Sometimes I feel guilty for having such a fantastic husband. I mean, I really do. And sometimes I feel guilty for not bragging about him more often. I have this weird aversion to sounding sappy and lovey and sickeningly sweet. But seriously, people, I mean it when I say that I don't know what I did to deserve Gordon O'Neil.

For instance..

Who on this earth wakes up early with his wife, preparing a little picnic of oatmeal for breakfast, a protein shake, two mandarins, utensils and a napkin, all neatly packed and ready for her to dash out the door like a chicken with her head cut off?

Who cleans the house far more often than his wife?

Who gets out of his warm bed every single morning, bundles up and puts on his snowboots to clear the snow from his wife's car and turn it on so that it's nice and warm when she finally dashes out the door like a crazy person?

Who sits outside in the Utah December darkness on Christmas morning, waiting for his girlfriend (and later wife) to wake up so that he can surprise her the first year they were together?

And who makes coffee for his wife on work from home mornings, brings it to her with milk and sugar AND starts a fire in the fireplace while she rushes around the house, late to join her morning conference call?

Who takes care of all the disgusting (but we'll keep them vague for the sake of your delicate sensitivities, dear readers...) animal-related chores because his wife will vomit on the floor if she tries to handle the crisis?

Who is way better at giving in and admitting that they might possibly be wrong in the event of an argument? (A hint, friends, for those of you not acquainted with the O'Neils...it's not Mrs. O'Neil...)

Who scans ahead on the TIVO to spot any shows or movies that his wife may have mentioned wanting to see?

Who gets so excited to give his wife presents that he can NEVER, I mean NEVER, wait until the proper date (i.e. Christmas, birthdays, etc.)?

Who joins his wife and mother-in-law in taking about 50 children under the age of 10 to ride on the Polar Express train, clad in pajamas, on a random Thursday night?

Who meets his wife for lunch every day, just because eight hours seems like a long time to go without seeing each other?

Seriously. Who does that. You guessed it, friends...the answer to all of the above is my really amazing husband. I am a disgustingly lucky girl...

I am outraged.

It has recently come to my attention that "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" is slandering my name in the following way:

Since when is BETHANY a fitting name for the crazy old lady who gives cats for presents and says the Star Spangled Banner as a prayer????

There is too a Midget Market in Reno!

As we drove into Reno last Tuesday night, I saw the most astonishing store and I just had to pay tribute.

Please note that from the highway, it looks like this store is called Midget Market, as opposed to Gold Midget Market. I think Midget Market is funnier.

The Great Tree Debate.

Every year, promptly following Thanksgiving, the O'Neil family heads out to pick out the holiday tree. And every year, the following debate ensues...

The bushy and squatty Douglas Fir Tree...

Or the elegant Silver Tip...

As you may have noted, I am partial to the silver tip. I like it because there is plenty of room for ornaments and lights. Lucille O'Neil agrees with me.

On the other hand, Gordon and Sampson like the bushy Douglas firs, where the ornaments hang on the ends of the branches.

With the exception of one notable year, we have always come home with a silver tip. While I try my best to be cooperative and alternate tree styles, Gordon always gives in, compromising in hopes that I will compromise on one issue during the course of the coming year. I think he sees it as a "deposit" in the Grand Bank of Marital Giving In. He's a prince, that husband of mine.

So here it is...Silver Tip Number 5...

Thanksgiving 2009

My family does holidays big, did you know? I mean, we just aren't the kind of folks who let a holiday pass without a big meal, various games, dessert and at least one group family photo. This Thanksgiving is no exception...actually, it is an exception but only in that we are celebrating excessively. Three different Thanksgiving extravaganzas, to be exact.


It all started on Saturday, when my precious and over-achieving mother signed us all up to participate in a Thanksgiving lunch at our church. I greeted this experience with approximately the same amount of initial enthusiasm that I greet most church functions: minimal at best. I have been nurturing a bad attitude for months now about all things church-related and this occasion was no exception. But I would like to say now that I was wrong. By the time we were finished, I had warm and fond feelings for my church family and felt genuinely connected with them. Maybe an open heart and a little quality time was just what I needed.


Sunday found us anticipating snow and cooking a turkey for the Willard family Thanksgiving. Since some of us are traveling to California for Christmas and others are staying in Utardia, we (read: my mother. Of course.) thought it would be nice to have Thanksgiving dinner together on Sunday so that the boys and their girlfriends/fiancees could have Thanksgiving dinner. I have my doubts about whether or not they really cared, my mother will never permit anyone to feel left out for the holidays, whether they like it or not. We pretended that it was Thanksgiving and went all out. The carnivores ate turkey and I (and some other people who were blurry in my rush to get to the platter) ate millions of delicious Skallops. I mean, ate so many millions of Skallops that I immediately felt like I was going to need assistance getting up from the table. Only once a year to I subscribe to such gluttony, but at Thanksgiving....I do it with gusto.

As we all sat around the table, being thankful for each other and for Worthington foods, the maker of Skallops, the snow started to fall. We watched it roll in across the valley like a veil, and it was lovely. It snowed and snowed and snowed...almost as if we had ordered it up specially just for that moment. We spent the evening relaxing and chatting away, and I couldn't have asked for a happier evening. When it was time to go home, we scraped four inches of heavy white snow from our car and drove home through the cold, slippery roads.

We came home to find our bad dogs, soaked completely to the bone from playing outside in the snow. We joined them in the backyard, where Gordon started building a snowman that quickly grew to be ridiculously enormous. Who says only kids play in the snow?

Dr. Bronner's Castile Soap...It's A Miracle

I have a new soap in my life, and I didn't even know I needed one. But it just popped into my hygiene regimen randomly...and there it will stay forever. I feel that I owe it to you, my loyal readers, to pass on this tip. So here it is. I should also take this moment to give credit to my Mama, who actually gave me this tip originally.

Castile Soap...and my own personal favorite, Dr. Bronner's Castile Soap (in Eucalyptus) will change your life. I'm serious. This is no simple bar of soap, friends. This is a miracle product. This soap will wash your hair like it's never been washed before, I guarantee it. But it doesn't stop there...nope. It sure does not. A couple of drops of this stuff will leave your face feeling pure and clean, without feeling dry or tight. A few more drops (and I literally mean a few drops) is great for shaving. My shower experience has become remarkably simple...one small bottle of this stuff will take care of everything. But it doesn't even stop there. No siree. Castile soap can also be used in your dishwasher, it will clean your bathroom and shine your floors. It's a great degreaser and your countertops will gleam with a diluted mixture of the soap and water.

Castile soap is the green alternative to all of the cleaning and beauty products that are full of harmful chemicals and dyes. Dr. Bronner's, specifically, is made with vegetable-based oils and is completely biodegradable. It is organic and uses all free-trade ingredients, so it's not just good for you, but good for everyone involved. It comes in lots of different scents, though I don't recommend the Peppermint unless you enjoy wearing Vicks Vapo-Rub.

A word of advice, however...

When I tried to use this on my hair the first time, I had to rinse with vinegar about three times in order to get all of the residue out of my hair. Using castile soap in your hair is useful because it will strip all of the product residue and pollutants that settle into your hair follicles. So the vinegar is helpful in actually removing that from the hair shaft. Unfortunately, because I used so much of the soap, it took a couple of rinses which might have been a little too much for my fragile little hairs. A better idea would be to use a small amount, rinse with vinegar and repeat a couple of times within a week or so. There are some people who use it daily, but the vinegar was too much for me, personally. But I can tell you this...after I got the vinegar rinsed out of my hair, my hair was softer and more healthy feeling that I ever remember. It was well worth going to bed smelling like a salad, although Gordon may not have thought so.

You can find Dr. Bronner's (or really any brand of Castile Soap) at any natural foods store or any store that has a decent selection of natural products.

Give it a try! You'll love it!

And P.S. I know I sound like a commercial, but I'm seriously so enthusiastic about this product that I don't even care! It's amazing stuff!

Credit Where Credit Is Due

I meant to mention this, and I forgot. My sister Nichola is responsible for getting me into listening to Brandi Carlile. She has impeccable taste in music. Muah, sissy!

