I Cut My Hair, Try 3

I cut my hair. I as in Me. 3 times. Why me? I'm still atoning for my last visit to a stylist that might as well have taken my credit card on a shopping spree to Saks 5th Ave. Plus, when a girl needs a haircut, a girl needs a haircut. Now.

One cut was to get rid of the ugly crispy shoulder length that should have never been aloud to grow to that unsightly length in the first place. Second to get the first job into better shape and to stop it from growing so rapidly. (I swear in one week it was back down to my neck nape. Note: To me, 'to the shoulders' and 'somewhere touching my neck' are the same thing. They are both wayyyy too long and they both BUG.)

And thrice to get the second cut into shape. This has caused some serious hackage around apartment 311 and the result is a head full of mixed feelings, not to mention a hair full of mixed layers. I love the length. But without my friend the razor it is a mom bob like none seen before. Think the mom on Cheaper by the Dozen. Oh no, her name is Bonnie Hunt. I look like a big fat Bonnie!

Snip number 3 might be the ticket, as this time I cut some layers into it while the hair was dry so I wouldn't be duped into thinking, 'hey nothing's happening -- keep cutting.' If only I could keep it kind of messy like when it gets out from under the tap. It just poofs right out so I am a triangle on a really long neck. Razor, razor, whereforartthou razor.

Travelin' Thursdee

I was just organizing all my photos and falling in love with some of them all over again. And wanting to pick up and travel all over again. But travel time is up for awhile as I once more embark upon acting like an adult by getting a job (cross your fingers for the one I interviewed for today!!).

So I've decided to start "Travelin' Thursdee" -- the 'travelin' to invoke a folksy, homey feel to the experience (this is for armchair travelers after all, so sit back and sip a sody) and the "thursdee" for all you Utahrds out there who speak Utahhhn. These are photos of places I've been and when I've run out you can send me yours. Sound nauseating enough? Good! Let's reminisce!

Starting this Thursdee off with the Sacred Grove in Palmyra, New York. Adam and I passed thru here on our drive from Massachusetts to California. We didn't even think "church history tour" when we set out on the 3,000 mile drive, but that's kind of what happened. In Palmyra we saw the SG, which is by both of Joseph Smith's parents' homes, the Hill Cumorah, and the Palmyra temple. And the green really is that green.

Beach, Myself and I

Went to Laguna Beach on Saturday to hang out with my brother. A-Ware was at work. Then brother left to go on a date. So it was me, Little Women and the sand. I twiddled my toes. Listened to my neighbors' stories about getting f-ing wasted. Watched this family I was SURE was Mormon. Looked around. Wanted everyone to leave so I could stay and watch the sunset alone. Had to go to the bathroom so ditched the sunset and the little f-ers and headed out. And bought a burrito.

A Stroll Through Chapel Hill

I want to move to Chapel Hill, NC, like, yesterday. Give me 200% humidity and I will give you a thumbs up. I tried chicken and dumplings (slimy), collard greens (spinachy), bread pudding (w/pineapple!) and sweet potata pie (yam, yam).

To market, to market to buy a fat pizza

We went to this cute little market/deli type thing in Chapel Hill.

Heather and Haven

I took about 2 trillion photos of Heather and Haven while in NC. Here are a few of my favorites. What a stinkin' cute baby my sister borned.

OPPRESSIVE

I was in North Carolina this past week and thermometers were busting all over town. Just look at me after a midmorning run.

Friends

I keep thinking of this photo. Maybe because I can't believe my friends are procreating. It's great. It's so fun to see their little replicas...or their husbands' replicas.
In this photo is Emily with Maggie Miriam; Miriam with Josie Scout; Carrie with...me. hehehe...

Lake Powell Trip

A Scone by Any Other Name...

Will not puff up nor possess a potbelly such as these:

The Hullinger family scone is something to behold. It puffs up and has a nice pocket in the middle just for honeybutter. The dough is Lion House Dinner Rolls -- so follow that and then refrigerate for awhile. Heat oil to 375 and get ready to watch something wonderful.

