Not a Good Day for Flowers

PLEASE NOTE: This was written several weeks ago, and for some reason entirely unknown to myself, Bob Saget, Andrew's trombone, or even my teddy bear Francis, it didn't get posted to the blog. So, here you go. Have a nice read on this while I draw pictures about Thanksgiving. END NOTE.

Did you know that I have a china set? I do. It's pretty. It's an off white shade, with beautiful silver and white flowers and designs on it. It even has silver on the edges. It's actually very beautiful. I'm very proud of it. However, all of the pieces are very dusty and dirty. I've just pulled them out of the box where they've been hiding for a good long while because I now have an elegant hutch to put them in. So am I going to wash them?

No.

Now, you may be wondering why, if it is indeed true that I'm proud of my fine china set and wish to display it, WHY would I not clean this collection of teacups and dinner plates and gravy boats and those ones that I'm not even sure what purpose they have? Because apparently is the day to kill off flowers.

I have a favorite set of mugs. Each one has a different type and color of flower drawn on it all cutesy like to make a mismatching matching set of four. There used to be four. Two were killed off in the battleground of college living. Today for lunch, I went for my favorite- peanut butter and jelly sandwich with milk. The ONLY correct way to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is with milk. Any other notion or way of consuming this type of sandwich is blasphemy. End of story. Anyway, I decided to use one of my favorites, the blue and green flowered one. I reached up on my tippy-toes to get it off of the high shelf... and then watched it land on the floor by my feet.

That's right. I broke my favorite blue and green flowered mug. After staring at it for a while, I noticed that my arm was kind of sore. It turns out that I whacked it during my failed mad dash to save my beloved mug. I mourned my mug. Even using my favorite pink and orange flowered mug didn't make me feel better. Not even my favorite lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwich with milk didn't make me feel better.

I got up after lunch and started doing the dishes. I wanted to clear out all of the other dishes before I brought in my china set. I didn't want any accidents because there were too many dishes in the sink. It was a good idea, I though. Besides, cleaning the dishes is a good thing to do if you don't want a stinky kitchen. But my good idea decided to rub itself in my face. As I was washing one of my green and pink flowered bowls I got for our wedding, it JUMPED out of my hand and split into two pieces and a sliver right there in the sink. I stared at that for a while, too. I picked up the pieces and tried to put them together- it looked like it would be a clean gluing job. I put a cloth down on the counter so I could put the wet pieces down gently. But then the stubborn buffoon piece of crockery decided to jump out of my hand AGAIN, and the two pieces became three.

That was when I decided to give up on glass things for the day. And things with flowers. That china set is just going to stay dirty until Andrew has time to supervise me while I'm working with it. Instead I sat down, ate some starbursts, and drew some pictures for this blog. And then I decided to write this story for you as well. So here you go.

No more flowers or glass. And especially no more glass flowers. At least for today.

How I Broke the Elections

Tuesday, November 6, 2012 was a very important day for me. It was the first time that I voted. I felt very cool to be able to do that. More importantly, I felt a surge of pride that I am literate enough in politics to feel like I had a fairly good grasp of what is going on in the world today. I care about what's happening. I read the news. I listen to debates (until it makes me so frustrated that I have to go hide in the other room and have Andy tell me what's happening). I feel like a responsible citizen.

But when I went to vote on Tuesday, things didn't actually go very smoothly.

Andrew and I showed up at the polling/voting type place. Our precinct was assigned to an old folk's home, and there were some adorable old folks sitting on the veranda. It made me happy. We stood in line for all of about five seconds. Now THAT is my kind of line! The nice people checked our paper stuff, and then asked:

"Would you like to vote on a paper ballot or electronically?"

Knowing my history with technology, I emphatically chose the paper ballot. I went over to a little cubed off section and seized the pen lying there on the desk. I boldly colored in the little ovals, marking my opinions for the future of my county, state, and country. I studiously considered the type of pen I was using, because I actually really liked it, and considered getting one for myself. I decidedly shoved my stuff in my purse, and resolutely stood. 

I then looked around like a lost fish in a really big puddle because I didn't know what to do with my ballot. Andy had already finished and was waiting outside. No help there. Then I saw a lady sitting by the door and a huge machine. I watched as a gentleman walked up to the machine and fed his ballot into the scanner machine, and then was presented with a sticker for his good behavior.

Feeling more comfortable because I now knew what I was supposed to do, I went up to the Lady of the Machine and prepared to get my sticker. Oh, how I wanted that sticker! I love stickers! I stuck the end of my ballot into the machine. The ballot got pulled in....

And then it got spit back out again. That lousy Machine didn't want me to get a sticker! What a lame head of cauliflower! The Lady of the Machine had me try five more times before declaring my ballot to be a broken one. She told me to go over to the other corner of the room and get it voided, and then to fill out another one. I walked dejectedly over to the Voider Man. I'd never broken PAPER before. I'm paper-writing girl. I read books. Paper is what I do.

My head was drooped low until I heard the Lady of the Machine call out and say, "Don't void your ballot. It might be the Machine."

That made me perk up. I didn't break the paper, I broke the Machine! I felt much better. That's much more normal for me. But then I started to feel a little guilty as the line in front of the Machine grew longer, and NO ONE could enter their ballot. What had I done? I had stopped the election process! 

After several minutes of not being able to contact anyone or to fix the Machine, Voider Man just had us stick our ballots in a little slot to be looked at later. That helped ease my guilty feelings a little, since we were still able to cast our votes, even if it were to now cause many people extra work going over the ballots later. Oh well. Voting is a good thing to do, so I guess I can sacrifice other people's time to do it. I stuck my ballot into the slot, but the Lady of the Machine was distracted by something, and didn't offer me a sticker. 

I hmphed! and took a sticker anyway. Just because I broke the elections doesn't mean that I didn't vote. I earned that sticker.

Enjoying Compliments, and Missing the Source of Said Compliments

During my junior year of college at BYU, I took a Shakespeare class. Andrew would be quick to point out that it was not the only one that I took, but he's at work now, so I can say whatever I want. Huzzah for free speech! Anyway, I took this class and it was pretty interesting. In case you didn't know, I graduated with an English degree, and I love reading, and I love Shakespeare as well. Not all of his plays, mind you, but a lot of them. This was no ordinary Shakespeare class, however. It was different.

Instead of the usual run of the mill 10 page research paper for the final and whatever piece of torture for the midterm, we kept a blog during the semester. The blog was to be the equivalent of the research paper in work, but it was spread out over the whole course instead of writing it all the night before it's due. Because, let's be honest, what English major actually has time to write the paper for THAT class when they're already working on the other three papers for THOSE classes? This blog project was to help us to get around that problem while at the same time allowing us to have more freedom of tone and expression, and a whole lot of fun with media clips.

