Ghost Busters

Let me preface this post by sharing a neat fact about me.

(Ok not so much neat as a total pain. But anyways.)

I am afraid of everything. Like EVERYTHING. Not in a paranoid/might possibly need medication sort of way - but more in a worry-some/worst case scenario type of way. For example:

- I'm afraid of being electrocuted/hit by lightening.
- I'm afraid of me or anyone I know getting getting in a car accident. (This particularly applies to the fiance who drives WAY too fast. You know its true Crayon.)
- I'm afraid of earthquakes/fires/tornadoes/floods and I guarantee that when I buy insurance for my first home whatever sales guy I purchase from is going to be damn happy he went into work that day as my "Every Feasible Disaster That Might Occur Even If Your Climate Only Makes Half Of Them A Possibility" package will probably pay for a trip for every single one of his children into the Happy Land of Orthodontia.
- I'm afraid of all bugs and anything that has more than four legs. Or no legs.
- I'm afraid of getting food poisoning (This is only because I've had it fairly recently though - Note to all Utahns - Stay Away From "Ocean City".)
- I'm afraid of getting some sort of disease/illness or of having anyone I know get one.

But first and foremost the thing that I'm probably the most terrified of - is dying. Which, according to all those weird studies I Google when I can't sleep at night, is pretty common. Simply because we are a society cultivated on the idea that we can and should plan for every possible outcome in our life. Except that doesn't really work with matters like death and the afterlife because we really just don't know how it all shakes down after we're dead and gone. And I, like many others I know, just don't like that. Ignorance is never bliss. And what it really comes down to is the kinds of beliefs you hold - particularly your religious beliefs.

Religion is something I've never really discussed on this blog, partly because I don't want to offend anyone and partly because I haven't seen enough of life to seriously commit myself to any one set of beliefs, but when it comes to death the two seem to go hand in hand. I grew up in a Mormon (LDS- the majority religion in Utah) household and while my family was attending church I always had the idea of Heaven (or possibly Hell - depending on how much of my Mom's perfume I had "borrowed" that week) to fall back on whenever my worries crept up on me. Since then most of my family has become "inactive" (Mormon lingo for: we don't go to church anymore) and while that's perfectly fine with me, as I was never terribly attached to the church and didn't lament the lack of its presence in my life, it has left me without a solid set of answers to turn to when I inevitably start to worry about how quickly my life is moving and what I have to face when its over. And because I have no real solid evidence one way or the other (afterlife vs. unconsciousness) I have no means of satisfying the little bug in my head that likes to remind me of these things at the worst possible moment. He wants answers and I have none to give him. Except not everyone has this problem. And when I say not everyone who I really mean is the Fiance.

When Crayon and I first started dating he let me in on a little fun fact. Apparently his house, and specifically the basement of said house, is haunted. Which is pretty cool. Now before you start rolling your eyes and using words like "poppycock" let me provide a little insight. Crayon cannot lie. He simply cannot do it. The few times he has tried to lie to me (concerning presents, surprises, and other such matters) he pretty much fails at it entirely. He grins, talks in this falsetto type voice, and can't maintain any form of eye contact. The whole thing is rather cute. And when I catch him at it -he blushes relentlessly- but he'll deny that to the ends of the earth.

The point is that if anyone else told me that their basement was haunted and had given me the examples he has I would have told them that they were full of it and probably refused to text them for a few days as punishment for trying to pull a fast one on me. Except Crayon can't lie. Which brings me to this whole new kind of realization. If Crayon can't lie and has told me that he's seen/heard a ghost in his house, then does that mean that "ghosts" actually are real (in some form or another -that is)? And if there is such a thing as a "ghost" does that also mean that there is some type of awareness after we die?

Frankly all of this tends to make my head hurt and also makes me a tad more stressed out soooo (because you guys *rocked* with all of your Tv suggestions - seriously my desk calendar is actually being USED now. it's pretty awesome) I would like to know if anyone else either believes in ghosts or has had any kind of ghost-like experiences. Any sort of insight is appreciated here - and if you think the whole ghost dealio is total bullshit that too would be helpful to know in its own way. If I get some good responses I'll do a follow up post with the best stories and (after I get Crayon's approval) I'll share some of what he's told me about his basement dwelling ghost. Oh - and if you don't want to share your story in the comment section (for personal/anonymity reasons or otherwise) or just think it would be easier to type up elsewhere feel free to email me instead. (See contact info ----->).