A blog for "Spanksgiving"

Thanksgiving Schmanksgiving. I normally look at this holiday with a mixture of emotions…one, it usually means two paid holidays. Plus one there. Alternately, it’s basically all about food which just doesn’t really do much for me. I mean, I like food. It’s good. But then I’m full and all of this hoopla seems silly. But what I really like about Thanksgiving…when it gets dark and even the biggest scrooges in the world CANNOT DENY THAT IT IS CHRISTMAS TIME AND WE CAN LISTEN TO CHRISTMAS MUSIC AND WATCH CHRISTMAS MOVIES ON THE HALLMARK AND OXYGEN CHANNELS EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. That being said…the idea of giving thanks is a nice one, and probably something that should not be relegated to a single day. So I figure, if I give thanks today, can we just go ahead with Christmas now?

Here are my thanks…
1. I am thankful for Internet Reversi, which gets me through the days when my work day consists of two emails and 7 hours and 50 minutes of headline scanning, Facebook monitoring and Craigslist browsing.

2. I would also like to thank Brandi Carlile for writing songs. She comforts me and validates me and makes me feel like everything is going to be great.

3. I am thankful Dr. Ahmad Hammoud, the man who made me banish the ridiculously dramatic term “Evolutionary Failure” from my vocabulary and from my life. After twenty minutes in his office, he laughed at me and told me he couldn’t wait to deliver my babies. Then he told me what our plan of attack is and showed me this fantastic picture of my ovaries. They are looking great. Sorry. TMI.

4. Every single day, I am so thankful for my job. I’m serious. I am thankful for my job and for my truly fantastic boss and my health insurance and 401k matching and life insurance benefits (which caused Gordon pause…you know, my obsession with “Snapped”…life insurance policies often lead to mysterious deaths...) Anyway. I really love my job and I love having a boss who is not an Ass-Hat, as a previous boss who shall remain unnamed in this cheerful blog. That little jackass has no place in this blog of thankfulness.

5. …And in a separate bullet, all of my peeps and my besties from work. I’m thankful that they still like me when I sometimes only have snide comments to make. Actually. Let’s be honest. Sometimes is a gross understatement. I mean to say that I CONSTANTLY make snide comments.

6. I am also thankful for the elementary-schoolers who cross at the crosswalk in front of me every morning on their way to school. Those adorable little ding-dongs, who usually carry their coats rather than wear them, are inspiring and precious in their enthusiasm for everything.

7. I am very thankful for my pets. You know this already, but in a silly way, they enrich my life in so many ways. They can never get enough love and pets and are always up for a snuggle on the couch. And they make me laugh constantly. And most importantly, their capacity to love is absolutely unparalleled and insatiable.

8. I am also thankful for Frank Sinatra and Will Ferrell, who have both gifted the planet with the funniest Christmas movies in creation and make me almost giddy with Christmas joy.

9. I am very, very thankful to Mother Nature for sending us some GD snow. Finally.

10. So, so, so importantly…I am so desperately thankful for my family, both my biological family and my married-into family. There is nothing in the world like knowing that there are people in the world who are firmly in your corner and they are not going anywhere. You could be the worst person in this whole planet, in the darkest and most lonely place in the universe, in the scariest and worst moment of your life…and you always know that they are there for you, they are pulling for you and wanting the absolute best for you. It physically hurts deep in your chest cavity to love them as much as you do.

11. I’m also thankful for my pink shaker bottle, in which I mix my protein shake every morning. Somehow having a cute pink bottle makes it easier to drink it down.

12. Also, I continue to be thankful for Starbucks and for coffee in general. It seems silly, but words just don’t go far enough in explaining the simple pleasure of a warm, cheerful beverage to warm the hands on a cold morning.

13. I am especially thankful for my house this season as well. We have had a great time working on our house this year, from the landscaping to painting the upper level to re-finishing our basement. Not only has it been fun to see things transformed, it’s also been very bonding for Gordon and I to work on projects together. And some day, we’ll bring our baby home to this little nest that we have created together, just for her.

14. I am thankful to James Taylor for making the best Christmas album ever in the galaxy. Just the sound of his voice singing Christmas songs makes me feel warm and cozy and wintery.

15. Of all the things I could possibly think of to be thankful for, both random and serious, none come close to how thankful I am for my husband. I love him more than anything in this world. He makes me feel happy, loved, safe, confident, and most of all…committed. It’s a wonderful thing to feel so deeply committed to one person. He is truly the other half of me and he is my entire world. I know him so deeply, I know him better than anyone else on Earth. And I love him for every single little part of who he is. And if I didn’t have him, I would truly have nothing at all.

Okay. Let the Mindless Drivel Resume...

I keep nagging myself to write another blog...I'm not nearly so despondent as I was at the writing of my last entry. Problem is, I'm in a bit of a creative drought. I can't really think of anything particularly interesting to say...

Huh. Yeah. Nothing.

I guess I could tell you about my new favorite TV show, called Three Sheets on the Fine Living Channel. It's funny.

I guess I could inform you, if you don't already know, that Starbucks is now serving warm and delicious beverages in the Christmas red cups. That always makes me happy. So that's good.

I guess I could tell you that the painting of our house continues...most every weekends finds us procrastinating until 4 p.m. on Sunday and then scrambling to finish the project around 10:30 p.m. So we're making progress there. Yeah.

I guess I could also tell you that it's Sampson O'Neil's 1 Year Anniversary of the Day He Became An O'Neil. He seems pretty happy...I mean, who wouldn't be? He eats People Food every day, has fourteen different beds, gets to go camping and has an endless supply of birds to chase in the backyard. Yay.

So that about sums it up. Work is boring. Home is peaceful. And really, what else is there? Yup. We're deliciously boring. And never have I been so relieved to report boredom in my whole entire life.

Darwin Would Call Me Unfit

This may be a strange topic for this blog, which is normally a silly, essentially meaningless forum for my snarkiness. It's good for me, I have the opportunity to be goofy and normal. But (the heaviness descends here...) today I just need to talk about some of the heavier things that are happening in my life. So I apologize for throwing the big, heavy, wet blanket down, but it's a very real part of my existence these days.



This morning, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought "Who are you? How did you get here? Is this even real life or is it some weird dream? And since when do you get so angry that you want to hit and call names???" This weird girl (who must be related to Ursula) has possessed me for months...and the weird thing is, I didn't even know it. It's like an incidious disease has invaded me and eaten up all of the kindness, the enjoyment, the unshakable happiness that used to be my default mode.



But this morning, I realized that it was there. In many ways, it is kind of a relief to finally figure out what in the blue hell has taken me over recently. My anatomy has betrayed me, and I'm furious about it. I finally figured this out as I stood in the aisle at Barnes and Noble with a book in my hand called "The Infertility Survival Handbook", and felt like the biggest failure in the Universe. From somewhere inside of me came terms like "evolutionary failure", "barren", or "empty womb".



This sounds really stupid. I know it even as I type this. And I know, I know, I know. My trademark dramaticism may be showing through here. But this is the kind of poison that has been eating me alive for months. It's not really reasonable, but it's there and it's devouring me. I think you have to be a woman to understand this, and probably a woman who has been through all of this to completely understand this whole infertility thing. In the broadest terms, my evolutionary purpose is to bear children. Biologically and emotionally, I am meant to be a mother. And the desperate reality that this may not be possible is a realization that can't really be explained. It's a little like someone poured boiling water down the very core of my being (there's a nice visual, eh?) and the very middle of myself is melting and collapsing.



I'm having a little bit of a melt-down here, it's like a perfect storm has descended on me. (Pity party to commence here...) I'm rapidly circling the age of 29, which is an age where I intended to have a couple of little bald, rolly-polly kids. Pregnancy surrounds me, and it's really killing me to try to convince everyone that it isn't skewering my insides. I'm getting ready to see an Infertility Specialist, which is the most surreal experience ever. The testing, the poking, the pricking and the bankruptcy of this prospect is so very real and so debilitating. I am experiencing the absolute lack of any hope at all, which I know is completely detrimental to the whole process.

I am fully aware that I am blowing this out of proportion in some measure. But it's my blog and I get to say whatever I want.

A Smattering of Recent Thoughts

In the last couple of days, I've had very little time for blogging, which hurts me deeply. I feel so inhibited by the fact that I don't have the time to stop what I'm doing and dash out an entry about the randomness that constantly parades through my cerebral cortex. So I've had to condense my musings to the following bulleted list of complete hogwash:

• Someone needs to take my day-timer away from me. I've developed an irrational and completely ridiculous obsession with those little squares with numbers in them. I fill each square with important notes such as "MUST go to the gym today" or "Ramen noodles for dinner tonight". Each note is color-coded, though I have long since forgotten the actual rhyme and reason for each color. At this point, I just like to look at my calendar and see all the lovely colors.

