Twilight Years from Tom on Vimeo.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Twilight Meets Singles Ward
If you have not been following Twilight (hi mom) you will not think this is funny. If you are not a Mormon, you will probably not get this. On the other hand, if you're a Mormon who knows enough about Twilight to know the difference between a "Quileute" and a "Quaalude" then you will appreciate this. If you are a Mormon Twilight fanatic, you just hit the jackpot. This is made from 100% pure organic awesome. (Thanks Carly!)
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
It's My Birthday
Engine engine number 9
Today I’m thirty freakin’ nine
I think my brain has jumped the track
Control of my bladder is all out of whack
My last year in my 30’s, there’s a lot here at stake,
While I deem what to do, I think I’ll eat cake.
Today I’m thirty freakin’ nine
I think my brain has jumped the track
Control of my bladder is all out of whack
My last year in my 30’s, there’s a lot here at stake,
While I deem what to do, I think I’ll eat cake.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
The Legend Of Jiffy Bobby
Cory’s car needed new tires, so we traded vehicles for the day and I spent the morning calling around to comparison shop. I started with my favorite, Discount Tire.
“Thanks for calling Discount Tire, this is Bobby.” I asked several questions, he gave me all the answers, and I called store number two.
“Thanks for calling Big-O Tires, this is Bob.” I chuckled to myself that I had two “Bob’s” in a row, but suppressed my thoughts to ask all the relevant questions. After hanging up I wondered, “What are the odds that I would get TWO ‘Bobby’s’ in a ROW?” And then I took it a step further and thought, “I wonder how many other tire stores I would have to call before I found another one?” And just like that, I made a game for me to play. My strategy: I would call more stores to see how they answered, and as soon as I heard their name I would say, “Oops! Sorry, I got the wrong number.” It would be my very scientific way to gather data. I started with a store called Colorado Tire.
*ring*ring* “Thanks for calling Colorado Tire, this is TOM.”
“Sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number,” I said.
“No problem,” Tom replied. Good job Tom.
STRIKE ONE.
*ring*ring* “Hello, it’s a great day to get two for one tires at Tires Plus, this is JEFF.”
STRIKE TWO.
I opted for a different location of Discount Tire and dialed the number.
“Thanks for calling Discount Tire, this is AARON.”
STRIKE THREE.
Isn’t this riveting? I’m telling you, ever since I quit working as a professional after having kids I have ONLY GOTTEN SMARTER. (Gotten?) And more interesting. And more…well, trust me I could go ON AND ON.
I moved on to my second location for Big O.
*ring*ring* “Welcome to Big O Tires, THIS IS BOBBY.” (!!!)
JACKPOT!!! I chimed in with my rehearsed, “Sorry, wrong number” routine then hung up and laughed to myself while I sat on the couch with HGTV on “Pause”.
BUT WAIT! The game is not over! I was on a high. Imagine how it felt to know that I, VERN, was the first to discover (after all of that scientific evidence) that if your name is Bobby you have a 50% chance of working in a tire store at some point in your life. But I knew there was more, because everyone knows that more than one person works at a tire store, but only one person can answer the phone at a time. So the only way, scientifically I mean, to prove my theory was to call back those other stores and ASK for Bobby, to make sure I didn’t miss one. I started with the 2nd store on my list, Tires Plus….
*ring*ring* “Thanks for calling Tires Plus, this is Pat can I help you?”
“Hi, is Bobby there?”
“Yup, hold on a sec,” he said.
I hung up before bursting out laughing. Not only was I cracking myself up, but I was becoming acutely aware of how much I needed to get a life. The next two places turned out to be duds, but all in all my scientific evidence had proven a 67% chance of working in a tire store if your name is Bobby. I wonder if they’re hiring any “Vern’s”.
“Thanks for calling Discount Tire, this is Bobby.” I asked several questions, he gave me all the answers, and I called store number two.
“Thanks for calling Big-O Tires, this is Bob.” I chuckled to myself that I had two “Bob’s” in a row, but suppressed my thoughts to ask all the relevant questions. After hanging up I wondered, “What are the odds that I would get TWO ‘Bobby’s’ in a ROW?” And then I took it a step further and thought, “I wonder how many other tire stores I would have to call before I found another one?” And just like that, I made a game for me to play. My strategy: I would call more stores to see how they answered, and as soon as I heard their name I would say, “Oops! Sorry, I got the wrong number.” It would be my very scientific way to gather data. I started with a store called Colorado Tire.
