Over the weekend Jordan and I met my parent in St. George so we could see Tarzan at the Tuacahn theater. We drove down Friday afternoon and I was worried that we weren't going to have enough time to get to our hotel, get the tickets (we got them through the hotel) and get over to the theater.
Luckily I'm a speed demon.
We got to the hotel and the guy that checked us in informed us that whoever set up our reservation charged us too much, and said don't worry, I fixed it, then let us know that the difference that we saved was about $1.50. I said "Oh good, we can afford to go to Denny's now." Which embarrassed Jordan, I'm good at embarrassing him. He gave us a confirmation paper that we were to give to Will Call to redeem our tickets, and my mom called to say we were leaving in five minutes. We hurried to drop our stuff at the room, and met my parents so we could ride to the amphitheater with them.
And I left my confirmation paper in the hotel room.
Luckily there was a nice lady at will call that just printed us up our tickets without our confirmation paper (so I'm thinking of pulling a scam this next weekend and seeing the show again) but she told me quite seriously that I needed to SHRED that piece of paper immediately, and destroy the information on it. She was so adamant that we decided we had to go back to the hotel room and shred that paper, burn the shreds and pee in the ashes.
We had dinner at the theater, and then I was abducted by aliens. There's no other explanation. The doors opened at 7:00 to let people take their seats, and the show started at 8:00. We let the massive crowd milling around the doors go ahead of us, because unlike them we realized that our seats were assigned per our ticket, and I think the other people lining up thought that their seats were going to be given away or something 'cause they were all in a rush to get in there. So we took our seats at around 7:20, and then roughly five minutes later a guy came onto the stage and gave the welcome and introduction speech, and the show began to start. I looked at my watch and it was 8:04. So I lost about 40 minutes, I'm still confused by that.
The show was absolutely amazing, the way they did everything was really creative, there were apes swinging around on vines all over the place, and at the beginning where the ship was crashing they actually flooded the stage and it looked like they were on a raft in the ocean, which I thought was pretty rad. Disney actually came and watched the show last week and were so impressed that they gave Tuacahn the rights to Little Mermaid next year.
The next morning we went to Denny's, since we saved all the money and everything, visited my mom's brother, did a little shopping and headed home. It was a fun trip, although short, and it was nice to get away a little bit and just have some fun with my husband. Here's to tricking him into thinking The Little Mermaid isn't a musical next year!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
How Grasshoppers Ruined My Childhood
I have been reminiscing lately.
When I was in fourth grade me and my friend loved catching grasshoppers. We fancied ourselves highly efficient grasshopper hunters, and decided there was no grasshopper that we couldn't catch. There was a big field near my home, and we would spend hours in the field catching grasshoppers, their speed no match for our catlike albeit childlike reflexes. We had stealth, we had skill, we the patience of a predator only the T-Rex hunter from The Lost World could rival.
My friend and I worked as a single unit. Armed with two mason jars pilfered from my mom's food storage we would catch a grasshopper between two cupped hands and the other would deftly open the jar without letting the currently captive grasshoppers out and the new prisoner would be introduced into the jar. We would retire to the front yard where we would examine our catch, pride ourselves on our skill and consider offering our services to grasshopper-hating neighbors for a nominal fee.
The next day we saw him. Instantly he was dubbed King Grasshopper. He no doubt consumed the same green ooze that made Teenage Turtles of the Mutant variety. He was easily 4-5 inches long, and his eyes were so big I could stare straight into his soul as he psychically posed the question as to why we were imprisoning his subjects. He just sat there and stared at us unafraid. He knew he was in no danger of us, and I felt like he could see our souls as well. King Grasshopper was not happy with what he saw.
We were terrified.
