For My Wee Sister

How would you feel if you were related to THIS:


Intimidated much? You have no idea.

I have committed myself to blog more and complain less this coming month. Although I'm not quite sure how that's going to work, since most of my blog posts are me complaining.

I guess we'll just have to see.

But, I thought it would be nice to start my return to blogging with a tribute to someone whom I love.... and... it just so happens to be my fave sister's (pictured above) Birthday today.. so that worked out nicely.

Happy Birthday wishes to my #1 sister, I love you! (Photo courtesy of Joanna Taylor Photography).

To a May full of blog posts! Cheers!

I need you.

It's a sad but well known fact that I am happier and SO much funnier on Diet Coke. Seriously.

I used to think that I got my sense of humor from being the chubby girl. Whenever I was left alone one the swing set at recess, I would think "Well, my thunder thighs and muffin top are not going to get me any where in this life, guess I'll have to develop other worthy and desirable character traits to be successful." Seriously.

So I learned to be funny, make people laugh, partially to draw attention away from my jelly roll. But it made me feel good, like I was worth while. Seriously.


Now, this year, for reasons I cannot currently explain because I can't exactly remember WHY I wanted to do this... but I decided to go off Diet Coke. Seriously.

I was raised on Diet Coke. Since birth that dark carbonated goodness has pumped through my veins. I remember being in a stroller at the mall, my mother feeding me her Diet Coke with a straw. Seriously.


Maybe I'm going through withdrawals, maybe I'm addicted, I can't be sure. But I DO know that I'm one month and eleven days sober and positively miserable. Seriously.

Oh Diet Coke! Why have you forsaken me? Or is it, why have I forsaken YOU? See? I can't even think straight. I'm moody, I'm boring, I'm ornery, I'm bland. I need a Diet Coke right now in my hand. Great. Now I'm rhyming and I'm realizing that, being fat didn't make me funny... it was YOU, DC, you. SERIOUSLY.


I'm hoping things will get better. I really am. Most days are manageable, but really, today I need you, Diet Coke. I need you more than ever. I want to write on my blog and be witty and charming, but I can't without you. One day, several months from now, I'm sure I'll be fine without you, I won't dream about you and crave you like I do now. But you need to let me move on, Diet Coke. Just let me go. Don't look at me from the soda fountain with those sad and lonely eyes. I'm sure plenty of Utah women will love you more than I ever could. Please, Diet Coke. I need to move on. Seriously.

This is my deranged and sincerest Valentine for you.

Love,

Torrey

All Out of Love

Back in Thanksgiving, the Husband and I hauled ourselves down to Mesquite Nevada to spend some time with family.

The day after we arrived it was decided that we must trek up to Zions National Park to enjoy mother nature's beautiful landscape and design... or something like that. Instead of taking our own car we decided to cram in with the Husband's sister and her family. I was a little apprehensive about this car ride. A bad night's sleep on an uncomfortable air mattress + no shower + knees practically smashing boobs because feet are on the hump + three small children + country music on the radio = not my ideal car ride. Hence the apprehension.

The thing I did not take into account, was the miracle of modern technology. Growing up we didn't have iPods, and we weren't rich enough to have Game Boys. All we had was the lovely company of each other and the hum of the road. We were forced to talk or sleep for long car rides. The radio was pointless as we would just fight over what to listen to anyway, so it usually just stayed off.

Imagine my surprise when I got in the car for our voyage to Zions and everyone was silent. Two kids were plugged in to iPods, one was getting ready to take a nap. Yes, my knees were touching my boobs, yes there was country music on the radio, but I was able to zone that out for the most part. I was now excited for a pleasant rendezvous.

(Syepris)

We had almost made it out of the neighborhood, when my niece Syepris decided that she needed to sing along with her iPod. The atmosphere suddenly changed from "quiet and enjoyable" to.... something else. This is what I heard:

Syepris (at the TOP of her lungs): I'm all out of LOVE.. hmmm na na WITHOUT YOU... heh mee neh neh nah, hmmm meh neh naw SO LONG!

