A Real Accomplishment

I always thought I was a Rock Star, but today my sister-in-law did something I couldn't even imagine doing...SHE RAN THE FREAKIN' BOSTON MARATHON!! Unfortunately, she didn't get first place. Apparently, some Kenyan, Ethopian, Ivory Coastan (some very skinny man who can run way too fast) took first, but my girl was right behind. I can't even say how impressed I am.

I think it also rocks that her girls were able to see their mom accomplish such a huge goal. I hope when I have three kids I'll be taking on races and kicking some butt. A Marathon!!! It makes my knee hurt just thinking about it.

I suppose I find it such a feat because of my following day: I haven't showered yet, it took me until 1 in the afternoon to brush my teeth and my biggest accomplishment was that I not only made my bed as soon as I got up, but I took my vitamin. I don't know why that is so hard, and I why I feel so accomplished when I take my vitamin. I guess I feel like an adult with all that extra iron and calcium running through my system...even when I'm sitting at my computer pretending to work in my pajamas.

CONGRATULATIONS G. LOVE

Mormons Don't Swear

For some reason wherever my husband goes trouble seems to follow.

Last night we had our last lacrosse game of the season against USC. This was already going to be a heated game because the following season they beat us in overtime by one goal, we were coming off a fabulous showing of 17-0 loss against UCSB and, and, and well we were in the hood of LA where heat and violence reigns. (okay, so I couldn't think of a third reason).

Anyway, I had asked Dan to stand behind the goal and take pictures of our seniors. Next to Dan was one of our player's boyfriends, who decided his mission of the game was to make the opposing team's goalie cry. Therefore, every time someone scored, this classy boyfriend would yell out some derogatory comment in regards to her "lack of saving ability." I had noticed this going on, but to be honest, I found it a little funny and wasn't in the mood to make it stop.

Fast forward to the second half and all of the sudden USC starts to come back. Eventually, the score gets to be 10-7 and we haven't even gotten close to scoring for fifteen minutes. Outside of getting too cocky, our offense was having a hard time hearing the plays, and of course, when left on their own our team doesn't display much creativity or initiative. Therefore, I grabbed Dan and told him I needed him to stand behind the goal (inconspicuously of course) and call out our plays. (I would give him a signal (1 finger, 2 fingers etc.) and he would call them out. ) I thought this was full proof.

The first time our girls came trucking down the field I held up two fingers and Dan yelled out, "Bomb!" Immediately, the USC coach screamed that he wanted Dan off his sideline and called for security. He started screaming that Dan was swearing at his goalie and players. I ran over, with the refs, and tried to get the coach to settle down. I kept saying, "He's my husband and...we don't really swear." The USC coach would not listen and a cop had to come over and calm everyone down. I don't know what was the funniest part:
1. Dan being almost kicked out of our lacrosse game for yelling one word.
2. Dan being accused of swearing at a 19 year goalie.
3. Watching the USC goalie try to tell the coach that it wasn't Dan.
4. The game coming to a complete stop.
5. Me trying to convince everyone in a heated moment that Mormons typically aren't allowed to swear due to it being unbecoming and effecting our ability to feel or be susceptible to the spirit.

Anyway, we won the game. Go Waves!

29 "Dad's Favorite Day"

Yesterday, I woke up and called my dad. He picked up and the following conversation took place:
Kate: "Hey Dad, good morning. How are you doing?"
Dad: "Not good. I got a head cold and I can't seem to shake it."
Kate: "That's no good. How did the move go in St. George?"
Dad: "Not good. I just didn't feel well."
(Five minutes later of hearing about his ailments and the fact that he wasn't going to be seeing the Beach Boys in concert)
Dad: "So what's new with you?"
Kate: "Well, I was just calling to say 'Thanks for having me.'"
Dad: "'Having you?' We haven't seen you yet."
Kate: "No Dad. 'Thanks for having me' in the sense 'Thanks for making me.' Today, is my birthday."
Dad: "Oh crap. Of course, Happy Birthday. Katherine, that was one of the most memorable days of my life."
Kate (inner thought) "Huh?"
Dad: "How old are you now?"
Kate: "29."
Dad: "When are you going to start a family?"
Kate: "Is Mom around?"

Nothing like a special birthday wish from your father.

I would have to say that 29 was one of my favorite birthdays. I woke up late and got to snuggle with my Danny, talked to my Dad (which we already discussed as one of my favorite moments...much like my birth for him), rode 40 miles, got a massage and had dinner at one of the coolest restaurants I've ever seen. It's called Yamashiro and it's tucked away in the hills of Hollywood. From the entrance you can see the Hollywood sign, the skyline of downtown LA and out to the ocean. It was absolutely breathtaking.

After dinner we headed down the hill to see "Wicked." I felt like for a brief moment I was walking into some type of cult or sub-culture. Everyone was wearing "Wicked" t-shirts, singing the songs and critiquing who would be playing the main roles. When the show started it was like Christmas morning for the audience. I seriously think I heard people finally breathe when the main character appeared on stage. Oh the anticipation.

