Torrey through the ages!

So, I had to go through the ol' photo album the other day to give pictures to our Young Woman's President for a "Meet Your New Leaders" activity the other night, and I'm hooked! Is it not the most fun thing in the universe to look at old photos? I love to see how much the people around me have changed... I especially love to see how much I've changed! So, for your viewing pleasure, I now present: Torrey Through The Ages!!!!

Torrey as a baby! So cute!

Torrey and Evan looking guilty...

Torrey and all of her boyfriends...

Please note that she is stuffing her face full of cupcake...

Also note that she has quite the gut on her.

Torrey and wittwe bwothew Jakey!

Apparently Jake was supposed to grow

up to be a foot ball player?

Torrey on a horse at the famous

Cousin Birthday parties!!!

(PS, I loved that swimming suit,

if only I could still squeeze into it.)

Look at the million scrapes and

scabs I have on my legs!

My first play ever, the Pied Piper!

I'm the bright pink girl looking at the camera.

My one and only line was "And munch them!"

Yeah, I still remember it.

This is me with Katie and Katie, my best friends

in 4th grade. I especially enjoy the donut, granola bar,

soda pop, and KoolAide in my hands. No wonder

I looked like Jabba the Hut!

Ahhh, the Field Day Dance and Burton Elementary!

I was always jealous of the Kindergartners

who got to dance to Teddy Bear Picnic. 5th Graders

had to do a dumb 50's dance... with BOYS! Only,

my partner was a girl because we were the tallest

in our class and all of the boys were shrimps.

In Sea World in 5th or 6th grade... not entirely sure...

love the face.

This picture is in Junior High. I would like to

point out that I am again holding some type

of sugary beverage and a little on the round side.

Strange.

I love this picture because I have SUPER thick

eyebrows and bizarre red-ish hair.

Good ol' high school. Go Darts!

I've finally graduated from High School and

moved on to college. Thankfully there was a change

in hair color.

Oh fun Hale Center Theater. Bless their little hearts.

I loved that wig though. The outfit (which is

conveniently coved up by the bass) I could stand

to do without.

Tay and I at Jake's graduation... that night

was also my first date with Studly Juddly!

Dang I'm sexy.

My favorite bridal picture of all time!

Courtesy of Bee Photography.

Also another great pic by Bee Photography of me and

my sweetheart. Wow, I'm like, REALLY happy.

Again, SUPER happy... maybe it was because

I was finally married.

And, the most recent photo in Torrey's life!

We've almost been married a year!

Again, courtesy of Bee Photography.

Well, folks, did you enjoy the show? Can you believe I used to be so cute... AND so ugly? Really, the softball picture makes me want to hurl. But hey, you know how it goes... Chubby AND Sexy! Right?

Sexy AND Chubby

Christmas is coming and Torrey's getting FAT! Ok, not really, but honestly, how is a girl supposed to keep a trim figure with goodies galore tempting her? I'm at a loss here. I have always had a sweet tooth and I think I'm now developing a serious addiction to Peppermint Ice cream, plus I've made a terrible discovery... I can BAKE! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's true, I bake!

This week I've made it a goal to bake some kind of sweet every night to take to the neighbors... at least, that's my excuse. Because we all know where the Rolos Cookies and Cinnamon Rolls are going to end up... my butt and thighs. Sigh.

I'm so in the mood to look amazing for Christmas. I want to wear something sexy just becaue I can. I want everyone I know to say "Damn girl!"... except, probably everyone I know WON'T say that, even if I do... I hang out with Momony-Mormons, remember? And, somehow I have a feeling that there is nothing quite as revolting as a chubby girl wearing clothes that don't quite fit, with two fists full of double fudge brownies and chocolate sauce dribbling down her chin, trying to be seductive. (Shudder)

But, here's my question, can't a person be sexy AND chubby? When did big boobs and curvy hips go out of style anyway? I'm positive I was born in the wrong century. Remember when being "soft" was a status symbol, a symbol of wealth?! I'm not saying that we need to promote chubbiness, heavens knows we already have an obesity epedemic... But, what about the women out there, like me who, even with diet and exercise, can't squeeze into anything below a size 6? When are we going to be on the cover of Vogue? When are we going to grace the Victoria's Secret fashion show runway? When? When will we love love-handles again?!!??!!