Thanks guys. Looking forward to your responses.

Must See Tv

We all have our little addictions in life. Some of us live off of Ben & Jerry's, others over indulge at Barnes & Noble, and still others cannot resist buying yet another set of expensive lingerie (obviously none of these apply to me. *ahem*).

However. The tried and true addiction that has taken over the entire country is Must See Tv (of which I have created my own definition). Hah. You thought I was going to say Palinsanity didn't you?

Must See Tv (as defined by me - omg rhyme!): Must See Tv is any Tv show which the general public of the U.S. finds itself addicted to regardless of production length, plot quality, or character depth.

Here are some examples - but before anyone freaks out just know that I'm not saying any of these shows are bad per se. Just that they've taken over our weekday evenings. And I may or may not be planning my schedule around some of them.

Examples: Heroes, Gossip Girl, One Tree Hill, House, The Hills, Dexter, and the most awesomely awesome show out there - The Office!

Yes. I admit it. I absolutely adore The Office. I didn't start watching it until the third season was under way but upon discovering I was hooked and subsequently had to spend an entire weekend catching up on the first two seasons I had missed.

I love the relationships between all the characters (not necessarily pleasant in some cases) and the interaction that takes place. The Office is maybe one of the best shows ever made. In my personal opinion it's also much better than its UK parent - which I found dull, hard to follow, and with lackluster dynamics between characters.

However with my extreme love of The Office taking over any available Tv time I might have - I'm worried that I'm possibly missing out on other great television and that when I rejoin society (Read: Salt Lake) I'll be totally and completely out of the loop and with little clue as to why everyone is talking about some guy named House and some girl named Peyton. Essentially I need more Must See Tv that I must see.

So this is where you guys come in! If you happen to watch/know of/ADORE any particular Tv show please leave a comment and tell me which one it is. I am determined to spend more time glued to my couch and am willing to take any help I can get in accomplishing such matter.

And for those of you that would have suggested The Office here are some pictures to tie you over. (Until Thursday - that is.)

Popcorn Popping

Me: Tell me what my Christmas present is!

Crayon: No.

Me: Come on!

Crayon: Nope.

Me: You better tell me. Or else.

Crayon: Or else what?

Me: I'm going to fill your car with popcorn kernels, roll up all the windows, and let you have a field day watching our 100 degree weather turn your car into a portable microwave.

Crayon: ......

Me: You're car is gonna smell like popcorn FOREVER.

Crayon: ......

Me: And you'll never get all the popcorn out of the seats and the carpeting.

Crayon: ....

Me: Not to mention you'll attract every seagull in the state with that popcorn smell. I can already see you weaving through traffic trying to escape them as they dive through your sun roof in hopes of a beak-full of buttery delicious-ness.

Crayon: ......Really?

Me: *feigns innocence* Really. That is - unless you want to tell me what my Christmas present is?

Crayon: I'll take my chances with the seagulls.

Me: Oh. My. God. Fine. I'm so doing the popcorn thing. Just you wait.

Crayon: If you put popcorn in my car you can't have your Christmas present.

Me: *pouts* Fine.

I wont put it in his car. I'll just put it on his sunroof. Nice surprise for when he opens it.

Bug Zapper Racket

Has anyone ever seen one of these?

It is possibly the scariest and most inhumane little invention I've ever come across. So of course my fourteen year old little brother absolutely adores it. He thinks its God wrapped up in bug-zapping form. I think its mildly grotesque.

I didn't even know what this thing was. I knew it sat on the ledge in our exercise room and I knew it had been there for a while. What I didn't know was that this little thing had a button allowing one to send a current of electricity through its metal netting and subsequently kill whatever small winged creature it came in contact with, which vaguely reminds me of a medieval torture device. Fun right?

I might not be so biased against these things if not for the horrific display of bug homicide that was its first demonstration in front of me. The problem with this bug zapper is that it seems to be designed for small bugs. Flies. Bees. Mosquitoes. Well, I live in Utah - land of the ants that could possibly eat your dog for dinner and the beetles that chase you down with pincher's the size of a small crowbar, so the bug zapper is a little bit out of its league here. That however, does not stop my little brother from using it. Not even a little bit. So when a moth the size of vampire bat comes fluttering into my kitchen the first thing he does is book it out of the room in search for any death-by-electrocution-tennis-paraphernalia while us girls cower in the corners of the room, trying to avoid getting the wretched thing caught in our hair, and have completely forgotten the "It's Just As Scared As You Are..." rule. Whatever.

