Continued...

The Ever Evolving List of Corinner-Elly's Pet Peeves, Part II.

#11- Nosey people.

If you stand behind me and watch everything I type one more time, I will kill you.

Yah. You read that right.

#12- Stray hair.

I cannot tell you how many times I've gotten into my car and shut the door only to find that I've been painfully immobilized due to strands of hair caught in the process.

But this pet peeve also has a double meaning.
Referring to those pesky little hairs that get caught on your sleeve towards the back of your arm and keep tickling it. Then, as if that weren't bad enough, you can't seem to grab them, no matter how hard you try!

Devilish little Harry Houdini hairs...

#13- Bad grammar.

Just today, I cringed as Dad told me of a fellow temple worker that he had shamelessly tortured upon finding out that he works as an English professor at BYU.

"How was your shift?", the man politely remarked while changing in the locker room.

"We done did gotter' done.", my dad smirked.

I'm sure it was like nails on a chalkboard to that poor guys ears.
I shuddered a little just typing it.

#14- Sporks.

They're neither spoon nor fork.
Practically traitors of silverware-kind!

#15- Ketchup addicts.

Would you like a little scrambled egg with that Ketchup?
French fry? Hashbrown? No?

Maybe you could just drink it straight from the bottle,
save us the hassle.

#16- Disorder.

Good-Golly-Miss-Molly! Push your chair back in!

Is it really so hard to simply return an item to its 'home' when you're done using it? It makes me cry to think of the hours of cleaning time that could be avoided if people would just take care of things as soon as they're done using them.

There is such a thing as 'cleaning as you go'. I am living proof.

#17- Litterers.

See above statement.

Just throw it in the trash can people.
Don't try to convince me that you're doing the homeless peoples of the world a service by leaving your half-eaten snow cone under a park bench.

#18- The word 'like'.

Because it's 'like' so totally 'like' impressive when you can 'like' make a sentence that 'like' describes how completely 'like' clueless you 'like' totally are.

(Yep. That's right. Due to its misuse, you are now required to say "I fancy you." instead of "I like you.". Tough luck.)

#19- Flakes.

Okay. Do NOT invite me to an activity that you won't be attending yourself! It's rude and I hate it!

Plus, me and the two other people that actually showed up will plot your demise.

#20- *Deaf* people.

"Aae?..."

"I said deaf people."

"WHAT?!!"

"Deaf-FFa. Pe-O-ple!"

The real kicker here is that most of the time, they're fakin' it.

If I'm feeling particularly vindictive, I'll test whether or not they really are hard-of-hearing or just habitually say "What?" to everything.

"Tell me what I just said.", I'll demand.

Surprisingly enough, 9 out of 10 times, they can.
No shocker there.

Remove Head From Sphincter, THEN Drive.

Okay, buddy.
Can ya see where the line is?
Can ya see where your car is?

Line... Car. Line... CAR!

Can ya see where your BRAIN is?

Me neither! So pull it out!

*curse word*

(I never say that...)

My brother-in-law has helped me understand that a well-placed 'WENCH!' can go a long, long way.

I really just don't understand. Can ya 'splain it to me?
If, for some reason, you can't visualize your destination between those two pretty white lines and then make it so, you shouldn't have been given a license! I don't care how many tries it takes! Just do it, dang it!

Geez...

What's happened to common sense?
Which reminds me of another irritating thing. No matter how much you love a certain article of clothing, if you wear it everyday it will wear out!

Let's just say that if every time you wear your favorite old hat it requires you to re-wash your hair, something is obviously wrong.

We're not four-year-olds here. We can throw things away, heaven forbid. And don't tell me that you will take it home and wash it! Goodnight.

When my treasures went missing as a child, and it was clearly Mom's doing, I would ask where they had gone and she always used to say, "They went the way of the world."

(Mom! I don't understand metaphors.)

I think I'm going to change to a different strategy with my kids. I think I'll just say, "You can wash a dead animal all you like, but it's still dead!"

That should do the trick.

And now (because I know how you adore my children's activity updates), wah-lah!

Last week, I solely supervised a Art Foam Fun Day EXTRAVAGANZA.

