Ode to Disneyland...

Next week is the final week before our season passes to Disneyland expire.
I cannot describe the profound sadness I feel because of this.
That was perhaps the best Christmas gift I have recieved. EVER. I felt like I won the lottery. I'm sure it will always be up there as one of the best days of my life. Wedding day. Birth of my children. Day we got season passes to Disneyland. But January 8, 2006...that will be a dark, dark day.
I know I should probably be over Disneyland. I'm 24 years old now. I'm married. My priorities should be a little different at this point in my life... but alas... :)
There's just something there for me. When I'm in Disneyland, life is good! Everything's good! Mickey's there!!
I just want to sit down in front of Sleeping Beauty's castle wearing one of those princess costumes they don't sell in adult sizes but should, and eat ice cream until I die. Is that so much to ask??
I will miss my season pass. Truly. Deeply.

The Mrs.'es?!?

I can remember the days when Kristen and I would hang out in her bedroom playing with her super cool barbie dream house while rocking out to Debbie Gibson...
Then, all of the sudden, I'm standing in a bridesmaid's dress at my best friend's wedding. And I thought to myself, wait a minute---- we're old enough to be married?! When did we grow up?!
It was so weird. I can't imagine how weird I'm going to feel if I live to be 90...

Getting a little carried away now...

Best way to numb the pains teething: slurping tiny pieces of ice out of Aunt Jennie's fingers.

Part 3

Despite the drool, the severely soiled sweatshirt, and the sad little look on his face, he's still so cute...I don't think that can be said of very many people.

Part 2

Seriously, I know women who would probably kill for this kid's eyelashes.

That's My Cute Nephew! Part 1

Father and son...watching the game

Christmas Time is Here!

Dudes, let me recommend to you the Christmas carol classic "Last Christmas" by Wham to really get you in the Christmas spirit. Truly, one of the more brilliant songs ever written. Next to "Careless Whisper", of course.

Here are some pictures of me and my canine soul mate untangling the Christmas lights. As you can see, Sammy (the dog) was really helping me out. I don't have kids yet, but seriously--I think I'm gonna be the best mom ever. That dog loves me.
Don't you just love Christmas?

Are You Ready to Rock?!

Last night I went to the Madera Fair. I know. Yes, Laura's going to Europe, but IIIIIIIIIIII went to the Madera Fair!! It was a dream-filled wonderland of egg rolls on a stick and microwaved pizza. Balloons and ski ball, candy apples and pony rides, over-priced glowing apparatuses that one wears around one's neck, and vendors galore. A county fair is pretty much the only place that you can find a guy selling old chewing gum shaped like farm animals for $5 a pop and finding a lot of success at it. Anyway, despite its small town quirks, the fair wasn't half bad. I got a pretty decent tri tip sandwich out of the deal, so I won't complain.
So the purpose behind travelling 25 minutes to the Madera fair (yes, I had a purpose) was to go see a band that I am slightly fond of by the name of SheDaisy. I asked myself, like so many others probably did, including the band, why oh why is SheDaisy playing at the Madera fair? Are things that bad? Nevertheless, that's what the billboard and the commercials have stated for the last few months. SheDaisy. Madera Fair. Heeeeeeoookaaay.
So little sister Jennie and I took the trip to madera, and at seven thirty sharp we were in our seats waiting for the fun to begin. The band came out and began to play, and actually, they were pretty good for a trio of backwood yokels. They were really energetic, the musicians were pretty fantastic, and the vocals were darn impressive. So, naturally, I began to move to the beat of the music and sing along--this is what EVERYBODY usually does at concerts, right?? So let me ask then--WHY WAS I THE ONLY ONE DANCING AND SINGING ALONG?!
It was the weirdest thing. I started to feel like I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. As I looked around at the sea of people surrounding me, I saw that they were just standing there. Watching. Blank stares. No movement. No reaction. It was wierd.
I started to feel bad for the band, too. They kept saying things like, "Hey Madera!! How Ya'll doin' tonight?"
Staggered applause and the faint sound of one person whistling.
"Are you guys ready to party?!"
Similar response from the crowd.
I found that after about 20 minutes, this really was starting to irritate me. And since my new creto in life is "Don't get mad, get stabby"...no wait... that was my old creto... the new one is "Don't get mad, get really bizarre and crazy and start scaring people around you by utilizing your odd behavior." I decided to give it a shot.
I turned that corner of insanity and never looked back. I became a dancing fool. I sang
all the lyrics as off key as I possibly could, and pretty much had a ball.
Did I alarm people around me? Probably. Did I look like an idiot? Of course. But the more important question is, why didn't everyone else?! In my humble opinion, it is extremely important in this life to let loose and not take yourself so seriously. And if you can't do that in podunk Madera where the music is blaring and the corn dogs are flying and you've got a freaking unicorn painted on your face, when can you?!

