Socially Inappropriate

My Tuesday started with a bang. Actually, with a brace on my left foot, and me hobbling into work only to be faced with questions like, "Did he finally slam you up against the car?" Sigh. I wish the reason I have a fractured fifth metatarsal was because I was kissed so passionately that I was knocked off my feet. Lit'rally.

The real reason I'm a gimp is more a result of me being an ass as opposed to me actually getting any ass.

Maybe I should back up.

The only reason I look forward to Monday's - and I mean the only reason - is because Prison Break is on. My Monday's start with a 7:30 A.M. meeting at work, followed by a completely packed day. I drag myself home around five, put on my purple muu-muu, take a nap and wake up in time to enjoy the hour of pure adrenaline and testosterone uninterrupted. I live for Prison Break. Nothing happens for me on Monday nights until after it's over.

So when I got an email yesterday afternoon about an activity that was going on Monday night, I didn't think much of it. A bunch of people were getting together to play Commando; we were supposed to meet at the clubhouse at 7pm, and come "dressed in black."

[For those of you who don't know, Commando is a game where you have two groups of people; one group goes on foot and the other group goes in cars with spotlights. The point is for the people on foot to make it from designated Point A to Point B without getting caught by the people in cars.]

I've played Commando before, and I'm not a huge fan of the whole running and dry heaving thing, but its actually pretty fun. Plus I like being the leader of a group and telling everyone where to go, when to drop to the ground, and when to army roll. The army roll directive is usually accompanied by the typical response, "But its asphalt. Why are we army rolling across a parking lot?" Followed by my typical response, "Just do it. It will be funny. Shut up. It's funny. I'm in charge here. Just do it."

I got home and talked to my roommates, who casually asked if I was planning on going. Sure it would be fun, but its my standing date night with Prison Break. Plus, I barely knew any of the people going, they barely knew me or if they did, they knew me as the girl who likes Elvis. This was not a social group that I regularly mingled with. I had absolutely no intention of going, and neither did my roommates, until I said sarcastically, "I don't have any black clothes except for my Batman costume."

As soon as I said it, the lightbulb went off.

The more I contemplated, the more fun it sounded. I weighed my options: These people almost never remember who I am, I'd probably only gotten an invite because they know my roommates, and they don't have the first idea about my sense of humor. Showing up dressed as Batman would probably just make them feel uncomfortable and not know how to respond to me. It would definitely be socially inappropriate.

But was I willing to give up Prison Break to show up at an activity dressed as Batman, surrounded by people who ask me my name every time they see me, and run around for an hour, dressed as Batman, for no reason other than to have a good story to blog about?

Getcha popcorn, folks, and let the sideshow begin.

Exhibit A: I pull out my Batman costume, a la Halloween 2005, which just so happened to be the last time I'd played Commando. It was very nostalgic.

Exhibit B: I show up, and people don't really know what to do except laugh uncomfortably. Behold me in all my glory and reflective shoes.

When people asked me why I was dressed as Batman, I pointedly said that I come to win, and secondly, that I wasn't "dressed as Batman." Those muscles were all me.


Which brings me back to the foot fracture.

As I said, I like to play Commando, and the whole point is to be stealthy and fugitive-like. None of this walking down the street crap. If you're gonna go, you go balls out. We had that covered no problem. There may or may not have been many times when I was either hiding in the bed of a dump truck, face down in a ditch, or army crawling under barbed wire. And I'm happy to report that the cape was victorious and made it back in one piece.

And when I say "the cape was victorious", I am referring to our last stretch on the Underground Railroad when we had to drop down a ten foot wall and I landed nimbly, (unbeknownst to me that my foot had landed on the edge of the cape) made a sharp turn to the left to take off running for safety, when the cape (which I was still standing on) caused me to roll over my own left foot, hence the fractured fifth metatarsal.

It would've been OK if the injury had been in the name of triumph. It would've been worth it to see the looks on everyone's faces when Batman arrived safely and shouted "I shake my fist at you, rules of convention!!" However, my excitement was short lived when we reached the safe point only to find that "apparently" everyone else had made it there half an hour earlier, and had already gone home.

It was a long and dejected walk back home. But it was worth it for the stories, right??

Sigh.

Lovin in the City of Brotherly Love...In a Non Gay Way

I was in a bad mood yesterday. So bad a mood that I came home after work, put on my purple muu-muu, and laid on the couch for nearly five hours, catching up on all the shows I missed during my hiatus / vacation to PA. And let me tell you - nothing gets you out of a funk better than Prison Break and Lincoln's wide-open v-necks.

