Vienna and Munich with Dad and Kristen!

My Dad and Kristen did a bike tour from Prague to Vienna and we decided to meet up when they were done being amazing.

Getting to Vienna was a pain. I had to leave at 6:00am and I nearly missed my train. Something about waking up at 5:30am made me rather slow in the getting-ready process. By the time my brain arrived on set I was running late. So I had to run to catch up, quite literally, with my suitcase in hand, running passed all the street cleaners and late-night-revelers who were returning home. 

I made it on the train, but lost my neck pillow along the way. Ah, my lovely neck pillow with only 1 use under its belt, forever gone away down some dirty French street. Au revoir, ma cherie. 

 Upside of all the dilemma was a Justin Bieber look-alike (and I mean exactly alike) was on the plane and he kept switching his hat every 15 minutes. It was good in-flight entertainment. I think he was new to planes because his dad dropped him off and he kept looking out the airplane window, which was difficult for him, because of his hat. He wouldn't take it off though, just kept readjusting it, and trying another one out. Pretty sure the people behind me disapproved of my stalker methods.

 At my layover in Brussels (which makes SO much sense when you're going from Marseille to Vienna *heavy on the sarcasm*) there were these bikes you could use to charge your electronics. Here's what they looked like, and the ring of lights telling you how much power you were producing. I could produce a TON, but not while taking a picture and holding in my converter at the same. I sat next to some Spaniard who was yapping away in incomprehensible Spanish while peddling his heart out, all in his nice suit.

Kristin got us the hook-ups for the hotel. My first time receiving five-star They gave me cake, cookies, candy, fruit, and fresh flowers. It was quite shnazzy. Almost too shnazzy. There were all sorts of extra towels and cloths that I didn't know how to use. Which one for my face? The smaller one, because my face is smaller than the rest of me? Which one for my hands? The  monogrammed one? Because my hands are important?

They were so prompt on their service that the cleaning lady nearly walked in on me naked, about to take a bath. She rang the doorbell (because my room had a doorbell, since only commoners have rooms without them) and called out. I tried to shout back, but the door was too thick and she couldn't hear me. I grabbed the nearest towel and rushed out into the hall. The towel happened to be a wash cloth (which I decided it was, after much reflection) and it was the smallest sort. Therefore it covered none of my necessities completely. Lucky for me I had spotted the robes in the closet beside the door. I just managed to wrap it around myself as the door opened. She was horrified. I was never so happy to have a robe on in my life. The rest of my bath passed in peace.

 Vienna is extremely beautiful and clean. It was heaven to be away from the poop-laden streets. The architecture too was unique, with both the medieval and the modern. Lots of fun to see.

It's also a city of music. Tons and tons of music. Every night there were multiple concerts. We went to 2, one at the Musikverein and another someplace else. The musicians dressed in period clothing, and they played so well. It was an absolute delight. One flutist played a solo that was so amazing that I went out the next day and bout the music. He was hilarious, just so fancy and proper, like he knew what a treat it was for us to hear him play. The Viennese do music well.

 In the main church, which is named after some important Saint, I'm sure. Quite ornate stone work here, and I especially liked their facial expressions. I try to be serious and contemplative when in a cathedral, but mostly I create dialogue for all the statues, and I find it all highly amusing. I won't tell you my dialogue for these guys because I want you to be serious and contemplative. It is a cathedral, after all.

 More cool statue/monument stuff. There was usually a fat homeless guy at the bottom of this playing his guitar and singing quite loudly with a terrible voice. Seriously so loud, and full of nonsense. Also interesting was that in all of Vienna the statues and artworks like this were covered in tightly meshed chicken wire, to keep the pigeons from roosting on them. I thought it quite smart.

 We went to go see the Spanish Horse-Riding school strut their stuff, and this is my wonderful father trying on their hats. The riders keep the same uniform that they had back in the day. I forgot that I am highly allergic to horses, so while we were waiting for the show to start I started my heavy sniffing, continuous sneezing routine. Dad got out his clorox wipes and wiped down my seat, his seat, Kristen's seat, the window behind me, and all other surfaces I might possibly touch. I've had some pretty bad experiences with horse dander (the full trauma of which I cannot relate, because it includes too much sniffing and sneezing and congestion). Dad instructed me, and I quickly agreed, that I'd have to go Muslim for the duration of the show. I wrapped my scarf around my nose and mouth and took it off only to sneeze. It was rather effective and I was able to see the whole show, but I was incredibly glad to get out and blow my nose. The horses looked very nice, and if I knew anything about horses and training them, I'm sure I would be very impressed. I mean, I was impressed, but in a vague, generally pleased kind of way.

