The milk chronicles

My dad doesn't drink milk plain.

He never has. His reasoning is "I was weaned once."

He drinks chocolate milk. He drinks hot chocolate. He puts milk in cereal. He eats all other kinds of dairy.

But, I have never, in all of my 23.5 years seen my dad sit down and drink a glass of white milk.

It's odd, I know, but lovable.

My mom, however, can't remember this fact. If we're ever eating something where milk is complementary, she asks my dad if he too would like a glass.

When he gives her his flabbergasted face and says "No," she always says "Oh, yeah. I forgot you're not a fan of milk."

The Vegas of the midwest.

Have you heard of Branson? Of course you have. It's the home of Dolly Parton and the rest of the Osmonds. You know, the ones that no one remembers the name of. It's where old people go for vacation. It's very cute, all of these sweet little old couples riding in on their busses into Branson, MO and walking around the little shops and going to see Dick Clark's museum. The thing about Branson is, you see all these commercials for it and think, "huh, it's probably a lot like Vegas." Flashy, but cool. Then you drive in to Branson. It's not like Vegas (not that I have first hand experience. I've never been to Vegas). Vegas has a mini Eiffel Tower, Branson has a giant bust of Ronald Reagan. Outside a t-shirt stop.

Vegas has giant fountains. Branson has a replica of Mount Rushmore with the heads of Marilyn Monroe, John Wayne, Charlie Chaplain, and a face that is either James Dean or Elvis. It's very hard to say. Also, King Kong.

Like Vegas, Elvis performs everywhere. But the tourists in Branson just might be senile enough to think that Elvis is actually performing there.

Here are some more of the gems that this wonderful place has to offer:

A pizza place with giant instruments poking out of every window.

A giant rooster (are we seeing a giant pattern?)

A highly insensitive Titanic museum. You can't see it, but the marquis says "Now Boarding."

Driving past it gave me the heeby jeebies.

Really low flying helicopters.

Random airplanes on top of mini golf courses.

A roller coaster named after America's favorite pastime. Lumber Jacking.

About 20 minutes outside of Branson, though, the flare and gaudiness is gone. There's a really sweet resort that we stayed in. There was horse back riding. And indoor swimming pools. And miniature golf. And giant hot tubs. And paddle boats. It was beautiful.

She's little and sweet.

It took mom almost the whole ride to realize that there was a spot for Ollie to sit that wasn't on her lap. Luckily she had the only kid who could actually operate a paddle boat.

The babies used the adults' life jackets as tug boats. It was incredibly entertaining, but it did mean that the adults had to turn the boat around several times to go pick up the lost tug boat.

Apparently this is how Dahlia smiles.

Yo, we ain't afraid of Brooklyn! It's just Spot Conlins makes us a little noivice.

Well he don't make me noivice.

(He really doesn't. I had SUCH a huge crush on him when I was little. And when I was a teenager. And now.

I mean, honestly, who didn't? When he takes his hat off? And flips his hair? Beautiful).

Anyways. This is not actually a Newsies post. This is a post about Brooklyn (I spent a month there one night. Ok, seriously stopping with the Newsies quotes now).

And why you should all be very proud of me.

I don't know if many of you know this, but I have a horrible sense of direction.

I get turned around really easily.

(Don't ever ask me to be navigator. It probably won't end up well)

Kathleen likes to tell a story about my first time driving.

I didn't know how to get to the church. That I had been going to since I was 10 months old.

I asked which way I went as soon as we exited the drive way.

(I don't pay attention if I'm not driving, ok?)

SO, when I'm going to a new place, I usually like to have detailed information of how to get there.

Yesterday, when I was going to Brooklyn for the first time, I Google Maps'd the directions of how to get to where I was going. Because Google Maps is the best, true dat, double true.

Well, that's usually the consensus. Yesterday, however, Google Maps failed me.

It told me to take the F train from Union Square, transfer to the A train, then get off at High St. and walk to Grimaldes.

That sounded great to me. Until I got to Union Square station. Guess which train doesn't stop there? Yeah, you got it. The F.