Over and over again every time the chorus came along. Once the song was over, she would promptly play it again. I looked at the Husband. He looked back at me. We both burst out in laughter. Why a six year old has Air Supply on their iPod escapes me, but it was brilliant!

I turned around to look at Syepris. She was closing her eyes, one arm reaching out, the other clenching her chest... The Expression! The Emotion! I couldn't believe this rock goddess of a child! Sure she didn't know all of the words, but that girl was a smash!

Soon the singing turned into screaming when Cole tried to silence Syepris with her fist because "She's singing too loud! I can't hear my own music!!!" The country music on the radio was soon turned up in hopes of drowning out the yelling, and the car ride turned into what I was originally expecting.



It wasn't bad, just different.

The very best part of that vacation, by far, was Syepris' rendition of "All Out of Love". Occasionally, when I'm having a bad day, I try to recreate that moment, and it ALWAYS makes me smile. Always.

Sometimes to make the Husband laugh, I'll pretend like I'm Syepris... "I'm all out of LOVE.. hmmm na na WITHOUT YOU... heh mee neh neh nah, hmmm meh neh naw SO LONG!" After laughing, the Husband says its rude to make fun of a little girl. But I'm not making fun, I'm showing how much I admire her. You've heard what they say about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery. It's true.

Recently, the Husband and I were driving home from the grocery store. I had control of the radio. I was in an especially good mood and I was excited to get home to eat the goods we had just purchased.

(Me, the Husband)

I flipped through several stations. Lady Gaga? No. Next station. Beyonce? Meh. Not in the mood, next station. Country? No no no no no. Next! "OOooooohh, what' this?" I thought to myself as I came upon Fireflies by Owl City. I'd heard it once before. Very catchy, and just in my range. I soon found myself singing.

Me (at the TOP of my lungs, eyes closed, arm reaching out, other hand cupping ear so as to hear myself better): I'd like to make myself believe, that planet earth turns slowly. Hmm he neh na-neh meh ne he hah wake when I'm asleep, meeh meh ne ne is never as it seems!

The Husband just stared. He would glance at the road to make sure he was still on it, then he would stare, stare, STARE. I didn't know hardly any of the lyrics. But I dare say I was a rock goddess of a woman!

Then the laughing began. Laughing AT, not with. I soon realized how I must look and quickly stopped and changed the station... to country music. I turned it up really loud, hoping it would drown out my embarrassment.

Sometimes to make himself laugh, the Husband pretends to be me... "I'd like to make myself believe, that planet earth turns slowly. Hmm he neh na-neh meh ne he hah wake when I'm asleep, meeh meh ne ne is never as it seems!" After giving a courtesy laugh I remind the Husband that it's not nice to make fun of his wife, who was once a little girl.

You've heard what they say about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery. Not so sure it's true anymore.

I still like to bust out "All Out of Love" every now and then, but I'm feeling more and more guilty for doing so. It's just so funny, its very hard to resist.

"I'm all out of LOVE.. hmmm na na WITHOUT YOU... heh mee neh neh nah, hmmm meh neh naw SO LONG!"

Waxed

A few weeks ago I told my girlfriend Alivia that I was going to get waxed. "You're insane" she told me. Although I do greatly value and treasure my dear friend's opinion, for she is a source of over-flowing knowledge, this time I had to kindly disagree. "I'm not insane, I've had it done before."

For the next two weeks I lovingly grew out my leggy hairs, constantly reassuring myself that it would all be worth it after the wax. I actually became quite fond the them in the final days of growth, especially because they were to the "silky stage"... mmmm.... silky leg hairs!

The day of the wax finally arrived. I anxiously waiting all day for the waxing to begin. As I left work Alivia gave me a "I can't believe you're doing this" look and wished me happy waxing. I went home, dressed in my comfiest of sweats and headed to the demise of my favorite appendage's whiskers.



I nervously sat in the waiting room on a deliciously agreeable sofa. I listened to the water feature trickle relaxing beads of water and inhaled the tranquilizing scent of lavender. Little did I know the torture that awaited me.

