In One Ear, Out the Other.

I don't know what my deal is, but my right arm and hand have been numb and tingly all morning. Not the kind of numb and tingly my hands get after clapping or applauding. Itchy too.

The husband says that's never happened to him before. Yet another thing I just assumed was commonplace then come to find out I'm a weirdo for.

I started noticing my arm/hand spazing out last night and chalked it up to sleeping on it funny the night before or something.

Well.. that is what I told myself in my head.
The story the husband was privileged enough to hear was quite dramatic and had to do with almost choking on a kernel of corn when I was all alone at our apartment during lunch which caused me to hyperventilate and almost die. And on top of that, I had the worst case of carpel tunnel the world has ever seen.

His reaction to my diva-tude was to suggest I blend the corn into a sort of corn smoothie in the future. I pointed out a person could still die from aspirating liquid corn.

Not the direction I imagined the conversation would go, but I'll still take it.

I think, instead, I'll just avoid corn in the future.
For several reasons not limited to 1) it gets stuck in your teeth when you try to gnaw it off the cob, 2) when you then resort to cutting it off to avoid #1, small kernel get lodged in your airways and you almost go to the light and 3) some people were simply not made to digest the stuff. (TMI?.. Sorry.)

 

Only problem is, it's pretty hard to completely avoid.

 

But I will endeavor to do my best.
It's a matter of life and death you know.

My family thinks I'm ridiculous when I make such declarations. They say that the sweet corn my pops grows is practically vegetable gold.

And in the past, I'd have to agree. But now I've learned it may look all innocent and delicious, but it's really trying to kill me.

Which is ironic, because we have a lot in common, corn and I.

One time, my sister, Katerina Cupcake, made up a clever little ditty for an 'all about me' poster she helped me create in the third grade. It stated, "Corin is corn with an 'i' not an ear."

Clever, no? Get it? Get it? Because my name has the letter 'i' in it and they're called 'ears' of corn?.. Eye ---> ear. Yes?..

No?... Well never mind.
My arm still feels weird.

Pillow Talk.

I'm having a dispute, of sorts, with the husband.
But it's nothing new. Actually, it's been going on for quite some time now.

And 'dispute' may be a strong word. It's actually more of a 'disagreement'.
One where I'm right and he's wrong.

It began the moment he held my hand for the first time that night watching The River Wild while seated on my infamous white couch. Because, let's be honest, that movie is suspenseful. And it's an unspoken rule that men are required to cuddle females should they become frightened.

The point is, this was when I realized (to my horror) that not everyone shares my love for pillows. Bed pillows, body pillows, throw pillows, chicken pillows.. You name it. (Okay, so that last one isn't actually a pillow, but they are delicious.)

In my mind, pillows are synonymous with happiness.
The husband, however, finds them unnecessary and irritating.

I'm still at a loss for words as to how this is possible?..
The more pillows I find around me, the better the world seems.

Sometimes, I take a running jump into the pile of pillows on our bed and wiggle around until I've created my own little pillow cave. Leave a small opening for the remote signal to pass through, and I could stay there for days.

But as soon as the husband comes in, he feels the need to push them all off in disgust. Huffing in disdain as if they were all tiny porcupines, intent on ruining his life.

Thus, my exclamations of excitement..

turn to demands for pillow tolerance.

To be fair, I have tried to decrease the steady influx of new pillows, by simply refashioning the one's we have should the need arise.

But I still hold that no one's ever died from having too many pillows.
Except for my close call that one time.. but it doesn't count.

Before I Kick the Bucket.

I was organizing my Hotmail inbox today (Yes, email organization can and SHOULD be a top priority. 10,000 undeleted emails in your junk folder is unacceptable people.) and came across a bucket list draft that I created a year ago tomorrow.

Funny how things resurface like that.

And also spooky..

Needless to say, I was surprised at how many I'd accomplished in such a short period of time. And because I want to remember what  I've done and also keep track of what I want to do in the future, I'm going to post the entire thing. That way, you can hold me to my word.

And also mock me for the silly things I consider meaningful.

So here it is, my life's ambition.

Or at least part of it.

Aside from my newest goal: to spend an entire day in my pajamas locked up in my apartment watching old musicals and eating take-out.

#1 Visit an honest-to-goodness ghost town.

Okay, so I've 'kind of' done this, because I've been to Grafton, UT which is actually pretty legit. My nephew ate some of the dirt at the cemetery which probably explains a lot about the kid, but I digress. The point is, I want to visit some more. Like a lot more.

