true story: death threats, racism, and me

I have a disorder.

In short, it is this: sometimes I'm a complete and total loser. I try to say something and it comes out all wrong. Yes, I know. Common mistake, right? Well, for me it happens all the time. Like tonight's utterly foot-in-mouth worthy example.

Tonight I shot bridal portraits for a lovely client that will be getting married in a couple weeks. I've already shot her engagements, and so I feel familiar and comfortable with her, her fiance, and her family. In fact, I feel like we're friends. Buddies. Pretty close to besties. I'm not bragging or anything about having awesome clients that are also friends. I just want to explain my frame of mind when the Disorder occurred. You'll see.

Disorder Incident #1
While shooting Madi, clouds covered the sky and the lighting dimmed. I decided to lower my shutter speed to pull in more ambient light. So to help keep a steady camera hold, I braced my back against a nearby fence. Madi's uncle, Kurt (also a friend of mine...again, not bragging) came to the shoot. I thought he was standing behind me. I thought he was also propped against the fence. I thought he was the one banging the fence over and over and over again.
So when I yelled over my shoulder, "Stop that or I'm going to KILL you!" I didn't expect to turn around to find Madi's lovely mother staring wide-eyed at me in complete shock. Apparently she's never had a photographer threaten her life. I guess there's a first for everything.

Disorder Incident #2
Flustered and completely embarrassed, we left the first location (after I apologized repeatedly) and sought out a spot that was better lit. Upon arriving at the second location, a light rain began hitting us. I wanted to hurry the shoot along so beautiful Madi and her handsome fiance, Cesar (take note of his name now) wouldn't get drenched.

"Madi," I said from across the field, "turn to face the poppies. Oh lovely. That looks awesome. Perfect."
Snap. Snap. I shot a few more pose changes, and then decided it was time for Cesar to jump into the picture.
I looked up to where he stood near the side of the road, waiting to be called into the shoot.
"JORGE!" I yelled. "Jump in."
He looked at me. Madi looked at me. Madi's lovely mom who I threatened just minutes earlier looked at me.
Then Kurt (did I say friend earlier? I meant former friend) turned to me. "You mean, Cesar? Wow, Erin. Just because he's Mexican doesn't mean you can throw any Hispanic name out there. Are you a racist or what?"

In that moment, I wanted to die.

Disorder Incident #3
After apologizing profusely, in between laughing so hard tears were streaming down my face, I recomposed myself. I was determined to finish the shoot without one more moment of complete mortification.

Five minutes later. "Madi, now you and Jorge..."

Son of a flipping mother! I said Jorge again. Apparently I am a racist-death-threat-throwing photographer. Apparently I have a Disorder and it doesn't matter that my clients are like friends...because that probably wont last very long with my record.



hmm.

Just thinking here.

ON the topic of high school boys:

• Really?!? Is it really that cool to wear the low riding tight legged jeans, completed with a mimicked Zac Effron Do' and a chest hugging v-neck t-shirt? Really?!? I am so glad I went to high school over ten years ago . . . If not, I seriously doubt I would have dated or ever kissed a boy.

ON the topic of FACEBOOK:

• I don't know you. I'm pretty dang sure you don't know me, but yet, you insist on trying to add me as a friend. So what do I do? Of course I add you. At heart, I'm a softy. Does that mean I'm opening myself up for some life-scam or identity fraud? Sure. But life's about the risks right?
• Just to clarify though, I'm going to add you, but don't think I'm going to spend time joining your whacked groups or playing Mafia. I am so over that.

ON the topic of WT kids:

• No need to panic, WT = white trash. Yeah, so it was my kid running around the Orem ball park in only a t-shirt and a pull-up. So what if he was stained blue by the sno cone and mud streaked. He's a friggin' boy!
• Did that come across un 'PC'? I apologize. If you let your little girl run around in a filthy diaper, caked in high fructose corn syrup and mud, I promise not to throw darting glares in your direction and hiss under my breath about your poor parenting.

The Famous WRITER!...or, soon to be...

I just wanted to brag now that I know these ladies before they are famous. Since they are all on their way to publishing, does that make me cooler now?
I had too much fun at the BYU-writers for young readers conference. (aka. loads of ladies laughing and loading up on lots of Love...ok, so I'm a sucker for alliteration. Really it was a freakin' awesome conference for writers, or soon to be published writers). Here are a few clips from the event.
1. Me and (SSS) Super Spectacular Stacey-writer extraordinaire and famous book critic.
2. (LWL's - Lovely Writing Ladies) The Chick Lit group - a load of lovely ladies who love 'LOVE'

3. (NBFA- new best friend author) The one and only Janette Rallison...um, did I mention that she is totally my BFF?

4. (ABF-armpit butter friend) Such a studious shot of Julie Donaldson-soon to be published Regency author. Watch out Mr. Darcy, here comes Miss Julie.