*ring*ring* “Thanks for calling Colorado Tire, this is TOM.”
“Sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number,” I said.
“No problem,” Tom replied. Good job Tom.
STRIKE ONE.
*ring*ring* “Hello, it’s a great day to get two for one tires at Tires Plus, this is JEFF.”
STRIKE TWO.
I opted for a different location of Discount Tire and dialed the number.
“Thanks for calling Discount Tire, this is AARON.”
STRIKE THREE.
Isn’t this riveting? I’m telling you, ever since I quit working as a professional after having kids I have ONLY GOTTEN SMARTER. (Gotten?) And more interesting. And more…well, trust me I could go ON AND ON.
I moved on to my second location for Big O.
*ring*ring* “Welcome to Big O Tires, THIS IS BOBBY.” (!!!)
JACKPOT!!! I chimed in with my rehearsed, “Sorry, wrong number” routine then hung up and laughed to myself while I sat on the couch with HGTV on “Pause”.
BUT WAIT! The game is not over! I was on a high. Imagine how it felt to know that I, VERN, was the first to discover (after all of that scientific evidence) that if your name is Bobby you have a 50% chance of working in a tire store at some point in your life. But I knew there was more, because everyone knows that more than one person works at a tire store, but only one person can answer the phone at a time. So the only way, scientifically I mean, to prove my theory was to call back those other stores and ASK for Bobby, to make sure I didn’t miss one. I started with the 2nd store on my list, Tires Plus….
*ring*ring* “Thanks for calling Tires Plus, this is Pat can I help you?”
“Hi, is Bobby there?”
“Yup, hold on a sec,” he said.
I hung up before bursting out laughing. Not only was I cracking myself up, but I was becoming acutely aware of how much I needed to get a life. The next two places turned out to be duds, but all in all my scientific evidence had proven a 67% chance of working in a tire store if your name is Bobby. I wonder if they’re hiring any “Vern’s”.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Corn Maze
This little gem comes from my friend Deb, who sends me all sorts of hilarious stuff - not all of which is suitable for sharing. Mostly I just wanted to put something up that didn't have the word "hysterectomy" in it. Oops. Maybe next time.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
I Think I'll Sell My Tampons On Craigslist
I’m not gonna lie, I slept through General Conference. But if I told you the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me Elder Packer, I should also explain that I slept through General Conference ON A GURNEY. So I’m kinda thinking I get a free pass.
Last Thursday morning started out normally. I got the kids off to school, checked my email, played a word in my facebook Scrabble game, checked my stats to see if Hugh Jackman had found my blog yet…when before I knew it I was in the fetal position, sobbing on the phone to my husband that I thought I needed to go to the Emergency Room. (Such a drastic transition going from happy thoughts of Hugh, frolicking on the internet to find me, and then *BAM* “Holy Crap, I think my abdomen was a client of Bernie Madoff’s because it’s TICKED.”) So I called my friend Ganelle, still sobbing and she said, “Don’t move, I’ll be right there.”
Thirty minutes later we stood in the ER entrance and I began peeing in cups and describing my pain on a scale of 1 to 10. Hmm…. “With ONE being I’m disappointed that my mom never bought me hostess cupcakes for school lunches, and TEN being the Holocaust, I’m somewhere between never going to Homecoming and Columbine.” A little later, before the CT scan but after the incident where Ganelle pulled my gown over my legs in opposition to our “friendship knows no boundaries” clause, (turns out there ARE boundaries, and they stop short of the upper thigh being exposed through a light blue tent that one is given to wear when vacationing in the ER) Ganelle was also found holding my hair while I threw up into a pink, plastic bin. It was glorious, I tell you.
When my doctor finally showed up and took my information, he announced that we would be conducting a CT scan. I did not anticipate this kind of action, and I have to admit, it scared me a little bit. Okay, a lot bit. So they whisked me away where I was introduced to Jack, the CT Scan guy. “Hi Jack,” I gestured. “Don’t say that on an airplane!” he laughed. Something tells me Jack only knows one joke. But he was nice, especially when he said, “We’ll be injecting your body with dye – you’ll feel warm and fuzzy inside, and then you will most likely feel like you’re wetting your pants.” I was all, “Dude, I just threw up on my best friend, what’s a little bed wetting incident with a guy who can’t do airports?” It was quick and painless, and even though I DID feel like I was wetting myself, I wasn’t. Yet.