So Little Brother comes back into the room, hauling ass, in hopes that the giant winged bug will still be there. Unfortunately it is. Its landed all carefree like on the fireplace, completely unaware of the chaos its causing, and generally minding its own business except for the fact that its in my house. I can practically hear the thing singing "The hills are alive..." in all its nonchalance. Little Sister and Mom and I are all still freaking out shouting things like "Get it out! Get it out" "Its going to tell its friends to come back here if we let it stay!" "It probably has rabies!" and god knows what else while Little Brother slowly creeps forward, arm outstretched, racket in hand, and finger poised on the button that I'm sure is labeled "Emit Cruel, Unusual, and Surely Fatal Death Shock".

The room gets quiet as Little Brother brings the racket only inches away from the moth which is still perched on our mantle. We're holding our breaths. He fires up his miniature piece of electric sports equipment. And then.

ZAP!

If you've ever lit some of your own hair on fire (yes I've done this - both to myself and other people) then you can understand the horribly disgusting smell that this bug was giving as it burned. And I do mean burned. Because, as boys tend to be, Little Brother was thrilled with his new found power as Bug Executioner, and so even after the moth fell to the ground and was clearly dead he continued to roast the thing with the tennis racket. I am plainly horrified and am burying my head in my sweater to avoid breathing in the dead bug fumes which are now wafting through the house. Little Sister and Mom are egging Little Brother on with the type of chanting one would expect to hear at an ancient Roman gladiator match.

It would be one thing if it had ended there. Instead Little Brother gets down on all fours and presses the racket into the bug on the ground like one would with a spatula to a pancake causing it to not only smoke and sizzle but to emit even more of the awful smell.

"Just wait." Mom tells me.

"It gets better!" Little Sister adds.

Better how? I get my silent question answered when the moth, which is now stuck to the racket - held on by its 9th degree burns- crackles and finally gives a loud pop, accompanied by a small white-ish blue-ish ball of light which apparently means moths have a tendency to spontaneously combust after 50,000 volts. I'm immediately having flashbacks to the first time I saw The Green Mile.

"That was awful" I remark, staring at the mini cremation site our kitchen floor has become. No one agrees with me.

What is our world coming to if we can't be happy killing bugs with acidic spray and blunt force like we used to?

Frank

Me: So what are you up to tonight?

Crayon: Heading up to Mel's place to work on the car. I miss it. And the bunnies.

Me: The bunnies?

Crayon: Yeah. The ones that run around in Mel's backyard. I've named them all.

Me: You've named the bunnies? Let's hear it.

Crayon: Furry One, Furry Two, Momma Furry, Baby Furry, and Frank.

Me: Ummm....Frank?

Crayon: Yeah. Frank. He's the fearless one. I've caught him chasing the deer twice!

Me: Frank. The bunny. Chases deer?

Crayon: Yeah. Duh.

Me: *I'm-not-buying-this-pause*

Crayon: He tackles them too....

To Do or Not To Do?

Here is what I should be doing:

• Writing.

(That's all)

What I am doing (but should not be) is the following:

• Ebaying.
• Combing through my newly found (and very addictive) site Etsy.
• Contemplating a trip to the store for ice cream (Half Baked!).
• Pondering my favorite color of skittle.
• Napping.
• Watching reruns of The Office (could September be any farther away?).
• Reading things that do not fall under the category of "Research for The Book" (i.e. yoga magazines).
• Discussing Halloween costumes with my mom with regards to my puppy (apparently he's going to be a bat).

I think I need some sort of time management course or something. However that would also take time away from writing. Damn it.

Lizzy

Car Wash

I'm not sure what exactly I did to piss off the fates today (maybe it was me bashing the Fortune I got) but something is just not lining up for me.

Today I had to wash the family car. This is where it begins. I have a fairly sketchy history with appliances. I've set my fire alarm off with my toaster (more than once), I've managed to break several CD players, I've gotten very close to making my microwave spontaneously combust, and I've flooded my kitchen with the dishwasher.

