Animanie, Totally Insaney

All right. So, for Halloween, I was Dot Warner of Animaniacs fame.

Little Brother and Baby Brother were Yakko and Wakko Warner, respectively. As you can probably tell from the picture above, our costumes were homemade from a variety of new and used clothing items and some craft materials.

Little Brother is often the force behind assembling group costumes, but this year, I coordinated everything. I bought most of the pieces. I made patterns for the ears. The little brothers helped me make said ears from felt and pipe cleaners. At one point, Baby Brother quoted a line from the show that seemed pertinent to our simple costumes: "Well, this is a fabulously cheap cartoon!"

I carefully bent the finished ears at the angles I deemed most correct to show off each Warner's personality. Please admire this picture of Baby Brother's Wakko hat (from the front), because I thought it turned out very well and I was especially proud of it.

We had to use a U of U baseball cap as the craft stores were all out of plain red ones. Thus the patches.

The final touch to our costumes was a spot of red face paint on the tips of each of our noses. Voilà!  We were Warners.

Sadly, I had to work today, so the rest of the family did fun things like carved pumpkins without me. 

Baby Brother's Over the Garden Wall jack-o-lantern

After work, I hurried to my parents' houses so that I could take pictures with my brothers before it got dark.

We took so many cute pictures. My brothers reenacteed part of the Animaniacs theme song (which I have on photo and video but which I have been told I must never put on social media). I had a hard time deciding which photo to put on Instagram. In fact, I had such a hard time that I ended up putting one on Instagram and another on Twitter, too.

After I'd taken Baby Brother trick-or-treating, and after we'd gone to visit our grandmother, I told Baby Brother that I'd almost tagged Rob Paulsen, Yakko's voice actor, in the Twitter photo.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: He's super nice. He replies to almost everything people tag him in. But I chickened out.

BABY BROTHER: I dare you to tag him!

It seemed like a harmless enough dare...so I retweeted the photo and tagged Rob Paulsen at the top.

Less than a minute later...Rob Paulsen retweeted my photo.

Rob Paulsen retweeted a photo of my face!!! It was an exciting moment, even better than the time Muppeteer Matt Vogel retweeted one of my posts! Because Rob Paulsen is a legend! He played voices in so many shows I liked as a kid (and some I still like as an adult). Rob Paulsen is the coolest!!! And he apparently liked our costumes enough to retweet a photo of them!!! Whoa.

But that's not all! As soon as Rob Paulsen retweeted the photo, other people started to like and retweet it, too. At the moment, it has 18 retweets and 76 likes. That's pretty impressive, considering that I'm a total nobody!

BABY BROTHER: Yay! Now we're famous.

All in all, not a bad Halloween.

Haunted House Dreams

Halloween is soon, and scary times are ahead! In honor of this occasion, I wanted to tell you about tropes of my recurring haunted house dreams.

Haunted House Dream #1: I'm going on the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland, but it's totally different. Like it's in a long hallway with ghostly green dioramas on either side, or it's part roller coaster/water ride. Sometimes the ride breaks down. This dream isn't too bad.

Haunted House Dream #2: The Haunted Mansion ride becomes a really creepy walkthrough, and the people who are going on the ride with me keep disappearing and whatnot. Or it's mashed up with my grandmother's house, and the yard or the front stairway or the basement is now haunted with Haunted Mansion-type ghosts.

Haunted House Dream #3: This is the Other Room dream. An Other Room dream is where extra rooms appear in a place that is familiar to me in real life. Whenever I approach an Other Room in a dream, I feel a sense of foreboding. I know that going into the room is probably a bad idea. There's always something in Other Rooms that's better left alone. Sometimes there's dusty old treasures, sometimes there's evidence to a terrible crime, or sometimes they seem to be haunted by malevolent spirits. I often have dreams that there are Other Rooms in my grandmother's house (a disproportionate number of my dreams seem to take place in my grandmother's house). Also, since I moved out, I have occasionally dreamed that there is an extra hallway in my apartment full of Other Rooms. There's at least one extra bedroom and a ton of storage space in that hallway, but my roommates and I are always too afraid to make use of it.

