PlesTokTooBridget

I think that my 5 year old neighbor is going to end up ruling the world.  What I mean is: she is either going to become the doctor that cures cancer or, she is going to be a mad scientist and have us all under her (adorable) thumb.

Last night Jim and I went next door to give Bridget and her little sister Sam their Christmas gifts.  We got them matching, handmade knit caps with adorable flowers on the front (a la Blossom!).  They fit perfectly and how the two only children in the world who actually like to wear hats are sisters is beyond me.  They loved them!

Anyway, their dad is a stay at home dad (and should win parent of the year as well as publish a best selling parenting book...yes, he is that awesome) likes to engage in adult conversation when we come over.  Not the type of adult conversation that requires ear-muffs, but the kind of conversation where after being with children all day long you can talk with a normal pitch voice and use multi-syllabic words.  Bridget has been taught fabulous manners (by her fabulous parents) and knows to wait her turn to talk.  Well, she decided that she had enough of the adult banter that she couldn't participate in and hands me her giant etch a sketch that read:

"Ples Tok Too Bridget"

And had a picture of a big pacman looking character and a small pacman looking character chatting away.

That was it, adult conversation over. We were putty in her hands; even dad.  

An Atheist, a Mormon and a Gay Guy walk into a bar…

A few nights ago we attended a girlfriend’s 30th birthday celebration.  Not a big party or anything.  There were less than ten of us sitting around drinking beers and eating brownies and other goodies at a friend’s house. 

Two guys come in who are friends of the birthday girl by way of childhood friendship with her (atheist) beau.  One of the men I think I’ve met before but not sure where, and the other I *think* might be gay…but my self-proclaimed California Gay-Dar isn’t as good as I might tell others it is.  As introductions are made, the birthday girl mentions that the familiar looking guy is mormon.  “Oh, I remember you now.” Um, open mouth, insert foot.  “Uh, not that being mormon defines you, I just remember you didn’t drink.” Seriously?  What the hell is my problem? 

Not a problem at all.  The 10 of us spent the evening drinking beers (or soda), and cracking up like we were all old friends. (Sidenote: don’t you just love when the celebration of an awesome person brings nothing but awesome people? Like, it just confirms that our birthday girl friend is so amazing that all of these really cool people come out for her). Anyway, the conversation includes tales from when the atheist and the mormon were on their mission together, cracks at the birthday girl who is starting to get tipsy, and various NSFW comments and laughter.

Then we head to the bar.  The same thing occurs there: more beer (and some water) drinking, more hilarious conversation and more friendships forming.  The (gorgeous) might-be-gay man sits next to me and says, “so tell me about you!”  We immediately dive into deep conversation.  At one point he tells me that he went on his mission to try and “pray away the gay” to which I can barely contain my excitement and laughter (since you know how I feel about that).  Here I am, chatting with my new favorite person in SLC,  and our new mormon friend is making cracks about how the fact that our party is so large we need two separate tables and so he must find the more interesting conversation before he sits down.  “I’m getting a Coke, anyone want a beer?” he says.

This is how life should be.  Three childhood friends, three very different walks of life and one great evening.      

Jimism: I own my own house!

When I make my lunch in the morning, I used make a sandwich for Jim (that is until he decided he was A- a full blown vegetarian now and B- sick of cheese sandwiches).  One morning I asked him if he could remember to bring the baggy home cause Ziplocs are expensive and it is a waste to use one a day (oh and something about the environment). He looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Dawn, that’s what the poor kids did when I was growing up, I own my own house.”

A few weeks later I am getting ready for bed. I turn on the bedside table lamps for me and for Jim, snuggle in, and open my book.  Jim usually just locks all the doors and turns off the lights and is otherwise right behind me. When nearly 15 minutes pass by and he isn't in the room, I decide to see what is taking him so long.

I get up and go into the hallway. No lights are on. Jim does not appear to be in the house.  I look in the backyard. No Jim. No lights. (Sidenote: at this point in our relationship I had been in Utah less than a year, we just bought our home together, and I was still a little shaky as to what this all meant for our future). So, naturally I think to myself : what kind of creepy thing is this man doing? Maybe I should go back to sunny California (I know, totally rational).

Finally, I see what looks like the outline of Jim standing in our front yard (SLC has crappy street lighting), and so I open the door.  Jim turns around with a freaking Bud Light in his hand and walks up to the porch.  I am staring at him, my mouth wide open.  It is nearly eleven on a school night and here he is outside with a beer in his hand.  He looks at me and says, "what?" So, irrational Dawn steps in and says to rational Dawn: you've clearly driven him to drink in the front yard at eleven o'clock at night. What does this mean?  In 50 years will he be in his Man Shed cursing his nagging wife while the nagging wife sits on the couch watching Judge Judy?  GO BACK TO CALIFORNIA!