5. (Laracy -Laura and Tracy Hickman team) Of course, the object of my affection in the story below - the TRACY HICKMAN!!! (so what if it's a side shot...that doesn't mean I was stalking him, just taking a friendly 'side' shot)

6. (CSE - cute shoes editor) Miss Marino here will be my editor!

7. (M.E. - mini editor) Not because she hardly edits but because she is TINY! Love her...and her cute button self. She too might be my future editor.

8. (The Necromancer) - so I totally don't know how to say or spell his last name, but I do know it is a lot like 'necromancer' which is a totally legit Fantasy word. He WILL be my agent.

9. (NBFA-see above) Another shot of the lovely Janette...did I mention we are totally BFFs? 10. (LWL's) And you can't write about love with out embracing one of the greatest love series in the last 100 years...hm, what book do you think I'm talking about?

Yes, I had a freaking awesome time. I learned a lot. I am that much closer to actually publishing my own LOVE story. Maybe then I'll get more than one reader. Peace Out! My 5 Fav's From the Conference

A. Writing an impromptu story about love spawned from warming butter in one's armpit.

B. Passing my manuscript to Editors from under the bathroom stall.

C. Becoming 'just as good of friends as I think we are' with Janette Rallison.

D. Finding a future wife for my cousin Jarom...what a dream boat.

E. Gaining 5 pounds

Long Duck Dong

Do you remember Long Duck Dong from Sixteen Candles? At the BYU writing conference, I shared a poignant experience that I once had with the aforementioned superstar. It is now that I would like to take the time to share it with you (my one faithful reader).

Another delay? Are you kidding me? I really just wanted to get home, as I was sure all the other passengers milling around LAX did also. I pulled out my walkman, slid on the satellite sized earphones and then shoved in my coolest new tape: Lighter Shade of Brown. (Note: If you are unfamiliar with this group that's because they are a one hit wonder...and by one hit, I mean probably only in Utah. I dunno...Goggle them.)

I rocked to the bassy beat as I looked around the terminal. Right across the row from me sat Long Duck Dong. No way.

"Long Duck Dong!" I jumped out of my seat and ripped the fatty-arse-ear phones off my head.

He smiled.

I shivered...and not just because it was cold in the terminal.

"You know, Long Duck Dong is not my real name," he said. Then relaxing back in his chair, he pulled out the LA times.

"Sure, whatever," I replied and then asked him a slew of questions. The flight delay gave us time to talk for nearly an hour more. Glorious. I asked him all the Sixteen Candle questions I could think of, and I even quoted my most favorite lines from the movie. I knew he must have been impressed by my wittiness and clear memory. Oh, wonderful flight delays. When they finally called for boarding, my new BFF and I walked to the gate.

"So," I said, now just standing inches from him. "Do you want to come over for dinner?"

Long Duck Dong tilted head and said, "I am sorry, but, we are not as good of friends as you think we are."

Hmm, How did I read that one wrong? Awkward. "Oh, ok. Maybe some other time." I scurried onto the plane and tried not to bother my Ex-new-BFF for the remaining flight.

Note To Self-- change you name

Day 1 at the BYU Writers for Young Readers Conference (a.k.a. my best hope for ever getting published) pretty much can be summed up in three simple words: Change Your Name.

Peggy and I arrived early enough to snag the two greatest seats (dead center, second row) in the auditorium of the BYU conference center. I sat, a flustered wreck, waiting for the authors, publishers, editors, and agents to file in and take their seats in front of me. When Tracy and Laura Hickman, a husband/wife writing team, walked past, I jumped out of my seat, and squealed with delight . . . Seriously, that's no lie. Tracy turned and waved hi.

Sigh.

Authors mingled and talked about their latest novels while I watched, giddy and keyed up for the start of the rest of my life.

And then it came. Tracey walked over and leaned in. "How are you?"

Gasp. oh, me, he's talking to me. "I'm fine. I am just so excited to be here. I saw you talk at LTUE and I just died over your address on the first sci-fi movie in space. I wish I could take your class on top of Janette Rallison's class, who I also love to death because her books are just so witty." And on, and on, and on, I rambled until Peggy shot me a look.

"So, tell me, do you have a book completed, or are you writing one?" Tracy glanced from Peggy to me.

"Yes, I do," I said stumbling over my words. "I mean, I have completed a novel."

"oh. Tell me about it." He tilted his head to the side and looked me square in the eye.

Nobody Panic. I've heard about this before. This is called a pitch. I can do this.

"My book, is um, about a, um girl." My breathing accelerated and any coherent thought I might have had scurried around my brain like a runaway dog. I was a MESS. "I mean, there is a girl. And um, her grandfather dies. Oh wait. He doesn't die, but she has to live in California with her mom. And she meets a boy." Your rambling. Stop rambling. "Did I say her name was Elliot? Yes well, she meets a boy and they fall in love."

The End.