So, I looked very touristy, pulling out my subway map and redirecting my route.

I eventually made it to High St., and knew I was in the right area, since I could see the Brooklyn Bridge. But I couldn't find Old Fulton. So, I found a Brooklyn map on the street. Then I found where I was going.

So, just like that one time when Dia and I were lost in Downtown Tulsa and read a map to get back home, I channeled my father the truck driver, and used a map to find my way to pizza.

Because I'm amazing.

Then I walked through the Lincoln Tunnel

(or across the Brooklyn Bridge).

Weirded out.

Yesterday, I took a nap. A nice long one. The kind where you are so dead asleep that it's like you're waking up from the dead.

You're disoriented (and demented, and a little nuts. Name that tune).

But mostly, you have some freaky time dreams.

I have a long history of having weird dreams. Dreams about underwear fairs and doing drugs and never ending diet cokes at Sonic.

The one I had yesterday was pretty strange, though.

My family was in New York with me. My parents, my sisters, and my cousin, Elizabeth (I'm not sure why the rest of my extended family wasn't there. I'm sure you were all invited, I just don't remember you being at the activity).

We were in the subway, and had been tasked with chasing ghosts. Yeah, ghosts. We had to run from subway station to subway station, making sure we were in the right spot when the ghosts passed. Some were going faster than others, so it also involved some math (Don't worry, if this isn't weird enough for you, it will get weirder).

The last ghost we had to meet, we had to talk to (Just as a side note, his torso was accordion-esque). At first, I didn't recognize him, then I realized, he was my brother-in-law, Tim. We each spoke with Tim individually. When he talked to me, he told me that my husband, Denny, could sometimes be an idiot.

"Um, Tim," I said, "I'm not married."

"Oh," said Tim, "your boyfriend."

"Tim, I'm not dating anyone."

"Hmmm...well Ghostbusters is still cool."

I realize the insanity of this conversation. It's pretty bizarre.

However, in my mind, the weirdest part is that, in my dream, my brother-in-law had died,

AND NOBODY HAD BOTHERED TO TELL ME!

We finished our quest, got back in the van, and I stopped my family's conversation and confronted them about the member of my family that had passed. Mostly Daisy, since Tim is her husband.

They told me that he had washed an apple with warm water and put it in the microwave and it had given him cancer, which he had died from a few months earlier (Because that's real. Watch out for it), and they were sure they had told me.

They hadn't

Then I woke up.

Upon my entrance back into real life, I was pretty frustrated with my family.

Why didn't they tell me that...my brother-in-law was...dead?

Wait a second.

Then I realized: my brother-in-law was not dead. He was on his way back to Missouri from Indiana. And he had definitely not died from cleaning his apple in a freaky town way.

But, he was right about one thing.

Ghostbusters is still cool.

Happy Pappy's Day

I would like to take this time to thank a man who has done more for me than any other man in this world.

Sir Thomas O'Dell (although he has never officially received knighthood).

This is my daddy. And I would like to tell him how much I love him. How great he is.

He is the reason I've seen this great country. He's the one who instilled in me a love of music and of Star Wars.

He is a wonderful father and a great man, and I am lucky to have him in my life and as my father.

So, Daddy, I just wanted to tell you how much I love you.

This much:

Happy Father's Day

A lifetime love affair

When I told my dad that I wanted to get a cat, he made fun of me. And told me that I didn't need to get one, because I already have one.

And I was like "Whatchu talkin' bout, Wallace?"

Then I realized what he was "talkin' bout."

My kitty surprise.

When I was about 3 or 4, all I wanted for my birthday was a pink kitty surprise. Maybe you don't remember this toy. It doesn't involve batteries, it doesn't meow or act like a real cat. It doesn't come with its own cat car and cat mall.

It is a pink stuffed mama cat with a Velcro stomach. When you open that stomach, there are kittens inside. How many kittens is the surprise. I realize that to some of you this may sound like the creepiest thing in the world. I, however, think it's awesome. And at the time, this was the only think I wanted in my entire life. ALL I WANTED IN MY LIFE. My mom understood that I wanted it, but I do remember her trying to tell me that in a year or two I wouldn't want my kitty surprise to be hot pink. I assured her I did, and I would.