This is me sneaking a photo in front of a couple tiny (tiny!) Asians. Just look at them! They're so tiny! I hope they don't mind I took advantage of their stature and their proximity to me.

 Dad and I in our twinner pants. Later we pulled out our matching jackets. One of us has great style and the other one is copying it, but I can't tell which is which. I have great style, but then, so does he.

 This museum had it going on. Cool stuff, yo. It is quite something when the building looks as magnificent as the works of art it holds. It's like beauty squared. Exponential art. Sometimes it feels about ready to implode with the amount of creativity it holds.

 Inlaid table, ingredients: wood, lapis lazuli, amazingness. It was made to write master-pieces and opiuses and sign peace documents between countries. Nothing else would be sufficient for its beauty.

 The outside of the next-door museum. So freakin' ornate and cultured it's almost hard to look at. Especially because we were in a neighborhood of buildings like this. Everywhere you turned it was so intense. Beauty overload. It was the royalty neighborhood. The kids moved out and built a castle next door.

Doing some shopping. Here's a designer ski-suit and itty-bitty boots for itty-bitty skies. I'm pretty sure that outfit could make you a brilliant skier, even if you don't know what a ski looks like.

 Don't forget the traditional clothing, for the entire family! These were everywhere, especially in Munich. It was the season.

 A jewler. The store was closed but we spied on her through the window and saw her making some stuff. Here she's got her blow torch, melding something, like a bracelet, a necklace, or one ring to rule them all.

 Worn down door. I've begun collecting pictures of doors.

 Some modern piece of art in the Jewish neighborhood, commemorating the dead Jews of WWII. It's supposed to be a library and all bookish stuff, because they dig that stuff.

Dad and Kristen eating schnitzel at Fuglmueller's, because it's awesome. Good schnitzel. I can spell that so I'm just going to keep saying it. Schnitzel. Schnitzel. Kristen and Dad are matching too. The home -made grape juice was amazing. Schnitzel.

Lot's of cool, antique jewelry in Austria. (*note to future husband, wherever you are). Some window display of thousands of dollars worth of bling. Lots of stuff from the 20's. Coral, garnets. A treasure trove that I was able to look at.

 Poseidon statue with the Creature of the Black Lagoon making a guest appearance on the right. He's harder to see from this angle, but he's there.

 Me, mocking the Austrian kings and their class 3 malocclusion (AKA a napoleonic-ego sized underbite). And please, let's give his wig a round of applause. A lot of horses (or humans) went bald for that.

 At night, because it's cool. 

 For their turn down service the hotel tucked my bunny in and gave him a pillow-mint.

 My dad hung his jacket on the back of a chair, while we were at a Mozart concert. Apparently the d-bag behind us stuck his gum on the chair only moments before and my dad didn't see, so when he tried to remove his jacket later that night, this is what happened. Hanging on by a piece of gum.

 Leeches at the local pharmacy. I don't know what health situation would call for leeches but apparently it happens frequently enough in Vienna that they stock up.

And onto Munich! We knew right away we were headed in the right direction because a guy in our train car was already wearing his lederhosen in preperation. 

 Oktoberfest! Lots of haunted rides at the festival. This one has an Amazonian woman beating a dragon into submission (subtext? I think not!). Kristen gave us a play-by-play for all the big rides, on their strengths and weaknesses, their price, and etc.

 Because I'm not too old for this humor (Fahrt zur holle!).

 A lot of gents didn't want to wear the full wool stockings with their lederhosen, so instead they opted for these little calf-warmers of sorts. They looked rather odd, I have to admit, especially when they got really thin. They were almost like a stripe of wool used simply to emphasize the grandness of their calves.

 Beer hall, not for the timid. One of several, full to the brim with large flagons of beer, drunk people, and others on their way. Dirndl dresses (aka booby dresses) and lederhosen galore, worn mostly by the tourists.