Many of you have probably already seen Erin's blog, which pretty much sums up our trip. So what am I supposed to blog about? I could write about how we left 75 degree weather and entered a freak blizzard that lasted nearly the whole weekend. Or maybe you'd like to hear about how I brought back 15 pounds of Tastykakes. I might talk about how when I saw my 8.5 months preggo sister for the first time I started bawling. Or how we were G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S and got to fly first class.

Instead, please to enjoy my photos. And by "my photos", I mean "pictures taken by Erin and Johanna and many of which are already on Erin's blog".


Bone Senior and Baby Bone, aged 26 and 8.5 months, respectively.












My hero. Rocky, that is. Not Erin. But she's pretty swell too. And also here we see the beginnings of what I like to call The Tanorexia Effect, which is that I start to blend into the darker backgrounds.














Samuel was thrilled to see the official seal of the United States on the ceiling of a room at Independence Hall. Doesn't he look thrilled?

We met this strapping fellow at the historical society visitor's center. He refused to hold Samuel for a picture, but interestingly enough, he would hold a can of SPAM, which had earned him a place in the National SPAM Museum or something. It's not that he wasn't friendly, I just thought he was a bit cocky for someone in knickers and tights. And he thought he knew more than me and was funnier than me, as evidenced when he snootily corrected a passerby who thought a nearby spinster woman (who was black) was Betsy Ross, because according to him, everyone knows that Betsy Ross wasn't black. So I snootily corrected him and informed him that everyone knew that the spinster was actually Harriet Tubman. Because she was the only black woman I could think of right then. Then I went on to tell him that Harriet Tubman was injured as a child because someone threw a can of SPAM at her. Then I told him that I refused to visit the Betsy Ross house because I found out she was a fraud and didn't really sew the first American flag. Then I ran away because apparently I wasn't funny.

The Tanorexia Effect in full swing. I would like to point out that I am not, in fact, made of erra cotta. What you're seeing is an optical illusion known as Tan By Association, as I am posing with the two whitest people I know, other than Yanaj.


Samuel visits the Liberty Bell, and I make a spectacle of myself for the umpteenth time that day by whipping him out of my purse with a flourish and vogue-ing.







The Tanorexia Effect has taken over, as I have all but completely blended and disappeared into the background.










While I hope these pictures have been entertaining, nothing can compare to my latest debacle with McBicep. Take a trip with me in Ye Olde Time Machine back to Tuesday March 14. I remember it like it was just a week and a half ago.

That day, I'd been debating with my friend G over whether I should call McBicep, or wait for him to call me. The verdict was to wait. So wait I did, and McBicep came through, calling me that night while I was at work. We had a great conversation, which I thought went really well and we set up a date for the next night.

When I got off the phone, I was so excited that I immediately texted G in true Bone Junior fashion: really really really gay. And I quote: "[insert McBicep's real name here] just called me!!!!!!! He was SOOOOO cute and flirty!!!!!! We're going out tomorrow night!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!!!:) :) :) :)" Sigh. Basically, it was as gay, silly and girly as you can possibly get. I know. I know.

Now, if you're familiar with my work (and by "my work" I mean "my uncanny ability to relentlessly and constantly embarrass and humiliate myself") I think you know where this is going.

So we have a great date Wednesday night, full of lots of jujitsu moves and lingering hugs, I leave for Philly, time flies, and next thing you know, its Sunday night and I'm sharing a blow-up air mattress with Erin at Bone Senior's house. I'm having trouble falling asleep so I decide to mess around with my phone and clean out my old text messages. I'm browsing through the sent messages, I find my gay message to G and get severe retarded tingles for myself...only the recipient didn't say G.

And that's when the panic set in, because I realized I'd sent the message to McBicep himself.

I tried to get into Ye Olde Time Machine, but the front door handle was busted and cost $200 just to replace the part. Oh wait, that's Ye Olde BMW. Anyway.

Erin and Bone Senior were sweet, trying to convince me that maybe he'd never even gotten the message. Right. I knew. He'd gotten it alright, A WEEK AGO AND HAD NEVER SAID ANYTHING TO ME ABOUT IT. HE'D KNOWN FOR A WEEK. A WEEK. A WHOLE WEEK.

I. Wanted. To. Die.

The next night, McBicep called me, and while I tried to politely listen to him recap his weekend, all I could think about was that text message, and how I knew that he knew what a dork I really was. So I not-so-politely interjected with the dreaded "I have to talk to you about something."

Bone Junior: Um.......about a week ago, I sent a text message to my friend G.....

McBicep: laughing.

