mostly probably

Cedar City, Day 1 of… well, just 2. So, not that dramatic, but today was OTHELLO DAY! A devoted and obsessed fan of Shakespeare’s Iago ever since we were force fed Othello in sophomore English, I had yet to actually see a stage production of it. It can only be by divine providence then that the first time I attend the Shakespearean Festival in over a decade, Othello is playing. What the heck are the chances? Alright, well my experience seeing Iago in the flesh can be summed up in three words, listed as follows:

1. It
2. Was
3. AWESOME!!!!!

(And anyone who is familiar with me might know that I very rarely use multiple exclamation marks. Two exclamation points at the end of a sentence is pet peeve #4 on my ever growing list of random, inconsequential things that annoy me, so it is pretty significant that Word No. 3 above warranted five.)

Seriously, Iago was played by a short, skinny dude who stole every single scene he was in. Even when he doesn’t have any lines, it is the nature of Iago to be slinking in and out of the shadows in his villainous way. He didn’t even have to be saying anything. Everyone was watching him. He was seriously, SERIOUSLY incredible. He encompassed everything you want a creepy villain to be.

All the other actors were okay. I don’t want to spoil anything for anyone who hasn’t read or seen this greatest of all Shakespeare works (in my opinion), but that line close to the end when Othello says, “He loved not wisely but too well!” gets me every time. I felt like a dork sitting there with tears threatening to jump out of my face at any moment but it’s just so heartbreaking and touching. For the first time, you feel angry with and want to strangle Iago the (evil and yet, incredibly brilliant) villain. I know, for a villain he shouldn’t be as loved as he is, but I have a major crush on Iago that will transcend any love that any real person will ever have for another person–living, dead, or fictional.

Go Iago. You keep rockin your evil ways, and I will probably keep thinking that’s really hot.

…Aldolpho has made love to the bride!

Yesterday I had the very most fantastic experience of my entire life. My mother-in-law, who has season tickets to all the plays at the Capitol Theater, had an extra ticket! So off we went to see “The Drowsy Chaperone” in Salt Lake City yesterday.

It was AWESOME.

I have been listening to the music for about three days straight now but actually seeing it gave the music’s awesomeness a whole new dimension of awesome. It’s like one of those movies (Nacho Libre, Zoolander) that you just can’t help but walk around quoting all day. Here are a few of my favorites. I guess nobody will understand any of these but it’s 6:41 a.m. right now and I’m a little desperate for entertainment. Since every time I even think about it I start laughing my head off, this should get me going for the day:

1. Of course, the subject of today’s blog… “Aldolpho has an announcement. The wedding is off! (What?!) Aldolpho has made love to the bride! (Aldolpho you idiot, that is the chaperone!) Whaaaaaaat?!”
2. Whaaaaaaat is it about caucasions that mystifies the Asians? … They have hair upon their chests, and they only have one God?
3. Let me spell it out for you! (pronounced jou) For all those ladies who didn’t hear it becuase maybe they are… hard of hearing… or something… I don’t know… Ahhhhl… daaa ha ha ha ha ha lll… phhh… phhhh… phhh… OOOOOOOO!”
4. You may recognize Roman Bartelli in the role of the emperor in that one. He is a man of many accents, each of them equally offensive. Now we leave racial stereotyping to Disney.
5. A popular joke for the Utah crowd: Wow, you’ve clumped together four weddings all in one day. That’s how they do it in Utah!”
6. And then an alcohol reference that didn’t exactly land (you know, one of those jokes followed by an awkward silence): “And who puts an olive in a Gibson!?” Crickets. Many crickets.
7. Because love isn’t always lovely in the end. Sometimes there are attorneys involved, and couples therapy, and then your prized Gypsy album is being thrown across the room!