 Me dressing up, by request of Kristen and Dad. They say I have a good figure and should show it off. So I did (heck yes!). Then when guys started eying me Dad realized that he may have been too forward in his thinking. He watched the eyers aggressively then put his arm around me and pulled me close. When the eying continued he had me walk on the other side of him. I didn't notice any of this. My head was full of "Munich!" and "Oktoberfest!" and "Food!" and "Candy!". Kristen saw it all and chuckled.

 Art of Munich. Pretty fun stuff.

If I had a billiard room, this is what I'd hand on the wall. 

This might have been my favorite piece. 

 Me taking an artsy photo while in the art museum. 

 School of medicine. Taken by request of Dad.

 Cool museum, complete with garden and cafe.

 Meat window, one of many.

 Gugenheim clock tower, being awesome, no matter how I spell it (on the left).The clock chimes and the figurines move, just like a giant cuckoo clock. Over 40 bells, playing a tune, every hour of the day.

The river in the English Gardens creates a wave that some bored someone discovered could be surfed. People were lined up on either side of the river to take turns surfing it. It was pretty fun to watch, a lot of talented people having a good Wednesday afternoon.

 English Garden, looking pretty, with towers of some famous structure in the background. 

You have now reached the end of this post. I hope you were slightly entertained. 

Nexplanon and Things You Shouldn't Tell Your Coworkers

My mom was worried that I was being too vocal about my uterus and the pains it gives me. I was trying (inadequately) to describe the hilarity of my uterus post and she obviously failed to see the genius of my observations. She lowered her brows and gave me that "concerned parent" look and asked quite intently, "Why are you talking about your uterus? On the internet?" I told her she missed the point (the point being I'm hilarious) but she would not follow. 

I must carry on without her. 

A couple days ago I got this Nexplanon thing put in my arm. After *le horreur* of the Nuvaring I'm strictly off lab-manufactured estrogen. That left me with a swelling 2 options, and the Nex looked like the best because I don't have to take it as a pill. The doc made a little incision and slid a plastic little toothpick thing up my arm that should *hopefully* make me pain and baby free for the next three years. Hey! What a bargain! 

The Nex did give me a bruise (tis true, my beauteous flesh is temporarily tainted with the foul splotching of broken blood vessels). It was also hard to use my left arm the day after. But fret not. I am on the mend. At work I was supposed to be doing a great deal of typing and such but my left arm was being a baby and didn't want to work anymore. Actually all of me didn't want to work anymore, but I had agreed I would do all this typing in exchange for money that would allow me to buy some really great camera bag. So I had to stay, typing. 

I thought it would be better to make my coworker aware of the condition of my fragile left arm. So I proceeded to tell him that I got the Nex put in, and he was all "Oh, yeah. Ok." But it wasn't enough of a reaction. I wanted him to at least widen his eyes at the sight of my gorgeous limb all battered and bruised. 

So I proceeded to explain WHY I opted to have a plastic toothpick thing inserted under my skin. I used phrases like "killer uterus" and "felt like labor" and "pregnancy is gonna suck". It took me a moment to discern his shifty stance and his sweaty brow. As soon as I paused for breath he jumped right in almost in panic, "Yeah! Well, we still got... Here, why don't you go order the CD's in person??? Yeah, It's kind of a drive, but it's alright. You can grab lunch on your way back." 

It was only coming back from lunch that I realized there may have been a boundary I crossed. I could just picture my mom's "concerned parent" look and suddenly felt that maybe the uterus isn't something you should talk about with your unmarried, male coworkers. 

But I shrugged it off and finished my sandwich. 

PS Thus far the Nex is great! Not even a headache. I'll let my coworker know first thing in the morning.

Midnight Baking

Last night I came home late from work. My entrance woke my mother who had fallen asleep on the couch. Mother leapt off of the couch and started moving.

"What time is it?" She asked.

"Midnight." I said.

"What?"

"It's midnight." I repeated, watching her dash around to no specific destination.

"But what time is it?" She was frantic.

"Mom! It's midnight. Twelve o'clock in the morning."

She moved around. "What time is it?"

"It. is. midnight."

She flapped her hands and looked desperate, "But what does that mean?!"