Okay, mocking, kidding, pointing fingers (what have you) aside - it was an awesome show. We had seats three rows back and I felt like I was literally on stage. (And so did a lot of people around us, as they mouthed the words and clapped a little too soon...okay the mocking will eventually stop).

All and all it was a perfect day. If this is the beginning of what is to come - bring it.

Can you beat this?

The other day I got a message from a girl I went to high school with reporting on our 10 year class reunion. I was unable to attend, but deeply curious about my former Indians. Most of her report I found "typical" until she mentioned the fateful name of Jeff Miller. Just seeing that name in print makes me cringe. Why? Well, for many high school students Prom Night is supposed to be the crowning moment of their adolescence years. Many lucky individuals are able to say that Prom Night was the night they lost their virginity, drank for the first time and felt like an absolute princess. For me, I wouldn't say it was the "crowning moment." Instead, I would call the night simply unforgettable.

Two weeks before the Prom I didn't have a date. I can't remember exactly why I was in this predicament, but I think it had something to do with the small fact that I wasn't going to be completely wasted at the end of the night. Anyway, to be honest, I wasn't too concerned about finding a date. However, my parents were a little more troubled. I remember one night at dinner my mom asked if I had found a date yet. I replied no and watched as my parents tried to sneak a glance at each other. They then started to suggest some lucky guys, and then finally told me that if I had a dress (which my mom and I had already painstakingly found) I HAD to have a date. Therefore, to appease their worried minds I got up from the table and called one Jeff Miller. Fortunately, he didn't have a date and after one humiliating question we were on the road to being the next Prom King and Queen.

Now let me take a moment to describe Jeff Miller. I had known him since first grade and he was completely off my radar until my senior year. We sort of started to date in February and went to the Spring Dance together. I wasn't really interested in him, but I wanted to date someone and he seemed like a cool guy. Going out with him was alright, but the biggest problem was the fact that I could never find him before our dates. He was always "playing the guitar" with his friend Baker. Now Baker has to be mentioned because we were usually mistaken for each other. He had long blonde hair and was about my height. Consequently, more times than I would like to admit, someone would try to get my attention by screaming, "Baker!" I don't know who should have been more offended: me being mistaken for a feminine looking guy or a guy being mistaken for a girl?

Anyway, the day of the prom came around and I had my hair done, eye brows plucked and make-up applied. (So, I sort of got the princess part down) However, I couldn't find Jeff. I called his house and his mom said, "he was playing guitar with Baker." Awesome. Finally, Jeff made it to my house for some awkward pictures. It was strange, here I was all dressed up, and I really felt like if given the opportunity I would feel no remorse hitting this guy in the face. I guess you can dress up a girl, but you can't dress down a growing attitude. Needless to say I wasn't overly excited about this night.

After pictures at my house we went over to where Baker and his "date" (some other poor girl stuck as second string to his guitar buddy) were taking pictures. Before I could smudge my make-up for the tenth time Jeff and Baker were holding onto each other and asking for their moms to take their pictures. This was getting incredibly bizarre.

Finally, the photo shoot ended and we drove to the Prom. As soon as we entered I went to find my friends and he went to find...well, come on do I really need to write it? I have to admit as soon as I got away from Miss Miller the night actually turned fun. As to be expected most of my friends were regretting their date choices as well and for the rest of the night we all danced together. Things were going well until I looked up at the large screen showing all of us dancing. Right up on the screen was Baker and Jeff dancing together. Dancing...close. My friends all started to laugh and pointed at me yelling, "Your Prom Date is Gay!!" Again, awesome.

After the Prom we had to go the After Prom party. This is the parents' attempt to keep their kids from getting completely loaded until "at least" four in the morning, spending ridiculous amounts of money and working for absolute no thanks. As we entered the After Prom Jeff turned to me, and while hitting me in the arm, said, "Well thanks for being my date." I almost wanted to come back with a left hook, but decided to go find my mom instead. She was working the After Prom and after a disastrous night I couldn't imagine another person I wanted to see. I remember I walked into the Athletic office where she was directing kids to change, and I said, "Mom, turns out Jeff is gay." She just looked at me and started to laugh. One of the other saddest parts of the night was the fact that I had to get up at the crack of dawn to go play in a lacrosse tournament the following day. So, I told my mom, as she continued to laugh, I was going to go hang out for a few hours and then head home.

This is the part that probably makes me most depressed. Remember how I said all my friends left their dates at the actual Prom? Well, somehow, and maybe due to some alcohol, they were completely hooked at the hips when we entered the After Prom. So, there I stood: way too many hair pins digging into my head, blisters burning from my "elegant" shoes and a strong desire to kill a suspected gay high school student. Fortunately, I ran into an old friend of mine, who had graduated the previous year, but somehow got hooked into working this amazing event, and we played Black Jack for an hour.