Thanks Natalie (not you, sister Natalie) for being wherever you were so that I could use your ticket. Coincidentally, most of the lines I loved were from Aldolpho. That is just a random sampling of the joy and utter hilarious ecstasy that could be discovered at Capitol Theater yesterday (and can be found twice a day today, Saturday, and Sunday). But if you go, please call me! I just cannot get enough of Aldolpho.

Today I am getting my hair trimmed. I have a love-hate relationship with my hair. I love it because I can’t imagine bald would look great on me. (Does bald look great on anybody?) But I pretty much hate it beyond that. It’s dry and brittle and breaks whenever I touch it. I have to wash it every day or it gets greasy and gross. It used to be voluminous and soft and blonde and generally awesome. Now it’s flat and unsoft and in Becca’s immortal words, “dirty blonde.”

I am extremely low maintenance when it comes to my hair. So hair, I surrender. I vow to trim you regularly. I will pay a little extra to get decent shampoo and conditioner (I currently use whatever is cheapest) and I’m going to try not to be so hard on you. (I currently have to blow dry and flat iron it EVERY DAY, a process that does not go quickly.)

Thinking about this new covenant I am making with my hair makes me reflect on its history. I’m trying to think of where exactly my hair and I reached that point where we decided to curse the other for the rest of time. In ninth grade it was awesome. It was long, blonde, straight and crazy thick. It was a source of tremendous pride to me that I got headaches at the end of the day from my hair being so heavy. I went to the stylist who did my mom’s hair and she said it was too thick. So she took her razor and “texturized” it. I have never been as depressed as I was when I walked out of the salon that day, my head several pounds lighter.

It doesn’t end there, however. My hair was still long and I think only I could really notice that half of it had been forcibly removed from the only home it had ever known. I was “going out” with this guy named Eric and he worshipped my hair. Please. Guys and long hair. It’s so cliche. Anyway, one fateful night in a booth in the southeastern corner of Arctic Circle I dumped Eric, who went out immediately and threatened to “dash himself upon the rocks.” This would later become known as the greatest breakup story of all time. (Stay tuned for a blog.)

Unfortunately, Eric and I had all of the same friends so I still saw him pretty much all the time after that. A couple of days later I asked him if he was okay. He looked at me and very coldly stated, “I’m fine. But whatever you do, do not cut your hair. Please. For me. Just keep it long.” So in true Molly fashion, I went home and attacked my beautiful tresses with a pair of kitchen scissors. In the Stringham household, my catch phrase is, “I do what I want.” My sophomore school pictures are proof that this motto held true just as strongly then as it does now. When I saw Eric a few days afterward, he gave me the silent treatment and simply refused to speak to me. I think he learned his lesson.

Since then, all of my awkward, rebellious, self-confident phases have been made manifest through my hair. If you were to see me right now, you would see my kind of greasy hair. It’s totally flat and I haven’t even brushed it today. It’s just hanging there. Kind of like me. I’m just floating through life and like my hair, I don’t feel all that cute or pretty and as much as I’d like to, I just can’t convince myself that it matters what other people think of me. I walked around all day yesterday, running my errands in a pair of pajama pants. I didn’t do my hair yesterday either. When I was going through my pseudorebellious phase after the kitchen scissors incident, I would occassionally trim my own hair. I cut bangs and if I felt like I didn’t have enough bangs one day, I cut some more. I wanted layers once so I cut layers. My hair was unruly and rebellious and we got along great.

I didn’t go through my awkward phase until my sophomore year in high school, and boy was it awkward! I had shoulder length hair but like the rest of my life at the time, I had no idea what to do with it. It was useless. I got pomade and all sorts of styling products in an effort to make my hair look like a normal person’s. I had braces and opened my mouth as little as possible. No matter that everyone in school had braces. I felt like the only one who ever had to have them. Ever. I failed my driver’s test. Twice. I was seriously uncool. And trying seriously hard to be, if not cool, than not a total freak of nature. My little sister’s reputation preceded me in high school. When taking roll, teachers would ask me, “Oh are you Courtney’s older sister?” Nothing is more awkward and uncool than having a teacher know you by your younger sister. And, I’d like to add, Courtney has awesome hair.

