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Just Some Truths

Sometimes really random things just pop into my head.

For example, there's nothing worse than trying to plan meals. Whilst doing so, I made this realization. Please refer to figure 1.1.

The other day I was also considering what some of the best advice I could give for marital success would be. This is hands down the key to a happy marriage.

You're welcome.


A Lifetime of Embarrassment

I changed the name of my blog because my domain got snatched out from under me. And yes, it is a snarky stab at how mainstream and monetized blogs are these days. Quite literally, I have nothing to give you like all them other blogs. You won't find recipes here or cute free printables. There will be no coupon codes and definitely no giveaways. Just the ramblings of yours truly. I give you my unapologetic self and the wonderfully bizarre and random things I may have to share.

But as a special treat today, for the grand opening of my newly titled blog, I give you the entire unabridged collection of all of my most embarrassing moments. Enjoy.

Chapter One

When I was in kindergarten I had some lovely bangs cut straight across my forehead and if time permitted each morning, my mom would lightly wet them and put a sponge roller in to curl them. Then, just before leaving to ride my bike to school, she would take out the roller and give me a kiss goodbye. One morning, however, I had just parked my bike at the racks and taken off my big ol' pink Barbie helmet when a girl in grade one said, "What's that?" pointing squarely at my forehead. I reached up, and to my absolute horror, found that the pink sponge roller was still in my bangs. I ripped that thing out so fast, threw it on the ground, and mumbled, "Oh, nothing," all the while silently cursing my mother in my head. How could she have done that to me?! Such a mean mom. I was humiliated.

Chapter Two

When I was a few years older, I was playing at a friend's house. We were sitting in the kitchen, probably eating a snack or something, when we started talking with her mom about names that we liked and didn't like. After rattling off some of my favourite names, I decided to then list the names I didn't like. You know, the names that it seemed like every single girl in the 90's had. I got three names in before realizing that I was literally sitting at the table with my friend with the very name I first listed. And her mom was right there too. So I did what any intelligent kid would do and I did my best to back track by saying that, "... but I like the way you spell your name, it's different." And it really wasn't spelt different at all...

Chapter Three

When I was at a really popular girls sleepover birthday party it came time to open presents. To draw out the excitement we were supposed to hide our presents and then she would find them and open them. I was taking my time observing where everyone else was hiding theirs, trying to figure out the best place when I noticed the bucket seats from their van had been taken out and were standing on towels in the living room. Eureka! I would hide my present inside the folded van seat. However, it wasn't as easy as I thought and the seat started to tip which was when her mother noticed and shrieked, "No! My hardwood floors!" She caught me so off guard and scared me so bad that the next thing I knew I was peeing my pants. I didn't even know that I needed to go pee. I apologized for the seat, chucked my present under a couch and made a bee line for my bag. Thank heavens this was a sleepover party! When asked what I was doing, I explained that the pants I had on weren't very comfortable and I wanted to change. I walked backwards to the bathroom as nonchalantly as possible and did my best at damage control, which really wasn't all that great. I'm positive everyone at the party knew what happened, but were just way too nice to say anything. The only thing they did was have a conversation about peeing their pants in which I sat silent and stoic in a corner, refusing to admit my fate. And honestly, this is the first time I have ever shared this story and I'm still a little embarrassed.

Chapter Four

When I started going to Junior High in grade seven I was hit hard with a case of the hormones. Suddenly, I wasn't a foot taller than every single boy in the school. There were older boys, taller boys. And I fell especially hard for one in particular, one that never in a million years would have been interested in the gangly ol' glasses Gibb. But that didn't stop me from taking the long way to my classes in an effort to pass him in the hallway and casually befriending a girl with a locker near his so that I obviously had a reason to be in his general vicinity. So when a friend passed me a note one day asking for my Top 5 (yes, that was a thing, "What's your top five?" was the most concise way of asking someone who they had a crush on, obviously ranked in a top five fashion), I bore my soul to her and shared the name of a crush no one would have ever guessed, because I wasn't super obvious about it or anything. My friend clearly didn't understand the level of confidentiality I had expected with the note and it was carelessly left on the floor of a classroom. Before lunch time had rolled around, word got back that the note was found, he was told, and I was mortified. I did the only thing a sane 12-13 year old girl would do. I called home and told my mom I was sick and needed to be take home pronto.

