I’m an extremely observant person.  I mean I can like figure out exactly what is going on in someone’s life after eavesdropping (what, sometimes it gets boring waiting in line) on a conversation for three minutes.  I could be a detective in all seriousness.  The observing I’ve been doing lately is not so mystery novel-like though.  I’ve just been noticing ridiculous things while driving to and from places and surfing the internet.

One of the most important observations I’ve made in the last week is that Taco Time is now open at 7:00am!  Thank God, because this is exactly when I crave a greasy taco and a side of tater tots.  7:00am… Is this really necessary?  Anyway, while driving I also discovered that certain people may not understand the meaning of being “spoiled.”  I was driving behind a car whose license plate cover read, “I’m Spoiled, My Husband Loves Me.”  First of all, that’s just a stupid thing to put on a license plate cover (is there a good one really?), but the worst part was it was on a Ford Taurus!  I almost pulled up to the lady, rolled down my window and shouted, “You should have asked for a Jag.”  Ok, I might be acting snotty.  Maybe a Taurus really is a sweet ride for some.

In addition to tacos anytime, I realized you can now have a drink the size of your entire torso… to go!  Ok, I’ve known about these for awhile… You know, the GINORMOUS big gulp cups you can find at places like the 7-11 that make you nervous someone might actually try to drive with the thing and cause an accident because it blocked their entire line of sight just due to the size.  Well, I saw a 7-year-old kid chugging one of these down at a water park this week.  There was a dark liquid coming out of the straw (read:  soda) and he didn’t take his mouth off of the straw for like a solid five minutes.  The mom was sitting right next to him with her own matching mug.  Holy shit Mom, what went through your head when you decided to buy your kid 1,000 calories of sugar?

Lastly, I discovered this morning that you can find porn by searching for just about anything.  No, I’m not looking for porn.  I was actually googling “kitchen countertop pictures” (these exact words) and jackpot! there was a picture of a half naked lady on, what else, a kitchen countertop!  Ok, it’s soft porn, but still.

I am totally a fan of any holiday that can 1) get you out of work or 2) give you a reason to blow shit up.  In Utah we’re lucky enough, or blessed enough depending on how you look at it, to have two of these in the same month!  We really should feel special, fellow Utahans.  Everyone gets the fourth of July but then we get a bonus twenty days later.  Thank you pioneer friends!  Plus, it’s not just like some lame little holiday.  Oh no, it brings on like the third biggest parade in the nation.  Yes, I said nation!  That’s what my mom told me anyway.  The pioneers would be so proud.

Most of the celebrating has no real connection to the pioneers.  I mean yes, there are some freaky people that dress up in long ass dresses and bonnets and push handcarts around in the 99 degree heat, but other than that, our celebrating pretty much involves eating, drinking, watching parades and blowing things up.  I’ve actually renamed it Pyrobeer day.  Very fitting, don’t you think?

Brigham Young definitely started something cool when arriving in Utah.  There’s a good chance that he was just tired and hot as shit after having traveled for so long and so he thought to hell with it, this is going to be the place.  However it went down, it’s all good with me.  There is no way in hell I’m going to push around some handcart in the heat.  Listen, I know they suffered.  I don’t need to experience the same misery.  However, if it means I have the chance to catch candy thrown from a float and write my name in the air with a sparkler, I’m good to go.

I will start by admitting that I am not the world’s most patient or tolerant person.  Hey, I’m also not the world’s most impatient or intolerant person either. Unless you ask my husband.  He may have a different opinion.  Anyway, I swear that no matter how much I work on it, there are still going to be times when I want to shake people with extreme force.  Here’s my list, not my complete list but a sampling, really.  Feel free to add your own.