Bone Junior: You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?

McBicep: I thought it was funny! I was going to respond to it right then, but I figured there was a 30-70% chance that you would never check the sent messages, and then you'd never realize what had happened, and I didn't want to embarrass you.

Bone Junior: But you've known for a WEEK and you didn't say anything! Why didn't you say something?

McBicep: That's what I do....I sit back and collect information.

Bone Junior: Great. That's just great. Now you've got the upper hand, and I just look retarded.

McBicep: You're gonna have to learn to be comfortable with ambiguity. And not always being in control, because I know that drives you crazy.

Bone Junior: Let's never talk about this again.

So there you have it folks, I've once again outdone myself for being an ass. On the brighter side, McBicep has called me since the Infamous Text Message Debacle, and we've seen each other for a few minutes - - long enough for him to devour half of my Tastykake stockpile in one sitting. I'm serious.

In other news, I am now the proud owner of a brand new $200 driver's side door handle. Ain't I fancy. And to think the fancy BMW parts guy balked at me when I clamored into his pristine shop, leaving a trail of white trash in my wake, and asked, "Don't I even get a balloon or something with this? No? Nothing? Ok well thanks for giving me yet another opportunity to bend over and take it up the tailpipe. Long live the Aryan race!"

Now who's fancy.

Quirks! Quirks! He's Our Man! If He Can't Do It, No One Can!

Yee haw! Let's jump on the bandwagon and explore The Quirks That Are Bone Junior:

- Every time (and I mean every time) I go out to my car, before its actually in my sight, I mentally rehearse what I will do and say if I catch someone in the act of vandalizing my car. "What I will do and say" usually consists of me yelling, swearing, and bobbing my head a lot in an intimidating manner.

- I have a completely rational and practical fear of spiders. Like this little gem here, which crawled out from behind my trash can at work on Monday. I saw it, I screamed, wheeled my chair back as far as I could, then I started to cry. I really cried until I heard laughing behind me and one of the supers came walking out, holding a remote control. Then everyone in the office came out laughing. Apparently they'd all been in on it, and had been waiting nearly a week for the perfect opportunity to scare me. I told them they were lucky that the spider hadn't crawled across my foot, because I'd have had to go home to change my pants. Because I would've pooped myself. Lit'rally.

- I dip my fries in mayonnaise. I hate fry sauce, don't like ketchup on anything but eggs, but I love me some mayo. One time I slurped it through a straw.

- When I use a public restroom, I have to get the handicapped stall. Even if every other stall is open and there's someone in that big stall, I'll wait until they're done and then I go in and throw myself a little party just because I can.

- I have to be at the movies at least twenty minutes before it starts, and I have to see the previews. I'll forgo Junior Mints if there's a chance I'll miss the previews. And a bad seat ruins my whole night - I'd rather just get my money back then sit in a bad seat.

- I like kids, but I don't like that they ooze. It seriously grosses me out and makes me dry heave. Sometimes I throw up in my mouth a little, and I feel like a bad person because "apparently" everyone else loves kids and their oozing.

- My comforter has two vertical lines of stitching that run down the length of it. Before I go to sleep, the stitching has to be perfectly lined up with the sides of my bed.

- When I drive on the freeway, my goal is to get all of my dashboard gauges to line up identically, as pictured here. Ok so I know they're not lined up perfectly identically, but you try getting your car up to 80 MPH and keeping the RPM's below 4. When I'm on the freeway, it becomes a compulsion. One time, I deliberately pulled off the freeway, filled my gas tank exactly halfway, and got back on so I could keep trying.

- When I'm ready to get out of the shower, I turn the water as hot as it will go and point the showerhead down so that I'm not actually in the water, but the shower and bathroom fills up with steam. And I mean fills up. That way, when I step out, its not cold. The pictures of hot men taped to the back of my bathroom door are all wilted and weathered, but its a price I'm willing to pay.

- My DVD's have to be in alphabetical order, more for my own sanity than anything else. If they weren't in that order, it'd be impossible for me to keep track of them. One time I tried to organize them by genre, but then someone told me that Predator belonged in the Sci-Fi section, and I swore up and down that I do not own a Sci-Fi film, let alone an entire section, because I wouldn't be caught dead watching, let alone owning a Sci-Fi flick, and no way was Predator Sci-Fi because there wasn't any time travel in it, which is clearly the only definition for anything science fiction, and then someone pointed out that my Back to the Future trilogy also belonged under Sci-Fi, and I was all, "No way! Back to the Future is not science fiction! There's no time tra - - - oh." So I bargained with them and said that Sci-Fi could keep The Fly as long as I could keep Predator. Then I shuffled away, dejected and with head hanging because I guess maybe I do like Sci Fi.