Chapter Five

When I was in grade ten I was a pretty big deal. I had a boyfriend from Magrath and a rockin' little Toyota Camry and one day after school I was on my way to watch his baseball game with a couple of my friends. We had just got onto the highway out of Raymond when the car in front of me started slowing down and edging onto the right shoulder to turn. They weren't signalling, but it was very obvious they were turning right, so I went to pass them. Next thing I know, I'm in the passing lane and that dumb car swings LEFT! I slammed on the breaks for all I was worth but still couldn't stop in time to keep from punching them in the rear driver side. My friends and I sat there stunned for a couple of seconds while I contemplated how my life was going to be over when my parents found out. The situation quickly went from bad to a million times worse when the love of my life got out of the car I had just hit. Yes, I know I said I had a boyfriend, but I had an eternal crush on this boy and was pretty sure I was going to marry him later. When he saw who hit them, he smiled and I died. Then a little bit more of me died when every single person I knew from Raymond drove slowly past the accident, peering into my car for a closer look at my humiliation. And then everything inside me died the next day at school when this obnoxious girl accused me of trying to kill the love of my life boy, a boy that she also had a much more obvious crush on.

Chapter Six

Not too long after that last story, I was still dating the boy from Magrath. We didn't kiss each other for close to three months of dating, we were such good little kids. But then we finally did kiss and it turned out that we liked it. So one time we were enjoying a lovely autumn evening in my parents backyard when we started smooching. Obviously sitting was more comfortable than standing, and laying more comfortable than sitting, next thing we know, badda boom badda bing, he's laying on top of me and we're kissing. That's when we heard it. The very audible clearing of a throat. We glanced up to find my Dad standing right over us and separated and sat up faster than Mario with star power. Both our eyes were glued to the ground while my Dad simply said, "Bill (**Name has been changed to protect the identity of this poor, poor boy), I think it's time that you went home." Then he walked into the house while my boyfriend and I had the most awkward goodbye of our lives. The next day at dinner, in an effort to make some casual conversation, my Dad asked, "So how are you and Bill making out?" Fortunately, my sisters were busy eating and didn't see how red my face turned.

Chapter Seven

When I was in grade twelve, I was the pianist for a church choir. It was Christmas time and the choir was singing a musical number in church. Since the song I was playing had a lot of pages of music, I asked my sister to come up and take down the sheets of papers as I played to reveal the page stacked behind. I was killing it, just playing along, when suddenly my sister went to pull down a sheet of music and all "H" - "E" - double hockey sticks broke loose. I had made the rookie mistake of leaving my music simply on the weightless 8.5"x11" paper and the mere act of moving one sheet of music caused a breeze strong enough to send nearly every single page of the song fluttering to the ground. I played as far as my memory allowed before joining my sister in the chaos of trying to sort out the music, playing the odd chord here and there when fate allowed us to find the correct page to correspond where the choir had limped along to. Yes, the choir did in fact continue singing in the most pitiful a capella you could imagine. If I hadn't had a testimony of divine intervention before that point in my life, I most certainly did after because I was somehow able to remain relative calm and composed until the song ended. As the choir went to sit back in the congregation, I slinked out the nearest door to the parking lot, sat down, and wept. My mom came and found me and did her very best to assure me that "... it wasn't that bad."

Chapter Eight

When I was a young single adult, I attended a church activity that was put on to celebrate the end of the school year. There was to be a dance, but first a sort of improv show was put on by people who volunteered in the audience. I volunteered and was whisked into a room with a bunch of other girl volunteers where we were told we had 5 minutes to put together a dance routine that we would then do on the stage in front of everyone else, competing against a team of boys. For some weird reason, I had the most random song stuck in my head that night and when I wasn't engaged in conversation or thought, the words to "She Bangs" by Ricky Martin were on repeat. After five minutes we had managed to whip something up and were brought out on stage. There were a LOT of people there. Before the dancing was to begin, the MC asks both dance groups what our names were. For reasons I'll never know, every girl in the group looked at me to make up a name and the MC put the mic to my mouth. I simply said the first thing that came to my mind: "She Bangs." I don't really remember what the audience did, but the MC, the most purest looking institute teacher, gaped at me for a second before saying into the mic, "Uh, no. How about "She Daisy?" Everyone, give it up for She Daisy!" The rest of my time on stage is a blur. I think I may have gone into full fledged shock.

Chapter Nine

When I was dating and newly engaged to my loving husband, I had such good manners. All of my farts had been carefully bottled up until reaching the safety of my car to drive home or behind my closed front door. But like the saying goes, "All good things must come to an end," and they did when  a sneaky little fart got away on me. Jon laughed his head off. I punched him and said, "I hate you." That only made a bad situation monumentally worse, as we got into something that resembled our very first fight as an engaged couple. Nowadays, it is our cardinal rule to NEVER say the H-word.