I laughed (not kind, I know, but you try doing it differently). "You're the one that's freaking out. You tell me." Then I noticed that the oven was on, so I opened it. "It's your bread." I told my despairing mother.

Her eyes finally started to focus. "Oh. Bread. Ok." She then pushed some buttons and told me to put the now risen loaves back in the oven, and turned on the timer. I was a little wary leaving her alone in her sleepy state with the oven and the eight fluffy round loaves of bread. But I was tired, so I did anyway.

I finished getting ready for bed and thought I better just do a last check on the Sleeping Baking Beauty. I barely saved the loaves from burning. They are a dark brown instead of a burnt black. "Mom!" I chided her. "Your timer is going off!"

She raised her head from the couch and said, "Oh.... put the other loaves in. Timer."

I went over and stood next to her. "Mom, can I trust you to take out the bread? Because I'm going to bed now and you didn't do so well last time."

"No, I'm fine. I've had a nice nap. I'm awake now," she said but laid her head back down. So I set the oven timer and put an alarm on her phone, thinking that between the two she should wake up decently.

This morning I went into the kitchen and found two very burnt loaves of bread. Indeed.

Surprise Party!

Yesterday was my mother's 50th birthday, so we celebrated her by surprising her with a lot of people, a lot of food, and homemade ice cream. It transpired thus:

My mom was planning on dinner with just her children, and it was going to be later because the little boys have football practice til 8:30. So we all played along and let her make call in and make a reservation. But before then Nik took her out for ice cream with his girlfriend, who couldn't come to dinner but had still gotten her something (a likely story). Then while driving my aunt called Nik, completely frantic and concerned, "Nik! Grandma has fallen down and we can't get her up. We need your help! Where are you?! Can you come?" So Nik and Co. headed up to my aunt's house.

Meanwhile, the rest of the party was in my aunt's kitchen, doing last minute preparations. We all stationed ourselves in position and then Teeny got a sudden idea. "Let's really have Grandma on the ground!" and though most people didn't seem to think this was a good idea (she is 99, after all, and already broke her back this year) Teeny was insistent, and with the help of several gentlemen they lowered Grandma onto the floor in the front entryway. They gave some pillows, dumped her walker strategically, then turned her wig so it was just askew.

When my Mom and Nik entered Grandma started moaning in great pain (she is quite the actress, that lady), escalating in pitch. Teeny and my mom fumbled, explained, and suggested for a minute, then Teeny said, "She's just so hot. Could you go get her come ice or a cold rag in the kitchen?" (My uncle was all for saying, "Go boil some water!" or "Grab some towels," but we opted for something slightly more logical) So my mom dashed into the kitchen where she met a crowd of people who shouted "SURPRISE!"

Ahahaha! She was shocked. "That is cruel!" she said, "You guys are so mean." She covered her face, and Grandma came walking in, her wig on straight and a very satisfied smile on her face. Mom had no idea. It was wonderful. Nik was laughing, as was must every one else. A few were disappointed there were no tears. Teeny thought she ought to have milked the tragedy a little more, but it was all good. After the initial shock wore off she was delighted.

*Chuckle. I am very satisfied.

Grandma runs me over

On Thursday my great-aunt hired me to take my great-grandma out for a little while. These two charming women have somewhat of a Mrs. Bates/Miss Bates relationship, not quite that extreme but sometimes close.

My darling great-grandmother is turning 99 (that's right, ninety-nine) in just a couple weeks, so getting her around in not exactly easy, and neither is talking to her since she can't quite hear and her short-term memory is suffering somewhat. But still I love her, and so was glad of the opportunity of taking her to pick up her hearing aid, getting some Arbie's, and do some grocery shopping. My great-aunt packed a cooler full of ice, cups, and coke for the trip.

The visit to the grocery store was by far the highlight of the adventure. We got grandma into one of those jazzy scooters with a shopping cart attached and just let her go. She insisted on following me though, so for most of the trip I was ghosted by an old lady on a scooter.

Down one aisle she said that we needed some coke, so I picked up a box of cans and said, "Grandma, I'm going to put this in your cart instead of mine." She responded "Ok." Then rammed me over with her scooter. She just held down the go lever, pushing me back while I've got this big thing of soda in my hands. "Grandma, stop! Stop!" But she didn't really hear me, so I had to reach over and pull her hand off the controls.

