I’ve pulled a few pranks in my day. Some were lame while others were downright fantastical. One or two got me in serious (almost legal) trouble and one sent a kid to the hospital with a 7″ gash. But nothing I ever did could compare to my older sister, Lynnard. You wouldn’t know it if you just met her, but back in the day she was a hell raiser. Actually, you wouldn’t have known it then either. She was petite, blond… almost demure. AND she had multiple men wrapped around her little finger back (I, on the other hand, had men breaking world speed records trying to run away from me). That might be why her freshman year roommates were absolute beasts (jealous much?).  While I’ve lived with a few disasters, I must give my sister props for having the worst roommates… EVER! Don’t believe me? Check them out:

Have you ever seen such creatures? While I’ll admit this was the 80s and their hair and fashion choices can be blamed on that, they were evil on outside and the inside. Let me first note that my sister’s hair is actually the least offensive. She’s in the back wearing the blue Cosby sweater. Roommate X was by far one of the most offensive roommates (the one with her hand on my sister’s shoulder — why is it there in the first place?). I think I met her once. I’m not someone who’s easily frightened but after a brief walk by, I wanted to hide in a garbage dumpster.

The two girls shared about 12 square feet in what was known as a sleep-study: 2 beds that come out of the wall, 2 desks and 2 closets (I had the same set up in the same apartment-style dorm).  Being as she was quite the popular woman on campus, my sister was out and about ’til the wee hours of the morning, often times tumbling into bed long after X had gone to sleep.  Lynnard could do this because she didn’t schedule class until after 10 or 11 (why didn’t I do that?).  X, on the other hand, started her morning ritual around 5 am.  I suppose if you need to rat and style your hair a good 4″ off your head, 5′o clock would be the hour to do it.

Sadly, X broke all the roommate rules: she turned on the light, her radio and hairdryer.  She might’ve even sung along (loudly and off-key, I imagine) to whatever was playing.  I asked why X couldn’t get ready in the bathroom since she and the students who shoveled snow were the only ones up at that hour.  I *think* it was because the bedroom had natural light while the bathroom had fluorescent bulbs.  Really?  Are you kidding me?  The sun doesn’t get up at 5 am and it certainly doesn’t providing better lighting for hair that could rival a Macy’s balloon.  This behavior went on for several weeks (a month maybe?) and got real old real fast.  There may have been a conversation about this; I’m positive there were ongoing issues with the other big haired girls in the photo.

One evening Lynnard may have been a wee bit angry or just in a goofy mood, not sure, but before crawling into bed she pulled the old girl’s camp trick: Saran Wrap around the toilet.  She woke to hear X SCREAMING, obviously because she had peed on herself.  I find this funny, plus she deserved it.  A few days later, X was quiet in the morning and would you care to know why?  Because she pulled out a pair of scissors and cut my sister’s hair!  No, she was not in beauty school (seriously… look at her hair; there’s NO WAY she knows anything about hair styling).  My sister declared war.  Well, she moved out first, created an army with her new roommates, and then declared.

For the rest of the school year they’d break into each other’s apartments move furniture around, hide dead fish, steal tooth brushes, scatter tampons, sabotage dates, Oreo cars, and light bottle rockets.  Wait… I think that was something that happened when I was in college.  Well, that and the time we didn’t like our neighbors so we stole all their furniture and replaced it with bales of hay and a handful of chickens (I think using sheep or turkeys would’ve been a little over the top).

So what can we learn about revenge?  Is it really best when served cold?  I have no idea.  What I’ve found is that revenge bonds you to new people, forces you to be creative and makes some great stories.

Speedos are yucky.  We can all agree on this one, right?  I mean, really.  I went to a “beach” last summer while I was road tripping across Europe.  I didn’t take any Geography courses in college, but I’m pretty sure that Austria is a land-locked country.  This “beach” was actually a bunch of chunky rocks next to a beautiful lake at the base of the Alps.  The scenery was stunning and I took dozens of photos (see the banner photo of this blog), but I also prayed to be blind for about 30 minutes.

This is what I was exposed to and try as I might NOT to stare, I couldn’t help but stare:

        
When you walk into a room you want to take people’s breath away… but only in a good way.  Check out that guy: wrinkled and leathery skin combined with 70 years of hard living and drinking (you can’t see his pregnancy beer gut but believe me, he’s got one) does NOT, I repeat does NOT, allow for the wearing of the smallest piece of clothing available. 

