Big AND Fat

After reading my last blog, El Fuego Mitch told me that I should spend my time reading my scriptures more. Perhaps he is correct. Well, not perhaps, for sure he is correct. His Lady Gloria Tibbitts (note to self, don't spell the future daughter in law's name wrong anymore or future future grandchildren may be witheld) liked the green dress. I know you already know that, (if you read the comments, which I would suggest, because my friends and family are much more clever than I) but I just wanted to say His Lady Gloria Tibbits again in my blog. I'm kinda digging her new name.


I contemplated doing a blog about my new boyfriend, since it was April Fools day. I wrote it and everything. It had words like sunset and beach and Pina and Colota and arms entertwined while drinking them. I even picked out a picture of him, although I was having trouble deciding between this




and this





I didn't choose #1 because I like doing the double thumbs up sign (in fact that is what attracted me to this fake boyfriend in the first place) when there is something kind of ridiculous that is double thumbs up worthy, and I didn't want to ruin the double thumbs up for myself by linking it to an April Fools Boyfriend, or anykind of boyfriend for that matter. And as for #2, I've gone and ruined my chances for having a boyfriend with superior taste because I've put a man in his underpants on my blog. I've probably ruined any chances for landing my dream job, (because the employer always checks the blogs and the myspaces for lapses in mental judgement) or any great promotion that came with the job I got where the employer FORGOT to look at the blog before she did the hiring. All because of being stupid and putting those red underpants on my blog. Um. So much for the boyfriend joke.

I warned you this blog would be a big fat waste of time.

Humble I Plod My Lady

Gracias to Annie and Emily for answering the clarion call to help my pathetic little self try and post a picture IN my blog instead of BESIDE it. Thank you to Leigh, for judging, and rah rah-ing me, and pointing out that I had two 'about me' sections. (isn't she the cutes, saving me from being narcissistic?) I want some credit for taking one of them off, and for putting a picture of a sparkley costume above it. I was educated in the public schools before 1974. But ever I plod, overcoming the adversity of being one of the computer unsavvy. This blog will be dedicated to the afore mentioned, my 3 teachers, who are all under 28. Geez Louise.

Some of you have been wanting to know if this

belongs to me. Why yes, it does, thank you for asking. It is true, he IS my last born, and he DOES belong to me...but not for long. The rumors some you have heard are indeed true. The Lil' Pasty has asked a real live girl to marry him and she has said yes. There may be a couple of you out there who don't know him and say "Oh c'mon Mommacita, he looks like he is 17." He probably was when this picture was taken, but this was the only picture in my computer that said: I can get myself a lady. He and His Lady Gloria Tibbetts are planning a wedding on June 28, 2008 here:

in the Denver, Colorado Temple. Gloria is also a last born, she is a Public Health major at BYU, loves the color purple, chose an emerald cut diamond on her ring, has blue eyes and blonde hair like all the other in-law kids, is 5'2", has a good head on her shoulders and is pretty darling. I think I will call her His Lady Gloria Tibbetts from now on, and perhaps buy her one of these


It's really too bad I couldn't find one of those in purple, on a blondie, because then you would have thought hey, is that the REAL His Lady Gloria Tibbets? That would have been cool. There would have been hundreds of comments on THAT. And I would have blogged the rest of my life because I'd have become addicted to all that attention. But as it stands, I could only find a green one on a brownie so I'm staying ever my humble, yet confident (thanks to you Leigh) self.

PS. I don't mean to toot my own horn or anything, because that doesn't fit in with my title about being all humble pie and such, but did anyone notice that I moved the fickle finger picture to the fickle finger post? No? You're just not that into me? Well the editors of this blog noticed and this is their comment: "Those teachers are dang good."

Don't Worry, I'm still Secure

I'm needing a tip. How do you get a downloaded picture to go INSIDE the body of the post, instead of ALONGSIDE it?

Let's Hear it for the Girls

It must be stated, before I begin, that I am putting off making blankets for orphans in China to write this blog. I'm laughing so hard I had to respond.

As my kids were growing up, I don't know how many times I said to them all, "Just be secure with yourself." Frankly, (and now that they're all grown up, I can let out this secret) I would usually say it when they were beside themselves with insecurity about something and they wanted to sit in a corner and pick at their toenails the rest of their lives. I had run out of things to say to try and help them and I was ready to go in the corner and pick my fingernails and toenails (until they might bleed) with them because my child was insecure and thus I was insecure. But the magic phrase "Just be secure with yourself" seemed to be an insecurity binky.

Today my daughter told me to be secure with myself. (see previouse blog comments) BWAHHAAAHAAAHAAA I just love having a daughter. I mean, I would have hated to have never had a daughter. Daughters are people that will tell you that you have a boogie just inside that left nostril. It's usually withing 10 minutes of saying hello. Daughters are people who will tell you your breath is bad, your slip is showing, there is black stuff or green stuff or brown stuff in your teeth, (they always tell you the color) and that yes indeed, those pants make you look fat. They'll tell you when you look great too, don't get me wrong, but anyone and their dog will do that for you. I just love that I have someone who will do that for me. My Daughter is my protection from myself. Daughters are people who light up the room for you when they walk into it, they look out for you, they talk to you about you stuff, (invaluable to a widow lady) and they love you enough to tell you the truth. Daughters have the sacred womb. The womb that belongs to the family name.