• It has once again come to my attention that many people in the Universe believe that you must wait for a green light to make a right hand turn. I am beginning to think that my life's direction consists of only right hand turns and every single one of them is interrupted by someone who is not performing properly. I calculate that this egregious mistake has thus far cost me 14 hours and 8 minutes. This during 2009 only.

• Recently, I have been doing a lot of things that I really never envisioned myself to be doing. It's a little weird, I sometimes find myself saying, "Good grief. Is this for real?" Some examples include making an appointment with a Chinese Voo-Doo Herbal Medicine woman who may or may not prescribe opium and tea that tastes like dirt to induce pregnancy. I tell you...if someone told me that eating grasshoppers and poking needles in my eyeballs would encourage fertility, I'd be on that in a heartbeat.

• Disturbingly, I have found myself watching not one but two episodes of "Leave it to the Lamas". Shayne Lamas, Lorenzo Lamas' daughter, is a black hole of intelligence, illustrated by the fact that it took her "hours" to figure out how to use the microwave. I think, in fact, that the show would be more successful if E! changed the show to be called "Leave It To The LLAMAS" and did a documentary about the pack animal.

• I would like to know why I pay three different charges for water. I pay for sewer water, I pay for culinary water, and then I pay some sort of generic bill for water. Who in the blue hell is running the show over there at Midvale City Corporation, I would just like for someone to tell me.

• I am currently obsessed with Marilyn Monroe. I recently heard that her death is shrouded in mystery and there are those who believe that the Kennedys had something to do with her death. I wish that my work would assign me to write an assessment about this subject so that I could research in peace. It doesn't seem likely at the moment.

That's about all the random I can come up with, just off the top of my head.

The Blog With No Title.

Dear Ne-Yo (the hip-hop superstar for those of you not tapped into THE SCENE)-

I need to say this to you. You know I have long been a fan, if somewhat of a "closet fan", if you will. I keep it a secret because I have approximately zero rhythm. And a very public love affair with all things country music-related. And my husband laughs at me when I bust any of my patented hip-hop dance moves. So it's best if we keep our relationship on the down-low, if you know what I mean.

But listen, chum...back to the thing I need to say to you. It's been weighing on my mind for weeks. I'm having a terrible time taking your newest song seriously. It's called "I Wanna Be On You". Initially, I thought it was a silly/vulgar/ridiculous title, but I quickly moved on, enjoying the beat and picking up on the words. But something in the corner of my mind was tickling me. And then...I realized it. Ne-yo, the lyrics of that song are disconcertingly similar to my favorite line from Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. Let's do a little comparison so you can see my point...

The words to your song:

Take this thought and send it your way,

And if you don’t like that, then send it right back,

But I just gotta say

I wanna be on you (on you),

I wanna be on you (on you)

And if you don’t like that, then send it right back....blah blah blah.

And now...The third funniest line from Anchorman:

Ron Burgundy: I wanna say something. I'm gonna put it out there; if you like it, you can take it, if you don't, send it right back. I want to be on you. [Veronica turns and walks away]

Ron Burgundy: Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. I... I wanna be on you.

Can you see my point? Is this purposeful? It's just that I'm having a real struggle taking this song seriously. Don't get me wrong, I still sing it in the car and even throw out a few fingersnaps and foot taps, but in all seriousness. I just can't find it in my heart to add this one to my own personal Top 10. I hope you understand. I also hope you'll take this as a learning opportunity, in the future avoiding the use of ridiculous quotes from ridiculous movies as fodder for love songs.

Thanks for stopping in. And by the way...could you just become a follower of my blog? I currently have two followers, who I adore immensely (woot! woot! to Micci and Sarah!) but I'm looking to add. So if you'll just become a Follower, I promise to continue to offer you my true and honest opinion.

Thanks again, homie.

Bizzle O'Neil

About My Relationship With Bad Words

Today seems like a good day to talk to you about my penchant for bad words. I have a funny relationship with curse words. On the one hand, I was raised in a household where swearing was not allowed. But on the other hand, you just can't beat the feeling of naughty satisfaction when you think a really awful word. It gives you such a feeling of badness!

Growing up, on the rare occasion when someone (Dad) would say a "bad word", it was always explained that there are some words that are only for "grown-ups" to use, and only in situations where the effect was appropriate. There were a few occasions when we thought that a situation warranted the use of profanity, but our judgment always turned out to be erroneous...for instance, there was the time when one of us decided that it was appropriate to call someone a "butt head". ("Butt" counted as a "bad word" in those days.) My mother's response was to tell us that if she heard that word come out of our mouths again, she would draw a line down the middle of our faces and make us understand, first hand, what it feels like to be a "butt head". Enough said. We only used that word out of her earshot from there on out.

Around the time that we all grew up and started being adults, profanity became a regular occurrence in my parents house, but always as a fun way to shock my mom. Sometimes she pretends to be shocked, which is the most fun. Other times, she just pretends that she doesn't hear us. But we know that she does hear us because once in a blue moon, we catch her swearing too! I feel a sense of triumph every time I hear my mom say "Shit!" And it was a red letter day when she used the word "bitch" during a fit of road rage one day. My siblings and I look back at that day with great fondness. (Note to Mom: I'm sorry to rat you out, but for the sake of quality journalism, the truth must be told.)

So how I turned out to be a sailor-mouthed cusser (in my mind) is completely beyond me. Now don't get me wrong...I rarely say bad words out loud, especially around individuals who are unfamiliar with my secret love of shocking words. And when I hear other people using such words in excess, I tend to feel slightly uncomfortable. I don't know how to explain it, I really don't. But I just love to use terrible words, even if it's only in my own internal dialogue. It is just so satisfying. Sometimes I will randomly drop the "F bomb" into my thoughts and it gives me such a thrill. Of course, it's a dirty disgusting word, but it somehow gives me such a feeling of power! I try to avoid using God-related words, but I don't restrict myself from using the initials "GD" on a regular basis. For instance, I might say "Please pass me the ketchup", when what I really think is "Please pass me the GD ketchup".

Maybe I like the shock that bad words impart...I even shock myself when I THINK those bad words. Maybe it makes me feel a little bit powerful that such a small girl can use such terrible words. Whatever it is, that shockingly powerful badness is addicting. GD it. HA!

And now for a blog about Snuggies...

I might be a little behind the times, I realize, because I am just now jumping on the Snuggie bandwagon. But you know, prior to this moment, I didn't realize that they have

SNUGGIES FOR DOGS.

Yes, you read right. They have snuggies for dogs. AND THEY CAN MATCH THE PEOPLE MOM'S SNUGGIE. Well, Snuggie People, you had me at hello.

My friend McKenzie and I have hatched up a great plan. We plan to wear Snuggies to the office for Halloween. Neither of us are very much into the whole Halloween scene, but we are going to make an exception. And as a very special bonus, we are going to get the special Book Light that comes with our twin snuggie order. We are not just going to stop at Snuggies, don't you worry about that. We have made plans to accessorize. Personally, I plan to sleep in my Snuggie the night before, wear foam rollers in my hair and just get out of bed and head to work. I plan to look sufficiently rumpled. McKenzie is going to wear her Snuggie and walk around with knitting needles and a half-finished afghan for the day. She might also tattoo the words "SNUG LIFE" on her knuckles.

Now McKenzie and I have historically been less than stellar about following through with our plans. It took us about two months to actually complete a Girls Day Out Movie. But we have like six weeks to plan this Snuggie Extravaganza, so I have faith in us. Stay tuned for photos...

Two Years Ago

This is a very special day. So special, in fact, that I plan to write multiple blog entries. The first, and obviously most important, is that today is my 2nd Anniversary. I haven't decided exactly what the second blog will be about, but there is a good chance that it will be about Snuggies, so get ready for that.

