Here's a poem that means something, but not really:
I broke my heart exactly once
Its crumbling left a hollow place
So history remembers me
But someone blotted out your name
Saturday, April 30, 2016
What Does It Mean?
It's a great pastime of English majors to read poetry and over analyze it. My impression is that generally speaking, the more the poem sort of means something but doesn't really, the more likely the English majors are to love it.
Here's a poem that means something, but not really:
I broke my heart exactly once
Its crumbling left a hollow place
So history remembers me
But someone blotted out your name
Here's a poem that means something, but not really:
I broke my heart exactly once
Its crumbling left a hollow place
So history remembers me
But someone blotted out your name
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Things You Must Not Do or Else You're a Terrible Person
1. Forget the Alamo.
2. Say, "Disneyland isn't fun if you're an adult."
3. Change the choreography when the choreographer's not there.
4. Say, "Cartoon movies aren't as good as live-action movies."
5. Insist that the Harry Potter movies are better than the books.
6. Insist that the Lord of the Rings movies are better than the books.
7. Insist that any movies are better than the books (except for How to Train Your Dragon; How to Train Your Dragon the movie > How to Train Your Dragon the book).
8. Misquote William Shakespeare.
9. Misquote Abraham Lincoln.
10. Misquote Jim Henson.
11. Say you don't like sushi when you actually haven't tried sushi.
12. Say, "You're an adult. You don't need anything for your birthday!"
13. Say, "You're an adult. You don't need anything for Christmas!"
And, my personal not-favorite, 14. Say, "You know what would be fun right now? If we talked about politics!"
2. Say, "Disneyland isn't fun if you're an adult."
3. Change the choreography when the choreographer's not there.
4. Say, "Cartoon movies aren't as good as live-action movies."
5. Insist that the Harry Potter movies are better than the books.
6. Insist that the Lord of the Rings movies are better than the books.
7. Insist that any movies are better than the books (except for How to Train Your Dragon; How to Train Your Dragon the movie > How to Train Your Dragon the book).
8. Misquote William Shakespeare.
9. Misquote Abraham Lincoln.
10. Misquote Jim Henson.
 |
| An actual quote from Jim Henson, courtesy of ToughPigs. |
11. Say you don't like sushi when you actually haven't tried sushi.
12. Say, "You're an adult. You don't need anything for your birthday!"
13. Say, "You're an adult. You don't need anything for Christmas!"
And, my personal not-favorite, 14. Say, "You know what would be fun right now? If we talked about politics!"
Monday, April 25, 2016
Harry Potter, Now with More Harry Potter!
I saw an article with this headline: "Chrissy Teigen and John Legend had their baby and her name will thrill 'Harry Potter' fans."
First I tried to remember who John Legend and Chrissy Teigen are; I'm not one for keeping up with the popular things. After I'd correctly identified John Legend as the guy who sings that "All of Me" song that's both soul-wrenchingly beautiful and annoyingly repetitive, I wondered what Harry Potter name they'd given their baby. Ginevra Legend? Minerva McGonagall Legend? Hermione Hermione Hermione Legend?
The answer was: Luna. Luna Simone Stephens (so I guess "Legend" is a stage name? I knew it was too cool to be true).
And I was all, "Luna? How does them calling her Luna even justify mentioning Harry Potter at all, much less in the headline?" Because yes, one of Harry's good friends is the oh-so-delightful Luna Lovegood. But I'm not sure that's the automatic association that people have with that word. After all, it means "moon" in both Spanish and Italian. It was the name of a character on Bear in the Big Blue House. Luna is the name of the space colony in the very-popular Lunar Chronicles. It's the name of my great-grandmother. So why only mention Harry Potter?
It's because everyone loves Harry Potter. This isn't the first article I've noticed that flaunts the phrase "Harry Potter" in the headline when there's only the loosest of connections. I don't think it's coincidental that when Alan Rickman passed away, most of the articles I saw used a picture of him as Snape. The news people know that like 90% of the world is like 90% more likely to click something if it references Harry Potter. Harry Potter is beloved throughout the world, and hardly anyone dislikes it. It transcends languages, countries, cultures, religions, and political parties. Romeo and Juliet would have ended much differently if Harry Potter was around in Shakespeare's time. The play would have ended with the Montagues and the Capulets reconciling their differences through their common love of Harry Potter.
