Monday, October 30, 2006

Guess who's got tickets to see Justin Timberlake.


Wednesday, October 25, 2006

The other day at church, I passed a guy in the hall, and when he saw my head, he exasperated, "What did you do to your head?!" I told him the truth: I fell in the shower. Then I showed him the ugly gash picture. Not being confident in his manhood, apparently, he admonished me against showing that picture to other guys because it would make me look tougher than they.

I FELL IN THE SHOWER!!! I did one of the most old-lady things I can think of, for crying out loud!

Since that moment in church, I have thought of a couple scenarios that would and should make a man feel like a little girl had these been the cause of my headwound, which I just named Marvin McScarvin about 20 minutes ago. I just made that name up. It's an original.

Okay. Scenario #1 that would turn a macho man to a life of buying hairwax and forming his hair into a faux-hawk on a daily basis:

During the closing minutes of the Seventh Annual Konichiwa Ironman Tae Kwon Do Invitational championship, my opponent cut open my head with his grotesquely long, and later ruled illegal, toe nail while attacking me with a spinning kick. Blinded by the blood flowing down my face, I went through my entire repertoire of attacking maneuvers. He didn't know what hit him, and neither did I. All I know is I was declared the winner. Then I got stitches.

Scenario #2 that would cause even the manliest and most Tobiest of Keiths to stick something, i.e., not his boot, up someone's hind end, if you know what I mean. (Was that too inappropriate?):

There I was, sitting in a tree, listening to the leaves crackle under hoof of a yet unknown beast. Seconds later, a majestic 12x13 elk walked out of a clearing directly below the branch I was sitting upon. Having taken hold of my nerves, I dropped from the branch onto the elk's back. I gripped my massively buff arms around his neck and wrestled him to the forest floor. I slipped around his neck, and that's when he nicked me with his antlers. He shook me off, but he was careless and left part of his body vulnerable. You know the part! So I rammed my foot as hard as I could against his "elkhood", and his head fell off. He lay there, decapitated, dead. After ripping out his still-beating heart and eating it, I got up, threw him over my shoulder, and walked to my truck. Since I was going to pass by the hospital on my way home, I dropped in to see if I needed some stitches. I did.

But neither of those things happened, so take heart, boys. I just fell in the shower.

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Saturday, October 21, 2006

Day 10: a scar is born. HA!

Day 10 - the infancy of the scar


Thursday, October 19, 2006

"One Person Show"

That's what my professor said about the photographs from the second set we turned in that were displayed in the hallway today. Only six were mine, but I had more than anyone else. I'm still curious about why some are chosen and not others. I should ask him one day after class. Here's what was on the wall today.


fun with light

swings and shadows





Sunday, October 15, 2006


This video of Tori Amos singing "Pancake" (with a bridge of Neil Young's "Ohio") in San Antonio in 2003 is amazing! It gets me so pumped up for her upcoming tour which totally hasn't even been planned or anything but I know it'll happen next year!!!

P.S. Molly Knight made me a very happily fed addicted girl by sending me the mp3 to that. Here it is.

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Day 3 in the Aftermath of Hitting the Tub with My Face






Thursday, October 12, 2006

Coming of Age

Now that I'm 30 years old, I've taken up doing old lady things. For example, I eat dinner earlier in the day. I watched an episode of "Columbo" this afternoon. I have bought materials to take up knitting. I slipped in the tub this morning and split my forehead open. I suck on cheap hard candy. I have a cat. I am SO on my way to becoming an old lady, right? All I'm missing is a shawl (which is why I'm taking up knitting, honestly), an affinity for painting ceramics and playing bingo, and those sticky, tacky flower stickers that old ladies put on the bottom of their tubs so they have more traction so they don't slip and fall in the tub and subsequently split their heads open. Because not having those stickers results in stuff like this:

Exhibit B

And that is the result of this, which is REALLY the result of not having old lady shower flower stickers in your tub:

Exhibit A

*Photo taken by my favorite not-at-all-gay male nurse, Michael. (Because being a male nurse does not equal being gay.)

That picture looks like it hurts because it hurts.