But anyway. As I was driving to work this morning, I was thinking about what exactly what I was doing 2 years ago today. It was such a crazy, stressful, fun day. I swore I wasn't going to be a Bridezilla, and I think I did a pretty good job of it. Except that one moment where I locked myself in my sister's bathroom and sat in her bathtub, crying because one of my bridesmaids wasn't cooperating properly in the process of getting our hair "did". But that was one brief moment. I was delightful the rest of the day. And the cocktail or two that my sister slipped me was simply for refreshment. So anyway. What I remember most about all of that preparation hoopla was early in the morning, long before anyone was awake. I woke up on my sister's couch, having stubbornly stuck to my resolution that Gordon and I could not sleep together the night before our wedding. It was my little salute to propriety, I guess. So I woke up before the sun was up, partly thanks to my friend's dog, Rugby, and partly thanks to the fact that I was a bundle of stress, nerves and excitement. Five a.m. found me in Starbucks (where else??) drinking an octo-shot latte, trying to find the exact words to describe the way that I felt. In the end, I didn't finish writing those vows until about 4 minutes before the ceremony started.

It's funny...I think about what I would say in those vows today, if I had to do it again. I would definitely thank Gordon for changing my life and for loving me the way that he does. I would still tell him that he is my world and nothing on this earth could ever change that. But you know, I think I might mean all of that stuff even more than I did on that day, two years ago. I would tell him that I will stand by his side through the rough times when we feel like fighting and yelling and giving up. I would promise that I will stand by his side in the good times, too, those times when money is good and we have triplets and the house is always clean (because we have a maid). I would probably add that I promise to choose to put our marriage and our life before everything, and that I would make that choice every day for the rest of my life. And to be fair, I would still tell him that I DO NOT promise to obey him, but I do promise to take his opinion into consideration.

Gordon and I have been together for more than six years now, six years of good and bad and easy and hard times. The thing that strikes me the most today is how proud I am of the life and the relationship we have built. It has been built on more love than you can even imagine, on friendship, on humor, on a few tears and on lots and lots and lots of compromise. We have found the recipe for a perfect marriage, the two of us together. And we'll keep tweaking and substituting that recipe along the way, because if we don't ever accomplish another thing in this life, we will know that we have lived a rich life worth being proud of.

Ursula

I have an alter-ego, did you know? Her name is Ursula (name courtesy of my brother, Tedson). Ursula used to be a shape-less, name-less vixen who made regular appearances but really never had any true identity. But then, one day, she took on a name and now she's an actual resident in my home.

Quite frankly, Ursula really isn't very popular. I (the better half of me, rather...the one known as Bethany) am really the only one who puts up with her, even pampers her and encourages her outrageous behaviour. Gordon puts up with her, but just barely.

Ursula never has anything but snide and snarky things to say. Ursula is not shy about letting people know when they do not meet her stringent standards of behaviour, appearance and general demeanor. Tackiness is completely unacceptable in Ursula's realm of existence, and naturally, the definition of "tacky" is entirely up to Ursula. Ursula is the QUEEN of eyerolling and blank stares. Ursula looks down on individuals who fail to match their socks, who breathe loudly or intrusively, or who slurp inappropriately from water bottles with sport caps. Ursula gets annoyed by people who carry on stupid or pointless conversations in her vicinity. Ursula also gets unreasonably enraged with individuals who are brave enough to interrupt her elevator ride to travel a single floor. Ursula has nearly uncontrollable urges to scratch them. Ursula has also been known to turn the sprinklers on when rude non-O'Neil-guests park in front of her house. This happened recently before I (Bethany, the nicer half) was able to reign her in. Ursula was very satisfied and giggled a mean little giggle at the water spots left on the offending cars. Ursula sighs and pouts and is a prolific grudge holder. Ursula thinks up rude and outrageous insults while she showers in the morning, trying to keep them in the forefront of her mind in case the opportunity arises to put them to good use.

The list of Ursula's bad traits goes on and on. Every once in a while, I let Ursula have free reign and it's such fun! But then, I have to deal with the consequences. And so, even though she is FAR more interesting than Bethany, I must make a daily commitment to keep her in line.

Nerds Anonymous.

I want to say something. You may think a little less of me, you might think I'm a little geeky, or maybe you will get the (erroneous) idea that I'm not the Life Of The Party. But I'm just going to come right out with it.

I LOVE BOOKS.

I mean I love the pages, the actual cover, the crisp paper and the unmistakable smell of fresh ink. I love the feel and the sound of the spine cracking and the pages turning. And while we're at it, I would like to take this opportunity to let you know that I am a firm believer in judging books based on their cover. Whoever said that one should not judge a book by it's cover is living in a delusional world and probably isn't very attractive.

I think you have to be a real bookie to understand my love and obsession with books. When I'm a little sad, or when I need a vacation and the jet isn't in the garage, Barnes and Noble is my place of solace. I buy books the way many people buy shoes (don't get me wrong...I have a love affair with shoes, too, but just on a different scale.) It's an obsession that Gordon doesn't understand. Once, he suggested that I sell a couple of my books to some sort of used book dealer. I looked at him like he had just suggested that I sell Barclay O'Neil to the cat pimp (work with me here.) The mere thought of parting with any of my books is a disconcerting and foreign concept to me.

Whether I have loved or hated it, a book is an investment to me. I have invested my time, my attention, my emotions, my thoughts...each book, in it's very own way, has stretched the boundaries of who I am. I sort of view books as little Tetris blocks, each working together, fitting together, contributing in a very real way to the person that I am. If you were to look inside of my soul, you would see "Ramona Quimby, Age 8", down there towards the bottom of the stack. Surrounded by Ramona would be Anne Shirley and Laura Ingalls, Mister Toad and Ralph S. Mouse. Further on up the stack, you'll find the characters from Dracula, The Metamorphosis, The Yellow Wallpaper and various other so-called Forced Reading Materials from school days. Sandwiched between these, you'll find the Ya-yas, who figure a prominent standing in my Top Tier of Favorites.

The Divine Secrets of the Ya-ya Sisterhood (and the accompanying novels) are amongst the books that had a profound impact on my life as a woman, a wife, a daughter and a sister. I make a point of re-reading them once a year, not only for the pure entertainment value, but also to remind me of the complex and beautiful way that female relationships grow and work. Every single time I finish, I am tempted to call my mama and my sissy, dance wild dances and sing "Moon River".

I store my books on bookshelves in my office and in my living room. I cram them in there, every which way they will fit, categorized according to my own personal emotions for each. I cherish them the same way that I would a whole collection of best friends and family members. They are a very real part of me and every single book on the shelf has it's own spot in my heart and in my mind.

One of these days, I'll write one of my own. Until then, though, I'll enjoy the comfort of sitting in my living room, surrounded by those old and new friends.

Darby O'Neil

I am lame. I've really neglected my blogging lately, and what I have had to say...well, it's not been very enjoyable. It's not that I've run out of interesting things to say...no, not at all. In fact, I say interesting things to myself all of the time. I just forget to take the time to sit down with you all for some idle chitty-chat.

So anyway. We have added a new character to the roster of O'Neil family characters. His name is Darby O'Neil, and he looks like this:

Technically, Darby O'Neil has a lantern and the teensiest little hatchet in his hand. But since I don't have his actual portrait with me today, this generic, stand-in gnome will have to do. So Darby O'Neil resides in the flower bed in our front yard. He spends his days, standing beside a big rock. It's actually quite adorable because he looks like a little miner who just climbed out from under the boulder.

N0w, I have been known to be slightly judgmental of people who have gnomes residing in their front yards. I have even been known to utter the words "tacky as all hell" when I have seen such lawn decor. But my husband, (who has a wee bit of Irish in him, as you may have noted from the O and the apostrophe in our last name) decided that a gnome was necessary to pay homage to his ancestors. We looked for quite some time before we found little Darby. But at last, we found him and he's become an indispensable part of our landscaping.

So Darby stands guard in front of our house, a tiny little sentry who guards our home and welcomes us when we return from our travels. God bless you, little Darby.

Stay tuned for the next installment of Landscaping Blogs about the newest addition...those horrendous lady's ruffly butts that are intended to look like a plump gardener, bent over and almost showing her bits to local traffic.

Dear Diary...

Well, dear friends, you may never actually see this post. But in case you do, I hope you don't mind serving as my journal/therapist. If you do...stop here. If not, read on and please tell me that I'm normal and that things will eventually get back to normal.

So we have just returned from the annual Willard Family Reunion in Bear Lake. We had a great time...the weather was hot, I sunburned my nose so that it looks like the landscape of the sun, my dogs loved the water, we played horse-shoes and bacci...it was great. And then...it was awful.