On a related note, La Petite is just barely discovering the joys of Harry Potter. She had never read it until I forced it upon her and Madam President a few months ago. La Petite read the first book with some hesitation but tore right through the second, third, fourth, and fifth. She texts me about Harry Potter, speculates to me about the sixth and and seventh books, and regularly pins Harry Potter pins. She's obsessed, and I love that she's obsessed. Obsession is the funnest when it's brand new.
To indulge her obsession, I brought some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans to share with her and Mr. La Petite. We giggled and exclaimed as we tried the different flavors. Then I put the half-full box in my purse and forgot about it.
The next day at church, I was looking for a breath mint. I instead found Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans scattered about the bottom of my purse.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: One of these might work on my bad breath.
Completely forgetting to proceed with caution, I popped a yellow one into my mouth. I thought it was lemon.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Nope...rotten egg.
First I tried to remember who John Legend and Chrissy Teigen are; I'm not one for keeping up with the popular things. After I'd correctly identified John Legend as the guy who sings that "All of Me" song that's both soul-wrenchingly beautiful and annoyingly repetitive, I wondered what Harry Potter name they'd given their baby. Ginevra Legend? Minerva McGonagall Legend? Hermione Hermione Hermione Legend?
The answer was: Luna. Luna Simone Stephens (so I guess "Legend" is a stage name? I knew it was too cool to be true).
And I was all, "Luna? How does them calling her Luna even justify mentioning Harry Potter at all, much less in the headline?" Because yes, one of Harry's good friends is the oh-so-delightful Luna Lovegood. But I'm not sure that's the automatic association that people have with that word. After all, it means "moon" in both Spanish and Italian. It was the name of a character on Bear in the Big Blue House. Luna is the name of the space colony in the very-popular Lunar Chronicles. It's the name of my great-grandmother. So why only mention Harry Potter?
It's because everyone loves Harry Potter. This isn't the first article I've noticed that flaunts the phrase "Harry Potter" in the headline when there's only the loosest of connections. I don't think it's coincidental that when Alan Rickman passed away, most of the articles I saw used a picture of him as Snape. The news people know that like 90% of the world is like 90% more likely to click something if it references Harry Potter. Harry Potter is beloved throughout the world, and hardly anyone dislikes it. It transcends languages, countries, cultures, religions, and political parties. Romeo and Juliet would have ended much differently if Harry Potter was around in Shakespeare's time. The play would have ended with the Montagues and the Capulets reconciling their differences through their common love of Harry Potter.
On a related note, La Petite is just barely discovering the joys of Harry Potter. She had never read it until I forced it upon her and Madam President a few months ago. La Petite read the first book with some hesitation but tore right through the second, third, fourth, and fifth. She texts me about Harry Potter, speculates to me about the sixth and and seventh books, and regularly pins Harry Potter pins. She's obsessed, and I love that she's obsessed. Obsession is the funnest when it's brand new.
To indulge her obsession, I brought some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans to share with her and Mr. La Petite. We giggled and exclaimed as we tried the different flavors. Then I put the half-full box in my purse and forgot about it.
The next day at church, I was looking for a breath mint. I instead found Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans scattered about the bottom of my purse.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: One of these might work on my bad breath.
Completely forgetting to proceed with caution, I popped a yellow one into my mouth. I thought it was lemon.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Nope...rotten egg.
Friday, April 22, 2016
If My Life Were a Georgette Heyer Novel
The Seamstress has been lending me her Georgette Heyer novels. Georgette Heyer is a twentieth-century writer who wrote many books about the Regency and before. I never got much into Jane Austen, but I've gotten very into Georgette Heyer. Many of her heroines are far more sensible and palatable than today's average heroine. Give me Mary Challoner over Bella Swan any day! Also, on average, her books tend to be far more exciting than Jane Austen's. Most Georgette Heyer books contain a duel, an elopement, and a lady who has, through no fault of her own, come into circumstantial situations that demand she be married at once or her reputation will be ruined! Also, about half of them feature cross-dressing. All of this high adventure and drama is written with a wry hand, allowing the reader the option of not taking it too seriously. And oh, I do like books that don't take themselves too seriously!