Eventually I stopped caring. Halfway through my junior year I started to sweep my bangs to the side. I grew out my hair again. I was awesome. I was cute. And I had friends. And no braces. And my hair showed it. Oh yeah. I rocked it. Going into my senior year, nothing changed except the hair got longer and I met the dude formerly known as husband. There’s something about having cute hair and a boyfriend that’s graduated and from another town who has a goatee that gives people the false impression that somehow you’re much cooler than you are. So my popularity peaked. I walked down the halls, flipping my hair all over the place I’m sure. The details are unclear but I wouldn’t put it past me to have done that “cool guy point and wink” thing. We’ll say I did.

My hair reached its coolness plateau (and probably got slightly less cool) when the dude formerly known as husband left on his mission, and a couple years later I went to Ghana. I won’t regale you with the story of how it happened but a large chunk of my hair was pulled out of my head by the windshield of a taxi, which also took a large chunk of my head itself. Having part of my head shaved for the stitches was one of the most traumatizing experiences I have ever been through. I had one ittle patch of hair on top of my head that went from totally bald to buzz cut to three inches long until it caught up to the rest of the posse. But I still can’t part my hair on that side because I have a wicked crazy cowlick thing in its place. Even then it seems I was losing control. When the dude formerly known as husband got home and we were planning our wedding, I remember feeling that I couldn’t do anything I wanted to. I don’t know now what I wanted to do back then but I remember feeling like life was happening to me. I couldn’t slow it down. Poor little cowlicky bald-spotted me!

Like my hair, nothing exciting has happened since then. But that’s not to say nothing will. My appointment is in two and a half hours from now and although I don’t see any major changes in attitude or behavior, you never can predict when a melodramatic ex-boyfriend might force your hand. Just don’t be holding kitchen scissors when it happens.

I took this from my little sister’s blog. She is about twenty times funnier than I can ever imagine being, so you should probably not waste anymore time on this blog. In fact, just set your browsers to automatically forward you to her blog when you go to mine.

1. I usually find myself very fascinating but all of a sudden I can’t think of ten interesting things about me. I guess I should say I love Othello. Love him! If I ever have another pet (not a bird–if I get another bird his name will be Munch), I will name him Othello. Right now my flash drive is named Othello. I like to name things after Othello because that is my favorite Shakespeare even though it’s probably the darkest and ickiest feeling one. At least for me. And I get to see it this Friday at the Shakespearean Festival.
2. Along that same vein, I love pretty much anything dealing with theater but I am incredibly in love with opera. I wish I could go to the opera every day for the rest of my life. When I was in high school the boyfriend formerly known as Jason (now known as crazyjason) lost a bet and I made him take me to the opera, not knowing that I would LOVE it! Unfortunately, the only time the dude formerly known as husband and I ever went to the opera he couldn’t quite stand it so I haven’t been in a couple years. (Therefore, if anybody wants to buy me tickets to see Aida that would just be terrific.)
3. I always wanted to act. I am pretty horrible but on the nonexistent list of things that I want to do before I die, “audition for a play” is #43. I think it would be fun and it might be a good experience.
4. More than anyone I know, I am absolutely petrified of public speaking. Even in a small group of people (as small as four), I have to work myself up for several minutes to actually say anything loud enough for everyone to hear. When I do manage to spit it out my heart starts pounding, my face turns red, and tears automatically well up in my eyes. I cannot get over it.
5. A long time ago I told myself I could get over it if once every Sunday I would make a comment during church, and that I would make at least one comment in every class. I’m still terrified of doing it though and start sweating profusely. I’m convinced I would have made it on “Deal or No Deal” if I hadn’t suddenly frozen when I had to talk about myself for 20 seconds (literally, 20 seconds, and I couldn’t do it).
6. I am a compulsive book collector but I don’t read that much anymore. I just love to have books so that if I did suddenly want to read something I have options. At any given moment I am reading four books at once. It takes me months to finish a book because I can’t ever remember what’s happening in one book because I’ve been concentrating on the other ones. Michelle let me borrow “Atonement” months ago and I haven’t ever given it back to her because I keep telling myself I’m going to finish it. I really don’t think I will though.
7. I am also a compulsive movie collector. I really think that this is because my mom never ever bought movies. We never had any movies to watch except a tape that had some Simpsons episodes recorded on it, some old movies my sister and her friend Laurel made, a psychotic alphabet zoo animal movie, and “The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe” cartoon version. I currently have six DVD’s on my DVD shelf that have not been opened. I am to movies as Charla is to BYU T-shirts. (Asays will understand.)
8. I have one secret talent that has nothing to do with skill and everything to do with luck. I am a fabulous test taker! When I was in high school I was bored first period and decided to take the AP English test to get out of it and passed. I also took the AP exam for Psychology without opening my textbook the entire semester and still managed to pass that. I got a 28 on the SAT which isn’t the greatest I know, but my score got me out of math in college and I skipped one section because I couldn’t even guess what any of the answers were. I’m not bragging. Just the opposite. I’m convinced that I’m dumb as a box of bricks but a stellar guesser.
9. I am seriously afraid of EVERYTHING.
10. I watch TV too much. We only have five channels that come in staticky and fuzzy which we have been living with for a year since we moved out into the boonies. We kept telling ourselves that we didn’t need cable or anything because it’s better for us to live without TV. Well those days are soon to be over my friends. Direct TV comes on Monday to install our DVR thing. We might watch less TV on the weekdays but the weekends will probably be full of all the shows we recorded during the week. Hello TV maratons. Goodbye remotely regular sleep schedules.