I follow him inside. "What do you mean, 'what'? Your standing in our front yard drinking a beer when you just told me you'd be right in to bed!" He says, "so what, it's my house." I follow him into the bedroom where he gets ready for bed. "What the HELL were you doing out there?" Finally, finally! He tells me: there were kids across the street who kept running into the shadows whenever a car came down the road.  So, since Jim owns his own house, he thought he'd crack a beer, pound on his chest and tell those goddamned kids to knock it off!

I love to tell friends this story and watch Jim take ownership.  He still says, "so what, it's my house!". Every time.

Reason to love SLC # 2

We have one of those famous Virgin Mary aberrations!

The story goes that in 1997 a city worker found an image of the Virgin in a tree stump that had been struck by lightning. As word spread, a stair case and makeshift memorial site was erected to accommodate the rush of worshippers coming to visit the site.

Even now, over ten years (and a substantial amount of vandalism) later, the site is always adorned with flowers, candles, prayers and usually a kneeler or two.  Read about it by clicking on the link below (also where the images are from)

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/310083/a_new_vision_the_amazing_transformation.html?cat=38

Here is an article in the SLC Tribune written in 2010

I don't consider myself religious, but there is something very cool about the devotion to this Virgin Stump that draws my attention to it.  I drive passed the tree every morning on the way to work, and even in the snow, wind and rain, there are candles lit and flowers strewn by some seriously devoted worshippers. Like, they must have been out there at 7 AM devoted. 

My friend Emily sent me this Etsy link today (image pasted below) and I just had to share.  I've found myself openning the email with the image in it several times today; each time a big smile crosses my face.  This is so true, and I am so happy to say that I have more than one friend who will go bat swingin' with me when I am in need!

Are you going to the reunion?

When I told people over the last few weeks that I was headed to my ten year high school reunion Thanksgiving weekend, I got mostly negative reactions:

“Ugh, I do NOT want to see any of the people I went to high school with”

“Why? We have FaceBook now”

“Let me make this easier for you: everyone is still the same in ten years. Wait for your twenty”

But, I was voted, “Typical Senior” and was the flipping cheer captain, Hell yes I was going! I bought a new outfit, straightened my hair, polished the bling on my left hand and made sure my awesome husband-to-be was in tow. SO glad I did!

Everyone did look the same! And everyone was doing what FaceBook said they were doing. But you know what was different? Everyone was so nice and laid back! We all appeared to be genuinely happy to see each other (sidenote: everyone was slightly smashed so said happiness might have been alcohol induced).

When you think back on it, high school mostly sucked. It took place during your “awkward years” when you were pimple faced, mismatched, and rarely comfortable. It was also where you were told you needed to decide what you wanted to be when you grow up, to not mess it up and to be serious about your future (an impossible task when there are larger issues on your mind like why Johnny in first period looked at you all weird this morning). It was also full of superficial attitudes and bullies. Oh man. I bet my middle school still has “Dawn Marie’s a ho” written on the electric box out front.

But sometimes, it didn’t suck. Sometimes you had the BEST NIGHT EVER slow dancing with your crush at homecoming. Or sometimes you stuck your beam routine or got your driver’s license or didn't completely fail algebra. Sometimes you made lasting friendships and let go of bad ones. And that was what everyone seemed to remember that Friday night. 

Those sucky times? How much do they not matter now?  My high school has an AMAZING tradition of having each senior class make a time capsule full of personal things that we get to open at our ten year reunion. In mine were photos of mostly the same girls I am close with now, a book of funny memories, and a letter to myself. In that letter I tell myself that I hope I am where I want to be in ten years: happy, in love, a size 4 (HAHAHAHAHA!) and satisfied. How cool was my 18 year old self to say all of those lovely things? But also, how bratty was my 18 year old self to think I’d actually be the same size? But in addition, there was a brief timeline of my high school social career: boyfriends, heart breaks, drama, etc. Not one of those things has detracted from who I am today and where I am in life. Funny. In reading all of my girlfriends’ letters they also went on and on about things that they can barely remember now. My girl Stacey had this big photo of her and her high school boyfriend and some mementos from their relationship in her capsule. We all had a good laugh because there he was with his beautiful wife and there she was 7 months pregnant with her awesome husband. Crazy, huh? I’m not saying that our high school lives didn’t matter; they did and what we discovered about ourselves is important to who we are today and who we’ll be tomorrow. But, all the negative things others seemed to think would be unearthed by going to a ten year reunion? Just a drop in the bucket of memories.

Thanks SMHS Class of 2000, I had such an amazing time and am (sober and still) genuinely happy I got to see you all.    

I guess I just knew…

My very good friend Megan (like we’ve been friends since we were 5 ‘good friend’) sent me the below email chain she dug up. It takes place right before/after I went to visit Jim in SLC for the very first time…I know, our second “date” was actually a weekend rendezvous but whatever…

---

From: Dawn.
Sent: Friday, November 02, 2007 3:16 PM
To: Megan
Subject:

I just ate a jelly belly that tasted like an armpit.