Which came first, the Sucker or the Con Man?

I have often reflected on a childhood memory, searching endlessly for its true meaning.
I wonder---is there any substance to these events, or was it merely a bit of childhood fun? Perhaps you can help me out... (Laura, your input will be kindly excluded, since you are not an impartial party.)
When I was a kid, let's say somewhere between 6-10 years of age, I would often walk to the corner store with my sister, who was a year and a half older than I. We usually traveled together discussing the items that we would buy with our $4 or so, the money that we had earned from chores or what have you. When we got to the store we would go our separate ways. I would look at balls, color books, toys, etc. and a little while later I would meet up with my sister, who was without fail always in the candy isle, contemplating which sweets, exactly, should be her "inventory" for the week. She would eventually pick her items and we would head home with our new treats.
As soon as we got home my sister would lock herself in our "playroom" (playroom=the room my mother had given up on and allowed us to make into a den of trinkets and toys) and would begin setting up shop. I was not allowed in. I was instructed to wait outside until further notice. I eagerly awaited the opening of my sister's makeshift store, wondering what she would come up with this time. A little later, perhaps 30 minutes or so, my sister would throw the sliding door to the playroom open, revealing a piano bench full of chocolates and sweets---all donning a rather hefty "price tag" scratched out on a piece of notebook paper with a crayon. I would scan the merchandise, pick out what exactly I wanted, then I would run frantically around the house, overturning couch cushions and rummaging through drawers searching for the necessary coins to meet her asking price. I knew I had to have the exact amount. Shopkeep Laura was a stickler for prices. And unfortunately for me, the price was usually about 50% more than it would have been if I had just bought the damn candy bar at the store myself.
So, like a frenzied junkie, I did this for days on end, searching and begging for quarters and dimes and the occasional nickel, until I had purchased each and every candy bar the Shopkeep Stickler had to offer. Then, and only then, was I truly satisfied.
If this were a one time fluke, I don't think I would be so concerned about what this could or couldn't mean. But unfortunately, it was not a one time thing. Time after time Laura peddled her stuff, and I always gave in to her tyrranous candy-selling reign. No questions. No resistance. Just silent acquiescence to her immoral and unjust enterprise.
I know this might be asking a lot-- having to delve into my psyche and perhaps ask some probing questions, but truly, I need to know. Why oh why would I do such a thing?

Save a Horse, Kill a Cowboy

Today is a great day. Not only do I NOT have to drive 40 minutes out to Reedley College, and NOT circle the campus to try to find a place to parallel park because I'm too cheap to buy a parking pass and NOT walk another 10 minutes once on campus to my class---but for the first time in a long time, I DON'T have to sit behind Stinky, Creepy, Cowboy guy.
Being from a place like Clovis, you run into a lot of cowboys. And when I say cowboys I mean boys who wear really tight jeans and cowboy hats and hang out of ridiculously huge, fossil fuel guzzling trucks whistiling at girls or yelling obscenities. They're a dime a dozen around here, so you kinda get used to it. But this cowboy I had to sit behind every freaking day for 8 freaking weeks was a doozey.
Everyday he would plop down in his seat right in front of mine and instantly my brooding began. My day always seemed to start with me trying not to look at whatever lewd t-shirt he had selected for that day. Was it the "Cowboys Love their Bad Ass Toys" shirt with the naked girl and the muddy truck? Or was it the"No, I didn't ask you to Dance, I said you look fat in those pants" shirt? (no joke, these were his two favorites).
Even though I am now free of the visual assault I endured for the past few weeks I can't seem to let it go. What is it with men and behavior such as this? Why does society deem it acceptable? Freedom of speech and expression, yadda yadda great. Okay, fine. But there should be some give and take here. Let's say some idiot gets to buy his degrading t-shirt, but that means that every woman he encounters who takes offense gets to spit in his face. There. Even Steven. It's only fair.

