Thanksgiving 2007

Someone once asked me (and by "someone", I mean "just about every single married person I work with"; and by "once", I mean "every day leading up to Thanksgiving Day last week"), "So what does a single gal with no husband and no kids and no husband and no family in the area and no husband do for Thanksgiving?"

Blink. Blink.

Well, I'll tell you what a kick ass, independent, hilarious, hot girl does for Thanksgiving. She gets together with the other kick ass, independent, hilarious hot girl that stayed around (also known as my fellow Elvis-lover, Elizabeth) and they make a photo journal of their Thanksgiving adventures. And by "photo journal", I mean "a series of photos of their faces pressed together that showcases Bone Junior's many many hats."

Thanksgiving Day begins by going to the amazing Grand Ballroom at the Grand America Hotel in Salt Lake. For about $70 a person, you can enjoy a cornucopia of delicious food. Or like me, you can enjoy turkey, crepes, crab legs, shrimp, lamb, and many desserts.















Thanksgiving night begins by an 10:00 pm stop at IHOP in your matching long johns and black velour zip-up sweat suits.














Thanksgiving night continues by Elizabeth eating herself sick on fried food at IHOP. We needed to build up our fat deposits to make it through the long night ahead...
















...of camping out at Best Buy.

Exhibit A: 11:00 pm. Before we set up our lawnchairs in the twenty-five degree weather.
















Exhibit B: Midnight. After we set up our lawn chairs and had been sitting in line at Best Buy, sucking in exhaust from the cars next to us in the twenty-five degree weather.















Exhibit C: 1:00 am, after one round of "I'm Going On A Dirty Trip And I'm Taking..." I can't go into details, but suffice it to say that the items being taken on the Dirty Trip included Aeriolas, Boobs, and I'll stop there.














Exhibit D: Approximately 1:30 am. I don't think this picture needs any further discussion.



















Exhibit E: 2:30 am, at which point we say to hell with Best Buy and the people who butted in front of us in line when we fell asleep. Frankly, I didn't have the energy to start a fight with anyone, as by this point, after a day of gorging myself, I feel like my veins are full of pudding.














Exhibit F: Black Friday morning. Refreshed and rejuvinated, we gorge ourselves again at Mimi's Cafe.














Exhibit G: After a full day of bargain shopping (which included Season 2 of Prison Break and many many DVDs) I spot Dora the Explorer's younger twin siblings for sale. Is it just me, or is it like glimpsing the could-be future products of my womb?












And that is how two kick ass, independent, hilarious, hot girls do Thanksgiving.

Oh. My. Gosh.

What Famous Leader Are You?

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Yeah. That's what I thought too. So I took the quiz again, this time going with the 18-question option instead of the 9-question option which produced such horrible results. I didn't think it could get any worse, and then this little gem popped up:

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

I took the test two more times, doing the 27 and 45-question options. Apparently, the more questions you answer, the more exact your results are supposed to be. Both times, I got Saddam again.

I have no words. Except maybe this explains why so many guys on the jobsites won't talk to me.

Thanks Guys!

If you cut your big toe on the jobsite and ask for a Band-aid, this is what you'll get, along with a lecture about proper jobsite footwear:
I tried to tell them that I was wearing sandals because the last time I wore boots, Humptey Dumptey took a great fall.

Really I was wearing sandals because I'd just gotten a pedicure.

Death to anyone who makes fun of my long second toe that resembles E.T.'s finger.

How to Get Kicked Out of Starbucks

Step One: Pull up in your car with the obscenely large Eagles sticker and park next to a Jeep with an obscenely large Cowboys sticker.

Step Two: Give the stink eye to the mullett- sporting big fat fatty wearing an Owens jersey as he gets out of the Jeep with the obscenely large Cowboys sticker.

Step Three: Go inside and place your order, choosing to take the high road and politely ignore the smack talk overheard between the BFF wearing the Owens jersey and the hood rat with him.

Step Four: Pick up your order, turn to the BFF and say you'd rather have a dog fart on your face than be a Cowboys fan.

Step Five: Quitely sip your drink as the BFF proceeds to go on a ranting shouting tantrum sprinkled with f-bombs about how much the Eagles suck.

Step Six: Give the BFF the double-fingered-crotch check, a la BYU circa 2000 (the Other Sisters know what I'm talking about), and back out the door as the barista steps between you and asks you to please leave.

Step Seven: Happily kick the tires of the Jeep with the obscenely large Cowboys sticker just before you peel out, waving your finger all the way.

And that, my friends, is how you stand by your team; even when you're 2,000 miles from home, and even when they suck.

To My Dear Little Beemer

Today is a milestone
As you turn 200,000 miles;
In almost four years
You've brought me many smiles.

You're the first car I bought for myself,
And my very first stick;
Every time I grinded your gears
I felt like such a hick.

You've taken me across the country
To Philadelphia and back;
And then again to Seattle
Where Yanaj's dad cut you no slack.