As per usual, if you can think of anything I left out, please feel free to remind me.

Appy Berfday, Guvnuh!

In celebration of The Guvnuh's 25th birthday today, and in light of the fact that I've had nothing interesting to post about for the past week, I give you, finally, and with much flair, The 2007 Oscar Cake...

After nearly an hour of outlining the shape with toothpicks, I finally settle on the classic "Man With Amputeed Arms".

Icing in progress...

...which requires extreme focus and concentration...

...and a little help from Yanaj...

Voila!

In other news, I did win the Oscar Ballot contest, although it was my worst year on record. As a prize, I received a whoopie cushion (which promptly popped), some screaming rocket balloons (which turned out to be more like groaning blimp balloons), and some silly putty. Huge Bald Guy was in attendance, staying the entire 3 1/2 hours on the couch next to me (Please see Erin's blog for further details), which brings our date total to 7 if you count the party. Date #6 was Saturday night, when we went to dinner and back to his place to watch a movie. Woo hoo!

However, still no kiss. The physical contact is slowly increasing. And by physical contact, I mean us being smushed against eachother on the couch and hugging. But no kiss! Maybe Huge Bald Guy moves slowly, which is fine, but mama needs a ten second frencher! Stat!

My friends have provided no shortage of advice for how to go about getting this ten second frencher. One of my favorite examples comes in an email from my amazing friend and stylist, Lez:

You need to create a “go ahead and ravish me” moment. Get to work little lady, “if you create it he will kiss”. So there you have it, that is my strategy and I am sticking to it. As for creating the “go ahead and ravish me moment”-

1. You definitely need to be alone;

2. You should probably get a great blow-dry from your uneducated stylist (a good blow-out always helps a little, no one can say no to a gorgeous head of hair, SEX…Y);

3. You should initiate some deep conversation and make yourself a little vulnerable (tell a story about your childhood or something sappy);

4. Give him puppy-dog eyes, and for the final touch,

5. Pout your lips …and WALA he will be “budda”.

It is as simple as that, so give me a call if you want a fabulous blow-dry. And now I leave you with some last words: just remember that if there isn’t a struggle, it wasn’t worth it.

The best part about Lez's step-by-step advice is when I was relaying the information to Erin later that day and told her, "Lez says the key to getting kissed is a great blow job.... I mean....blow out. Blow dry!! Blow something. Shut up."

Yet with all this advice and input, still nothing. Any and all suggestions are welcomed. I'm also taking bets on how long it will take...

In parting, enjoy a picture of The Famous Elvis Cake, circa January 2007.

An Excerpt from the BMW Bible

Owner's Manual, page 27: Your BMW is equipped with a double-lock anti-lockout system. When the driver's door is open, its safety catch button can neither be pressed in nor the lock turned by the key. It is not possible to lock the vehicle using the lock button when the driver's door is open. This is a safeguard against locking yourself out of the car accidentally. Except of course at 6:45 A.M. on a Saturday morning when you pull up to the front gate at work, exit the vehicle to manually push open the broken gate, and return to your car (which is still running), only to find that the driver's door (with the handle that doesn't work from the outside) has closed, all other doors are locked, and your spare key is visible sitting in the cup holder. In which case, you are S.O.L. and must wait 45 minutes (with your locked car still running and sitting at the gate) for the locksmith to show up, pay fifty dollars for roughly 7 seconds of work, and be ridiculed by said locksmith for locking your spare key in the fancy BMW with the busted driver's door handle.

Happy One Hundredth Post!

This officially marks my 100th post. In celebration, I will be having a party at my house on Sunday night. I will be making my 2nd Annual Oscar Cake, and we'll be watching the Oscars also. But its still a party for my blog. Even though today I'm spending a great part of my workday making copies of the Official Oscar Ballot for Bone Junior's Official Oscar Party - its still a party for my blog. We'll also be having a ceremony in which I am presented with my "Best Lover" Oscar statuette. Really.

Lent Update: And the winner is......LOST! That's right folks, I'm giving up LOST for the next 40 days. I considered giving up peeing in the shower, but that's too easy - it had to be something that would really be a sacrifice....so LOST it is. Snicker snicker. I'll, uh, be sure to keep you posted on how truly difficult it is....yeah.

Other candidates included chocolate, Diet Pepsi, Huge Bald Guy With Biceps As Big As My Head, my bra, brushing my teeth, and movies - the thought of which made me cry. Lit'rally. When movies was suggested, I believe my exact response was a blank stare, followed by, "Are you out. Of. Your. Damn. Mind?"

