I Wanna Rob Barnes & Noble NOW

I pre-ordered my "Breaking Dawn" book yesterday from Barnes and Noble (Yes, I will be there at midnight, and no, I don't care what you think or how lame that sounds... anyone want to come? Jill? Britt W? Anyone?)... the lady on the line had the audacity to admit that they already have the books in the back of the store.

WHY? WHY WOULD SHE DO THIS TO ME?? It's like (to reference the Twilight series) dangling a human in front of a very, very, very thirsty vampire. Or, for something less grotesque, it's like telling a kid where the candy stash is, but then guarding it with your life so he can't get any, but still making sure that he knew his FAVORITE candy bars were there, boxes and boxes of them, loads and loads of them. It's just mean.

I eyed the back of Barnes & Noble yesterday as I was driving home---so close!!---... but because I'm a card-carrying member of the LDS church, I refrained from doing anything that would might land me in jail, because that would be bad bad bad.

I get to practice self-discipline and patience for the next (approx.) 38 hours. Woo-hoo.

It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Mormon Blogging World

Ok, people, everytime I get onto my blog, I start clicking around and looking at friends blogs and then I notice they're friends of my friends who I didn't know had blogs and those blogs lead to more random friend blogs and those blogs lead to more blogs... and suddenly I've tapped into this secret underground world of Mormon Bloggers. I am slightly alarmed at how many of you are actually on Blogger. (I can't even keep up with my "real-life friends and blog-only friends" list... see bottom right of page.)

It's a ~~MORMON MACHINATION CONVENTION~~

Sylvester captures my wonderment (sub "Mormons" for "cabbies" and anyone running by):

Sylvester Marcus: [Benji and Dingy run by] Who are they?

Mrs. Marcus: I don't know.

Sylvester Marcus: From this morning?

Mrs. Marcus: Yes.

Sylvester Marcus: [Captain Culpeper goes by] Who is he?

Mrs. Marcus: I don't know.

Sylvester Marcus: [Otto Meyer runs by] Who is he?

Mrs. Marcus: I don't know.

Sylvester Marcus: Mama, how many people are mixed up in this thing? [the two cab drivers run by]

Sylvester Marcus: Who are they? Cabbies? Mama, this thing is like a convention.

Honesty is Honestly Refreshing

I was at church yesterday, talking with my old favorite babysitter who I haven't seen in forever, Kim (not to imply that you are old, Kim!!), and she was holding her little girl of 5 months, Kate. She was talking about her and her family going to the beach this week (she has a 7 year old daughter and 5 year old son). As she's toting around Kate and keeping an eye on the other two rambunctious little ones, she comments, "I'm just not a baby person. I never have been. Babies are hard! It's easier when they are older!"

A little shocked and awed? No, and it was so NICE to hear that honesty from a wonderful mom of 3 adorable kids. It was in the top 2 things that made my day (First was seeing Gracie and Lucy in the adorable dresses I couldn't help but buy for them Saturday from Gymboree... so, so sorry Adrienne... I don't know what to get little boys besides homemade brownies). There's hope for me after all.

With the exception of Andee Galyan, all babies start crying when I hold them :(... give me anyone over 18 months, and we can be best friends [Examples: Nora, Peanut, Gracie, Lucy--when I don't have to put her to bed--Ally, Luke, Connor, Evan]... but any younger, and game's already over. I strike out within the first 10 seconds.

Thank you, Kim, for the invigorating integrity. Love it!

xoxo- tracie

(I'm trying out the whole "Gossip Girl" sign off thing... still mulling it over in my mind if I like it... mull, mull, mull...)

Why Are You Smiling At Me When I Am Going To Eat You?

This is a Smiley Face Cookie from Smith's Bakery in Bakersfield, CA.

This is pure bliss.

This is chock full o' artificial sweeteners and refined sugars.

It is still yummy in my tummy.

It is sitting, a lonely smiling cookie, on my desk, awaiting to be devoured, piece by piece, throughout my work day.

Alas! With eating this, I am a healthy-food-fiend phony.

(You know you all want one too! But you CAN'T because most of you don't live here. HA.)

Dear World: A little less conversation...

Dear Person Who Will Remain Unnamed/People of the World who don't LISTEN:

I have noticed recently that when I try to have a conversation with you, it's a little one-sided. It's not that I don't want to hear all the brilliant things you have to say (cough cough), but it's nice if the conversation goes more like a tennis game, instead of a basketball game where you hog the ball the whole time.