#2 Go to Lagoon.

Up until this summer, I had never been to Lagoon. I know, I know. You can stop gaping now. I was a homebody who felt ill at the thought of traveling more than twenty miles away from her mother all throughout high school and a portion of college, okay!? Just know that I've been. And LOVED it.

#3 Skydive?...

The delusional Corinner-Elly must have written this in a moment of extreme craziness, but alas. What's typed is typed. Sounds like a great idea considering how much I love being airsick and heights...

#4 See Paris.

I came SO CLOSE to crossing this one off the list. It's still kind of a sore spot. I go all the way to Europe for an entire month and miss out on the one place I really wanted to see. Mark my words, this will happen. Someday.

#5 Visit famous corndog stands.

I knew you were waiting for a reference to either corndogs or bacon. Well here it is. Let it be known that I am addicted to them. So much so, that last night during our pillow talk, I told the husband, "If my love were a corndog, it would be a foot-long." Judge me if you will.

#6 Learn to play the piano again.

Don't tell my mother, but quitting piano lessons was a big mistake. And I regret it. Future children: don't give up no matter how much you hate counting!! And hiding behind the furniture when I call you to come practice will not work. I invented that trick.

#7 See an opera.

 What other chance will I have to wear my fancy opera-ish clothes?..

#8 Buy a new car.

As much as I love driving a vehicle that was brand new when I was four-years-old, I hope to eventually earn an upgrade. Please oh please make it soon.

#9 Try to water ski/wake board.

You see, I write this as I'm comfortably seated at my dry office chair, but when it comes down to it, being pulled behind a speeding watercraft in the hopes that I don't biff fantastically and skip across the frigid water like a skipping stone doesn't really appeal to me, per say.

#10 Shoot a rifle.

Completed!! Or at least, I think completed?.. All I know is that I shot a really loud, long gun thingy with the husband and his cousins one time. My real ambition should probably be 'learn how to decipher what a rifle is/looks like'.

#11 See New York.

I want to know if it's really like it is in the movies. Because I hear there are, like, thirty Ray's Pizzas and they all claim to be the original. But the real one's on 11th. And if you see a sign that says "Peep Show", that doesn't mean that they're letting you look at the new toys before Christmas.

#12 Go on a cruise.

I hope (fingers crossed) to have this one completed in December. When planning our honeymoon, the husband said he'd rather take one in the winter months, when a getaway to warmer weather is more appreciated. So I'm holding him to his word.

#13 Get married :P.

What a fickle thing fate is. I fully expected this to be the LAST thing I checked off my list. And here I sit, married. For almost two months. Curiouser and curiouser.

#14 Have twins.

I don't care what you say, I do. Being a twin is the greatest thing ever. Second only, according to my mom, to having twins yourself. I've also convinced the husband that it wouldn't be so bad (Score!). He, however, draws the line at triplets. I then explained that it's actually up to him...

#15 Own a small business.

We're talking comparable to an Etsy shop here. Anything bigger takes a lot of initiative and personal motivation. Two things I had when deciding to graduate with an interior design emphasis. I've since realized that I'd rather not be the boss. For the most part.

#16 Hike a mountain.

Okay, someone must have really hacked my list, because this sounds like something I'd never say in a thousand-million-bajillion years. So stop trying to be a hero, self, because this ain't going to happen. At least not willingly.

#17 Eat something exotic.

Up until recently, I considered 'elk' to be exotic. But you'll be happy to hear that I've since expanded my tastes to baby octopuses and buffalo meat. Applaud now.

#18 Record a song.

I've always found it fascinating to contemplate whether or not singers actually know what they sound like to everyone else. Because the voice I hear inside my head is certainly not the same one I hear in video recordings. (Am I really that whiny?..)

#19 Sew a wedding dress.

Okay, so I chickened out on this one. But I did make my wedding cake?.. And we all know how well that turned out.

#20 Learn to drive a stick shift.

It's a dying art. And I just know someday I'll be in a situation where it will be required and I will be endlessly embarrassed.. Who's offering to be my instructor?

#21 Have a 'Chopped' competition.

The husband and I love that show. We're practically professional food critics by now. So one of these days, we're going to organize a massive group date where each couple is given three or four ingredients and told to create a tasty and original masterpiece. We're going to school the competition. 

#22 Spend an entire day at Epcot.

