Halloween is the second best holiday of the year.  Sadly, I spent it sick in bed unable to feast on the VERY large bowl of Halloween candy I bought for "trick or treaters."  Let's be honest, I knew no one would come (just like last year and that conveniently allowed us to eat every piece that I bought).  I bought the candy for me and I didn't even get to enjoy it on the one day you're allowed to eat as much garbage as you want.  Except Almond Joys, they will always be trash and I will always give them to my dad.  I spent the morning vomiting and laying nauseated in bed only to spend the afternoon at the doctor's office with an unidentified person that reeked of urine.  I seriously considered vomiting in the waiting room to get back at them, but then it made feel bad.  But to be fair, I hate the smell of stale urine more than boogers and I HATE boogers a lot.  You can ask Steve.  The point is that we had to celebrate the day after because I wasn't going to wait an entire year.  I might die and then I'd be mad I missed it.  Just like Sally when the Great Pumpkin never showed up.

Anyway, we decided to carve our pumpkins while listening to the soundtrack from "The Nightmare Before Christmas."  It's become a tradition and why not, it is one of the best movies ever.  I still remember when it came out when I was in  elementary school and my mom said I couldn't see it.  She probably thought it was evil, but she also didn't want us to see Toy Story (I'm convinced it was because of the creepy doll head with Erector set spider legs).  But I ended seeing it at someone else's house and told my dad repeatedly how much I loved it.  And then he bought it.  And we watched it a million times...until he put a limit on how often we could watch it because it was getting out of hand (true story-Lys will confirm its validity).  Now I only watch it every Halloween and Christmas (yes, I consider that self-control).  I tried to convince Steve that he should carve Oogey Boogey to match my Jack Skellington, but the skull is what he chose instead.  He did, however, promise that one day I could have a pumpkin patch (which he will plant for me) so that I can do the whole Halloween Town.  Or at least a good chunk of it.  What about our children carving some of our pumpkins?  Uh, they don't get any.  And a 50% candy tax will be enforced.  Next year I will try to steady my hands and not saw off Jack's eyebrow along with a few of his teeth.

Steve's Trick-or-Treat Skull and the Annual Jack Skellington

Our Cup O' Dirt & Worms

More like the Museum of FUNeral History

Yesterday in honor of Halloween in a couple of weeks we went to the National Museum of Funeral History in Houston. We're talking NATIONAL. Not no silly state or community run Museum of Funeral History. Nothing but the best for us. We went because a friend found it on tripadvisor and it sounded entertaining (by the way its #8 for "things to do" in Houston). And it sure was.

Megan in the Dracula coffin with the little kid Dracula cape

From a Dracula photo op, to learning about embalming, to President Lincoln's hair, to the pope mobile, to a casket in the shape of a huge cheetah, the Houston National Museum of Funeral History has it all. It's really your place to go for all things dead. The Dracula photo op seemed a little irreverent for a funeral museum, but given our immaturity and the museum clerk lady with the thick southern accent telling us to "take all the photos ya like", we just couldn't resist. I'm not a bad Dracula either with my pasty white skin and huge K-9s (seriously I actually had to ask my Dentist to shave them down after my mission because a little kid at Church asked me if I was a vampire, my Dentist of course tried to convince me to keep my fangs because all the girls were into this guy Edward that I had never heard of before, I thought he was lying until I found out that Twilight was actually a thing).

As we were driving home were tired just sort of sitting there in silence. I was just zoning out and trying to pay attention to the road, Megan was of course thinking on more important matters (I love how her mind works, she entertains me). Out of the blue she voiced her feelings, "Isn't it just mocking chickens that we call their bones drumsticks? I mean, it's already degrading enough being a chicken and getting eaten. It's like were saying to them, 'I'm gonna eat you and use your dead carcass and bones to play the drums.' It's kind of like a slap in the face to chickens." I had to laugh and agree, it was well thought out and she was right.

Megan has had some trouble sleeping lately and the doctor prescribed her Ambien. I've been thinking I need to start writing down some of the things she says when she's a little zonked. Last night in her Ambien delirium she told me that I was like a huge whale and she wished that she could blow me up  so that she could be famous on YouTube. Here's a link if you don't know what I'm talking about: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_t44siFyb4

A selection of tasteful coffins for the predeceased

A Fair is a Veritable Smorgasbord

This weekend Steve and I went to the State Fair in Dallas. I know what all you Mormons are thinking, why weren't we watching General Conference? For one, we are sometimes wicked. But really, it was because Steve paid for a hotel room he got a good deal on a month ago and we forgot. You really should not hold us to the high standards of remembering something that happens twice a year when we NEVER remember Fast Sunday until we get to church and everyone talks about how grateful they are to be there. You can identify us as the only people that don't have grumbling stomachs. But I digress.

So the State Fair. I will admit I had very low expectations after attending Utah's state fair for the first time shortly after Steve and I were dating (It was not a good way to impress me). One, their fried food selection sucked. And two (most importantly of all), we ended up at a Boyz to Men concert whose tickets were free. Obviously because no one would pay money to suffer through their terrible love songs. Thank goodness I had the sense in junior high not to listen to them or base my expectations for marriage on their lyrics.