Here are my various stories I've been sharing with people as to how that happened:

"I fell in the shower...where I keep my axe." (Gracias, Azucar.)

"The take-home lesson is that you shouldn't drink while taking a shower."

"I fell in the shower. In my defense, there were six other people in there with me, and I tripped over one of them. It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt."

I really just fell in the tub. I didn't lose consciousness. I got up, felt the blood flowing down my face, grabbed my towel to stop the bleeding, cleaned myself up a bit, got dressed, and went to the kitchen to tell my g-ma that I probably needed stitches. (I hadn't seen the wound by this time.) So she called my mom and made me an ice pack. It hurt like hell, and every muscle in my body was tensing up to do their part in making the hurt go away. They are horrible at their job. They're still horrible at their job. My face is very, very angry at something right now, and I know this because the nerves in my face are screaming. Also, my face is becoming discolored. I'll keep you updated.

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Monday, October 02, 2006

A History of My Birthdays

1st birthday: I'ma take a stab at this one. My parents and some other relatives probably sat around and laughed as I waded through cake. My parents opened some presents that I don't remember getting. They were probably clothes and toys.

2nd birthday: See first birthday.

3rd birthday: I think this is the one where I had a party and got this fun Playskool playset with a slide and hiding place and my cousin bit me. Also, I ate cake and got messy.

4th birthday: I turned 4.

5th birthday: There was a piñata involved. And probably some cake.

6th birthday: I remember very vividly listening to Nancy Reagan speak during President Reagan's radio address to the nation on federal drug policy. She said, "I've heard time and again of children with excellent grades, athletic promise, outgoing personalities, but who, because of drugs, became shells of their former selves." That speech changed my life.

7th birthday: I burned my arm on the cake pan because I was so excited about eating cake. Obviously, we ate cake. The party was held at the skating rink because that's what you do when you turn seven. I busted my ass during the second round of Limbo.

8th birthday: I got baptized because I'd obviously come to the age where I knew right from wrong, which is how Mormons roll. Unlike some, Mormons believe that we "will be punished for [our] own sins and not for Adam's transgression". I think I really liked Strawberry Shortcake at this point in my life. No...that was my sister. So that means that I probably had a Care Bear party. Of course! That's what it was because that was my nickname.

9th birthday: Slumber party! We made crank phone calls that we thought were hiLARious!!! OMG! And they probably consisted of fake crying while asking if the person on the other end of the phone knew where our mommy was. Also, we were big into the "Do you have olive oil in a bottle? better go let her out!! *HAR HAR! SNORT!*" We had ice cream cake. I HATE ice cream cake.

10th birthday: Another slumber party. When you're 9, 10, 11, is there any other kind of party to have? I was on crutches because my mom, my sister, and I were involved in a heinous car accident a month and a half earlier. My ankle was busted up pretty badly. There was a "tragedy" involving water balloons and a bunch of us girls who were all decked out to go eat pizza, so my mom took us to the store to buy toilet paper. It was my first TPing experience. We got busted hard!

11th birthday: Again with the slumber party. I'm pretty sure I had slumber parties well into my freshman year of high school. I think this was the party where we rented "Risky Business" and neither I nor my mom had any idea what that was about. You could call it my "awakening" year. We had cake. Chocolatey, moist, delicious, sexy Tom Cruise cake.

12th birthday: S.P. Pizza. "Nightmare on Elm Street 1, 2, and 3". Screaming. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Cake.

13th birthday: Talked about that one girl all night long and about what a B-I-T-C-H she was. This may or may not have been the year when I thought it would be the coolest thing ever to sleep outside in the tent.

14th birthday: The girls and I hopped into "The Party Wagon" 10 deep, and my mom took us to the fair. This was before I hated country music, of course, so we shrieked "I got friends in low places where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away." We all completely knew what Garth was talking about, being drunkards our own selves. Funnel cake.

15th birthday: I'm pretty sure I was driving around in my dad's truck because when I was 15 we could get our licenses. No, wait...I failed the writing test that day, so reverse that. I was probably just eating cake. But the next night? AW, YEAH!