I've only been there once, and our time was hurried. But it was seriously amazing! I want to just meander from country to country and soak in every tiny detail. Tasting all the delicious food wouldn't be too bad either.

#23 Milk a cow.

I'm convinced that I'd get it my first try. It can't be that difficult, can it?

#24 Go on a motorcycle ride.

No, husband, this does NOT give you permission to purchase one. I'd rather be unfulfilled and alive than fulfilled and dead. (And technically I did ride my brother's bullet bike when I was like seven, so mission completed.)

#25 Have at least 100 blog followers.

Hint, hint. Spread the word.

#26 Use a bidet.

Call me crazy, but I'm extremely intrigued.

#27 Learn origami.

Or at least how to make a decent paper airplane.

#28 Pick blueberries.

Preferably in a sun dress with matching hat and basket. There should probably be a kitten pouncing around my feet as well. Why not include a little theatrics?..

#29 Be on TV.

This should be completed on September 11th with the DVD release of The Last Eagle Scout. I was an extra and it was epic. Meaning: it took freaking forever and we hardly did anything. But there was tasty food and silly boys for company. And also, production lasts a long time.

#30 Ride a horse carriage around Temple Square.

Don't judge. I know it's ridiculous and touristy, but it's been on every bucket list I've ever made since I was five. I know full and well, the moment I do, I'll wish I hadn't and spend the whole ride feeling silly, but the appeal is still there. For some strange reason.

#31 Dive head first off a cliff.

I saved this one for last. Because it is how I will die.

Probably.

That is, unless some other hairbrained idea I include in my ill-fated bucket list doesn't kill me off first.

Sick & Tired.

What marriage has taught me so far:
cuddling with your BF is one thing, but sleeping with your husband is another.

Cuddling with your BF is all about feeling safe and loved and slightly rebellious, because it's past midnight and he's sound asleep on your 'BYU approved' couch.

Sleeping with your husband is all about whose elbow is in whose eye, who's clinging to the edge, who's being a bed-hog and who's about to kill whom.

I learned this a few nights ago after feeling the covers being slowly pulled off my body. I rolled over to see the husband, sleeping soundly, wad them up into a ball and hug them like a giant teddy bear.

I mean, what is a girl to do in this situation?..
I couldn't just rip them back.. for several reasons.

The two most prominent of which being that he has the upper-body strength of a gorilla, and he looked so gosh-darn adorable with that boyish smile on his sleeping face.

You see, the problem is that we both see our sleeping situation very differently.
I think that, seeing as we sleep on a 'queen'-sized bed, the queen in this relationship should call the shots. (Keep in mind that I am a fair and benevolent ruler.)

He thinks that it's like this:

When it should actually be like this:

And it doesn't help that we both prefer to sleep on our stomachs with one arm under the pillow, the other hand nestled by the face, one leg bent in slightly and the other foot sticking out from under the covers for temperature control.

It's been unanimously decreed the only and best way to sleep.

However, it creates problems when it becomes a night-long joust over who gets the prime knee position, who gets to sprawl their arm across no man's land and who is knotting up the covers in an unconscious attempt to get a leg free.

Things would be so much easier if we both slept on our sides in the perfect spooning position and never moved...

I mean, I hardly move at all, but the husband does.

He openly admits to waking up sometimes with his head at the foot of the bed and his feet on the pillow.

I haven't actually witnessed this first-hand, but I'm preparing myself to.

And it REALLY doesn't help that I've had a cold for the past three days.

Because, let's face it, there's no such thing as blowing your nose 'quietly' and feeling like their head is about to explode makes some wives cranky.

Of course, the pros outweigh the cons.

Sleeping with your husband means you always have a personal heater.

It means never feeling lonely or scared of what might be in the dark.

It means waking up to a kiss on the forehead and a squeeze of the hand.

And if worst came to worst, it means there's always someone there to bludgeon the bad guys with the axe handle that's hidden in closet. Hypothetically speaking.. of course..

But probably what marriage has taught me most, so far, is that it's possible to love someone more than you love a perfect night's sleep. And that stapling the covers to my side of the bed is becoming a very plausible option.

"I Do" & Something Blue.

Only three days left, people. THREE. DAYS.
My parents' house has been invaded by two out-of-state sisters and their combined eight children. Needless to say, craziness abounds.

But it's my favorite kind of craziness.

I watched yesterday as my nephews woke up Gem by using a small toy ball-popper to blow air in her face while simultaneously tickling her feet.
It was precious.