It was green, so I thought it would be lime, maybe sour apple.

But it was armpit.

---

From: Megan
Sent: Friday, November 02, 2007 3:18 PM
To: Dawn.
Subject: RE:

Haha! Maybe it was one of those Harry Potter jelly beans…you know the ones with booger and vomit flavor…and now presenting….Armpit! I can’t wait to be done today!

---

From: Dawn.
Sent: Friday, November 02, 2007 3:32 PM
To: Megan
Subject: RE:

ME TOO

An hour and a half to go...ugh.

So, as if San Diego burning down wasn't enough, there is now a bomb threat on the 5 in between the 52 and the 805 split. Apparently somebody threw pipe bombs out their window while driving passed. The guy is in custody...but the freeway is shut down and there are bombs out there! If this delays my flight, I am going to be HEATED.

From: Megan
Sent: Friday, November 02, 2007 4:56 PM
To: Dawn.
Subject: RE:

Have so much fun this weekend! I expect a call from the airport on Sunday telling me all the fabulous details!

---

From: Megan
Sent: Monday, November 05, 2007 9:08 AM
To: Dawn.
Subject: RE:

Hmmm…..

---

From: Dawn.
Sent: Monday, November 05, 2007 9:16 AM
To: Megan
Subject: RE:

Hi!

How was your weekend? Mine was amazing...I can't get over it. I am definitely marrying this man...assuming he feels the same way:)

---

From: Megan
Sent: Monday, November 05, 2007 9:18 AM
To: Dawn.
Subject: RE:

Yeeeaaahhhh….uhh that was not the explanation I was prompting.

---

From: Dawn.
Sent: Monday, November 05, 2007 9:56 AM
To: Megan
Subject: RE:

Hehe:)

It was awesome. I got in around 10 on Friday night...he was there waiting for me...big hug and kiss, very cheesy and romantic. On Saturday we went and got coffee and then breakfast before going on this fabulous hike. It took five hours round trip...a 2.5 mile steady incline to three awesome lakes and a waterfall. It was really cold and there was snow on the ground when we go to the top. Yesterday we went to breakfast and then to this park that reminded me of that park in Amsterdam with the lake in the middle...except it was much smaller. We just sat and peopled watched for a while before going back to his house and getting ready to leave. Leaving was ok given that I am going to see him again on Friday, but when he leaves on Monday, it will be the last time I see him for over a month!

I really like this guy, and I really hope he feels the same way...we just get along so well. We like the same music, we are both sarcastic, we made fun of each other all weekend and he is kind of metro ...you know, actually had input when I was talking about my dramatic friends.

Megan then asked for a picture of my ‘future husband’, and this is the one I attached…it is from our treacherous hike.

The Fabulous side of Amsterdam

Yes we went to museums, yes we went to the Red Light District, yes we took a canal tour…but if you want to really get to know a city: go to its local gay bar. The gays are liberal, friendly, happy and love them an American girl (even if they keep saying, “oh dahling, you are soooo American!”). 

We passed by De Engel Van Amsterdam our first night in Amsterdam.  The gorgeous blonde drag queen singing Abba in a crowd of men lured me in there.  Jim followed me in and while I want to call him a “good sport” at this point, the truth is he wanted to go in just about as badly as I did.  The bar’s main tender (the skinny bald guy in the photos on the night tours guide webpage) was passing around hors d’oeurves on a big silver platter and everyone was dancing and singing along. Fabulous.  We went out to the terrace (as we were a bit jet lagged to participate in all the fun)  and asked an adorable older couple to take our photo. They argued in Dutch over which angle to shoot us from which made us laugh incredibly hard.  We knew we’d be back.

Two nights later we were back and had such an amazing time that I believe I was saying that the whole day and night was “the best day ever, right?” to Jim our entire walk back to the hotel. This is the night that we met Armin. The man was in an (incredibly soft) blazer with cats all over it.  So when he told us he was a designer, you could imagine what we thought. Turns out the coat was a gag gift for a friend who refused to wear it so he sports it.  Armin’s designs are FABULOUS. In fact, we had admired his shop window nearly every day not knowing it’s owner was about to become our favorite Dutch gay. Armin answered all of the questions we had about Holland:

So physician assisted suicide is legal here? – Not exactly. They’ll help you but won’t kill you. (Jim actually debated this with him and seems to think that this is inaccurate).

What is the social status of those girls in the windows through the Red Light District? – They are whores. But they make a lot of money, some of them are my clients.

Gay marriage is legal? – Yes, but honey, don’t get married.

We noticed that in order to use most restrooms you need to climb a creepy steep flight of stairs. This city doesn’t seem to accommodate people with disabilities very well, why is that? Do people with disabilities seek out physician assisted suicide? (kind of an attempt at a joke) – They stay at home.  Try rolling a wheelchair down this cobblestone. Eh, that’s life.