My chances were gone within a second after opening my mouth. I looked at Peggy and then back to Tracy. My breathing slowed, and I said, "I think I need to work on my pitch, huh?"

"Yes," he agreed. The corners of his eyes lifted with the curve of his smile. If that's how I started the first moment of the rest of my writing life, then what's next in store?

I HUNG UP THE PHONE.

Are you Freakin' Kidding Me? That's what I wanted to say, but didn't. Instead I bit down on the inside of my lip until I couldn't take it any more and I hang up that damn phone. (Pardon my English...but I'm pretty something right now)

Over the last month I have felt like CRAP. Tired, bloated, DIZZY, sweat pits, and a slew of other things I probably shouldn't mention here. Needless to say, I felt like and still feel like CRAP. So much so that while teaching step aerobics last week I fell off my step.

After a month of frustration, I finally went to the doctor. Begrudgingly paid my fifteen dollar copay (yeah, think of the great yardsale finds I could buy with that) and went in to see the doc. He checked my ears, eyes, throat, lungs...and some other areas (hm. hm. hm.) And then had the nurse take my blood for blood tests. Being the strong person that I am (hm. hm. hm.) I endured all the exams and the bloody test. We talked about my symptoms and he concurred that it most likely was my thyroid not functioning correctly again. Oh well, at least I know that can be fixed with a little bit of meds.

I waited patiently until the doc finally called back yesterday. I was ready to jump in my ghetto truck and cruise down to the Walmart to pick up my prescription, WHEN, the doc said it wasn't my thyroid! What the friggin' crap? Then what? He suggested I come in for another exam and more tests.

So I said, "Do I have to pay another fifteen dollar copay?" and he says, "Um, yes."

Of course that's ridiculous, so I hung up the damn phone on him! (and swore in a not so under my breath manner...there's no way I am paying another fifteen dollars of precious yardsaling money to have the doc poke and prod me.)

ASK THE AUDIENCE: Don't you agree with me? That's fifteen dollars!!!

Henry and the male body parts

True Story:

Last night George sat at the kitchen bar as he read his reptile book. Flipping through the book he made at school, he read, "Lizards have different types of testicles."

I said, "What? Read that again."

"Lizards have different types of testicles," George harrumphed as he rolled his eyes. Obviously I wasn't listening to him.

"No George," I insisted. "I don't think that is what it really says." I walked around the bar to get a better look at his book. Peering over his shoulder I glanced at the pages of his hand written book. Sure enough, I couldn't decipher what he'd actually written. Phonetically speaking, he could have been right.

Shrugging my shoulders I suggested, "Well, I don't think you meant to write the word testicles . . ." And then I proceeded to explain that the testicles are a part of the male body.

Before I got half way through my explanation, Henry gave me an over-exaggerated eye roll and said, "Mom, I really don't think that's something you should be talking about. Come on. I think we know what the boy balls are."

Speechless. I seriously stared at him in shock, my mouth gaping open.

That pretty much sums up my Sass-a-frass Henry. I love him to death, but sometimes I just gawk at him in disbelief. Today my super say-it-like-it-is kiddo graduated from kindergarten. I am so proud of him and love him even more for his spunky outlandishness.

seriously SICK!

Disclaimer: If you've read my blog before, you know I'm a fan of airing all my 'crap'. This post is no exception. If you're weak of stomach or you can't handle another diarrhea story (that's probably not quite as good as this one), then skip this post for the day.

I am potty training Teddy. No, I am trying to convince Teddy to potty train. No, I am miserably cleaning up endless poopy messes because I am too cheap to buy another diaper...that sounds about right.

Today, is the day, I figured. Teddy hasn't had a BM in two days so it was bound to happen. I worked out my schedule so I wouldn't have to go anywhere, and I sat him down to watch Barney. Half way through the show I heard, "Mommy."

I ran into the front room and found Teddy standing with a lump of Kaka hanging in his underwear. Crap! I missed it. I rushed him into the bathroom where he finished his business.

After I started a load of laundry, I let him watch the rest of the show. 10 minutes later, I heard, "Mommmmmmmmy." What? I jumped up from my desk and ran into the front room.

Oh my freakin' word!!! Holy Crap bucket. Teddy struggled to stand up as he slipped on the giant puddle of diarrhea that had leaked from his once clean pair of dinosaur undies. Poop, like I'd never before seen, smeared his arms and legs, coating my floor like a doodoo frosting.

I grabbed him and put him on the toilet while I tried to wrap my brain around what to do next. Starting, by washing the poop off of my fingers, I proceeded to retrace his poop steps and wipe up the floor, throw him in the tub, wash down the toilet and then SCRUB the carpet.

MORAL OF THE STORY: Don't feed your potty training toddler strawberries and burritos for 2 days straight.

Apparently I STINK!

I read your shower-loving comments and I admit it, I'm a little on the STANK side of life right now. But come on? What about conserving water? Maybe I have put off showering because I am concerned about global welfare.

