See ya suckers!

By "ya" I mean single life. Usually, when a young lady gets engaged, it is appropriate to remain humble and grateful, while not bragging or being boastful. . . well, I'm not that kind of girl. Please note the title of this blog. I fully plan on being atrocious.

As I prepare for the final countdown of singlehood, let me state that my life is probably better than yours. Feel free to judge me, hate me, be jealous of me, or despise my existence, because it doesn't change the fact that I have tricked Dale into marrying me on December 28th.

Things I am looking forward to as a newly engaged woman:

1. My precocious smirk when people talk about how amazing my ring is.

2. Telling future brides that they just have to hire "so in so" to do the "whatever," because he is a GENIUS!

3. Being stressed about planning an event that you were never really sure would happen.

4. Using the word "fiance" nonchalantly to co-workers and Bank Tellers.

5. Saying the phrase, "You've got to kiss a few frogs before you meet your Prince."

6. Smiling with my mouth closed and my head cocked slightly to the left.

7. Using the word AMAZING and AWESOME in more texts.

8. Getting into squabbles with my mom about which relatives should get invites.

9. Responding to questions about Dale with, "I'm marrying my best friend," and then doing number 6.

10. Feeling sorry for single girls because they haven't yet experienced true happiness.

The following are some obligatory photos that might cause you to skip the previous paragraphs of hillarity, but oh well.

(Contrast the proposal pictures with a photoshoot I did by myself earlier this year.)

Photobooth of Eternity

Who, me?

Where the magic happens.

Todd and Rachel: Co-conspirators of Operation Congratulation

Cover your eyes, Daddy Warbucks has adopted me.

Cassie was able to stop by for some "Wow Mom" photos.

Miracle of miracles!

Poor Dale is in for a lifetime of this

Ember has sing

I imagine that I have been thinking a lot about embarrassing moments this week because I've had the honor of playing Simon Cowell at my school's Talent Show auditions last Wednesday and Thursday. I assume that most everyone has at some point in their life attended a Talent Show, but until Fox decided to air the American Idol audition footage, we've never had the privilege of seeing the raw cut. Let me tell you, it is both a blessing and a curse. A chance to see all of the talent at our school, (pause, in case you don't understand what a comma is) along with some . . . others. If I were to further detail some of these "other" talents, I would have officially bought myself 2 more hours in Hell, which at this point I can't afford. So, for the sake of my eternal salvation, I will use some refrain.

As I was posting the final show list on my door this last Friday, I reassured myself with the thought that those disappointed will soon get over it, and that rejection is just part of the "growing up process." But, in reality, we all know that that's a lie. If that were true, I wouldn't be able to list in chronological order every embarrassing and/or disappointing moment of my life. Interestingly, the list from elementary school is twice as long as the rest, since I have now added to it through retrospection. Things that I thought weren't humiliating at the time are now mortifying as an adult. Much like my own talent show try outs.

Anecdotal examples: In Kindergarten when I sang a song about Tithing to a panel of mostly Pagan-elementary-school teachers, or when I auditioned in 6th grade by singing (not a talent of mine) "Tale as Old as Time" with the cassette recording of Angela Lansbury singing behind me. . . I ended by saying, "Off to the cupboard with you now Chip, it's past your bedtime." I'm haunted by what all the adults in the room were thinking.

So, in combination with actual embarrassing moments, the list is pretty long. Why is it that as much as I wish I could, I cannot forget about the time in 5th grade that one of my dad's friends mistook me for a boy and asked me if I thought the girl behind the counter at the diner we were eating at was cute? I use the term "diner" pretty loosely, as in actuality, we were at a restaurant attached to the Livestock Auction near my house. Undoubtedly, the burger I was chewing on was probably an unclaimed steer from the previous week's auction . . . the menu was written in pencil. But, don't worry, my dad smoothed the whole situation over by pulling off my backwards baseball cap (Yep. For further information, please see "When I Was a Boy"), and exclaimed "This is a girl!" Ah, the words every young girl longs to hear, a correction to her gender. Phew, crisis evaded. Thanks dad. Obviously I, like my students, have not gotten over it.

