, and with a wet tea towel, shorting out the conference call box, immediately bringing them meeting to a Fourth of July Firework type ending.
M says:
I hope you could properly imagine that last paragraph, because it's only imaginary. But you know that is what was going through my mind the entire time I was sopping...
R says:
wow... that was ultra-fabulous
M says:
Thank you...thank you very much....

Deodorant cures Kankles

Let me explain- No, too much. Let me sum up. (anyone catch that movie reference?) Anyhow, I went golfing for my first time last Friday. When I first started in the architecture industry, I was told that if I wanted to be successful that I needed to learn to golf. At first I thought it was a joke but now realized how much business is truly done on the golf course. Jump to last week and my work had an in-office golf tournament. Since this would be me making a fool of myself in front of my coworkers, which is pretty standard, I decided to go. To ensure I would have a good time, I guilted one of the good office golfers with the biggest ego to be on my team. I figured that if nothing else, I could enjoy myself tormenting him with my mad and fabulous golf skills. I ended up having a rather enjoyable time and did reasonably well. I was rather impressed with myself especially considering my complete lack of grace or athletic ability. The issue however is that we golfed at a lovely course in the middle of a swamp near the airport. Beautiful yes, but the mosquitoes found it beautiful too. And they decided to have my blood for breakfast and brunch. Apparently my right arm and right ankle are tastier than the rest of me as evident by the 8+ bites on each. This left me ridiculously burning bites which have swollen my ankle to what my sweet husband has now deemed a Kankle.

Kankle n. when the calf has so much fat on it that it blends with the ankle forming a kankle, also spelled cankle.

In my furry of burning and frustration, I was told that deodorant helps take away the sting, itch and inflammation. In summary: Today, my pits and my ankle smell like Wild Freesia- and I’m itch free. Oh, and the kankle is going away too.