On a related note: Ruby, my sweet darling baby GIRL (you can never be too excited about having a girl) woke up too many times to count. So, as I lay utterly exhausted in bed, Mark, my helpful kid-waking hubby, woke the boys up for school.

"Mom, Mom" a little hand jabbed at my face, "wake up."

"Wha . . . ? What's going on?" I mumbled, wiping the morning crust from the corner's of my mouth. I rolled over on my side to see who the intruder was.

Henry plopped himself on the bed next to me and declared, "Look, I'm all ready for school."

"Wow Henry!" I was amazed with his assertiveness in readying for school. "You look good. Come give momma a kiss," I said with a huge pucker.

Henry recoiled, a twisted look on his face, "EWWWW you're breath smells stink."

CONCLUSION: Apparently I STINK!

Have I Got A Story For You...THE CONCLUSION!

#1 Rule when approaching an agent, editor or THE PUBLISHER - never, never, NEVER spill your guts about your story unless they ask.

#2 Rule when approaching an agent, editor or THE PUBLISHER - Be interested in them!

"So, I noticed that you also published Fablehaven and James Dashner's 13th Reality," I started, trying to butter up to him by showing my knowledge base of books he's had a major role in publishing.

"Yes, that's right," he nodded a smile creeping to the corners of his mouth. (SCORE, I got him to smile).

"Since I'm such a fan of the books you've published, I was wondering what else you might be working on. Can you tell me what else is coming out besides Mark Forman's novel?" Finishing my loaded question (loaded as in, I hoped it would lead into me suggesting that I send him my novel), I smiled brightly and shifted my weight, trying to look as comfortable as possible.

(Rule #2 worked like magic) His eyes lit up and he dropped his tight folded arms, speaking expressively as he explained that he really wanted to break into the fantasy romance genre. Since Shadow Mountain is clearly a huge contender for YA fantasy, he thought it would be great if they broadened their base.

Nodding as he spoke, I could barely contain my mounting excitement. YA fantasy romance? Why, that's exactly what I write. Believe me when I say I had to strain my muscles to stop my feet from dancing an Irish jig.

He spoke about one manuscript they had in mind, but he was looking for more.

(Insert light bulb flashing above my super cute do' for the day)
"Hm," I said sweetly, "that's interesting you should mention fantasy romance. I just so happen to write fantasy romance, and in fact, my fantasy romance novel is just about done."

"Really?" His eyebrows arched in posed interest.

"Fo' shiznit!" I wanted to exclaim, but I kept it to a simple, "Yes, and I believe it has great promise to it." I spoke a little bit about the super-secret-special writing class I am taking and the writing group I'm a part of. As I spoke, he nodded, seeming to actually listen to me.

After I finished, I gulped back thinking how I could take the final plunge and ask him if I could send him something.

Before I could ask he cut into my thoughts, saying, "That sounds interesting. Would you like to send me something?"
Hello! Would I like to send him something?!?

Flustered I asked, "So, I can send you something?" Agh, did I just ask him if I could send him something after he just asked if I could send him something? Why are things so confusing?

He broke the sudden awkward silence. "Yeah," he said, tilting his head to the side nodding slowly...very slowly, "that would be fine."

I struggled to hear the rest of what he said as I fought the pounding heartbeat that pulsated in my ears. Could this really be happening to me?

After I left with his name and directions of where to send my submission, I walked keeping my composure until I figured I was out of ear shot. When I felt the coast was clear, I jumped nearly 5 feet in the air whooping and hollering, "Are you freakin' kidding me? Seriously? Did I just meet a publisher?" Costco patrons scooted out of my frenzied way, eyeing me curiously. But, I didn't mind. I just made my first leap into the world of publishing.

Have I Got A Story For You...Part 2

Did I seriously just walk away from a Publisher? I'd been told in class that should this opportunity ever arise, which it next to never would, then I should jump on it. I wrestled with the decision, turning every 10 or so seconds to Mark asking, "Do you think I said enough? Do you think when I send something in he'll remember me? What more do you think I should do?"

Mark, in his all-knowing supportive way, suggested that I call Peggy-my fun, fellow writer who attended the BYU writing conference with me. Of course that's what I should do! I whipped out my phone, dialed the number, and had Peggy at my disposal to spill my publisher run-in story with.

When I asked her what I should do, she promptly said, "GO BACK!" Of, course that's what I should do, I thought. But, what should I say? Peggy reminded me of the great tips for talking to an agent, editor, or publisher that we'd learned in class this past week. So, mental tools ready and waiting, I charged back over to the publisher...followed by my super supportive hubby, Mark, my rowdy -hanging off the Costco shopping cart- boys, and my darling sweet baby girl. Seven or so feet from THE PUBLISHER (I felt I should put that in all caps to better explain his control of the publishing world at Shadow Mountain), I stopped, turned to Mark, my kind, kid-controlling man, and said, "I don't think I should pitch my book to him with the boys screaming and running around us in circles."