Now if you aren't fully depressed yet, there's two more fun parts of the story. After an hour of playing Black Jack it was announced that the band was going to start playing. "The Band" was not a group of musically talented people, but five guys who attempted to play covers (without a singer...never do you become aware of how boring a song can be until you listen to the same chords over and over). Anyway, because I'm such a strong person I followed the masses congregating around "the Band." As I approached I instantly noticed something didn't seem right. All the "boys" had make-up on and had teased their hair. It was the most pathetic "hair band" attempt I had ever seen. In the middle of this 1980's flashback was Jeff. Awkwardly he stood in his tux with eye liner, mascara AND the lip stick my mom had given me in hopes I would fall in love with make-up and re-apply all night long. (Instead, I had handed over the lip stick immediately to Jeff and asked him to hold it for me...my first mistake). As Jeff and I made eye contact he reached into his pocket and tossed me the used lip stick. I don't think I caught it. I think it actually hit off my chest and landed on the floor. (I don't know - something inside of me just didn't want to touch it anymore.)

With the realization that, yes, I had asked a gay man to Prom, I decided to cash out and head home. It was about three in the morning at this time, and I couldn't decide if I was completely depressed, shocked or annoyed. I got into my Volvo station wagon and headed out of the high school parking lot. In broad daylight I used to run every stop sign. It somehow made up for the fact that I didn't smoke pot in the bathroom or drink on the weekends. However, at the last stop sign I saw a cop sitting across the street. Undoubtedly, he had seen my reckless driving and I knew I about to end this night on a real "high." For about a mile he followed me and then finally turned on his lights. It was the first time I had ever been pulled over and all I could hear were my friends telling me to start crying. Sympathy was the name of the game. Instead, I was past the point of crying. I was more in the stage of hysterically hitting someone.

When the cop came up to my window he simply said, "Are you serious? Four stop signs in a row." I then reminded him that we were in the middle of farmland, that it was three in the morning and I didn't think anyone would be on the road. He then asked, "Have you been drinking?" With an absolute straight face I said, "No, but my Prom date was gay." He looked me in the eye and told me to go straight home and follow every traffic rule. I nodded, put the car in drive and went home.

So there you have it. The reason why Mr. Jeff Miller will always cause a bit of tremor through my body. I have forgiven him, but I must admit there was a small piece of joy I felt when my friend told me he was recently divorced. (Insert "guitar playing" joke here)

A Healthy Relationship of Trust

So, my husband is a "little" ticklish. Okay, a lot. If I even get near his armpits or stomach he will completely crumble like a little girl. I must admit it's probably one of my favorite things to do. There truly is no greater joy then sneak attacking him and watching his face go completely red. I also enjoy tickling him when he says something overly sarcastic, or doesn't respond exactly the way I want. Again, I know using this weakness against him is cruel, but again so much fun.

However, probably the worst part about this whole game is the fact that I'm not even a little bit ticklish. Nope, not an ounce. I think when they were passing out the "tickle gene" my sister volunteered for all of it. She, like Dan, is a complete tickle disaster.

So, for the past year Dan has been trying to find something to combat my constant assaults. He's tried running his finger up my feet, blowing on my neck and screaming at me to become ticklish. Unfortunately, all of these attempts have been met with more tickling, laughing and a lame effort at an apologetic face on my part.

However, the other night I think Dan made a breakthrough. We were watching the cinematic masterpiece of "Invasion." For those of you who didn't see it opening night it's basically about these possessed individuals who vomit on each other to spread this bizarre disease. I know, it was truly awesome. Anyway, let's just say I'm not so "good" at scary movies (even if they are completely lame...I will still believe in the possibility of vomiting, possessed people). As the movie got worse (not in story line but in my level of fear), I started to hold my legs and watch the movie through my hand. During one scene of absolute terror, Dan grabbed me and screamed. Consequently, my ball of tension broke, I jumped up and it one fatal swoop punched him in the arm. Dan had found my achilles heel. Now to fight off my urge to tickle him Dan has decided to scare the crap out of me each night.

Lately, the strategy goes like this: Dan and Kate will read in bed for a little while, turn off the lights, say their prayers and get into bed. As soon as Kate is comfortable Dan will say something like this..."What would you do if you woke up in the middle of the night and a homeless man was standing over you and making weird breathing noises?" Kate: "Would he touch me?" Dan: "Possibly." Kate: Silence.

Result: Kate has stopped tickling Dan and Kate doesn't get up to pee anymore during the night.

So yes, the marriage is going well...

1 Year Left

In just about a week I'm going to be 29. 29. That's old. Right? That means I have one more year to do the following:
1. Continue to hit the snooze button on the biological clock until it explodes a year from now.
2. Talk about my days in college like they were just a "few years ago."
3. Write notes during sacrament meeting with my husband.
4. Read Perez Hilton about as faithful as I do my scriptures.
5. Run without stretching (well I really should stop that one now)
6. Sleep with my retainer.
7. Randomly hook up with strangers.
8. Lie about randomly hooking up with strangers to my husband.
9. See pizza as a balanced meal for not only dinner but for breakfast.
10. Laugh at Helen Keller jokes. I don't know why, but they get me every time.

So there you have it...the count down is on. One year to make the most of it. Alright I'll give up half. And don't ask me the one about the circular room and sitting in the corner. I've got to grow up.