In local news, the Daily Herald's 'Best of Utah County 2006 Reader's Choice Awards' results are in...and my company tied for first for best homebuilder. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that my boss practically forced me to stuff the ballot box. And Squaw Peak remains heavyweight champion yet again as 'Best Makeout Spot.'

I wish I had something more exciting to post about for my #100, but other than cinnamon rolls, The Oscars, and deconstructing Huge Bald Guy's true identity (taking bets on trained assassin, Batman, or Jack Bauer) there's not much else going on in my world. Viva la Oscars!

Post Number Ninety Nine: In Which I Do Something Both Amazing & Incredible and Become Domestic and all Girly-like

I make no secret of the fact that I am the polar opposite of crafty, creative, and anything domestic. I'm comfortable admitting that the extent of my cooking is making tuna melts or bologna sandwiches.

But something came over me yesterday - maybe it was Lent - and I decided to make cinammon rolls from scratch, thanks to a super secret recipe from a party who shall remain anonymous. Suffice it to say that the offering of this recipe risks the life of this person - it came to me wax-sealed in an ancient envelope by a wizard who warned me to "Keep it secret...keep it safe...." and then I met this hobbit and a really hot elf, and we were being chased by these ring wraiths....oh wait. Wrong story.

I was feeling ambitious until I started to mix the dough, and subsequently started crying because my fingers were all stuck together and webbed and I stared to panic because I thought I was ruining everything, and clearly I'm not cut out for making homemade cinammon rolls from scratch.

But Yanaj came to the rescue, lovingly scraping the dough from my cemented fingers and helping me create something that was truly a masterpiece, and will probably never happen again. Part of the masterpiece was the two flour-handprints on my bosom, as pictured.

In the end, I gorged myself on the most divine cinammon rolls I have ever had, hands down. And I'm paying for it today, as I feel like my blood has been replaced by icing and I'm moving in super slow motion.And my tears were not in vain, as the tasty treats were enjoyed by many friends, neighbors, and co-workers, including one Huge Bald Guy With Biceps As Big As My Head, who gave me THREE, count them, THREE lingering hugs and nonstop smiling.
In other news, I'm taking votes on what to give up for Lent. Whoever has the best idea wins! Please suggest something like Sci-Fi, or British comedies, because I have no trouble giving those up. Sorry Yanaj.

Happy VD Day!

This picture is courtesy of my boss Dave, who was outlining the company benefits for me a few months ago. VD Day being code for "Employees get flowers for Valentine's Day."

So Happy VD Day! What a great day to be single and basking in the glow of a trip to Orlando. I spent two days at Universal Studios, mainly walking around with my jaw hanging open in amazement, and a day at Magic Kingdom running around like a six year old.

However, let's not forget the part where I get the world's worst case of butt pee (AKA diarrhea) on my first night there, and dragged my friend to the store to buy Kaopectate. Let's also not forget when the butt pee came back the second day, and I farted at Universal only to quickly realize that the fart didn't come alone and in peace as we had agreed. And how my friend called me Poop Butt for the remainder of the trip.

But I was willing to be called Poop Butt if it meant that I could experience DisneyWorld for the first time at their Princesses & Pirates Party, and eat Pirate Bone Fudge (really). The weather was perfect, my tan was bronzed to perfection, and I had an amazing time.

And now its back to the freezing Utah weather and opening my car from the passenger side because the driver side handle is busted.

I want to go back to Florida.

Viva La Florida

Well kiddies, date #3 with Huge Bald Guy With Biceps As Big As My Head is in the works for tonight...initiated by me, but I think it still counts. Right? Right? Please??

Nothing like a last-minute confidence booster before heading off to Florida for five glorius days of Disneyworld, Universal Studios, and dodging tornados. Also nothing like giving yourself heat stroke (or lamp stroke) by going tanning two days in a row to prepare for said trip. There's just nothing quite like feeling like your entire body is on fire, and having to call in sick as a result.

I Like Making People Uncomfortable

Last night I went out to dinner with my roommates. I did my usual obvious checking-out of the waiters (Me: "What! He's good looking!" Yanaj: "It's not your taste I'm objecting to; it's your tact...")

I asked our waiter for some more honey mustard dipping sauce, and when he brought it out, it was definitely not normal honey mustard. I didn't really use it, and when he came back he said, "Oh by the way, that other honey mustard I brought out is fat-free."

I paused, mid-bite with a mouth full of greasy chicken crispers, looked directly at him and said, "What are you trying to say?"