Now, I have been married for two years, and been with Gordon for six years now. We could both be described as...uh, passionate....maybe a little stubborn...certainly vocal. For all of our flaws, and there are many of those, we are totally wrapped up with one another and live for each other.

But on Sunday night, I don't really think we sounded like we loved each other very much. As a culmination of many things, Gordon and I proceded to have one of the biggest fights of our married life. In front of everyone. It was nothing to be proud of, I'll tell you that. It involved a lot of yelling, irrational behavior, and the throwing of one waterbottle at one individual's head (you might take a wild guess at the launcher and the receiver were in this scenario.) And a lot of words that no one really meant. I was, and am, absolutely horrified and mortified, all at the same time. I was also white-hot furious. Friends, this was the kind of fight that you would never want anyone to know actually happens. Most people with any sense would save these kinds of exchanges for moments of privacy...well not us. At least not that day.

So the dust is settling, but what remains is a lot of embarrassment, a good share of anger, and a lot of relationship repairs....not just our relationship, but other ones as well. It's one of those things that leave you feeling a little dark and ugly inside. And pretty sad, as well. On the other hand, it's also an experience that makes us love a little better and build relationships a little bit stronger. It also helps us to know each other and understand our weak spots.

So anyway. In case you hadn't gotten the memo...neither of us are perfect and we certainly don't have a perfect relationship. But we have plenty of love to fill in the cracks, which is really all you can ask for, I guess.

How To Tell When You Are Getting A Bad Haircut...

I'm pretty picky about my hair. I know. I just have a particular vision of my head and I just really don't think it should be so difficult to create via scissors. So I got my hair cut today. The following are signs that should have tipped me off:

1. When your stylist looks like Jem (as in, Jem and The Rockers)...and when you aren't in the market for a similar look...you should think twice.

2. When your stylist repeatedly jumps up and down, saying "OMG! This is so cute!" This occurred both before and after I made her re-cut the entire back of my head...I should have paused.

3. When you show up at the salon with multiple photos of the exact style that you want, and you still don't end up with anything remotely similar....yeah. RED FLAG.

4. When the stylist gives you the customary head massage during the shampoo/conditioning feature of the event, and your scalp comes out feeling like she used a cheese grater...the rest of the experience may not turn out that well.

5. When your stylist concludes the experience with copious amounts of hair teasing and enough hair product to supply a small country...you can probably assume that she is trying to hide the actual haircut under all of the teasing and fluffiness.

In the end, of course, my hair will grow out and I'll figure out a way to manage it. But for now, I look like someone akin to a character from my Lil Green Patch...

A New Fashion Tip

We have an office dress code...not surprising since most offices do. No butt-baring jeans, no bikinis, pretty standard stuff. Flip-flops are also against the dress code policy, though not for reasons of safety, as one would think. No, they are against the policy for reasons of hygiene.

The verbiage of the policy reads:

"This policy is founded on a health concern. Foot fungi can easily be spread. The fungi typically infest the soft tissue regions of the foot, near the toes, and flip-flops do not adequately cover this region."

Ew. So those of you who know me best (i.e. my husband) know that I'm neurotic about outfits. I require coordination in ALL THINGS, particulary with footwear. It would be a cold day in Haedes if I ever left the house wearing shoes that do not accent and highlight my ensemble. So when this dress code policy came up, you can imagine that it threw me for a loop. The vast majority of my summer footwear involves the baring of my "soft foot tissue", which, I may add, is completely fungus free. So to have my footwear outlawed will inevitably ruin the experience of Getting Dressed In The Morning. I mean, I seriously don't leave the house unless I'm nothing short of thrilled with my outfit. I expressed my concerns and my generous boss offered an 15-minute window of "grace time" that would supposedly allow me to come up with alternate foot arrangements. Generous as this is, it does nothing for me. An extra fifteen minutes in the morning does not conjure up appropriate footwear in my closet.

So I've brainstormed an alternate plan and thought I would share it with you for those of you who have similar woes.






This is cute, right? Don't get me wrong. I don't actually sport this look in the public arena. But around the office...it's just the ticket. Plus, it's pretty funny.

Fleetwood Mac

I really love Fleetwood Mac. I don't really know how this happened. One day, I just loved them. I suspect my husband had something to do with this, since I certainly didn't inherit this love from my parents.

So Stevie and the gang were in town last night for the 2009 Unleashed Tour. After much debate, we finally decided that we deserved a night out and decided to get tickets. Now, recently, I discovered that Craigslist is good for a great many things. If you are looking for the engagement ring you lost in the park...Craigslist is your answer. If you are looking for a companion to share your love of Yanni...hit up Craigslist. It is a veritable ocean of opportunities. HOWEVER. If you are looking to purchase concert tickets, think twice. My precious husband had made arrangements to purchase 4th Row FLOOR tickets from a woman in Provo (45 minutes from our house.) She had given us two options...wire her money to Wal-Mart and she would email us the tickets, or come down and pick them up. After much thought, we decided that the drive was worth the peace of mind, seeing this woman and knowing that she was legitimate.

So off we went, making our way through the rush hour traffic, working out the exact strategy that would allow little old me to see the stage in the event that a garagantuan individual stood in front of me, which nearly always happens. So we arrived at the woman's house, a nice, respectable looking place. The woman who answers the door tells us that there is no one there by that name. We are puzzled. We are certain that we wrote the address correctly. Gordon picks up his phone to dial the woman's number, only to find that the iPhone has failed us. It is completely frozen. We are unable to retrieve her phone number, her texts or her emails. We are frantic. Well, Gordon was just pissed. Sorry. Uncuth language. Fast forward through about 10 minutes of fury, the iPhone miraculously unfreezes for a moment and yields Jessica M's phone number. We call her number, only to be told that she's sold our tickets 20 minutes ago. Fury and devastation ensue. And I cry. And Gordon says a lot of bad words to them.

As we drive back to Salt Lake, we convince ourselves that this was surely a fraud. There had just been too many things that weren't right. Too many suspicious occurances. As we approach our exit, the cursed iPhone rings. This time, it's another ticket broker that we had previously spoken to, offering us decent tickets for a decent price. We jump at the chance and sail right on past our exit. Things are looking up.

We arrive at our destination, pick up our tickets and politely refuse the offer to share a bottle of vodka with the ticket scalper (though it was sorely tempting, she really didn't look like she had Hepatitis.) So we parked, showed the ticket man our tickets and skipped right in to the show. But stopped for a super-sized beer immediately. Our tickets were reasonably great and the show hadn't even started yet.

As you know, I love lists. So I'm going to cut this narrative short and give you a list of my favorite parts...

1. Between songs, Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham would often talk about the songs, their history, how they came to be and where their minds were when they wrote them. Since most of their music is so emotionally complicated, it was so awesome to learn about what led them to write such classic music.

2. Stevie Nicks wears the craziest clothes. She has this amazing mixture of Boho meets the witch in Snow White with those weird leather gloves. And one hand of the gloves had full fingers, the other hand had no fingers at all. Also, she has a make-up style that is somewhat reminiscent of Gene Simmons and Beth Chapman, Dog the Bounty Hunter's wife. Paint by numbers style.

3. Mick Fleetwood seems like he could double as Santa Claus in his spare time. He is so jolly.

4. It would seem that there was a special section for elderly Fleetwood fans. And we were in it. Several times I laughed out loud at the group of six people in front of us who looked like they had taken a wrong turn on the way to the Kings Heralds concert. All six of them sat perfectly immobile, never a head bob, a clap, a small hoot or even a blink, as far as I could observe. I did detect movement on two occasions: first, when they pulled out their binoculars to peer at the stage (which was no more than 20 rows away) and second when they PLUGGED THEIR EARS. It was hysterical. I laughed so hard.

5. I really liked it when someone tapped Gordon on the shoulder and asked us to sit down. I liked it even more when Gordon told them to forget it.

A few other things that I noticed...

1. At what point did the cowboy hat become the universal head apparel for concerts? I saw people of all shapes, sizes and styles wearing straw cowboy hats cocked at very saucy angles.

2. Just because Fleetwood Mac enjoyed the height of popularity during the late '60s and '70s, this does not indicate that Crystal Gale length hair or tie-dye shirts that haven't been washed since that era are appropriate at the 2009 Unleashed Tour concert. Even the musicians agree that yes, the world is changing. So should your sandals.