Complete with water slide.

But no, that little area was SO jammed packed. As you can see, I was not expecting that many people to show up for a foam art activity.

Let's face it. I considered sluffing.

 

So I was pleasantly/alarmingly surprised. The kids had the option of making three little animal stick puppets or a creation entirely their own.

Let's just say I had my work cut out for me upon clean-up.
Can we say capital 'M' for 'mess'?

Just pray those little suckers grow up to be responsible adults who know how to park and can throw away old junky clothes.

At least twice and a while.

The Princess and the Peas.

Eureka! I've found it.
The only constant in the known universe.

My dad's magical ability to fix any appliance, no matter how hopelessly mangled it seems.

You see, all you have to do is find an device that simply won't work no matter how much you try, fiddle, curse, diagnose, kick, cry, weep or wail. When all hope is lost and you curse the heavens for your luck, just head inside and find Pops.

Once you've successfully bemoaned your sorry lot in life, wailed over the misfortune of your predicament and utterly convinced him that there is no possible way that it will ever start again, he will follow you to the problem.

As you stand slightly behind him, whimpering softly, he will look the object over, tap it softly and, no fail... it will start instantly.

"And... what was the problem?", he'll question.

There is never an answer, simply the steady beat of a head pounding against the nearest wall.

Such was my lot in life while trying to find staples for one of the trusty ole' red staple guns in the chaos that is our gargage. Apparently, you have to have a certain level of brains to find those little suckers amid the confusion because after endlessly scouring high and low, I couldn't for the life of me locate them.

Rest assured. It took Dad two seconds.

After all that I do. After all that I have done.
It's never enough.

But I have a story for you.
It's called 'Corinner-Elly and the Holiday Weekend'.

Once upon a time, there was a real princess/slave known as Corinner-Elly. She had been invited by an older sister to sleepover for the upcoming holiday weekend.

Due to her innate kindness, she accepted.

Over the course of the next four days, she...

created a headboard that was said to have been inspired by her older sister though, truth be known, she had really thought of first.

Joy was heard throughout the land when no one was accidentally stapled in the process.

arranged various articles in a lovely stripped pink room, the organizational elements in which almost brought her to tears.

admired the new owl themed bedset her sister had purchased for her children while reflecting on the mis-matched hand-me-downs of her childhood.

helped place various sentimental items in logical order upon newing shelving units in the new baby's room while trying not to stare at the lava lamp in a trance-like state.

soothed her niece Lil' when, at various points, she started crying, "I want my Tin-neh!" Which naturally melted her heart.

discovered that one of Lil's favorite dolls, originally meant to be two-dolls-in-one but had, due to unfortunate circumstances, become a two-headed princess, still hadn't been repaired and therefore grabbed a needle and thread. Before long, it was back to normal, good as new.

all while teaching her budding seamstress, 10-year-old niece how to 'pivot at the corner' while sewing slipcovers for Grandma's kitchen window seat pillows.

Sadly, an iron was no where to be found.

Before long, she came to two sad realizations:

A) that her stay was almost over.
-and-
B) no matter how long she might lay out in the sun while her nieces and nephew played on the waterslides, she would never successfully tan.

Thus, the real princess/slave Corinner-Elly reached the end of her happy journey.

She had enjoyed every minute of her holiday weekend while cooking, cleaning and otherwise trying to be generally helpful whilst having ever-so-much-fun helping her sister re-do her upstairs and loving all the family, friends, fireworks, fun and food.

Except for the peas.

The end.

On a 'SH-tick'.

So... False alarm. Fooled ja', didn't I?
I really knew all along that I'd be able to keep my current background...
*heh, heh*

Really.

I was just testin' ya, you know?
Good news is, you passed.

But at least I've been saved from having to make the hardest decision of my life! In case you were wondering, I was going to pick #1. Wait... #2? Ehn. No... #1!

See what I mean? Crisis averted.

To make it up to you I'll, uh... I'll... I'll... um...
Lemme' think.