On my birthday, quivering in anticipation, I opened up my presents, and lo and behold there it was. The most beautiful stuffed animal I had ever seen. She was hot pink. She had three babies. We named the babies. I don't remember their names. I may have even named the kitty surprise. I don't remember her name either. All I know is that of all of the stuffed animals accumulated over the years, this kitty surprise is the only one I have with me at college.

I guess my desire for a cat is really more than just a 2 day impulse, but a 19 year longing.

This is my kitty surprise, by the way. It's ok if you think she's scary. I know that a lot of people do. I, however, think she's glorious.

Well played, Dad, well played.

This morning I got a call from my dad.
He got a job, and had to go into a physical.
They told him he had a hole in his heart.
And had 8 months to live.
Then he says
"APRIL FOOLS"
Big jerk.
I fully plan on punching him in the face when he comes for graduation.
But, it may be the best April Fools joke ever played on me.

i had a dream

About a car.
A specific car.
A 1986 Grand Marquis.Hello you beautiful car.
I drove one in high school.
I know it's a "grandma car" from the '80s,
But I have so much love for this car.
It is the most comfortable car in the world.
It can fit at least 10 people in it.
It could be a boat.
Also, I feel like it looks like my dad.

just to show off.

For part of my mom's Christmas present, I needed to gather some pictures of the fam. Upon looking at these pictures, I decided that I may have one of the prettiest families in the world. So, I'm going to show you all of the pretty pictures so that you can all bask in the beauty of my family.

leaving on a jetplane.

I believe that I have mentioned before my dislike of flying. But, I don't think I've told you why. I know that flights can go smoothly. I've heard that it can happen, but somehow, it's never happened to me.

Examples:

1. The first time I flew on my own, I was going to BYU to visit my sister for spring break my junior year in high school. My flight was to leave at 1:00 in the afternoon and I should have arrived in Provo around 6:00. I got through security, was sitting in my gate calmly waiting to board the plane, when a loud voice came on the intercom and told everyone to go back to security. Let me emphasize something. Everyone. Not just my flight, not just the airline, but every single person in the airport had to go back through security. Then wait for about 3 hours before we were allowed to go back to our gates. Then wait another 2 hours before we actually made it into the air. I don't think I made it into Provo until around 10:00 at night. Why? Because some idiot tried to get onto an airplane by walking around the airport. First really crappy experience.

2. For the most part, the next couple times were okay. Don't get me wrong. Lots of turbulance, lots of delays, but no huge issues. Then I flew to Jackson, MS after my freshman year to help Daisy after she had twins. I had a layover in Chicago. Dana told me to find the rainbow tunnel. I never found it, but that's only the tip of the ice burg of why that layover was bad. Along with not finding the magical rainbow tunnel, there was a ginormous storm in Chicago. Torrential rain. My 1 1/2 hour layover turned into a 7 hour layover. I was starving, tired, and beat down after finals, and I sat in the Chicago airport with no cell phone to tell anyone what was going on. Finally, I got on the plane at 11:00 at night (I had been traveling since 8:00 am). When I arrived in the airport in Jackson and my bag came off that little roundabout, I found out that the jerk airport people had left my dark blue duffel bag out in the rain during the entire storm. The dark blue die leaked on all of my clothes. Then I got down to the pick up area and there was no one to pick me up. So, at 1:00 in the morning in the airport in Jackson, Mississippi, I sat down on the floor and cried. I continued to cry for about 5 minutes until my mom came running in the door.

3. More delays, more crap. But, yesterday's flight took the cake. The flight went pretty smoothly. It was not the plane that I was the problem. It was me.