3. Why in the world would anyone get so drunk before the show even started that they wouldn't remember/appreciate/be coherent for the actual event? Think it through, people.

Out of the Habit

Blogging is kind of like going to the gym...it feels great, but it's awfully easy to get out of the habit. I note that my last blog was on April 27. Whaaaaat? One month ago. So much has happened in the last month, it's hard to believe I haven't filled you in on all the events. I guess I only like to blog when there is absolutely nothing to talk about. Here's a quick outline...

The first weekend in May found Gordon and I in Denver, in town for my ten year high school reunion. It was a bit unsettling in many ways...I just couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I am old enough to be attending such an event. My mind is 22 years old, and I really don't see that changing any time soon. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. So anyway. We spent the long weekend in Denver, enjoying our first night with the Hendricks, some of our longest lasting family friends. We love them like family and had a great time catching up with everyone on Thursday night. Friday dawned grey and cloudy and rainy, which suited me just fine. As you know, I adore rain. We hopped in our trusty rental car (a hybrid Camry, a fact that becomes interesting later...) with Aaron and my long-lost sister, Amber, and set off for Pike's Peak. We spent approximately 6 hours traveling on bumpy, dirt roads in the middle of nowhere (losing a piece of the Camry, but don't tell the rental agency) and never did find Pike's Peak. We found Pike's bottom, though, at the end of a very, very long dirt road that dead ended in nowhere. Two things were interesting about that day...a) we saw a bear running down the dirt road, and b) I saw, with my very own eyes, Bobby Brown (the bailbondsman who is besties with Dog The Bounty Hunter...half of the shows are in Colorado Springs, unearthing criminals with Bobby Brown.) He was driving a very nice Benz with a licence plate that says ILLFINDU. I snapped five pictures of Bobby and he even waved to me. He knows I am a huge fan. Now you all know as well. How embarrassing. Anyway. Moving on. The reunion was fun, although...I'll be honest. Some details are hazy. I do remember having a fantastic time catching up with one of my BFFs from the days at HHS, Lindsey "Gilly" Gilchrist Stewart. We giggled exactly as we used to. Gordon loved Mr. Gilly and had a great time. We also met up with Val and her great boyfriend Sam. We all had a great time laughing and catching up. We were able to meet up with Val and Sam the next day for a late lunch before we headed off to the airport. It was the highlight of our trip, we had a great time sitting outside, eating great food, drinking Bud Light (Sam and Gordon bonded over their love of The Common Man's beer) and chatting away.

Another highlight of the month of May was my graduation day. It took me ten years (but not continuously) but I finished my degree, graduating with my Bachelor's degree in Psychology. I was so proud, but I think my parents were even a little more proud. It was fun to finish such a big accomplishment, especially with my not-so-dedicated approach to education. Friday morning, we all met up for breakfast at the Old Fashioned Pancake House, then headed up to the U for the commencement ceremony. With several thousand people graduating in the College of Social and Behavioural Science, I was lucky that the Psychology majors graduated first. Even better, I was only the 10th or 11th in line. Against the rules, we busted out of the ceremony as soon as my name was called. I know. Bad form. But who really wanted to sit for two more hours while they called the names of people I didn't know and who were about 6 years younger than me? No one. So it was short-ish and sweet, and we had a great day.

So anyway. Those were the big events. The rest of the month has been interspersed with normal stuff...lots of yardwork and gardening. We completely redid our landscaping in the front yard and are getting through the work in the backyard. The dogs are really enjoying the freshly tilled dirt and the new woodchips in the backyard. They think they died and went to heaven in a dog toy store. Sam spends his days chasing the birds that fly overhead and throwing out the occasional yip at them, as if this will coax them to hop down to the grass and play chicken with him. I wonder if his psyche will be damaged by the fact that he spends his day chasing them, but will never in a thousand years realize his dream of catching one. Lala, on the other hand, seems to spend her days plotting ways to sneak into the garden and dig up the hills of squash, cucumber and pumpkin. Twice so far she has been successful. I didn't talk to her for two days after the last incident. Bad girl.

So that's about it. A quick and boring update. I vow to be better at updating, since I know that you are all on the edge of your seats to know what we are doing in our riveting lives!

The Story Of Bess, The Rescued Cow

Once upon a time, there was a cow who lived in the Kodachrome Basin. She lived a happy life, munching on dry sagebrush and drinking muddy water. She was a young-ish cow, but she was a very healthy size. On her best day, she tipped the scale at over 1500 pounds. Also, the cow had recently given birth to a bouncing baby calf who was the apple of her eye.

There were certainly some perils involved when residing in the riverbottoms of the Basin. One such problem was the quicksand in the Spring. After the runoff, the river would be full and raging. As the weather warmed up and the water evaporated, a thick, deadly quicksand was left in its wake. One day, the cow was wandering along the riverbottom, chatting with hero her cow girlfriends about the bull with cute rump. Deep in conversation, the cow wandered right into a spot of quicksand. She struggled and thrashed around, but her efforts only seemed to make the situation worse. The cow girlfriends continued on their way, paying little attention to the desperate situation that the cow was in. Even her baby, sprung from her loins, didn’t stop to help her. They just went on their merry way, oblivious to her plight.

Soon, the situation went from bad to dire. The cow found herself up to her shoulder in thick, pasty mud. There was no way out. She began to panic. A few minutes later, some people stopped to see if they could help. They tried throwing sticks and even a few rocks under her feet, in hopes that it might provide something solid for the cow to walk on. But the situation was far beyond that point. The sticks only served as further irritation to the poor cow.

Soon, the situation began to draw a crowd. People were pulling off on the side of the road to see if they could help her. One heroic group decided that the only way to help the cow was to use a tow rope and a wench to see if they could tow the cow to safety. It was a very risky plan. Because the mud was so thick, there was a very great danger that her legs could be broken in the effort to pull her out. But it had to be done, there were no other options. And so the long process began. And the cow just got angrier and angrier. People were pulling and tugging at her, touching her inappropriately. And some people were even trying to calm her, pet her on the nose as if she were a common farm cow. She did the best she could to defend herself, throwing her head this way and that. But the humans just kept at it.

This process went on for hours, every moment tense and emotional because of the great risk to the cow. No one was very hopeful that the situation would turn out well. It was widely thought that in the end, the cow would have to be euthanized, which is a nice way of saying that she would have to be shot in the head.

But then, progress began to be made. The humans were able to successfully pull the cow from the quicksand, but that was only half of the battle. She was very weak from her struggle and could not stand up. Additionally, she had to be pulled away from the quicksand because everyone was afraid that she would wander back into the mud. At the lowest point of the day, the cow lay on the ground, out of the mud, but so exhausted that she could hardly breathe.
Patiently, the humans kept at their struggle, hoping and hoping that by some miracle, the cow would revive and would be able to walk away. With every inch of progress hopes soared. Eventually, the cow was able to lift her head and soon was able to stand up.

And then, the greatest miracle of all, she went pee-pee on the ground, which was a welcome sign that she was going to make it.
The second challenge was to coax the cow, who was now dubbed Bess, to gather the strength to walk up an embankment to safety. For an hour, everyone watched as she struggled, making progress but then falling to the ground.

At this point, after three hours of struggle, reinforcements arrived. Two officers from the Division of Wildlife Resources had come to offer assistance. Additionally, a truck pulled up carrying five or six real-life cowboys (who reminded the author of Jim Craig, from The Man From Snowy River). On their authority, the group decided to tow Bess up the embankment, tying her back legs together. After a long and emotional struggle, Bess finally made it to the top of the embankment and was safe from the demon mud.
You could imagine that she would thank the humans for their effort. Instead, though, she was hopping mad. So mad, in fact, that she promptly headbutted the nearest object, which happened to be a truck. She took a few moments to collect her thoughts and her strength and finally wandered off into the sunset. Without a word of thanks. But the humans didn’t mind. They were happy to have saved her life. They hoped that she lived a full and happy life, until the day came, inevitably, that she would get shipped off in a big truck to go to Heaven. The End.

April 20th.

Today is April 21st. Yesterday was the ten year anniversary of Columbine. I don’t say “the tragedy at Columbine”, I don’t say “the massacre at Columbine”, I don’t say “the incident at Columbine”. I don’t like any of those words. So I just say “Columbine” because everyone knows what I mean without the use of such emotional descriptives.