PJ Sparkles and Potato Guns

Growing up in a white trash town, self-made fun just comes naturally. Whether homemade or hand-me-down our toys have never let us down.

Introducing PJ Sparkles and Potato Guns.

Lucky for us, when our sky blue boat died in about, oh, '89, our dad replaced it with the boat of a lifetime. A brown boat in the same shape as the blue boat but with the letters PJ and a nice stroke of several shades of sparkles. Several shades of brown sparkles. PJ stands for Phillip Jay, my dad's older brother, who handed it down to us. The boat was born in 1974 and at the ripe old age of 14 years Uncle PJ figured, well, I'll give those nice kids of John's a couple more years with a boat at least. PJ Sparkles, which is what we named the boat -- after the doll of course -- overheard this snide thought and determined to live on for decades, until the end of time if he had to.

And as of July 24, 2007 PJ Sparkles rumbles strong. The 33 year old is vibrant and majestic. He's not intimidated by other boats. He pulls up many a wakeboarder with a swagger. And while he struggles to keep a constant speed, his vinyl front seat is where I want to be.

Now onto the homemade. My brother, Mark, started Potato Gun making after buying his 8th motorcycle and finally shaving his mullet. He decided it was time to start afresh and find a pasttime that produced real results. Ta-dahhhhh! Some black PVC pipe in a couple sizes and some welding and...you've got yerself a gun, folks. A family friendly gun that even my Aunt Faye can shoot (as pictured above). I scoffed at the gun behind his back for years. But last week at the annual family reunion, I was amazed at the crowd it brought.

All 1 trillion of the great-grandkids hovered around Mark and Owen anxiously-patiently waiting their own turn to flick the switch that launches the potato chunks about 7 stories high. How do these wonders work and how can you make one yourself? Well, the little flick switch I'll never get because it kind of lights a little fire so you'll have to ask Mark about that, but the other two components are 1) potatoes (Russet is a nice choice) and 2) aerasol hairspray.

After taking 15 turns each shooting the gun, the kids would gather on the other end of the field and try to catch the potato bullets. It hurts your hands if you catch a potato falling from 7 stories, so many smartly dodged or were unsuccessful. Except one little guy who took a potato right on the head, let out a scream-cry and forever became known as Potato Head.

Jobless and Baking

I'm jobless right now. Jobless and loving every stinking second of it. Loving it so much that I rarely even remember I should be busy at work trying to make myself job....jobbed. Not to be confused with GOBBED, which GOB might call himself (watch Arrested Development - this magician will change your life). I only think of actually looking for a job about twice a day. This number is very low considering my usual responsible, ambitious, antsy self. Yesterday before my interview I wasn't even nervous. That's never happened before. What's happening to me? I told my mom the other day on the phone that the only reason I'd want to have a baby at this point is so I could stay home. "Is that a good enough reason?" I asked. "YES!" She yelled.

This, I know, is not a good enough reason. Cuz life at home with a baby is not necessarily a vacation. And I want all my days at home to be 100% selfish and packed with vacationing. So, I won't be birthing for that reason, (and besides, I want a baby right NOW so I can stay home --not in 9 months -- hey, wait --- maybe I could fill that 9 months with vacationing. Rethinking....but back to my sentence) but I will be vacationing while I can. Which is at least until the middle of August. My fabulous husband actually feels sorry he's dragged me all over the country with his changing jobs...so he's compensating by giving me time with friends and family -- as far away as North Carolina!! He rules. And this vacationing will not be in vain. Because when I come back I'll be ready to work, ready to get dressed, maybe even ready to do my hair. I will become a contributing member of society and not just a contributing member of the Heritage Point swimming pool.

Being jobless means I'm also baking my brains out. And reading. But let's talk about baking. Do you ever just want to eat bread all day until you pop? I have had this kind of feeling ALL WEEK. So I've been stuffing myself with blueberry bagels and Philidelphia whipped cream cheese. It does the trick for awhile. But I knew there had to be something more. A few weeks ago I successfully made 2 loafs of wheat bread. What a feat. But that wasn't what I was craving. It was....cinnamon rolls....YES. So I consulted my rusted little recipe box. It's hideous. The recipe box -- not the recipes inside. Maybe I'll post a picture of it here. I have been on the lookout for a cute one with pizzazz. This is a niche some really creative Mormon chick could really capitalize on because online I did not find one thing. So my crappy little thing sticks by my side.