As he tried to stammer his way out of it, I felt kind of bad. He didn't really talk to us the rest of the night. So I left a $6 tip on a $14 check.

Sometimes I like being a jerk.

In other news, I discovered this week that I'm more famous than I realized. Apparently, my mug has been plastered on the Official Elvis Insiders website since August. There's a tremendously flattering shot of me and Johanna from the Official Elvis Week Dance Party 2006. And by "tremendously flattering", I mean "horrifically and utterly disgusting and not at all flattering by any stretch of the imagination."

I don't even remember there being an official photographer at the dance party, let alone allowing him to take my picture. He should've been taking candids of the woman who danced like Elaine from Seinfeld, or the old ladies covered in Elvis tattoos - not me looking like I'm handicapped.

It's so bad that I'm not going to tell you where it is, suffice it to say that I don't even want to think about how many people have seen that picture and thought, "Aw, isn't that sweet? Elvis Week hosted obese special eds!"

Maybe the waiter wasn't totally off-base...

Hooray for Office Max!

I received a tasty and wonderful treat in the mail yesterday. To be more specific, a box full of 250 tasty and wonderful treats: Something tells me I can put these babies to good use...

The word of the day is hipatitis (noun): Terminal coolness.
Example: Bone Junior has a raging case of hipatitis.

Recipe for a Puppet Master

Ingredients:

One (1) pair of 3D glasses

One (1) roommate who is easily persuaded

One (1) puppet master to convince said roommate that an impromptu Elton John performance won't be exploited in any way, shape, or form.



And the moral of the story is this: Never trust a Bone, especially a Bone Junior.

A Short Story About How I Didn't Eat Anything All Day Because I Thought I Was Going to Throw Up

"The doorbell rang, I heard you pee."

That's how it all started, as so eloquently put by my friend Johanna, who called me at the crucial moment last night. The doorbell rang, I fluffed my hair, took a deep breath, and put on my best game face. Then I opened the door and nearly fainted from fright.

I found out later that my roommates, in classic roommate fashion, had been peeking through the blinds when Huge Bald Guy With Biceps As Big As My Head picked me up. Their exchange went something like this:

Yanaj: He's opening the car door for her!
Ylime: His shirt is so tight!
Yanaj: Look how he's smiling!
Ylime: His shirt is so tight!
Yanaj: She looks terrified!
Ylime: His shirt is so tight!
Yanaj: Does he have any other choice?!?

Thankfully, it didn't take long for me to warm up and be myself. And we had fun! At the game, I had no choice but to be smashed up against his arm because he was too huge to contain himself in his own space. Six-foot-four, and two hundred and eighty pounds of huge.

It also didn't take long to realize that he loves movies as much as I do, which gave me the perfect segue to suggest another date. But I didn't have to - because he suggested it first. After he walked me to my door and hugged me. And then I really peed.

I was all set to burst through the front door and start screaming to my roommates, except that it was locked, and I ended up body slamming the front door, full force. While Huge Bald Guy With Biceps As Big As My Head was still standing there.

And to think I was thisclose to making it through the whole night without pulling a classic Bone Junior move.

So kiddies, take some advice from your old Aunt Bone Junior... always give it a shot, because you might end up having a blast. And possibly peeing yourself with excitement.

T Minus 8 Hours and Counting...And by Counting, I mean Sweating, Shaking, and Panicking

So today is the big day. Huge Bald Guy With Biceps As Big As My Head called me last night to set everything up for the game tonight. I of course panicked and bumbled around, unable to form a coherent sentence. And then the panic set in.

So rather than think about that, I'll tell you about my celebrity sighting experience at Sundance this weekend. As I was riding the shuttle up to Main Street, who gets on and sits right next to me, but William H. Macy.

I won't even tell you that when I told Bone Senior this story, she said, "Who's William H. Macy?" This coming from the gal who introduced me to the wonderful world of Mystery Men in the first place.

I sat there, staring straight ahead but totally aware of his presence next to me. I would've sat there in silence if the shuttle hadn't broken down, and he made a joke about walking the rest of the way. I saw my opportunity and grabbed the bull by the horns.

Bone Junior: I hope you don't mind me saying this, because I really admire your scope of work, but I have to say, my favorite role of yours is The Shoveler.

WHM: Laughs. Believe it or not, I get that a lot, so thank you.

BJ: Really? Leans forward in excitement. Will you do the line? The line about how you shovel well?

WHM: Lucille, God gave me a gift. I shovel well. I shovel very well.

BJ: Claps hands and rejoices.