I digress. I can't help it though, how can one discuss chocolate mousse with out mentioning their "junk in the trunk"? The funniest part about this whole post, is even after all of my fretting, fraying and complaining, I'm still going to eat peanut brittle until I get a tummy ache, I know myself. And, guess what? I'm going to like it. And guess what else? I'm going to slip... no, squeeze myself into the sexiest thing I own while I eat carmelitas, because, belive it or not, I am sexy AND chubby.

In deep SH*T

It has come to my attention as of late, that my entire front yard is almost completely covered in poo. Yes, POO. It has also come to my attention that the only pet I own, has poo about the size of pencil lead, if that. It has ALSO come to my attention that even IF my pet had large poo, it could never even make it to the front lawn without dying... seeing as it lives in a watery prison.

So, who's a girl to blame for this atrocious act, this dismal deed, this putrid performance?!? WHO?! Seeing as I had a BIG problem and no answers, I decided to start an intense and thorough crime scene investigation.

The first thing I noticed was that the poops were mostly the same size. This crime was obviously committed by a smaller dog, or dogs. There are many of these around the neighborhood, so it's difficult to say which one it is. I had thought of blaming my parents pups (who happen to live next door): Dill, the schnauzer and Bandit, the pug. They do pretty much have free reign of the neighborhood, and lets face it, they're DOGS (smaller dogs, as a matter of fact), they think they can poop anywhere they please!

Dill and Bandit were looking like prime suspects and I was getting ready to take some legal action... However... upon further investigation of the scene of the crime, I noted that the evidence can only be spotted on the front lawn, not in the back yard or the side yard. I found this knowledge strange, seeing as Dill and Bandit frequent my back yard on a daily basis. Hmmm....

This case was really starting to bother me. I mean, sure, it's just poop... but, it's POOP! Who honestly likes cleaning up poop? Especially if it's not your own pets? I was ready to give up on my crusade, when this morning, a very enlightening event occurred. I was getting ready to leave for school and opened the front door to walk out to my car.

Upon opening the front door, I encountered a man just standing on the sidewalk, facing my house, with his hands in his pockets. He obviously didn't realize I had opened the door, probably because I was being camouflaged by the closed screen door. I was a little disturbed at first, wondering why this man was just standing in front of my house, until I noticed a tiny black line leading out of his pocket. The line was a leash and it was connected to a dog, cocker-spaniel, to be exact. This dog was sniffing around my FRONT LAWN while the owner just stood there.

I was about to just walk out to my car when I heard, "Come on Jackie, go poop". Excuse? Yeah, you heard right, this MAN was prompting his SMALL COCKER-SPANIEL to take a DUMP on my LAWN!!!! I was furious! I loudly opened the screen door and said "uh, HELLO"! The owner, who was OBVIOUSLY guilty... HE WAS CAUGHT IN THE ACT... quickly said "Oh,

Jackie, don't, bad Jackie!" then ran away.

GRAAAAHHHH!!!! Are you freaking kidding me?! So, (as my little brother says) thing wrong #1: It is totally against the law to NOT clean up your pet's shiz, thing wrong #2: It is totally against common decency and etiquette to prompt your ugly cocker-spaniel to "do it's duty" on a perfect stranger's lawn EVERY DAY!!! Ok, maybe not every day, but enough days to make an impact on me. I suppose I'm not exactly a "stranger", seeing as the man lives down the road, but it's not like we're chums or have ever even talked to one another... not that being friends with a person gives you the right to let your dog crap on their lawn anyway!!!!

So, what should I do? It's taken every ounce of strength for me NOT to call the Animal Control and tattle-tell. "Come on Jackie, go poop", argh! That keeps sounding over and over again in my mind. Oh, and on a side note, who names their dog Jackie? Really, pets aren't humans! (I'm in a mad rage right now, so don't take offense if you happened to name your dog Bill or something.)

I've been give a few other more deserving suggestions on "how to deal" with the situation: put the poopie on a plate and deliver it to the owner's home, put the poop in a bag and light it on fire on the door step, and even have someone I know poop on the owner's lawn. But, I really am torn. I don't think the offense had quite reached lynching status... but if I find ONE more piece of digested dog food on my lawn... I'm going to do SOMETHING. I'm not sure what that SOMETHING is yet, but it's going to be BAD... VERY BAD.