During a peer review, a classmate decided that she was one of the awesomest people on the whole planet, and gave me some very nice and glowing remarks. She said that not only was I a "FANTASTIC WRITER," but that"throughout the blog Natashya maintain’s a personable and intelligent voice. If these posts were handed to me in paper form with no identifying markers I would quite reasonably be able to assume that they were written by one person." That really makes a writer feel pretty good. A consistent voice that actually sounds intelligent? Awesome! (The peer review was done via blog post, and it's here if you wanted to see it. Even if you didn't, it's good to cite your sources.) (OH! And here's my somewhat intelligent Shakespeare blog that I did last year.)

Not going to lie- I feel pretty good about myself, and very benevolent towards this person. I mean, what taste and discernment! But besides feeling great because of these wonderful compliments (most of which were probably undeserved, since I really wasn't the best about posting on that blog- but it WAS the semester that I started dating Andrew...), I now realize something.

I miss writing. 

True story. I am one of those weird people that actually love to read something, and then analyze it in a paper. I LOVE it. I don't always like writing the paper in a very stressful time frame, especially when grades are on the line, but I do enjoy the actual activity. Did you know that I wrote a 12 page research paper on Disney princesses? Yup. It was about how society's ideal feminine archetype has changed from the Maiden to the Modern. I used Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Enchanted, and The Princess and the Frog as my texts. It was a really great paper to write. I mean, how many people get to watch three Disney movies for HOMEWORK?!

I know that a lot of people have said that they like this blog because of my personable writing tone. Honestly, I just write things how they come to my mind, almost as if I were just speaking. Maybe that makes some of you wonder what the heck kind of conversations I have with people, but I can assure you that most people I spend time with are rather splendid at understanding my language. And at speaking my language.

All of this goes to say don't be surprised if you suddenly see an essay pop up on here. Or maybe I'll just start writing stories. Stories about life. Or maybe I'll just keep blogging and writing in my journal.

NOTE: I'm starting another type of blog postings- the kind where I just blurb out something, even though there may be no point to it. If nothing else, it should at least help me get into the habit of posting.

A Stinky Adventure in a Big Van

(DISCLAIMER: I said that I would post this yesterday, but I didn't. It wasn't my fault. I had it all ready, but Andrew didn't see fit to add his comments till today. But he did, and they're good, so we're all glad we waited for Andy to be cool and witty with his commentary.)

While I may feel that the title of this post is pretty self-explanatory, others may not hold the same opinion. I shall therefore do my best to elucidate the situation. Read on.

While Andrew and I were in Tennessee visiting during the summer (see the previous post), we did a bit of helping out around the place. My family is building a house right now, and so it's great fun to be out there digging and pounding and shoveling and all sorts of cool stuff like that. I especially liked bashing bricks to pieces- I'm not sure why I got to do it, but it sure was fun.

(NOTE: I want to crush the bricks, not the house-builders.)

It helped that I was on a Thor movie high, and I was totally stoked to be using Mjolnir, that hammer forged by elves in the heart of a dying star..... or whatever it is he says. My brother Spud knows, but he's on a mission in Thailand right now. And no, I wasn't actually wearing a dress while doing this. Or a cape, sadly.

Anyway, back with the titular story. My family has a 15 passenger van to cart around our 12 member family. (Recap: Daddy and Mama, six girls and four boys.) When we need to cart stuff around, we take out enough of the seats so there is room in there. There are only seven kids at home now, anyways, so it's not like it's that big of a deal. It's a useful vehicle. We've had it since I was eight or something.

Apparently there is no trash service to my family's place. They live kind of in the country (though not too far away, since Daddy does teach at the university right there in town), and there is a trash dump-off place not far down the road. Basically, you just load up your trash, drive on down, chuck your trash in the giant dumpster, and then leave. I was never to know this joy, however. Life is not so simplistic for me.

There was a load of garbage to be taken down to the dump. The boys but it in the back of the van (this isn't as gross as it sounds- it wasn't free range trash, it was very well contained), and somehow I became the designated driver of the vehicle. Andy, Bug, and Fat Boy all came along for the ride and to help out. We were instructed to drop off the trash, and then fetch a large bag of ice from the Dollar General on the corner on our way home. So we all hopped in the van, and the screaming then began.

I hadn't driven that van in quite a while, and suddenly I'm driving down these little roads with hardly any shoulder at all! I was most intent on not hitting the other cars on the roads. Andy kept bothering me with trifling details, like mail boxes. What ended up happening was that I would scream and bellow loudly every time I saw a car coming, which would trigger Andy's warnings of minor obstacles.

(By Andy:  I would have to interject here and explain that by "minor obstacles," my dear and lovely wife means anything that would tear a fender off of even a van such as that one.  Which were usually NEXT to the road.  Though in response to this comment, my darling would like to point out that she--as can be seen from the picture-- was already more than busy bending the laws of physics to fit the van on the road in the first place.)

By the time that we finally made it to the dump, we were so relieved! However, we pulled up to the gate to see a horrendous sign that marked the peak of hopelessness of our journey.

Man, that was a disappointing sign, because, believe me, that sign knew what it was talking about. That van WAS a very stinky, smelly place. With a frustrated growl from EVERYONE in the van, we pulled out from the place and went back down that horridly tiny and twisted little road. We were all freaked out from being in a Big Van with Stinky Stuff, with a Crazy Driver. I don't know if Andrew or myself could be called the most stressed. We were both in a serious competition for that title.

When we got to Dollar General, Bug and I decided that we would wait in the van. We may or may not have been in a questionable state of appearance. Andy and Fat Boy went in to get the bag of ice. It should have taken a few minutes. Apparently, however, the checkout lady inside was gabbing away with someone and didn't feel like going faster than a bald man's hair growth.

Meanwhile, back on the ranch (aka, inside the van), Bug and I were dying.

Seriously, dying. (Note: The putrid green lines signify the putrescent odor, the rancid red lines denote the oppressive heat, and the other lines... well, just all around general unhappiness with the situation. I mean, seriously, look at our faces. Can't you just tell that we're massively upset?)

Not only was it very, very stinky inside of that van, it was also very, very hot outside of that van. Very warm. Quite warm. Extremely warm. SO, we faced a choice. We could either sit in that stinky van with the windows rolled up, and therefore enjoy the air conditioning OR we could roll down the windows have some breathable air. And, yes, this was an EITHER/OR situation. We did a little bit of both, alternating between the two whenever either the heat or the smell became too unbearable. The only thing we did throughout was seriously get confuzzled in a frustrated way about what was taking those boys so darn long. And then they did come back! And then Andy found out that Talkative Cashier had shortchanged him by quite a bit, and had to go back in, so we were stuck there for even LONGER!

(The poor checkout lady was more than a bit flustered.  She gave me $5 too little in change.  Then when I went back to bring it to her attention she gave me 3 or 4 too much.  It wasn't her day.  But Tashya doesn't quite feel as sorry for her as I do.)

By the time they were finally done, we girls had decided not to dawdle for a second longer than necessary. We sped home, screaming the entire five minutes, parked on the grass, and jumped out of the van. We avoided garbage and Big White Vans for a while following this ordeal. Fortunately, Bug and I have both recovered from the horrors of garbage warfare. Barely.