I'm particular curious about the Other Room dream. Do other people have Other Room dreams, or is it just me? Does it mean something? I think that if it means something, it's that I am the kind of person who would survive a horror movie. When I think a place might be dangerous, I leave it well enough alone. But that's just me.

Halloween Costume Sneak Peek

I'm a little behind on the blogging this month, what with one thing and another. My offering to you tonight is not a story but a look at some of the materials I used to put together my Halloween costume.

What am I being? Feel free to guess! I'll give you a hint: it's a group costume with the little brothers.

The Shortest Road Trip in the History of Road Trips

Over the weekend, I went on the shortest road trip in the history of road trips.

I don't mean short like, "Oh look! We drove for half an hour and now we're there!" I mean short as in we scarcely spent any time at our destination. This is because we were road tripping for one reason and one reason only: to attend my grandfather's funeral in Arizona.

We were planning to leave around 6:30 a.m. on Friday (we actually left closer to 7:30). Due to a busy week at work, I had little time to pack, and I was still tossing things into my suitcase at 6. I'd planned to tidy the apartment a little before leaving, but in the end I only had time to grab my folded laundry from the couch and place it on my bed. The idea was that Future Awkward Mormon Girl would be forced to fold the laundry before she could go to sleep on Sunday night.

My parents' Mormon Assault Vehicle recently met its demise, so we'd rented some kind of SUV that had a radio with a Bluetooth connection. We took a somewhat circuitous route that took us to Arizona, then Nevada, then Arizona again. Favorite pastimes on the long drive included:

-Singing along to the music we played through the Bluetooth
-Sleeping while leaning against one another
-Passing the Hoover Dam and making semi-inappropriate jokes.

DAD: I thought we'd be able to see the dam from here, but I guess not.

LITTLE BROTHER: Well now we can't see the dam view!

My brothers haven't been on that many road trips, and they were lapping the experience up. Little Brother called hotel breakfasts "interesting and captivating." Baby Brother was obsessed with the cacti in Arizona and took many a picture. He screeched with delight whenever he got a good shot.

It took thirteen hours, give or take, to get to Arizona. My parents went to pick up Older Sister, who was flying in from New York, while the little sisters and I practiced a musical number for the funeral with our cousins.

The next day was the funeral itself. Because all of my grandpa's descendants are LDS (or were raised LDS, even if they aren't active right now), and because the only non-LDS people we were expecting were my grandpa's brother and his family, my uncle arranged an LDS-style funeral. My grandpa was adamant that the funeral not be held in a church, so it took place in the funeral home, but apart from that it was very like my mom's dad's funeral a few years ago. We sang religious songs. My dad dedicated the grave in a religious ceremony. The biggest difference was that Grandpa served in the military, so there was a flag and some military representatives at the grave site.

After the funeral, the members of my grandma's ward served us lunch at their meetinghouse. Grandma had the food catered from a Mexican food place nearby. I'm not a huge fan of Mexican food, but this food was quite good. There were tons of desserts to follow, including lemon meringue pie, Grandpa's favorite.

We were at the church building for about three hours, visiting with family members. When our time in the cultural hall was up, our conversations spilled into the hallways and into the foyers. We were sad because we missed Grandpa, but we were happy to be spending time together. It had been a while since my dad and his siblings and all 23 of the Obnoxious cousins got together. Happily, every single one of them was able to make it to the funeral. The time we spent together that afternoon still wasn't enough, and several of us got together that night for dinner at Buca di Beppo.

"Are we celebrating something?" the waitress asked brightly, and there was an awkward silence as we tried to figure out how to respond.

The next day, my family got back into the car and went back to Utah (except for Older Sister, who took a very early flight back to New York). Pastimes of the way home included:

-More sleeping

-More singing

-Thai dancing (Little Brother taught us some dance moves in the parking lot of a gas station. People driving by stared at us.)