How much would one pay to rent a two bedroom apartment in Amsterdam? – For you? 1200 Euro. For me? 600 Euro.

How much does the average Joe make a month here? – You mean like burger flipper? About 900 Euro but the government gives up to 300 Euro a month in housing aide. You Americans see this as lazy, accepting government aide.

Not entirely true, but there are some lazy people collecting government aide in America. – See, you’re so American! You think these people are lazy, who are you to measure their ambition levels?

I didn’t say they were all lazy…nevermind. Moving on…

Too much fun. A man named Nunu (to which Jim introduced himself as Jim Jim which prompted Nunu to say, “that sounds Asian!”) and his boyfriend of the night, Dennis also joined us this particular evening. Nunu was just too sweet for words, and upon hearing that I am from the San Francisco area he gushed about how much he loves it. He then told us about a US road trip he went on and wondered what was wrong with Nevada that made it so ugly. Jim said, “ you mean like Winnemucca?” and Nunu said, “YES! I stomped a cigarette out at a gas station in Winnemucca!”At this point it was getting very late and I told Jim we should head home. 

Armin pulled me aside and said, “look at him? Does that look like a man who wants to leave?”

Amsterdam!

The problem with waiting for your fiancé to return from a long month of travelling with your shared computer in order to upload photos from and/or blog about your trip to Amsterdam is that too much time passes and your enthusiasm begins to dwindle. I’m hoping that reliving the memories as I upload the photos will reignite all of the juicy blogging ideas I had during our travels.



Began every morning right with an amazing Irish coffee (with REAL cream!)

How gorgeous are these row houses? The shutters!

Everyone rode bikes. It's no wonder the Dutch are so skinny!

Red Light Special

Oh the irony!

 

The Homomonument. Designed to pay tribute to gays and lesbians who have suffered oppression and discrimination.



Just had to snap this picture. The Lilly Canal.

Infront of the Rieks Museum.

Coolness

Public transportation: the reason I love it is the same reason I hate it!

Jim and I share a car so inevitably, one of us is always taking public transportation...and it's usually Jim. Today, in an uncharacteristic surge of kindness, I offered Jim the car. It was threatening rain and he had like three armloads of stuff to take into work today. So I offered to take Trax to school after work.

I've only taken Trax to school a handful of times (which might even be an overstatement), but I felt as if I looked like a pro. It was near freezing out today so I positioned myself on the platform to enter the first car when the train arrived so that I would be closest to my final destination upon departure from the train. Also, I know I get a little car sick when I ride backwards so I immediately went to the part of the car that faces forward. Right at the middle of the car (where that bendy thing is for sharp turns) I stop in my tracks. Two men are standing up, screaming at each other. I sit in the sideways seat. And listen. From a safe distance.

Old-ish White Man: I wasn't being disrespectful! I was simply telling you - 

Young-ish Black Man: The f*ck you were! You were disrespecting my family!

OWM: (very loud and near hysteria) I AM A MAN WHO COULD DIE OF A HEART ATTACK AND YOUR SMOKING!

Let me interject here: at this point I am actually leaning toward siding with the YBM for the simple reason that the OWM is talking like he is borderline crazy.

YBM: I WASN'T SMOKING! My little brother was and your lucky  he didn't knock you the f*ck out!

OWM: I SIMPLY SAID your in the no smoking area!

YBM: What? You the law now? Evidently, you the law! You and your slave owning daddy!

OK, switching sides now. The OWM may not have all of his marbles, but the YBM is clearly just very, very angry and is looking to fight someone. Especially since said younger brother who would knock OWM the F out is sitting quietly watching all of this.

OWM: What? My daddy didn't own slaves!

YBM: Oh I bet he did! What are you? IRISH? SCOTTISH? F*cking GERMAN? You and your slave tradin' daddy.

OWM: Why are you being so disrespectful?

YBM: I respect myself.

And then he gets off the trolly, the whole while yelling at the OWM that he's lucky he didn't get "laid out".

So much more was said, about 10 minutes worth, but these are the highlights. No punches were thrown. No one interjected, or ejected. So again, entertaining, but maybe a little frightening?

Also, here's a little teaser from my Amsterdam trip...the post is written, but I just needed photos, which are now uploaded. So tomorrow it'll be done!

Just a little rant…

…about two things that rubbed me wrong today. Let’s go with the least offensive first: Cars with the dealers’ name/logo stamped on the back. You know you’ve seen it: Larry H. Miller Honda to the right (or left) of the rear license plate just below the top of the trunk. I forked over thousands of dollars to you, Larry, I REFUSE to be a driving advertisement for you. How about stellar customer service? That’ll make me recommend you on my own. I am DYING to go to a dealership, act like I am serious about buying a car and then point out that stamp and say, “will you knock 5K off the asking price if I agree to provide you with free advertisement the entire time I own this vehicle?”