Mark cocked his head to one side, considered my point and nodded his head in agreement. He quickly ushered the boys down to the sweet candy section, and left me to face THE PUBLISHER ALONE.

Tentatively, I approached THE PUBLISHER, scanning to see if he was already talking to someone else. To my luck, he was not. Mark L. Forman was occupied signing books and THE PUBLISHER stood off to the side observing silently. My stomach flip-flopped; he stood there needing me...well, someone to talk to...and I could be that someone.

(cue celestial angels singing, "Hallelujah!")

"Hi, I'm back," I said, trying to contain my bursting excitement. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Turning to face me straight on, he unfolded his arms and placed a hand in the pocket of his crisply pressed khakis. Everything about his attire, from his costly red knit sweater to the stiff collar of his blue dress shirt, screamed PROFESSIONAL. Had I not been keeping a strong grip on my composure I might have had one of those involuntary shudders...you know the type, where you feel a chill and your body jerks oddly like you're on shaky ground - and then you look around to make sure no one was watching you. (long explanation, but really I was on the verge of having my own little attack)

"What would you like to know?" He asked, the power at controlling the publishing world stained across each of his words.

Part 3 to be posted soon.

Have I got a story for you!

Where have I been...hmm, (pulling my fingers together like Smithers from the Simpsons) that is the question.



Writing, writing, more writing...(my mom says to stop using so many "...", but I love them so deal while I tell my story). I have this crazed, fantasy story running around in my dreams that is slowly working its way out of my fingertips and onto my hard drive. Yes, one of my greatest aspirations is to be PUBLISHED (cue celestial angels singing). Like all great stories mine involves a devestatingly, dreamy guy that falls in love with a witty, funny girl. And after trials and tribulations...(oh, I can't share that. It would spoil the ending. Sorry)


Anyway, In the effort to become a better writer, I've been attending a secret writing class taught by the coolest New York Times best-selling author (who I also can't tell you about because it's a secret). Please don't be annoyed with all the non-telling, I will get to the telling. I promise.


In addition to laboring over my dream story, I attended a writing conference with a fabulous fellow writer. While there, famed author, Lynn Kurland, encouraged me to join RWA - Romance writers of America. I jumped on that suggestion and signed up online.


The first meeting for the Utah chapter was held this past Saturday. What did I do to further my dreams and become a writer? NOTHING. Nada. Zilch. I was too tired to go, so I stayed at home, feeling the nagging desire to go to Costco.


About noon, Mark, my super sweet hubby, and my brood of three wild boys and one darling baby girl, headed to THE COSTCO. Arriving there, I found Mark L. Forman signing copies of his novel Slathbog's Gold. Of course I picked it up and spoke with him about his writing process. I'm sure I talked his ear off, asking him question after question. Somewhere during my probe of his knowledge, the man next to him introduced himself.

(Cue high angles singing gloriously) Chris Schoebinger of Shadow Mountain Publishing extended his hand and said, "Hi, I'm Mark's publisher. I wanted to scream. Jump up and down. Pee my pants. So, of course what did I do?

I walked away...

Part 2 coming soon

Embarassing Life Moment: #3248

Disclaimer: If you have any ounce of belief left in my parenting skills, or trust that I have any sense of social etiquette, skip this one.

We head to the library last night to help George with his official book report and oral presentation...I, personally am jumping at the bit to go, a trip to the library is almost as good as the free Candy you pick up everytime you walk into a Sees...We, meaning Mark toting the baby carrier and holding little Teddy's hand, find a comfy nook in the corner of the library to set up our Summerill base camp. The two older boys quickly run off and find books that interest them (ahhhh, sure does make me proud to have raised a couple book lovers).I quickly become entranced by the rows of books and spend my time combining my two current obsessions: Books and Photography. Just as I'm snapping the picture below, I hear Teddy cry out. The sound is distinct, and I immediately know he needs to go to the bathroom. His potty training has been going so well, I dressed him in big boy undies, so I know he only has moments to make it to the potty. I roll to my back, and my eyes meet Mark's. I plead with him to take him, and Mark, the great helpful hubby that he is, scoops up Teddy and rushes to the bathroom.

He's gone for quite some time and I am starting to worry. When, I hear the distinct thudding of Teddy running in my direction and his library piercing calls, "Mom, mooooooooom."

I leap up, and start shushing him before I can even see him.

And that's when this cute half-naked toddler rounds the corner and steals my heart. He stinks to high heaven because he didn't make it to the toilet...and frankly wipes sometimes are not the best with accidents. Even though half the patrons of the library are shooting me death glares for their disturbed silence, I'm laughing and trying to get Teddy to pose for the camera.