My esthetician soon arrived and led me back to another incredibly relaxing room. She was a really nice girl. Nice enough to let her see me half naked?... debatable, but I can't think of any stranger nice enough to unclothe in front of. Maybe its just me.

Next thing I knew I was lying half naked on a table with almost-too-hot wax being lathered on my legs. Then the ripping out of my hair follicles began.

It honestly didn't hurt that bad. I HAVE had this done before, so I knew what to expect. The most uncomfortable part was trying to come up with small talk. It felt too awkward to just watch this lady work on my Sasquatch legs, something had to be said. "So.... (long long long pause) how long have you been doing this?". UGH! I am terrible at small talk and I don't do well with strangers, particularly when I am exposed... on a table... with hot goo being poured all over my body.

After about the first 30 minutes the conversation really started to develop. I wasn't quite so nervous. I wasn't in THAT much pain. Not to mention, my esthetician had a great sense of humor to boot! Then.... (nervous pause for the painful memory) THEN, we got to more "sensitive" areas to wax. OH. MY. NUGGET.

(SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT!)

The first layer of wax was applied. The cloth was gently laid atop the wax... then... RIP!!! SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT!!!!!! That was the swear I keep screaming in my head. I don't know where I came up with that, but I silently yelled it to myself over and over. "Are you ok?" the darling esthetician asked. I swallowed the gigantic knot in my throat, then, with watery eyes, managed a small but pleasant "Yep". She, of course, knew I was lying, especially when I looked to see her handy work and blood was seeping out of my hairless pores. I almost fainted.

Eventually she got me a few gossip magazines to help me forget the pain and torture I was being subjected to (albeit willingly). I couldn't even read the articles, I just flipped though the pages, glancing at pictures, wringing the magazine pages in my sweaty hands with each progressive RIP!!!

I may have passed out for a while, I can't be sure. But soon it was over. I was rubbed down with wax remover and told I could finally go home.

I hobbled out to my car, still sticky from the bits and pieces of wax we couldn't get off. I kept thinking, "Liv was right, I AM insane".

The next day was rough, but things have been getting progressively better. I can walk now, and all of the wax is gone. In fact, today I feel great! I even made myself another appointment, six weeks from now.

Sigh.

The things we do for beauty.

Good Days

Last week my little sister (who really is not so little anymore) said to me, "Torrey, we should go shopping together on Saturday, I think it would be fun." Mmmm... shopping. :) Yes, I do love shopping. Oh how I love it! There is something so... (dare I say?)... therapeutic about the whole shopping experience that has me hooked. The smell of new clothes, the busy atmosphere, the SHOES! I think I'm in love.

Saturday morning rolled around, and suddenly, I really wasn't in the best of moods for shopping. This happens occasionally when I don't want to spend my hard earned cash on frivolous things, or I just want to spend all day lounging in my sweats (yes, you guess it) watching White Chicks the movie with Cheetos and all. After much contemplation and pleading big blue eyed looks from my one and only sister, I thought to myself "Who am I to be a killjoy?" and we hopped in the car and left.

It wasn't a very extravagant day. We first stopped at Hogi Yogi to get a sugar free frozen yogurt (oh those New Years promises I've made to myself!!!), then we bought leggings at Target, and finished the day with knitted headbands at Tai Pan. On the way home, as we were admiring our purchases, my little sister said (after a deep satisfyied sigh) "Today's been a good day".

(Not-so-little Sister)

On wednesday I got to play with my young women. They are always so encouraging. We practiced our lip synching skills as we prepared the entertainment for our New Beginnings in a couple of weeks. I listened to the girls discuss thier woes: school, boys, bodies. After a while we decided to run to Dairy Queen to enjoy icecream. We all squeezed into a booth and chatted as we dipped french fries into our blizzards (don't worry, I resisted). I showed the girls my hairy legs and they tried to make me feel better by showing me theirs. On the drive home as we were singing to music, I heard a voice in the back seat say "Today's been a good day".

I feel like I don't get to hear that phrase frequently enough, "Today's been a good day". It seems like everyone I know only tells me about their bad days, about how stressed out they are, about how terrible their life is. I like to hear about the good days, especially if I have even just the tinyest bit to do with it. It makes my heart smile.