I recently met a young man/kid who ENJOYS wearing Speedos because it embarrasses whomever he’s with.  I’ve seen him in said Speedo and while it’s not entirely offensive (he is, after all, a very in shape athlete) I still find myself shaking my head and needing to look elsewhere.  So let me be clear: even if you look like Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps, I still don’t want to see you in a Speedo.

Here are the rules for you Speedo aficionados: Speedos are acceptable in swimming or diving competitions.  That’s it.  You MUST cover up immediately once you leave the pool area.  Don’t wear Speedos to the public pool or water park / slide.  Don’t wear them to the beach.  Don’t wear them if you’ve got a Slip ‘n Slide on your front lawn.  I give you permission to wear them in Europe but I will make fun of you if you do.  If you can crochet an afghan with your back hair, then please spare us all from learning that about you.

I’m pretty good about what I wear to the beach (my ‘no boys allowed’ bikini is worn only at private beaches or backyard pools and I always have board shorts with me), so follow my example and do the same.

My first two years in college were not successful ones… socially, that is.  Oh, I was successful (Dean’s List, TA, tutor, newspaper editor) but I retained my dork status from high school.  AKA: The guys didn’t exactly find me and my activities date-worthy.  While this was traumatizing at the time, I now look back and am grateful I didn’t flunk out because I spent too much time partying instead of studying.

One thing stuck with me, however, that I’ve never been able to shake… until now: my third-wheel status.  My friends and roommates were always skinny, pretty and popular; therefore I was the defacto fat and funny friend.  I knew all the guys on campus because they wanted to date my friends.  I was non-threatening and surprisingly funny and if they got in good with me, I’d no doubt set them up with my friends.  Since I wasn’t the girl they wanted to date, I became the third-wheel, the buffer, distraction or entertainment.  You know the type — you’ve employed one before because you either felt sorry for your friend or you were terrified to be alone with the person who asked you out.

Things got so bad that by the time I turned 21, I refused to be the third-wheel girl ever again.  Since that time I’ve turned down multiple (as in dozens and dozens) invitations to clubs, parties, and events because being the odd man out makes me feel like a huge tool.  There is an exception (or two) to every rule: me and married friends AND me and gay men.  I don’t know why these are the couples I can be myself around and not care that I’m alone, but they are.  Maybe it’s because these groups aren’t threatened by me and don’t feel as though I’m going to steal their partner (which is something I have NEVER done; except freshman year it turned out that my roommate and I were dating the same guy.  I was so angry that I stopped talking to both of them and then dated the guy’s best friend — who was waaaay better looking anyway).

Due to my decision, I’ve learned to be even more independent (which no doubt has continued to make me a ‘man repeller’).  I can’t tell you how many tourist sites, lectures, museums, stores, fairs, book readings, and rallies I have been to by myself.  I’ve had a ball!  I’ve had the opportunity to meet new people and witness amazing events by doing things alone.  But there are two things I haven’t been able to conquer: while I go to movies by myself all the time, I just can’t seem to go alone on a Friday or Saturday night; AND eating alone in a restaurant (the one with a waiter not a 16 year-old who asks, “Do you want fries with that?”). 

Tonight (or maybe tomorrow, depending on ticket sales) I will attend a showing of The Dark Knight.  By myself.  On “date night”.  And I will be just fine with that.  Really.  Because riding a unicycle takes more courage than a tricycle. 

While living in DC, I ran into famous people all the time.  Famous inside the beltway and for politcal wonks, that is.  I even had one of these famous people (well, famous to the MSNBC crowd) as a grad school professor.  After a while, unless the last name was Kennedy, I stopped noticing — or at least no longer bugged out my eyes and looked like The Runaway Bride.  The only time I was remotely dorky and asked for a photo op was in 1999 was when I ran into Utah Jazz coach Jerry Sloan at Race for the Cure and he’s not exactly known for being a warm and fuzzy guy.

