Let me eat cake

The gardeners come on Fridays, usually about noon, but I was so out of it this week I forgot it was Friday. I kept hearing something that sounded like cattle bawling and thought it was rather weird to be hearing it in California. Then I realized it was a lawnmower. Then I realized it was coming from the front yard. Then I realized it was the gardeners. Then I realized it must be Friday. Then I realized it took me a long time to realize this. Hmmm. It has been a fairly...eventful week, but not the sort of events that I'd care to throw out into the internet audience, so I'm not entirely sure why I mentioned it. Cest la vie. But one thing I've really been enjoying, probably far too much and far too often than I should, is Pinky and the Brain. I enjoyed it as a young person, (who didnt?) but watching it now I've noticed so many things that are funny only for adults. And it's so quotable! I keep hearing things that I want to put on Facebook. Such is my personality. I pirate my status. Ha!
So earlier this week I made a pan of brownies. We finished it on Thursday. Friday afternoon I made a cake since I had a friend over for dinner. It is Sunday afternoon and the cake is gone. I find this a little funny considering Brad only had one small piece of cake and the rest Olive and I devoured. AN ENTIRE CAKE, ladies and gentlemen. In two days. And all I can think is, "Geez, I want some more cake."

New favorite phrase: "Poop in a group"--nice one Brad

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then this picture should speak loudly, if anyone has any doubts as to what my feelings are regarding my life right now.


Turtles I saw a while back. No reason for the picture. I just thought it was funny that one turtle was sleeping on the back of another.
My most awesome red heels that only cost $10!
My new journal-hand decorated in India. It was like $8.
The books I bought on sale. One is about the most expensive bottle of wine ever purchased at auction that apparently has a bit of a mystery attached to it. One is about Bonnie and Clyde. One is about the Russian master spy that stole secrets from the US AFTER the Cold War was over. One is about a Mafia stool pigeon that landed a bunch of mobsters in jail. The other is about an Irish woman "pirate queen" that caused countless problems for other countries and was super powerful and enemies of Queen Elizabeth. Can't wait to read these.
A ring I bought in the shape of a flower. It gets put on one finger and then rests on its neighbor.
A ring I bought. I couldn't get the camera to focus, but it's a flower of red gems and surrounding silver swirls.

I pretend the squirrels are monkeys and that I'm in the jungle.