We ran back to the safety of the front yard and returned our attention to the mason jars with new insight. The jars were three quarters full of pure grasshopper, all crammed in there in one unforgiving mess. We could see stray severed legs here and there and a significant amount of grasshopper poo. The living conditions were horrific, at best. We knew what we had to do. We unscrewed the lids and released a tidal wave of grasshoppers, intent on revenge. An army of poo covered grasshoppers came after us, and ever since then I've had a higher respect for all of God's creatures. Not to mention a healthy fear of King Grasshopper, and now the sight of grasshoppers gives me the willies.
When I was in fourth grade me and my friend loved catching grasshoppers. We fancied ourselves highly efficient grasshopper hunters, and decided there was no grasshopper that we couldn't catch. There was a big field near my home, and we would spend hours in the field catching grasshoppers, their speed no match for our catlike albeit childlike reflexes. We had stealth, we had skill, we the patience of a predator only the T-Rex hunter from The Lost World could rival.
My friend and I worked as a single unit. Armed with two mason jars pilfered from my mom's food storage we would catch a grasshopper between two cupped hands and the other would deftly open the jar without letting the currently captive grasshoppers out and the new prisoner would be introduced into the jar. We would retire to the front yard where we would examine our catch, pride ourselves on our skill and consider offering our services to grasshopper-hating neighbors for a nominal fee.
The next day we saw him. Instantly he was dubbed King Grasshopper. He no doubt consumed the same green ooze that made Teenage Turtles of the Mutant variety. He was easily 4-5 inches long, and his eyes were so big I could stare straight into his soul as he psychically posed the question as to why we were imprisoning his subjects. He just sat there and stared at us unafraid. He knew he was in no danger of us, and I felt like he could see our souls as well. King Grasshopper was not happy with what he saw.
We were terrified.
We ran back to the safety of the front yard and returned our attention to the mason jars with new insight. The jars were three quarters full of pure grasshopper, all crammed in there in one unforgiving mess. We could see stray severed legs here and there and a significant amount of grasshopper poo. The living conditions were horrific, at best. We knew what we had to do. We unscrewed the lids and released a tidal wave of grasshoppers, intent on revenge. An army of poo covered grasshoppers came after us, and ever since then I've had a higher respect for all of God's creatures. Not to mention a healthy fear of King Grasshopper, and now the sight of grasshoppers gives me the willies.
Friday, September 10, 2010
You Are My Hair One.
I like getting ready for work at the same as Jordan, 'cause our conversations always take interesting turns.
Jordon (singing): "You are my hair!" (Giant pause) "One."
Bre: "That's peculiar, but I'll play- Two." (silence) "Oh, I thought we were playing the counting game, but I guess I misread that."
Jordan: "No, he says 'heroine', but there's a big pause in between."
Bre: "Oh, I get it. He wants you to think he's talking about one thing, but it turns out he was talking about narcotics all along."
Jordan: "Um, no- that's not what he's saying."
Bre: "Oh, he's saying 'you are my female hero'?"
Jordan: "Yeah."
Bre: "That's very naive of you to think so, but I think he's saying that she's like an addictive substance to him. In this day and age it's more likely for a man to call a woman a narcotic than his hero. It's like when Edward told Bella . . . well you get the idea."
Jordan: "Yeah. Wow, I misunderstood that. Like 'you're my methamphetamine'?"
Bre: "Like, 'I'd have to use a nicotine patch to get off you, or court-ordered rehab."
Incidentally, I listened to the song 'cause I wasn't really committed to my argument and wanted to see what one it was, and he was calling her a heroine as in a female hero. That's sweet, really. If you're curious, the song was actually called "Hero/Heroine" by Boys Like Girls.
Jordon (singing): "You are my hair!" (Giant pause) "One."
Bre: "That's peculiar, but I'll play- Two." (silence) "Oh, I thought we were playing the counting game, but I guess I misread that."
Jordan: "No, he says 'heroine', but there's a big pause in between."
Bre: "Oh, I get it. He wants you to think he's talking about one thing, but it turns out he was talking about narcotics all along."
Jordan: "Um, no- that's not what he's saying."
Bre: "Oh, he's saying 'you are my female hero'?"