Marty the Friendly Ghost... or is he?

It's official!  Either both the husband and I have become VERY forgetful, or we have a ghost.

Yeah, I know you don't believe me, but it's TRUE!  

Ok, Ok... I'm still not sure if I completely believe in ghosts or not, but there have been some strange occurrences in my house that have caused me to lean toward the "Ghosts are Real" side of things. 

I'll admit, I've always had an overactive imagination.  When I was in junior high, I believed there was a ghost/demon/monster/person living under my bed because I could hear it/him/her scratching beneath my head at night. 

 

After several months of forcing both of my parents to sleep in my bed with me, hoping to prove to them that I was NOT crazy, (only to hear "Torrey, it's just your imagination"), we realized I was hearing my hair rub against my ear and pillow.  Yes, I know, I'm pathetic!  After we discovered I'm just massively paranoid, we dubbed they imaginary personage "Scratch", my family still teases me about Scratch to this very day.

So, maybe I AM imaging this ghost in my house, but maybe I'm not.  Listen to what has happened:

Strange Occurrence #1:

While renovating our home when we first purchased it, I went to the downstairs bathroom to fill up a water bottle.  Mind you, although we weren't living in the house at the time, it had been fully functioning just weeks prior by the former owners.  So, I turn on the sink and no water comes out.  I'm a little confused, so I go to turn off the sink and suddenly water shoots out in these short bursts.  It really freaked me out!  

Old, unused pipes?  Or paranormal activity?

Strange Occurrence #2:

The husband gets home from work and takes off his shoes by the door in our bedroom.  He goes to the kitchen, gets a snack, watches a little TV, then goes back into the bedroom.  His shoes are no longer next to the door, but UNDER THE BED!!!  

Forgetful husband?  Or a ghost with a sense of humor?

Strange Occurrence #3:

The husband and I are in the kitchen together making a salad (a Broccoli, Bacon, Crasin Salad to be exact... so yummy).  I'm on one side of the island making the salad dressing while the husband is at the stove cooking the bacon.  I get out a tupperware container to put the dressing in to cool in the fridge.  I take off the lid and set it next to the container on the island.  I pour the dressing into the container and turn to get the lid... and the husband's keys are sitting nicely on top of the lid.  

Me: Um... husband?  Did you just put your keys on top of this lid?

Husband: No, I've been cooking bacon.

Forgetful Torrey?  Or Scratch the Second?

Strange Occurrence #4:

I am in the kitchen quietly doing dishes all by myself when I see something moving out of the corner of my eye....  I look over at our iPod speaker station and the speakers are bouncing up and down.  There was no ipod hooked up, no sound coming out, just speakers moving by themselves!!!  

Power surge?  Or the ghost strikes again?

Can you see why I'm leaning toward "Ghosts are Real"?  Yeah, I thought so.  So, I start to do some research and although no one has ever died in this house... the previous owners, the ONLY owners besides us, raised a son here.  

This son's name was Marty.  Marty grew up in this house and died a few years ago of AIDS.  Uh huh, I know what you're think.... Marty is our ghost!  It's got to be him!  I mean, maybe our house is the only place he feels comfortable.  Maybe he can't move on to the other side for some reason.  Maybe I need to conduct a seance.  Yes!  I'll get lots of candles and other paranormal devices.  Maybe I could sign up for one of those ghost hunter shows...

I don't think Marty is an evil ghost or anything... I mean, he's obviously got a sense of humor.  He's never done anything to harm us, he just likes to freak us out.  The problem is, I don't feel comfortable with Marty hanging around.  It's our house, not his.  So, I'm just going to have to kick him out.  Sorry Marty....

I'll get rid of you Marty... if it's the last thing I do.  Now... how does one get rid of ghosts anyway?...

Ratta-Tat-Tat!

So, I'm at the Maverick yesterday, picking up a bottled water to quench my thirst before my night class.  I walk up to pay, mindlessly set my drink on the counter, wrangle my wallet out of my purse, hand the clerk my debit card, when SUDDENLY, I behold the most lovely, astonishing, hilarious, beautiful sight I've ever seen...  