During my short tenure in LA, I’m yet to see an A-lister.  According to US magazine, celebrities are ‘Just Like Us’ and shop at my neighborhood grocery store or hangout at the beach not far from my apartment… of course they do it when I’m not there. Instead, I’ve been relegated to celebrities people no longer care about (ie Donna Someone from Knots Landing, the morally-deficient father from One Tree Hill, and a few guys who were regulars on Buffy the Vampire Slayer).  I take that back.  Lindsey Lohan almost side swiped my car earlier this year at a four-way stop.  This was post-rehab and coincided with her attendance at traffic school in Santa Monica.  True story. 

If the world actually cared about the “famous” folk I run into, I’d actually see papparazzi while shopping at my local Banana Republic.  But real celebrities don’t shop at Banana Republic, do they?  And since I don’t walk around with a coffee IV, the chance of running into them at Starbucks is pretty slim.  

My uncle, on the other hand, has a pretty sweet set up.  Once upon a time, he purchased land in St. George, Utah.  The plan was to build a home following his retirement, a place that was close to his in-laws, but nature being as it is, his in-laws passed away.  He still planned to move to St. George, however, because the area was growing, was next to a college, and has great weather.  The plot of land was in a gated community and continued to appreciate.  Life was looking good.

On a recent visit to their plot o’ land they noticed a few orange or pink flags in the yard, courtesy of their backyard neighbor.  Builders has erroneousy marked his property and were in the process of putting up a fence or laying sod or something 5 feet into my uncle’s property.  This, of course, struck a nerve because let’s face it: property is expensive, especially property next to this particular neighbor.  My aunt, being both an attorney and a physical therapist, made her way over to the neighbor’s house to point out the problem.  It should be noted that this neighbor has a full basketball court, which is surrounded by a high fence.  He is tall.  VERY tall.  He keeps to himself.  He lives in a gated community and his house is worth, say, a couple million.  At this point you have to wonder: who IS this guy?  How many ginormously tall and very private millionaires live in Southern Utah anyway?

Upon meeting the aforementioned neighbor, my uncle was dumbstruck to discover that the man was none other than (drum roll, please): Julius Erving… the great Dr. J!  I would like to point out how unfair it is that my uncle has a history of meeting famous people in the most random places: like Larry Doby and Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters (While those meetings both occurred in the mid-1960s, that’s quite the coup and pretty random since they were all living in Mexico at the time — but for different reasons, obviously).  Having former Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott (R-Miss.) stare freely at your chest while walking through the basement of the Capitol Building doesn’t even come close!

Thanks to the economy, it turns out that my uncle can’t afford to build on his own lot and is therefore trying his darndest to sell it to Dr. J as the good doctor would like to build a place for his mother-in-law.  But, apparently, the doctor isn’t taking his calls.

Some people see a movie once and call it good.  While I think watching certain movies just one time is more than it deserves because that’s 2 hours of your life you’ll never have back, there are several movies I’ve seen so many times that I can quote them exactly.  While this is incredibly annoying for others in the room, I can’t seem to help myself (although try talking in a darkened movie theatre anywhere near me and I’ll rip out your tonsils because “silence is golden”).  Am I the only one who goes channel flipping on a Sunday afternoon and notices that TNT is showing ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ AGAIN and despite owning my own copy and seeing it 27 times, I sit down for the duration?  I doubt it.

So here is my ode to the BEST movies ever and my favorite lines.  I just don’t seem to tire of them:

1. GHOSTBUSTERS

Dr. Peter Venkman: Janine, someone with your qualifications would have no trouble finding a top-flight job in either the food service or housekeeping industries.
[phone rings]
Dr. Peter Venkman:  You gonna answer that?
*********
Dr. Egon Spengler: I have a radical idea. The door swings both ways, we could reverse the particle flow through the gate.
Dr. Peter Venkman: How?
Dr. Egon Spengler: [hesitates] We’ll cross the streams.
Dr. Peter Venkman:  ‘Scuse me Egon? You said crossing the streams was bad!
Dr. Ray Stantz: Cross the streams…
Dr. Peter Venkman:  You’re gonna endanger us, you’re gonna endanger our client - the nice lady, who paid us in advance, before she became a dog…
Dr. Egon Spengler:  Not necessarily. There’s definitely a *very slim* chance we’ll survive.
[pause while they consider this]
Dr. Peter Venkman: [slaps Ray] I love this plan! I’m excited to be a part of it! LET’S DO IT!