And that’s all. Those last nine were a struggle!

Yesterday was the birthday of my long lost EFY roommate Becca (Aylworth) Wright. Whenever I think of the most joyous week of my entire life, I think back to that week at EFY in Tacoma, Washington. I don’t remember what was said between us in those first fateful moments Rebecca and I met. I do remember that she was from Chico, California. I remember her mentioning that she played field hockey, and I do remember that every male to pass her fell instantly in love!

At the time of this EFY experience I was dating Jason. Those of you acquainted with those Jason days might understand why I now refer to Jason as “Crazyjason.” And let me tell you, Becca was seriously a godsend that week. I can’t really explain it but Crazyjason was seriously crazy. I didn’t know that he was coming to that EFY until he had told me like a week beforehand and he spent pretty much the entire week stalking me. I wish I was exaggerating. But Becca was my friend and at what was a pretty tumultuous time in my life, that was really what I needed.

Now for a funny story that I try to avoid telling because of its tendency to stir people into hysterics at my expense. I can’t remember if it was the first day there or not, but pretty close to the beginning of the week Jon Schmidt performed. I was right in the midst of my Jon Schmidt one-sided love affair and I was incredibly excited. One thing Schmidt does at his concerts is invites a member of the audience to come up and do a little improvisation (pronounced improv-iz-ay-she-OWN! ala Doug Heffernan) with him onstage.

Suddenly appearing on stage was the tallest young man I have ever seen. I still remember what he looks like although I don’t remember his name. (Becca, help me out?) He had thick black hair, was about seven feet tall, and played the piano like you wouldn’t believe. Given my seventeen (sixteen? seventeen?) year old tendency to be completely and totally in love with people for ridiculous reasons such as height and piano skill, I was instantly smitten.

Over the next couple of days, me and Tall Guy would meet in the cafeteria building prior to meals and play the piano together. He was remarkably impressed with my Rachmaninoff Prelude, thus far the only Rachmaninoff Prelude I’ve ever been able to memorize. He acted really impressed when I played “Linus and Lucy,” and I sat beside him on the bench as he improvised his way to my heart. We didn’t see each other besides these pre-meal jam sessions, and EFY is divided up into the younger group (15 and younger) and the older group (16 and older). The groups ate together but everything else was separate.