A Fraggle Rock tattoo on the arm of the clerk.  It had most of the characters from the cartoon in this vibrant color, just popping off her arm!  It was amazing!  In fact, I was so caught up in her body art, that she had to tell me "You need to enter your pin number" three times!  I mean, really, this was a great tattoo.    

As I was driving to class I was consumed in cognition over the ingenious ink.  What made her get it?  Why Fraggle Rock?  Did it hurt?

I will admit, some tattoos are SUPER lame: the ever popular tramp stamp, the tribal bands around the biceps, the Japanese symbol for "whatever" on the ankle or foot.... talk about unique.  (Rolling of the eyes.)  But, I would be lying if I didn't say that I've always been envious of anyone who has a tattoo, no matter how lame.  

Because I'm a Mormony-Mormon, I've never really considered getting a tattoo, just lusted after them.  I know I shouldn't mark my body, but MAN a tattoo would be sweet!  So, let's say, for some reason, I just went wild and crazy and got myself that tattoo, what would it be?  Just one tattoo....  What a tough decision!

So, if I went the cartoon direction... Scrooge McDuck would be pretty rad, and when I looked at him, I would always remember my aspirations to be filthy rich.

I did watch one of those ever popular tattoo shows once where a girl wanted a bar code on the bottom of her foot.  Ha ha!  That would be hilarious!   Or perhaps a "Made in China" tat.  Only... I wasn't made in China.  Maybe I could get a "Made in the USA" tat?  No... nothing is made in the US these days.

Maybe a Disney style crown that says "Princes" under it... no that's lame.

My friend Mary has a tattoo on her hip of a lightning bolt!  It's so amazing, and I am so envious.  Maybe I would copy her.  I would definitely want something with color, but not something that can be seen easily.  Grah!  I don't know, such a hard decision that I'll never have to make!!!!

Maybe I'll just go with my husband's name tattooed on my butt.  

I LOVE JUDD

Let's hope we never get divorced!

It Perks AND Enhances!

I've been debating wether or not to write a blog on the following topic.. but it's just too good to overlook.  Brace yourself, this post includes more talk of womanly parts...

Because I've been blessed/cursed (you can decide) with, shall we say... a "Bountiful Bosom", the idea of what they will look like one day, after I've had children, often plagues my  mind.  Let's face it, it's painfully obvious that women with perky capacious cleavage in their twenties end up with droopy, sagging, deflated looking bosoms by at least their mid-forties.  Sigh.  Is it such a crime to want magnanimous mammaries for the rest of my life?  Honestly.

So, I was expressing my fears and concerns to the Husband about a month ago, and more or less joking about creating a "Boob-Job Fund"... for the future, of course.  I mean, really, it's not like I want to drastically change my body, in fact, I love my body... I just want to keep it looking like it does now.  Ok?  I just simply don't want to be at risk of kicking my breasts every time I go for a jog.  So, I express these ideas to my husband, who also become GREATLY concerned... but the conversation ends, and I forget about it.

A week later, I get this call:  

"I ordered you something today!" the Husband tells me over the phone.

I, of course, am completely shocked!  I mean, the Husband is great, but he's just not the type of guy who brings home flowers every night... so I start to get really excited, wondering what he could have possibly ordered me.  Was it those shoes I've been dying to buy?  Maybe something for our house?  Or, could it possibly be?... a day at the spa?!

"What?" I ask him, "What is it?"

"Well... I don't know exactly how to say this... but...ok, I ordered you Boob Creme!!!"

I know what you're thinking... You're thinking, "Boob Creme?"... yeah, I KNOW that's exactly what you're thinking, because I was thinking that exact SAME thing.  Yes, the Husband had ordered a free trial sample (with a small shipping and handling fee) of some exotic "Breast Enhancing Creme" that claims it will not only "perk and firm", but also "increase your volume by up to 2 full cup sizes!"  Wow.  Honestly, wow.

So, I don't want to hurt the man's feelings, so I try to act excited about it.  It arrives about a week later, and I carefully take it out of the packaging... but I open the tub of boob creme, and it smells absolutely HORRIBLE!  I start to worry.. "What if this is toxic?  What if I'm allergic to it?  What if my body somehow reacts opposite to the intended results, and my chests end up shriveling up and falling off?!!"  You would think the same thing after smelling that stuff, it was rank.  After I let the Husband smell the concoction, he decided it didn't seem safe either.  So, the boob creme was retired to under the sink, where it will continue to sit until I decide to get brave... brave or desperate (which ever comes first). 