YES! WE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! And a Story or Two About Tennessee As Well

Hello, dear folk! How are you all? I know that it's been forever and a day since I last put ANYTHING up here, but I do have some reasons. None of them are extremely valid, but I'll say that they count anyway. The first and foremost of the group involves the fact that a little devil in the form of an overactive computer program snuck into my laptop and made it so that nothing would run. At all. But guess what? My favorite engineer fixed everything! He's so good at that!

As I put it, "He fixes what I break and eats what I bake!"

Pretty accurate statement.

Fun Fact: Before I ever really met Andrew, he came over to my apartment to pick up my roommate for the ward Halloween activity. Our water heater had broken, but I really needed to shower. I took the most freezing shower of my life, and pretty much almost died. My roommates mentioned the freezing water to Andrew, who said, "Let me see something." Then he did something, and our water heater was fixed. There was warm water once again! SALVATION from the COLD! I'm pretty sure that I fell in love with him right then. No romance sparked, however, since I didn't know who he was until a good while later. I was in my room for all of this. My mysterious hero!

Speaking of fixing stuff, I have a few stories about Andrew. Did you know that my handsome husband is also quite the mechanical miracle worker? True story. I shall confer evidences upon you at this point.

Way back in June, Andrew and I went out to visit my family in Tennessee. I never lived there, they moved there after Andy and I got married. And just so you know, Tennessee and Texas are a lot closer than Tennessee and Utah. Much better for visiting. But when we showed up, we found out that quite a few things were experiencing technical difficulties. Several people (related to me) grabbed Andy and expressed an interest in his ability to fix things. Like the lawn mower, and the fan, and the potato gun that we had brought out with us. And the fact that the bathroom door didn't have a lock- a fact that led to more than one embarrassing situation during our stay.

And Andy went to work and fixed that stuff. He couldn't fix everything (like the chainsaw and the internet thing), but that was in part because he didn't have the right parts. I feel very proud of him. He's pretty darn awesome.

In fact, I think that the only thing that rivaled Andy's awesomeness that week was Bug's ability to give directions.

During the week we were visiting, Andy and I went to get our hair done. We took Bug and Baby with us (Reminder: Bug is 18 (during the story she was 17) and Baby is 9, and they are two of my five sisters). We were going to to meet up with Mama and Daddy afterwards to go food shopping and then go home together. Mama and Daddy were out doing other errands while we were getting hair cuts. Food shopping is great because you get to help pick out the tasty edible stuffs to be consumed during the week. And you can usually ask Daddy for an Almond Joy. He's very loving and good like that.

Anyway, since Andy and I had never been to Tennessee before, we didn't know how to get around. Bug said that she knew how to get to the hair place. She was pretty darn certain. We just needed to get to that one big road, and then stay there until we turned right at Ross, which was right past the Waffle House. Sounds easy enough, right?

WRONG.

Under Bug's command, we drove up that one big road, over that bridge-hill type thing, back down again, and started looking for that one street by Ross. We never saw Ross. We looked for a Waffle House, and found out that Waffle House is the Murfreesboro, TN version of Starbucks- there is one on EVERY CORNER. So Bug told us to just keep going... keep going... a little further... keep going... So we did. And then we noticed that there weren't very many stores around any more. In fact....

Yup. Cool directions, right? I told Bug to stop giving directions and called Mama. We got some more solid directions, and turned around. As soon as we turned around, Bug took over again and told us to "Turn left here" like she knew where we were. And then as we were driving back the way we came, we saw this sign:

Bug had "kept us going" right on out of the city. She is a pretty darn awesome girl. But that's not the only story with Bug in it. Check back tomorrow for that one.

PS. My awesome friend is so much better at her blog than I am with this one. And she's cute about it, too. Michele, you are an inspiration (if you want to read her blog, you can with this link---> This is a link to Michele's cute blog!).

Don't Panic

Austin. It's a nice enough place. A little humid for my taste, but a nice place. The people are very friendly. We live in a suburb called Cedar Park. When we moved into our apartment, it was blindly done. We had no idea what it would be like. It turned out to be like this:

Hey, look! A cute apartment!

It's squarish and clean, with high ceilings, tall windows, new paint and new carpet. I like it. Except it took a while to get rid of that iggish new carpet smell, which has a way of lingering FAR longer than necessary in your abode. Especially since you can't just open the windows to air the place out, because it would negate the fact that you're blasting the air conditioning so that you aren't murdered in your beds by the marauding monkeys of humidity that are roaming at large about the land.

(Brief Side Note: The definition of Humidity. The feeling of humidity is most accurately compared to the sensation that a bunch of evil monkeys who had been previously swimming in a giant vat of molasses and honey have crawled out of said vat and are now clinging to you, draping themselves on your till their weight becomes unbearable, and it begins to become a chore to breathe. Sweating then occurs.

It's really not that humid in Austin. I just wanted to tell what humidity feels like. End Brief Side Note.)

Anyway, other than the smell, the place was lovely. And then the people with our stuff came and delivered it all. There were boxes of various sizes all over the place in tall stacks. It looked like the New York City skyline had moved into our new place with us- I told you that we had high ceilings! We got to work unpacking, and were chugging along just fine until I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

It was a CRICKET! I got startled and made some kind of wHeLP?!!!! noise while pointing in its general direction, indicating to Andrew that he was to play the part of Knight in Shining Armor, and remove the cricket from the premises. Andrew performed his job admirably, grabbing a large plastic goblet we happened to have sitting on the counter, and running about after the cricket until he got the goblet over its creepy little cricky body. He then took it outside and set it free. There's no point in just killing the things, that's not very nice! The cricket probably just took the wrong exit off of the Insect Interstate, and was trying to find a way back on the highway, and wound up in our place instead. Why kill the thing for taking the wrong turn? I get lost all the time! I don't want to be killed for it!

We got back to work after that, laughing at the encounter. A few minutes later, I saw something out of the OTHER corner of my eye. ANOTHER CRICKET! Sheesh! Another noise and arm flail notified Andrew of the location of the next cricket. No sooner had that cricket been disposed of- we saw another! We jokingly started a tally that reached a serious count of 14 crickets caught by that evening. We tried to figure out where they might be coming from- how could 14 crickets get in while the movers were carrying in boxes? Could there be a cricket infestation at one of the warehouses, and they got into our couch???

The worst part for my nerves came in the evening, when I was jumpy from a bunch of crickets appearing in the corners of my eyes all day. Andrew and I had made progress in the living room, and we now had a place to sit in the middle of the floor and play a game or two. As we were lounging on the floor, relaxing, Andrew managed to get my mind off of marauding crickets and get me to call down- until, that is, he looked right behind me and said, "Don't panic."

Of course, I seized up in complete fear and started squirming about. I mean, honestly, what the heck kind of reaction are you expecting when you look over someone's shoulder, find a terror-inducing creature, and then say "Don't panic"? I mean, really! By this time, Andy could catch a cricket with hardly any effort at all. As soon as he did, I sat up and said something to the effect of "IF THERE ARE ANY MORE CRICKETS, I'M GOING TO FIND SOMETHING TO PROTECT MY HEAD WHILE SLEEPING!" During my declaration and decidedly pathetic meltdown, Andy looked behind me at the arm of the couch and said once again in his unconcerned tone, "Don't panic." 