Yesterday morning, I had to wake up at 3:30 in order to get from Joplin, Missouri to the Tulsa airport by the time my flight left at 6:43. I had to drive, as my mom had to work that day and my dad's eyes make it hard for him to drive in the dark. About 10 minutes from the airport, my stomach turned itself inside out and decided that it was time for me to not be driving anymore. After crying out "Imgonnapukeimgonnapukeimgonnapuke!" I pulled over to the side of the road, switched places with my father and curled in a ball in the corner of the car until we made it to the airport. I made it through security and onto the plane without a glitch. The flight went smoothly, I assume. I slept through it. I woke up when we were taxiing around and my stomach was flip flopping all around. It was upside down and inside out. It was tap dancing and doing back hand springs (my stomach is very talented, apparently). I knew that even though there was nothing in my stomach, it was coming up. And it did. Thank heavens for barf bags.
However, the next flight did not have those happy little bags in them. For this one I had to make a fun for the bathroom. Getting sick in an airplane bathroom is not really the easiest experience.

I am grateful for airplanes. I'm glad that I can make a 22 hour car trip shrink to 7 hours. It's great, it's exciting, it's fantastic. However, just once in my life, I'd like it if I could just have one flight that goes smoothly.

The day the music died.

(Kay, maybe not the music. Maybe it's actually the Tabasco)
When my parent brought me to BYU, they took me grocery shopping and to Wal-Mart.
My mom helped me pick out the food and all of the household items.
My dad bought me a flashlight and Tabasco. Green and red.
Today, the green ran out. I almost cried.
I know, that's a weird thing to be sad about, but I almost made it all 4 years on those bottles. For some reason I get really attached to weird things that my parents buy me.
Bamboo, Tabasco, the flashlight.
I may keep the bottle.
I know, I have issues.
photo courtesy of

Walk like a man, talk like a man...smell like a man?

So, last week I ran out of laundry detergent. So, I bought a new kind.

Nothing fancy. Tide. Tide is nothing new. I've smelled Tide before, it smells good.

I bought the kind that cleans your clothes in cold water. It says the scent is mountain spring.

I figured that would be good, and I didn't need to smell it.

Yesterday when I decided to do my laundry, I pulled out the lovely new laundry detergent.

I opened the bottle.

I pulled it up to my face.

I sniffed it.

It smells like my father's aftershave.

Side note: My father smells good.

He smells like a boy. Because he is one.

I am a girl. I like to smell like a girl.

Ho, ho. Not so.

For the next 52 loads, I get to smell like my dad.

And, incidentally, because clean laundry goes in my bedroom, my room also smells like a man.

Not that great. Not that great.

So, for future reference: girls, don't buy this detergent

Boys, you feel free.

photo courtesy of

I miss my old detergent. It smelled so good.

photo courtesy of

The Happy Book.

Last night I went on a crying jag. My face was puffy and swollen, my eyes were red, and my mascara was running wild.

I called my mom so that I could lament everything that was wrong with my life. But my mother wasn't having it. She told me that I had too much in my life that was good to focus on the few small things that aren't exactly as I want them to be.

At the time I was talking to her, I didn't fully appreciate it. As my dad says, "It's my unhappy, and nobody's going to take it away from me." But, the more I thought about my breakdown today, the more I realized that my mom was right. She knows exactly what she's talking about, and she's correct to tell me that I need to be more grateful for what I have.

And then I had an idea.

It spurned not only from what my mom said, but also from what Thomas S. Monson said last Sunday Morning in his talk, The Divine Gift of Gratitude.

"We can lift ourselves and others as well when we refuse to remain in the realm of negative thought and cultivate within our hearts an attitude of gratitude. If ingratitude be numbered among the serious sins, then gratitude takes its place among the noblest of virtues."

So, Here's the idea. A Happy Book. I will start to carry around a journal. In this journal, I will write down everything I see that I am thankful for. I will sketch things that make me happy, and include pictures and quotes and colors and leaves and flowers and swatches. I'm very excited about my Happy Book.

I think that it will help me in the future when I'm feeling the way I was last night. I will read it and remember everything that I'm grateful for.

frustrating.

As implied by the fact that I got new glasses yesterday, I've been to the eye doctor recently.

While at the eye doctor, we had a nice little chat about Macular Degeneration. Magular Degeneration is an eye disease which is the number one cause of blindness in America. My grandmother has it. My uncle has it. My father has it. So, I am susceptible to it.