For this reason it should have made sense to me when Becca confided in me once in our dorm room: “Molly, I think [Tall Dude] is in the young group.” No way. Absolutely no way. I don’t remember my argument but I seem to remember arguing that there was no way a 14 year old could be that tall. And I know that I had seen him at a dance or something before, although looking back on it now, I don’t remember seeing him specifically anywhere but before meals. So I went on throughout the week as usual and only slightly suspicious.

The final dance of the EFY week was combined with the younger group and the older group. It was at this dance that I actually saw him and danced with him. It was difficult because my squatty arms couldn’t reach all the way up to his shoulders (according to how dancing was done back then) and he stunk pretty severely of B.O. Anyway, he mentioned that some of his friends were going to be calling girls on the phone in honor of the last night of EFY. So I gave him my room number and Becca and I sat and waited for the call. I still didn’t really believe that he was younger and as I was on the phone with him, Becca kept bugging me: “Ask him how old he is! Ask him how old he is!” I protested. And then Rob. HIS NAME WAS ROB! I’m so proud of myself for remembering! Anyway, Rob heard and said, “What is she saying?” and I said something like, “Oh it’s dumb. She wants me to ask you how old you are.”

His answer will haunt me the rest of my days.

Thirteen.

I whispered this to Becca, who automatically started shouting, “I knew it! I knew it!” and collapsed on her bed in fits of laughter. I responded, “What!? I’m seventeen. You can’t even date yet. You won’t be able to date for three years!” His response, on top of the first, will haunt me for the rest of my days and throughout eternity.

“Yeah, that’s true… but I can phone date.”

My response was a very cool, very sophisticated, “What the heck is a phone date?”

And if any response will haunt me for the rest of my days, eternity, it will certainly be this one, which was the horrible, horrible icing on top of the disgusting, sickening, evil cake.

“You know, where I call you and we talk on the phone. A phone date. Like we’re doing now.“

I hung up. I avoided him for the next twenty-four hours and don’t think I talked to Rob again before getting on the plane back to Salt Lake City. You would think that would be the end of my Rob experience. However, a basic rule for my life would be that one experience that at first thought could not possibly be more humiliating can always become more humiliating and probably will. We exchanged emails but I never wrote him. (I still remember his email address was tallrob4girls and something because his parents didn’t allow him to have his own email address so he shared it with his four older sisters.)

It was about a year later and I was at education week at BYU in Provo. I was in the Nelson Fieldhouse and there were literally hundreds of teens there. I was halfway up sitting in the bleachers and hear my name being called. I look down towards the podium and who should be standing there but my tall, prepubescent pianist friend, Rob! He took three steps and he was next to me and hugging me and blubbering about how I never emailed him and he then introduced me to his friends as the EFY girl who was sixteen! I don’t remember how I introduced him to my friends but I’m pretty sure after we parted ways again I buried my face in my knees and bawled my eyes out.

Anyway, all in all that whole week was one of the best ever. I’m sorry I didn’t write more Becca but I just don’t remember a lot of the details on stuff that happened. Here are the highlights:

• Trying to fix Becca up with the dude formerly known as husband’s little brother, Brett. I still have pictures of them at the zoo which I will scan in if I think about it.
• Becca setting off the fire alarm at 2 a.m. at EFY making the whole campus evacuate and people whispering death threats to the unknown idiots who set it off as we all sat outside waiting for the buildings to be secured.
• Going somewhere (I can’t remember where) on TRAX with Becca and her cousin, who all I remember about her is that “Coyote Ugly” was her favorite movie.
• Becca’s story about how she had managed to get two stunning males to fall in love with her in the few days before EFY began. I don’t remember their names or anything but Becca has such a dynamic personality that I’m really not surprised. She was (and I assume she probably still is) such a fun person!