Maybe one day I will. But, until then, I take comfort in knowing that I can be part of someone else's humiliating journey through adolescence. Since obviously, once you're an adult, the embarrassment stops. Cough, cough.

Non-embarrassing-Adult Moments (I apologize to both Cassie and my sisters Kym and Lacy who I included without their consent):

We've all been harnessed at some point, right?

The Olympics adds 45 pounds

Kym posing with a stuffed version of our school mascot

Do not show Oprah this picture! But, sometimes even the Cowardly Lion needs to send a text.

I took this photo 7 years ago before church. It still make me laugh just as hard today.

Hands free

Whenever I'm at the mall, I find myself secretly jealous of all the moms. While I hope to be a mom someday myself, I'm not jealous of their baby. I mean, I know my future child will be darling. But, when I am carrying all of my neon-yellow Forever 21 bags (incriminating, but faith promoting), I am green with envy for the mother pushing her baby in a mall shopping cart, a.k.a. a stroller. Ugh, I can't wait. In fact, if you knew me seven years ago, you might remember that my New Year's resolution was "Hands-free 2003!" Much to the chagrin of my sisters, this goal entailed a myriad of clip-on cell phones and keys . . . I very much resembled a custodian or contractor.

Mommies, if any of the following offends you, just remember that I am an inexperienced single person.

So, I guess I'm confused by the baby sling. I get the fact that it comes in a variety of fabrics and patterns and color schemes (brown + pink/turqoise/lime green/any modern color). Cute? But, it seems to be a regression from modern technology. Is it more natural? I guess if your baby is named Joey.

It might just be me, but this doesn't seem easier (unless your goal is Osteoporosis).

I can barely fold one of those shirts with an attached camisole, let alone follow whatever pictorial instructions accompany the versatile baby sling. But, I'm pretty sure I could figure out how to use this:

Behold the future. FUNNN! I'm also pretty sure that this baby is having a great time.

In the meantime, I'm thinking this might be a plausible option for my next trip to the mall:

Modest is hottest?

*NOTE: My sister Lacy showed me the following website, and thus deserves credit for bringing this to the attention of the public.

I'm all about modesty. Well, maybe not ALL, but I am definitely all for it. I, like most Utah women, breathed a sigh of relief at my first Shade party (thanks Katie A. for showing me the way to righteous fashion) when I realized that my bum crack was no longer going to be family dinner conversation. You (Cassie) may disagree with my flagrant disregard for propriety when I wear my camisole tank top backwards, as to expose a bit more clavicle, but that's a debate for another time. Probably in Heaven. However, I have not yet warmed to the idea of flesh-colored Shades, as it gives me the creeps and reminds me of Figure Skaters and Jasmine costumes. All I'm saying is, I can be a prude too.

Apparently, some local designers have taken it upon themselves to make young girls (and boys) miserable by providing their mothers with a more modest swim option. Was there really a need? I mean, the one-piece swimsuit has long been the public swimming pool's indicator of wizards among muggles, but now the standard has been raised. Thank you to Diane Hopkins and her company Swim Modest for bringing a little more fabric to the pool or beach.

The company boasts several features to their swimwear:

• all one piece for ease of movement

• attached sarong skirt

• cap sleeves

• fashionable and comfortable modest swimwear

• feel covered and confident

You be the judge.

I'm pretty sure you won't miss this girl the next time you're hitting the Wave Pool at Seven Peaks. Yes that's all one piece. (Could that be Spanish Fork in the background?)

Little sister is oh-so inviting as she steps gingerly into the above-ground-backyard pool.

They look even better wet. I'm sure all that modesty only weighs an extra 10-15 lbs. when saturated.

And finally, no more looking at little boys' nipples. Sickos. Thank goodness for mesh. But, I think the waistband also covers the pecks, look closely.