Well, about a month after the boob creme incident, as I was looking at my online banking, I noticed something odd.  We were missing $150 out of our account that had been paid to a completely random source.  I called the Husband asking if he had recently bought something for $150?  Nope, wasn't him.  I knew it wasn't me either...

We both arrive home, completely perplexed, worried that someone had got a hold of our checking account information.  We were about to call the bank... when, we noticed, sitting in the mail box, a package.  The Husband watches as I quickly open the brown cardboard box... the suspense was killing us.  And what should be in the package?...  Yep, you guessed it... MORE BOOB CREME!

You see, when the husband had signed up for our "free trial", it also signed us up for a monthly subscription of the blasted boob creme.  We immediately canceled the subscription of the cursed creme, but we now have two giant tubs of boob goo sitting side by side beneath the bathroom sink.  

So, if you need a little perk... if you're dying to move up a cup size... or if you just plain want to risk your life by testing a possibly toxic creme on your bosom... you know who to come to.  Just call me, the Boob Creme Broker.

Radio Active and Neon Orange

WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING

WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS POSSIBLY RADIOACTIVE

PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK

So, normally, I would never write about what I'm about to write about... BUT, this is just too absolutely amazing to keep to myself.

Last night, after a long evening of school, I got home and sat down to do my homework...when SUDDENLY!... disaster struck!!!!

First let me give a little background to the story... recently I have been battling some...(OK... WARNING!!!... this topic may make you feel uncomfortable, so stop reading now if you are not a woman or don't have a wife)... urinary tract problems. Ugh! I know, doesn't it make you hurt just to think about it? So, I've been drinking lots of water and even taking cranberry pills since, supposedly, something in cranberries kills bacteria something, something, something... and this has been helping relieve the problem.

Anyway, back to the story... So, I get home last night and as I start working on my homework, I get that urge... yes, the urge to pee. I mean, this isn't just any ordinary urge, it's an urge like the urgency of the "been stuck in traffic for an hour and a half just after successfully consuming a 44 oz diet coke before getting into the car" urge. Only, I wasn't stuck in traffic, and I hadn't consumed a 44 oz diet coke, in fact, I realized, as I ran to the bathroom, that I hadn't had anything to drink that entire day! Nothing, nada, zip, not a single drop.

So I make it to the bathroom, practically lunge at the toilet, situate myself, and... nothing. Trust me, I tried and tried and tried to get something to come out... but my bladder was completely empty.

So, I dejectedly walk back to my bedroom and curl up into a ball on the floor and start to cry. Why? Because I know I'm in for a very long and sleepless night and the urge is just getting stronger and more and more painful by the second.

For the next half hour I kept running to the bathroom to attempt to "go", only to be completely let down when the toilet bowl winds up empty again and again. Finally I park myself on the bathroom floor, curled up in a towel because I'm in too much pain to go get a blanket, and proceed to moan. At this point the Husband decides to come find out why I'm crouched, butt up, on the cold bathroom floor wailing and gnashing my teeth (ok... probably not the gnashing of teeth part... but that's how hellish the whole experience was).

Now, bless his heart, I love my Husband. He truly completes me, and he's definitely the brains of the two of us. You see, not only does the Husband hate to see people hurting, he is a problem solver. So, next thing I know, he's seat belted me into the car, and we're on our way to the grocery store to find a cure.

We get in the store and he goes for the juice isle, while I head for the pharmacy. I immediately find the cranberry pills and next to them is another medicine I've never tried before: AZO Standard - "For Fast and Effective Relief of Urinary Tract Problems" (really, this stuff is good).
So, we check out and on our 5 minute drive back to the house I've chugged half of my 2 liter "juice box" and my hands start shaking.

We get back to the house and I have the Husband read the instructions for my AZO Standard while I attempt to open the annoying plastic packs every 2 pills come in. "Take 2 pills with every meal, do not consume more than 6 pills daily". So I manage to get 6 pills out of their plastic prisons, pop them all into my mouth at once, and wash them down a huge swig of cranberry juice which, yes, I'm drinking directly out of the carton.

I then pop 2 Tylenol PMs and finish off the Cranberry Juice, and finally, exhausted from the whole experience, collapse on the bed. After about 30 minutes I started feeling pretty good. I was able to sleep through the entire night, and today, I feel great!