Here's the recipe I used last night:
Butterflake Cinnamon Rolls by Lynne Smith

(Lynne Smith was the town dr's wife who lived in the country in Roosevelt times. She is a red headed delight. Lynne, if you're reading this, hope your house has not burned down. You're a gem. Hope you don't mind that I'm publishing this family secret.)

2 c. warm milk, scalded
2 t. salt
4 t. yeast in 1/2 c. warm water (add 1 t. sugar)
1/2 c. sugar
1/2 c. melted butter
2 eggs
7 c. flour

Mix milk, salt, butter, eggs, and half the flour. Add yeast/water/sugar mixture after it has bubbled. Mix well. Add remaining flour. Mix by hand -- add enough flour yet make sure it's still sticky. Let raise until double. Punch down. Roll out on floured surface. Cover top of dough with plenty of butter, cinnamon and sugar. Roll into jelly roll. Slice into 1 in. pieces (I use a piece of thread -- do you know this technique? I'll tell you if not). Place on greased cake pans, barely touching. Let raise. Bake at 350 degrees for 15-20 min.

The recipe at this point says "cover with almond frosting." Do I have the almond frosting recipe? No! But I sure wish I did cuz it sounds TDF. I'm sure I could find it online but do not have the funds for almond extract at this point. So I used Betty Crocker's orange frosting recipe, because everyone has funds for one solitary orange.

BC's Orange Buttercream Frosting

3 c. powdered sugar
1/3 c. butter, softened
1-2 T. orange juice
2 t. grated orange peel

Mix and smear on top of a hot CR. Enjoy!

I ate two of these monsters last night and went to bed sick with no signs of digesting by midnight. Which is just what I wanted. It was awesome. Luckily I had the inspiration to make them when I did because Adam tried to switch the hinges on our $120 fridge we bought from a dude in Oceanside and he got to the last bolt and...and....and....it was stripped beyond grasping. So he put it all back the way it came...with the fridge opening to the wall. And boy was he mad. But glad when he ate a cinnamon roll. Mad almost always turns to glad with a home baked wonder.

The City with a Manicure

I've been trying to come to terms with the city in which I now live. It's just so....perfect. I don't know how to explain it. Some call it sterile, cookie cutter. Its streets are wide and smooth, the traffic moves well. The sidewalks and bike paths are huge and endless. Every two blocks is a shopping center with everything and anything you could ever need. I'm surrounded on every side by Asians and all their noodle houses, which I love. No more street names like El Camino and Calle Jules and Avenida De La Playa...just prestigious brown titles like Walnut, Jeffrey, Harvard, Yale, Culver...that I can actually pronounce. No more orange tiled roofs (thank you!!) and surprisingly less vanity plates....although I know I've only been here 5 days and this is the O.C. so I'll just give it some time.

There's a lot of edging going on around these parts. Not as much mowing but EDGING -- like that extra step a really particular homeowner takes after the mowing is done...he actually has a tool that prohibits the shaggy end grass from even thinking about touching the sidewalk. Gives it a nice whip with the edger and it's fit for the military. I watched fascinated as a man did this at my stoplight street corner. Also a lot of leaf-blowing with a leaf-blower. I've seen these things before, of course, but not everyday and not everywhere. And so that's all I can say about it at this point. Irvine is a city with a well kept manicure...and I'm about to interview with the very company that is responsible for a lot of this perfection. How do I feel about this? I don't know.

In other news, I played Dance Dance Revolution for the first time last night. This couple in the ward has the dual floor pad set...and as an ex-dancer with great balance and keen coordination I always thought I'd be a master of the game. But I have to say I felt like a complete moron. DDR is not dancing but rather stepping really purposefully on one or two of four spots at once. People good or bad at DDR all look the same -- like foolish, retarded idiots. But I don't hate the game and will definitely be playing again. I love the moron in me coming out from time to time.