2. GOONIES

Francis Fratelli: Tell us everything! Everything!
Chunk: Everything. OK! I’ll talk! In third grade, I cheated on my history exam. In fourth grade, I stole my uncle Max’s toupee and I glued it on my face when I was Moses in my Hebrew School play. In fifth grade, I knocked my sister Edie down the stairs and I blamed it on the dog… When my mom sent me to the summer camp for fat kids and then they served lunch I got nuts and I pigged out and they kicked me out… But the worst thing I ever done - I mixed a bag of fake puke at home and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, t-t-then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa - and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then, this was horrible, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life.
Jake Fratelli:  I’m beginning to like this kid, Ma!
Mama Fratelli:  [tired of Chunk's stalling] Hit puree!

3. FLETCH

Doctor: Aren’t there children’s books… about an elephant named Babar?
Fletch:  I don’t know. I don’t have any.
Doctor:  No children?
Fletch:  No, elephant books.
*********
Fletch:  Ah… Provo, Spain?
Airline Agent:  Utah 

4. FLETCH LIVES

Jimmy Lee Farnsworth: Erwin, admit that you are a sinner.
Fletch:  Uh. Well, I’ve sinned. I didn’t take any Polaroids or anything. But, yeah, I’ve sinned.
Jimmy Lee Farnsworth:  The Lord forgives ya!
Fletch: Thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you. Thank you. Amen. What? Other sins? Uh, I parked in a handicap spot on my way up here. Actually, on a handicap person. I told him I’d be back in five minutes, so that’s not such a big deal.

5. HONEYMOON IN VEGAS

Mahi Mahi: Chief Orman have pretty big influence around here.
Jack Singer: Influence? He lives in a SHACK!
*********
Jack Singer: Do you know what a straight flush is? It’s like… unbeatable.
Betsy: “Like unbeatable” is not unbeatable.
Jack Singer:  Hey, I know that now, okay!

6. RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK

Marion: You’re not the man I knew ten years ago.
Indy: It’s not the years, honey, it’s the mileage.

7. ANIMAL HOUSE

Flounder: I can’t believe I threw up in front of Dean Wormer.
Boon: Face it, Kent. You threw up *on* Dean Wormer.

8. BILL & TED’S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE

Ted: Strange things are afoot at the Circle-K.

9. OLD SCHOOL

Mitch: [after finding out that it's in the bylaw that the only way to keep the fraternity is take a course of tests but Beanie does not want to do it]
Beanie: Whose lives are ruined?
Mitch: Well, see. Blue’s dead. Frank’s divorced. I lost my house. Nicole thinks I’m a total jackass. And now we got nine kids who are gonna get expelled from school, and you’re not even gonna help them.
*********
Frank: A little housewarming gift.
Mitch: I actually gave this to you for your wedding.
Frank: This model?
Mitch:  That exact one.

10. CLUELESS

Cher: So, how did I do?
DMV Tester: How’d you do? Well, let’s just see shall we? You can’t park, you can’t change lanes, you can’t make right hand turns, you damaged private property and you almost killed someone. Off hand, I’d say you failed.
Cher: You can’t be the absolute and final word on drivers’ licenses?
DMV Tester: Girlie, as far as you’re concerned, I am the messiah of the DMV.
*********
Cher’s Dad: You drink?
Christian: No, thanks, I’m cool.
Cher’s Dad:  I’m not offering. I’m asking if you drink. You think I’d give alcohol to teenage drivers taking my daughter out?
Christian:  Hey, man! The protective vibe. I dig.
Cher’s Dad: What’s with you, kid? You think the death of Sammy Davis left an opening in the Rat Pack?

Honorable Mention: GROUNDHOG DAY

Phil: Morons… your bus is leaving.
*********
[Phil Connors is stopped by the police after some crazy driving]
Phil: Yeah, three cheeseburgers, two large fries, two chocolate shakes and a large coke.
Ralph: [to Phil] And some flapjacks.
Phil:  [to Cop] Too early for flapjacks?
*********
Rita: Look at all these people. They sit around telling stories. Then they sing songs all morning.
Phil: Yeah, they’re hicks, Rita!