A while later the results were in and my doctor returned to deliver the news. The next few minutes are a bit of a blur, so I was grateful that my husband and friend were there to take notes and ask questions. Bottom line: I had a mass on my ovary. The other one. Cancerous? We didn’t know. It was about the size of an orange, had damaged the only ovary I had left beyond repair, and needed to come out immediately. I was admitted that night, had surgery on Friday, and came home from the hospital last night. At the end of the day, I do NOT have cancer (phew) but they ended up taking out all my lady parts and I have eighteen (I counted) staples in my abdomen to prove it. Do you know what this means boys and girls? This means I will be going through menopause now. I know, right? YOU just hit the jackpot! VERN. IN MENOPAUSE. Not even Hollywood could make this stuff up. At any rate, my mom and dad have driven out from California to my rescue – my mom has already gone shopping and my dad has already whipped up a fresh batch of guacamole. I have been swarmed with loving phone calls, random goodie deliveries, and offers to help for which I am humbled and profoundly grateful. I don’t think I could feel more supported if I was standing in a warehouse of jock straps. So THANK YOU everybody. Thanks for loving me and my family and for making me feel so cared about. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a cupboard full of tampons that I no longer need. I think I’ll list them on ebay to see if they can help with the medical bills.
Last Thursday morning started out normally. I got the kids off to school, checked my email, played a word in my facebook Scrabble game, checked my stats to see if Hugh Jackman had found my blog yet…when before I knew it I was in the fetal position, sobbing on the phone to my husband that I thought I needed to go to the Emergency Room. (Such a drastic transition going from happy thoughts of Hugh, frolicking on the internet to find me, and then *BAM* “Holy Crap, I think my abdomen was a client of Bernie Madoff’s because it’s TICKED.”) So I called my friend Ganelle, still sobbing and she said, “Don’t move, I’ll be right there.”
Thirty minutes later we stood in the ER entrance and I began peeing in cups and describing my pain on a scale of 1 to 10. Hmm…. “With ONE being I’m disappointed that my mom never bought me hostess cupcakes for school lunches, and TEN being the Holocaust, I’m somewhere between never going to Homecoming and Columbine.” A little later, before the CT scan but after the incident where Ganelle pulled my gown over my legs in opposition to our “friendship knows no boundaries” clause, (turns out there ARE boundaries, and they stop short of the upper thigh being exposed through a light blue tent that one is given to wear when vacationing in the ER) Ganelle was also found holding my hair while I threw up into a pink, plastic bin. It was glorious, I tell you.
When my doctor finally showed up and took my information, he announced that we would be conducting a CT scan. I did not anticipate this kind of action, and I have to admit, it scared me a little bit. Okay, a lot bit. So they whisked me away where I was introduced to Jack, the CT Scan guy. “Hi Jack,” I gestured. “Don’t say that on an airplane!” he laughed. Something tells me Jack only knows one joke. But he was nice, especially when he said, “We’ll be injecting your body with dye – you’ll feel warm and fuzzy inside, and then you will most likely feel like you’re wetting your pants.” I was all, “Dude, I just threw up on my best friend, what’s a little bed wetting incident with a guy who can’t do airports?” It was quick and painless, and even though I DID feel like I was wetting myself, I wasn’t. Yet.
A while later the results were in and my doctor returned to deliver the news. The next few minutes are a bit of a blur, so I was grateful that my husband and friend were there to take notes and ask questions. Bottom line: I had a mass on my ovary. The other one. Cancerous? We didn’t know. It was about the size of an orange, had damaged the only ovary I had left beyond repair, and needed to come out immediately. I was admitted that night, had surgery on Friday, and came home from the hospital last night. At the end of the day, I do NOT have cancer (phew) but they ended up taking out all my lady parts and I have eighteen (I counted) staples in my abdomen to prove it. Do you know what this means boys and girls? This means I will be going through menopause now. I know, right? YOU just hit the jackpot! VERN. IN MENOPAUSE. Not even Hollywood could make this stuff up. At any rate, my mom and dad have driven out from California to my rescue – my mom has already gone shopping and my dad has already whipped up a fresh batch of guacamole. I have been swarmed with loving phone calls, random goodie deliveries, and offers to help for which I am humbled and profoundly grateful. I don’t think I could feel more supported if I was standing in a warehouse of jock straps. So THANK YOU everybody. Thanks for loving me and my family and for making me feel so cared about. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a cupboard full of tampons that I no longer need. I think I’ll list them on ebay to see if they can help with the medical bills.
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