I've been thinking that if my life were a Georgette Heyer novel, it would probably go like this: the Seamstress would be the terribly practical female character, I would be the one prone to cross-dressing, and Pepper would be the goodhearted one with a romantic streak that causes her to dream of eloping with a handsome French pirate. Instead of being our landlord's tenants, we would be the charges of him and his wife. Instead of working at our various professions, we would spend our days horseback riding and receiving visitors and our nights attending the theatre and society balls. Of course, we would all have to find love interests before the story ended.
The Seamstress would put the dashing playboy character in his place with a severe scolding. He would be outraged at first, but eventually he would realize his passionate love for her and give up his disreputable ways. They would go live in the country and be perfectly content forever.
I would be the girl whose reputation would be ruined. If my cross-dressing were not discovered, my occasional late-night walks with Porch would be. Porch would be very put out at the idea of marrying me, but surely upon hearing that I was going to marry Porch, there would be another fellow of my long-standing acquaintance who would realize suddenly that the idea of my marrying someone else made him sick with jealousy! He would offer for me, of course, and I would accept.
Pepper would be betrothed, under her family's direction, to a very boring gentleman expected to bring additional wealth and dignity to the ancient and noble House of Pepper. Pepper would fight it, tooth and nail, but in the end would embark on an elopement with the same gentleman whom she had so disdained originally.
As for the duel—well, I think that the thing that would inspire Pepper to marry the boring gentleman would be to learn that he was much more fiery than she had at first suspected. Yes, I can see it now. In my cross-dressing disguise, I would make some disparaging remark to Pepper that's fine between female friends, but the veriest of insults from a gentleman to a lady! Pepper's betrothed, much indignant, would challenge my male alter ego to a duel. Pepper's family, horrified at the scandal, would call off the engagement, but the good sir would go through with it anyways. Unfortunately, not being very good at fencing, he would perform even more horribly in the duel than my untrained self, and would be wounded. Pepper would be touched by this display of devotion to her as well as excited by the discovery of the hitherto unknown adventurous nature of her betrothed. She would decide that she would marry him after all. So, to circumvent her family's objections, they would immediately elope to Gretna Green. Because, of course, we would be living in England. Obviously.
The more I write, the more I kind of like this idea. Maybe instead of writing teen fantasy, I'll become an author by publishing Regency novels? Is there a niche for that anymore? Besides Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, I mean. I'll have to look into it.
I've been thinking that if my life were a Georgette Heyer novel, it would probably go like this: the Seamstress would be the terribly practical female character, I would be the one prone to cross-dressing, and Pepper would be the goodhearted one with a romantic streak that causes her to dream of eloping with a handsome French pirate. Instead of being our landlord's tenants, we would be the charges of him and his wife. Instead of working at our various professions, we would spend our days horseback riding and receiving visitors and our nights attending the theatre and society balls. Of course, we would all have to find love interests before the story ended.
The Seamstress would put the dashing playboy character in his place with a severe scolding. He would be outraged at first, but eventually he would realize his passionate love for her and give up his disreputable ways. They would go live in the country and be perfectly content forever.
I would be the girl whose reputation would be ruined. If my cross-dressing were not discovered, my occasional late-night walks with Porch would be. Porch would be very put out at the idea of marrying me, but surely upon hearing that I was going to marry Porch, there would be another fellow of my long-standing acquaintance who would realize suddenly that the idea of my marrying someone else made him sick with jealousy! He would offer for me, of course, and I would accept.
Pepper would be betrothed, under her family's direction, to a very boring gentleman expected to bring additional wealth and dignity to the ancient and noble House of Pepper. Pepper would fight it, tooth and nail, but in the end would embark on an elopement with the same gentleman whom she had so disdained originally.
As for the duel—well, I think that the thing that would inspire Pepper to marry the boring gentleman would be to learn that he was much more fiery than she had at first suspected. Yes, I can see it now. In my cross-dressing disguise, I would make some disparaging remark to Pepper that's fine between female friends, but the veriest of insults from a gentleman to a lady! Pepper's betrothed, much indignant, would challenge my male alter ego to a duel. Pepper's family, horrified at the scandal, would call off the engagement, but the good sir would go through with it anyways. Unfortunately, not being very good at fencing, he would perform even more horribly in the duel than my untrained self, and would be wounded. Pepper would be touched by this display of devotion to her as well as excited by the discovery of the hitherto unknown adventurous nature of her betrothed. She would decide that she would marry him after all. So, to circumvent her family's objections, they would immediately elope to Gretna Green. Because, of course, we would be living in England. Obviously.