17th birthday: Oh, we were so sophisticated by this point. My girls and I got all dressed up. We went to The Olive Garden. We were such mature seniors, and we were having mature conversation. They tried to convince me that I should order a cocktail and that the server would give it to me because it was my birthday and they were all already 18. One of the girls ordered and Irish Creme Coffee and held her pinky out. I have always thought that she was such a snob.

18th birthday: It was my first birthday at college. I started my college career at Utah Valley State College, so I lived in an apartment complex with people who were 3, 4 and more years older than I. (If I had been a student at BYU, I would have lived in the dorms with other freshmen.) It was a blast. Some friends dressed me up in ridiculous garb, and they drove me all over town. I screamed, "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! DO YOU THINK I'M HOT?!" to many people. I was blindfolded the entire night. I sang "Happy Birthday" to myself in Movies 8 in Provo and also in Carousel, a large ice cream parlorish place. (Those were two of the busiest places in Provo.) It was the night before my birthday because my actual birthday that year was on a Sunday, and Mormons don't do anything fun on Sundays.

19th birthday: I'd become cultured over my first year in some place that wasn't Monroe, Louisiana, so we went to eat at my favorite restaurant, Bombay House. (For those Monroyans reading this, that's Indian food. I'm just yankin' your chain. You know I love you.) We also did something very BYUish: we went up the canyon, had a bonfire, roasted marshmallows after eating cake, sang songs, and quoted quotables.

20th birthday: My best friend framed my favorite print of a painting of Jesus (No, not by Greg Whatshisface!), and then some of us went to eat at Bombay House because that's where I'd eaten everyday for the previous two years.

21st birthday: This happened almost three weeks before I was to leave to go on my LDS Mormon Church mission. I was home in Monroe. I was depressed because I wasn't spending it with my best friends at Bombay House. Instead, I went to my high school's homecoming game then I went with my parents to eat at Red effing Lobster, which I hated, but whatever I was depressed I don't even feel like using punctuation marks We had cookie cake.

22nd birthday: I was in San Diego on my LDS Mormon Church mission. I woke up to a bajillion messages from my mom on my phone. Shhh...don't tell. She had my number because my best friend (see 20th birthday) had died a few months previously, and I was still living in the same place as I was at that time. So I was depressed because I wasn't with my best friend at Bombay House. But The Work was good!

23rd birthday: BOMBAY HOUSE! Lots of free Kheer!

24th birthday: This birthday did not suck, as previously reported. I've remembered what really happened. My favorite dancer of "The Pony" threw a birthday party for me in Logan, Utah, with a bunch of people from my LDS Mormon Church Mission. We went to her family's cabin, ate dutch oven pizzas, and made merry. I love her!

25th birthday: I had grand visions for the rockingest birthday ever, but my roommates wouldn't help me do anything. So I ended up going to eat dinner with some of my favorite friends from my freshman year who had recently returned to BYU as professors. (I told you everyone I knew that year was 3+ years older than I! And actually, one of the friends at dinner had never left Provorem. She was always there for me!)

26th birthday: SUCKED! I was in France. By myself. In P-ville. All alone. I went to see "The Pianist" (of ALL movies! How depressing!) in the town cinema. Around midnight Central France Time, I called my parents for my birthday. J'ai mangé du gâteau.

27th birthday: I'm pretty sure I just went to Outback with the family and had that brownie sundae thing. YUM!

28th birthday: Now this is where I'm going to deviate a bit because it's just going to be depressing if I tell you what I did on my actual birthday. So I'm going to tell you of one of my celebrations. Laura Llew and I went to Atlanta to see the Pixies in concert...TWICE! We ate Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake. Yes, it deserves to be capitalized.

29th birthday: Again with the deviating...Laura Llew hosted me for a few days. We watched bad dating shows, and we went to see Tori Amos in concert

30th birthday 28 2.0: Um...I think I just want to watch "Heroes" and "Studio 60" and let this one pass by unnoticed. Also, I think I'm going to start counting backwards, so...

***Some events are complete fabrications because I don't really remember what happened at every birthday, although, events surrounding my birthday keep certain ones vivid in my mind.***