I flipped.

I ran into our room and threw myself on the bed. There hadn't been very many crickets in our room, mostly out in the other rooms. But then there was one in our bedroom. Andy ran in and got that one while I was having an emotional breakdown on the bed. I grabbed the thing nearest to me, which happened to be a pair of Valentine's Day boxers (clean, mind you), and stuffed it on my head. I stayed like that for the rest of the night.

I just needed to last another day or two, when we would be driving out to Tennessee to visit my family for a week or so before Andy's job started and vacation days became a thing of theory, kind of like recess. Fortunately, the next day we found out that there was a hole in our living room floor behind the couch. We plugged it up, the bug killer dude came by and sprayed around the building, and our cricket problem was cut into a fourth of what it was before. We were very grateful. Of course, that meant that by the time we got home from our trip we had loads of dead crickets to clean up. And dried up cricket carcasses explode if you try to sweep them up. Just so you know.

A Reason for Not Posting- Dear Grandpa

So, one of the many reasons that I have not posted for over two months is that my very beloved grandfather, Gary James Chelson, Sr., passed away on July 2. I flew from Austin to Portland to be with my family for the funeral service and the celebration of Grandpa's life. Rejoicing in conversation and song with a whole herd of extended family is a great way to recognize the wonderful posterity and legacy that Grandpa left behind.

The whole family was able to be there except for the two kids on missions, and Andy, who couldn't get out of work. It was great to have everyone together again. The last time that we had all been together was for a very different occasion- my wedding. That's when the family was last together, and we were all laughing and happy and rejoicing in the forging of a new family. Once again we were celebrating the bands of familyhood as we remembered Grandpa and his influence on our of our lives.

I, being one of the oldest grandchildren, remember a lot more about Grandpa than a lot of the younger children. Grandpa is very tall, a giant! And he has very, very large hands. His hands are strong, but very loving. Grandpa loves to serve, and he loves the gospel. He loves his Savior.

Grandpa played lots of games with the kids before his diabetes got worse. He would bounce us on his knees, and tickle us. He'd stick his thumb in your armpit and wiggle it around while demanding the return of his finger, while you were begging for the cessation of tickles. He would drop a dollar from up high, and you could keep it if you could catch it before it hit the ground. He would give shoulder rides. As his diabetes got worse, he lost one of his legs, his vision became poor, and he was not always lucid. But he would always say, "Hello, pretty girl!" when I came to visit him.

Grandpa has a wonderful bass voice. He sings very low! I think of him when I hear beautiful songs like "Shenandoah," which is one of his favorites. I'm sure he's back to singing again up in Paradise, meeting with all of his loved ones who passed on before him, including my aunt who died when she was four. It must be nice to see her again.

Though it is strange to think that Grandpa is not over there in Portland anymore, it is comforting to know that the gospel of Jesus Christ is a true gospel, and that families can be together forever. God be thanked for the gift of his Beloved Son, and the wondrous Plan of Salvation and Happiness.

My Favorite Blog Reader

Dear Favorite Blog Reader,

I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you and your ingenious methods of finding that which you seek. I also wanted to tell you that I love your sense of humor and zeal, your fine sense of taste and style, your elegant turn of phrase. I hope that you and I will be friends for a very long time. I hope that you weren't actually looking for something else, that may be misunderstood by other people. I hope that you aren't really such a troubled individual.

I sometimes wonder how many times you must have pushed the "next" button on Google search in order to find this place. You have so much patience! I got bored after only pushing it TWICE! Or maybe it was once... I've already forgotten, and I just barely opened a new tab to check it out for myself, too. And then I closed it once my investigation was over. And I've forgotten. But I know that I am not near the top of the list of results. I'm not in the first few results, and that generally calls for another search keyword combination. But you? No. You persevered. I respect that in a person. Perseverance.

Although I have no idea what you were actually looking for, I am glad that you found this humble blog. I hope that you stayed for more than just a minute before going back to your daily life. I hope that you found more than just a story about lost personal property. I hope that you found entertainment, pizazz, intelligence, genius, sparkle, and finely honed wit. I hope that you found wonderful works of art, and insightful interpretations of said art. I hope that you found something that was worth reading. Because you deserve it.

Yes, I'm talking to you. The reader who found this blog by searching: "her pants fell down."

Welcome to the State Of.....Limbo

Andrew and I have officially moved. We are no longer college students in a college town! We are confused people in a different college town than the one that we went to. We're trying to be big kids and get all settled into our new situation before Andrew starts his big kid job at a company called National Instruments (often referred to as NI) at the end of the month. The problem is that nothing has really gone very smoothly in this whole escapade. I would chronicle the whole thing on here for everyone to read, but that would take about seventeen years, and I don't really want to do that. So I won't. :)

I will tell you a few blurbs of what happened along the way.

(This is Andy, in the blue.  I know you may not be used to hearing from me here, but I decided to chime in as I proofread this post.  Anyways, these blurbs sum up just about the whole story as if it were all told.  Not sure how she avoided the 17 years, but we're lucky she did.)

Blurb Numero Uno: Austin Round One

Andrew and I came down to Austin on a house hunting trip in the beginning of May. This was just a few weeks after graduation, so we were as fresh as a patch of dandelion weeds (and almost as intelligent) while marching around down here. We were searching for a cute little rental HOUSE where we could live for a while, saving up for a down payment for a purchase later. After much searching and confusedness, we found a place that we liked. Really liked. Have you ever found a place that you went in, and you could just envision a haven of domestic felicity and marital bliss? You know, the kind that comes with Him walking through the door at 5:59, and Her having dinner ready on the table, and He says, "You wonderful babe of a woman, you, I'm taking you on a date to the theatre this evening!" and She says, "You wonderfully kind hunk, you, I've made you a scrumptious dinner!" and He says, "Mine darling, would you care to crochet while I read to you later this evening?" and She says, "Oh YES! I've been needing a bit of relaxing!" and He says, "And while I'm at it, why don't I give you a foot rub and tell you all the reasons why you're the best newlywed housewife in the world!" (She is, by the way.)

You know. That kind?

Blurb the Second: Signing and Waiting

Well, after all my bizarre delusions of grandeur, I decided that this was the one that I wanted. So we put in our application on the place, and we waited. A lot. Apparently all of the credit check agencies were backed up from Elko, Nevada to Moscow because of all the other people who also were trying to rent places to live.  (Texas in general, and Austin in particular, haven't seen much of an economic downturn and is a magnet for business growth these days.  And people too - the kind car rental person told us that 60,000 people move to Austin each year.) I don't see why the credit check people couldn't just see by my extraordinarily pretty name that I should be the first in line! I mean, really- Natashya. Think about it. It's a gorgeous name. So we waited a week for what usually took just a day. And then we got the news- "Yall got the house!!! I'm going to send you the contract in a day or two!"- from our real estate agent. (Who pulled all the strings for us, but still didn't get things to work out.  She deserves some cookies or something)  We liked that news.