I had NO idea (no, absolutely  none) how much stuff and space I need in order to get ready in the morning.  You’d think I’d have an idea about this, but until recently I really didn’t.  And what’s worse… I’m losing my mind.  I think it’s that Dr. Magoo syndrome from working in academia.  Or maybe it’s dimensia.  Should I be ingesting ginsing or something to improve my memory?

Last night, as I do every night, I was preparing for my day: packing clothes, hair accessories, make-up and my lunch… all neccessities to make me presentable.  While I remembered to bring my shower shoes today (yeah! no foot fungus for me), I didn’t realize until I was getting dressed that I forgot to bring a bra.  The horror.  So what were my options?  Pretty much wearing the sweaty sports one I’d just worked out in… all wet and smelly.  It was at this point I realized I didn’t bring any perfume with me, either.  I have several meetings today and I’m going to be the smelly person.  I’ll be forever remembered as the smelly person.  Great.  I also forgot any type of lipstick or gloss and considering I have 50 billion lip things, you’d think I’d have one somewhere.  I don’t and why?  Because I switched purses last night and neglected to move everything over.

THEN… there’s my university ID.  This is a key to my office, opens the front gate, allows me parking access, and lets me into the gym.  As I was leaving the gym I told myself, “You better take your card out of your gym bag so you don’t forget to put it in your wallet.”  Somewhere between the locker room and my car, I dropped my card.  Of course I did.  Of course the students at the front desk were no help AT ALL.  Why should they be?  They just work there.

Here’s the new dilemma: wait and see if someone returns my card before the work day is over OR get a new card (pay $15) but have a bad photo because I have no lipstick and did I mention that my hairdryer died this morning and only blew cold hair?  I now bear a striking resemblence to Sasquatch.  I can already tell today is the best day of the week.

As if I’m not random enough, Five Husbands has asked me to dig even deeper into my life and share 6 more bizarre things about me. I’m starting to think that many of you know me better than some of my life long friends.

Here are the rules:
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your blog entry is up.

Six Random Things About Me

1. I have no self-control when it comes to purchasing hygeine products. I have this irrational fear that stores will stop selling items I can’t live without, so I buy things almost every time I go to Target. These items include: deoderant, tooth brushes, toilet paper, tampons, and shampoo/conditioner. Currently I have 5 brand new deoderant sticks under my bathroom sink and had to stop myself last night from stocking up on more.

2. I found out I was allergic to shellfish last time I was in Las Vegas. Immediately following a meal of stuffed crab, I threw up on the strip and hung out in one of the public bathrooms at the Bellagio for a LOOOOONG time (before you think I was drunk, you should know that I don’t consume alcohol). Around midnight, four housekeepers took their lives into their own hands by entering the bathroom lobby and asked if I was OK or if I needed any help; I cried, apologized for the mess, and told them I wanted to go home.

3. One of my college friends drove a ‘79 Buick. She drove me to my aunt and uncle’s house and while trying to get out of the car, I shut my leg in the incredibly large and heavy door and then fell on the sidewalk (got a naaaaaasty bruise). My uncle was outside and witnessed the event. He calmly walked in the house and shut the front door, pretending not to know me. I stood on the porch for a good 15 minutes, knocking, before he would open the front door.

4. When we lived in Massachusetts (circa 1977), we basically lived on the campus where my dad taught school. Besides my older sister, there were zero children nearby so I made friends with my neighbors’ psycho cat, Peter. I spent quality time with that beast, until he scratched my face and dad drop-kicked him out the back door. A car evenutally ran over Peter and I was devastated. Grandma heard about the situation and to help me get through, purchased a stuffed cat which I named ‘Peter’. I still have the cat (currently residing on the top shelf in my closet) and he’s one of my prized posessions.

5. I have 17 different varieties of lip gloss in various places (my car, ALL of my purses, car, laptop carrier, and make-up drawer). I don’t need anymore lip gloss but when I’m out shopping, I can’t seem to help myself.

I think most people on my blog roll have already done this so I’m not tagging 6 folks. I do, however, want to hear from The Last Spartan and Illinois Olivers.

