I received a call from “Mary” this morning. (Her name isn’t really Mary, she just didn’t want me to use her real name on my blog. I am really not sure why, it would have been her ticket to stardom.) She was a little upset over the ringtone her husband assigned to her on his iphone. I am not sure what her problem is, I think a submarine battle cry is perfect for her. That way, every time she calls, he can quickly prepare for war.

I think everyone should have a personalized ringtone. Every time we place a call, our ringtone plays. We get assigned a tone based on popular vote. If you want a fun tone, you have to be super, duper fun.

Your ringtone will be required on all employment applications. That way, when a prospective employer is reviewing your resume, they can quickly understand your personality and work ethic. If you are a hard working man, you may get a ringtone like this:

If you like pegged jeans, hairband t-shirts and think Jo Dirt is the frickin hottest guy ever, you might end up with a ringtone like this:

If you didn’t like your ringtone, you could petition for a different one. The government could set up a committee which would review all petitions and investigate whether a change is deserved. This would be a great use of tax payer money. I think we should lobby for an earmark on the next bill.

I am still trying to figure out what my ringtone should be and am open to suggestions.

What’s your frickin tone?

At one time I was nominated, “Most Likely to be in the Olympics.” Now I think it would be, “Most Likely to Watch the Olympics While Eating a Carton of Ice-Cream.” This is an honor that I hope for every day. In fact, I may start a well-funded campaign to get it going.

The last year has been tough. Seriously, the toughest I have ever had. I guess I thought that a twix candy bar, some ice-cream, a little hot chocolate and maybe an extra helping of pie would make it better. In the end, I found you can’t eat your problems. Besides, if you could, I doubt they would taste very good.

So, here I am, wearing a bodybugg, exercising and eating way more salad and way less pie than I would like. The good news is, after 9 days, I have lost 7 pounds. Thank you, thank you (said in my best Elvis voice).

In honor of my tremendous success, I present:

The Best Frickin Things About Dieting:

1. You don’t have to worry about what to make for dinner. You don’t get dinner. You do get to eat, but the portion size is not nearly big enough to classify as dinner. It is more like a snack- so small it would get lost in your frickin skinny-jeans pocket.

2. Your oral health improves. No need to spend money going to the dentist. The lack of sugar combined with the enormous amount of water required to keep a semi-full stomach, prevents all tooth decay.

3. You have just been given a raise. The decrease in your food budget now allows for a Porsche (or at least a Mini Cooper.) It’s time to get rid of that mini van and trade up! After all, once you have lost all that weight, you deserve to look smoking hot in a Porsche.

4. Your hair always looks great. Because you spend way more time in the bathroom (thanks to all the water), you have plenty of opportunities to fix your hair.

5. You have more time. Think of all you can accomplish now that you are unburdened by the hassle of food preparation and consumption. Seriously. What a hassle that was- consuming food- what a bother!

There you have it. With those frickin amazing reasons to diet, I think I am ready to start my own weight-loss program. Want to join?

If you are still unconvinced, consider the following quote. “I went on a diet, swore off heavy eating, and in fourteen days I lost two weeks.” -Joe E. Lewis

Yeah, that should do it!

It is cold and dark outside, our Christmas tree is lit, and I am listening to Charlie Brown theme music in the background. I am pretty sure everything is right with the world.

My four year-old is captivated by “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” You know, the one where Charlie picks out the smallest, most pathetic, little tree, ever? Maybe I am smoking a little something, but I LOVE that tree! Listening to the music reminds me of some of my favorite frickin memories.

Here’s one for you.

I am eight years-old living in Utah, where we have a lot of respect for pioneers. After a number of years of singing songs like, “Pioneer children sang as they walked, and walked, and walked and walked (repeat this line three times and you basically know the entire song), I wonder what it would be like to be a pioneer. Not just any pioneer, a real pioneer. The kind that walks 20 miles a day, barefoot and frozen and never stops singing.