What To Do When You've Run Out of Ideas:

1. Cry.

2. Remind yourself that it happens to everyone.

3. Remind yourself that you owe everyone nothing.

4. Remind yourself that you're a total weirdo.

5. Eat a cookie.

6. Contemplate whether or not keeping a blog is really worth it.

7. Wonder why you freaked out in the first place?

8. Tell Gem you need a glass of milk, stat.

9. Con her into bringing you one, use blackmail if necessary.

10. Complain that it's not big enough.

11. Dodge a punch to the face.

12. Remind yourself that it happens to everyone, again.

13. Wonder what it all means.

14. Eat a York Peppermint Pattie.

15. Tell yourself it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

16. Eat a Popsicle.

...

Presto! I've got an idear!
Popsicles are a genius invention, man.

Wanna know why?
I'll tell you why.

Because they're on a stick. And as everyone knows (or should discover), everything is better on a stick.

Take for instance, hot dogs.
They're not bad, right? Given, this is dependent on who you ask because, my mom claims she only eats one per year to remind herself how gross they really are.

Yah. Keep tellin' yerself that.

But the point is: hot dog = satisfactory. Corndog = BRILLIANT!
Especially if they're foot-long. Which they're not.

Curse you Disneyland.

But no one says it better than Jose Jalapeno.
(*warning* the puppets occasionally have potty mouths)



But let us not forget the ultimate goodness-on-a-stick: chicken.
Expressly, terriyaki chicken from China Wok. It's yummy-delicious-super-terrific.

What's that you say?
How many foods can possibly be eaten from a stick?

Well, look no further! I will show you.
20 Best/Worst Foods on a Stick

I wanna Spamsicle...

Thus, I have decided my wedding reception will be serving a wide assortment of food items on a stick. Laugh if you wish. It's the right thing to do.

Oh... and sorry for the miscommunication regarding my oober-cute background. It's here to stay, for the present.

To make up for it,
I'll buy you a Popsicle.

Come to Dark Side.

I've decided something. I'm sort of a pessimist.
By 'sort of' I mean 'not really' but it's still fun to pretend.

The way I see it, a pessimist is a just person who has had to sit & listen to too many optimists. Ain't that the truth.

But we've had this conversation before, right?
Why is it so easy to hate persistently happy people?

It seems exhausting to even think about being that perky.

And let's face it, at this point, I'm thinking my shoulder devil must've up 'n strangled my shoulder angel.

Which would explain my favorite joke of late:

Doctor: "I have some bad news and some very bad news."
Patient: "Well, might as well give me the bad news first."
Doctor: "The lab called with your test results. They said you have 24 hours to live."
Patient: "24 HOURS! That's terrible! WHAT could be WORSE? What's the very bad news?"
Doctor: "I've been trying to reach you since yesterday."

BAHAH. I love dark humor.
 
That's another thing. Why am I so attracted to dark things?
You know. Dark meat. Dark chocolate. The Dark Knight.

Does this make me a dark person?

Of course not!
Don't let's by silly. Everyone knows 'da twinneh' is the evil one.

As I've always said,
her badness level is unusually high for a person her size.

But do you want to hear the saddest news ever!
Yesterday, a little link of death appeared on my blog, informing me that my background will disappear July 23rd and to click on the image for more information.

That's tomorrow people!

And just to add insult to injury, the link doesn't even work.
Curse you thecutestblogontheblock.com!

Thanks for nothing, you useless website.

But I will be positive. I will refrain from sending hate mail to their inbox. I'm bigger then that.

Plus, I can't find the address.

So it's up to you my faithful readers! You must help me navigate the confusion that is choosing a new background.

I have narrowed down the plethora of online templates to these four finalists:

#1

I think this one may very well be my favorite. What say ye?

#2

Oh! Such a hard decision. This one just screams Corinner-Elly.

#3

This one doesn't really speak to me.

But hey, just givin' you some options.

#4

Ern... What ta' do, what ta' do?

And now, for the last goodbye.

Wahahahahaha!... :'(
Can you hear TAPS playing?

Really Gets my Goat.

Today, I find myself perpetually annoyed. But in a good way.
The way that proves to be extremely effective in amusing myself.