OOPS
Glassowater pointed out that I don’t know how to count. Here’s #6:
6. After I had surgery a few years ago, I lost my appetite for several weeks. Around week 4 post-op, I still wasn’t hungry but had a craving for Hostess Cupcakes. I figured some food was better than no food, so I bought a box. Now, whenever I go to a hospital, I have this overwhelming urge to eat Hostess Cupcakes.

For years my father would complain that he was forgetful.  It got to the point that before he left work or the house, I’d ask: do you have your keys? briefcase? phone? papers/homework to grade? jacket?  I found it amusing, until recently.  As I’ve reached my mid-30s, I’m realizing that things don’t work as well as they used to and it’s killing me.  I like to put things in a specific place where I can always find them (like keys) but I always talk myself out of that and put them someplace obvious but apparently is not.

This morning was Day 1 at my new gym.  I’ve been working out at 5:30 am for about 10 years and while getting up that early can be jarring, I tend to have more energy and am more apt to get my work out done than if I wait until after work.  Something happens around 5 pm that isn’t good: I’m too tired to exercise, I’m hungry, if I’ve had a bad day I’m crabby, too many people are in the gym at that time, I’ve usually got plans after work and then I’ll have to make a choice between working out or something else (and working out will most definitely lose).  But I digress. 

I’ve never ever showered and gotten ready for the day at the gym as I’ve always gone home before heading off to work.  That doesn’t make sense this time around since the gym is on campus and therefore a mere 5 minute walk from my office and yet a 20 minute drive from home.  I spent last night preparing my gym bag with all possible necessities: shampoo/conditioner, clothes, shoes, hairdryer, lotion, brush, towel, and make-up.  I didn’t realize just how much stuff, time and space I need to get myself ready for the day.

Sclepping my life in a gym bag and then shoving it into a locker that’s about 6 inches wide was quite the task, following by some grunts and growls.  The work out was fine as it’s a brand new, state-of-the-art facility full of lots of gadgets and everything you could think of.  But the getting ready part?  Not pleasant and this is where the forgetting stuff comes in.  I forgot my shower shoes.  An unsanitary situation in Europe where I shared bathroom facilities with 8 other people resulted in a lovely foot fungus and plantar wart.  Ever since then I’m a HUGE believer in flip flops.  I then noticed I neglected to bring a comb.  I did have a brush, but my hair is an unruly thick mess and must be combed when wet.  That, of course, didn’t happen so I’m pony-tailing it today.  The lighting in the bathroom is pretty bad and I neglected to bring any of my make-up brushes. I now look like a clown. 

I will continue working out in the morning but some things will change.  1. I will do my make up in my own office bathroom as the lighting is much better and I’m apparently the only person who uses that bathroom; 2. Flip flops everyday!!!; 3. I will purchase a small fridge for my office so I can each cereal and yogurt rather than walking down to the student union and eating a fried egg sandwich; and 4. I’ve got to find a GOOD place to put my keys.

I paid pretty good money for tuition with the hopes that my professors would prepare me for the world.  When I graduated with my BA, I was a 23 year-old kid who thought she had a decent grasp on reality.  Twelve years later, I now know that the workforce isn’t run on reality but rather ego and perception.  Your performance can often be based on how liberal or proactive your perception is and how much smoke you can blow up someone’s backside.  Funny thing is, I don’t remember taking that class in college.  And why is that?  Let me tell you some of the more interesting classes I actually DID take and their relevance:

1. Literature of the Outdoors.  After reading A River Runs Through It, my professor taught us how to fly fish.  We also went camping and hiking in Capitol Reef (and yes, I tripped and slid down a rock and came home with some lovely scratches because first aid is something you learn in health class, not English and I didn’t take a health class).  It’s a good thing I like nature and too bad I didn’t have a better camera back then.  I walked out of there with a great appreciation of the national park system.

2. Western American Literature.  We read books and poems about cowboys, indians, and the mountains.  We went horseback riding (yes, I was the student on the pregnant and tempermental mare who got spooked and I wound up the star in an impromptu buckin’ bronco contest… I haven’t been on a horse since) and were taught how to throw knives and hatchetts as well as pack and shoot black powder rifles.  While I found the pioneer survival skills incredibly interesting, I haven’t ever used them.  Even when camping I don’t use these because in my world they’re called matches and tin foil dinners.