Ok. I thought I wouldn’t dive into this subject on this blog simply because I live in and love Salt Lake City and there is enough negativity about this place out there already…but this article blew my mind this morning. I know, I shouldn’t be surprised. I have come to terms (or as close ‘to terms’ as one can when living here without being angry every day) that most members of the LDS church do not agree with the homosexual lifestyle. Fine. I dislike the term “agree” but whatever, that is not the point of this particular rant.  What boggles my mind is that they think (er, 55% of them think) that this can actually be changed. WTF? That is like saying, “I’ll take your ‘I don’t agree with this lifestyle’ and raise you a ‘your lifestyle actually doesn’t exist’”. I wouldn’t exactly prefer the lifestyle of a stripper but I don’t think they can be “changed”. I know, bad example. What I am trying to say is the obvious. Homosexual people are NO different than straight people…could you pray away the black? Could you pray away the deaf? NO. Godamnit I am getting so pissed all over again. In 10 years (hopefully sooner), we are going to look back on things like this and be appalled. Just like we look back on slavery and are appalled. Just like we look back on women’s (lack of) rights and are appalled.

Of Montreal

I know I am supposed to recap Amsterdam, but with our one computer traveling with Jim, it’s hard to upload the pictures. But trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.

I’ll tide you over with a review of an AWE-SOME show I went to last night.  Anyone heard of Of Montreal?  Youtube them, crazy stuff. Also, this song here was used as the Outback Steakhouse commercial song…so there’s a little connection for ya.

Now, look up their tour dates and get your butt to a show. Even if the electronic sound isn’t for you, you have got to see the shenanigans that is their performance. It’s like performance art. It’s like, Prince and David Bowie somehow became the same person. Here are some photos I took with my iPhone:

Yes, that is a Chinese Dragon looking thing (made of people) and that is front man Kevin Barnes riding it.



That's Barnes again dancng around in the confetti strewn about by the masked beings on stage with him.



More characters, more 'art'.

There he is in all his aproned glory. I realize that it is sideways but I am sick of Google shutting down on me everytime I try and fix it.

The opener, Janelle Monáe was also amazing.  I heard her described as: Kanye West and Janis Joplin’s love child. I think her sound was a bit loud for the small venue, as she had a crew of at least 8 people all in white shirts, black suspenders and bowties. All rockin’ out.  She had the occasional character come up on stage like Of Montreal…and gave us the added bonus of painting while singing a song. Seriously, an easel was set up, and she freaking painted the silhouette of a woman while singing. Oh and her singing? Her voice is incredibly powerful. Truly an amazing sound. She sounded sort of like a more powerful Rihanna with a little Macy Grey mixed in. I can’t wait to download more of her stuff so I can hear it at a more appropriate volume. The performance was very high energy. Don’t you love it when you can just tell how much fun a band is having together?

This is during the MJ medley, the caped woman to the right is Janelle Monae

To end the night, Of Montreal did a Michael Jackson medley inviting Janelle Monae and her band up for a dance off in true MJ style.  The vocals didn’t do our man Michael justice, but again, the amount of fun they were all having together was infectious. It ended at 11:30 which is a bit late for me on a school night, but I would have stayed there as long as they kept going!

As a special treat, here are some of the text messages I sent to Jim and my friend Adrienne throughout the show.  That is how shocked I was. And, these texts were sent sober.

“He is currently wearing an apron, purple nylons and no panties!”

“He’s involved in a pig love triangle!”

“It’s like David Bowie procreated with Prince.”

“Crazy shit is going on!”

“It’s made of people!”

“I’m pretty sure Nacho Libre is playing the violin…”

Are you headed to Amsterdam?

This is going to be a marathon series of posts.  So much to say, so much to say.

I’ll start with the rather entertaining antics I witnessed on my flight from Seattle to Amsterdam.  

An ancient woman is wheeled on, around the neck pillow thingy firmly in place.  She is sitting in the very front row of coach, so we all know, her purse is going to have to go in the overhead bin. They assure her that they will bring it to her once airborne and place it in the overhead bins above the row in front of me.  She does protest, in a heavy, thick accent…I’m going with Romanian. Just a guess. "I want my purse, why can't I have my purse?"

The couple in front of me is also foreign, judging by their accents and the wife’s heavy influence over both her husband and the flight crew, I’m going with German.  They tell her that her carryon bag, while fitting regulation size, is too big for the overhead space left and that they will have to check it. “NO”. She says. Not rude, not appalling, just damn firm. So the husband and flight crew stick (shove) it with the child flotation devices.