Then we had a big debate over marshmallows. Growing up during the Depression made my Grandma very conservative with money and food. She needed marshmallows but couldn't stand the fact that a bag was almost $3. Thank goodness for Western Family.

After settling on which bag of marshmallows (I was able to convince her that the fruit kind, already horrible [hence the reduced price], taste particularly nasty in chocolate) we found the rest of the aisle a-litter with new merchandise and carts (and one poor bloke who was having a real tough time deciding on pasta).

So I said, "Grandma, we'll have to go back that way. Do you think you can reverse straight all the way back?" She looked at me and said, "Yeah." then clenched her fist around the reverse lever and shot backwards, without even looking, straight into the jell-O and cake mixes. And she just kept pushing reverse so the scooter kind of scratched and skidded along the shelves for a bit before I was able to get her to stop. "Grandma! Whoa! Stop!" When she finally heard me she just put her hands in her lap and waited.

I started cleaning up the wreck, but a real nice employee came over and said, "I'll take care of this, don't worry." Which, if we analyze the subtext, would sound more like, "I can see she's a handful, so keep a closer eye on her and stop wrecking my store."

The whole fiasco was fun though. I'm glad I went. I love her dearly. Maybe I'll get her a jazzy for her birthday.

Family White Elephant

Every after Christmas and before New Year's we have a family adult Christmas party that includes the passing of white elephant gifts. This year this is what my brother brought:

In case you can't tell that is a drum cymbal with a self-help relationships video, a glow stick, and hand warmers taped onto it. It was voted as one of the worst gifts present. The other gift that tied for worst was my cousin's sack lunch that he took out of his car and wrapped up with the host's wrapping paper.

This party is usually very fun, as my family can get quite creative with what they bring. There were also some Cialis pill boxes (empty, but containing money), a plethora of dollar-store man-candy calendars, a jar full of homemade puppets' heads, and I think my personal favorite was a live lobster wrapped up in a macey's clothing box. Ah, family.

About the Snake

Since there have been some inquiries I thought I'd explain about the python that appears in that photo.

Well my talented brother wanted to take family portraits as Christmas gifts for the parentals (which totally worked. My mom would have cried if we let her). So we went down the street to an empty lot and took pictures in front of an old maroon Chevy. The owner of the Chevy came out of the neighboring house and asked us if we needed the car moved or repositioned. We said we were fine, and it was all good. He returned 1+1/2 minutes later with a 15 foot python. And that's the explanation I have.

We took some pictures because how could we not? Apparently its the oldest python there is at 42 years old. A little while later the owner brought out a second python and we took some more pictures cuz life is just that awesome with two 15 foot, 40+ year-old pythons.

One life goal checked off the list.

Thank you friendly neighborhood snake-man.

Lake Powell

We went to Lake Powell last week, just us adults. And it was all very fun. We wakeboarded, air-chaired, played horse-shoes and told stories around the camp fire. Memorable, fun, and often hilarious.

Here are the spectators of the horse-shoe match. Please note the plethora of cranial protection. Also the fact that the gentle-lady in the pink bonnet is my 98-year old grandmother.

This is me participating in the hors-shoe tournament. Was pretty much awesome, so ya know.

My uncle and me, winning the tournament. Told you I was awesome. My ringer ended the game (only after Danny dragged us all the way to the top).

Grandma again. We pumped her full of sweets then let her sugar-crash out in the water.

Other things of interest:

• There was one wallet lost in the water, which was retrieved with mask and dive the next day.
• This family is highly competitive (which resulted in various strategies of commentary, encouragement, distraction, and eventually evident avoidance of the other team).
• I learned how to play bridge with my 98-year old grandma.
• This family has the best stories to tell around the fire

FOR EXAMPLE:

Hootie once drove his friends for some camping trip up in northern Utah. They were pulled over by a cop and had to use the rest of their money to pay him off. They then continued to drive, and Hootie decided it was fun to light bottle rockets out the window of the moving vehicle. Naturally one flew back into the car and bounced everywhere before landing in the driver's console. This resulted in a moderate crash that tilted the entire frame of the car. But no worries. On to fishing!

