These two boxes were delivered to Dave. One to my mom's house and one to our current house. They are two free sample boxes of deoderant that I didn't send for.
I wondered where he got them from, "Hey Dave, how come you got two free samples of deoderant?"
Dave's response, "They think I stink."
I don't think my husband smells at all, but apparantly the makers of Degree deoderant would like him to smell better. Thanks for the free samples. He won't stink anymore.


Emma Watson Sexy?

I am an avid "Pinterest" user and sometimes I stumble upon really stupid people and stupid quotes. This Emma Watson picture/quote combo has slid through my page many times.
If the print is too small for you, she says, "I find the whole concept of being ‘sexy’ embarrassing and confusing. If I do an interview with photographs people desperately want to change me - dye my hair blonder, pluck my eyebrows, give me a fringe. Then there’s the choice of clothes. I know everyone wants a picture of me in a mini-skirt. But that’s not me. I feel uncomfortable. I’d never go out in a mini-skirt. It’s nothing to do with protecting the Hermione image. I wouldn’t do that. Personally, I don’t actually think it’s even that sexy. What’s sexy about saying, ‘I’m here with my boobs out and a short skirt, have a look at everything I’ve got?’ My idea of sexy is that less is more. The less you reveal the more people can wonder."
She's such a great role model, righ?  I disagree. Did we all forget about the "Deathly Hallows" incident, where you see side-boob?! I tried to find a picture of it online (I would censor it of course), but alas the online world hasn't posted it.  Or what about this picture?

Or this one?

This one she actually wore to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I
Okay so let's review notes from the quote. "The less you reveal, the more people can wonder."  I am not wondering about her underwear that's for sure. She also says something about short skirts or whatever. In the second picture I posted, clearly this barely goes past her butt. 
When you are publicly a hypocrite, I hate you. Shut up, Emma Watson. If you wanted to save everything for the imagination; cover up--or shut up.


Dad's Funeral Ponderings

Funerals. I didn't keep any physical images from that day. My memory is stronger; the emotions triggered by so many sights:
My brother and his four-year-old son wearing my dad's ties to the funeral; my dad's Winnie the Pooh tie on my nephew sitting crooked and nearly dragging on the ground.
Standing at the wooden pulpit; lined paper folded on below the microphone.  The flowers on top of the casket seeming to reach out to me. While I read my talk, I wanted to take one in my hand to solidify the events of the last few weeks.
Dozens of flowers on my mother's table-her usual bright tablecloth noticeably missing, symbols of support and love. 
Going through my father's clothes and shoes; the homemade blue denim slippers that he's had for my whole life, a heavy finality of the future. I snag a few shirts to craft for memories; so that in some way I can see it and feel like he's physically around still.
Family and neighbors I haven't met or seen in more than ten years; hugging me with condolences, and I just want to slap them and run.
Memories still linger of him.  After Cameron's birth, he was wheeled in the hospital room in a wheelchair and his smile couldn't be wider.  Her blessing day; my family all around but all that seemed to matter was my dad and Cameron.  A few terrifying hospital scares.  Private moments of Cameron and me visiting him a few times on my days off; sitting in the armchair with a book in his hand and an open laptop of writing on the coffee table. Conversations of joy and faith.
It's far too early for him to leave. I wanted to see him age like Andy Griffith. I could see him looking like him as he got older: white hair, smile wrinkles and crows feet around his bright blue eyes.  Cameron shared something special with him; I could sense that from her birth. He deserved to see her grow up, to be there for special moments in school and play. 
My dad worked so hard; he deserved a moment's peace. There are so many of his dreams left untouched and un-achieved.  There are so many unfinished stories and the train set in the spare bedroom will remain as it is with a half done water tower and unpainted mountains.  He deserved so much better than the painful, abrupt end. 
It makes me almost angry to think of all those people out there, who will get their fathers for many years. I still had so much more to do with him. I still had some fences to finish mending. He was supposed to teach me all the silly, random facts he always had up his sleeves.  We had so many more memories to make.


Aliens Do Exist

I can't remember the last time I had a nightmare, but last night was a doozy.It starts with Dave and me at a concert. My nephew, Andrew, was a concert pianist in the dream.  He was crazy good, the best pianist I had ever heard.
After the concert Dave and I were talking to some people and they mentioned that Curiosity (the land rover that was recently launched on Mars) found something. There was evidence of life on Mars.
I blew it off. I am a little bit of a skeptic.
After we went home; Dave and I walked into our room and a bright light filled the room with a loud "bang" noise outside.  Nothing else happened, but Dave seemed to understand the light and noise better than I. He shouted at me to get down on the floor because someone had tried to bomb our house.
I'm laying on the ground next to him trying not to move; when I hear someone in the house.  I need to look like I'm dead so I tried to hold my breath and not move at all.  In my heart, I knew what we were hearing was the alien killers coming to finish what they started.
I woke up because I was laying awkward and was literally holding my breath (just like in my dream). Dreams are so weird and scary sometimes.  If Curiosity finds something, I'm moving.


Stung By a Bee

My experience with bees is very limited. It is limited because when I see a bee buzzing towards me, my intelligence drops significantly.
I do not run or squeal when I see one. I laugh.  It reminds me of how stupid I have been when it comes to the fuzzy yellow and black bug.
The first time I encountered a bee, I was about six years old.  There was this big bush between my friend's yard and my yard.  We noticed a lot of bees around this bush and could see the bees nest resting in the middle of this bush.
Maybe it was a boring summer or maybe I didn't listen to my mom very well, but I turned to Erin and suggested the smartest idea ever. We should find a  stick to poke the nest. 
We picked out a long stick from one of the countless trees in my front yard (long enough so the bees wouldn't get us). 
I poked it kind of rough because I didn't really expect anything to happen.
Then there was the loud buzz of anger, beginning to echo around the bush.  They burst out like a grenade and Erin and I split, heading for our respective houses. 
I was a lot faster than Erin, but I still suffered a bee sting of numbing proportions in the middle of my right palm. I am smart.
Don't poke a bee's nest. They will not swirl around you like animals in Snow White, or pick you up and dance you around to a silly tune. They will impair you.