Rob and I just got back from a totally spectacular trip to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. We’ve been to Mexico but never to Cabo, so we thought what the hell.  But quickly I was like, what the hell (in a different, much meaner tone) when our first flight was delayed out of Salt Lake.  You know, good old mechanical issues with the plane. Which, sadly for us, meant that we would be missing our flight out of Phoenix, delaying Cabo for a day.  Listen people, when I’m ready to go poolside, I’m ready to go poolside.  So at the US Airways Customer Service desk I was like, “Listen, I’m going to need you to book us at a hotel for the night that has a pool.”  Rob, who is much nicer than me, was like, “Whatever you can do would be great.”  Ummm no, not really.  First of all, your dumb ass plane caused me to delay my actual trip by one day.  Second, it’s 113 fucking degrees in Phoenix.  We got the pool.

We finally arrived at the Pueblo Bonito Pacifica; a gorgeous, serene resort right on the water a day later and immediately got in our swimming suits and went… yep, poolside!  At an all inclusive resort, you can order drinks at anytime from anywhere, so we also ordered a couple of margaritas to put us in the Mexican spirit. Unfortunately, this all went south when Rob ventured too far into Margaritaville.  Of course, he says his not feeling great can be attributed to what he calls a “combo.” Like, “I got a lot of sun and was dehydrated… Oh, and I had a couple of drinks.” Whatever the case, he recovered, but not with any help from me.  What?  I cannot have sympathy for someone who makes bad decisions.  Right?  Right.

The rest of our trip continued without a hitch. I mean we did get asked on one occasion how our nachos were when they hadn’t even been given to us (are you seeing a trend)?  Other than that, we sat by the pool, ate incredibly yummy food, went for long walks on the beach and were total bad asses on this ladder toss game. No seriously, we have skills.  Oh, and I got an 80 minute facial which is much more fun in Mexico, because the aesthetician’s english might not be so great and she may inform you that the exfoliant she is about to put on your face will feel “spicy.”  Who knew that something could feel spicy?

Sadly (really depressing, actually), all good things must come to an end.  And our exit was not pretty.  My motion sickness plus super shitty shuttle driving equals near vomiting.  Then, stick me on two different plane rides and things get ugly.  Let’s just say that I have never been so close to a public spew in my life.  You know when you’re mouth is salivating like a freaking fountain?  Yeah, that was me on the plane to Phoenix.  I can now say that God answers prayers because I did not vomit.

God let me down, however, when he placed the man with the worst case of B.O. EVER directly across from me.  Oh, but before he placed him across from me, he placed his ass on top of me.  You know when someone has to move for someone else to get down the aisle?  Well, smelly dude apparently didn’t notice that I was sitting where he decided to stand, placing his ass mere inches from my face.  Not good for my already ailing self.  I resorted to rubbing my lavender chap stick directly up my nostrils.

It wouldn’t be a good trip without adventures, right?

It might seem strange that the title of this blog is me talking to cookies.  What, you don’t think cookies are alive?  Well, then why can I hear them calling to me day after day after fucking day?  This is not in my head people!  They are talking to me… loudly talking to me.  It usually goes something like this:  I have my healthy lunch full of green leafy vegetables, whole grains and beans.  And I’m like I am a freaking rockstar eater!  Two hours later the cookies are like, “You need a snack.  Sugar would be good.  You should eat a cookie!  That’s why we’re here, right?”

You see, I would really like to look like a hottie for my upcoming vacation to Mexico, but the cookies are totally ruining this for me. Only making it to the gym like three times a week probably isn’t helping either.  I need to get my fit on, people!  Today instead of going to the gym, however, I went to the mall.  And as I was feeling guilty walking out, two of those mall walker people cut right in front of me.  Excuse me, but I thought mall walkers only did their walking before the mall opened.

Oh, and on top of my cookie/infrequent gym routine, the Oprah show ended.  Yes, this has nothing to do with the rest of this post. But what a bummer, right?! Continue reading →

I know that I am not the most fashionable person on the planet (despite being named ‘The Queen of Fashion’ by a fellow sixth grade classmate – true story), but sometimes what people wear (or lack of what they wear) flat out scares me. Yesterday I was very disturbed when I spotted a boy, probably 14 or 15 years old, leaving the Cottonwood Heights Recreation Center with nothing on but… wait for it….. a speedo! Well, to be totally accurate, I should mention that he was also sporting an enormous backpack, which most likely housed the clothing that should have been placed on his body. By the way, it was only 46 degrees.

Then, not thirty seconds later I spotted Rob out and about on his unicycle. Yes, he rides a unicycle. Yes, it’s impressive. Yes, he can juggle while riding it. Anyway, his unicycle outfit was really something. I first spotted his jacket which was impossible to miss since it’s flourescent yellow! It’s one of those biking jackets that you wear when riding at night so you don’t get ran over. It’s not so necessary in broad daylight. Below the jacket were his bright blue swim trunks. Yep, swim trunks. I gave a hesitant wave after I made sure no one would see that I knew this person.

Rob had a good excuse for his outfit…. Something about he was just going to lift weight downstairs (apparently this calls for swim shorts) and then decided to ride his unicycle. Since it was cold out, he grabbed the first jacket he could find. Whatever the reason, it was quite a sight!
As for speedo boy, I’d love to hear his excuse. “I needed to cool down after my swim”???