They finally made it, and caught some illegal fish but couldn't eat them before the Fishing and Game Inspector came over. But they still had fun by strategically placing a dead snake for one of their friends to find.

But when they needed to go home they had no more gas and no money. So what did they do? Simply they used the windshield fluid hose to siphon gas from a cop's car (since it was his fault they were in this predicament in the first place) while the car was sitting in front of his house. It took a while, but they got home just fine, and rather enjoyed themselves.

And that is just ONE of the tales of the family. They lived quite adventurously, I do say. THOUGH we did have our own share. On the way home we stopped in Green River and the keys were locked in the car. This was bad, as there is no spare in existence and we were trying to get my aunt to the airport just in time to catch a flight. Yikes.

But luckily there happened to be a teenager working at the Subway who has the black-market knowledge of breaking into unsuspecting (or suspecting) vehicles. We rounded his sandy head up and he assisted us with a small set of tools (including the coat hanger and a screw-driver) and in less than 5 minutes he had the door open and we were on our way. Richard to the rescue!

And how does my brother pay Subway back for hiring such ideal employees? By stealing one of their giant sticky signs and adhering it to my other brother's car during the night. Fun fun.

St. George

So my mom was in desperate need of a vacation and we decided St. George would be a good place to go at the end of July, when cooking eggs and bacon on the sidewalk is so passe, and people have moved on to ham and asparagus. We're talking 103 degrees average =fun?

Luckily the condo had air conditioning (which is actually a huge step up from home) and a nearby pool with a handful of beautifully tanned and well-shaped life-guards. =fun (probably more fun if they were past high school and knew about the real world, at least a little). But I won't lie, I was totally looking.

It was a rather fun trip. I learned shuffleboard (I'm quite gifted actually. Why am I so surprised? I mean come on, it's me. Don't I just ooze Shuffleboard Queen?). I told Greek myths to the boys (Jackson was rather upset that I knew so few stories about the "Water Guy" aka Poseidon).

We did a death hike in the middle of the day on Wednesday. It was so hot the five of us went through five quarts in like an hour and fifteen minutes. DOOOD. We later hiked Angels' Landing at night (as in walked home in the dark with a wind-up flash light=fun and a little scary). I absolutely SHREDDED my pants slipping of the road while taking a picture. Minor scrapes on the body but the shorts are completely done for. I had to finish the hike holding my pants together so anyone behind us wouldn't get sight of my voluptuously white arse. Yes we can all laugh, ha ha ha.

The boys finally caught their much desired lizard. Hours of chasing the poor animals around hot rocks and sand only to end up in a poky bush. But they were at last successful. They caught one tiny one, but almost caught five, so... they were happy.

Now we just have to get back to the real world... =not fun.

Jackson Sleep-Walking

This is Jackson--with his clothes on.

The other night we watched Inkheart for a little family movie night. Jackson, who was most insistent about renting it, fell asleep in the first ten minutes. After the movie was over the rest of us retired to the kitchen for a late night snack while Jackson snoozed on the couch (rather loudly as a matter of fact). A few minutes later Jackson walks by, bleary-eyed, and confused, and also completely naked.

Zak and I looked at each other. Cole went over to the couch and found a pile of discarded kid clothes.

Then Jackson returned, still naked, still confused, with this pinched looked on hi face. He walked around the kitchen's perimeter, then circled the island counter, and walked back into the bedroom. We all just watched him, not impeding or talking---Just watching. After he walked back out my mom followed him and found him in the bathroom--with the lights on-- running into the walls with that pinched look still on his face. Still naked. My mom helped him find the toilet and that seemed to solve his problem.

Lake Powell

I am reawakening this dormant blog with news from Lake Powell. Pictures will follow when I contrive to steal them from my brother's computer. Quick numbers: 1 houseboat, 4 jet skis, 40 people (including 97 year-old grandma and one Jedi), lots of food.  

Lake Powell has been known as great adoration and vexation to my family. We have been going there with all the extendeds since I was little and have had many adventures. This particular year we acquired 1 totaled boat and 1 damaged jet ski (who's repair cost was over $800), But this was hardly surprising, considering our past experiences. 