God knows how I got it in my head that I'd be safe at the car wash. Now I'm generally kind of a low maintenance sort of girl (read: lazy) so I'm used to the automatic car washes - the kind where you just sit there, do as the lights say, and enjoy watching your automobile get sprayed with rainbow colored goo. However now that I'm living with my mother again (I'm pretending to do that whole "college" thing) I have to go use one of the manual car washes per her request/demand. Yea - these are the kind where you actually have to get out of the car. That right there is trouble for me.

So off I'm sent to the car wash with enough quarters to buy myself a new laptop and enough towels piled up in the back that I cant see out my review mirror. Great fun. I pull into my little hallway/covered parking stall thing, all the while trying to verbally psych myself up for whatever it is I've been drug into.

Now maybe in other states these car washes aren't so bad but I live in Logan and we're about six years behind the times up here so the car washing technology of this particular place is definitely not up to par. The quarter accepting thingy is permanently rusted to the ground, a hand turned mechanism, and completely eroded of all its directions. I have a timer flashing red numbers at me that I don't understand and a long black wand that I'd rather not touch. Needless to say I'm pretty much scared shitless at this point. However since I like to think of myself as fairly capable and of decent intelligence I decide to suck it up and tackle this whole 1990's car washing thing.

I insert my quarters.
I wait patiently for the little numbers to change.
I carefully pick up the black wand.
Still waiting patiently....
Still here.....

Nothing happens. Great. Of all the little empty car slots (and they're all empty since I'm the only one here) I have to go pick the faulty one. In retrospect I wish I had left at this point.

So I put back the black wand, stroll out of the stall, and look around for someone to help me. No one in sight. Go figure. As I turn back to look at my car I realize that my black wand - useless only seconds ago - now has a nice little stream of water coming from it. Aha. I knew I could do it. I jog back over to my car but by the time I get there the water has stopped. What the hell? I pick up the wand, shake it a few times, tap my quarter machine, and very carefully peer into the end of it.

When this kind of thing happens in movies the whole audience is gripping their arm rests, covering their eyes, and asking aloud why is it that people do such ridiculous things in movies? I am the poster child for this kind of bad luck/stupidity/sheer ignorance. Just as I get close enough to really get a good look the stream starts up again. But this time its mixed with some kind of soapy liquid. Fortunately my reflexes kicked in and I kind of did a little spastic jump away from the opening. Not so fortunate was I to think to let go. Instead I held on and got sufficiently drenched with some kind of nasty car cleansing mixture. Immediately following that was another burst of water that left me running for my car door. I didn't make it before the dryers turned on.

When I got home this is what my little sister said to me:

"Why do you look like a rat that someone came after with a blow dryer?"

Never again.

Lizzy

Fickle Fortune

Interestingly enough I seem to have bad luck with Fortunes. Fortune cookies loathe me and as soon as they see me coming they rearrange themselves, pushing their meanest, most unappealing, and literally heartless fortune to the surface of their little colony where (without fail) I choose it. I don't know why I thought a fortune telling website would provide a different outcome.

"You will be imprisoned for contributing your time and skill to a bank robbery."

.....what?

I don't know whether to be flattered or paranoid. What are the odds of me being framed for robbery in Logan, Utah? On a scale of 1-10 that's like a negative 34 right? And even if I were to put any significant amount of time and effort into a robbery - Fate, I'm sure, would see that I made no profit from it whatsoever. While all my accomplices flee to their luxurious leather seated jet with cash in hand I will certainly be the one left sitting on the sidewalk, cuffed to an unflattering lamppost, undoubtedly covered in that exploding purple ink. Thrilling prospect here - really it is. However - the all knowing Fortune Page would beg to differ and has now officially rooted my distrust in StumbleUpon - from whence it came. Not only does my glaring pixelated fortune say I'll be involved in a robbery but also, apparently, that I'm going to do time for it. Lovely. Every girls' secret fantasy - 15 years in prison without time to even spend the profits of your escapade. Why is it that I can't have one of those nice, flowery, sugar-coated fortunes? The best fortune I've ever had I think was one that said "Buy the red car." And since I would never buy a red car (or yellow) as its just asking to get a ticket - which always reduces me to tears - I was rather displeased. So now I'm tempted to go raid my local grocery store for boxes of fortune cookies in search of just one good humored fortune. Just one.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Lizzy