Just recently, Becca found me via Facebook. I was seriously so excited I almost started crying! I think it had been about seven years since I heard from her! And now I have her blog and so I will probably stalk her the rest of my days. Happy birthday Becca! I hope that birthday dedication was sufficient. Too bad it all turned out to be about my young lover. Whenever I think about you, I always think about the humiliation surrounding that experience though.

At any rate, I better be off now. I’m still technically in class. Everyone go look at Becca’s blog and I’ll give you $10,000,000 dollars if her family is not the most attractive family ever!

Please welcome Fin to the flock. I found Fin on Freecycle last week and just felt so sad that he wasn’t wanted anymore and pretty much had to have him. Here are some Fin stats:

1. He is named after Fin Tutuola on Law & Order: SVU. (So were Olivia and Elliot.)
2. He is exactly the same color as Elliot except a muted pastel version. I think he’s the cutest one of the three. (Sorry guys.)
3. He is generally ostracized by the other two birds. Usually when he tries to sit next to the other birds they jump to the other side of the cage.
4. He makes the weirdest non-parakeet sounds ever. I think he’s imitating something (budgies do that) but I can’t figure out what. I think it’s the bell though.
5. His wings aren’t clipped but it would seem he prefers climbing to flying or jumping. Most of the time he is hanging upside down, a trick I have yet to see Olivia or Elliot perform.

Having three birds officially means I am on the fast track to becoming the crazy bird lady of Northern Utah. It is really sad how obsessed with the birds I have become. I could sit and just stare at them for hours. I don’t though, because I’m also obsessed with reality TV, which usually wins out.

The Ogden Standard newspaper had the following article on page 5B of the June 17, 2008 paper. Instead of wasting this blog entry with my own personal comments about this, I will let the article speak for itself:

Anti-Speeding Mannequin Returns to Duty in Roosevelt

ROOSEVELT – Officer Larry, the Roosevelt police mannequin used to deter speeders, is back on the job more than two months after the window of his patrol car was shattered and he was kidnapped by teenagers.

Chief Rick Harrison said one of his officers persuaded two young people to come forward with information about Larry’s whereabouts and return him.

Larry was abducted in March from a police cruiser parked along U.S. 40.

The kids agreed to return Larry–an old CPR dummy–under certain conditions.

“They said they didn’t do it, but they’d pay for the window and get him back to us if we didn’t charge them,” Harrison said.

Police have no evidence against the teens other than they knew where Larry was and they were willing to pay for the damage, Harrison said.

During his captivity, Larry was shot several times with a shotgun by a third youngster. The teens have agreed to pay for a new Larry, but a new latex lawman would be expensive so the department will probably buy a model made for target practice.

“He’s a little bit holier now than he was,” the chief said. “He’s still usable–he’s just not very pretty.”

Welcome home, Larry boy. I hope your recovery is a speedy one.

Introduction: Box Elder County is a county obsessed with sno cones. There are more sno cone shacks per block in Tremonton, Utah, than in any other municipality I have ever visited. This is precisely why it did not surprise me that on a recent visit to my in-laws’ house, my mother-in-law and sister-in-law became engaged in a conversation about one of Tremonton’s finer frozen treats: the Mexi-Ice. I am not aware whether Mexi-Ice exists anywhere else, but here in Box Elder County you can get it at the Taco Time in Tremonton for $1.81.

Disclaimer: Let me get one thing straight before I continue. I am not a supporter of this frozen delicacy’s name. In fact, I am quite offended on behalf of Mexicans everywhere (I’m not Mexican but I can be offended for them!) although I’m sure there are worse things it could be called. Despite the nearly racial slurred name, I was curious enough about the Mexi-Ice to go pick one up on my way into town for Sour Patch Kids and Golden Oreos (two things that I pray every night I am allowed to take with me when I move on from my earthly and chubby existence).

