I was minding my own business when on the corner of my screen MSN announced "You have just received a new message from COLON CLEANSE". There is so much going on in just that one little announcement.
And now I think I have to go #2.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Doesn't get much better than this
A few months ago, I had posted a birthday wish list. On that list I had said that a "thoughtful surprise" would be something I would want. I seemed to get a few of them over the last weekend. It started with my friend Alissa. I haven't seen her in over 2 years. She lives in Florida and has a baby and a husband- so she is super busy. Well, my friend Erin asked me to come and babysit her little girl while she ran an errand and she came back with Alissa! I was so excited, it was the most thoughtful surprise.
We then danced the night away at the Gangstas vs Robots birthday dance party. SO many people showed up, dressed as either gangstas or robots. It was sorta hilarious to see a bunch of twenty-thirty somethings all decked out. The cops came and made me shut it down at about 11:30pm- which was totally lame. He threatened to fine me and/or arrest me. It might have been the bandanna or the prison tattoos, but I remained incredibly respectful. Man the Po Po always has to discriminate.
The weather was amazing the entire time that Alissa was here. We went up the canyons and to park city. She also loved my friends (what's not to love?). She left on my birthday, it was really sad to see her go. But I didn't have time to really be sad because my friends threw me an awesome bike picnic, where we all rode bikes and ate in the park. And then my special friend Joey from out of town surprised me and showed up to make my birthday complete. He also gave me the most beautiful antique earrings in an earring box. I love them.
So, in conclusion. Turning 30? Eh, not so bad. Actually pretty awesome. The key to a successful 30th birthday is totally awesome friends. It's true.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Twin bed and no tea pot
When I was younger I used to think there were certain things that had to happen before I was officially a "grown up". I know what you are probably thinking- graduate college or have a grown up relationship-things like that, but honestly those didn't really make my list. As a kid, whenever I slept in a queen sized bed I thought "now this is what being a grown up feels like". So I kinda decided- when I have my own queen sized bed (or bed bigger than a twin) and a blender and a tea pot- I'll be a grown up. I have jokingly projected my expectations onto other people- saying, "You can't be a real grown up if you sleep in a twin bed". Of course I am mostly kidding. The humor in it all is I have a queen sized bed, a tea pot and a blender- I even graduated from college, have had a few grown up relationships and I'm turning 30 next week, but I still don't feel very grown up. Maybe I never will.
I have been listening to Death Cab non stop for the past few days and I LOVE this song. I think they are onto something- maybe I'll trade my queen in.
I have been listening to Death Cab non stop for the past few days and I LOVE this song. I think they are onto something- maybe I'll trade my queen in.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Happy Mother's day mama
So I recorded this on Christmas Eve and I thought it didn't work, but here it is, my mother singing Christmas Karaoke and my dad conducting her. I love you Mom.
And here is the essay I spoke about earlier.
She Never Met a Stranger
My mother has never met a stranger—seriously. I have never known her to be uncomfortable or shy in any type of group. She just speaks her mind and lets her personality shine through. I can’t count the times we’ve been in a restaurant or at a movie and my mother comes back from the restroom only to tell us the life story of the woman who’d been in the stall next to her. It was as if they had talked for hours instead of just five minutes. My mother is from the South, and her delicate, feminine Southern drawl immediately puts a person at ease. She calls everyone “honey,” “sweety,” or “sweetheart,” not only because it is her nature, but also because she can never remember anyone’s name! She also has a tendency to make up her own adages, such as, “You gotta go through the fire before you see the light,” or, “Now, don’t go getting your pants in an uproar!” Many times, my brother, father, and I have laughed until we cried over something my mother said, especially because she didn’t mean to be funny. The beauty is, my mother would laugh right along with us as we laughed at what she’d said. My mother is an amazing woman. She has done it all—joined the Marine Corps, worked as a flight attendant, dated a rock star, traveled the world, driven (and still drives) a school bus, and comes up with a hilarious story from each adventure. She openly expresses her love for my father, who is, according to her, “the cat’s banana.” When my brother and I were young, my mother didn’t work an outside job; instead, she stayed home and acted as our teacher, our comforter, and even our playmate. In fact, it’s impossible to pinpoint just one thing my mother has taught me. I am simply my mother’s daughter, through and through. I am who I am because of her.