Are you there, Blog? It's me, Margaret.

My most sincere and humble apologies go out to all you little bloggies. I'm sorry that it has been so long since I have last updated. Life gets crazy, what else can I say? But the good news is I am now finished with summer school and we can catch up on all the lost time!!
I hope all can be forgiven with time...
Luuke, I'm soowry, what else can I do?? (To be said like Gilbert Blythe....mmm Gilbert Blythe...)

Can I get a HooHa for Kristen Jane Powell?!

Okay, so this week was probably one of the hottest weeks we've had yet this summer in lovely Fresno, CA. and of course, the hottest week of the summer is the week McKay and I are moving. Blah! But despite the fact that it was well over 100 degrees outside, and despite the fact that the house we were packing didn't have any kind of air conditioning, and despite the fact that there are plenty of other things she could have done with her free time, Kristen spent many an hour helping me pack my house and move things from "House A" to "Apartment B". (BTW my apartment is so dang cute, and you're all invited to a spend the night I'm having!!! We'll eat smores and play truth or dare and listen to our fav NSYNC songs!! I heart Justin!!)
McKay has been working all day everyday, so a lot of the packing I needed help with, and Kristen just pitched right in.

Some of the classic dialogue between she and I during our moving adventures:
Me: "Kristen, I'm so sorry you have to help me do this."
Kristen: "No!! Seriously, I love moving!"
Me: "Kristen, you really don't have to wash our dirty dishes!"
Kristen: "No, please let me! It's theraputic for me!"

Does she sound like one of those perfect Disney Princesses who is opressed by her evil stepfamily and making the most of it or what?!

I am blessed with a wonderful friend. I don't know what I would do without her, seriously. Isn't it nice to have REAL friends??? Sometimes they are so hard to find, especially amongst the female gender, but I think that just makes you appreciate the really good ones all the more. (Now it is your turn to give a real HooHa to your friends, everyone!!)

KRISTEN, I LOVE YOU!!! YOU ARE MY ANGEL AND MY LIFE!! THANK YOU A MILLION TIMES!!

Here I am with one of my dear bearded sisters. Amazing, isn't it? We're sexy even with facial hair! 

Throat Freeze--Perhaps Master to its Apprentice,the Brain Freeze?

Before I get into any further detail, I would like to give a spayshal hedoublelo to those who have visited thus far. Mary has opened all of our eyes to the beauty of the blog, and now Laura and I have an outlet for our madness. And dearest Kristen, we're so happy to now have you with us as well. Welcome...

So, let's get down to business...
Am I the only one who gets throat freeze? I am quite aware of people talking incessantly about brain freezing, but everytime I bring up my excrutiating experiences with throat freezes, I feel as though I am all by my lonesome on my throat freezing island. Lately, due to the Buddha forsaken heat of Fresno, I have frequented the nearest Jamba Juice whenever possible. I am so very excited for those first few sips that I end up trying to consume the whole thing in 4 seconds or less. And everytime I do, it's my throat that feels the pain, not my brain. It feels as tho someone has sprayed canned air directly onto my pharynx and all I can do is wait it out and vow to never be so foolish again.
So, I throw this question out into the void (and when I say void, I mean you, Mary, Laura, and Kristen)--do I have any cohabitators on this frozen throat island of mine???

MO Manda Mo Madness!!!

Wow, dudes, I don't know what this is all about, but I'm digging it. I am just writing to the void that is cyberspace.. There's nobody here.....THERE'S NOBODY HERE! (To be said like Bob from the classic film "What about Bob?")
I hope to add something meaningful to these endless online pages quite soon. Until then...