So, I got up this morning with the urge to "go", and this time I actually got to. Whew! What a great feeling! Now, here is the totally amazing part, and I expect you all to think this is as amazing as I do... my pee is neon orange! Seriously! It's so weird. It's looks like it's radio active or something. Oh and don't look down on me because I looked at my own pee... you know you all do it too. So, I now have possibly radioactive pee, and it hasn't changed colors all day, its truly amazing. I don't know if it was the cranberry juice, or the AZO pills, or the combination of both.. but if you want to have amazingly neon orange, possibly radioactive pee, you know what to do.

PS. This post was in honor of Laura :) Sorry it was all about potty Laur.

Couch Potato Envy

Well, just got back from vacation to Yellowstone.  It was a nice little trip, lots of food, site seeing, buffalos mating, pointless souvenir buying, trail hiking and campfire smelling.  Yes, it was a vacation, but, guess what? I don't feel vacationed at all!  

I feel tired.  Exhausted, actually.  My back hurts, my legs ache, I'm falling asleep at my desk at work!!!  How is it that I go on a vacation to have freedom from my monotonous job, to rest and relax and just enjoy life, but come home feeling like I never even left?  I am experiencing serious Couch Potato Envy right now. 

I know it's probably healthier to be out and about, blazing new trails and all that jazz... but, that's not my idea of vacation.  

My ideal vacation has been learned... I've seen my mom do it, and I've seen her mom do it, in fact we've all done it together.... Sit in a lawn chair with our legs propped on a cooler to get a little color, with a diet coke in one hand, and a good book in the other.  Ok, I know that sounds super white trash, but, just try it for a few hours and you'll be hooked.

Do you know what I did when I first got home from "vacation"?  Take a shower?  No.  Get something to eat?  No.  Change into clean clothes?!?  NO!  I plopped myself down on the couch in front of the TV and watched the Food Network.  Yeah I know, you're thinking "Who does that?"  I do, people!  I feel like I need a vacation from my vacation!  

Popcorn, Popcorn, everywhere, but not a crumb to... consume?

Ah, yes.  The beloved "Popcorn ceiling" (found in an old home near you).  I was disappointed at a young age to discover that the many popcorned ceilings around my neighborhood were NOT, I repeat, NOT, in-fact, made from Popcorn at all!!  But, rather, boring old plaster.  What a travesty to society!  

Since then I have always had a great deal of animosity toward "Popcorn ceilings" of every kind, and now, even more so that I have a home of my own containing the DREADED.... Popcorn Ceiling!!!  Dun dun DUN!!!!  

Yes, I know, it's only plaster, and a little plaster never hurt anyone, right?  WRONG!  Not only does my lovely variety of SPARKLY Popcorn Ceiling make me sick just to look at, BUT it also contains 20% asbestos, which will make removal VERY dangerous!  Who invented this horrible stuff anyway?  

The Husband and I decided to do the Popcorn removal ourselves, although the "specialist" at the County Health Department recommended we have the professionals take care of the dirty work... but we've never been ones to take good advice.  

After a little research on the internet, we bought ourselves some masks and went to work.  It was an incredibly laborious job, and I will NEVER do it again.  

In the end we both looked like Abominable Snow People, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to get lung cancer because of all of the asbestos dust which I believe made it's way past my mask and into my lovely pink healthy lungs.  Fantastic.

At least, if I DO get mesothelioma, the Husband will probably get it too, so we can die together from our cancer ridden lungs.  Romantic, isn't it?

I mean, if you're considering removing your not-quite-edible ceiling , the do it yourself approach is very cost effective, and, personally, I can't think of anything sexier than wearing a HAZMAT suit covered in dried plaster.  Honest.  BUT, here are 3 rules I would stick by to make the removal process more enjoyable and safe:

1. Invite lots of friends to help and take on the role of "Supervisor"

2. Wear an oxygen mask with tank

and

3. If you must do the back breaking work yourself because you have no friends, and you cannot afford an oxygen mask and tank.... Don't do the removal if you have a sore throat!  Your mask will end up smelling like a sore throat, thus making the removal of the popcorn even LESS enjoyable if that is even possible.  

Trust me, I'm a professional.