I didn’t attend Columbine. I didn’t know any of the kids who were involved or even any kids who attended Columbine. That being said, I don’t think that this means that I didn’t experience Columbine. I think we all did, to some extent or another. Maybe we experienced it because we lived in the community. Maybe we experienced it because those kids were our neighbors and our friends. Maybe we experienced it because we shopped at the same grocery store that they did. Maybe we experienced it because we were living the mirror image of their lives, only just on the other side of Santa Fe Boulevard. That isn’t to say that my experience was anything close to what it was like for the kids who attended Columbine High School that day. To say such a thing would diminish the horror that they experienced. But I can say that today, ten years later, I find my life changed for having lived through that awful day.

My parents were out of the country, but not without a lot of trepidation over whether or not they could leave us alone for a week while they traveled so far away. They had never left us alone for more than a weekend, and certainly not to travel outside of the country. I happened to be home from school that afternoon. I don’t recall, but I probably was supposed to be in class and took advantage of the freedom. I would happily delete the voicemail message that the automated attendance line would inevitably leave on our answering machine that night…”Your student has missed one or more classes today, Tuesday, April 20. Please contact us at your earliest convenience.” As I flipped on the television, I knew something was wrong. None of the regular programming was on. Every channel carried flustered news anchored, trying to report scattered headlines as we watched students and teachers hanging from the windows of the high school. A few minutes melted into an hour, completely unnoticed as I watched the drama unfold. I remember feeling the need to be near people, needing not to be alone. I tried to go back to school, but we were in lockdown, no one was allowed in or out of the building. My sister was in there, separated from me. My little brother was locked down in his own school, unable to get to us, either. That was probably one of the hardest parts of that long and terrible afternoon. I needed to be with them, to have them right next to me and to know that they were there.

By later in the afternoon, officials confirmed that the standoff was over. Finally, the schools were allowed to adjourn and we all gathered back at home. We watched silently as we waited for the television to offer updates and report back on the grim news. Our answering machine was full that afternoon, though the attendance line never did get around to reporting that I had missed class that day. It was full of messages from family and friends, frantic to know that we were okay, that we didn’t attend Columbine. Most of the national news sources were simply reporting “a high school in Littleton, Colorado…”

I remember feeling a strong need to be with our friends, our neighbors, our community. In many ways, we felt very helpless and very alone, even though the three of us were together again. An impromptu gathering came together at a local Catholic church. It was a strange gathering. No one really had much to say, it was just a very shocked and silent group of people who came together because it seemed like the only way to get through this thing.

Late that night, our parents were finally able to get through on the phone lines to return our frantic and repeated messages at the hotel. They hadn’t heard the news yet. Odd that after all the events of that day, it is that conversation that I get emotional thinking about. I remember breaking down at that point, needing them there with us. They got on a plane the next morning and came home to us, slowly absorbing the shock and the horror of what had happened, right in our back yard. All three of us picked them up from the airport, still reticent to leave each others’ side.

For some reason, it always surprises me that April the 20th dawns with a lot of sadness and pain. Even ten years later, it’s a hard day. I find myself reliving and replaying each moment, the feelings still as bright and vivid as they were on that day and the days to follow. It’s a little bit shocking to realize how an event like that, even when experienced as an observer, can profoundly change your life.

Things That Must Go.

My favorite morning show on the radio does this bit occasionally, and I find it completely inspiring. Cleansing. Relieving. I've been collecting these for months, it's high-time that I set them free to cyber-land where they can irritate others as well.

Things That Must Go...Categorized For Your Convenience:

Matters of Grammar and Punctuation:

• The improper and superfluous use of quotation marks. One egregious example: “Our swimsuits are clean and ‘sanitized’”. It would appear that the swimsuits are not actually sanitized, but faux-sanitized. Look it up, people.
• The excessive use of exclamation points!!!!!

Items Related To Vehicles:

• Calvin peeing on anything. Enough already. Calvin is peed out.
• Bumper stickers with cute/stupid/smartass remarks. It’s only funny the first time, friends. Every time thereafter, it’s played out.
• Pairs of testicles hanging from various parts of your truck. Absolutely not.
• While this relates to item 2, it really bears it’s very own bullet…the bumper sticker that says “Show Me Your Hooters.” I really don’t think any more needs to be said.

Miscellaneous Irritants:

• The expression “Git ‘Er Done.”
• Medication ads in my email. When have I ever indicated that I had a problem with the size or quality of any piece of my anatomy?
• Individuals who sniffle during quiet times, such as an exam. A nose in need needs Puffs indeed. And a fragile mind also needs Puffs indeed, before she nails you in the eyeball with a pencil.
• The smell of random food around the office. I’m sure it’s all delicious, but for some reason, I just cannot stomach the smell of other people’s food. And yet, I commit these sin on a regular basis. See, I even annoy myself on occasion.
• People who borrow pens and either do not return them or press too hard on the ink tip, causing the fine point to be mashed and completely ruining my writing experience.
• FriChik.
• Animals that lack fur and have the ability to leap unexpectedly, for instance frogs and grasshoppers.
• People who refuse to see that the grocery store aisle operates under the same principle as the freeway. Slow traffic to the right, please. We’re not all interested in examining the contents of the spaghetti sauce.

Dear readers, I feel cleansed. Though I do note that my blogs have become a tad negative. Perhaps next week I'll blog about Things That Must Stay. Stay tuned.

Caroline Mason.

Caroline Mason is my favorite detective on my favorite show, called "The First 48" on A&E. Those of you who know me know that I am obsessed with crimes. Great or small, petty or felonious, I just love crimes. So it makes sense that all of my favorite shows revolve around murders, kidnappings, robberies, carjacking and the occasional shop-lifting experience.

So Caroline Mason is just my absolute favorite. There are many reasons for this. First, Caroline Mason often speaks in the third person. Just the other night, when she was sitting in the patrol car next to her partner, Tony Mullins (who is usually the Bad Cop), she said "Boy, you'd better quit that itching over there. Caroline Mason doesn't want no poison ivy." If my name was catchy enough to speak in the third person, I might consider it. But it really isn't, so I'll just leave that up to Caroline.

Another reason is that Caroline has a mini-poodle named Precious. I love the word "precious". I say it all the time.

Also, Caroline Mason has a very classy ward-robe, for a detective. She has a black blazer that she calls her "interview blazer"...magically, it ALWAYS gets the confession. Her favorite sweater is a white sweater with a fur collar. She also owns it in black. On anyone else, this sweater would look ridiculous. But not on Caroline Mason. She looks smokin'. Finally, Caroline Mason picks out handbags based on whether or not her handgun will fit in it. I'm not a gun fan. But if I were, I would certainly pick the same Dooney and Bourke purse that she counts amongst her most treasured and useful possessions.

Anyway. Thanks for joining me in a trip down Random Lane.

Spring Cleaning Day

Today was the day to clean up the backyard. It was at least 60 degrees, the sun was shining, the mud was dried up. It was the perfect day to debut my nearly-translucent legs to the unsuspecting world. I even took them to Home Depot. Here is our day in pictures...




This is me learning to use a Man Tool called a Sawzall. It can cut through tree branches and other things. Today, I used it to cut last year's Christmas tree, which was still sitting in our backyard. We're not white-trash at all.
















This is the End Result of my first adventure with Man Tools.










This is what Lucille O'Neil accomplished on Yard Clean Up Day (she wasn't interested in Man Tools).


















Sampson O'Neil was really only interested in showing off his new collar, a very studly black one, which I may bedazzle for him at a later date.



















Finally, while Gordon worked very hard all day, this was the highlight of Yard Clean-Up Day....(this is also the part that made me mad because he was messing up the neat piles of dirt that I had painstakingly raked up. This was also the part where he told me I was acting like a boring, old mother who didn't like to have any fun. Don't tell him, but I later decided that he was probably right.)

It's Spring!

Today is March 13. We are right on the verge of one of my two very favorite times of the year. Spring. I should note, however, that it is only Spring in my kitchen. The sun is bright. The air smells clean and fresh (because someone loaded the dishwasher.) I'm inspired to wear a sundress...well, that might be getting a little carried away.