Back to the Ancient Romanian: she is PISSED that she is not only sitting three rows from her purse, but that the window (being right above a wing) does not have a view.  Oh, and she has to go to the bathroom, NOW. So the very well behaved and good sported flight attendant guides her to the bathroom (as her wheelchair is no longer available), which happens to be next to me.  The woman, though using the support of the flight attendant behind her, is pushing the people in front of her (the plane is still boarding), “move, move move.” All in all, most people are just hiding giggles as the woman is quite funny.  As she heads back to her seat (around the neck pillow thingy still hanging on), she is bitching about her view. The kind flight attendant says, “ma’am, there is nothing we can do”. To which AR replies in her thick accent, “NO! NO! I hate Delta and I hate Alaskan, they so mean to me. WHY DO YOU HATE ME?” This goes back in forth until they reseat AR in the center row (major downgrade, BTW). She then screams at her nice flight attendant, “I no listen to you bring me boss!” Enter flight attendant’s superior who is NOT having this. After a few, “you hate old lady” and “ma’am, please lower your voice”, the police are called and the flight crew is removing her carryon baggage.  Enter policeman. “Oh, a policeman! I listen to you, you have job to protect old lady.” “Ma’am, I’m afraid we are going to have to ask you to get off the plane so that we can book you on a later flight in a seat that is more accommodating. “ “WHAT? You policeman, you supposed to protect old lady. WHY DO YOU HATE ME?” Then, and I swear I heard this, she says (near tears), “I already missed my plane once, Alaska hate me too.” I believe I am watching this woman getting escorted off the plane for the second time today!  The police officer eventually coaxes her out of her seat and off the plane. Finally, we can take off.

But not before German wife nudges German husband who hops up and grabs the large carryon from the child size flotation device cabinet and places it where the Ancient Romanians things used to be.

I am left with this question: who on earth allows their mother/grandmother/sister whatever to fly at that age, that distance, with that attitude, alone?

Sip, Sip, Sippin’ on some Sizzurrrp.

Sizzurp, Purple Drank, Roboating, Robotrippin’, whatever you wanna call it, I tried to try it, but I failed miserably.

I was in San Diego this past weekend and I knew there’d be a lot of partying. I wanted to try Chasers, a homeopathic supplement that is supposed to weaken your hang over. It has come to my attention (months and months ago but I just chose to deal with it now) that alcohol makes my head hurt. Not just hurt, but HURT. Like I am in bed, disabled for a solid half a day. And it’s not because I am taking jell-o shots. No. It could be something as minor as a glass of wine. So, my friend at work told me about Chasers which, by the way, worked!

Anyway, as I am in the medicine aisle at the Ocean Beach, CA Rite Aid (where ping pong balls and Solo red cups are displayed together), my friend J says, “do you guys want to do Sizzurp tonight?” This prompts our friend A to say, “Purple drank?” which causes the four of us to dissolve into laughter.  Back up the clock about ten minutes and you’ll see several other laughing fits.  A’s husband B pointing out that they sell disposable vibrators in the condom section (which they do!?), J recommending Cramp 911 to anyone who was listening.  Other gems such as ColdCalm Pellets and Legatrim were also discovered.  Working in the patent and trademark field, I have never come across such catchy names for drugs!

We were going to a house warming party that evening, so we thought it would be pretty funny if we rolled in with a bottle of Robitussin, some Sprite and Jolly Ranchers. You know, see if anyone thought it weird (or cool).  So as we go to make a drink (a real drink), A stealthily unwraps the Robitussin and places it next to the other bottles of booze, you know, as a choice. Then we think, F it, let’s see what this is all about, I mean there IS a rap song about it. So we make drinks (one per pair as we are slightly nervous this was going to make us out of our minds). That shit is disgusting. Like, want to spit it up, disgusting. I tried to get it down but it ended up stranded on the bar table the rest of the evening.  A finished hers, B had two and our party host even had one! As B and Party Host are starting to feel the effects that mixing alcohol and cough syrup can have, we hear a girl telling her friends that she wanted to get the hell out of there. “Why?” says one of her friends, “because these people are creeping me out” she says while motioning to a red faced B. OMG!? Are WE the new “pedophiles”? Are WE the ones who the hosts are quietly wishing to leave? No, our host is toe up on Sizzurp. The next morning, he texts to let us know of his Purple Drank wishes and Robotrippin’ dreams he had all night.

Here’s the kicker: Jim is on his bachelor party trip to Pittsburgh during all of this. His friends from home are wild and crazy.  They are drinking, gambling, golfing headed to the strip club, the whole nine.  He tells his buddies his wife-to-be went “Robotrippin” and they are convinced I am some sort of hardcore tripper.  The next morning I get a call from Jim early and he says, “you really better check on B and A, that shit is no good.”       

Jimism: Would you find it appropriate…

This past spring, Jim and I discovered that our very own neighbor leads an amazing Sunday hike in a different beautiful area of Utah.  I am sad to say we haven’t become regulars, but we’ve had some pretty memorable experiences. In the end of April, we hiked Bells Canyon, and it was treacherous! In fact, we didn’t even make it up to the upper falls area because those of us without snowshoes or cramps couldn’t physically make it up there.  But, we made it to the lower (and more impressive falls) and had a great time.  On this hike, I realized just how attractive Jim found me… 

Armed with nothing but a zip up hoodie, thin hiking pants and Nikes (with ankle socks), you can imagine  my discomfort when the trail started to get really snowy and icy.  Men and women twice my age were flying up the hill with their cramp ons and walking sticks while poor Jim hiked behind me, hands permanently cupping my sliding ass.  No worries, the way down is what I really needed to worry about.  