I mean, I am in no sense of the word a morning person, but I can't think of a better way to wake up than by being ambushed by two giggling youngsters.

Typically, getting ready for the day is a monotonous task. But today, before I had even showered, I had convinced my 4-year-old niece that the blue whitening strips I had applied to my teeth immediately after waking up were actually my real teeth, which inexplainably turned blue every morning. She nodded back, entranced and wide-eyed.

Moments like this are my favorite.
I love hearing little voices everywhere I go.

However, I do not love answering the same questions surrounding the wedding over and over. Therefore, to save time and sanity, I will give you a quick run-down. And hopeful dispell future repetative redundancy.

My name is Corin Haymore.
I am marrying my fiance, Daniel E. Nay, on June 30th at 11 AM.
The 'E' stands for Elonzo. (Not to be confused with 'Alfonso'. Don't worry, it happens to the best of us.)
The sealing will take place in the Mount Timpanogos Temple.
I am NOT nervous. Just excited.
Contrary to my niece's belief, babies are not included. Yet.
Immediately following the ceremony, there will be pictures.
All you need to do is stand and look pretty. Smiling is preferrable.
Yes I know it is June. Yes I know it's hot.
It'll be fast, I promise.
Just count your blessings that you won't be wearing a heavy, corsetted dress.
Beautiful, mind you, but restricting.
Stop worrying about posing and rules and schedules. Everything will work out.
Then there will be a luncheon.
It will be in a chapel.
You will be provided directions.
Stop hyperventilating.
Once you're full and satisfied, you can disappear. For approximately 4 hours.
In the meantime, we will be taking bridals & groomals. (Yes, it's a word.)
And making sure that everything is ready for the reception.
I may try to fit in a short nap, but I'm guessing it's unlikely.
The fiance has other ideas on how to use the time..
Don't read into that.
At six sharp, family photos will be taken at the reception site.
As well as other clever arrangements. Thank you Pinterest.
Then you will all come and see me!! Hopefully.
A pleasant assortment of refreshments will be served.
And peacock feathers will abound.
You'll know you're there when you see the Italian lights.
Once again, I realize it's June.
And that it get dark much later.
Thank you for enlightening me for the um-teenth time. (Pun intended.)
They will still look amazing.
I will only be standing in line from 7-8.
Any longer and I will die. Plus, I refuse.
Make sure to sign the guest calender and take a picture of something.
Spell out a Scrabble tile message.
Kiss a baby.
The whole she-bang.
Feel free to stay and eat zebra cake. I don't want leftovers.
(No seriously. I'll have put my blood, sweat and tears into that thing.)

Perhaps even catch a cash bouquet?..
And send us off in a blaze of glory. Or something like that.
We will be spending the first night at the Anniversary Inn in Salt Lake.
In the Sultan's Palace.
The bed is on the back of two elephants. It's legit.
After that, we'll roadtrip through Jackson Hole and Yellowstone.
Staying in hotels, every night.
You really think I'd spend my honeymoon in a tent?..
I mean really, people.
We even get to meet up with the fiance's missionary brother.
And take him to dinner and a rodeo in Red Lodge.
Actually, he'll be 'the husband' by then. But you know what I mean.
I'm excited.
And the rest is history.

Or at least it will be.
Once the present is over and the future is behind us. Confusing much?

Just pray that I don't lose my sanity before then.
Or wake up with blue teeth.

And that people don't suck the very life from my body with a barrage of useless questions and miniscule/unimportant wedding details.
But mostly the blue teeth thing.

'Drawn'-out.

I love seeing time lapses of artists making their artwork. So today I thought I'd share a little play-by-play of some of the pieces I've done recently.

Unfortunately for you, I haven't the time nor equipment to sit down and film myself creating a drawing in one attempt. My method is to work for as long as I possibly can before I go eraser-crazy then come back later.

I could potentially come back to the same piece an infinite amount of times, because it never seems quite right once I've given my brain a break from staring at it. But those are the times when I just have to call it 'good enough for who it's for' and finish the dang thing.

Speaking of 'who it's for', this first example I did for my former roomie, (sad day..) Lacy-Hacy's, upcoming wedding. Instead of a guest book, she's going to have people leave a thumbprint 'leaf' on this tree then sign their names very petitley beneath it.

You can thank Pinterest for her ingenuity.

This is how it started out. Looking EXACTLY like the picture reference she had given me. However, I was quickly informed that I was doing it 'all wrong' and that she wanted it to be 'less short and squatty' and with a 'less perfect heart'.