Since space doesn’t permit me to tell every story that would describe my mother, I’ll relate just one. Several years ago, when I was still a child, my parents bought a video camera. It was a huge monstrosity that we carted around on every vacation, brought to every important event in our lives, and used on every holiday. I’m still not sure why, but my mother became the designated camerawoman in our family. If you were to view the early videos of our family, you might get motion sickness due to her quick cuts from one side of the room to the other. But since then she has become a pro. She also adds her own commentary to EVERYTHING she tapes. This commentary includes everything from the date to the location to each of our names, and we always reluctantly comply. My mom is hardly ever on screen, except for the rare occasion when she places the camera on a tripod or allows one of us to run the camera. I remember one particular vacation in Florida when my mother documented every event as it transpired. One day, we went to the beach, and we all sat and ate a picnic as my mom filmed us. We recited our usual description of what we were doing or wearing or thinking. All of us seemed a little bored of the camera. After all, we’d lived through years of this, so we quickly lost interest in Mom’s questions. Since we were no longer responding to Mom’s inquiries, she wandered away from the family—far enough that we couldn’t hear her running commentary but could still see her. I rarely watched our family movies after they were filmed; they were just placed in a box with other tapes to be forgotten. But years later, I was feeling particularly nostalgic and decided to watch some of the old family videos. I remember thinking how silly they all were and how many insignificant things had been documented. After viewing many hours of long-ago Christmases and dance recitals I really wish I could forget, I stumbled on the video from that day at the beach in Florida. I watched as Mom filmed and asked us to introduce ourselves. I watched as we became slightly annoyed with her line of questioning and how we eventually lost interest entirely. Then I watched as she wandered away from us. What I heard next has stayed with me over the years. My mother continued to film us, and as she did so, she said something like, “Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for my wonderful family.” But it didn’t stop there. She proceeded to zoom in on each one of us in turn, and she continued to pray. She thanked Heavenly Father for bringing us into her life, for bringing her the gospel so that she could have an eternal family. She thanked Him for every talent and attribute that she loved about each of us, because she knew they came from Him. As she prayed, she cried. As she ended her prayer, the tape ended—but my mother’s loving prayer has stayed with me.
That was not the first or the last time I heard my mother pray and bear witness of the truthfulness of the gospel—she does that all the time. But in that moment, I knew my mother loved me, and I knew she loved her Heavenly Father. Throughout my life, she has taught me to love other people, whether they are strangers in a restroom or the family members you see every single day. She has taught me to love life, to live every day to the fullest. Most importantly, she has taught me to love the gospel, to love my Heavenly Father, and to thank Him every day for the wonderful people in my life. I love you, Mom. You are my example and my best friend.
Written by Angie Robson for her mother Sonja Robson (so there)
And here is the essay I spoke about earlier.
She Never Met a Stranger
My mother has never met a stranger—seriously. I have never known her to be uncomfortable or shy in any type of group. She just speaks her mind and lets her personality shine through. I can’t count the times we’ve been in a restaurant or at a movie and my mother comes back from the restroom only to tell us the life story of the woman who’d been in the stall next to her. It was as if they had talked for hours instead of just five minutes. My mother is from the South, and her delicate, feminine Southern drawl immediately puts a person at ease. She calls everyone “honey,” “sweety,” or “sweetheart,” not only because it is her nature, but also because she can never remember anyone’s name! She also has a tendency to make up her own adages, such as, “You gotta go through the fire before you see the light,” or, “Now, don’t go getting your pants in an uproar!” Many times, my brother, father, and I have laughed until we cried over something my mother said, especially because she didn’t mean to be funny. The beauty is, my mother would laugh right along with us as we laughed at what she’d said. My mother is an amazing woman. She has done it all—joined the Marine Corps, worked as a flight attendant, dated a rock star, traveled the world, driven (and still drives) a school bus, and comes up with a hilarious story from each adventure. She openly expresses her love for my father, who is, according to her, “the cat’s banana.” When my brother and I were young, my mother didn’t work an outside job; instead, she stayed home and acted as our teacher, our comforter, and even our playmate. In fact, it’s impossible to pinpoint just one thing my mother has taught me. I am simply my mother’s daughter, through and through. I am who I am because of her.