The afternoon sun made the hike down incredibly slick.  Steve, our neighbor and fearless leader told us to be  careful as a 14 year old kid slipped and hit his head on a rock on this very trail just the weekend before.  He had to be air lifted out.  So, every time I slid (which was a lot) I would say (yell), “I don’t wanna be that kid!” So after a few moments of quiet hiking, Jim says, “OK, hypothetical question here: if you slipped and hit your head and it was obvious that you would die by the time I got out of this canyon and got you some help, and you were laying there, dying…would you find it appropriate that I had sex with you one last time?” He asked this question in such a serious tone, I just about slid on purpose to take him out.

Here’s the kicker: when I told Jim just the other day that I was digging this out of my ‘Jimism’ folder (yes I have one in my Outlook) to post on my blog he said, “yeah but be sure to mention that the deal was that you’d be unconscious”.  My future husband, ladies and gentlemen.

Phoenix, anyone?

Here is my amateur review on last night’s Phoenix concert at In the Venue here in SLC.

In a word, fabulous.  High energy, great crowd connection and they are one of those bands that sound just like, if not better than their album.  They started out with a crowd pleasing Lisztomania, continued with about an hour long set and concluded with an extended version of 1901 as their final encore song.  Right away front man Thomas Mars jumps into the crowd and sings for a few minutes while a bunch of hipsters touch his face and hair…pretty funny actually. 

After a few songs they break into their instrumental North, and Mars decides to take a snooze. He literally lays down, props his head on a speaker and looks like he’s gonna pass out.  At this point I am fairly convinced that the man is on something. The later microphone swing right into his face confirms this. But still, even on autopilot the guy is magnificent.    

The band’s Wikipedia page only lists four member (who were in the front of the stage the whole time), but a drummer they had last night was off the hook.  The amount of brain cells lost as a result of his exaggerated body movements must have been massive.  But the crowd loved it. His name is Thomas Hedlund and he is insane.

Not to be considered out for the count, Mars resurfaces and climbs up on top of a speaker and sings a few versus…I thought he was going to fall off the entire time.  And before we know it, the show is over. 

The encore started out with two slower songs performed by just Mars and guitarist Christian Mazzalai (Everything is Everything and Playground Love).  Then they brought out the rest of the band for the Jamiroquai sounding If I Ever Feel Better and conclude with a crowd surfing, extended version of 1901. Fabulous.   

I should probably give love to opener Neon Indian, a chillwave band whose debut album Psychic Chasms is considered one of the best albums of 2009.  I’ll definitely be downloading that.

An Oldie but Goodie

This is a Jimism original.  The following took place about 4 months after I moved to SLC and in with Jim…

I had been having the nasty tummy and heartburn symptoms again and so I got tested for h. pylori (the bacteria causing this problem the previous year) and it was positive. I went to a specialist to get the medication and she said that the bacteria stays in your system for up to two years after treatment and that the only way to really test if it is causing a problem is a stool sample...have you ever had to give one of these? Cause I walked out of the lab carrying THIS, and I have to “go” in it, refrigerate it and bring it back! Did you know that Jim doesn’t acknowledge that I go number 2? What will this do to our relationship?!

When I got home I told Jim all of this and he was like, "You are NOT putting your poop in our refrigerator". I said this was important for my health and he said this was important for our relationship. I told him it would only be a walnut sized portion and in a bag that was not see through. He told me to do it at work! I said I'd get fired if I put my poop in the work refrigerator! Anyway, I told him to stuff it and he took the dog out to go to the bathroom. He came back with a five pound bag of Molly shit and said, "I'm just going to stick this in the refrigerator, is that ok"? I was cooking so I was yelling at him to get it out of my face and he said, "Please? It’s just a walnut sized portion". So, clearly Jim sees the humor in this awful, awful dilemma and so I think our relationship is safe...until I have to "go".

I've been told I have Vivd Dreams...

I’ve been told I have very vivid dreams compared to the average Joe.  Last night was proof of this.

I am at some sort of camp where we run and hike and bound about gigantic deserted homes (this must have been stirred up by Darcie’s announcement yesterday that she intends on climbing Mt. Everest).  Anyway, at the camp “orientation” I run into two girlfriends from high school who, except for the occasional FB stalking, I don’t talk to anymore.  We try to reignite our friendship but they feel that they should tell me that they think I used to stalk one of them. As in, try to be like her. Their reasoning? I was the yearbook editor senior year (false) and she was the yearbook editor in 8th grade.  Also, I apparently own some of the same clothing. I know, weird, but in my dream world I am overcome with that old familiar feeling of not being in the “in crowd” a teenage girl feels when she is in high school.