Last night I had the most exciting dream. I don't really remember what it was about specifically, but there was a lavish palace involved, betrayal, murder, a surprise twist ending, and so many beautiful fabrics. It started with some people who had bought a run down palace and were fixing it up to make into a hotel. Then the brother of the dead man who had owned it came along with the dead man's son, who (for whatever reason) had been abused and brainwashed into his hired muscle. The uncle was trying to swindle the people out of the palace and using the nephew to scare them. Then (somehow) me and the owners pulled a My Fair Lady on the nephew and made him into a gentleman who realized that he was heir to the throne and the palace rightfully belonged to him, yadda yadda ya. But the uncle was furious at this betrayal and called in the police to arrest the nephew and me and the other people (whoever they were). Very intense part of the dream. I go screaming and rushing into the throng of policemen arresting the nephew, cursing about the injustice of it all, but can't seem to free him. Then I remembered the gargoyles on the edges of the palace have machine guns built into them so that if the house ever came under attack, it would spray bullets everywhere in defense. (Remember this is a dream, so it doesn't have to make sense.) I realize I can grab one of the cop's guns and shoot at the gargoyle and it would activate the machine gun and kill all the cops. I knew the nephew (and rightful king) would be safe because he had already been locked up in the bulletproof paddy wagon, but I also knew I'd probably be killed in the spray of bullets. I heroically fired at the gargoyle, but even in my dreams I'm a terrible shot and missed completely. The sheriff instantly arrests me and says he's taking me in personally, instead he whisks me away to some sort of hotel and puts me in hiding as a maid. (The dream never explains why he suddenly becomes good. Whatever.) So I'm in hiding as a maid to a rich American woman with big hats, and I'm miserable because I believe the nephew/king and his sister (who had somehow come into the picture for the first time) are dead. Meanwhile, the country has been whipped into a frenzy by the evil uncle and they are actively looking for anyone connected with the royal family to kill them, so I am constantly afraid I'll be found out. Then the American lady goes to an auction where they were selling off objects from the palace and she brings back a bunch of scarves, an absolutely beautiful bunch of silk cloth, and a small box. She tells me and the other maid that they had come from the palace of Ariennes. I insist the scarves are far too ugly for Ariennes and that someone had conned her. She shows me the silk cloth and says she was told it was to cover the dining room chairs. I have a hard time keeping the tears at bay because I remembered helping the nephew/king pick the fabric out. "Oh, yes," I say. "THIS is from Ariennes." Then the American lady goes home and leaves me a box for a present. Inside is the cloth with instructions to make a dress and the small box. Inside was a huge diamond ring. The woman left a note saying that she had been well aware all along that I had come from the Palace Ariennes and that I was one of the rightful owners of the cloth. She said she had found the small box wedged into the desk of the nephew/king and from what the rumors had told her, it was going to be mine when I married the king. This makes the dream me cry. The gifts inspire within me a new belief that if I made it out alive, then someone else may have as well, so I go out into the city for the first time to find news. The sheriff sees me in a cafe and slips me two envelopes before leaving wordlessly. Inside one envelope is a letter written by the sister, who states that she had been rescued by the sheriff and was in hiding in a convent and found that she is quite happy among the nuns. The other envelope holds a piece of paper stating that the king had been executed on such and such a date and his body had been shipped to such and such an address. I was determined to see his burial site and so hop a train and arrive at the stated address, only to see that it isn't a graveyard at all. Instead, it's a pawn shop in a very quiet country town. I go into the pawn shop (with it's tinkling bell on the door) and ask the clerk behind the counter if he could give me directions. The clerk, who had had his back to me, stiffens, then turns slowly to face me. It takes a while for the dream me to realize the clerk is the nephew/king, though with very short hair and a scar on his cheek. He limps around the counter, his face a mask of disbelief and suspicion and.....................the freaking dream ends. But I think with a few adjustments this might make for a good book.
So, I went online to find a cute, yet cheap, journal and was surprised to see how few there were. When you walk into Barnes and Noble there are TONS of journals for sale, but few, apparently, make it onto the website. At any rate, I found one, and stumbled upon some great history books on sale, so I bought them. The rest of today really, really sucked and I don't want to talk about it. So.....the end.

I get on a soapbox in here...