Since space doesn’t permit me to tell every story that would describe my mother, I’ll relate just one. Several years ago, when I was still a child, my parents bought a video camera. It was a huge monstrosity that we carted around on every vacation, brought to every important event in our lives, and used on every holiday. I’m still not sure why, but my mother became the designated camerawoman in our family. If you were to view the early videos of our family, you might get motion sickness due to her quick cuts from one side of the room to the other. But since then she has become a pro. She also adds her own commentary to EVERYTHING she tapes. This commentary includes everything from the date to the location to each of our names, and we always reluctantly comply. My mom is hardly ever on screen, except for the rare occasion when she places the camera on a tripod or allows one of us to run the camera. I remember one particular vacation in Florida when my mother documented every event as it transpired. One day, we went to the beach, and we all sat and ate a picnic as my mom filmed us. We recited our usual description of what we were doing or wearing or thinking. All of us seemed a little bored of the camera. After all, we’d lived through years of this, so we quickly lost interest in Mom’s questions. Since we were no longer responding to Mom’s inquiries, she wandered away from the family—far enough that we couldn’t hear her running commentary but could still see her. I rarely watched our family movies after they were filmed; they were just placed in a box with other tapes to be forgotten. But years later, I was feeling particularly nostalgic and decided to watch some of the old family videos. I remember thinking how silly they all were and how many insignificant things had been documented. After viewing many hours of long-ago Christmases and dance recitals I really wish I could forget, I stumbled on the video from that day at the beach in Florida. I watched as Mom filmed and asked us to introduce ourselves. I watched as we became slightly annoyed with her line of questioning and how we eventually lost interest entirely. Then I watched as she wandered away from us. What I heard next has stayed with me over the years. My mother continued to film us, and as she did so, she said something like, “Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for my wonderful family.” But it didn’t stop there. She proceeded to zoom in on each one of us in turn, and she continued to pray. She thanked Heavenly Father for bringing us into her life, for bringing her the gospel so that she could have an eternal family. She thanked Him for every talent and attribute that she loved about each of us, because she knew they came from Him. As she prayed, she cried. As she ended her prayer, the tape ended—but my mother’s loving prayer has stayed with me.
That was not the first or the last time I heard my mother pray and bear witness of the truthfulness of the gospel—she does that all the time. But in that moment, I knew my mother loved me, and I knew she loved her Heavenly Father. Throughout my life, she has taught me to love other people, whether they are strangers in a restroom or the family members you see every single day. She has taught me to love life, to live every day to the fullest. Most importantly, she has taught me to love the gospel, to love my Heavenly Father, and to thank Him every day for the wonderful people in my life. I love you, Mom. You are my example and my best friend.
Written by Angie Robson for her mother Sonja Robson (so there)
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Holy Suckfest
Ok, my mom would be so mad that I use the word "suck" but sometimes that is the best way to describe something.
Why today was so so awful:
1. Best buy for an hour and a half. The computer didn't work- it was supposed to- tried everything to fix it- fixed it, brought it home, didn't work and then worked and then didn't work again. Now it works- but I am SUPER frustrated and it doesn't work the way it's supposed to.
2. My car hates my guts. Wouldn't go into gear, wouldn't get out of gear. Had to drive it in 2nd gear for 6 blocks. Left it at the car place. No car.