So we head out on the day’s activity: a ten mile run through the wilderness broken up by a maze inside a gigantic wooden mansion.  The entire run, I am bombarded with “he said she said” gossip about my apparent feud with the two girls who accused me of stalking.  Then, the day is done, yay! But, despite the fact that we are all over the legal age, no alcohol is allowed in our dorms.  Ugh, this must be the nightmare of hard times passed.  So, Melanie gets the idea (apparently from her college days, which is odd because her college days are going on right now and not in a dorm), that we should hide the bottle of gin (I HATE GIN), in a pizza box and pretend it is a pizza delivery. That would have worked if we hadn’t devised this plan right in front of the RA standing at the entrance.  

The dream gets sort of fuzzy here (it must have been interrupted by my dog Molly’s desperate need to pee at 3:30 this AM), but I know it sort of ends at my Papa’s house in his backyard and he is smoking a Marlboro red…and he doesn’t smoke…   

Party of the year and, a pedophile?

Jim and I successfully pulled off our second annual Fall party on Saturday night.  This year’s theme was “Back to School”.  We were decked out in our Catholic best and feasted on Twinkies and PB&J with the crusts cut off.  I would say we had at least 70 people show up and a fair amount of little back to schoolers, which was good because I went overboard at Michael’s planning for our activity corner.  All in all I would say everyone had a great time.  But, what is a party without a little drama?

Our friend, who will remain nameless was guilted into allowing her weird neighbor accompany her to the party.  Right off the bat I knew this guy was a total D-bag.  He strolls in and puts his motorcycle helmet on top of my refrigerator.  I tell him, “I’ll put that in the guest room for you where everyone else’s things are”.  He replies, “nope it’s fine right here”.  I maintain, “I think it might fall on someone if they were to open the fridge”. He insists. I give up and just wait for him to leave the kitchen before I move it to the guest room.  Throughout the night I hear people wondering who the weird, overly talkative guy is and I just laugh and give our nameless friend shit for bringing such a character.  But then our sweet, 14 year old friend Annie comes into the kitchen and asks me for WHISKEY!  The sound of a record screeching goes off in my head and I say, “what the hell do you want whiskey for? HAVE YOU BEEN DRINKING”? Ok, maybe I had been drinking but that is beside the point. She says no and that “the dude outside is asking for it”. I knew right away who the “dude” was and said to tell him, “hell no I don’t have any whiskey”.  Then I think better of that and decide to go outside and tell him myself and here is what I find: creepy guy (his name has been upgraded from weird to creepy at this point) is sitting at the activity corner table with Annie and three of her 14 year old friends drawing pictures and making them all laugh.  And around them are adults in small circles clearly wondering what this dude is doing.  So our friend T. who is a lawyer decides to find out for herself and basically tells the guy to stop flirting with the 14 year olds and grow up.  Another record screeches.  The girls are clearly embarrassed and leave the backyard.  T. also leaves shortly after.  Then, creepy guy comes up to me and says, “can I talk to you”? Shit. Annie comes back at this point and he snags her too.  Damnit.  He complains about T.'s apparent “character assassination” and then has the nerve to say to me, “I couldn’t find anyone interesting to talk to at your party so I thought I’d talk to these guys”.  We banter back and forth a bit before our friend Tessa says, “hey, isn’t this a back to school party? Everyone gets talked about in high school”! Which makes everyone laugh and seems to diffuse the growing tension between me and creepy guy.  

I could go on but this sums it up.  Shortly after he leaves and as he retrieves his helmet from our guestroom I urge him to drive safe (drinking and driving is a no no but adding a motorcycle is insane) and he says, “thanks, and don’t worry, I won’t tell the cops where I came from”. Classy.

Reason to love SLC #1

They have an awesome GAY PRIDE!

Finding out about and attending the SLC Pride Festival was my #4 top moment of 2009. Seriously, it was, here's the email where my friend Megan asks me and I answer with:

From: Nuckels, Dawn-Marie
Sent: Friday, January 08, 2010 9:32 AM
To: Megan Kerseg
Subject: RE:

That is so cute! What are your top five??

Hmmm, this was easier than I thought, mine are:

1.      Engagement

2.      Buying the house

3.      Dexter

4.      Gay Pride in SLC

5.      Getting accepted into grad school

See the date of the email? 1/8/10, baby. 



That's my hairstylist!



What an amazing day Pride was.  We had just bought our house and invited our (very new) friends over to decorate our bikes with rainbow streamers while drinking mimosas and listening to Abba.  We rode downtown to watch the show and it POURED rain.  We were drenched, the float riding queens were drenched and everyone was having an absolute blast.  I think what makes Salt Lake City's Pride Festival really special is that it isn't easy to be an out gay or lesbian in this state and so those of us who love it, stick together.

Jim with friends Darcie and Josh.