So, to begin, I must ask that you not take me too seriously.
I promise to do the same for you. Forever and always.

And so, without further ado, I present: *drum roll please*
The Ever Evolving List of Corinner-Elly's Pet Peeves.

Let us begin.

#1- Kissing toothbrushes.

You know what I mean, right?
When your sister's toothbrush is always leaned up against yours, bristles touching?

Is this not like kissing your sister? Gross.

But funny story.
When I was probably, oh, 12 er' so, my older sister was dating a creep named Jimmy. I had recently visited the dentist and was sent home with a brand spankin' new toothbrush which I lovingly placed in the communal bathroom holder.

Little did I know, my Daddy-O (bless his heart) had come in earlier that day searching for something to clean a small mechanical part with and had (he claims innocently) selected what he termed an 'abandoned toothbrush' as his own.

Namely, my older sister's. Identical both in color and form to my own, new... toothbrush.

Thus, my sister and I shared the same toothbrush for several months. Unbeknownst to us.

You'd think consistently finding it wet would have clued me in?...

Eventually, the error was discovered to my un-ending horror.
To make matters worse, my sister thought it everlastingly funny that it was 'almost as if' I had been kissing her boyfriend as well.

*shudder*

So, peoples of the world. Do me a favor.
Buy toothbrush containers with divider holes and keep the toothbrush make-out sessions to a minimum.

'nuf said.

#2- Facebook PDAs.

GAH.
Really people.
Get a virtual room.

#3- Babblers.

There's a reason why thoughts are contained inside our heads.
It's called a personal filter.

Alas, this function must be broken in some people. *cough, mom*

#4- Hypochondriacs.

She was my roommate. And she was insane.
I dub her One Big Over Diagnosis.

Face it. You cannot suffer from Claustrophobia, test anxiety, Restless Leg Syndrome, depression, Nyctophobia, frequent bruising, constant joint pain, extreme motion sickness, inner ear problems, allergies to fruit loops & tomatoes, Acrophobia, Attention Deficit Disorder and a variety of broken bones all at the same time!

You would explode.

#5- Irrelevant comments/sob stories.

Because no one wants to hear your life's story.
Especially me.

#6- Blatant body noises.

If you can make as little sound as possible, please do.
Or just refrain entirely.

#7- Formalities.

If you ask me "What's up?", I will say "The sky and/or ceiling."
If you ask me "How are you?", I will say "Why? You don't care."
If you ask me "Is something the matter?", I will say "Your face."

#8- Scales of 1 to 10.

Whoever came up with this dumb method of measuring appeal should be shot.

It's all so very, very subjective! What's the difference between a seven and an eight? How can you tell if it's really a two not a three? See?

Just say:
A- "I like it."
B- "I don't like it."
-or-
C- "Bug off."

#9- Crumbs.

Have the decency to simply brush the remnants of whatever it is you just concocted into your hand and then into the trash.
It's not that hard.

Really.

#10- Whiners.

Oh boy. *nervous smile*
That's ironic.

CDO. It's Alphabetical.

So... remember how I suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?
Not really but kind of.

But hey, wait-a-sec-unt. What does that even mean?

According to the source of all unverified information (Wikipedia) which I accessed via the ultimate source of all knowledge (Google), OCD (IN case you were wondering) can be defined as:

"An disorder characterized by intrusive thoughts that produce anxiety, by repetitive behaviors aimed at reducing anxiety, or by a combination of such thoughts (obsessions) and behaviors (compulsions). Symptoms may include repetitive hand-washing; extensive hoarding; preoccupation with aggressive impulses or with particular religious beliefs; aversion to odd numbers; and nervous habits, such as opening a door and closing it a certain number of times before one enters or leaves a room. These symptoms can be alienating and time-consuming, and often cause severe emotional and economic loss. The acts of those who have OCD may appear paranoid and come across to others as psychotic. However, OCD sufferers generally recognize their thoughts and subsequent actions as irrational, and they may become further distressed by this realization."

Hold the phone... now that's just creepy.
Have they been watching me?

Psh!... I'm just joshin' ya.
(Which reminds me. Who is Josh and what did he do to earn this reputation?)