The disastrous trip of '06 had actually 2 totaled ski boats, a missing house boat, 1 ruined rental boat, a jack-knifed trailer, two fragile females--one 1 month old, the other 94, and 1 double-layered raspberry chocolate cake afloat in the melted ice water of a stranded cooler. SO 1 boat and 1 jet ski was hardly a thing to consider. 

The first day of this year's Lake Powell trip my aunt accidentally replaced her eye drops with hydrogen peroxide. She did not go blind, but sported a pair of nicely swollen and dripping eye-lids for the rest of the trip. On the way down one of the trip's toddlers slammed his foot in the car door so had to go around the whole time hobbling on a bandaged leg. 

Day two one of the jet skis swallowed a rope. All the men in our tribe lifted it up out of the water and dissected it on the beach and removed the offensive strand of nylon. They then put it back together and replaced it on the water. Also, in the evening, one of my cousins did his traditional glow stick dance. This sounds kind of weird/awkward but he tied 2 glow sticks on the ends of strings and spun them around, kind of like fire torches. Turn out the fire and turn on the techno and it's actually quite cool. Afterwards he handed out glow sticks to the little kids. 

Naturally this creates a problem: badly tied knots with plastic tubes on the end swung around at the greatest possible speed with a whole crowd of people standing around to watch. Luckily no one got pelted with a flying glow stick, but one kid (my brother, actually) started swinging it out of control and the string + glow stick swung down between his legs. He collapsed instantly into the fetal position on the sand, moaning and groaning like a truly injured man. He was a little more cautious in his next approach to the glow sticks. 

Day 3: This day one of the jet skis actually swallowed a stick. The whole dissection process happened again, with equal success. One cousin speared a fish. That was exciting. Everyone was so surprised that it actually worked that no one knew what to do about it. The fish ended up dying, I'm sure, due to a large gaping hole in its body. It took a while to get the spear out, first of all because no one wanted to touch it, and second because the fish kept moving. 

Day 4: I enjoyed watching young children biff on their face while trying to learn the wakeboard. Put those kids in life jackets and they are haaaardy. Our Jedi told some stories around the camp fire. One of them was about a Chinese boy trying to get to some holy mountain. On the way he met a whole bunch of obstacles, one of which was a leopard. The whole time my mom thought he had been saying leaper. She was just astonished that the kid would through a rock straight into the face of a diseased man, and even more astonished when no one else seemed perturbed. She didn't get it 'til the next day.

Day 5: This day we cleaned up and went home. Naturally it took 3x longer than we had expected. Finally crammed into our car we got a call from an aunt whose car had broken down due to some busted water pipes. We crammed their luggage and people into the remaining cars and left the lemon with a cousin to wait for the new part to come in. On the way home our car overheated once and we got lost 2 or 3 times. But we returned, safe though a little harried. 

It's a long story, but I found it amusing. 

Today Nik came upstairs looking sticky with smugness. "Beat him." He said. He had been playing Jackson at pool. Mind you, Jackson is six. Nik is 25. Jackson followed up the stairs, upset and exasperated. "I can't believe Nik beat me!"

Also today, Mom asked Ben to help her carry something out of the garage. "But it'll be all muddy!" Ben cried. "And I'm wearing my nice white shirt!" World, please note; wife-beaters are not "nice white shirts" and anyone who thinks otherwise is white trash. No exceptions.

Sleep Walker

The other night my brother was doing his habitual sleep-walking routine, only this time he woke up flat faced on the floor with a black eye and a nearly broken nose. No one is quite sure what happened, but my mom heard him moving furniture of some sort or other. 

This brother is fun to have around, and most of it has to do with these sleep-walking stories. Once we camped down in Hava Supai, and he woke up in the middle of the night. It was pitch black and he had no idea where he was. I woke up too, and thinking the noise was a squirrel or unsavory rodent, I turned on my flashlight. Because of this, Nik did not fall into the river or wander into a neighbor's tent. 

On another trip Nik woke up with his arms outstretched and hands open. On the floor was a broken lamp. We had to pay for the lamp as we didn't know Spanish for "Sleep-walking" 

That same trip he frightened some poor man almost to death. We were staying in a hostel and Nik slept on the bottom bunk, and some unlucky stranger slept on the top. In the middle of the night Nik, in all his football-bulking height, starting screaming at the man telling him to STOP IT. The man kept shouting "What?!!! WHAT?!!!" Nik woke up as he left the room and, semi-confused, went back to bed. The man's bunk was completely cleared by the time Nik woke up. 