This morning, when I got dressed, my favorite pair of jeans fit just right (these resolutions are beginning to pay off already). My hair worked out exactly as planned. I've had a very productive day at work. My husband made me a tuna fish sandwich with pickles for lunch (my favorite) and we enjoyed "dessert" together (wink wink)... (Is that TMI?...My bad!) Right now, at this very instant, I am sitting here listening to my boss sing to music in his office, it's almost the weekend, I've decided I must eat mexican food tonight, and I'm thinking to myself "Today's been a good day".

What makes your day good?

(Don't be afraid to share, we want to know!)

The Frumpys

Yesterday I woke up with the worst of dilemmas.... I had a terrible case of the frumpys. You know what it's like. When you get ready for the day and nothing fits quite right. Even your cutest of outfits looks bad on you. Your hair has a mind of its own, you feel extra bloated and even make-up cannot help you. Your eyebrows are in desperate need of a wax. You realize you're out of deoderant AND tampons and you would prefer to just stay in bed. The frumpys. Or, as Alexander would describe it, the start of a "No Good Very Bad Day". FANTASTIC.

Not that I REALLY care what I look like everyday. Some days I'm all about the no-makeup-lay-around-in-sweats-while-eating-cheetos-and-peanut-butter-on-a-spoon-while-watching-white-chicks-the-moive-day. But yesterday I was not. I desperately wanted to look cute. Why? Because sometimes I like to feel like I'm the cats meow, that's why. MEOW.

I finally managed to drag myself away from the mirror, into my car, and then into work. Ta-da! Work was ok. I started to forget about how I looked, until I remembered that there is a mirror right by my desk and that I cannot walk past it without looking at myself. I'm a creature of habit, I like to check myself out. Why? MEOW.

As the day progressed I started doing little things to help my frumpys. Put on lipgloss to make lips plump and shiney? Check. Put on favorite butt boosting high heels that are kept under desk for emergencys? Check. Improved hair with a series of bobby pins while performing acrobatic inspired head movements? Check. Took an elephant inducing coma's amount of Midol? Yes sir. The frumpys started to magically diseappear, oh praise! PRAISE.

On the way home from work, I suddenly had a boost of confidence. It could have been from the enormous emouts of caffine consumed via the Midol, but, suddenly I went from yikes-what-happened-to-you to dang-girl-you-are-fine! I think the music on the radio helped. I was listening to "Sexy Chick" by David Guetta. I really felt like he was singing to me. MEOW.


I arrived home, with afore mentioned song still playing in my head. I decided I was going to give the Husband a sexy Hello!-I'm-home-from-work kiss. (I am really-liking-hyphenating-my-words-today.) SOOooooooo... I walk in, all sexy-like ("Sexy Chick" as my enterance music, of course, because my life is a musical) and I saunter over to the Husband who is absorbed in a sports-something on tv. The following conversation ensued:

The Husband (after doing a double take at me): Are you ok honey?

Me (still doing my walk and in a sexy voice): Yeah, why?

The Husband: Oh, you're just walking really funny.

Me (walk stops immediately, voice changes to insecure): I am? (long silence) Honey... that was my sexy walk.

The Husband (after another long silence and a little bit of scrambling for words): Sorry, it just looked weird.

I had to smile. I really wished I could have seen the whole scene take place from an audience's point of view (not that we have a live-studio-audience at our house... or do we?), but it was epicly hilarious! EPIC.

Later that night, as the Husband and I were laying in bed, I started to think about my sexy walk again.

Me: Honey?

The Husband (in groggy tired voice): Yeah?

Me: What did my sexy walk look like?

The Husband: I don't know.

Me: No, come on, tell me!

The Husband (still groggy and slightly annoyed): I don't know, it was weird. You were like, bobbing your head side to side.

Me: Like this. (I then proceeded to demonstrate the bobbing-of-my-head whilst in bed). What else?

The Husband: You were moving your shoulders.