I will change my template on Saturday. I will wipe the crap off my chin and get off the floor. For now, I'm just going to be secure with myself and my lack of computer skills. I can get this blog on the internet by jingo. Who gives a rip that it's hideous? I love hideous. I embrace hideous. I live hideous. I'm going to sign this thing off, go check my nostrils for goobers, and go out there and make blankets for orphans in China with the other Church ladies.

21st century Woman my eye

I'm in over my head. The template thing. Overwhelming. This color, that color. what am I doing? I can barely work a mouse. I got sick of it, lost interest and this is what was on when I ran to the kitchen for cadbury eggs. will fix later. if i care. can't even bother with capital letters. must leave now. there is an excellant possibility that i might be found motionless with a chin slathered in cadbury drool.

A Moment of Silence for Tim and his Bogus Halo

Well kids, I'm pumped up to do my thing on this blog again. I got 7 comments on my last one. Yes, I AM aware that I made 3 out of the 7 comments. Yes, I AM aware that I did everything short of pay for those 4 comments. Yes, I AM aware that some of the comments accused me of laying guilt on loved ones. And finally, yes I AM aware that this all makes me look pitiful and needy. Well I say embrace your inner pitiful and needy child. Own and Acknowledge. Own and Acknowledge to all the World. Own and Acknoweldge to all the World on the Internet. (insert smiley face here...I haven't the slightest clue how to do it....)
I went to church today for the Easter Celebration. There was some ward choir-ing going on. When Tim was alive, and there was a really bad musical number in Sacrament meeting, (too much vabrato, too loud, too screetchy.....too off key....you get it...) Tim would give me the fickle finger.
For those of you over 40, you surely remember the show 'Laugh-In' (it was all the rage in the 70's ...Goldie Hawn used to dance around in a tiny bikini after someone had painted flowers and paisleys and little sayings like 'far out' all over her body and the camera would focus in on, say, her belly button and you would watch her belly button (that was the center of a daisy) gi-rate around.) ANYWAY, on Laugh-In they gave out this award for really bad jokes or songs or talents and it was called the Fickle Finger of Fate Award. The award was a trophy thingey that had a bronze hand with the index finger pointing outward. So in Sacrament meeting, when there was a really really really bad (ok, lets be honest here....also the mildly bad) musical number Tim would not say a word, but he would look at me, raise an eyebrow, and ever so slowly lift his hand up, (where no one but me could see it) in the fickle finger formation. I would giggle every time. He would sit there with a halo shining around his head and I would come off like a really bad woman.
I'm still a really bad woman. Today I gave the Fickle Finger of Fate award to no one in particular, and I've got to say, giggling on my part was involved.

Genesis

I'm sitting here looking at the blank create blog page, and now I'm a wondering what in the heck am I going to say in this thing? I eat, I sleep, I watch tv, I quilt, I walk around, I drive sometimes, I read blogs, I waste time, I take pills, and this is all interesting to folks? My neice Annie, who writes one clever blog, and posts every day (which I really really really like...big fat hint to my kids) said in one of her comments (after I had made a comment), "Auntie Mary, Why don't you make the world a better place and start a freaking blog already?" Being 52, I quite liked this validation from a young, hip, pretty, 20 something and I was tempted. I mean, she is my daughter's age, and she liked me, she really really liked me. What are the chances?
But then I thought to myself, Hey Self, you eat, you sleep, you watch ALOT of TV, you sew, you walk around, you drive sometimes, you read blogs, you wish your kids would blog more, you RELISH wasting time, you take pills, and you go to the Dr. What could be more clever than that? Be positive about your life, Self. Others will find scintillating what you think about walking around and taking pills. They'll read about it and then they'll want to comment on your blog, and then you can add one more thing to your life: reading blog comments. I'm all about growth.
Then today, I was blog dropping again (I really need to get a life) and I had made a comment on Annie's blog again (again, evidence of needing a life...but FYI, I WOULD LOVE to make comments on my OWN kid's blogs if they ever blogged their sorry little blogs once in a while) and someone who commented on Annie's blog commented on my comment on Annie's blog. The commenter said she said she blew water out her nose when she read my comment.
WHAAAAAAAAAAT?
I've got to admit, I kind of liked the power of getting someone to snort water out their nose. I read her comment about 6 times. In between each time, I kind of sat in front of my computer feeling that tingley little feely you feel when someone snorts ANYthing out their nose because of you. I start thinking that I am somebody pretty dang special. Water snorting powers. This is big. Big enough to blog about.
So everybody, I'm kind of a big deal. Thus the blog.