3. All my fears were true. My music/pictures/documents are lost and gone forever and it's my own stupid fault.
4. Stupid sticky note apology. Lame sauce.
5. That damn spray bottle wouldn't spray and it was the last freaking straw.
How the day was redeemed, a little.
1. My big bro to the rescue. He was there exactly when I needed him.
2. My friends let me cry and even cried with me for a bit.
3. A phone call from far away made him feel really close.
4. A HUGE diet coke. Chili's chips and salsa and molten river of chocolate goodness.
5. Friends who understood and came to my rescue and stayed with me until I was better.
So maybe the day wasn't a total suckfest, in fact it turned out to be pretty amazing.
***Oh and could someone please explain to me why all of a sudden the links that used to be one the right side of this blog are now one the bottom? I can't figure it out and it's really annoying. Technology sucks(sorry mom).
Why today was so so awful:
1. Best buy for an hour and a half. The computer didn't work- it was supposed to- tried everything to fix it- fixed it, brought it home, didn't work and then worked and then didn't work again. Now it works- but I am SUPER frustrated and it doesn't work the way it's supposed to.
2. My car hates my guts. Wouldn't go into gear, wouldn't get out of gear. Had to drive it in 2nd gear for 6 blocks. Left it at the car place. No car.
3. All my fears were true. My music/pictures/documents are lost and gone forever and it's my own stupid fault.
4. Stupid sticky note apology. Lame sauce.
5. That damn spray bottle wouldn't spray and it was the last freaking straw.
How the day was redeemed, a little.
1. My big bro to the rescue. He was there exactly when I needed him.
2. My friends let me cry and even cried with me for a bit.
3. A phone call from far away made him feel really close.
4. A HUGE diet coke. Chili's chips and salsa and molten river of chocolate goodness.
5. Friends who understood and came to my rescue and stayed with me until I was better.
So maybe the day wasn't a total suckfest, in fact it turned out to be pretty amazing.
***Oh and could someone please explain to me why all of a sudden the links that used to be one the right side of this blog are now one the bottom? I can't figure it out and it's really annoying. Technology sucks(sorry mom).
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Just call me Anonymous
I have been struggling back and forth over my computer the past few days and FINALLY $137.00 later, it's fixed. Except I think that I am stupid and didn't save my stuff on the external hard drive the correct way and lost my music and all of my pictures. So that sucks.
Another sorta sad thing is that I was approached to write an article about my mother for a book that was being published at Deseret book. I wrote the article, they liked it and put it in the book. Here is the book.
You will find my article on page 154 entitled "She Never Met a Stranger", but for some reason, they forgot to put my name at the end of the article. Every other article, credit was given to the author and the mother, but not mine. They promised to send me a book when it was finished and they did, they actually sent me two books with this note attached.
Dear Angie,
Our apologies for inadvertently leaving your name off of your essay. I'm giving you an extra complimentary copy of the book to hopefully be of some consolation.
Sincerely, Linda
Well that doesn't seem right, does it? I don't really care so much about getting the credit. I just thought it would be nice to have my mom read it and see my name and hers. Oh well.
Another sorta sad thing is that I was approached to write an article about my mother for a book that was being published at Deseret book. I wrote the article, they liked it and put it in the book. Here is the book.
You will find my article on page 154 entitled "She Never Met a Stranger", but for some reason, they forgot to put my name at the end of the article. Every other article, credit was given to the author and the mother, but not mine. They promised to send me a book when it was finished and they did, they actually sent me two books with this note attached.
Dear Angie,
Our apologies for inadvertently leaving your name off of your essay. I'm giving you an extra complimentary copy of the book to hopefully be of some consolation.
Sincerely, Linda
Well that doesn't seem right, does it? I don't really care so much about getting the credit. I just thought it would be nice to have my mom read it and see my name and hers. Oh well.
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