Observations:

1. My first thought when the Taco Time employee handed me the styrofoam cup filled with pink goop was “I wonder if this is milk or water based.” (After I finished it, I left a little bit to melt so I could test this. It appears to be water based, in case you were interested.)
2. The Mexi-Ice did not appear solid like ice cream would, although it stood in soft serve fashion at least five inches above the rim of the cup.
3. The Mexi-Ice did not jiggle, shake, or topple over as an ice cream would have when I made a U-turn. It didn’t even melt in my hot, black car like everything else seems to when made to sit and bake in it for more than twenty-five seconds.
4. The Mexi-Ice sat in its cupholder being a frozen treat, as frozen treats generally do. Frankly, it made me quite uncomfortable. But in true Asay fashion, discomfort and loss of appetite did not keep me from first just taking a bite, and then a second little bite, and then completely devouring it in record time.

Summary: Mexi-Ice is a sno-cone/frozen yogurt hybrid and although I wouldn’t say it was one of the best things I ever tasted, it had a strangely addictive element which I cannot say with any degree of confidence is not crack. In fact, the Mexi-Ice had a certain grittiness to it that could have been formed from ice as in the slang term for “frozen water” or ice as in the slang term for “methamphetamine.” Either way, I almost got into a wreck because I couldn’t seem to put the ice-laced drink down as I drove home. I just kept slurping away. I wonder if I should have stopped on the side of the road and snorted it instead.

Conclusion: I give one thumb up to Taco Time Mexi-Ice for its addictive quality. I give one thumb down for not coming clean on what specifically accounts for its addictive nature. Next time you’re in Box Elder County and find yourself hankering for your next fix, do consider it. It’s much cheaper than the “real” thing and no cop is going to book you for possession. Unless by chance they want a hit of your Mexi-Ice. It is all the rage around these here parts.

I suppose it is appropriate that I write about my dad this Father’s Day although truth be told, I think about my dad and miss him all the time. Of course I miss and love my mom but whenever I call and my dad picks up the phone I instinctively begin to cry because I just don’t talk to him quite as often. He is always busy with that group of guys you see in the picture.

It would be a lie to say I always thought I had a great relationship with my dad. I think now that I always did have a great relationship with him but it’s hard for a sixth grader to understand that the dad who is making her stay up to make sure she understands long division is not her enemy after all. I think it’s difficult for an eleven-year-old to not see her father as a giant foe when he wouldn’t let her see a PG-13 movie when all of her friends were going to go see “Clueless” without her! But it’s pretty simple for a 25 year-old to look back on those situations and look at it differently. I look back on it now and I see only the love and concern that a dad would have for one of his babies.

One thing I love about my dad is he was a father first and everything else (namely athlete and cardiologist) second. I can count specific instances in my life when he would call on his way home from the hospital and say, “Hi Beezer Bug, I’m coming home now and want to take you on a date, so get ready.” When he got home, he would take me to get something to eat and then to Barnes & Noble and would let me go crazy. I loved to read then more than I do now and the day I acquired a new book was always the most exciting thing for me. I don’t remember what books they are now, and I don’t remember much else about those days, except that when we got home, Dad would be called back to the hospital. It always meant the world to me, and still does, that I had a dad who, when given 20 minutes would spend it in a bookstore with his daughter.

Another favorite memory of my dad was taking road trips. We were probably in our big Suburban but I don’t really know. I would sit up front between my parents so I wouldn’t get carsick. I didn’t think it was very cool at the time obviously, but it’s now one of my favorite things to think about when I think about Dad. He would look at me and say, “Alright Beez, we are going 70 miles an hour. We have 364 more miles to drive. How long is it going to take us?” I would get so frustrated, and as soon as I figured it out or gave up, my dad would have another story problem for me, only more difficult. “Another car is driving from Disneyland at 80 miles an hour and we are driving to Disneyland at 65 miles an hour and we have 2,465 more miles to go. How many miles before we meet the other car?” I wish I could say these little quizzes made me a better mathematician but alas, no. But that’s just more of the personal attention that my dad gave me, and I can assume all of his eight(!!!) kids.