So, I don't know why, but occasionally I'll come into the kitchen and discover that Olive has put dirty dishes in completely random places. For example, one day I found that she had done a few dishes. She said something about not knowing where to put something and I thought she meant there was a clean dish that she didn't know where to put. "Okay," I said. "That's fine." I was very wrong. She had, for some unknown reason, taken the still dirty saucepan and put it under the sink. She had washed everything else, but for whatever reason, had hidden this. Then yesterday morning I open the pantry and find the dirty cookie sheet on the floor. She's getting better with putting away the clean dishes in better places, as opposed to what she was doing before: putting them in the oven. I don't think it was because she's confused, I think it's because she hasn't used the oven for years and years and so figured she'd use it to store dishes in. Economical, but now that I'm using the stove constantly, it makes it a bit dangerous. Once I preheated the oven without realizing the saucepan was in there. Boy did that thing get hot.
Then there's the juice container. It's one of those Rubbermaid pitchers with the handle and lid. When I finish all the Kool-Aid, I put the pitcher in the sink along with all the other dirty dishes. She keeps thinking it's a container that's supposed to be thrown away, so I have to keep digging it out of the trash. It's strange the things you find you can get used to.
So since I've been experiencing a constant, almost relenting onslaught from the adversary, I've tried to just drown in the scriptures. I was going to start yesterday, but Olive really wanted to go out. Unfortunately, yesterday was also the day that the adversary seemed to double his efforts. I felt as fragile as a dry leaf and it took all of my effort to drive Olive uptown and not cry. I couldn't even bring myself to try and keep up some polite conversation at lunch. I kept thinking how I don't think I can do this any more and why is everything fighting me so, so hard right now and silent, half subconscious prayers for help and strength. Consciously I kept thinking "I need a priesthood holder." I couldn't decide if I really needed a blessing, or if I just needed the extra boost of strength being around the priesthood brings, but I kept picking up the phone to call the only priesthood holder I know out here. Then, as I looked at the phone, I'd start to wonder what exactly I was going to say and realize I had no idea how to ask for help without sounding completely insane. So I'd put the phone down. Then I'd pick it up again because I felt I couldn't do it alone any more, but once again, I'd think, "He's probably busy, or enjoying the company of a girly friend and I'd just be bothering him." So I'd put the phone down. Finally, I told myself I just needed to deal and not bother other people with my problems. So after doing the things we needed to do at the store, I helped Olive get into the car and buckled and I turn around and see Elder Hessing's smiling face. It was the greatest answer to all of my unspoken prayers and EXACTLY what I needed. I could have hugged those elders. I literally burst into tears, like in the cartoons where the tears suddenly come shooting out like waterfalls. Those poor, poor boys. I tried to stop crying, but not very hard because for some reason it just felt so good. They were in a hurry because they were on their way to meet with the mission president (I think), but being around the priesthood even for that little bit was enough to get me through the day. As soon as we got home, I pulled out the scriptures and started to read. I've read all day too, though the devilish "Aunt Flow" has been causing havoc.
(Sidenote: you know how most Indian tribes would make the menstruating women live a bit separated from the rest of the village for the week? Well, along come the stupid Puritainical, male dominating Christians who looked at this and thought it was so horrible and blah blah blah. Really, it was THEM who were being horrible. Before them, the women could be away from all the stress and work of everyday life and really just rest and take care of herself, with no one to bother her! Then come the whites and everything changes. The woman has to soldier on, no rest, don't talk about it, don't let anyone know anything is happening, like they should be ashamed of it or something. Ridiculous. Let's go back to where it was considered something special, something powerful, where the women could go take care of themselves and not worry about everyone else for a change!)
But anyways, I've read almost 15 books in the Old Testament. The short books, but still. And I must say, it has lessened the onslaught I've been fighting non-stop for two months. The only down side is that I really could care less about Israel and Jerusalem and their being sacked by foreign nations. I could care less about Israel NOW, much less back then, so it makes it hard to really get into some of the books that are all about Israel getting attacked.
And where are the normal looking women in the scripture? I read the book of Ruth and of Esther, and while what Esther did was quite courageous, the only reason she was in a position to do what she did is because she was pretty enough to turn the king on. Ruth, again, pretty enough to turn a man's head. It seems like every time they mention a woman in the scriptures, she's evil, or so pretty she's causing problems. So again, I say, where's the normal women?
Last night I was reading and suddenly get to the Songs of Solomon. Oh my scariness! After all the uplifting thoughts and spiritual feasting, I get to the borderline old-school porn poetry. There were verses describing what a woman's breasts are like, bowels being moved at the man's knock on the door, a man's head lying between breasts. Awkward to read and I was alone! There were a few lines where I thought, "That would be good in a greeting card", but it was a bit of a splash of cold water after the other scriptures. The footnotes point out that it's not inspired scripture and the Bible Dictionary notes that it's only in there so you can kind of compare the man and woman to the Lord and the church. Um, no, sorry. That's stretching it too far. For some reason I kept thinking it was like an old, Jewish Baudelaire, and I haven't even read Baudelaire, but that's what I was thinking. Of course, now you are all going to go out and read it, aren't you?
Well, unfortunately, nothing of real interest or humorous has happened. I do hope that none of you have to run through the adversary's gauntlet as I have been doing for so many weeks. I've never experienced anything like it and am so exhausted. Not physically, but like the psalm says, "I am too troubled to speak." I feel crippled and broken and that a great deal of me has died and I could really use some relief, but as the scriptures say, "No my will, but Thine be done." Sigh.