Forgive me for liking perfection, Bridezilla.

Once I had lengthened the tree and imagined more branches, (no small feat for me, I hardly ever draw from my imagination) I began shading in dimension with a brown soft lead pencil.

It was then that Lacy-Hacy informed me that maybe she did want her and her fiance's names included in the drawing. Did I mention that was why the tree was 'short and squatty' to begin with?? To allow room for said features?..

Have I also mentioned that she's somewhat of an indecisive Bridezilla?
Yes? Moving on then.

After similar indecisiveness surrounding what she would like the birds to look in her tree, I threatened to make them look like this:

Needless to say, she wasn't amused and increased the level of 'testiness' in our correspondence.

When she finally sent me an image of what she wanted, I penciled in two little bluebirds representing her and lover-boy. Naturally, one had a larger beak than the other. I'm not saying who it represents.

As if that weren't hassle enough, it took me another seven years to find out what font she wanted me to replicate for their names. Did I mention that this commission was pro bono?

Or that I no longer have any hair from pulling it out?..

But it was all worth it in the end upon seeing her satisfaction with the finished product. And my free-hand calligraphy turned out amazingly well, if I do say so myself.

My second example is a drawing I did for my and the fiance's parents last Christmas. I probably should have taken a picture of the rough sketch before I added any shading, but in all honesty, rough sketches of humans are often quite scary. I'm talking super hideous here people.

Be grateful that we live in a 3-dimensional world.

The only thing that prompted me to document the beginnings of my drawing at all was a need for validation. Luckily, 'da twinneh' recognized who I was trying to draw, albeit over poor quality picture message.

And so I plodded along, hoping that I wasn't horribly mangling President Monson's loving features too much.

That's the problem with drawing a person you (and possibly a LOT of others) know. There's always something wrong with the depiction, because everyone looks at different things in a face.

Gratefully, I've only gotten an overwhelmingly positive response about the image, because I was a little worried there.

It was two months in the making, but I finally finished it. And this time round, I decided to let Photoshop add the wording in for me.

Then it was packaged, wrapped and gifted. And now hangs happily in both homes, not to mention Lacy-Hacy's bedroom, her parents' house and her soon to be in-law's house.

So there you have it.

Creating artwork is fun when you stop second-guessing yourself and aren't collaborating with a semi-unresponsive/indecisive bride.

It's also fun when you get paid.

But then again, I wouldn't know anything about that.

And so leads the life of Corinner-Elly.

Word to the Wise.

I'm bummed.

A week from today, I'm having my wisdom teeth out.

And will become wisdom-less.

They told me that I'd have enough room. That they'd all come up fine.

But apparently, they lied.

I'm bummed for two reasons:

A) Using 'I still have all my wisdom teeth.' for the game Two Truths and a Lie will no longer be possible.

-AND-

B) I have a large distaste for needles.

And I hear they are kind of a requirement for said surgery unless you would like to feel every crack and tug on laughing gas.

Granted, without pain but disturbing none-the-less.

Not to mention that I've never had laughing gas and therefore have yet to experience how it affects me personally. Come to think of it, I've never had an IV either.. So this should be fun.

Why am I willingly undergoing such procedure, you might ask?..

Oh, just because one of my wisdom teeth decided to be lame and fuse to my jaw before coming up completely. (And because I'm taking advantage of my parents' dental insurance while I still can. Love you Mom and Pops!)

Nice one, wisdom tooth. Real mature.

What did the other three, happily emerged wisdom teeth ever do to you??
Now they're all going to have to come out. And it's all your fault.

I cringe to think of the pain I endured while teething the first three. (In case you were wondering, 'teething' is equivalent to 'birthing' in the dental sense.) And I don't care that my sisters laughed at me when I complained at the time because it hurt! Sarah feels my pain.

And if I die from the terror of having a needle stabbed into my arm or say something in a half-drugged stupor that I would be horrified to reveal, I'll never forgive you.

They may call you wise, but I know the truth.
You are anything but wise. Dare I say it, foolish.

Because four gaping holes in the back of my head is not my idea of a pleasant weekend. No it is not.

Beyond Words.

For my good buddy Hamm's bachelorette party, Lacy-Hacy and I videoed her fiance answering several questions we had prepared about her.

The movie turned out entirely adorable (in case you were wondering) most likely due to the fact that he was holding a pink ice-cream scoop as a microphone and we asked him questions such as: "What kind of deodorant does she wear?".