3. Fencing.  I saw the Princess Bride a million times and was absolutely fascinated by the sword fight between Westley and Indigo… it’s a sexy sport.  I, however, am severely clumsy and awkward when it comes to sharp objects.  The only person I’ve stabbed since that time is myself, usually in the kitchen when chopping vegetables.  We had to do squats every day and then I had to climb the Stairway of Death to get to upper campus right after that class.  I suffered numerous leg cramps and was tired all the time.  I wish I still took fencing.

4. Jogging.  Yes, jogging.  The head football coach was going through a divorce and he was quite the inspiration to run behind.  I hated this class, I truly did.  He treated us like his football team and made us run bleachers, sprints, and obstacle courses.  I hadn’t yet been diagnosed with asthma; all I knew was that the coach thought I was a wimpy girl after I passed out and threw up a couple of times.  Now I’m a firm believer in my inhaler and run almost everyday, so the pain of that class was definitely worth it.

5. Color Along with Brenchly.  I have NO idea the official name of this class (some type of history or geography course) but Prof. Brenchly had us color maps almost every day. I often fell asleep in his class and while I find math incredibly snooze-worthy, but I never slept in history or geography class.  Coloring for college credit was (and still is) an incredibly bizarre concept.  I can’t remember the last time I colored anything… maybe it was in that class.

Each college/university teaches its own random courses and I would like to add to that list, only these classes would teach life lessons everyone would use:

1. The importance of waxing/shaving things other than your legs
2. Moderation with perfume/cologne makes life better for everyone
3. Dating/relationships aren’t what you think they are because men and women don’t think alike
4. You don’t have to be best friends with your roommates
5. Don’t put your name on any of the house bills… ever

My long holiday weekend started a wee bit earlier with the arrival of my sister (Bluesuit) on Thursday morning. I left work for a few hours to pick her up and then made her sit in my office until the boss told me to go home around 3 pm. We kicked off our weekend ‘o fun by standing in line at Sprinkles Cupcakes in Beverly Hills for 45 minutes. Why? Because all the stars rave about these cupcakes. So here’s the deal: it’s a cupcake. Granted, they’re soft and not at all heavy (meaning: they don’t sit in your stomach like a brick and make you feel icky afterwards). But they taste mainly of butter and are topped with 17 lbs. of frosting. My mom makes better. Really, she does. Katie Holmes must not know how the whole Betty Crocker system and an oven works because making your own cupcakes isn’t all that difficult.

We then moved on to the new ferris wheel at the Santa Monica Pier. This new contraption has “gondola” seats as opposed to the regular ones where you sit next to your riding companion. I’m pretty sure the entire Brady family could fit in one of these things which tends to freely sway without any sort of body-strapping / seatbelt device. Have I ever mentioned that I’m deathly afraid of spiders? Well, that fear is eclipsed only by my hyperventilating panic attacks induced by heights. Funny… I can handle roller coasters that flip upside down and go backwards (well, I might barf afterwards but they don’t frighten me) but I’m a total petrified mess on the ferris wheel. Especially when a slight breeze could dump me into the ocean (which, apparently, had sharks a few months ago).

Friday was a leisurely morning spent at the beach where it took longer to walk home than to actually spend time near the ocean. We opted to climb the stairway of death because it was further from the pier and the mass of tourists. (Note to self: don’t do that; just deal with the annoying people.) I broke out the George Foreman grill and was pleasantly surprised with my “BBQ” skills, thus continuing the traditional 4th of July BBQ (but without the homemade potato salad because while it’s quite tasty, it takes FOREVER to make). And what better way to celebrate this country’s independence than to take in a sport that no American cares about and is led by a REALLY HOT BRIT??? Yes, we attended an LA Galaxy game and even saw Beckham bend it like, well, Beckham. I’ve mentioned in the past that he’s not all that bright, but does that really matter when you look like this???

We couldn’t quite decide how to spend Saturday (Sea World, California Adventure or Knottsberry Farm), so we decided to drive 100 miles east of LA to a ghost town of Calico. While there we panned for gold (I’m pretty sure it’s pyrite and not the real stuff), watched a gun fight, checked out old buildings, and ate snow cones (’cause that’s what pioneers did). Oh yeah… and we dressed up like hookers and got our picture taken. Mom will be so proud.