Bone Senior loves your big-a vent
And your turning radius is superb;
But maybe I need more practice
Because we've hit more than one curb.

We've had lots of fun nights
Especially that one time at Squaw Peak;
But the journey has been rough
And now you've got a slow oil leak.

We've seen our fair share of guys
Who've admired your fine European build;
Your smooth lines and engineering,
Many times your tank they've filled.

Speaking of tanks,
Your efficiency is unmatched;
With forty miles to the gallon
Like me, you're quite the catch.

The boys have come and gone
But none have made me their wife;
Which is definitely better for them
Because you'll always be the man in my life.

Feliz Cumpleanos, Bone Senior!

Top Ten Reasons Why I Love My Sister

10. She's the cutest mom.

9. She's always up for anything.

8. She's a good sport about being forced to sit through my favorite parts of the Elvis '68 Comeback Special.

7. She knows the rules about when to use "who" and "whom".

6. She's the best partner to have when playing games like Catchphrase and Mad Gab.

5. She has the cutest way of trying to tell a joke and not remembering the punch line.

4. She lets me wake up her baby just so I can cuddle with him.

3. She finally knows that Eva Longoria and Eva Mendes are not the same person, but she still thinks that Josh Lucas and Matthew McConaughey are the same person.

2. She's a master seamstress - she designed and hand made two Elvis purses for me, going so far as to research his different jumpsuits and making beaded patterns that are exact replicas.

1. She loves me no matter what.

Happy Birthday Sister!

Fun With Mother Goose

This is the house that Dave built...














This is the crack,
That lay in the house that Dave built.














This is the underground spring,
That caused the crack
That lay in the house that Dave built...


















This is the guy,
That found the underground spring,
That caused the crack
That lay in the house that Dave built...














This is the hole,
That was dug by the guy,
That found the underground spring,
That caused the crack
That lay in the house that Dave built...


















This is the graded slope,
That led to the hole,
That was dug by the guy,
That found the underground spring,
That caused the crack
That lay in the house that Dave built...


















This is the loose dirt,
That covered the graded slope,
That led to the hole,
That was dug by the guy,
That found the underground spring,
That caused the crack
That lay in the house that Dave built...














This is the Bone Junior,
That slipped on the loose dirt,
That covered the graded slope,
That led to the hole,
That was dug by the guy,
That found the underground spring,
That caused the crack
That lay in the house that Dave built...













This is the exposed concrete footing,
That broke the fall of the Bone Junior,
That slipped on the loose dirt,
That covered the graded slope,
That led to the hole,
That was dug by the guy,
That found the underground spring,
That caused the crack
That lay in the house that Dave built...














This is the wrist,
That slammed into the exposed concrete footing,
That broke the fall of the Bone Junior,
That tumbled down the graded slope,
That led to the hole,
That was dug by the guy,
That found the underground spring,
That caused the crack
That lay in the house that Dave built...














This is my pride, deflated and bruised,
Due to the badly injured the wrist,
That plunged into the exposed concrete footing,
That broke the fall of the Bone Junior,
That tumbled down the graded slope,
That led to the hole,
That was dug by the guy,
That found the underground spring,
That caused the crack
That lay in the house that Dave built.

A Question

If your boss offered you $500 to stand off the freeway exit by your company's condo project, holding a sign that advertised an open house and free hot dogs at the condos for six hours on a Saturday, would you do it?

It's an extremely busy freeway exit, right by a Wal-mart. It's a Saturday, when everyone is out shopping. It's the area where you live, so you'll definitely be seen by people who know you.

And also you have to wear the Teletubby costume.

And it's five hundred dollars.

Would you do it?

La Familia de Bone

Last weekend, my amazing friend Mikki hosted a photo shoot for myself, Bone Senior, Li'l Mil, and Brother Bone. Please to enjoy.

Victoria's Secret Really Works

I've debated for a few days about posting this story because some of my co-workers read this blog. My reasons for hesitation will soon become apparent.

Monday was a really crappy day for me. Bone Senior and Li'l Mil left, and I spent pretty much the entire afternoon crying. Bone Senior, in true Bone Senior form, shrugged it off and said, "Why are you crying? I'll see you at Christmas!" Which is true, but it doesn't negate the fact that I will forever be the middle child: emotional, weepy, sensitive, and missing my sister.

Monday night, my friend Elizabeth invited me out to dinner and I thought that stuffing my face at Wingers and then shopping would be the perfect thing to wash away the funk of my afternoon. I wanted to buy something pretty, impractical, and fun. So I settled on a bra from Victoria's Secret.

This one, to be exact. I love that the bright pink makes me look even more tan. What can I say, I'm just vain like that. And who doesn't love them some bedazzled boobs? Can I get a whoop whoop.

Tuesday started out pretty crappy too, considering that I woke up unable to breathe through my left nostril and my entire body was hurting. But I put on my new bra, got dressed, and felt a little better knowing that at least one part of me looked cute, even if no one else saw it.