Mark on the other hand is less than amused that I didn't pack the diaper bag with a change of clothes, and a mere pull-up. I'm sure 10 minutes later when I round up the older boys, the patrons of the PG library are relieved to see me, my screaming baby, my 1/2 naked butt reaking toddler, and imposing camera leave.

Confessions of a Shop-a-holic

"What exactly does 'card declined' mean?"
The bleach blonde, jeans too tight, trendy black gap sweater, girl at the GAP store stared down on me like a tigress ready to pounce on my fresh meat. "Your card has been declined."
"AGGHHHHHHH..." (umm, can someone insert crazy Psycho theme music here as the hidden candid camera snaps a close up of the horror on my face?)

Seriously Ladies...and guy (because maybe, if I'm lucky, I have one guy reader), I was MORTIFIED. In my stupor, I actually asked the register chick to swipe my card again. For pete's sake, it was my debit card, and I knew...I mean, I thought, I had enough money in the account to afford the purchase.

Swiped the second time, BLAM, NO ACCEPTANCE! I was ousted like a mutt in a dog show. The fakey blonde register chick was all over my business asking what I wanted her to do.
"Do you want me to put these items back for you?"
Are you kidding me? 2 problems with your question register chick.
1. Are you suggesting that I run around the store putting things back in their place?
2. Those are my great finds...if you put them back then someone else will snake them!
Well of course I wanted her to not be so snooty rude, and make my debit card work, but since that was a long gone thought, I simply put the error back on her.

"I know it isn't my card, there must be something wrong with your machine." (Word to the wise, replacing the blame makes you look STOOOOOPID! As I just portrayed to the register chick)

So, standing there, in what I thought would be my bargain of the week, shopping glory, I just stood almost speechless...(I say almost because I did leak out those embarrassing comebacks).

After calling around and getting down to the nitty gritty of the problem, it turns out some WHACK-JOB hacked into VISA security systems and made off with thousands credit/debit card numbers and personal information. My wonderfully non-communicating credit union decided to 'help' me out and put a freeze on my debit card. Thank you very much credit union, next time maybe you could send a letter or call me before I head to the mall.

Moral of the Story: Steer clear of the bleach blonde crack pot that wears her jeans too tight at the GAP.

WARNING: DO NOT ATTEMPT AT HOME!!!

Why not start the new year out with a bang. I have been saying I am going to potty train Teddy, so why not start today. And while I am at it, I am going to start the day out right with a kick butt workout.

OR...

I really did have good intentions on starting the new year out on track, as in, workout, come home, potty train Teddy, clean up from Christmas, la di da...continue on with a perfect new year. OHHHHHH I was wrong, SO WRONG!

Mark kissed me goodbye and left for work. I snuggled into bed a little deeper, closed my eyes, and was jarred out of my comfort zone by George's wailings from downstairs. "MOMMMMMM!" he moaned in between sounds of erupting VOMIT! I jumped out of bed, pulled my sweats on and rushed downstairs. I ushered him into the bathroom, and directed him to puke in the toilet. His sounds woke Teddy, and Teddy started crying from across the hall. I opened Teddy's door, pull him out of his crib and pulled off his diaper. (Mistake #1) I paused after I took off his diaper as I struggled on whether I should potty train him today or push it off till tomorrow. Teddy took my pause as his free reign and took of butt naked down the hall. I chased after him, pinned him down and tried to plaster a diaper to his nakedness...to this he refused. FINE, I will potty train today.

George moaned from the bathroom and I heard a knock at the door. Dangit! I forgot Tonja was coming over to finish going over the photography school curriculum (details to come). I let Tonja in, took naked butt Teddy to sit on the potty chair, and raced down stairs to clean up the remaining puke. All Clear, I sat down with Tonja and started our meeting (Mistake #2). Teddy seemed fine, so I let him watch a show.

"Mommmmm," Henry called, "Teddy just peed".

I jumped up from my meeting, grabbed naked peed butt Teddy and took him back to the potty chair. (Mistake #3) I had a bright I idea, I would give him something to drink! I ran into the kitchen, made a gallon of orange juice and took a sippy cup back to naked butt Teddy who sat on the potty chair. I ran back into the meeting with Tonja. DRIP, DRIP, DRIP. Awww, could it be potty in the potty chair? NO, Teddy managed to chew off the lid of the sippy cup and spill OJ all over the potty chair and bathroom floor. I pulled Teddy of the chair and cleaned up the bathroom, then (prompted from george's screams) ran downstairs to see what George's deal was, urged him again to puke in the toilet, and then ran upstairs again. I sat down, and jumped up within seconds to hear a gush of water. What in the world?!?! (BIGGEST MISTAKE #4) I had left Teddy alone.