• Writing a check at the grocery store. What year are these people in?  And for God’s sake, if you’re going to write a check, don’t wait until you hear the total before you even begin to fill out the damn store name.
• Talking on your cell phone in a public bathroom – or any bathroom, really.  Is it just me or is it really awkward to be talking to your friend while squeezing out a nugget?  Even if it’s just number one, I’m pretty sure the phone call can wait.  Can you imagine hearing this loud “plop,” asking what the noise was and having your friend tell you that was their poop hitting the toilet water?
• Displaying inappropriate bumper stickers or license plate covers. I’m not really a fan of the bumper sticker in general, but I’m especially not a fan of ones that say things like “No fat chicks, truck will scrape” or “4X4’s eat more bush.” Nice double meaning you nasty bastard.  This should be the first red flag to any girl considering dating these douche bags.
• Loud talkers. Do you know these people?  These are the folks who think they are the ONLY ONES in the restaurant and proceed to talk to the people they’re with at a volume that is completely unnecessary.  Do they not realize how loud they are?  Or maybe they want everyone to know the finite details of their life?  Listen people, WE DON’T CARE, SO KEEP IT DOWN!

Now, share your annoyances.  Come on, it’ll feel good to get it off your chest.

I’m a big believer in karma.  Do good and good things will come back to you.  Do bad and bad things will come back to you.  I’m the person that hands back the extra five dollar bill that the cashier accidentally handed me or tells the restaurant server that they forgot to charge us for one of the entrees.  I do these things mainly because I’m honest and couldn’t live with the guilt but also because I think it will come back to me.

I’m ruling out the possibility of karma when it comes to killing our neighbors’ dogs though. I know this sounds evil, but honest to God, if you had to listen to the incessant barking for five minutes, you would so change your mind.  And it doesn’t just last for five minutes.  These two sorry excuses for animals could bark the entire summer if you let them.

So, what do we do?  The owners have to know that this goes on.  When they’re home, they let them back in the house.  And yet they’ll leave them outside all day while they’re who the hell knows where so that by the end of the day… no, by the end of a three minute span… we’re like wild crazed animals contemplating how to make sure their last breath is soon.

Listen, I love dogs.  We think about getting one often.  But this is NOT ok!  Rob and I could so throw a couple of hot dogs over the fence that may or may not be laced with an unknown poisonous substance.  And, I’m pretty sure karma would be overruled.  This would be a just act, really.  In fact, now that I’m really thinking about it, we might actually be rewarded in some way… for saving everyone their sanity.  Wow, we really are good people, aren’t we?  Neighbors, you’re welcome.

My sweet, loving, hot as hell husband has finally caved and is letting me replace the carpet in the basement.  Woot, woot!  I’ve been working on him for a very, very long time, so this is definitely something to celebrate.  When this update is done, I’m sure Rob will want to have people over (he loves to have people over).  And that is totally fine with me as long as it doesn’t get out of hand.  Let me give you an example…

About every other year Rob and I throw a wine tasting/winter solstice party.  We don’t know a lot about wine, but we know we like to drink it, as do many of our friends, so it works well.  Anyway, Rob and I have the same debate each time we throw one of these shin digs.  Personally, I prefer a more intimate gathering with close family and friends.  Rob likes the rager.  He won’t call it a rager, but it’s a rager.  Ass load of people plus ass load of alcohol = rager.  So, we try to compromise, but somehow there end up being a lot of people jammed into our home.  Right now you might be asking, so what’s the problem? The problem is that while cleaning up the last party, I found HUMAN POOP on the floor of the basement bathroom.  I am not kidding people.  I noticed something small and brown on the floor next to the toilet and thought, maybe I should get a tissue to pick up this unknown object. God, I’m smart.  If I had touched that nugget with my bare hands, I would absolutely have had some DNA testing done.  Which means the culprit would not only be banned from our home but also publicly scorned (I’d figure out a way).  You don’t drop a god damn piece of crap on someone’s bathroom floor (well, not someone you like anyway) and not clean it up!  Needless to say, we never did solve the mystery.  We asked a few folks, but what’s the point?  No one is going to admit that oh yeah, I forgot to sit on the toilet when taking a dump that night. I have my suspicions though.

I rest my case.  I’m still putting in the carpet though.  Oh, and I will also remind Rob about the poop incident when he wants to invite half the state of Utah.