After a moment of confused pondering, his answer was 'Dove?..', fyi.
I asked the BF what he would have said, and he answered the exact same thing.

Apparently that is the only female brand known to the masculine world.

The whole point of this story being, as we were conducting the question & answer session, we couldn't help but comment here and there in response to his.. responses.

And the real point of the point of this story is that, at one point, I was heard in the background mumbling, "Pinch of sugar? Spoonful of salt? Take it with a pinch... er... grain of sugar?.."

You see, I have a problem.
Namely, the inexplicable ability to ruin any phrase.

I try to talk and words come out, but they're usually a jumble of several different phrases. People generally seem to understand what I'm trying to say, but I have a feeling it's just a polite gesture to pretend I'm making sense.

For instance, bet you never knew that to become 'dirt-tired' somehow means to be 'dog-tired' and 'dirt-poor' combined.

Used that one the other day. It was great.

Or, perhaps, 'count your stars'. I think that's when 'count your blessings' and 'thank your lucky stars' have a word baby.

I was especially aware of this ability, I mean, curse when I was playing a word game with my peers where each player was asked to write down an action phrase and put it in a bucket. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I chose 'take a tub'.

*face palm*

Take a tub?.. Take a TUB!??..
Um.. how about 'take a bath' or 'get in the tub'?

Oh no-no. Not me.
I was quickly singled out for my poor verbiage and ridiculed for its nonsense.

But perhaps the most infamous instance of late was when I tried to correct my roommate Lacy-Hacy's version of the Baby Bottle Pop jingle.

"That's not how it goes..." I insisted, turning around to face her, "It's lip it, dick it, then li..."

*cue Corinner-Elly's horrified face and burst of laughter from all involved*

I meant to say 'lick it, dip it, then lick it again' but true to form, it came out all wrong. Oh so very wrong.

It's certifiable. I'm never going to live that one down. Someone mentions it at least once a week, if not more. And apparently, it never gets old.

I can't help it. I really am cursed.
I try to be normal and use my big girl words.

But it's no use. Someday I'm going to inevitably tell my children to 'comb their bum and wipe their hair'.

I'm consigned to that fact.

'Mark' my Words.

First things first, I am really glad that I am past the teenage acne years.

That being said, today I woke up with the blemish to rue all blemishes.
(Remember how we like that word bestest? It's the least disturbing.)

To avoid being overly graphic, it was not the kind that is easily 'pop-able'.
It is, however, the kind that will hang around for at least five days, causing people to stop looking into your eyes and instead stare trance-like at one specific spot on your face.

Lovely.

My one consolation is that this time it wasn't of the 'third-eye' variety. Meaning, the kind that is perfectly situated between both eyes, like an Indian jewel.

Except way grosser and less exotic.

Mine is more like a beauty mark, located just above the lip and to the side of the nose. (Beauty used here loosely, because the thing's a beast.)

But did you know that beauty marks were particularly highly regarded during the eighteenth century and creating false ones became common, often in fanciful shapes such as hearts or stars?

Interesting concept. Yet somehow I don't think a shamrock sticker on my face will solve any problems...

Why shamrock, you ask?
Because tonight is Corinner-Elly's Annual St. Patty's Day sleepover. The chill'ens are practically 'bursting' with excitement.
(Bad pun?? Sorry.)

So if you see me today, pretend that I'm emulating Marilyn Monroe.
And stop imaging a sparkly green clover on my face.

Major 'Croc'.

Last Friday, I toured the county jail with the BF, Gem, Lacy-Hacy and her sister. It was a pretty craysee experience.

We heard all about security measures, suicide watches, TV dinner style meals, extraditions, bail/bonds, transports and the likes. We also learned why their underwear is dyed brown.

Don't ask.

Needless to say, it's not a happy place.
I aptly re-named it 'Corinner-Elly's Private Hell'.

How people live there baffles me. It appears sterile while feeling completely grimy at the same time. I would do anything and everything in my power to never go back.

Then again, I would do anything and everything not to go in the first place, but you catch my drift.

Regardless, I learned two things for certain:
1) I never want to go to jail. (Breathe a sigh of relief, Mom.)
-AND-
2) Crocs are meant for inmates.

I've always been confused/repulsed by the unexplainable popularity of the rubbery gardening shoes known as 'Crocs'. Why people insist on wearing them in public baffles me.

Actually, why people insist on wearing them at all baffles me.