The last thing (maybe) that I’ll talk about is my dad. My dad is a hard worker, tells it just like it is, and has a rock solid foundation in the gospel of Jesus Christ. He always made sure everyone was present and paying attention during family scripture study every morning at 6 a.m. (and would spring a question about what we just read at the end, so we had to be ready!). And to his credit, all eight of his kids have been through the temple and all (except one, sorry Clark) have been sealed in the temple. I think that’s amazing!

Oh, and I just thought of something else. My dad always encouraged me to play the piano. We had a big baby grand piano (his name is Carl) in our front room and whenever I sat down to practice, it wouldn’t be long before Dad would be sitting in the chair next to the piano, just listening. He was never critical of me. He was always so supportive of his one daughter who never showed any interest in soccer. He always made sure that my talents were recognized, even though by having those talents I was kind of breaking the mold of athleticism formed by my all-star athlete brothers and sisters. Through no fault of anyone in my family besides myself, I always felt like an outcast. I always felt like I was picked on because I played the tuba instead of soccer or track. However, all of that vanishes when I think about practicing my scales, or picking out the notes to a Chopin Nocturne with my dad sitting on the bench next to me saying, “Can you play it again for me? You’re getting so good!”

Anyway, I keep thinking of things but I have to go get ready for church now. I hope my dad knows how much I love him. Whenever I think of who my heroes are, I always think of him first of all. I love you Dad!

There is no such thing as a stupid question because all questions are awesome. This is the highlight of my day so far. I am going to be partaking in some heavenly Logan Temple coconut cream pie in about 40 minutes so this Q&A high will only last for so long but whatev. For at least the next 40 minutes I can be happy that people are asking me stuff!

Courtney, I went to the trouble of finding out how you can listen to Dr. Laura. Click here. I listen to her just about every day. And so everyone knows, Courtney was not calling Dr. Laura a bisexual. The word “bi” is an Asay term for a less kind, five letter word. Mom, I think all Dr. Laura was trying to say in that statement is that wives generally have a hard time acknowledging their husband’s negative feelings. I think it is a pretty good statement. I just read her book, “The Proper Care & Feeding of Husbands” and think that every woman in the world should get on that immediately. Also, you can borrow any of our movies that you want. Just pay shipping back and forth.

Emily (and for everyone else who looks at a lot of blogs), to put the snippets of the most updated blogs I read on your blog, you have to sign up for Google Reader. After you sign up, there will be a link on the left side of your Reader screen that says “Add Subscription.” Just click on that, type in the link of the blog or website you want to keep updated on and you’re done. After you have a bunch of subscriptions in there, you can go to your layout in Blogger and “Add Page Element.” Then add the “Blog List.” It should give you an option to import from Google Reader. If you are signed into your Google account it should do this automatically.

Becca: My birthday is May 24th. I’m not sure why I’ve always wanted to go to Thailand. I think it was when I met this girl and she had some really incredibly comfortable pants on and I said, “Wow, where did you get those?” and she told me they come wicked cheap in Thailand. Although riding an elephant would be cool. My boyfriend is not taking me to New York. Actually I don’t have a boyfriend (although, to bring up Dr. Laura again, every wife should be her husband’s girlfriend, which I am) but I always have dreams that I’m not married which is disturbing on some level.

Amanda: I hear you on the tanning thing. My legs are pasty white and I’m just waiting for pale white albino skin to be in style. I would pretty much rule the in-crowd. Morphology is basically really lame and is defined as the study of meaningful units of language and how they are combined to form words. So pretty much I’m supposed to write a five page, single spaced paper on suffixes complete with tables and graphics.

Meghan: I will definitely let you know the next time I have a Stay at Home Wives Party, although it can never be said when these grand events will occur. I think the last time (the first and only time, now that I get thinking about it) was a freak accident. And did you ever go buy a hoodie?!