We started off our Saturday at the dog show. The two best parts were the dog that kept stealing frisbees from the trainer (I bet he got spanked afterward for embarrassing him) and the dogs that were supposed to be racing around a track, but instead repeatedly ran away from their owners. How embarrassing to have to chase after your own dog in front of all those people. Your pain, our entertainment. They also had some pig races scheduled, but were not able to see them because Steve needed to be back. It was a shame because they wear RACING OUTFITS while they compete. I was so sad.

However, the fried lunch we ate made up for it. Come to think of it, we may have actually eaten retired race pigs...Anyway, so what I was most excited for at the fair was the fried food. You even can ask my family, if you can fry I will eat it. (My youngest sister often didn't like what I chose for dinner growing up because it was usually deep fried. She is missing out.) Did you know they have country fried BACON?! Yep, true story. We ate an entire order. And maybe some fried oreos....with a possible fried Snickers in there. Go ahead, call us disgusting. I don't really care because my family established this fact years ago and your opinion will do little to change my mind about my food being soaked in grease. (If I am at least in my sixties when my doctor says that I will die if I don't stop eating fried everything-even if it's Steve-I will just accept death. Do I really need to live long enough to have both hips replaced? No, I do not.) You would not believe the stuff they fried: bubble gum, caviar (one thing I will never eat, even fried), salsa, beer and cheesecake. We didn't get the cheesecake because we were trying to exercise self-control.

One of the best parts of the fair was the petting zoo. Again, you may judge away. We can't help it if we enjoy mauling animals with our love. Especially Steve (you can confirm that with my cat). They had zebras, emus, bison and camels. We pet them ALL. They also had ostriches, piglets, kangaroos and PORCUPINES. You couldn't pet any of those, but deep down I was hoping that someone stupid would at least attempt to touch the porcupine. I guess technically you could sort of pet the ostrich, but there were several warning signs not claiming responsibility for "incidents." What a delicate way to say, "If this ostrich behaves like its relatives from The Birds, we will not pay for an ocular transplant." And yet people are dumb enough to try to pet it. A lady told that one bit her two-year old last year. It's so hard not to laugh in people's faces sometimes. I will have to admit that even though I generally love animals I don't always want to show that in the best way. For example, as I was petting the emu I had the urge several times to grab its neck and swing it around. I didn't do it, I just thought about it. I asked Steve later if he also wanted to do that. After he burst out laughing in my face he said no. It was a little awkward after I realized I had shared too much. Although I am sure that some of you out that have also at least thought about it.

"Farmer Mike" - Master Pumpkin Carver

Sculptures made entirely out of butter.  Still unclear about how they came up with that one.

A Day in the Life

I am often surprised at the things children say or that pop out of my mouth while I am substitute teaching (no, I have never swore at them despite what some of you may be thinking but that doesn't mean I don't think it). Sometimes kids are funny and other times you just want to punch them in the face or at least be present when someone else does. These are some of those stories (insert Law and Order GA-GUNG! here).

I meet a lot of different kids from different backgrounds that have some pretty interesting names, but since everyone seems to want their child to have a unique name that's not what's surprising. It's the kids who have outdated names like Harold and Patti. I was teaching in a dual language class this week and occasionally what I'm trying to say in Spanish mixes with what I say in English. One such incident resulting in me calling a first grader "Potty" instead of "Patty." I tried to correct myself and pretend that it hadn't happened, but I think the damage was done.

Sometimes kids are surprised at my age as well as my marital status. These are two real conversations I had this week with the same first grade class:

Student: Are you still in college?

Me: No.

Student: Are you done with college?

Me: Yes.

Student: What?! You still look like you are in high school!

What I am thinking: Says the kid who looks like she belongs in fourth grade. I hope you look old and wrinkly at 30. Maybe I should find it as a compliment, but I don't.

Different Student: Oh, I couldn't tell if you were married.

What I was thinking: Uh, I wrote "Mrs." on the board. Can't you read?

What I really said: Yes, I am.

Student: I couldn't tell because you don't have a diamond on your ring and women who are married have diamonds on top.

Fact: I do have a diamond in my ring. Apparently also a fact: It is not visible to the naked eye.

I also had a dual language job this past week with fifth graders. They each have a writing and reading notebook for class. Not surprisingly there were several who didn't write their names on them or were convinced that someone else had stolen theirs (of course, that didn't happen but kids are too ridiculous to realize that nobody wants your stupid notebook). One that had no name was covered in pictures of Obama and I thought surely someone would remember this belonged to them. One student said, "Oh, it's so-and-so's." He happened to be black and this was his response:

"That ain't mine. Don't be assuming that just cause I'm black that it's my notebook. Geez!" It was kind of funny, but I did feel a little bad that everyone assumed it was his.