Ergo, our chat.

During this chat, my eye doctor gave me information on how to slow, stop, and reverse Macular Degeneration.

So, I thought I'd send this information to my parents. This shouldn't be too hard, I thought, I'll just scan the information in and e-mail it to my parents. And, while I'm at it, I'll put it up on my family's website as well, so everyone can benefit from the wealth. I was feeling very generous.

Today, I trucked my little self over to the library to scan this little bit of paper into the compy.

Then I hit a snag. The 7 kajillion scanners that used to populate the main area of the library have been moved. No matter, I thought, I'll just use the copier to email it. Well, that would've worked, had I been able to get at a copier at that time. One was frozen, the other was being used by somebody who didn't know what he was doing. Great.

So, I went up to the girl at the desk and asked where the scanners went. She said that the software was on the fritz, but there were more downstairs in periodicals. So I went there. And tried 3 scanners. None worked. The only explanation I have for this is that when BYU installed the new Windows (7?) they didn't get the right hook up for scanners. I don't know how it works. I'm not a computer person.

So, I went back up to see if the copiers were free. One was still frozen, and another dolt was using the other (this one couldn't figure out where the paper came out. he copied the same thing 3 times till he finally asked where it came out. what a concept). I waited my turn, only to find out that there is no longer an option of emailing from the copier. Yes, that was available last year, but this year? No. So, I made a copy to send to my dad. Maybe some day the god of scanners will stop his endless vendetta against me and allow me to scan one single freaking article.

be kind, rewind.

i'd like to start this post by saying that i'm not very nice in this aspect.
in most aspects, i'm very nice.
but, if you're hoping to read a nice little post about how i always rewind movies, you should probably just stop reading.

my family is a little bit technologically challenged sometimes.
we didn't get a computer until roughly 1999.
we didn't get a cordless phone until around 2001.
i didn't have a cell phone untill 2 years ago.
when i went to college, my mom didn't think i needed a compy.
so, it's not hard to deduce that we didn't get a dvd player when they first came out.
we had vhs and vcr's all up until i was a junior in high school.
with the exception of about 20 movies, the entirety of our movie library is vhs.

my dad owns a lot of movies. mostly on vhs.
he also hates it when we don't rewind them. he gets very angry.
(well, by very angry, i mean that he gets extremely annoyed. he usually says something like
"hrmmph how come no one ever rewinds these movies? it's aggravatin' hrghrghrg")

kathleen and i like to aggravate my father.
i'm not really sure why. if you annoy him too much, he will tackle you to the ground and lick your face. it's gross. and makes you do this:


so, again, i'm not sure why we do it. perchance it's because we truly enjoy pushing buttons. and my dad has a lot of buttons to push. so, we push them. a lot.

one summer, kathleen and i were sitting around trying to figure out how to push said buttons, and one of us (i don't remember which, but i'd like to claim ownership) had a great idea. a light bulb pinging idea. we would watch all of my father's movies... and NOT rewind them.

so, we spent that summer watching his movies.
we watched
all of the original star wars,
all of the indiana jones,
all of the adams family,
all of the batmans,
all of the supermans,
and yes, most of his westerns (even though we don't love westerns)
about 700 bugs bunny cartoons,
the lion king,
and anything else that we could think of that my father would watch.

and we didn't rewind a SINGLE ONE!

i would like to illustrate the beauty of this plan. dad wouldn't be watching all the movies right after we did. he would watch them over a period of two or three years. he would probably never realize a pattern, that every movie he wanted to watch were not rewound. therefore he could neither get angry with us nor lick our face. he would just get very annoyed every time he put on a movie. it was perfect.

i don't even know if he's realized it yet. and that was four years ago.

taaaaaake ooooon meeeeeeee (take on me) taaaaaaake meeeeee ooooooon (take on me)

so, today, my sister kathleen came to see me.

she likes me.
and she does my hair.
and she's awesome.
so my hair looks awesome.
this is before.and this is afterthen we got excited.
and did this:










and we listened to a-ha.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_EXxMlIExpo