The more I write, the more I kind of like this idea. Maybe instead of writing teen fantasy, I'll become an author by publishing Regency novels? Is there a niche for that anymore? Besides Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, I mean. I'll have to look into it.
Thursday, April 21, 2016
How to Save a Life
The garage of the first house we lived in was double-wide, but it was filled, every inch, with Stuff. Stuff that belonged to my grandparents, mostly, as they owned both the house and the garage. Still, Stuff is Stuff whoever owns it, and Stuff is exceptionally irritating to a well-organized person like my mother.
When we moved to our new house, Mom was excited to have a garage completely devoid of Stuff. We used the garage as it was intended, for vehicles, until around the time Baby Brother was born. At this point, the garage began to fill with Christmas decorations, bicycles, and even a kitchen table until no cars would fit inside. It, too, had become a receptacle for Stuff.
But, before this happened, my parents' minivan fit perfectly in the garage. Granted, it wasn't often there, because Mom was busy chauffeuring her four daughters and bright-eyed toddler Little Brother from place to place to place. We all spent a significant percentage of our childhood in the car.
On one of those days, when Mom was rushing the five of us out somewhere, the garage door would not open. When the button was pressed, it shuddered and rose about six inches off the ground. Then it stopped, and nothing we did could persuade it to move.
Mom, flustered and in a hurry, was pressing the button repeatedly. At that moment I don't think she was at all grateful for the Stuff-less garage she had wanted so much. Little Brother, who had been around long enough to know that we simply must get into the car somehow, got down on his tummy and began to slither under the garage door. The rest of us were fretting and whining and wondering if we'd ever get wherever it was we were trying to go.
Mom hit the garage door button one last time. The door began to move! But it did not move up. It moved down...directly onto Little Brother's neck.
Our parents had assured us several times that there was nothing to be feared from the garage door. It had, they said, some kind of sensor that kept it from squashing little children like ourselves. It was, they said, perfectly safe.
Perfectly safe...but still bearing down on the neck of a little boy! My mom and sisters reacted in the natural fashion.
MOM: (screamed)
OLDER SISTER: (screamed)
LITTLE SISTER: (screamed)
BABY SISTER: (screamed)
I hardly ever scream, so I decided instead to express my terror by leaping forward and heaving the garage door upward.
MOM: YOU SAVED HIM!!!
I had. But there was no saving the garage door. Eventually, it could only be raised or lowered by hand, which may have contributed to our not using the garage anymore. But the fact that it can't easily be opened suits my mom just fine. It keeps the neighbors from seeing the heaps of Stuff.
When we moved to our new house, Mom was excited to have a garage completely devoid of Stuff. We used the garage as it was intended, for vehicles, until around the time Baby Brother was born. At this point, the garage began to fill with Christmas decorations, bicycles, and even a kitchen table until no cars would fit inside. It, too, had become a receptacle for Stuff.
But, before this happened, my parents' minivan fit perfectly in the garage. Granted, it wasn't often there, because Mom was busy chauffeuring her four daughters and bright-eyed toddler Little Brother from place to place to place. We all spent a significant percentage of our childhood in the car.
On one of those days, when Mom was rushing the five of us out somewhere, the garage door would not open. When the button was pressed, it shuddered and rose about six inches off the ground. Then it stopped, and nothing we did could persuade it to move.
Mom, flustered and in a hurry, was pressing the button repeatedly. At that moment I don't think she was at all grateful for the Stuff-less garage she had wanted so much. Little Brother, who had been around long enough to know that we simply must get into the car somehow, got down on his tummy and began to slither under the garage door. The rest of us were fretting and whining and wondering if we'd ever get wherever it was we were trying to go.
Mom hit the garage door button one last time. The door began to move! But it did not move up. It moved down...directly onto Little Brother's neck.
Our parents had assured us several times that there was nothing to be feared from the garage door. It had, they said, some kind of sensor that kept it from squashing little children like ourselves. It was, they said, perfectly safe.
Perfectly safe...but still bearing down on the neck of a little boy! My mom and sisters reacted in the natural fashion.
MOM: (screamed)
OLDER SISTER: (screamed)
LITTLE SISTER: (screamed)
BABY SISTER: (screamed)
I hardly ever scream, so I decided instead to express my terror by leaping forward and heaving the garage door upward.