These are just a few delights. If I were to add the rest of the family, this would be a very long entry. I myself do not roam the halls while dreaming, but nearly all my siblings, aunts, uncles, and mother do. Perhaps some other post....

Aunt in the Bed

The other day I came home very very late from a friend's house. We were finishing the second season of Lost, so naturally we didn't finish til 2:30 in the morning. I came home and walked through the dark house down to my basement bedroom, which is in the very corner of the house, and very much out of the way. I turned on the light and saw a body in the bed. 

I froze and for the splitty-est of seconds I thought it was myself and I was having some very trippy deja-vu experience where I was actually living in the deja-vu part. But then the body moved and sat up. 

It was my aunt, all the way from Connecticut! I totally forgot she was coming into town, and had no idea she'd be using my bed. but there she was, 2:30 in the morning asleep with my stuffed-animal Stitch next to her head. I gave my hasty apologies and turned off the light and shut the door. But the house was still all dark. Now what? I thought. 

Start of My Summer

So I have moved in with my father for the summer. There are definitely nice things about it, such as the quiet, calm, and nobody in my business. There are also some annoyances, like the fact that he doesn't own a proper pot, or the complete lack of chocolate in his house (which, up until this point, I did not think possible for any human). But I'm settling in, and I think it will be good. 

...

Except for one minor condition concerning the mice. My dad lives on a mini farm in the middle of a very rural area, so mice are quite naturally plentiful. And as his cat died, the mice have been becoming bolder. I don't mean to scare you with the idea that I'm living in a house riddled with rodents, where there is a fear to step on the floor or open drawers, because that is simply not the case. But I have seen two skitter across the floor in broad daylight, one was while I was unpacking, the other while my dad and I were having a conversation. "Mouse!" I cried and pointed. He turned and looked. "Oh." He said nonchalantly, then resumed the conversation. I mean really, what was he going to do? You can get a mouse cornered with little difficulty, but then you just stare each other down until he either wins you over with his frightened, beady little eyes, quivering whiskers, and pink nose, or he finds a hole. 

But today I heard some rustling near the garbage can. So (quite unnaturally for the normal human being) I checked it out. No little ball of fur came running out, so I assumed gravity was working on the trash. Later my dad came home, and I heard some rustling again, and again (still unnaturally) checked it out. "Do you hear a mouse?" Dad asked. "I thought so." I replied. He came over to take a look and said, "Sometimes they get caught in the garbage and you can hear them moving around." I looked at him. "And then do they stay there until you throw them out?" He shook his head. "They jump out at your face and scare you." But he said it with such factual calm that I simply replied, "Oh." I only realized the idiocy while he was walking away. Wait, why aren't we freaking out about this and dumping rat poison over every walkable surface? Who cares if cats turn my eyes into swollen, dripping, pink globules, or make me sneeze the whole alphabet in one go? Let's get our rears over the the shelter and bring the whole load back now! 

I think I should note, just for the sake of clarity, that his last cat died of a protruding brain tumor. And today one of Dad's horses (affectionately named Broohah) tried to eat my shoe--while my foot was still in it. I think this will be a very interesting summer indeed, especially if I end up sleeping outside in the car where no mouse can enter. 

Desperation=Inspiration

I have a little brother, Jackson, who is a delightful boy of six. The other day he wanted to make a cake. He really wanted to make a cake, but nobody would help him. He carried around a Betty Crocker cake mix for several hours begging people to help him, but no one could spare the time. So he took matters into his own hands. He opened the mix up, found a bowl, and "read" the instructions. There was a picture of three eggs on the back so he put in three eggs. He saw a picture of liquid so he put in some water. He wasn't sure what the other stuff was so it never made it into the mix. Nik (who had refused to help) finally got suspicious when Jackson came down with cake batter hands and asked him to turn on the oven (Jackson couldn't reach the dials, or else who knows what would have happened). Mom said that the oil-less cake must have been good because it was all gone by the time she got back.