Me: Oh, kind of like this? (I added the shoulder movements).

The Husband: Yeah, and you were girating your hips. And you were moving your knees. All while walking.

At this point my studio-audience must have thought that I was having an epileptic seizure of some sort as I was recreating my sexy walk laying in bed.

Me: Like this honey?!

The Husband: Can I get you some Nyquil to help wash down the Tylenol PM I want you to take?


Man I was sexy. Sure my sexy walk may need a little work, but I really think it's getting there. I woke up with the frumpys and fell asleep doing a sexy walk. Doesn't get much better than that. MEEE-OW.

A Little Bit of Fuel

I've been doing a lot of running lately. Running away from my problems? Yes. But mostly running to fulfill a resolution. Oh those dreaded New Years resolutions! They sneak up on me every January and usually spontaneously disappear by mid February.

This year I am resolving to at least keep my resolutions in mind until the end of March. It will be a first.

As I was running the other day, trying to keep my mind off of what I was doing (the PAIN! the TORTURE!), I let my mind wander back to Junior High. This is a time period I generally try to forget, but I'm starting to find that I'm far enough away from that horrific experience to somewhat appreciate it.

I remembered being in 9th grade. Totally awkward, fat, short, desperately trying to fit it. I was deplorable. At the very beginning of spring when it was still quite cold outside, my best friend Brittany got a job. I was in awe, how could a 14 year old GIRL possibly get a job these days, what with child labor laws in place and such. I expressed my desire to earn some cold hard cash, and Brittany assured me that she could get me a job too.

It was at a Nursery (tree not baby) a few miles away from my house. I remember Brittany's mom driving us over there one chilly Saturday morning. I was a nervous wreck. I had never had a job before. I stared down at my old tennis shoes and sweats as we drove. I wasn't sure what I would be asked to do at this job, I knew it entailed manual labor... but oh! to be paid for my work! Such excitement!

(Britt and Torrey)

We drove up the long dirt road to the entrance of the Nursery. Britt and I hopped out of the car and waved a quick good-bye. I nervously glanced at my best friend, she gave me a warm assuring smile. We bravely walked up to the group of teens standing around a tall man barking out orders. He gave everyone orders but me.

When the group dispersed to begin their respective jobs Brittany introduced me to the boss.

"This is my friend Torrey, you said you needed some more people to work..."

The tall man stared down at me. I felt as if he were examining my soul.

"BOYS, we need more boys, not girls."

I could feel myself starting to shrink. Like any good feminist/best friend would do, Brittany immediately stood up for me.

"You said to bring our friends, you never said they had to be boys."

The tall man then glared at Britt. I swallowed hard. My faced started to get hot.

"Well, she can work for today, but that's it."

He then gave us orders of what to do and marched off. My mind was running a million miles an hour. What did he have against girls? Was it because I was fat? Why did I even come here? How could I ever show my face to the tall man again? Would he just pay me at the end of the day... or would he make me come back to get paid? Would he even pay me?

I started to panic. Brittany was upset too, but she already had a job, she needed to get to work. She started to walk to her work area and looked back at me. I just shook my head "no" and quickly walked the other way. I knew Britt would understand, she would do the same thing had she been in my shoes.

I started to walked as quickly as I could down the long dirt road. I heard the tall man yelling, but I didn't dare look back. Hot tears began to run down my face. I was completely and totally humiliated. When I got to the highway, my quick walk turned into a dead run. I had to get away from that place.

I cried and cried as I ran and ran down the highway in hopes of reaching home, a place where I never got paid for jobs, but my work was always welcome. I ran the entire way home, it was a lesat 3 miles (not bad for a chubby adolescent). Something about that tall man embarrassing me gave me fuel. It was oddly invigorating.

I looked down at the treadmill to see that I had only run 2 miles, yet it felt like 20. Since I've been running, I've been trying to recreate that fuel, trying to find something to get me to run like that little 14 year old.



New Years Resolutions: 1. Don't let anyone make me feel less than I am. 2. Look up the tall man on Face Book and DON'T add him as a friend. 3. Find more positive fuel.