That doesn't sound like me, right?
Come on. I don't really have strange thoughts. That often...

And I am never repetitively redundant.

Except for, you know, straightening things to 90° angles.
Wiping dust specks from various surfaces.
Checking Hotmail, then Blogger, then Gmail, then Facebook.
In that order...

Okay, fine! But at least I don't have an aversion to odd numbers! That's something at least!

 

The great thing about kids is they don't care how much of a whack job you are! I'm living proof.

This is why I was willing to spend several hours last week (along with my ever faithful boss) filling water balloons. And I didn't even get very upset when they kept popping in my face.

Together, we filled four of these 5-gallon ice cream buckets, a whopping total of 150 aqua bombs. I think I deserve an award. And... the check?

I hauled two of the containers over to the designated area, along with various other water toys and treats, with the help of a moving dolly. It took all of two seconds before they were gone.

Suddenly, there were twenty kids closing in, staring me down with those Bambi eyes.

"Don't worry, don't worry." I assured them, "I'll go grab the re-enforcements from the office."

Walking back, I once again reflected on how cool my job really is. Little did I know that the entirety of my day would consist of water balloons, Otter Pops and ice-cream cones.
Yah. You read that right.

"Hey look!" they all screamed upon my return, "The lady's back!"

It pretty much made my day.

And you know what? I didn't even obsess about picking up all of those teensy-weensy balloon shards.

You can applaud later.

I'll Pot Yer' Gut!

Sometimes, I don't understand people.
Such as: my brothers, father and every other man that was ever born throughout the ions of time.

Oh, and Michael Jackson.
But that's beside the point.

This confusion is usually wide-spread but the most recent puzzlement revolves around boys and their guns. For instance, last week I updated my Facebook status. It read:

"Corin Haymore doesn't think men understand the ecstasy that comes from buying a new purse and then transitioning all of the essentials from the old to the new. Well... MOST men... :P But let's not go there."

This, of course, was in reference to males (hopefully few in number) who have no qualms with flaunting their femininity. Which reminds me of this: (skip to about 6:20 or so.)



It takes a very secure man to walk like that.

And thus, when the first comment (made by a 'real' man, of course) came less than three minutes later, it naturally referenced ammunition.

"Sure we do!" it exclaimed, "We feel the same thing when we shoot stuff with high powered or automatic weapons."

Soon came the addition, "You don't have to be a man to have fun shootin' stuff."

"Somehow," I ventured, "We've gone off topic..."

See what I mean?
What is this obsession with weaponry?

Literally two days later, an unusually small portion of the fam' (yet still massive by some accounts) was splayed across various couches in living room, softly moaning after the evening's meal. Inevitably, killing woodland critters came up.

"When we gonna go out n' shoot some potguts?", my Dad offered, then proceeded to relate a story  of a magical place where you can sit atop a hill, lazily perched in the shade, and 'pop' ground squirrels by the dozens. A veritable real life whack-a-mole.

No respect for the sanctity of life, I tell ya.

"I'll never understand why boys take so much pleasure in killing completely innocent creatures.", I muttered to Candy, who was conveniently seated next to me.

Unfortunately, somehow my dad overheard this remark.

"Do you KNOW how many of those things are out there?!!" he demanded intently, "Overpopulation is a real problem, which we will only be helping."

"Likely excuse." I objected, eyes rolling.

Suddenly, the room exploded in a flurry of heated debate.

"What?!!" I charged, "You can't tell me that every time you want to shoot something, suddenly those animals are part of some over-population crisis that must be solved by a bunch of hill-billies with rifles. Do you have any proof that such a scientific measure has been taken to even calculate their numbers?"

The conversation proceeded swiftly, during which, all of the pro-hunters tried to convince me of their deportment.

"I just don't think it's right to kill something, that you don't mean to eat, all for the sake of 'fun'.", I added decidedly.

"Oh, so then you've never ever swatted a fly in your entire life?", they jeered.

"That isn't even close to what I mean," I shot back, "and that is the worst argument I've ever heard!"

Naturally, being Haymore men, this was interpreted to mean they had won the conversation. Thus, they began settling back into the furniture, smiling smugly. Poor deluded souls.