Blurb Terceiro: Making Moving Arrangements

We signed the contract with relish and flourish, savoring the moment. Our first rented house! We called the moving company, and scheduled everything to be moved the last week of the month of May: we were to move in on June 1! (It should also be noted that whenever I say the words "We called... scheduled... set up..." and other such phrases, unless otherwise stated, I mean "Andrew" instead of "we.")

Fourth Blurb: Flergh to all Mondays and Phones!

On Monday, that fateful Monday................................ Something TERRIBLE happened! You know when the phone rings, and you just get that feeling- that feeling that comes with foreboding, like you just know that it's your project partner calling you to say that he or she didn't do their part of the presentation, which is due in about 30 minutes, even though they had 17 days to work on it? That feeling that comes with a gnawing sense of dread that hangs on to the corners of your mouth and pulls them down towards the earth? That feeling that comes with unease that grabs on to your eyebrows and drags them in and down towards your nose, forming crinkles of worry on your concerned brow?  (Oh, all too well.  Most group projects in school were terrible.  Except for a few my senior year, like the project for Kinematics where we made a chime-piano, or for Dynamics where we-- but that's another story. Or several.)

The phone rang on that fateful Monday, and it was accompanied by THAT kind of dark feeling. I didn't want Andrew to answer it. I knew it would be bad. Besides, Andrew was napping, and he can get cranky when he's tired. I shouldn't have to deal with bad news AND a cranky Randy. But answer he did. And I wished again that he hadn't.  (Though, it should be noted that I didn't get cranky.  She did.)

It turns out that our brand new landlady had be served with divorce papers that morning, and was therefor by law unable to let out the property. (And WHY is it called being SERVED with divorce papers? That's hardly an act of service to anyone. It's bad enough that they they ruin other people's lives, but to ruin their own marriage? That's just a mean thing.) So........................................ we don't have that house anymore. It's kind of heartbreaking, especially after all of those silly little daydreams I concocted for the house. I knew where my garden would be, where the flowers would go, where my craft table would go, and what kind of curtains I would make for the windows.  (Except the last part, I hadn't got to that yet in my fantasies. But I would have shortly after. It was the next step.)  (Guys - did you know that girls do this all the time?  News to me.  I had no clue any of this had gone on in her head.  Also, they apparently all have their weddings planned by something like age 12, while us guys even age 25 have come to the decision that maybe they might like to get married if they could someday.  Consider yourself warned.)

And I should also add here a cute story-within-a-story.  Tashya was furious at the soon-perhaps-to-be-ex-husband of the landlady for taking this to court at this time.  She was just shy of wishing some imagined past mafia connection resurface and exact its vengeance on him.  But! - not before wanting to give the landlady (She was apparently the one wanting to lease to us.)  some cookies and a hug.  

Blurb Five: Homeless and Not Much Time

We knew that we were moving in a few weeks, but we had nowhere to move INTO! We got a little nervous. So we looked online again, saw that all of the other houses that we were interested in were taken, and that we were either going to have to live far FAR away from work, or live in an apartment. There was an APARTMENT (Note the capitalized HOUSE in blurb Numero Uno) complex in the area that we had been looking in, and we heard from some friends that it was a nice place. We signed a contract without ever seeing the place in real life since we needed somewhere to live. We'll see it for the first time tomorrow, when we can officially move in to our new home.

Lurbbay the Ixthsay: Sitting in Austin and Waiting

All of our stuff is on a truck somewhere, including our car. We've been staying in a temporary living place. I know that sounds like we're staying somewhere we'll only be alive for a short amount of time, but it's actually just a furnished apartment. No death traps or superhero stuff. It's really not all that dangerous!  (As far as we can tell!!) Except for the fact that we moved in above a guy who just had abdominal surgery, and wants us to "not step too heavily" for the next two months while he recovers. I don't know which is worse: being the healing person or being the person tiptoeing around being paranoid about being the fat oaf that disturbs the healing person. I suppose that I'll get over it a lot faster than Downstairs Man will, though. I'll be cured as soon as we move into our new place.  He may take a while to heal...

Also...when the Downstairs Man left us a note on our door, it was addressed to Ignacio and Mauricio.  I'm not sure what prompted that.  Did we sound overly Mexican or something?

Blurb Last: The Wrap Up

So ya, that's the basics of what's been going on with us. Now that we're not dying of dehydration or stress anxiety, and rather more amused at the fact that humidity makes my hair curly, I'll try to keep people more up to date on things in the Heim world. Does that sound good to people? I hope it does. Because that's what's going to happen.

Have a glorious day!
Your friendly local (or non-local, as the case may be) Moi
(And also Andy)

A RED LETTER WEEK! (Part the Second: Woes with Cameras)

This is a later update about Graduation Week. It is Part Two. I begin. I didn't begin earlier because I didn't want to slaughter anyone with a sudden gushing forth of Weird Heim updates. And then lots of stuff happened. I'll write about it, too. But not in this post. This goes back to graduation week.

Wednesday, April 18. I bawled a lot. So did my mom. We dropped off Elder Spud at the MTC. It involved Daddy, Mama, Andrew, Elder Spud, and I, and a silver rental car my parents got for the trip. It also involved a camera to capture some memories of this moment. Can I just say that it was a sunny day?

Ya, that whole "TASH! Keep your eyes open!" thing got pretty old pretty darn fast. I'm sure Daddy got rather sick of it as well, since he was the one who had to keep telling me to open up my pretty eyeballs. It's just that they can get twitchy from trying so hard to keep them open. You'd think that people would learn to appreciate my fine makeup skills and just call it good. Or maybe I should learn to masterfully apply eye shadow to create the illusion of a glimmering eye upon my closed eyelid. Then it wouldn't matter WHEN people took my picture. I would always be prepared! MWAHAHAHAHAHA! WHAT NOW, CAMERA?!?!

Observe!

Open eyes: Notice the bizarre squint that appears in the corner of the eyes, the unnatural expression induced by the strain placed upon the eyeball-keeping-open-muscles, the excessively strange shape of the eyelashes.

Closed eyes: Notice the........ natural appearance.......... of ........... that...... thing.......

Contrary to obvious appearances, those shapes are not Dr. Seuss fish, but are in fact mine own makeup-festooned eyelids. Also, I do not intend to sport a Grinch-like grin. It was purely incidental, I assure you.

Anyway, after we took lots of pictures with and of Elder Spud, we all piled in the car. I got to sit by my brother. I was in the middle because that's the smallest spot, and I'm still the smallest person. (I have officially given up on being a big kid. Ever. I'm doomed to this shortness. But there are benefits to being short. You're cute and you can get away with things.) Andy was in the backseat too, and he spent most of the 10 minute ride bracing himself for what it would be like when there was no Elder Spud in the car. When we got to the MTC, there were loads of people to tell us where to go and whisk the new missionaries away and show them around and help them to settle in. We parked by the curb slot #23, and then all piled out of the car. We pulled Elder Spud's stuff out, and then stared forlornly at him. We took some more pictures. I wasn't in them, because now not only was it sunny, there was also some strange blob of liquid in my eyes that made them even harder to open... at least while maintaining at least some semblance of a humanoid facial structure.