So in a previous post, I talked about the household where dysfunction runs rampant, aka the house where my grandma, grandpa, aunt, uncle and mother reside. Apparently my grandma got wind of the post (only wind, she did not actually read the post) and was like, “Why would she write about us?” Why? I mean the answer to that question is pretty obvious, right? Because it’s good material! Yes, there may be a time where I have to draw the line and keep certain pieces of information to myself, but I’m going to lay a lot of other shit on the table. My intention is not to hurt anyone’s feelings. I will not be malicious. I’m simply providing entertainment for the masses; entertainment for the 50 people that read this blog.

Now, having said all that, just a few short days later my grandma came into my work and tried to sell me her shoes. Yes, the shoes that were currently on her two feet. No, she didn’t offer to give them to me. No, she asked if I wanted to buy them from her. My grandma is a very generous lady and probably saved my siblings and me from sleeping on the streets much of our lives when we were younger, but she will not hesitate to hand you something like she’s giving it to you and mention how much she paid at the same time. Like, “I thought you’d like this cute top I found at the thrift store. It was only $3.” Which makes you wonder, should I pay her for this? It makes things very confusing. She’s so entertaining.

Also entertaining was the waiter at the restaurant last week that came by our table and asked, “How is everything tasting?” Which would have been a normal question had we already been served our food. Rob and I just looked at each other and then I said, “Umm… well, I’m not really sure yet since we don’t have any food.” That waiter just totally blew his cover. We thought he looked like an alien, but now we KNOW he’s an alien.
Oh, and Rob farted so loud in his sleep the other night that it woke him up and he shouted, “What was that?!” He makes me smile even at 3:00am.

Yesterday was my bestie’s (best friend’s) birthday. Britt has been my best friend since the sixth grade. And let me tell you, we have stories to tell! I basically lived at her house for a number of years and can even recall a time when her dad asked if I was ever going to go home. Her dad loves me, but he was probably like what in the hell is wrong with her parents? Don’t worry, he figured it out eventually. In the meantime, I made sure that Glen (Britt’s dad) knew just how much I loved being at their house.

One year for his birthday, Britt and I had the clever idea to put on a little performance. (Honestly, I cannot believe I’m telling you this story). We were in the seventh grade at the time, and for some reason, it never crossed our minds that putting bikinis on, layering clothes on top and then singing a sexy version of happy birthday while we took said layer of clothes off would be at all inappropriate. Holy shit, what were we thinking?!
I was this skinny little thing with no boobs (oh wait, the no boobs parts still applies), so her older sister’s bikini that I had on was like falling off while we sang our written lyrics of, “Happy Birthday to you big boy… You know you’re looking awfully hot tonight.” I know! Can you believe this? I am not making this up at all, unfortunately.

Every time I think back to that performance (yes, I’m calling it a performance), I laugh out loud and physically become ill at the same time. I’m sure Glen was HORRIFIED! He was probably like Dear God, please don’t let anyone walk in and think I had anything to do with this. I sooo don’t want to go to jail right now. I honestly can’t remember what he said when we were done, “Uhhh thanks?” I just pray to God that he has completely blocked those images from his mind.

Happy Birthday, Britt! Thanks for all the adventures. I love you!!

Do you ever feel like just running away from your life? No? Oh, never mind. Ok, seriously. Do you? I think about it all the time. Except I want to take all the people I love with me. And maybe some of the stuff too. Don’t judge me. I didn’t say I want to take all of my stuff, just some of my stuff. Anyway, I think it’s more of wanting to run away from all of the responsibility. Being an adult really blows sometimes. We go to work all day and then we come home and do more work before we go to sleep to do it all over again the next day. It’s exhausting!

Of course, I also know that I have a pretty fucking awesome life. Sorry, but it’s true. I have a rad family, good friends, a nice home, I get to go on vacations, etc etc etc. And as much as I daydream about going back to being a kid, I remember that I wanted to run away then too. Well, kind of.

My attempts at running away as a kid were much different. It was more like I wanted to run away from the situation. Like, my parents or my sister were being mean to me. Which is when I would scream, “I hate you. I’m leaving!” Then, I would pack up a bunch of clothes and toys into paper grocery bags and head for the door. Where in the hell did I think I was going to go? Obviously, no where. I was dramatic though, so I had to show them that I was serious. I’d get all the way to the front porch and then I’d plop down with my brown paper bags and wait for someone to come out and say, “Don’t run away. We love you, and we’re sorry.” Only this never happened. Instead, I felt (and looked, I’m sure) like a complete dumb ass sitting outside with my grocery bags and would eventually make my way back into the house.

One time I left the bags behind entirely and took off on my bike. That didn’t end so well though, because I obviously couldn’t stay away forever. When I got home, I was in big trouble. And big trouble at my house meant that my dad told me I was grounded but then decided I could go out and play after an hour. Strict upbringing, I know.

So, maybe running away is not the answer. Maybe I just need to take a deep breath. Or, if I do decide to run away, I should definitely invest in something cooler than grocery bags to transport my goods.