How are we even related?

Why can't they channel their energies towards more creative endeavors. Like me, see?

My boss wasted no time before pointing out the clear contradiction in my creation. She wondered why he appears 'happy' when the quote clearly states that a 'perfect summer day' includes a broken lawn mower.

"Buh-I-dunno?..." I answered exasperatingly, "He's an optimistic appliance?"

I love Utah. Where else can you jam-pack the month of July with fireworks from the 4th all the way to the 24th?

I like the purple and white ones best. In case you were wondering.

That's another thing. Why are men so entranced by fire and explosions? This cannot be good for the public health/safety.

I'm beginning to re-think this logic...
Obviously the testosterone around here has a mind of its own.

The 'Spit'ting Image of Nasty

Spitting is the most disgusting habit on the whole dang planet.

I'm not talking about when, while mowing the lawn, a stray bug flies in your mouth and, in the process of doing everything humanly possible to remove it, you end up spewing a bit.

That is completely justified. (I would know.)

And of course I don't include babies and their adorable drooly little selves. That's just cute.

I'm talking about greasy teenagers who hack a loogie in the hall on their way to gym. About drawling hicks who persist in spattering the ground with their nasty habit and the filthy side effects of chew tobacco. Of baggy-bum-boys who think it's 'cool' or 'tough' to splutter every step of their life.

And don't tell me that you have an overactive salivary gland! What a lame excuse.

Even cartoon characters can't pull it off without making me cringe.



No one likes you Gaston! Don't let them fool you.
I don't care how 'especially good at expectorating' you are.

Gah.
Makes me spit to think of all the spitting going on 'round here.
-or-
I'm so mad that I could spit nails!

Take your pick.

Last week, I spent two hours one morning making four quadruple batches (yep, that's enough for 40 kids plus some) of play dough at work. I love my job. :)

P.S. Blue food coloring stains fingers. ---> Learned the hard way.

The number of play dough balls came out exactly even with the number of kids, so that was quite serendipitous.

It was fun to teach all those youngsters my favorite play dough shapes like rolling the whole piece into a long snake then spiraling it into a swirly. Or taking half of the mass and forming it into a little bird's nest then rolling the remaining pieces into tiny eggs that sit inside.

*sigh* Such reminiscent moments.

After all, who needs all those new-fangled contraptions? You don't need any to have fun.

Use some imagination!

Make a bird foot.
Some traffic cones.
A rubber chicken.

...and if all else fails...

A projectile to hurl at the nearest spitter.

Baby Steps

Back by popular demand, today I will be introducing 'Things to Fear', part II. To begin, allow me to introduce Exhibit A:
one of the latest Savage Chickens comics.

Ya see? So many, many things to be concerned about.
My nightmares are starting to multiply.

And I haven't even mentioned Exhibit B:
Bob Wiley & Dr. Leo Marvin from one of the most hilarious movies ever made--> What About Bob?. *Excuse the Tourette's.*



Such words of wisdom.
My new philosophy: "If I fake it, then I don't have it."

I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful...

But in all seriousness.
I recently discovered that I have developed a new and completely validated worry.

I live in constant fear of running over a kitten.

I'm sure you can relate. One minute, you're drivin' along, mindin' your own business and then all of a sudden, *gulp* you hit a small speed bump with fur.

Mind you, I've never personally experienced such horrors (unless you count that kamikaze pheasant that flew into my passenger side door out of nowhere).

Or that poor little sparrow that I may-or-may-not have accidentally clothes-lined in an effort to swerve out of his path...

But even imagining something so gruesome is enough!

Imagine. Could there possibly be anything more dramatic?
I mean, a kitten! One of God's most adorable creations. A kitten never did anything to you! How can a person ever come to terms with life after mowing down something so entirely innocent and completely undeserving of such a fate?...

That's right! I'm talking to the monster's who ran down Cheeto, Frito and poor little Josephine-Tangerine. MURDERERS!

I hope that, one day, while trying to cross the street in the dead of night, you are shown the same courtesy that you have shown them.