I ran into the kitchen to see where the gushing waterfall was coming from and found the entire gallon of OJ on my kitchen floor, dining room floor, and counter tops. Teddy sat in the middle of it all grinning from ear to ear...oh, and right under him was a puddle of non-OJ colored liquid. I raced to the hall closet pulled out paper towels, and unloaded them on the OJ. I soaked it up, mopped it up, dried it up and cleaned it up, and the put Teddy back on the potty chair. At this point I heard baby Ruby screaming in the next room over. I picked her up to find gooey ooey baby poop all over her and my bed. I peeled off her saturated diaper, changed her and sat down to feed her as Henry calls from the other room,

"MOMMMMMM! Teddy peed again."

In case you were wondering, I didn't make it to the gym today to work out...for that matter, I haven't brushed my teeth, combed my hair, or changed for the day yet.

EMBARASSING MOMENT #3269: a moment at the gym

A few years ago I used to teach quite often (5-7 times a week) at at a well known local gym. During that time quite a few men started attending my Pump class (a group weight lifting class). After that class grew in popularity, I encouraged the men to broaden their aerobic insight and try some of my other classes, in particular, my interval training class. In this class I often had the participants step up on a bench and do a jumping jack and then step down and do a jumping jack in sequence to the music. This is an excellent move to vary your work out and keep your heart rate up. While leading the class, I yelled out "Jack up." A few of the men where having a hard time following with the rest of the class. So I continued to yell out more leads. I kept calling out commands and realized that a few men in the back of the class had completely stopped what they were doing. They just stood and stared at me, looking a little awkward.

A wave of morbid realization rushed over me as I realized that I had just yelled over the microphone, "Jack up...JACK OFF!"

Moral of the Story: When you attend one of my interval classes, ignore what I say.

Scene II Act III: Yet another embarassing moment of my life

The Setting: The lights are brightly lit in the multi-purpose room of the Pleasant Grove Recreation Center. The walls are a barren reddish cinder block and the floor is covered in a rubber matting for multi purposes. Chris Brown tunes blare out of an 94' sony boom box as a dark haired, sweat drenched, aerobic instructor lay prone on the floor directing the class in a 'great bum' move.

Erin (Dark haired, sweat drenched, aerobic instructor): Lay flat on your back, bend your knees bringing your feet closer to your bum, but leaving them on the floor, and lift your hips up squeezing your butt. Raise your hips up and down.

(The women in the class follow, some grunting in exertion)

Woman 1: Aggghhh! My butt hurts...I feel like I have a charlie horse in my butt.

Erin: Isn't that great! Good times at Aerobics!

Woman 2: I feel like I cant lift my butt any more.

Erin (raising her voice for the class to hear): Keep it going ladies. Pulse to the beat, FASTER! (Erin starts singing the next song on the cd to the music)Your butt loves this! "Push it, Push it, to the limit, limit..."

Setting: As Erin is singing at the top of her lungs, and women in the classroom are grunting and groaning. Erin hears the low chuckle of male voices. She turns to notice a group of community league basketball players mulling around the door staring at the women working out on the floor.

Male Player: (feeling awkward and turning shades of beet red) Uh...I don't think this is the room for us.

Setting: Ladies turn bright red, and Corbin Bleu can be heard singing, "Push it, Push it, to the Limit, Limit...".

He Said, She Said

RINNNNNNGGGG! Blast that darn phone. I rushed to it and grabbed it just before it switched over to voicemail. A deep throaty (as in too tired to sound un-froggy) voice warned, "You are in so much trouble." I hadn't expected that, Mark is normally a very mellow man...never filled with rage. In a slightly walking on eggshell approach I responded, "What? Are you joking with me?"
"No!" was his immediate angry reply.
I racked my brain, what did I do to cause such irritability? Nothing came to mind so I probed, "What are you talking about?"
Mark then launched himself into a full detailed story of how I, without knowing, embarrassed him.

Mark's Side:
Since we haven't started daylight savings time yet, the mornings have become increasingly darker. Mark didn't want to wake me when he woke, so, with the lights off, he quietly pulled his clothes out of the drawer and just as quietly dressed. Since October came in with a bang, the mornings have been pretty nippy. Mark slipped on a light jacket, grabbed breakfast and headed to work. Upon arriving at work, he promptly hung his jacket and sat down at his desk.

My Side:
My body is gigantically out of proportion. I refuse to buy any new clothing this late in the pregnancy and I am often forced to wear Mark's old T-shirts. Since Teddy's birthday was earlier in the week, I pulled on sweats and a T-shirt that day and went about frosting cupcakes and making dinner before family came over. I quickly changed before visitors came by so I wouldn't look like the gigantic scrubby housewife that I secretly am, and I stuffed the t-shirt and sweats back in the drawer...(At this you might think ewwww, but really I am blessed with almost never having Body Oder, and because of that, I can often wear clothing a few times before I wash them. This especially applies to my favorite sweats and a T-shirt. I figure I will throw those back on when I clean house the next day...or when I get around to it).