I have a sparkly purple notebook

I saw a lizard chasing another up the tree and it looked as though it was nipping the rear end of the lizard in front. I thought, oh how cute, they're playing. Then I realized it's spring, aka mating season, and the thought dawned on me that they are probably starting a reptilian orgy rather than enjoying some harmless flirtation. Gross. And can I just tell you how annoying it is to find lip gloss with great color in the bottle, but when you put it on your lips there is no color whatsoever and it's all just a sticky mess? Blarg.
So a few weeks ago Olive and I went grocery shopping and afterward she was FURIOUS at me for the bill ($245). I tried to explain to her that it was for two people for the month of March and that it was actually not that bad of a bill for LA. She went off on how "before" she could only spend $50-$60 at the grocery store and have it last the whole month. I didn't reply to that, but inside I was thinking "Impossible!" Then she mentioned that "before" she ate out a lot and I said, "And eating out costs a lot more than homemade meals." "Impossible!" she replied.
Yesterday, she had the accountant out to prepare her taxes and at one point I had to go through her credit card bills and mark off all the charges to the pharmacy. Since I was looking at the details of the bills, I noticed how much she had charged to various restaurants over the months that, she had claimed, were so much cheaper than my home cooking. We shall not mention the hundreds more she's spent eating out rather than cooking, but I did have a brief moment of solitary vindication. If I can hold onto the car for a bit longer, next time I need to go grocery shopping, I'm going alone.
On an unrelated note, so many cultures have stories about "little people" that were tricksters and helpers and magical. If so many cultures, unrelated, spread far apart can have stories so similar, where do the stories come from? They have to have a beginning, a kernel of truth. Hmmmm....

I think I just saw a squirrel with a mustache

So yesterday I was supposed to give a talk in church. I'd spent quite a lot of time writing it all out, twice, getting quotes from the church website, etc. Then Saturday night I had this slight feeling that it was the wrong talk. I just brushed it aside and went along my merry way. Then Sunday morning, I got lost driving to church. How you get lost going so short a way, I don't know, but I did. I got to church just as it was starting, laughing. Then as they were singing the sacrament hymn, I was getting the VERY strong feeling that they talk was wrong. Not as in wrong principles, but wrong moment. So I'm sitting there, biting my lower lip to keep from laughing at the ridiculousness (is that a word?) and wondering what I'm going to do. I was thinking about the conference talks I'd printed out and glued in my scriptures, but that wasn't feeling right, so I start thinking about the talks I've heard in Bozeman that I remembered and the more I thought about Bozeman, the more peaceful I got. So when they said my name and made way for me to speak (I was the first speaker, of course) I get up, holding my talk, and announce that I had the strong feeling not to give it, even though it was a VERY good talk. So then I dropped it next to me, as if I was throwing it away. Nice effect, and totally unplanned. I think it made people nervous to think I was going to fly by the seat of my pants, but what were they going to do about it? Anyways, it was definitely a Moses moment, where you just open your mouth and stuff comes tumbling out and you wonder if it makes any sense or if it's just a jumble of incoherent thoughts. When I finally sat down, after getting teary eyed and saying something along the lines of the importance of ward unity and the great harm the lack of it can do, it was like I was ten pounds heavier. Weird. People said it was good, so either it was, or they're making me feel better for having to wing it all. Even the apostles have teleprompters. Lucky. After sacrament was Sunday school and I sat in between Elder Hessing and this adorable young kid named Tyler and I remember feeling more relaxed and more safe than I have since I've been in California. I wondered briefly why and then realized I was literally surrounded by the priesthood. When Sunday school ended and it was time for Relief Society, I was really bummed because I was going to be without bodyguards again. To give you a little taste of how surrounded by awfulness and creepy feelings and just all around evil I am fighting against, here's what happened last night: I was dead asleep and then it suddenly starts to feel like someone was tugging on my bed or something, so I wake up and don't see anyone or anything moving, but when I close my eyes, it feels like something is tugging the bed.And it feels like someone is standing in the room. Very scary. So I grab this pic of the Savior I've got nearby and put it right next to my head and sing hymns until I fall back asleep (well, more just humming the tune because I couldn't remember the words). So I'm dreaming about whatever, and through the dream I can feel that someone is in the room again and like they're messing with the bed. (It felt like when you're laying down and someone sits on the bed. You know how it kinda moves everything?) Anyways, I feel all this but can't wake up and all of a sudden it switches and I see my friend Seth at a table reading scriptures and all of a sudden he looks up and starts pulling my arm and urging me to wake up. So I'm wide awake, creepy feeling is back and my arm is straight out and I can still feel where my arm was pulled, as if it was actually pulled. The picture of Christ had been moved away from my head in my sleep so I pulled it close again and then the creepy feeling left. I NEVER dream about ppl in Bozeman (except for the one dream about Micah being wrongly accused of murder). So that was weird. And then literally feeling like my arm was pulled. And then the creepy presence in my room TWICE in one night. Seriously. Creepy.
But I noticed during one of the dreams last night, that I'll swear in my dream. I don't swear in real life, though Olive swears all the time and I have to hear it. But I did notice that the only word she really doesn't use is the F word, and that's the one I heard in my dream. Only twice, but still. It's all so freaky.