And then Elder Spud marched into the MTC. He's there now. He's learning the Thai language, and is already learning how to be both the most popular guy on campus, and also one of the biggest trouble makers. He likes to tease other missionaries. I shall give unto you an example.

Elder Spud and some other missionaries were studying Thai. One of the sister missionaries had made lots of flashcards to study vocab words. Elder Spud thought he'd be clever and pull a trick on her. He took another note card and wrote some random symbols on it (I think that he calls the writing "script," but I'm not sure), and wrote a definition on the back. He challenged her ability to name off all of the vocab, a challenge which the sister valiantly accepted. She was doing very well until Elder Spud pulled out his own card. She tried so very hard to remember, but it's so very hard to remember a vocab term that isn't real. She got frustrated and grabbed the card from Elder Spud and read the back: "Why are you so mad?" She was not quite as amused as was Elder Spud. Isn't he a goon? But he's also a great goon. We are so proud of him!

Andy did well to prepare for the departure of Elder Spud. It turned out that he had brought chocolate truffles as well as mint Milano cookies, favorites of both Mama's and mine. There was crying and bawling and missing Elder Spud, though he had just barely walked into the MTC. Andy patted me on the head and gave me another cookie every time I heaved a sob. You can't sob with a cookie in your mouth, can you? After dropping Elder Spud off, Andy and I still both had one more final exam each before we were done with classes. We made it through. I held so tightly to my chocolate truffle that it melted in my pocket during my final. My consolation melted. *sigh* I miss my brother, but I know that he's in the right place doing the right thing. And that is consolation enough for me. Except for a chocolate truffle sounds pretty darn good. I like those things. .... Andrew....???

A RED LETTER WEEK! (Part the First- The First Half)

The week of April 16th- April 23rd was a very important week for our family. A RED LETTER WEEK, as Daddy likes to say. I'd been looking forward to this week for months, because Mama and Spud were coming down on Monday (April 16), and then we were dropping off Spud at the MTC on Wednesday, Andy's parents and Gma (his mom's mom) where coming Thursday morning, and then on Thursday and Friday was GRADUATION for Andy and I! OH HAPPY DAY! Sunday and Monday would be family departure dates. It was going to be the best week since the beginning of this year! The only downside was that Daddy wouldn't be able to come. Daddy is a professor over at another school, and the week of my graduation was the week before his finals- it was hard for him to wrestle out of it. I told him I loved him all the same, and that I understood-even if I didn't like it one stinking bit!

The semester was wrapping up like a two-year-old wraps up your own junk with toilet paper to give you for your birthday: messy and catastrophic to the cleanliness of our humble abode. I had stress and insanity coming out my eyeballs till I couldn't see straight any more.

Andy had engineering coming out his nose, he was doing so many problems and equations and projects.

While it may appear that the stress load made his head short and fat, this is not because of the math above his head. I would like to point out that the equation pictured in the image above is not an accurate representation of Andrew's homework. His math involves a lot of pretty squiggles, some stuff that look like the letter S or F, some Greek letters, and [insert numbers and symbols here]/[even more complicated stuff here] kind of things. I just drew the kind of math that I can do! The chimes: Andy made a piano mechanism with a group in one of his classes- they had to do a project that would be able to teach 4th graders something about science. It was a neat project. Especially the part when he cut the pipes to length and hung them on our shower rod and started whacking at them with my 3 pound dumbbells. Ya. Real cool. Berg: Andy's capstone project was for a company called Schlumberger, but the boys called themselves Team Berg. I'm going to let Andy explain that stuff in his own post. It's really neat, but filtered through me, it would probably be more poorly executed algebra.

I just wrote lots of papers and did lots of projects for my English and Humanities classes. Holy snarkwaffles, but that was a long and difficult week. I seem to have snapped before the end, though, because by Wednesday of finals week, I was just floating along, not even caring if I made it to my last final on time. Andy was surprised, but noted that it must be due to the fact that all the stress and insanity had already seeped out of my eyeballs. (See below.)

When Monday the 16th came, I was all sorts of excited. And nervous. Andrew's Evil Test of Doomsdayness and Despair was the next day. He had been studying so hard, but if he bombed the test, then passing the class might not be an option. Unless we used covert action. Like cookies. I make good pie. The plan was to get Andy to bed early so that he would be plenty rested for his big test. Mama and Spud were going to rent a car at the airport and drive down the hour ride to our place, getting here at about 1:00 AM or so. I tidied everything up, then set up the air mattress, and set out blankets on the couch, and fluffed things up to be pretty and cozy. Then I tiptoed into bed where Andy was already dozing.

An hour or so later, my phone rang. Mama told me that she was in front of my door! I leaped out of bed, smashed my glasses on my face, threw a sweater on, and ran out to get the door for her. I made sure to close the bedroom door gently so as to not wake the sleeping engineer. When I opened the door to let Mama in, Spud wasn't with her. I gave her a hug, and went out to the parking lot to help her with the bags. I hugged Spud and dragged some bags up the stairwell with the two of them.

When I got back inside, I noticed a human shaped lump under the neatly made up blankets on the couch. I became seriously peeved- I had spent all that time making this all cute, and Andy comes shambling out of the bedroom and chucks himself in the cute set up when he is SUPPOSED to be asleep?! I was in shock and confusion.

That's right, folks! Daddy came and surprised me! *Please Note: I don't remember what I/other people actually said, only what happened. For verification of truthfulness of events, ask my mother.* Basically, I freaked out and jumped around, then hugged Daddy, then jumped around, then hugged Daddy again, continue ad nauseam. Then we sat down and talked for a long time. I was so happy Daddy came! It was the best graduation gift I could have asked for!

The next morning, we had breakfast, then chatted for a bit, then studied a lot more, and then Andy and I mosied on up the hill to take some tests, while Mama, Daddy, and Spud went to get some last minute things for Spud before he went into the Missionary Training Center. It turns out that my teacher had told us the incorrect time for the final, and so I was there an hour early. Oh well. More study time. I ended up being the third one done, so I felt smart. Andy and I both felt we did well on our tests, which is good. Andy's test mattered. Good thing he studied so much!

I got to hang out with Spud some, just the two of us. It was really nice. I got to talk to him about memories, and future plans, and how awesome his mission call was. He's only been in the MTC for a week and a half, but I feel like it's been forever. I am comforted by knowing that he's doing the right thing in the right place. (More about dropping off Spud in the next post- including my repeated failures with cameras. This was not my week with picture taking technologies.)

Wednesday dawned. The final final day. The day we dropped off Elder Spud at the MTC. The day we would be finished with college.