-Poetry

Baby Brother started declaiming dramatic poetry. It went as follows:

In the 11th hour when the chickens are dying, and the roller coasters are being closed for...repairs.

As the pudding goes down the esophagus, the chocolate being regurgitated into the depths and darkness of the soul.

As the screams are echoing down the hall...lunchtime in the junior high cafeteria.

The frog lays the eggs, and then they hatch. Are they are a frog? No. They are a tadpole.

The crunch of a spoon and the ding of a chomp.

The crocodile swims to the adoption center and adopts a crocodile but fails. The crocodile dies, both of them, and their skeletons remain while the fish eat them because the fish are piranhas and they have sharp teeth.

By the time Baby Brother stopped gracing us with these masterpieces, we were nearly home. We pulled into the parents' driveway about 12 hours after leaving Arizona.

When I got back to my apartment, I was hungry and very tired. I ate my dinner and went to my room...and discovered all of the laundry that Past Awkward Mormon Girl had left on my bed for me to put away.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Worst idea ever!

Goodreads Update

A year ago, I started using Goodreads in earnest.

Since then, I've added all the books on my shelf, more than half the books in my parents' house, and as many books as I can remember from my own brain to my Read list. At the moment, the total is 1,432. Not bad.

In Which I Gain Another Mother

It's catching up to me.

My penchant for over-scheduling, that is. It's catching up. Nay, it's caught up, and it's keeping apace of me.

Since I moved out, there have been four times where, instead of buying groceries and then cooking my own food, I have spent the week's grocery money on a large quantity of food at a Chinese or Indian restaurant, which I then eat all week long.

The first time was a year ago. The other three times...have all been in the last two months.

I'm working on making time to do normal things like cooking and grocery shopping, I swear. Things are working out so that hopefully I can actually have free time. As soon as next month, I expect to be able to do things like write stories, bake blueberry muffins, clean my room and the apartment shower, and put all of my photos from 2015 on Facebook. You know. The good stuff. But I'm not there yet, so yesterday after work I went to Hometown's second-best Chinese restaurant.

I am a frequent visitor at Hometown's second-best Chinese restaurant. The manager knows me on sight although (as I think I've mentioned before) Etch-a-Sketch and I bear a passing resemblance that confuses some. Etch-a-Sketch used to go to this restaurant with Best Friend Boy fairly often, then she and I started going there together occasionally, and Best Friend Boy and I went there together shortly after he got home from his mission. This has caused the manager to seemingly mix up me and Etch-a-Sketch somewhat. No matter, though—whether he thinks I'm me or whether he thinks I'm Etch-a-Sketch, he's always happy to see me and greets me warmly.

He was the one who took my takeout order yesterday. First I ordered a sweet and sour pork combo, a dish I often get there because it's delicious not as expensive as my favorite dish. The manager knows that I often order the pork, so he didn't seem surprised, but when I also ordered a combo with lemon chicken he jokingly said, "Who's that for?"

"Me," I said.

He seemed taken aback.

"I don't have time to cook this week," I explained, "so I'm buying food instead."

"Are you sure you don't just want to come back tomorrow?" he said doubtfully.

I said it was all right, and then I also ordered a strawberry chicken combo.

"Who's that one for?"

"Also me," I said. I felt like I might be blushing. He just seemed so concerned that it was making me feel embarrassed.

Doubtfully, the manager rang me up. He asked if he could at least put the sauce on the side so that the food wouldn't get soggy. I told him that was fine, and I paid for my meal. When I got my change back, I noticed that I'd been given a small discount.

As I was waiting for my food, the manager approached me again to ask if I was sure I wanted all that food.

"Have you done this before?" he asked.

I told him I had. I assured him that I had some vegetables at home to eat with the food, and that I'd be all right. Seeming mollified, he headed to the kitchen.

