I'm getting older Goals.

Today I'm older. I guess that's true everyday, but since I was born on this day 33 25 years ago, it seems like I've aged in a more permanent way. And so I feel compelled to come up with a list of goals.

In the next year I will: 

1. Finish all the revisions on my book.
2. Find a Kick-A Agent
3. Make an effort to write non-crap.
4. Stop drinking Carbonation.
5. Yes, you read that right. That means good bye Coke Zero. Good bye Diet Coke. Good bye life.  (I figured since this life changing goal is so huge it should take up two goal spots on the top ten.)
6. Run two half-marathons so essentially I can say I ran a marathon.
7. Read to my kids every day.
8. Go to Europe.
9. Make a million dollars.
10. Continue to mourn the loss of Michael Jackson.

Of course, I don't know if they'll all happen in that order. But that pretty much sums up my goals for the next year.

What are your 2012 Goals?

Secret 20 of 100

When I was 8 I didn't get a Barbie for Christmas. 

The parents that I thought loved me, didn't bring Diva from Barbie and the Rockers, the Barbie I had asked for over and over and over again. 

No, they bought me Skipper--Barbie's lame-A friend. 

Can you imagine the utter despair and heartache I felt? The disappointment? The near-end-of-the-world-ness?

That wrenching feeling still haunts my heart even now. 

I smiled to hide the frown. (Lie) 

I shed no tears. (Bigger LIE) 

And not once did I speak of the pain in my heart. (Truth. I didn't complain once. I spilled my grievances until those parents caved.) My sadness must've been apparent despite how I tried to hide my disappointment.  

Imagine my surprise when my mom said, "I know your birthday is in a few days, but would you like your present now?"

The tears vanished. "Yes. Now!" I demanded smiled.

Mom returned with a massive box. 

I'll admit I wasn't thrilled. Clearly it wasn't Diva. But as I peeled away the layers of wrapping paper, I saw that the present was even better. My parents loved me after all! They gave me the three-story barbie mansion, complete with the pink convertible car for Barbie and Ken. Life was good. A mansion was better than Diva. I was happy. 

And now my secret is: I always want my birthday presents early. I wan't them NOW! 

Not on the day of my actual birthday. That would be late. 

And since I'm spilling secrets, I might as well tell you that I convinced my mom to hand over my presents yesterday. That's right, folks. One white-haired woman down, the rest of you all to go. So if you have a present for me, I WANT IT NOW! 

Where have you been?

Oh. What? You've been here and I've been gone? *Smack head

With Christmas and shopping and eating and shopping and running around like a crazed Muppet, I've over looked my baby of a ghetto blog. For this, I'm sorry. In the last two weeks I haven't had a moment to stalk read all the blogs I love. So sad.

Please forgive me for leaving you high and dry.

Tomorrow I will post the most self-centered secret ever in the history of secrets.

secret 19 of 100

I used to chew gum--

I found on the ground . . .

That had already been chewed.

Yep. That's the horrible, nasty, no-good, rotten secret of the day. Thus, why I haven't posted until late afternoon. Here's hoping nobody reads this one. But I had to get it off my chest. It's not that bad, is it? I was like four years old. And when my Mom or Dad, or really, really, really annoying sisters found me out I tried desperately to lie about it.

"I, um, got it from a, uh, friend. Yeah, a friend."

Not.

That never worked. I had to spit it out, wash out my mouth, and promise not to do it again.
Eventually I out grew that nasty little habit. (I know you all out there have some of your own nasty little habits, so tread lightly in the "ewwww" comment department.) But here's the thing. I've recently decided that my ABC gum-resuage program isn't all bad. Well the chewing-someone-elese's-gum is totally bad, but the re-usage part is good because it taught me to be thrifty and frugal and make use out of someone else's throw away. That's good, right?

So there you have it: my secret is I'm thrifty.

friday five...prepare yourself

I woke this morning with lots to do,
So I didn't have time to post for you,
But when I sent a bad text today,
Inspiration hit in a funny way.

You know how smart phones have auto correct?
A genius program until it messes up your text.
Auto correct fails can be confusing and lame,
But it's so dang hilarious when your text is insane!

Friday's Five Favorite Auto-Correct Fails:

*Just know that this last one first sickened me because I hate the "N" word. But after I read it I was laughing so hard I nearly peed myself.

 P.s. These were taken from this post:

http://mashable.com/2011/12/05/damn-you-auto-correct-funniest-text/#37143-8

Reading update - touch me and die.

Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi

My Take: 

"Dystopic novels are all the same," a friend of mine said. Sure, take a repressive society and a character's awakening and voila' you get the simplified recipe for a dystopia.
But that's only the frame.
It's the picture Shatter Me paints that is so very unique. I devoured the book in one reading. It's fast-paced, with a twist-laden plot that has as much action as heart-wrenching emotional scenes.
Not only does Mafi spell bind with a character so emotionally broken and yet strong at the same time, but the antagonist is deliciously deceptive yet intriguing. Shatter Me is complexity at it's finest told in a unique first-person narrative.
For any book addict, this is the perfect crack fix for the day.



What they said: 
Juliette hasn't touched anyone in exactly 264 days. 
The last time she did, it was an accident, but The Reestablishment locked her up for murder. No one knows why Juliette's touch is fatal. As long as she doesn't hurt anyone else, no one really cares. The world is too busy crumbling to pieces to pay attention to a 17-year-old girl. Diseases are destroying the population, food is hard to find, birds don't fly anymore, and the clouds are the wrong color. 
The Reestablishment said their way was the only way to fix things, so they threw Juliette in a cell. Now so many people are dead that the survivors are whispering war-- and The Reestablishment has changed its mind. Maybe Juliette is more than a tortured soul stuffed into a poisonous body. Maybe she's exactly what they need right now. 
Juliette has to make a choice: Be a weapon. Or be a warrior. 
In this electrifying debut, Tahereh Mafi presents a world as riveting asThe Hunger Games and a superhero story as thrilling as The X-Men. Full of pulse-pounding romance, intoxicating villainy, and high-stakes choices,Shatter Me is a fresh and original dystopian novel—with a paranormal twist—that will leave readers anxiously awaiting its sequel.


You SHOULDN'T read this if: 
Boring, lamesauce books are your thing. This one will give you a coronary.
You're my friend Rob Code--I've heard enough of your opinions on first person narratives and dystopic novels to know this one just isn't for you.
You're illiterate. For obvious reasons.  

secret 18 of 100.

The secret: I cut my hair. 

 Five inches to be exact. 

See, I'm not like my sister Nikki who grows so much hair she can practically donate twelve inches a month to locks of love. No that's not me. 

I cut my hair because it's terribly thin.

After I had my first kiddo, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism. Which basically boils down to the fact that now I have thin hair and gain weight just looking at food. Once I even told a stylist at a salon that I had cancer because she kept commenting on how much thinner my hair was compared to other poly-girls. So now the only person who cuts my hair is my amazing friend Tammy because she just cuts and doesn't tell me that I bring shame to all the polynesian women of the world. 

The longer my hair grows, the stragglier it looks. And lately it's been looking awful.

As much as I would love to look like the gal from Splash when I walk out of the shower, that dream isn't in the cards for me. 

I figured Tammy was busy with Christmas stuff, so I just hacked it myself. I'm impatient and impulsive and balding. What can I say?

Now you know my real secret. If there was one part about myself I could change, it would be my hair. P.s. If you ever mention to me that my hair looks thin I might have to use my sweet bow staff skills on your butt.


What about you? Anything you would change if you could?

friday five.

Today I'll be at the library til' night,

Nano is over and yet, I still write. 

Before I left home, there was much to organize,

So this is my list of Friday Fives.

First, I registered for LDS Storymakers.

At this conference there are no writing haters.

My friends find editors while I'm busy taking pics.

Maybe this time I'll be the one to snag an agent.

Second I stocked my bag with treats,

That's no surprise because you know my secret,

Here's a shout-out to my second favorite snack--

Hot Tamales always hit the spot when I'm writing in the stacks.

Third I called my writer friends, 

They give me ideas and support till the end.

I think the best thing you can have when you're writing a book,

Is a group of critique partners that help you with your hook. 

Fourth I found my favorite sweater,

When I write I need comfort to pound out those letters,

It brings me luck and helps me sink into my groove,

It may be threadbare, but at least there's room to move.

Last, I updated my music list,

I-tunes could exist on just my business.

A little Zooey, Frank, and Taylor are a must,

Without some tunes, my writing would be a bust!

Happy Friday Ya'll.

What are your plans today?

with a bang or a fizzle?

National Writing Month is OVER!

I feel successful, happy, tired, disappointed, confused, brain-dead, elated and relieved! Yes, all at once. Holy Canoli! Who knew one month of writing could turn me into psych patient of Dr. House. My brain needs serious R&R. Good thing there isn't much to do this next month . . . ur, or not. 

My goal was to completely finish my book. I didn't quite get there, but I did write 60,000K total this last month. I'd like to think that I'm going to take it easy next month, but really, who am I kidding? I'm as competitive as a Survivor Contestant in the final four. 

So . . .

HOW DID YOU DO?