But after watching several inmates shuffle past in neon orange Crocs, I knew it was a match made in Heaven. I mean, it's almost like a punishment on top of a punishment.

Not only are they locked away for a pre-determined period of time, they're forced to wear one of the most ridiculous clothing items ever made.

Just the humiliation itself would reform me.

So there you have it.
I've solved one of the world's greatest mysteries.

Feel free to thank me in person.
Unless, of course, you happen to be incarcerated at the moment.

You and your Crocs scare me.

Death & Taxes.

The only two things in life that are certain, right?

Well, that and my mom's unexplainable desire to force feed me every food I hate the minute I walk through her door.

I don't know how many times I've told the woman I detest squash, lentil soup and chili, but they seem to be her only offering the minute she sees my face.

"What did you make yourself for dinner?", she'll ask.

"Some broccoli cheddar soup."

"WHAT!!? There was perfectly good lentil soup and chili in the fridge and you made that!??.."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, mom. I hate lentil soup AND chili."

"Why!?? They're delicious!"

"Mom! I don't have to think they're delicious. Not everyone has to like what you like!"

"They would if they loved me..."

And so, I repeat.
Only three things in life are certain: death, taxes and matronly guilt trips.

Thus, I had the inexpressible joy of filing my taxes last night.
First year I've done it entirely on my own.

I mean, I've always been present to show emotional support to my dad when he's helped me these past four years. ('Emotional support' here meaning looking on with a blank stare when he asks me questions that I have absolutely no idea what he's talking about then cowering in fear when he uses his 'stern' voice.)

Either way, it's not an experience I look forward to.

My one consolation is that I usually get a good chunk back, seeing as I've been a full-time student during the fall and winter and therefore only able to work full-time in the summers. This equated to big buck tax returns.

But this year, I was sadly disappointed. Because I earned a full-tuition scholarship my last two semesters, I was sucker-punched in the tax gut.

Why am I being punished for being successful?..

So I guess the old adage is true: life sucks and then you die.
Or more aptly, mothers guilt trip, taxes suck and then you die.

Inspiring, eh?

Earning his Stripes.

Well, it's happened.

I've had one of those "I should blog this" moments again.
A lot sooner than I thought I would, to tell you the truth.

And it was a particularly gooey one too.
Not gooey-peanut butter-gooey.

Gooey-lovey-mushy-gooey.
Regarding the BF.

This sentiment is not usually expressed online in general.
But after he posted a video clip to my Facebook timeline with the caption "I thought you might like this. :)" to which he was *sarcastically* remanded for his inappropriate-ness, I figured what the heck.

He's the bestest, no lies.
Because one time I mentioned I needed a new little sketchbook for my purse, because I'd filled the last one right up. And he listened.

Remember how I posted I have an affinity for all things zebra?..
Well the BF did, because last week, he presented me with this little beauty.

Well... something similar to this little beauty.
An Internet image search replica will have to do for now seeing as I left my camera with the actual notebook in my purse and my purse in my car and my car in the parking lot.

Speaking of which, I hope no one steals it. Meaning my camera.
Or my purse.

And especially not my car, although who knows why they would.

And I really, really hope they don't steal my little zebra sketchbook.
Because I love that little thing.

And the person who gave me it. :)

My Fingers Hurt...

In case you haven't heard, I am now a seamstress for the masses.
A certain aforementioned brother-in-law, known for his zealous teasing tendencies, stopped by my office to drop off a bag of pants that needed hemming.

"Take off a couple inches or so.", he instructed.
"Uh... How much exactly then?...", I questioned concernedly.
"Well, they're 36 and need to be 32. So, four.", he responded.
"Is that how men's pant measurements work?", I replied.
"I dunno.", he shrugged and then proceeded to loudly embarrass me in front of my coworkers.

So this should be interesting. Apparently, he trusts me wholeheartedly. Let's hope that doesn't come back to bite him.

But the real kicker is when he announced that I had 'volunteered' for the job. Not quite how I remember it... In fact, I don't think I've ever volunteered to be anyone's personal slave in my life.

It's just... happened. Over and over again.

Perhaps my favorite stories, involving sewing and servitude, are as follows.

Story #1: My eldest sister, Jenny, frequently requisitions my services for sewing projects. From bedroom drapes to ill-fitting swimwear to baptismal dresses. But the project that most stands out in my mind was when she commissioned I 'help her' create a shower curtain for her father-in-law's new camping trailer.

