Thursday, July 23, 2009

Bad clowns=Bad hair?

So, today my hair looks as though it has been struck by lightening and then tenderly styled by a blind psychopath. I blame the rodeo. Don't look at me like that, I could have blamed Celine Dion, but that would have been weird.

So, last night I got to go to the Spanish Fork Fiesta Days Rodeo. Woo hoo!! In theory a rodeo is lots of fun. Lots of cowboys and the summer crowds swarming around you while you eat deep fried things, plus the added bonus of the chance of mayhem should an errant hoof connect with human flesh. Sounds pretty awesome, right? Well, now add 100 degree weather, three cranky preschoolers, two fighting married couples, a cute but sticky baby boy and a generally hag like pregnant lady. Yep, that was my night. Kind of takes the awesome out of it. And so does that stupid rodeo clown who thinks a urinating car is had to be there. Needless to say, Boom Boom the clown is not on my list of favorite performers ever. He was pretty lame. And he didn't even get attacked by a bull, so he was lame without a purpose, which is even worse.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before my clan struck out for cowboy heaven, Charlie and I painted my living room. I've been trying to decide on a color for the better part of a year, and finally I just closed my eyes and picked a grayish blue. It is very nice. But, when Charlie and I do projects together we generally aren't friends for a while afterward. We have good intentions, but after about an hour of working we both are pretty sure that the other one is completely wrong in their approach and bossy beyond reason. And neither of us is ever willing to back down and apologize so we are not the most fun couple in the world for a day or so afterward. Apparently my brother and his wife had some sort of ordeal going on as well because there were dirty looks being thrown in all directions. Poor Dad was trying desperately to make this a joyous experience for us all so we were pretending (with varying degrees of success) that we were thrilled to be sitting on medival torture devices they call wooden stadium benches.

Oh, so back to my hair. When I finally crawled home at about 11 p.m. (which is about 4 a.m. in a pregnant lady's world) I dragged myself into the shower because my lower extremities were covered in spilled snow cone (courtesy of my loving daughter and nieces). And promptly started crying because I then saw that my feet resembled a kindergarteners efforts of shaping clay into a human form. Stupid heat and hormones. So I just crawled into bed, with no forethought of what my half wet hair would look like in the morning. I blame Boom Boom and his dumb rodeo clown ways for all of it.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Idaho and Michael Jackson

Ok, I need to tell you about my fourth of July, but with all this MJ hoopla going on I have to mention one little thing that's been bothering me...It is always sad when someone dies, but isn't this the guy we were all afraid of with his penchant for young boys and his ever melting face? Why is he suddenly beyond reproach? Ok, I've never met the guy, and I do like one or two of his songs, but he really hasn't had an impact on my life. (except in fifth grade when we named our class hamster after him because he had one white paw...or that one Simpsons episode where the 300 pound white guy in the mental institution thinks he's Michael Jackson and then writes that birthday song for Lisa because my cousin Lisa wandered around singing it for weeks "Lisa it's your birthday, Happy birthday Lisa" over and over and over until we were ready to commit her.) That's all I'm saying. Isn't suddenly being a Michael fan like suddenly liking whatever sports team just won some big title?

Ok, so Idaho. Yep, it's still there. I've only been to Idaho a handful of times in my life. Once for a color guard competition in Pocatello, and I've been to Lava Hot Springs once or twice, so I really don't have much of a reference base. It was awesome to see my Uncle Tebbs (all of my uncles have bizarre names, it's just one of those things). I love my Uncle Tebbs because he is my dad's older brother, and he is the one person who can reduce him to tears from laughing so hard in less than a minute. Also, my dad seems to revert to being a little boy when they are together and it makes me giggle to watch.

Aside from that awesome bonus, I mostly spent my weekend being irritated. Since it was all my siblings (at least the ones who care, Wendy) that were there with their families it was kind of intense with all the tiptoe-ing around my schizophrenic brother and bipolar sister and emotionally fragile brother in law....and Russ. It was downright exhausting, come to think of it. And perhaps it was because I was in a hormonal/murderous mood, but the fireworks that were touted to be the best this side of the Mississippi were just...meh.

I already acknowledge that I need to give it a fairer shot...maybe next time I'll go by myself and actually get a chance to pay attention instead of trying to keep my nieces from jumping into the Snake River every time I turned around. Or maybe when I am not pregnant so that I don't have to be cursing the fact that the bathroom was a 15 minute walk.