bad to the bone

It was just a day, like any other day. I was driving through town, between the hours of 3 and 5, weekdays, and found myself pulling into the Sonic drive-thru. I ordered the usual: large diet Coke with lime, 96 cents please pull forward. And then something went terribly, horribly wrong.

He emerged, blinking, out of the Sonic building. Slightly pudgy. Pasty white. Greasy dark hair. Post-pubescent acne. A fast food by-product. The coin dispenser jingled at his side as he skated by on his Heelies, my drink in one hand, the receipt in the other. It wasn't until he mistakenly stopped at the car in front of me, that I saw it. His tattoo.

There, tattooed down the inside of his right forearm were the words . . .

"c'est la vie"

I grabbed my Coke and took off as fast as I could, not even waiting for my 4 pennies change, the words tattooed into my brain.

C'est la vie, carhop boy.

oh. you got a new outfit.

A while ago I bought this hip new outfit. I was nervous about it. I'm really not very hip. Hip, no. Hippy, yes. Hippie, not really. Hippo, I hope not.

I wanted to get Katie's approval on it before I wore it in public, but alas, she moved! Finally, I showed it to Mom and Liz, and they said it was ok, it wasn't too young, I didn't look too ridiculous. Still apprehensive, I wore it in public.

Everywhere I went, people complimented me on my outfit -- at the orthodontists, the mall, primary presidency meeting, and even at lunch with my in-laws. I never get compliments like that.

I have been trying to analyze it,to figure out what is

so appealing about this cheap outfit.

In trying to figure this phenomenon out, I mentioned the outfit's popularity to Mom and Liz.

Mom said "Well, you do look so cute in it." (Thanks Mom)

Liz said, "It could be people were so aghast at it, that they couldn't think of anything else to say, and so they LIED."

And then, realizing what she just said, she lamely added

"or else they wish they could look as cute as you in leggings."

(Yes, it was her birthday and she was feeling over-worked, grumpy, tired, and smelled like a campfire, but really, is that any excuse?)

What do you think?

Hip? Or horrible?

Feel free to vote in my poll. But only if you have something nice to say. Liz.

a funny thing happened on the way to the football game

At our house, BYU football reigns supreme.

Here's a few pictures to show why it rates so high in the Middle Carrotstick's book.

He went a game right after he got baptized last year,

and ran into L. Tom Perry.

And then there was the time he had to fight off the BYU cheerleaders . . .

The Sack Lunch Conspiracy

Were you ever the kid sitting at the lunch table, with a smashed and slightly stained brown paper bag sitting forlornly in front of you, while all around you your friends were triumphantly crowing over the glorious icing covered cinnamon roll sitting like a sticky gooey present in the middle of their hot lunch tray? Were you ever that kid, dejectedly opening their lunch bag, embarrassed to pull out the homemade-with-love-this-morning-now-smashed-by-an-apple-into-something-resembling-a-pancake-pb&j sandwich on white bread? Furtively looking around to see for the one person lower in the lunchroom hierarchy than you -- the poor kid whose mom made their sandwich on wheat bread?

Were you ever that kid?

Well, that's how I'm feeling. Everyone I know has an awesome entertaining blog. A blog with cinnamon sweetness rolled up in it and luscious icing dripping over the top. A blog that other people look forward to checking and reading and laughing and commenting on. And to be honest, I really want a cinnamon roll.

Really, I LIKE half of Fruit Roll-up in my lunch. A whole Fruit Roll-up would just be too much. But enough is enough. And so, this is my blog. Welcome.