In all, my Sundance Film Fesitval experience was a fun one. I didn't see a lot of celebrities, but I met a lot of interesting people. And something about being around the people in Park City gave me the guts to ask out Huge Bald Guy With Biceps As Big As My Head. Maybe it was a contact high from all the artsy fartsy hippies I was around - whatever it was, I'm officially in panic mode.

The Scream Heard Round The World, or How I Gave Myself an Aneurysm

Years from now, a tale will be told around campfires. Its the kind of story that gets bottled up and stored in sorcerer's wagons next to the eye of newt and pixie dust. Its the stuff dreams and wishes are made of, and kiddies, it happened to your old Aunt Bone Junior.

Whenever a young girl cries because her crush doesn't like her back, or a chubby loner pines for the quarterback, the legendary ultimate underdog tale will be told of how Bone Junior called The Huge Bald Guy With Biceps As Big As My Head and asked him out to the Jazz game.

And how he said yes.

They will tell of how she screamed with such fervor that a roommate came running, thinking she'd seen a spider; and how she fell to her knees and threw her arms in the air, a la Rocky. Lit'rally.

You married people might not remember what it was like to have such a raging crush on someone that you couldn't even look at them, and to be convinced that you could never ever ever talk to them, and that they'd never ever look twice at you - someone so unattainable and so far out of your league that it seemed hopeless.

But I'm here to tell you that miracles really can happen. And I don't care if he said yes out of pity or just to be nice. I don't care if he said yes because he felt sorry for me or because he didn't want to hurt my feelings by saying no. I don't care if we go to the game and then nothing comes of it - because he still said yes, and I at least get a shot.

If nothing else, I have solidified my bragging rights amongst friends. As Ylime so eloquently put it, "We can never again say you don't have the balls, because You. Have. The. Balls."

And she never says 'balls'.

Mmmm, Your Scrapple Smells Lovely

Scrapple (n) - Dutch, literally meaning "not for the faint of heart." A savory mush in which cornmeal and flour are simmered with pork scraps and trimmings, then formed into a loaf. Small scraps of meat left over from butchering, too small to be used or sold elsewhere, were made into scrapple to avoid waste, a Pennsylvania Dutch tradition.

Scrapple is typically made of hog offal, such as the head, particularly the brain, eyes, heart, liver, bladder, and other scraps, which are boiled with any bones attached (often the entire head), to make a broth. Once cooked, bones and fat are discarded, the meat is reserved, and (dry) cornmeal is boiled in the broth to make a mush. The meat, finely minced, is returned, and seasonings, typically sage, thyme, savory, and others, are added. The mush is cast into loaves, and allowed to cool thoroughly until gelled.

Scrapple is arguably the first pork food invented in America. The first recipes were created by Dutch colonists who settled near Philadelphia and Chester County, Pennsylvania in the 17th and 18th centuries. Scrapple is strongly associated with Philadelphia and neighboring eastern Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Maryland and Delaware.

What Wikipedia fails to mention is that scrapple is tasty and also wonderful. But you have to applaud anyone who can successfully pair the words "savory" and "mush" when talking about a pork loaf.

Wikipedia also left out the fact that although its a Philadelphia treat, one day you might stumble across a frozen loaf of scrapple in your grocer's freezer in Utah. And that day will be one of rejoicing.

Scrapple in utero -its most primitive form before blossoming into a delectable morsel - unless you count the pig it came from:















Wikipedia also fails to mention that your entire house will smell like scrapple after you prepare this delicious breakfast treat. You will also smell like scrapple, so be prepared to tell people that you slaved for hours to create a savory mush meal. Because they will ask. Hypothetically.
















Yanaj's first sampling...















Ylime wears her heart on her sleeve...
















The final verdict...

Holy Crap, I'm Famous! Kind of...

Well folks, I've officially broken into the elusive world of interweb fame. In a very sad kind of way. Apparently, this post sparked a bit of a debate amongst BSB fans (that's Backstreet Boys, to the lay person). My remark about seeing this BSB at Sundance became the start of a new thread on this site. I'm quoted! Lit'rally! Line upon line of Kevin Sundance Speculation all because of little old me.

I was intrigued. I didn't know how the heck they found me, until further research showed that the Great Kevin Debate began with this avid fan, who runs a site chock full of BSB news "for the discerning fan." I love the mystery and mystique that shrowds me...Kevin at Sundance? This Blogger seems to know...

The biggest controversy seems to be over when I saw the BSB. Was it this year? Last year? I felt it was my duty to set the webmaster straight, so I emailed Kat herself.