Is it just me, or do all these swimsuits remind you of this:

Ah, Spring is here.

If you live in Utah, or anywhere else that people complain about, but could never imagine leaving, you know that the title is a joke. Water cooler talk(kind of a stretch, as I avoid anywhere that might make me actually talk to a co-worker) is full of disses about the recent snow now that it's April. As if any of us even step outside for a majority of the day. And since we are not dogs or college students, even if it was nice weather, in all likelihood, we wouldn't be "tossin' the frisbee." Don't get me wrong, I love nice weather and I will be THRILLED when it arrives.

However, the real tragedy is that when it actually does come, I will be the first to do my best impression of the Resurrection (I'm offensive) and unveil the whiteness that is my skin. I can't wait for shorts and open-toed shoes. Nothing like putting the fetal pigs that have become your toes into a pair of sandals and going shopping, only to be thinking the entire time that everyone knows this is your first day back in warm-weather clothing. In reality, the real indicator that Spring is here came last night. Nothing says that the winter is finally over like bending over and splitting a giant hole in your pants. Of course that hole is not down the seam of your pant, rather, it is located right between the thighs and is only made possible from your growing winter tree trunks rubbing vigorously against eachother from November until March (Kellee, you don't know what I'm talking about, feel free to move on). Who was I to think that Denim could withstand such an assault? Luckily there was no flint stone near by, or I may have ignited. If only that hole was positioned a little further down the leg, I could make a pair of whimsical cutoffs and build a bridge to Terabithia with my best boy friend. But, alas, there is no time for any of that anyway.

So, don't be surprised if I might feel a bit relieved when Dan Pope adjusts his hair and tells me that the Live 5 VIPIR (as if I know what that is) predicts cool temperatures and light snow for the rest of the week. Self-consciousness and humiliation delayed for a few more days. Phew.

(What I wished I looked like in shorts)

(What I'm afraid I might look like in shorts)

No need to leave comments in which you try to restore my self-esteem. This is not a cry for help. I would be much more clever than that.

Why aren't we talking about this?

Honestly, I NEED to know. I've sat around patiently for the past 10 years, waiting for a reasonable explanation, but no one's talkin. But, who has the answer? I don't even know who to ask. Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Joey (the techie at my school), Jeeves? And where did the name even come from? Where I come from, you'd get your mouth washed out with soap if you called someone this on the playground.

I mean, really, what the bleep is a "Wingding," and what is its function? Why are there 12 options of it in my font list? If only Arial could get there act together and create that many varieties. Certainly nobody has ever scrolled through and thought, "Oh good, I do have Wingdings 3." And to add insult to injury, Wingding's hipper more modern little brother has the audacity to take up even more space in my already tired list of options. Webdings, you are not welcome here. And on your way out, could you grab ESRI Crime Analysis and ESRI Enviro Hazard Incident (disturbing titles, no?) and any other font that doesn't have any kind of Latin-based alphabet?

If I did write Steve Jobs a letter, it would look something like this:

I'm glad I got that off my chest. That was emotionally exhausting. I'll save my question about why Words With Friends on the iPhone is quite possibly the most addictive substance on the planet for another day. Phew.

Back-handed

Don't you love back-handed compliments? Most moms do. Recently, the teacher across the hall from me has ended up offending me anytime he has attempted a compliment. I shouldn't care. He's 60 years old and has a cabin built around his desk (fire hazard), but alas, I usually find myself unable to muster the proper response.

Case in point-

A few minutes ago, he stopped by my classroom on his way out. All year he has been hassling me about staying too late after contract hours. Today his comment hit a little too close to home: "Hey, if you keep staying so late, you won't have a choice BUT to make this a lifetime profession." Hmm. . . might that insinuate that my staying late is what is keeping me from being married? Thanks. Ah, career.

Luckily I caught my actual facial expression on camera (below)

*Please tell me you've all seen "Muriel's Wedding."