Mark's Side:
A few hours into work, Mark leaned back from his computer and relaxed. He loves Fridays simply because he can dress casual. That was the one great thing about working in Hawaii...almost every day is casual day. While leaning back, Mark glanced down at his T-shirt. (I am sure at this point the eyes bugged out of his head) What is all this crap all over my shirt? He thought to himself. Upon closer inspection he noted that it was white frosting, very similar to the frosting I had used a few nights earlier on Theodore's cupcakes. Embarrassment filled him like a dam breaking and he quickly reached for his jacket, pulled it on, and zipped it up. It was at this point he decided to call me, his wife.

My Side:
It had been a few days since the party and I had gotten really busy with back to back photo shoots. Today was the day for the great scrub down. Each floor would be cleaned from top to bottom. I jumped out of bed, opened up Mark's drawer to find a t-shirt and thought it odd the ones I normally pick up were gone. I figured he had worn them while working on the bathroom in the basement (it's under construction). I felt a little miffed, because frankly, not much else fits comfortably...and I hate feeling uncomfortable while cleaning. I managed to find something else that would work and I set off to cleaning. It was at this point that I was interrupted by the incessant ringing of the phone!

Ask the Audience: Not that I am asking you to pick sides, but come on?!? Who doesn't look in the mirror before leaving? Do you think Mark's embarassment is primarily his fault or mine? To this question, I feel the answer is obvious...but I will try to stay neutral.

Exercising + Love of Yardsales = Disaster

The bright beautiful Spring Sun woke me from my deep slumber and called me out to exercise. I felt the pull to the great outdoors as I laid in bed, reached for my cell phone and texted my exercise buddy. She agreed to engage in our hour long torturous hike up the mountain and we set the time to meet. An hour later Joann, Amanda (Joann's younger sister), and I strode step after step up the steep incline of our neighborhood. Joann and I fared a little better than Amanda, considering we had traveled this route 2-3 times a week for the last month or so. And poor Amanda, moved as fast as she could muster considering she had never hiked with us before and even though the phrase, "please stop!" lingered on the tip of her tongue, she kept quiet and did her best to keep up. As we reached the last 1/3 of our hike, we noticed a Garage Sale sign, a beaming glorious beacon in the the dark!
Lured to it, I encouraged Amanda to make it just to the yard sale, where she could have her first rest of the day. The signs of relief flooded her expression. I looked ahead at the sign, scrutinizing it for what I could expect at the sale, and realized that the sign was pointing in the opposite direction of the yard sale I could clearly see on the street up ahead. Being rational, I decided that it wouldn't be prudent to our workout to venture off the exercise course to a yard sale in the wrong direction. We continued on ahead to the yard sale that covered the lawn of a home a few more homes away.

As we approached the yard sale I perused the items strewn across the front yard. Mostly clothing, yard accessories, and baby supplies made up this yard sale. I spied an item that looked like a prize to me and asked the man sitting in the front yard, "How much is that?"

A look of confusion clouded his expression and he replied, "This isn't a yard sale, we are just cleaning out our garage!"

hahahaha...I busted out in laughter. Well so much for exercising and stopping at yard sales!

Embarrassing Moment #3472

When: 9th Grade
Where: Orchestra Concert
Who: Me and a cute boy

I sat next to the dreamiest boy in the ninth grade orchestra. My orchestra conductor had seated us together a week earlier; I had proudly taken a second chair! Unfortunately, I had been afflicted all week with a terrible phlegm producing head cold, and had the most awkward time finding the right pitch. I had taken a warm shower before the concert to loosen up my sinuses and gave a good effort to farmer blow out what I could in the shower.
I showed up for the concert in my best black velvet dress and took my seat next to my ninth grade dream boat. He nodded and continued his conversation with a chum across the stage. As the orchestra filled in their seats, I desperately wished he would take notice of me...and secretly desperately wished that the other girls would notice his adoration of me and be jealous! Nothing like the sort happened. He didn't say one word!
The concert began as we fell into the well rehearsed Bach's Brandenburg Concerto. After the first piece finished my wish came true! Dreamy ninth grade boy leaned over and whispered to me, "you really played good." Flustered, and blushing bright shades of red, I meant to thank him for his comment, but instead blurted out a mixed "Tanks" as a hideously loud sneeze erupted from the depths of my lungs. He looked shocked and awed at first and then burst out a loud, "HA HA HA," before he turned away and muffled his laughter with his sleeve. I recovered from my sneeze to realize that he was laughing at the largest piece of greenish yellow snot phlegm that had flown from my mouth when I sneezed and landed directly on top of my violin! A large nickel sized phlegm ball oozed on my violin scarring my youthful peace in ninth grade and doing little to award me jealousies from the other girls.
Dreamy ninth grade by made little attempts to speak to me throughout the rest of the year, or the rest of high school, but when he did, he always recounted the flying phlegm incident!

I hope you Friday is phlegm-scar free! Have a fun Friday...