Dear Kat -

Hi there. I’m the blogger you referenced on your site regarding seeing Kevin at the Sundance Film Festival. The story about me seeing him and then tripping over a fire hydrant actually happened in January of 2004, which was my last Sundance experience before this year. I haven’t seen Kevin so far this year, but I have passed by that hydrant often and I think of Kevin fondly each time I do. If I do see him, you'll be the first to know.

Keep the BSB info coming!

Sincerly,
Bone Junior

While I'm excited to be forever immortalized in someone else's web memory, I can't help but feel a few retarded tingles for myself.

Oscars! Oscars! Read All About It!

Bright and early this morning, the highly anticipated 2007 Academy Award nominees were announced. And I was hopping around in excitement as I brushed my teeth. I've been looking forward to this day almost as much as I was looking forward to Prison Break starting up again (by the way, Lincoln and his unbuttoned shirt did not disappoint.)

This year is going to be a doozy. I can't say that I agree with all the nominations, or the fact that Dreamgirls got snubbed for Best Picture. Overall, I'm bursting with excitement and wondering how to pronounce some of the foreign names. And the screenwriter I saw at Sundance is nominated! It gives me chivers to think that just two days ago, I was cowering behind a bookshelf, too chicken to ask for a picture with him, and now he's nominated.

Just thinking about predicting the winners took me back to last year and my famous first attempt at making an Oscar cake for our first Oscar party. Seeing the pictures still pricks me with pride.

Behold, in all its glory, The 2006 Oscar Cake That Turned Out Sucessfully But Had Enormous Potential To Look Like Something Vulgar If I Didn't Mix The Frosting Colors Right and Also If I Didn't Get The Shape Right:

On February 25, I hope to sucessfully recreate my second official Oscar cake for our second Oscar party. You're all invited, so get your togas ready.

Go ahead, Daily Herald. Reject my ballot. I dare you.

Every year The Daily Herald, the premier publication of Utah County, hosts a "Best of Utah County" contest. A full-page ballot is printed in the paper with categories ranging from 'Best free-time activity in Utah County', to 'Best Divorce Attorney.' I'm not kidding.

This year, a 'Best Homebuilder' category was introduced, which meant that after my boss saw it, I was off to The Daily Herald to buy 100 newspapers and then hand them out to all employees, shamelessly prompting them to nominate our company. In case you're wondering, 100 Daily Heralds costs $50.00, weighs 80 pounds, and the little yellow strap slices your wrist tendons.

I started to fill out the ballot, but with over 100 categories, I started to get a little restless and a lot annoyed. How the hell am I supposed to know who is the best assisted living, plastic surgeon, auto towing service, or hearing aid center? I'm not kidding.

So I thought I'd share some of my favorite responses with you.

Make-out spot ("necking" spot): Squaw Peak

Free-time Activity in Utah County: Squaw Peak

Place for a picnic: Squaw Peak

Place to break up: Squaw Peak

Place to propose: Squaw Peak

Under appreciated tourist attraction: Squaw Peak

Utah County getaway: Squaw Peak

Public Swimming: The drainage / irrigation ditch off Center Street in Provo.

Public Restroom: The drainage / irrigation ditch off Center Street in Provo.

Fishing spot: Squaw Peak, if you're fishing for guys. Coldstone Creamery if you're fishing for girls.

Live theater: Squaw Peak

Bargain date: Squaw Peak


The disclaimer at the bottom says, "The Daily Herald reserves the right to reject any ballot." Gee, I sure hope I didn't ruin my chances.

In other news, Hot Rob did finally call me back, despite the odds and my ass-faced voicemail message.

Sundance Celebrity Sighting Update:

Number seen: 2 (Robert Redford and Guillermo Arriaga)

Number vicariously seen through Yanaj: 1 (Tom Arnold)

Number of people seen that looked vaguely familiar and were being asked for their autograph but I have no idea who they were: 1.

Dollars spent on goat cheese & salmon salad: 16

Diet Pepsis consumed during shifts: 9

Viva La Sundance Film Festival 2007!

Yesterday kicked off the official start of the 2007 Sundance Film Festival, and as a volunteer, I officially am part of the festivities this year. Actually it all started on Wednesday when I checked in and received my first official swag bag (pictured, minus the vest, hat, and travel coffee mug).















Starting tomorrow, I'll be working at The New Frontier on Main with about 14 male Star Trek nerds. I likey my odds.

I'm also hoping that by working there, my celebrity sighting stories will trump my last Sundance celebrity sighting, when I locked eyes with this Backstreet Boy, and then tripped over a fire hydrant. Lit'rally.