That afternoon, I was on a job site where concrete was being cut. Unfortunately, it wasn't the concrete guys who take off their shirts - this was a crew I'd never met before from a company I've never worked with before. The point I'm trying to make is that when I stepped on to that site, I was meeting this concrete crew for the very first time. Ever. This will be important to remember as the story unfolds.

My purpose for being on site was to take pictures of the work in progress. To make a long story short, I had to climb down into a 21-foot deep excavated hole where the crew was working on cutting through the concrete footings. I introduced myself and told them not to mind me; I'd just be taking pictures while they work.

Their work required two pieces of equipment: a power washer and a jack hammer. All of the concrete was being continuously sprayed down by one guy while another guy jack hammered his way around the foundation. So everything in that hole was wet and muddy. This will also be important to remember as the story unfolds.

The sprayer guy took a break and was standing next to me as I took a few pictures of the footings that had already been cut. We were about six feet away from where the jack hammer guy was about to start jack hammering. I stood there, a little mesmerized as he turned on the machine and started going at it.

The next few seconds are kind of a blur. What I remember is this: the jack hammer started, globs of wet muddy concrete started flying towards me, some landed in my hair, some landed in my cleavage, I reached up to wipe the globs out of my hair, I felt something else on my cleavage, I looked down at my chest, then looked over at the sprayer guy who had his hand on my chest, wiping away the globs from my cleavage.

Let me slow that down for you. The sprayer guy was wiping his hand across my cleavage, wiping / smearing the wet muddy concrete globs that had landed there.

But let me clarify: when I say "cleavage", its more like the space between my collarbone and the top of my cleavage. It's not like the guy was putting his hand down my shirt and digging around for gold, but the point is this: I had just met this guy.

Our eyes met, his already dirty hand still pawing away at my chest, and he froze. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and I knew that he was horrified. I knew because I recognized the look on his face as the look I often have when I do something asinine by accident. He immediately pulled his hand away as if he'd touched something hot (and let's be honest - he touched something totally hot) and started stuttering an apology.

He. Was. Mortified.

I? Was cracking up.

I honestly felt bad for the guy - I knew he meant well and he only wanted to wipe off the mess before the concrete dried to my skin. I tried to laugh it off by saying, "That's ok - but the guys usually buy me a drink first!"

He apologized over and over, saying that it was just his first instinct to wipe it off and he didn't think about where he was actually wiping - it totally sounds like something I would do if wet concrete had landed on someone's crotch, so I feel for the guy. Lit'rally.

Is it wrong that I wasn't offended, and instead just thought it was funny?

The moral of the story is this: if you're feeling down on yourself, go buy a ridiculous bra from Victoria's Secret, because it will guarantee at least an over-the-shirt feel-up.

If It Doesn't Run in the Family, I Force it To

Those are packets of mayo. Just look at the drool - - I have a similar reaction when I see mayo.

This is the very same Elvis blanket that stifles farts for days. Don't worry, I washed it.

A Day in the Life of Tinky Winky, aka, The Gay Teletubby

I promise these are the last of the Halloween pictures, but some of them slay me so I had to post them. Please to enjoy a short photo diary of how Tinky Winky solves a problem.


Using the phone at work turned out to be harder than I thought. You'd think those ears would be functional and hilarious, but alas, they only hindered my work.



I tried to adjust the ears so as to hear better...



...and finally decided to make that costume head my beyatch and forced the phone into place. I know it looks extremely comfortable, but it kinda hurt, and left an imprint on my face.

At the end of the day, after delivering candy to the jobsite and running across a busy street like Frogger, the only thing left to do was the Tinky Winky Shuffle. Enjoy, because every time I watch this video, I die a little more inside. Especially when I see the look on my face.

Halloween Part 2: More Mischief Night & Halloween Day

Since I'm waiting for Jamie to email me more pictures from the office, including a video that is. To. Die. For; please to enjoy some more Halloween pictures.

Hang in there for the video - trust me, it's worth it. It has to do with me in the Teletubby costume, and a certain dance that involves shuffling and a buffalo...
Me and Hot Rob, aka the man eating shark. I believe his exact words to me that night were, "I love coming to costume parties, because there's the people who are dressed up but you know they're still trying to look cute. And then there's people like you and me, who don't care at all about looking cute and instead go for the most fabric as possible."




One of my bosses. He has better legs than me. And clearly wears a bigger bra than me as well.
It might be hard to see past the glare of the relective construction vest, but that's me, in the big purple costume. I learned how to stuff the head, thus making it stand straight up with little effort. That's what she said.

Li'l Mil in his hotdog costume.
Hizznizzle, painfully stuffing his face into a child-size batman mask. I almost peed.

Hizznizzle again, and again I almost peed.

Bone Senior, The Jam, Li'l Mil, and Son of The Jam.