When we talk, I mean, YOU talk to me, it goes a little like this:

YOU: blah, blah, I'm saying really important things, blah, blah, blah (pauses briefly to take a breath)
Me: (jumps in during precious few milliseconds of silence): {proceeds to add something insightful and intelligent to topic of conversation}
Other person: ......
Me: .... (waiting for acknowledgement of my participation in conversation)
Other person: .... Um, yeah, anyways... blah, blah, blah, I'm saying really important things, blah, blah, blah.
Me: (thouroughly annoyed and seriously peeved for the rest of conversation, and probably ends/will end conversation early due to lack of respect for my AMAZING contribution)

It's like I didn't even say anything at all.

Can you just listen every once in a while, PLEASE? And not just to me... to everyone else I know you probably do this to, as well. Otherwise, I might have to delete your number from my phone. And your friendship from my life.

XOXO,

Tracie

All I Wanted Was Some Sushi

I went out to lunch today for work to get some sushi at this sushi bar right around the corner. I had a weird feeling to check the amount in my bank account before I went in... and I did... and I got robbed. AGAIN. (Yes, this happened to me last week... please click here) Of all my money. Thanks, JERKS.

B of A's "stop check fraud" program doesn't seem to be working as well as I thought/as well as they said it would. However, maybe they really were serious when they said I needed to close my current account and open up a new one...

In conclusion, I wasn't able to get my sushi (I did have my mom's VISA, but I decided not to use it since it's technically not my money). All I wanted was their Kiss of Fire roll... spicy tuna and cucumber and onion wrapped in seaweed and rice, topped off with tuna and this super-hot sauce... all for $8.00. I just wanted some sushi... !!DIE, BANK ROBBER, DIE!!

(I get a little mean when you get in the way of my SUSHI)

Ur So Gay, And You Don't Even Like Boys

Sometimes I think to myself, shoot, it's really hard to be classy. Wouldn't it be nice to air my dirty laundry and let the whole world know about {insert current catastrophic life event}... And then, I remember that it's not all about me. I need to look at the bigger picture (Thanks, Shelly!).

Because I'm better than that.

If Beyonce can do it, I can do it:

"I'm not gonna blast you on the radio,
(I'm better than that)
I'm not gonna lie on you or your family, yo,
(I'm better than that)
I'm not gonna hate you in the magazine,
(I'm better than that)
I'm not gonna compromise my Christianity,
(I'm better than that)
You know I'm not gonna diss you on the Internet
Cause my momma taught me better than that."

This doesn't count, right?

My New Favorite Word

Sissy-la-la (noun):
1. A person regarded as weak or timid and especially as unmanly.
2. a timid man or boy considered childish or unassertive
3. having unsuitable feminine qualities (effeminate)

Example: Cats are for Sissy-la-las, dog men say.

Feel free to spread it around like a California Wildfire.
(Source: Brittany Davis)

Under Construction b/c I can't make up my mind

Site currently under construction... be back soon!! (If you really miss me that much, go see my new running blog: http://thisissupposedtobefun.blogspot.com/ )

Music is the only thing that makes sense...

I love music. Music speaks to my soul. If nothing else, all I need is an iPod with my favorite playlists to be happy. (Such playlists would include: I'm Better than You, Moving on & Moving Out, Volumes 1-3, Let's Get It On, Parts 1-4, Ok, This Time I'm Really Going To Clean, "Road Trips to the beach with Carol".)

Music helps me run better ("Gangsta's Paradise"- Coolio), drive longer (10 Things I Hate About You soundtrack), clean more efficiently/actually clean (SheDaisy's "Sweet Right Here" album), gets me in the mood to bake (Sia and The Bird And The Bee), helps me feel happy ("What I Got" by Sublime, anyone??).

I LOVE MUSIC (can't say it enough). I am Queen Of The Music Domain. I know and love EVERYTHING (I could list all the genres, but you might not know/appreciate them all). Don't even try to think you know artists/songs/albums better than me, because I'll always win at this game.

I also love/live by my (cue heavenly-angels-from-on-high singing) ~~iPod~~. And it's currently lost in a chaotic jumble-jungle, also known as "my room". And so my running/driving/cleaning/ baking/LIFE/very essence of my SOUL have been sorely lacking.

I'm stuck in a catch-22: I need to clean my room to find my iPod... but I need my iPod to clean... but I need to clean my room to FIND my iPod... but I need my iPod to clean... and it keeps on going and going in circles...

I guess I'll have to bust out/dust off the old CDs I have. Ugh---CDs---so much space waste with so little music-storage-capacity.

In the (sort of) words of Lupe Fiasco: [i-Pods] have saved MY LIFE."