Utah has had a very odd start to the summer.  What I mean is it’s 45 fucking degrees and raining on June 12th!  Sorry, I’m pissed.  It is seriously like Seattle here.  If it is another June like last year and rains for the rest of the month, I am so moving.  June in Utah is supposed to be hot, sunny and filled with the smell of suntan lotion.  But nooooo last night I wore my winter parka.

And no, I don’t want to look on the bright side (especially since it’s extremely overcast at the moment) and be like, “Oh, I love the smell of rain.  It’s so refreshing out and everything is so green.”  And I’m certainly not going to “mentally” pretend like it’s warm like my brother in law once told me to do on a backpacking trip in which I nearly died of hypothermia.  Ok, I’m exaggerating a little, but it was cold as shit and Dave was like, “Just imagine that you’re warm.”  Uhhh no.  Love you Dave, but that was a really dumb idea.

So anyway, I need to get back to looking out the window and cursing mother nature.  At least I don’t have to do yard work.

I am the cleanest person you will ever meet.  I don’t mean my physical being.  I can go days without washing my hair, but all hell will break loose if I catch someone not taking their shoes off before entering the house AFTER TROMPING THROUGH THE SNOW… Ok, and maybe after just stepping foot outside, but that’s not the point.  And I’m not just one of those surface cleaners.  Those people don’t know jack shit about cleaning.  I am a deep, will use a Q-tip if I have to, kind of a cleaner.  I’m the real deal.

I’m not totally positive where I get this.  Maybe it’s a combination of an obsessive compulsive disorder (No, I have not been diagnosed) and the trauma of a very messy childhood home.  My parents were not tidy people.  My mom is now, but back in the day she sucked at keeping the house in order.  And since I was kind of the “mom” of the house (that’s an entirely different blog… perhaps several), I was always the one doing the cleaning.  There may have been a time or two when I screamed at the top of my lungs for my younger brother and sister to, “CLEAN UP YOUR HUT IN THE LIVING ROOM.  I JUST FINISHED CLEANING!”

It might sound strange but if my house isn’t clean, I can’t really concentrate on anything else.  My home is very important to me.  I spend a lot of time there, so it’s important that it not feel like a total shit hole.  So, I clean a lot.  (Do I sound like I’m justifying?) And sometimes Rob will say something like, “Do you think maybe you have a problem?”  That’s his nice way of asking why I’m completely anal retentive about the state of our home and if he should commit me.  But is it standing in the way of me living a full life?  Not really.  Does it make me want to swear like a sailor and start saying things under my breath like, “I’m the only one that cleans up around here” when I find an ass load of crumbs on the counter?  Absolutely.  As of today, I’m alright with my neat freak ways though.  And until someone wants to hire me a maid (and it better be one that cleans as well as me!), I will continue on my quest to being a God.

I am still having a hard time comprehending what I’m about to tell you… My dad is getting married!  Ok, you might be like, “yeah, so, what’s the big deal?”  The big deal?  The big deal is that 1) I never thought my dad would get married again, because you have to first have a divorce from you first marriage (yeah, my parents haven’t been “together” for like two decades but they just barely got an official divorce) and 2) He just met this woman like 10 minutes ago.  Ok, they actually met like a few months ago, but holy shit!  There is, apparently, no time to waste.  And I knew it was coming, but I thought I might have more than like, I don’t know, 8 days notice.  Yep, 8 days folks.  The best part is that I didn’t find out with a phone call from my dad or anything like that.  No, no, no.  I found out on my soon-to-be stepmom’s facebook page!  I logged on the other morning and there was the post, “Well, it’s finally here.  I’m getting married on May 25th.”  There are two things that are funny about this post.  The obvious, that this was what announced the wedding.  And second, the use of the word finally.  Finally?  You like just learned my dad’s middle name.

Honestly, it might sound like I’m not happy about this soon to be union.  The truth is that I am very happy for them both.  I don’t want my dad to be alone and from the hour that I’ve spent with her, she seems very nice.  I am bummed that I won’t be able to see the actual marriage take place (damn temples), but at least I’ll be able to take part in a reception at the lovely Edgemont Second Ward House (wink wink).