A minute later, he came out with a styrofoam box. He flipped up the lid and showed me the contents.

"Steamed vegetables," he said.

"Yes," I said, unsure of what was going on.

He told me that he was going to put the vegetables with my order, if that was okay. I thanked him, a little amused and completely astounded.

When my order was up, I noticed an extra takeout container in the bag. Sure enough, when I got home, I found not only strawberry sauce and steamed vegetables on the side, but also extra fried rice.

 

I was charmed. I had been, dare I say it, mothered to death, and it had been adorable. I'm a big girl who can take care of herself, but it's from time to time it's nice to have someone unexpectedly look out for me.

On the other hand, my days of living off Chinese takeout are apparently over. I can never order three dishes from Hometown's second-best Chinese restaurant again if it's going to grieve the manager so. Next week, I'm going to have to start cooking again like a real adult.

Margherita Grilled Cheese Sandwich

All right. Let's talk about something happy. Let's talk about sandwiches!

A few weeks ago, I had an idea: what if I made a margherita pizza? But what if that pizza wasn't a pizza, but a sandwich? A grilled cheese sandwich?

Yeeees. Best idea ever! I mean, probably somebody, somewhere, thought of doing that before. But as I had never heard of anyone doing it, I found it to be a new and original concept.

When it comes to Awkward Mormon Girl's margherita grilled cheese sandwiches, here's how you do:

1. Obtain two slices of white bread, two or three slices of mozzarella (the fresher the better), one or two slices of tomato, about ten leaves of fresh basil, some butter that has been softened at room temperature, and salt and pepper (if desired).

2. Butter one slice of bread. Place it butter-side down on a pan and place the cheese, tomato, basil, salt, and pepper on top.

3. Put the pan in the over and broil this slice of bread at a medium-to-low setting for two, maybe three, minutes. You want the cheese to be a little melted and the basil to be slightly wilted, but you don't want the edges of the bread to burn.

4. Remove the pan from the oven.

5. Use a spatula to transfer the bread from the pan to a frying pan or griddle or whatever you prefer to use for grilled cheese sandwiches. Turn on the heat. The butter on the bottom of the bread should be melted, so all you need to do is keep it grilling until the bottom is golden brown.

6. While the bread is grilling, butter the other slice of bread and place it butter side up on top of the other, cheese-and-tomato-and-basil-covered slice. Now it's a real sandwich!

7. When the bottom slice is golden brown, use the spatula to flip the sandwich.

8. Wait for the slice that used to be on the top but now is on the bottom to become golden brown.

9. Enjoy!

I Don't Have the Words

My grandpa died the way radioactive isotopes decay: in half lives.

A month ago, they said he would live a few more months. A week ago, they said he would live a few more weeks. On Monday it was one week. On Tuesday it was 48 hours.

He passed away on Tuesday night.

He brought me books, my grandpa. Baby-Sitters Club books and most of Road Dahl's works; my first copy of The Hobbit and a second-edition copy of The Silmarillion; even Tennis Shoes Among the Nephites. He would never have read the Tennis Shoes books himself because he wasn't LDS or even religious. Still he found copies on his many trips to used book stores, and what he found, he brought to us.

There other books: my books. He was always asking to see the stories I wrote. A few years ago, I gave him my only hard copy of a manuscript I was trying to publish. He said it wasn't "his type" of story and he didn't get very far, so I expected to get it back soon. Instead Grandpa, apparently praising the manuscript that he hadn't read, passed it on to my uncle, who read it and liked it and gave to my aunt. My aunt loved it and gave it to my cousin and his wife. Last I heard, it was with another aunt and uncle in Texas. I'm thinking I won't get it back.

There were other things, like the trips to McDonald's and the collection of canes and the inexplicable love of UNR. There was a lot, most of which I couldn't accurately explain without pages and pages at my disposal.