I must not deceive myself...it is NOT Spring outside, not yet. The sun is up to some trickery...it looks warm and inviting, but you would find a rude awakening if you were to walk outside into my backyard. It's only about 40 degrees, and there is no fresh, clean feeling back there. No. In fact, the only thing you would find in my backyard today is four months worth of stolen undergarments (courtesy of Sampson O'Neil), a few stolen gardening gloves (once again, courtesy of Sampson O'Neil), a lot of mud and a terrible smell (as always, courtesy of Sampson O'Neil and his sister Lucille). I've already lodged two complaints with the Backyard Fairy's supervisor, but to no avail. The backyard remains a disgusting, smelly, completely un-Spring-y mess.

So I'll just enjoy the sun from the kitchen, and by no means will I be venturing to the backyard until that lazy Fairy gets her stuff together.

I am a third generation Adventist. I have been an Adventist since long before I knew what an Adventist was. I was Dedicated in an Adventist Church when I was a tiny, tiny baby. I was baptized in an Adventist Church. I was married in an Adventist Church and my husband later became an Adventist. Further back from all of that, my parents and grandparents shared a similar legacy. Being a Seventh-Day Adventist is as much a part of me as the blood in my veins and the blue in my eyes.

My relationship with Adventism is complex at best. I have been disappointed by Adventism many times. But I have always been able to separate Adventists from Adventism. I have long understood that humans are an imperfect representation of the love of God. I can accept that people make mistakes. But I've always held strong to the foundations of Adventism. I believed that we based our Christianity on the idea of Salvation by Grace. I believe, in the very core of my being, that we are saved for one reason, and one reason only. We are saved because of the Gift that God offered us when he allowed His Son to be sacrificed on the Cross. Like most other religions, Adventism has experienced growing pains as we struggle to adapt to a changing world. While there were things that I disagreed with in our doctrines, I have always felt that my core Christian beliefs matched those of the Adventist Church.

But today I find myself at a crossroads in my life. In recent weeks, I have been forced to take a good, long, hard look at Adventism and I find myself with many reservations. I am no longer certain that my core Christian values match that of Adventism. I feel a little like someone who has been on a long trip, only to find that my compass has been pointed in the complete wrong direction. I find myself wondering where to go from here...can I continue to call myself an Adventist when I no longer share any of the same beliefs? It's my home, it's my history, it's been so much a part of me. But now all of that seems to be called into question. So I'm at a loss. I am somewhat adrift, like one of the anchors of my life has come loose.

What This Day Means To Me

This day is a day that will change our lives forever. This day is a major stepping stone in the history of our country. It is the first step in the repair of hundreds and hundreds of years of injustice, cruelty and inhumanity. This day is for the Tuskegee Airmen, for Rodney King and for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. This day is for Rosa Parks and for the little girls who so courageously marched into that school in Alabama. But this day is also for every single one of those slaves who dreamt of this day, but hardly dared to hope. This day is for the millions of patriots who marched and looked to this day, faithfully believing that it would come. This day is for every single black person who ever took a seat at the back of the bus, who drank from a "colored" water fountain, or who dreamt of the day that they would be allowed to vote and be treated as a full human being. This day is for every black child who can now look to the leader of our country and recognize themselves there.

But this day is also for me, a lily-white, life-long member of the American middle class. This day is for my children. And my children's children. This day means that I can be proud to be an American, proud of what we stand for and proud of who we are. This day means that my children can grow up in a society that believes in love, diplomacy and peace. My children can grow up in a country that does not torture.

It's a long and winding road that stretches out before us. Far longer than four or eight years. But ths journey has begun and the ground is shifting beneath us. Let us all remember where we were and what we felt on this day that has changed our lives and changed our history.

Mint.com Has Changed My Life...

Hi. My name is Bethany O'Neil. I have a problem with money. Specifically, I spend it. Sure, I spend it on bills, mortgages and car payments. But really, I live to spend it on lovely things, things that make me happy and fuzzy on my insides. Things like jeans and shoes and Starbucks...oh Starbucks. There are few things in life that I love more than Starbucks. If Starbucks were a person, I would be arrested for stalking it. If there were a 12-Step program for lovers of Starbucks, I would be the President. And the Vice-President too. Perhaps even the Sergeant-At-Arms. You see...my obsession with Starbucks pervades my daily life. I've spent at least 4 minutes just blogging about it. Perhaps this merits it's own blog, at some point in the future.

But anyway. On to the point. So I spend money. Approximately 30% of the time, I remember to write down financial transactions in my check register. Well, lets be honest. 30% is a generous estimate. Recently, however, with the economic trouble we've all been noticing lately, I began to contemplate my spending habits. You can tell I'm getting to be a grown-up because I started thinking that maybe we should start being more fiscally responsible. One day, whilst reading my Shape Magazine, I read a little blurb about a website called www.Mint.com. In that moment, my financial life changed. I went straight home and visited this online miracle site. Within minutes...blammy. All of my financial transactions in one central location, downloaded daily and compiled into the most pleasing pie charts and graphs one could ever imagine. Next, one is eased into the idea of a budget. Before you know it, your finances are in perfect order. But that isn't even the magical part.

The really magical part is that somehow, your brain just switches into this new mode called Financial Responsibility. For instance, this morning, I was really craving a visit with my most cherished, loyal and encouraging friend, Starbucks. As I drove in the 24 degree heat, I could almost feel the hot, slightly sweet liquid love sliding down my throat, supplying me with the courage to face my day. But then, Mint.com overtook my free will and wrestled me into submission. I envisioned what my pie chart would look like if I gave in. That little tiny pink sliver entitled "Coffee" would get just a tiny bit bigger, and my favorite red column, the red one entitled "Net Worth" would get just a fraction smaller. So I happily drove to my office, poured myself a cup of the drip coffee that someone had so generously prepared and loved every drop of it. I loved it especially because I knew that my pie chart was congratulating me, cheering me on from wherever it resides in Cyberville.

Some Truly Random Musings...

Yes, I am blogging at work (which I ALWAYS do) but this time it's legit...I'm waiting for my email messages to convert over to some sort of new-fangled blah blah system thing. Progress is being made, completely without any effort on my part. Thus, I shall take this time to yammer on about what is, essentially, nothing.

First, I wish to note that it is a brilliantly sunny day today! I am the head cheerleader in the I Love Snow Club, but even I am happy to enjoy the fresh clean air and the sparkly snow.

Work seems to be going well these days...I'm putting in a super, super effort, hoping to force my boss into adoring me. Yesterday, he told me that I did a good job on the year-end financials. Today, he went out of his way to say good morning to me. Most exciting, he smiled at me when I said something exceptionally witty about the water cooler. Perhaps we are turning a corner in our More Hate Than Love Relationship.

Since I frequently fill the space of this blog with chatter about my pets, I should mention that my oldest and formerly fattest cat, Blue, has been pronounced as a severe diabetic. He is now a scrawny little old man, but it would appear that he is on the mend. It's his own fault. Some have mistaken him for a small, white, pot-bellied pig because he snorts when he eats and he eats enormous amounts of cat food. His rock-n-roll lifestyle, inevitably, has led him to the point of being on a serious diet and being subjected to insulin shots twice a day. This is a great trial for me, since I occasionally have to give him these shots. The vet bills from this little hiccup, in addition to the vet bills for Lucille O'Neil's ear infection have nearly caused our financial demise. A small speck of my soul regrets having so many dang animals...this speck is increasing in size, at present. What ARE we thinking.

Also, I really owe it to my wonderful husband to close with a few words about him. I sense a small seed of resentment due to the fact that I chatter endlessly about nothing and rarely mention him. So this is for you, Muffy. Every once in a while, I'll hear something or see something that makes me think about my life before you. And while so many of those memories are good and happy and are a big part of who I am, the life that I have with you is nothing in comparison. It's almost as though the day I met you, life started happening in HD. (Aren't you proud that I threw some technical jargon in there??? ) Everything else pales in comparison to the times that we have together. Every minute with you...happy, sad, boring or exciting have woven together to make our life together. I am so proud that we have taken our lives and fit them together, worked through hard times and shared the best times. I'm proud of what we have made together and can't wait to keep building on what we have. Even when I'm unreasonably irritable and snap at you to stop drumming on the dashboard or flossing your teeth in bed, I love you more than anything in the world and could never, ever imagine a life where you weren't there with me. xoxoxo