MOM: YOU SAVED HIM!!!
I had. But there was no saving the garage door. Eventually, it could only be raised or lowered by hand, which may have contributed to our not using the garage anymore. But the fact that it can't easily be opened suits my mom just fine. It keeps the neighbors from seeing the heaps of Stuff.
Friday, April 15, 2016
The North Star
You could say I have a constant heart. Throughout the years, as my friends have shuffled through beaus, I've liked only a handful of fellas.
Sure, I'll occasionally have a bit of interest in that guy or the other. But, for the most part, I'll just like one guy. And I'll like him for years...and years. My friends are dating, and I'm still liking this guy. They're getting married, and I'm still liking this guy. They're popping out kids, and I'm still liking this guy.
My friends, cautiously and tactfully, ask if I've met anyone new. But we both know that they're really asking, "When are you going to move on? When are you going to give this up?"
In all honesty, though, I don't necessarily feel like it's needful for me to like a ton of different guys. Someday, my constant heart will guide me to somebody whose heart is both equally constant and turned towards me. Or that's the hope, anyways.
In the meantime, whenever I like somebody new, I get a thrill at the novelty of it. But I also wonder, "Will you be my breakthrough? Or will you be the next guy that I'm stuck on for two, three, even six years?"
I think I'll be glad when the dating part of my life is over.
Sure, I'll occasionally have a bit of interest in that guy or the other. But, for the most part, I'll just like one guy. And I'll like him for years...and years. My friends are dating, and I'm still liking this guy. They're getting married, and I'm still liking this guy. They're popping out kids, and I'm still liking this guy.
My friends, cautiously and tactfully, ask if I've met anyone new. But we both know that they're really asking, "When are you going to move on? When are you going to give this up?"
In the meantime, whenever I like somebody new, I get a thrill at the novelty of it. But I also wonder, "Will you be my breakthrough? Or will you be the next guy that I'm stuck on for two, three, even six years?"
I think I'll be glad when the dating part of my life is over.
Monday, April 11, 2016
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
What's this? What's this?!
The correct answer is, "Awkward Mormon Girl's hair."
Yes, yes, blah blah. I know you're all like, "You just posted a post bragging about your glorious long hair."
To which I say, "Yes, which means that I was obviously thinking about hair. Which means that you should have deduced that I was thinking about cutting my hair off. Which is a thing I did last week."
One of my reasons for cutting my hair off was that I'd like to look, if not my age, then somewhat closer to my age. People say, "You'll be glad that you're so young-looking when you hit thirty and you still look like you're twenty!" Be that as it may, right now I'm not always super glad that I look younger than I am. But you know what makes me look older and more sophisticated? Short hair. Short hair makes me look older and more sophisticated. So I determined to have my hair cut.
Question: How long was my hair before I cut it off?
Answer: Approximately 26 inches.
Question: How long is it now?
Answer: Much, much shorter. And I couldn't be more delighted! It turned out just as I dreamed it would.
Question: So do other people now think that you look older and more sophisticated?
Answer: Some have said so.
In fact, as I was leaving the gym today, I passed a group of guys hanging around the gym doors.
One of them asked, "Hey, how are you doing today?"
"Fine," I said, and I kept walking.
Behind me, I heard the guy say, "...at least 22!" My mind quickly guessed that one of the other guys had said something to him along the lines of, "Dude, you shouldn't be hitting on that girl! She's too young!" but that my new acquaintance had asserted that I was 22. 22?! No one ever guessed that high! I beamed and congratulated myself on the success of my new haircut.
Sure enough, one of the guys yelled after me, "Hey! How old are you?"
I called back my age. I heard the guy who'd talked to me yell, "I knew it! See, that's how you do it! When you see a beautiful woman, you have to say hello to her!"
I beamed again and congratulated myself on my haircut being successful in other ways than making me look older. Then I chuckled all the way home.
Yes, yes, blah blah. I know you're all like, "You just posted a post bragging about your glorious long hair."
To which I say, "Yes, which means that I was obviously thinking about hair. Which means that you should have deduced that I was thinking about cutting my hair off. Which is a thing I did last week."