It happened. It was at this point that I stopped being invested in caring about grades or thinking. My brain shut off with my worrying centers. Mental productivity levels decreased drastically, except the part that came up with creative ways to avoid thinking. That was a go. We took our last finals, and then rushed home. We went out to eat at the Creamery on 9th, since Andy and I had to use up the rest of our meal plan monies before the deadline. We ate, celebrated that finals were over, then fell over and crashed asleep.

And can I just tell you something? Sleep is a wonderful thing. Floating out on the lagoon of sleep after finals week is like sipping cool lemonade freshly poured from one of those awesome fat glass pitchers. It's like lying down in the warm grass with the sprinklers going on a hot, hot day in July. It's like when you're at the cinema, and the movie *FINALLY* starts after all of those looooooong previews. It's also like being hit upside the head with a 20 pound bag of potatoes. You're just knocked out. 

The Find that Changed Our Lives

*NOTE!: This post was created an goodly amount of time ago, but wasn't finished due to finals and school and awesome stuff like that. The adventures of that other awesome stuff will be detailed in a following post.*

Dear Family, Friends, Acquaintances, and Those Who Happen Upon This Collection of Somewhat Ridiculous Posts:

This post contains a story, a celebration, and an informative blurb, all for your reading enjoyment. Huzzah for all of you!

So last week, Andy and I went on a Study/Homework Date on Friday. I know, how exciting can married people get on a weekend?! Good thing that we kept it low-key. We didn't want to make all the single people feel bad about not having a good looking person to do homework with. So anyway, we went on a Study/Homework Date to the Cannon (it's that cafeteria/eating place on campus-it's a buffet with lots of tasty food and lots of people go there, mostly freshman, because it's on their turf since they don't even HAVE kitchens, so cooking your own food isn't an option... sorrowful day!). And we ate food and did homework. And since we had been homeworking just about all week, I was an oodle by the time we were going home around 8:00 or so.

I was paying very little attention to the area or space around me because I was busy telling Andrew about something really important. Andrew was paying attention to me.

As we were walking home, Andy noticed something that would change our lives. Seriously. It would.

That's right. An adorable, itty bitty TV set. It's got about a 13 inch screen. That's like 3 inches smaller than my laptop. It also has a built in VCR in the front, complete with cool buttons. It has one of those old school not-flat screens, like a little potbelly on the front of a very short elderly gentleman. And it was just sitting out there in front of the dumpster. ALONE! Who would ever want to get rid of such a treasure?

So while I walked innocently on, pretending that I had nothing to do with the dumpster-not-diving-but-swiping-from-the-premises-of-the-general-area-around-the-dumpster activities in which Andy was deeply submerged, Andy became the swiper of the item from the premises previously mentioned. That's right. WE TOOK IT HOME WITH US!

To those of you who don't know, this is exciting. This is a big step in our marital career. This is our first TV!

When we brought it home, the only place we had to put it was on one of our two chairs. That meant that we only had one chair left. But that's ok. We stopped eating at the table a little while ago when it became a stack of important papers and things that we couldn't lose. Paradoxically, the table is also the place where we lose the most things. Strange how that tends to happen...

Andy hooked up a few wire things, and shortly thereafter, we were really happy to be watching TV on our very own little TV, not down in the lounge or someone else's little (or big, as generally the case presents itself) TV. We found America's Funniest Home Videos, the local high school basketball game, and, our favorite, WOMEN OF NINJA WARRIOR! And then I found a show that was my doom... Say Yes to the Dress... *sigh* Poor Andy. I love weddings, I love dresses. I don't love drama, but the other two aspects made up for it. Andy had to wait until I was deliriously sleepy enough to drag my off to bed. Literally. I was too fussy for him to pick me up and carry me.

Note from Andrew: This is NOT an exaggeration. She likes princess dresses. She also gets delusional and irrational when she's really tired (and sometimes when she isn't).

I'll be writing another post (because I can do that now that school is out and I am starting to recover brain cells enough to write coherent sentences. Huzzah!) about how this little black box really affected us in the weeks that followed this critical find.

In other news, today and yesterday was General Conference, a wonderful and magnificent gathering of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints where we get to listen to living prophets and apostles tell us the will of the Lord. What a wonderful blessing that is!

Author's Note: (I've written this post, and you know that I've written it, so I don't know why I included the fact that this note is from myself.) I realized that I started this blog with the intentions that people read it and know that Andrew and I are still alive and functioning on some level. I realized also that I have been posting once in a green moon, and that our families and friends may get concerned when there is no wordage or verbage from us Weird Ones. However, I started drawing pictures and getting all sorts of excited about that aspect of the blog. And then I stopped posting unless I had time to draw cool pictures, or if I had something that might be remotely interesting to other people. So now I'm in the midst of deciding whether or not I should continue this trend. I'm thinking that I might not have all the posts be pictorial posts. I know that may be depressing, but it will also get me writing more posts, and put me back in the habit of communications. Isn't communication crucial to good relationships? I don't know. I guess that I'll let the public decide on that one.

Two Tales of A Liberty Fort, Not Bell

Aunt Libby is a wonderful woman. She takes after the Chelson trait of beauteous moments of exceeding embarrassment and ridiculousness happening in bizarre situations at non-opportune times and places. Uncle Jason is her fantabulous husband, who measures at a mere 7 feet tall. Oh wait, he's only like... 6'8" or something tiny like that. Please know that Libby has some snazzy and attractive pajama pants that should bring joy and happiness to all that have the privilege to behold them.

So listen, dear children, for I have to tell, 

Two tales of a Liberty Fort, not Bell.

Libby decided that food would be nice
She desired a sandwich, and a drink with some ice
On she ventured till at last she did find
Something to sate both her body and mind.

"Huzzah! Tasty food that won't stretch my pants,
I'll have some nice meat to go with those plants!"
And on she did go, and went in the door-
To see a back of the head she'd seen before.

"Oh gee whiz, it's my ward mission leader,

It is quite a chance to meet at this feeder,

A place with cuisine to make you feel fine,

Even when eating at a quarter till nine!"

Well, he went away, and soon after that,

Lib felt a breeze as her pants fell down flat!

Not exactly flat, though, more rumpled, 

And frumpled, and maybe a bit grumpled.

"Would you look at that!" thought our lady fair,

"It would seem I'm without my cool bit of flair!

My stylish pants, that I thought of with care,

Have left without thought of how I would fare!"

Thus Lib did look down from her lofty height,

And did ruminate on the fact that she could fight

And wrangle with the fact that she did not mind

For at least she was not showing her whole behind.

Libby leaned down and pulled up her pants

And, while Jason did order their meat and plants,

She went to set herself down in their car

And find some relief from the breeze from down thar.

*End Poem*

Basically, I took a lot of poetic license with that story. I'm not a very good poet, so I need a whole lot of license to make it sorta-kinda-maybe-almost work. Ya. What happened is that Libby was in Subway, and her pants fell down. In public. In Subway. Her pants fell down.

Isn't that HILARIOUS?!