She provided me the material & dimensions and set me to work. Before long, I delivered the (perfectly, I might add) finished product. Jokingly, she mentioned that her in-law would love her forever for helping him with this small task.

Thinking no more of it, I went on my way. It wasn't until several weeks later that I discovered the truth. Naturally, her father-in-law was grateful. Grateful to HER. The little turkey had taken all of the credit. I'm sure my name hadn't even come up over the course of their pleasantries. Throw me under the bus why don't cha...

Story #2: 'Someone' (who prefers to remain unnamed) apparently learned from story #1 that dishonesty pays off. Because for a subsequent English project, they pawned off two princess dresses and cloaks, made for my nieces, that I had lovingly paid for and slaved over for hours on end as her own work.

And they got an A. AN A.
From my blood, sweat and tears!

Ah... the humanity!

So it all goes to show, Corinner-Elly has been used ill. Very ill.
But I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment in that way. I just can't say 'no'.

Let alone HAIL no.

'Peas' Don't Make me Eat Them.

Due to a lack of inspiration for an entertaining post today, I shall document my favorite and least favorite fruits and vegetables and my love/aversion to them.

Thrilling, I know.
Here's the gist: peas and squash are nasty.
Watermelon, peaches and cherries are delicious.

Peas, or 'little green abominations' as I like to call them, should be banished from off the face of the Earth. Nothing good has ever come from eating a pea, cooked or raw.

They are simply little squishy balls of death.
Determined to ruin my fried rice.

The same with squash. Anything with a stringy consistency should not be eaten. Except for mango. Mangoes are delicious. I guess that the difference is mangoes taste good behind all that stringy-ness. And squash does not.

I have been told that I am crazy for this viewpoint. Hundreds of times, in fact. *cough, mom* That squash, with a little pad of butter and salt/pepper, is delicious and nutritious.

I still hold that anything, given enough butter, can be edible.
But what, pray tell, happens when you don't have enough butter to douse it in?...

No, no. Peas and squash. Do not eat them.
Stick with versatile vegetables like potatoes and green beans.

Watermelon, on the other hand, I could eat everyday for every meal. Especially when it's nice and cold. Every year, I'm sad to see summer come and go for this reason especially.

Why-oh-why can't you last all year watermelon season?

Same with peaches.
Someday, I'm going to have an orchard of peach trees. And I'm going to eat peaches with sugar and milk every morning for breakfast. I am.

Scratch that. I'm going to have an orchard of peach and cherry trees. Don't want to leave my very favoritest fruit out.

Cherry is, by far, my favorite flavor. Everything is better with it.

Cherry pie, Sonic cherry CreamSlush, cherry chapstick, Jergen's cherry-almond lotion. Maraschino cherries, cherry cordials, pretty-please with a cherry on top. You get the idea.

There is nothing that cannot be improved by a cherry. Or two. Or seven.
Actually, I take that back. Peas can not be improved by a cherry on top. Squash either.

Some things are just beyond the magical powers of the cherry.

WTFrick?...

Is it just me, or have common text acronyms such as 'lol' lost their original meaning an/or context?

I mean, for me at least, 'lol' has changed from meaning 'lots of laughter' or 'laughing out loud' to 'I find that slightly amusing'. Of course, LOL still means I'm dying from hilarity, but you get my point.

And why do some people insist on writing in all caps
ALL OF THE TIME?...

Are they literally yelling non-stop? Because that cannot be good for the throat. That or their keyboard is broken, in which case, I'd think they'd refrain from posting comments on Facebook until it was repaired.

Either way, it's annoying.

But it's ridiculous how many text and chat acronyms there are now. I thought I knew most of them until I moved in with Lacy-Hacy.

That girl has introduced me to a great many new things...
My mom is concerned.

One of which being SOL. (Sh** out of luck. Surely, if you're ladylike.)
Am I the only one who had no idea what this means?...

Likewise with SSDD. (Same sh**, different day.)
You can tell she has a favorite swear.

But you can make any phrase into an acronym, really. Don't know why you would want to, it would probably create unnecessary confusion. But still.

For instance, typing IRBAWAWTEAC is surely not as effective as just saying 'I'm really bored at work and want to eat a corndog'. But some people are just addicted, I guess. I figure they figure it's easier to say 'lol' when they have nothing to say than to say nothing at all.

I'm more of a proponent of not saying anything unless you have something worth saying. But I dunno... whatever floats your boat.

In any case,
GTG. TTYL.