One of my reasons for cutting my hair off was that I'd like to look, if not my age, then somewhat closer to my age. People say, "You'll be glad that you're so young-looking when you hit thirty and you still look like you're twenty!" Be that as it may, right now I'm not always super glad that I look younger than I am. But you know what makes me look older and more sophisticated? Short hair. Short hair makes me look older and more sophisticated. So I determined to have my hair cut.
Question: How long was my hair before I cut it off?
Answer: Approximately 26 inches.
Question: How long is it now?
Answer: Much, much shorter. And I couldn't be more delighted! It turned out just as I dreamed it would.
Question: So do other people now think that you look older and more sophisticated?
Answer: Some have said so.
In fact, as I was leaving the gym today, I passed a group of guys hanging around the gym doors.
One of them asked, "Hey, how are you doing today?"
"Fine," I said, and I kept walking.
Behind me, I heard the guy say, "...at least 22!" My mind quickly guessed that one of the other guys had said something to him along the lines of, "Dude, you shouldn't be hitting on that girl! She's too young!" but that my new acquaintance had asserted that I was 22. 22?! No one ever guessed that high! I beamed and congratulated myself on the success of my new haircut.
Sure enough, one of the guys yelled after me, "Hey! How old are you?"
I called back my age. I heard the guy who'd talked to me yell, "I knew it! See, that's how you do it! When you see a beautiful woman, you have to say hello to her!"
I beamed again and congratulated myself on my haircut being successful in other ways than making me look older. Then I chuckled all the way home.
Friday, April 8, 2016
Judith
Over the weekend, when I was at my parents' for General Conference, I noticed that there were unpotted pansies on my parents' porch.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Are those-?
MOM: Those are for you, yes.
Meet Judith!
I actually potted her myself. It was really stressful because I had no idea what I was doing.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Did I do a good job, Mom?
MOM: You put rocks in the bottom, right?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Rocks??? You didn't say anything about rocks! Why are there rocks? What kind of sorcery is this???
Anyways, I was anxious to bring Judith home and care for her. My last pansy plant, Tabitha, perished quite soon after we met. I don't know if it was just her time to go or if she was killed off by the horrible weather. It rained almost nonstop when I had Tabitha, and when it wasn't raining, the sun was beating down with the force of a woman pushing out a baby. Why was the weather so awful? Some people blamed global warming. Some people blamed Obama. Some people blamed Obama detractors. Whatever the case, the whole thing was unhealthy for my poor little pansy, and she died.
I was optimistic about my future with Judith.
MOM: If the temperature drops below freezing, bring the plant inside.
I checked the predicted weather for the whole week. Moderate temperatures every night, and no freezing! A good sign. However, the day after I brought Judith home, it began to rain.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Oh, come on!
And then the next day, the predicted high was 82 degrees.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: ...what?
And the next day, the predicted high was 91 degrees.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: What is this?
Apparently the cause of the terrible weather is not global warming, Obama, or Obama detractors. It's me. Somehow, as soon as I find a plant to love and care for, the forces of nature join together to smite it down.
Happily, Judith is still alive... for now.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Are those-?
MOM: Those are for you, yes.
Meet Judith!
I actually potted her myself. It was really stressful because I had no idea what I was doing.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Did I do a good job, Mom?
MOM: You put rocks in the bottom, right?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Rocks??? You didn't say anything about rocks! Why are there rocks? What kind of sorcery is this???
Anyways, I was anxious to bring Judith home and care for her. My last pansy plant, Tabitha, perished quite soon after we met. I don't know if it was just her time to go or if she was killed off by the horrible weather. It rained almost nonstop when I had Tabitha, and when it wasn't raining, the sun was beating down with the force of a woman pushing out a baby. Why was the weather so awful? Some people blamed global warming. Some people blamed Obama. Some people blamed Obama detractors. Whatever the case, the whole thing was unhealthy for my poor little pansy, and she died.
I was optimistic about my future with Judith.
MOM: If the temperature drops below freezing, bring the plant inside.
I checked the predicted weather for the whole week. Moderate temperatures every night, and no freezing! A good sign. However, the day after I brought Judith home, it began to rain.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Oh, come on!
And then the next day, the predicted high was 82 degrees.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: ...what?
And the next day, the predicted high was 91 degrees.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: What is this?
Apparently the cause of the terrible weather is not global warming, Obama, or Obama detractors. It's me. Somehow, as soon as I find a plant to love and care for, the forces of nature join together to smite it down.
Happily, Judith is still alive... for now.
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