Now they're in kitty heaven...

Sidenote: rest assured, my new philosophy (*see above*) won't help out much when it comes to my new and completely validated worry.

I have no intentions of proving that theory.

But It's My Burf-Day!

Well. What's done is done.
I have now reached the ripe old age of twenty-one.

But don't cry for me Argentina. I had the bestest b-day eva! (Aside from being asked 50 billion times if I was headed to Vegas and warned a similar amount regarding drunk driving.)

Cool it people. I can't even chew gum & walk at the same time.

Upon being asked what I wanted to do this year, my original thoughts included Lagoon, inevitable motion sickness and foot-long corn dogs. (In that order, preferably.)

But, sadly, due to a poor sibling population and a lack of available friends (what the heck, friends whatsoever), I was forced to research an alternate course of action.

It's not right for a woman to read.
Soon she starts getting ideas and thinking...

And thus, a PLAN was hatched!
Being the big nerd that I am, I compiled a list of local museums in the Salt Lake area with the help of my very good friend, Google Maps. He and I plotted a course and scheduled the itinerary for my big adventure.

Yes. You read that right.
For my 21st birthday, I went on a Museum-Trip-O-Awesomeness.

I never said that I was normal.

I blame this propensity towards the preservation of history on my mom. Who, unsurprisingly, has noticed that she provides an exceedingly large amount of content for my blog fodder.
Lucky duck.

Growing up, we never had cable and therefore, I was forced to watch unhealthy amounts of Antiques Roadshow, Nova, National Geographic, Nature and other such wholesome programming on the standard antenna channels. When I did move out and finally basked for the first time in the glory of cable, to my chagrin, I was drawn to the same types of shows. *curse you mother!*

 So now, I must admit, when I think of the world's greatest road trip, I picture traveling to the country's tastiest hot dog/corn dog shacks while visiting all of the ghost towns of the old west and stopping at every museum/gala/expose along the way.

Doesn't that sound wonderful? ... Never mind.
Only a select few share my vision.

And they have yet to be found.

The first birthday stop (other than McDonald's) was the Museum of Nat-ural History. *wink* Mom, Gem n' I meandered through the bug, geology, anthropology, etc. exhibits until we stumbled upon THIS.

Isn't he *beautiful*? Look at his cute little face. So full of character.
I told Gem I wanted him for a pet.
She asked if I liked my arms attached to my body.

And then, as if the very world were to explode from cuteness, I saw this adorable little fella'. Don't you just want to pet him all over? *sigh*

What I wouldn't give to have lived during the Mesozoic Age.
(Which includes my arms, apparently.)

Hehe. This guy just makes me laugh.
He needs a word bubble that says "Whaaa??..."

This one's pretty cute too. :) My partner in 'mocking' crime.
Cuz', let's face it. Making fun of people/things is fun ta do.

Next, was the Art Museum on U of U's campus.
I knew I was in enemy territory as soon at the front desk attendant announced he'd have to charge me double (on a free day none-the-less) after finding out I was a BYU student.

Pfft. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, ya know.

This is my best impression of the oh-so-classic art museum head 'tilt'. (Ah... NOW I see it.)

Is it safe to assume that this may very well be the literal translation of 'butthead'?...

Our touring time was limited, so we finished off the field-trip at the Tracy Aviary and headed back to happy valley for some shoppin' and dinin' with 'da twinneh'. (Leavin' off the 'g' never gets old...) I made off with quite the haul.

I'm still not sure what to think of these. 'Da twinneh' and Gem tricked me into purchasing them even though I'm fairly certain they make my feet look like gleaming-metallic snake skin duck flippers. What the heck. I'd pay (and have paid) $3.00 to see that.

And I can't forget the perfect ending to a perfect day.
Chicken Wings.

I could write sonnets to their glory. (Despite the 'so-called' horror stories surrounding Sizzler's salad bar. I simply couldn't resist.)

So now you know.
In case you haven't purchased my gift yet. I would like:

• A man-eating relative of the pre-historic crocodile.
• A cable subscription.
• A 'world-greatest-roadtrip' fund.
• A life.

Yup. That about sums it up.