My sisters wonder too. Are we tough enough to be pioneers? We think we are.

It’s a snowy, winter evening (I am not sure where my parents are) we take off our shoes and socks and roll-up our pants. Then, we open our sliding glass door, shivering as we walk outside, down the steps, and proceed to run (barefoot) laps around our backyard in sub-zero weather. We hold a contest of who can run the most laps in the knee-deep snow. I am sure I won. After all, this is my memory, and I can remember it any way, I want, right?

OK, maybe the snow wasn’t knee-deep, but I am keeping the win.

I have lost the feeling in my feet and am relishing every minute. I am a TRUE pioneer. I can handle anything. When I am feeling especially victorious and picturing the monument that will be built in my honor, I notice my shivering younger sister. She is pretty cold. What a pansy. Feeling somewhat merciful, my older sister and I consent to allowing her to wear bread bags, fastened with rubber-bands on her feet. Although she is definitely not real-pioneer caliber, we realize that she is only six and probably would have ridden in a wagon, anyway.

Good times.

This is my first post in over a week. I have gotten some flack for using the word “frickin” and it took a little wind out of my sails. Apparently there are some areas of the US (or at least one) where this is a bad word.

When I told this to a few of my local Utah friends, they were surprised and told me to shrug it off. In Utah, “frick” means, dang, or darn it, or oh man! After all, how bad can “frickin” be, if Austin Powers and Elliott from Scrubs say it? Those two are awesome role models, right?

So, what do I do? Should I shut down the website to keep peace, or say frick and move on? Or wait, maybe I shouldn’t say frick. Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Can I still say it?

I mean, really. How am I supposed to sleep at night, knowing that Aunt Betsy’s next-door-neighbor’s dog-walker is really offended? That would keep anyone up for sure.

So, instead of making this decision myself, I am turning it over to my faithful blog readers. What do you think? Can we get past this, or is it time to rename the website? Some other names I thought of were:

pleasedontletthisoffendanyone.com

Iamonlyheretomakefriends.com

Iwillneversayfrickagain.com

My Dad taught me when I was younger that if one person calls you a donkey, you ignore it and move on. If 20 people call you a donkey (and don’t worry, I won’t use the bad word for donkey here) then it is time to buy a saddle.

So here’s my question: Is it time for me to visit IFA (Intermountain Farmers Association) and ask for matching boots?

I work with over 40 men. We have started to even the odds by hiring a few women lately, but we gals are still considerably outnumbered. From time-to-time, I hear the guys talking about their marriages and women in general. As a member of the superior sex, I realize at times we are hard to read. In an effort to educate all you men, I am offering the following guide to understanding the female language.

She says, “It has been a long time since we’ve gone out.”
He hears, “Thanks for taking me out last month.”
She means, “Take me on a frickin date!”

She says, “I am so tired of cleaning the kitchen.”
He hears, “I am going to clean the kitchen, enjoy watching the game.”
She means, “Stop watching that stupid game and clean the frickin kitchen!”

She says, “No problem, I will just do it myself.”
He hears, “No problem.”
She means, “If you don’t take care of this immediately, you will receive the ice-queen treatment for the next three days.”

She says, “I wish we had money for a new outfit.”
He hears, “I am so glad we are being careful with our spending during the recession.”
She means, “I want that frickin outfit. Make it happen.”

She says, “I am fine.”
He hears, “Nothing’s wrong.”
She means, “You have sixty seconds to figure out why I am so unhappy right now.”

She says, “I am so tired.”
He hears, “I am so tired.”
She means, “It is your night to stay up with the baby, or else.”

She says, “Oh look, there’s a Wendy’s”
He hears, “Oh look, there’s a Wendy’s”
She means, “I want a frosty. Turn the car around.”

Well, there ya have it. As I am always super-easy to read, my husband never has difficulty understanding me. I mean, wait… hmmm… nevermind.