On the virtues of PB

This last week we spent Friday afternoon working in a Church welfare Peanut Butter factory in North Houston. It was cool because it was like watching How is it Made. Although more realistically, it was like watching a three minute clip of How is it Made over and over again for five hours. It was great though. Some people say that once you see how something is made it either loses its mystic or becomes too gross to eat it any more, but not so with Peanut Butter. I still love it. The only thing that could have made it better was if it was a Nutella factory...

To the Victor Go the Spoils

Well, I finally won one. Months of groceries at Albertsons and Yahtzee card after Yahtzee card and my dreams finally came true. My prize: one dollar in cash.

I've probably worked harder for this one dollar than any other dollar I've earned in my life. What finally led to my success was the Yahtzee promotion was ending and a sympathetic clerk (whose identity shall be protected to stop the fatcats at Albertsons from firing him) at Albertson's gave us a stack of about 40 yahtzee cards. I guess it was just a numbers game.

I guess my enthusiasm for stupid promotions like this one started when I was young. I was in fourth grade when my friends and I were convinced that by combining our all of our efforts and monopoly pieces, we were going to win something from the McDonald's Monopoly games. It seemed like you could always collect two out of the three pieces for each monopoly, but there was always that one that eluded you. There were always rumors that someone in our class had one of the fabled rare monopoly cards and we would talk about combining our pieces to win whatever ridiculous prize it was: a big screen t.v., some jetskis, or one million dollars. I never seemed to give up my unfounded optimism.

I guess some part of me is still that naive little fourth grader, waiting for his big break of some sweet awesome McDonald's jetskis.

P.S. this is not a lottery ticket and we didn't pay for it. Furthermore we shop at Albertsons anyway. I'm cheap and I like games and I like free stuff. I'm not stupid.

That's What You Get For Eavesdropping

After being married to Steve for the past 16 months I have realized that we often have some very interesting and sometimes strange conversations. They seem normal to us, but if you were to listen in during certain parts would probably be thinking, "What the?!" So, for those of you who are easily offended/grossed out (you know who you are) this is not the post for you. As for the rest of you, enjoy.

I love to have my back scratched. Every day. And Steve learned that as soon as we got married. However, Steve is not the best back scratcher out there. And he knows because sometimes I have to move his hand for him and it gets uncomfortable after awhile. Really, I shouldn't have to scratch my own back. I told him if my back was a lawn he would be doing the worst job in history. He mows so much in one spot that it burns the grass and doesn't doing anything anywhere else making the other half of my back the part of your lawn where grass grows so long that it turns to seed. And he even agreed with me.

Steve has a unique sense of humor and I often don't know what to do with it. He embarrasses me ALL THE TIME even when we are all by ourselves. He was supposed to be hanging up a whiteboard for me in our kitchen, so of course he needed his leveler and stud finder. He proceeded to use the latter on himself. Once he ran it over his chest he made his own out-of-control beeping noise followed by the claim that it exploded. It did not.

He also likes to do things that embarrass me in public. While on vacation in North Carolina my sister took us to a historic mill. Inside they have a box of clothes pioneer-ish in nature for both kids and adults to dress up in. My nieces got dressed up and I was thinking that they were so cute. Well, then Steve decides he also wants to dress up while making ridiculous faces. If he was trying to flirt it was not working. All I could think about was that he looked like he was either going coon hunting or getting ready to make turtle soup (that is real, people made it on my mission and I bet you can guess where they lived).

Now, I HATE stepping in dog poop. Who doesn't. But the thing that really drives me crazy is that it gets stuck deep into the crevices on the bottom of your shoes and it doesn't matter how much you drag your foot across the grass, that smell follows you EVERYWHERE you go. It seems that you can never really get rid of it. One night in bed I was thinking that having stepped in both dog and horse crap I have decided that dog smells way worse because of its potent odor and lingering-ness. So I asked Steve why that is since he does know why urine and feces are colored the way they are (he waited until after dinner to tell me). He replied, "I don't know. I'm not a poo-ologist." If you know the answer, please feel free to comment.

About a week ago the speaker in church spoke about serving his mission in South Carolina. He proceeded to say that the missionaries called it the Butthole of the Bible Belt. I was shocked when I did not hear offended gasps and muffled laughs. Not even from Steve (that's where he served his mission-he would have laughed not gasped). So I leaned over to Steve and asked, "Didn't he just say that South Carolina was the Butthole of the Bible Belt?" Steve smiled and leaned over to say, "No, he said buckle." Wow. I am so glad that I did not laugh out loud.

And our last conversation piece is my personal favorite, but may not be appropriate for a young audience. When Steve and I first got married I noticed that he did not use much toilet paper. I got concerned that Steve might not be using enough, so I confronted him about the issue. He told me that guys don't usually use toilet paper when they pee. Let me tell you, this was news to me. I had five sisters growing up and there always seemed to be a shortage (someone always left an empty roll, which was only sometimes me). At first I thought this was so great to have all this toilet paper pretty much to myself. But then I thought Steve should use it anyway because it would be more clean. My argument did not sway him then and does not now. Even when I told him he would have a lot more cooties down there than he would otherwise. His response: "You mean lewd-ies."