And this weekend, Libby is down here visiting nieces and nephews and going to concerts and having fun with cool people (like us and Porter, we are so cool!). Last night, the four of us went out to CRAIGO'S (or Pizza Pie Cafe down here), which is an amazingly pizzaed place that helps you get pizzaed as well. It's a buffet, so you pay before you go sit down- and Libby got REAL EXCITED because she was going to pay with EXACT CHANGE!!!!! Here you go, Mr. Order Taking Man!

Except...

But wait...

Apparently they've changed a few things since the last time saw a nickel and a quarter. Like basic size. And pictures. And monetary values. But it's all good. Because we love Libby. And that's the Gospel Truth!!

So there are two stories about the best Aunt Libby in the entire universe. I'm sure everyone is jealous and wishes that they had their very own Aunt Libby- but they can't. This one is ours. And we love her more than ever- and not just for the entertainment value.

That One Time I Had Surgery and Almost Died

On Monday, February 6, I had an oral surgery. That is part of one of the many reasons that I haven't written a whole bunch. The other is that I'm busy. The other other reason is that I forget sometimes until someone yells at me, and then I have to apologize and go write a post in their honor. Anywho and twinkle stars, I had oral surgery. It was a bit of a surprise. I went in to the dentist with an "emergency toothache" appointment, and went out with the knowledge that I needed to find a specialist who may or may not be able to save my tooth.

It turns out that I had a large abscess under one of my back teeth, and the infection was deteriorating the tooth root as well the the jaw bone around it. Not good. So they put me on antibiotics to help me while I found someone who specializes in root canal treatments. WHO DOES THAT?!

So we found a specialist, went in for a consultation- he looked at some x-rays and pronounced the sentence:

I almost died. I don't do well with needles, sutures, death, dogs, hyenas, dentists, or killer mole rats. I just don't. Andy was swell, though, and took over from there. Once he set up the appointment for the surgery ("SOONER rather than later would be ideal," said the not-about-to-be-operated-upon-specialist-in-horror-scenarios), Andy took me back home and we prepared a list of meals that I could eat without teeth. It mostly involved yogurt and soup. Lots of soup. There was a sale on soup, actually, so we REALLY stocked up. Like, we have a whole shelf with nothing but soup upon it.

The Day of Doom arrived. I grabbed Francis (my teddy bear who comforts me when I am unwell) and marched resolutely out the door to meet my sure destruction. Andy came too. We got to the dentist's and went in. They took us back and let Andy sit in the corner. He held on to my leg the entire time. I shook it a little every now and then to assure him that I hadn't passed out from an overdose of panic, laughing gas, and sheer adrenaline. I closed my eyes the whole time so I wouldn't see any sharp implements passing over my head and into my mouth, pointy side down. "That was quick and good" according to the specialist, and they stitched me up, and gave Andy a little baggy with a how-to guide of taking care of delusional wives in their post-op states, and a mouth wash, a SUPER soft toothbrush, some chapstick, and an ice pack I was to keep on for 15 minutes, off for 15 minutes for the rest of the day.

I was so numb that I had that bizarre fwumple sensation halfway down my throat, and up to my inner nostril. I was very swollen and didn't know what was happening. When we got home, I called my Mama to tell her that "I HAD THURGERY!" and that I was all done with it.

Andy looked at the list of TO-DO TO CARE FOR YOUR LOONY PATIENT, and noticed the food requirements:

1. Soft foods
2. No chewing
3. No hot foods

No "hot foods" meant no soup. Guess what? Soup was just about all we had. Oh well, Andy sighed. He had to run to class, and I was needing sleep. He put everything that I would need on the bed next to me, made sure I was wrapped up in my fuzzy pink blanket, and got me a raspberry yogurt to eat when I could. He also got me a paper towel so I could clean my numb self up after eating gloppy stuff while being unable to open my mouth more than a centimeter or so.

And then Andy left. I was ALONE.

Thanks to the numbing stuff, lingering effects of laughing gas, and the pain meds I was instructed to take, I was a loopy loony oodle flubble. Seriously. I was.

I sat around for a long time. I napped. I hungered. I struggled to reach forth my tired hand and lift mine yogurt to mine lips, because I felt like Thor.

Granted, it was only at a very specific moment in the movie, but still. I felt like Thor when he was hungry. And, unfortunately, yogurt isn't the most sustaining of foods, and I was still hungry. I also felt like a baby because I had to wipe my face after every bite to get all that stuff that didn't make it into my (for once) tiny mouth. Sheesh.

I called my mother, who is in Tennessee, and not at my house, and doesn't know what I have in my kitchen, and can't get it for me anyway, and asked her what I could eat, because I was so hungry. She asked what I had. I didn't know. I lurched out of bed and hobbled over to the fridge looking like I was Quasimodo's ugly step-sister.

I know because I saw myself in the mirror as I passed by. I also noticed that the area around the surgical area was really red and swollen. It looked like there was some pretty bad bruising coming up. Darn. All I needed when I went back to school the next day. To look like a cross between a lunatic troll and a madwoman ogre. With a giant bruise on my face. The only plus side is that the whole left side of my neck and face were COMPLETELY numb. It actually didn't wear off until the middle of the night.

I told Mama what was in my fridge. She told me what to eat. So I ate that. The kids all took turns on the phone talking at me since I couldn't really speak all that well. I felt contented, having feasted on loads of applesauce, and went to sleep ensconced in my beautiful pink blanket. It's fuzzy, soft, warm, and a lovely shade of pink, just like everything else I own.

When I woke up a while later, I grabbed my phone to check the time. I was hoping that Andy would be home soon. My ice pack had melted, and I had been using frozen peas in a plastic grocery sack on my face. I had basically slept with it as my pillow. As I was getting up, I felt a pulling on my lower cheek (near the surgical area) from the ice pack. I pulled the ice pack away from my face. I looked at it. There was something on that ice pack. Something that looked a whole lot like it had been a part of my face... Skin. My skin was on the ice pack. My FACE skin.

I grabbed my phone again. My phone has a large shiny and reflective touch screen, and it can be used as a small, somewhat deceiving mirror in a pinch. I looked into it to check out my hypothesis and how bad the damage was. Oh fwumple crackers and a bowl of fresh potato soup. My face was FALLING OFF!

I naturally freaked, made a strange delirious noise of horror, kind of like one that Frankenstein would make in a scary black and white film adaptation, and *clutched* my face. THE HORROR! I didn't know what to do. Andy wouldn't be home for a while yet, and I was afraid to call him. I didn't want to move my jaw for fear that it would loosen more of the skin. I didn't even want to take my hand away because that might pull MORE of my face off of my face!

Just as I was about to burst into hysterical tears of terror and madness, I noticed something. The skin that was attached to the ice pack had tiny dark flecks in it. Looking closer, I noticed that they looked a lot like...

...raspberry seeds.

I pulled my hand away from my face. It was true. I had had a major and nearly fatal heart attack because a streak of Yoplait 99% fat free Raspberry Yogurt fell on my face.

Andy came home to me sticking my face into the Cone of Shame, only the Cone was my little yogurt cup. He laughed and asked. I looked pathetic and didn't answer.