Come Sail Away

Alpha took our pictures. Find more of her stuff at:

alphasmoot.com

alphasmoot.blogspot.com

I see a Mansford Roof

With the hygienist sitting next to the computer, the dentist inspected each tooth and made appropriate comments to be recorded in the database. "We've got slight browning on A1, A2 looks good, and there's a whisper jet on A3."
Whisper jet.
It sounds like the friend I never had. The girl I meet on the first day of school in third grade who wears moccasins and braids in her hair and packs homemade granola for lunch. Her parents were at Woodstock. We become the best of besties despite our differences, what with my parents not having been at Woodstock and my complete lack of moccasins.

Or it sounds like Gillette's newest razor. The Mach 5 whisper jet lets you shave closer than ever before.

Or it sounds like a flatulence euphemism.

"Wasth a wisthpa jhett?" I ask with with a mouth full of dental instruments.

Turns out whisper jet means a return visit. And laughing gas.

Oh laughing gas. While large crevices were drilled into my teeth with what I understand to be a miniature sandblaster, I drifted into the sweet land of dreams. For a moment I thought "Maybe I'm dying." And then I thought "This might be worth it." But then I remembered I was getting married, so I tried my best not to die. I did fall asleep and was sorely disappointed when the procedure ended and they cut my juice.

Not dead though. So that's good.

Hello Hello

glee>finals.

Raindrops keep fallin on my head

In seventeen days I'll be a married college grad. I feel really great about that. I'd go on about just how happy that makes me, but then it would be one of "those" blogs. The kind that eventually turn into a never-ending narration of married life, as though it were captivating to read about their shared adventures in making oatmeal and constructing ikea furniture. And some of them are a good read, but mine wouldn't be.

Swingtown

Swingtown

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Then we wouldn't have to wait so long

This morning I woke up to find my dog taking her last bite of a ten dollar bill.
Damn dog.

Strange Angles

There's a note in the bathroom at work which reads "If you lost your ring in here, call Cassandra" followed by a phone number which I won't post because I don't really know who reads this and though I would hope you're all the kind of people who would never dream of tormenting Cassandra, better safe than sorry.
Anyway.
The note reminded me of how awesome I was six days ago. It being April Fools I wrote a text message essentially saying that my engagement rink fell down the drain and I couldn't retrieve it. I sent it to Stephen. He was disappointingly logical and understanding in his response. But when I sent it to my mom...oh man. She called in a panic, about to drive home. And then when I revealed the truth, that my ring still sat on my finger, she said "You little brat" about ten times. Which reminded me of the time Mom was in the bathroom and I slid a rubber snake underneath the door. Ha. Screaming. Really loud screaming. Followed by grounding.
But don't you go feeling sorry for her. Over the course of April Fools in my childhood, She's placed fake poop on the carpet and blamed her children, put plastic frogs in the shower, and baked toy cockroaches in pancakes. She's also told outrageous lies, like seeing a giraffe in Provo Canyon and our male dog having puppies. We believed her. Both times. Although to our defense, it was early in the morning.
Also, my grandparents were married on April 1. They eloped. So I wonder when they told people that day if the response they got was "very funny." "No really, we're married." "Yeah, right. April Fools. I get it." "No, Mom, WE'RE MARRIED." and then my imagination starts to get out of control and I imagine a really angry great grandma throwing a flower pot at the new couple.

Gangstah's Paradise

Last night I dreamed that the name of my blog was on the news ticker on ESPN. I don't think ESPN has a news ticker. And why am I dreaming about my blog? Does that make me obsessed? Narcisisstic? A bad speller? In the dream I was also still engaged to Stephen and still a missionary and still buying kebabs from a store on a street corner in Riga and Stephen was going to church in Mona because it's cooler there.
Huh.

Annie waits

I like these kinds of emails:

"Dear Meg Morley,

 

I am pleased to inform you that your nonfiction piece "Trick or Treat" has been chosen for publication in the Winter 2010 Issue of Inscape. Congratulations!"