Then he died. Death doesn't scare LDS people the way it does some. We have a pretty good understanding of what's on the other side. Uniquely, we believe that people can still progress even after death. We believe that those who get to the afterlife and wish they could change still can. But we also believe that people are much the same in death as they are in life and that not even the experience of returning to God will have much effect on some.

I don't know if my grandpa will choose to progress or not. The uncertainty of not knowing has weighed on me these past days. But what I do know is that things work out. It's not always a terribly comforting piece of knowledge, no. But it's true, nonetheless.

Texting (or Lack Thereof)

Some days, my life is like this:

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (gets text that says "How are you doing?)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (reads text)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (drives to work)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (turns off phone)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (works all day)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (turns on phone)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (reads text again)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (drives home)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (eats dinner)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (browses on phone)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (goes out)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (comes home)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (gets ready for bed)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (reads text again)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (goes to sleep)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (sleeps)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (wakes up)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (reads text again)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (drives to work)

And so on and so forth, ad nauseum

THREE DAYS LATER

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (responds to text) Not bad. How are you?

This has particularly been true of the last year or so. Maybe it's because I now have a smartphone, so I no longer pick up my phone only for communication purposes. I also have a tendency to get texts that I need to think about before I reply, and I think about it so long that I forget I never actually responded to the message or that the message even exists at all. Stuff like that.

It's usually not that I'm ignoring people or that I don't like them, I swear. I just have gotten terrible at the phone thing.

Of course, the ironic thing is that I might do that, but if someone doesn't text me back within a reasonable amount of time I become convinced that they hate me. Is it just me, or is there something about texting that makes the ego particularly fragile?

Conference, In General

Over the last two weekends, we LDS folk had general conference.

We have church every Sunday and other kinds of meetings all year long, but general conference marks the two times a year when everyone in the world tunes in to hear directly from our leaders.

We believe that God still speaks to man, that revelation didn't cease after the New Testament. We believe in living prophets and apostles. It makes sense, then, that we would set aside time to hear what they have to say.

There are around twelve hours of general conference. On the last Saturday in September, there's a two-hour block (that usually actually lasts around an hour and a half) dedicated to women. My sisters and I often watch it together.

Then, on the first weekend in October, we have the other sessions. On Saturday, there are two two-hour blocks, one at 10 a.m. and one at 2 p.m., and then another block at 6 p.m. The 6 p.m. block is aimed towards the men who have been ordained to priesthood offices. Like the women's session, it tends to run a little short.

The next day, Sunday, we have two more two-hour blocks, again at 10 a.m. and at 2 p.m.

My family usually watches general conference by broadcast from our own home. We snuggle up on the couch, take notes, and eat treats while we watch. However, lots of people watch broadcasts at their church buildings, and those who were given tickets to do so can watch in the conference center itself. (Tickets are free, but there is limited space in the building, so not everyone who wants a ticket can get one.)

There are often religious or political protestors standing outside the conference center. The city has worked with the church to create "free speech zones" around the conference center. Anyone who has something to say to the people coming and going has to be in one of these zones. I have at least once noticed a non-LDS Facebook friend criticize these zones for being a violation of free speech. I wondered if she'd ever seen the protestors at LDS events. Some are very polite and respectful, but there are also some who scream vulgar things, wave graphic signs, and destroy artifacts important to our religion before our eyes. The free speech zone is a good community compromise between free speech and religious freedom, in my opinion, because it allows people to say what's on their minds but makes it possible for those who don't wish to listen to simply leave and avoid potential harassment. You also might be interested to learn that it's not just protestors who have to stay in the free speech zones: I've gone with church-sanctioned groups to sing hymns on the sidewalk during general conference, and church security guards instructed us to stay within the zones. It goes both ways.

Whether I'm in the conference center or at home, I'm always enlightened and uplifted by the words that are spoken in the conference. We're counseled to come with questions in our minds and in our hearts, questions that we've prayed and pondered about. I usually bring some pretty weird questions with me. I'm surprised by how often I receive answers to fit them.