Chapter Ten

When I was on my honeymoon, I came down with a Major Depressive Episode. What was supposed to be the most happiest trip of my life was actually the most painful and depressing. I had nearly every physical symptom of depression, besides the obvious state of being mentally depressed. This may come as a surprise to you, but constipation is actually a symptom of depression. And I had it. Big time. Long time. To the point that I admitted I needed medicine or help or something. So Jon kindly went to a pharmacy and managed to get something. But it didn't work. By this time, Jon's relatives that we were staying with could tell something was up and he reluctantly let them know. In true Latino fashion, they all leapt into action trying to cure me with their own secret solution. I was then lead into the dining room to eat a big ol' plate of papaya (Grandpa Ruiz's solution) while everyone stood around the table, discussing my bowels and what I should do next. In Spanish. While I sat there.

So there you have it. Every single embarrassing story I can remember. I hope you have been sufficiently entertained.

I'm Still a Blogger

I lost my domain. You know, the special URL name you pay money for so your blog seems more legit. Apparently some asian anime lover really needed the domain - so there's that. But in all actuality, what really happened is I let it expire because I was lazy and then someone scooped it up hoping that I would pay them heaps of money to give it back to me. NOT TODAY, SATAN! 

I remember when blogging was literally LIFE. I jumped on the bandwagon when everyone else was doing it. Those were the good old days of blogging. But then it all just became a crappy contest of marketing yourself and the world of blogging ended in a forgettable oblivion, similar to Occupy Wall Street. The 1% of blogs that began shamelessly selling themselves still survive, while the 99% hung out in tents for a bit and then just gave up and went back to real life. 

I recently had another kid. Yup, that's three now. Pretty weird to think that I now have as many children as my parents. Anyways, after being pregnant and recovering it ended up being almost an entire year since I had gone for a run. Was I even a runner anymore? I couldn't help but wonder as I set out on that first run, but after a couple slow kms my heart was so happy I couldn't believe I even questioned whether or not I was. I may not be as fast as I once was, but yes, I am STILL a runner. Which made me wonder, am I still a blogger? Although I've really only typed out a crappy couple of paragraphs, it's making me happy, so I think the answer is yes. I'm still a blogger. And I'd really like to start doing this more regularly again. 

Easter Thoughts

I went to Peru once a long time ago. While I was there I got to visit a lot of ruins and beautiful cathedrals and other culturally rich aspects of that humble and breathtaking little country.

I got to climb to the top of the terraced farming ruins of Ollantaytambo and gaze out across the Sacred Valley.

I got to see poverty beyond comprehension and the resilience and joy that still resided therein.

And I got to see the revered and sacred places of worship that meant so much to the people of Peru.

What I most vividly remember about the chapels and cathedrals though is the detailed, and for lack of a better word, gory depictions of the great sacrifice made by our Saviour.

The reality of the crucifixion is well known in all of Christendom. However, as a teenager venturing out into the world for my first time, I remember feeling quite disturbed by these portrayals. Today I was reminded of this experience and, with the years of maturity I've acquired since then, was then able to grasp my Saviours death and resurrection in a much more personal manner.

As a Latter-Day Saint, as much as the crucifixion is taught and reverenced, I have always understood and saw the Easter holiday as a time to celebrate the greatest news of all, that He is risen. His sacrifice was incomprehensible and to much of society today, would be viewed as disturbing and gory. Yet He did it anyway and He did it for me and for you. But what happened three days later is what Easter is all about to me. It's about the empty tomb and the tremendous amount of hope and light that was brought into a seemingly hopeless and dark world. He is risen and He lives. 

As I sat in sacrament meeting today comparing these two vastly different depictions of the Saviour and his atonement, I suddenly realized how I am able to focus on my own life in a similar fashion. After a tough couple of days dealing with an incredibly stubborn two year old and taming some feelings of frustration for my husband, I was beginning to look at my life as a series of lost tempers, unchristlike thoughts, and a state of perpetual shortcomings. My life and efforts seemed to be grim and disappointing. Fortunately, I soon realized how similar this line of thought is to focussing on the death and gore and sadness of the crucifixion, rather than choosing to see the light and hope that the atonement and resurrection has made possible in my life. Because he lives, I have a new chance every day to try again, to be better than before, to forget my shortcomings and start anew. Just as I view the Easter holiday as one of hope, I need to view my own life in the same manner.