As I listen to Ingrid Michaelson

Olive really likes brownies, so I've discovered. She'll subtly hint when she wants me to make more, and she'll eat most of them, but while she does she'll constantly say things like, "I shouldn't eat this." "Don't put these in front of me." "No more of this now," as she grabs another piece. I've told her you only live once, so enjoy and really at her age, and considering her health, she should just live it up while she can. No one wants to get to the Pearly Gates and think, "Should've eaten those brownies."
So yesterday afternoon I went to lunch with Olive and her good friend Morse. Morse is an absolutely adorable old man, short, very quiet, drives a giant black Cadi. We went to one of those ubiquitous "family restaurants" that never seem to have families as patrons, mostly the elderly or creepy, overweight, middle-aged men talking to each other loudly in a corner booth. Discussing crimes no doubt. Our poor waitress was having one of those days, where you try your best to be on top of things, but it seems the world is conspiring against you and everything goes wrong. She took forever to get to our table. Olive ordered the fried chicken and I said, "I'll have the same." For some reason the waitress thought that meant I'll just share with Olive, rather than I'll order the same thing. So she brought out Morse's spagetti and Olive's chicken, but nothing for me. So she went back to order another chicken for me and I asked if I could get my roll to eat while I was waiting. The roll looked good, and was very hot, but as we all know looks can be decieving. It tasted like it'd been sitting out for a while and they heated it up to make it seem fresh. Consequently, it was like chewing on a piece of leather. The butter they give you in such places is very bitter, so it was like chewing on very bitter leather. Though Olive kept going on about how horrible it was that they didn't get the order right, I couldn't have cared less. I was perfectly content to wait. Besides, getting upset causes more problems than anything. When the chicken did come it was delicious! Well worth the wait. The entire rest of the meal sucked, but in places like that you expect it to. On the way out, I looked down at a table where an older man was sitting with an older woman I took to be his wife. He was reading something and upon closer inspection, I realized it was a script. The only thing I could read as I walked by was that he had crossed out something and written "Hello" instead. Hmmm. Profound editing.
Spent the rest of the day sleeping, much to my delight, and a little before eight I was taking my mess up to my room to get ready for bed. Olive had already changed into her PJs and was listening to her book on tape when there was a knock at the door. This is quite rare and since it was dark outside, more than a little creepy. So before I unlock the door, I turned on the porch light and blinded the missionaries. So I opened the door and accused them of being vampires for shrinking away from the light. They wanted to "stop by and see how things were going". Olive didn't want to come out because she wasn't dressed and because "they want to lecture" her. Or so she said. So it was just me and them. They're so fun to watch, like watching a married couple tease each other or brothers who are trying to be well behaved but can't help occasionally slugging the other one. Elder Hessing said he's been teaching Elder Ardilles(?) some English words you won't learn in the MTC, like "freaking awesome" and "pissed" and so forth. I told them about the time we taught a Russian friend "Number One" and "Number Two". Heaven forbid we teach foreigners anything useful. After chatting for a bit, Elder Hessing said that Elder Santiago (which is what I call him because I can't pronounce his name) found a scripture that he thought would help me. D&C 98:1-3. So of course, as he was reading it, I started to cry. Those poor boys have probably never seen anyone cry so much. So embarassing. But they of course knew what I needed to hear and even when the elder didn't know the English word and had to throw in some Spanish, it was a huge help. As usual their visit seemed to break down whatever fence I'd been leaning on, figuratively speaking, and once again I spent a great deal of time sobbing as I tried to pray. I swear I'm losing my grip on my sanity. And all these unbidden thoughts about Bozeman are like salt in the wound.