Jordan: "Yeah."
Bre: "That's very naive of you to think so, but I think he's saying that she's like an addictive substance to him. In this day and age it's more likely for a man to call a woman a narcotic than his hero. It's like when Edward told Bella . . . well you get the idea."
Jordan: "Yeah. Wow, I misunderstood that. Like 'you're my methamphetamine'?"
Bre: "Like, 'I'd have to use a nicotine patch to get off you, or court-ordered rehab."
Incidentally, I listened to the song 'cause I wasn't really committed to my argument and wanted to see what one it was, and he was calling her a heroine as in a female hero. That's sweet, really. If you're curious, the song was actually called "Hero/Heroine" by Boys Like Girls.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Picking the Pizza Slice
Have you ever seen someone walk up to a pizza and grab a slice at random? I haven't. No, I take that back, I have. When there was one slice left.
Not every pizza slice is created equal. Everyone has a method for choosing their slice of pizza, and it all depends on multiple variables.
Size: The slice should be larger than most slices, but not the largest. When choosing the largest people tend to look at you like maybe you're the piggy of the group. There's always a girl that says "I want the smallest slice!" This girl is lying. She is hungry, but she wants to act demure and isanorexic watching her weight. This girl is guaranteed to get a very well hidden eye roll from every other girl in the room.
Toppings: Depending on your preferences a slice is chosen based on the number of toppings. You hunt for a slice with the smallest amount of your least favorite toppings, while at the same time has an agreeable amount of your favorite toppings.
Crust: The crust on a pizza could be a deal breaker. Some pizza places make great crust, while others leave a lot to be desired. So pizza brand is definitely included in your consideration. Depending on whether or not you're a crust eater, a small-crusted slice or one heavy on the crust is another variable.
Air Bubbles: Admit it- no matter how old you get you still see a huge air bubble on your pizza as a phenomenon. A big ol' air bubble on the center on your pizza slice is no good; that can effectively eliminate a good 18% of your pizza in a puff of air. An air bubble on the crust however, can still be viewed as wondrous and is more acceptable.
I love watching people choose their pizza, I can see their brain working as they scan over the pizza to weigh their options and select the slice that meets their needs. Personally, I select a slice that is medium sized, has the crispiest pepperoni, and heavy on the crust (for Papa Johns, that is). What do you look for in a pizza slice?
Not every pizza slice is created equal. Everyone has a method for choosing their slice of pizza, and it all depends on multiple variables.
Size: The slice should be larger than most slices, but not the largest. When choosing the largest people tend to look at you like maybe you're the piggy of the group. There's always a girl that says "I want the smallest slice!" This girl is lying. She is hungry, but she wants to act demure and is
Toppings: Depending on your preferences a slice is chosen based on the number of toppings. You hunt for a slice with the smallest amount of your least favorite toppings, while at the same time has an agreeable amount of your favorite toppings.
Crust: The crust on a pizza could be a deal breaker. Some pizza places make great crust, while others leave a lot to be desired. So pizza brand is definitely included in your consideration. Depending on whether or not you're a crust eater, a small-crusted slice or one heavy on the crust is another variable.
Air Bubbles: Admit it- no matter how old you get you still see a huge air bubble on your pizza as a phenomenon. A big ol' air bubble on the center on your pizza slice is no good; that can effectively eliminate a good 18% of your pizza in a puff of air. An air bubble on the crust however, can still be viewed as wondrous and is more acceptable.
I love watching people choose their pizza, I can see their brain working as they scan over the pizza to weigh their options and select the slice that meets their needs. Personally, I select a slice that is medium sized, has the crispiest pepperoni, and heavy on the crust (for Papa Johns, that is). What do you look for in a pizza slice?
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
This One is Just For You, Jordan
I've made a hobby of taking random things Jordan says and does and turning them into blog posts. It's easy since he's a pretty funny guy. Last night Jordan and I were laughing over a time when I had thoroughly embarrassed myself and he said "You should blog about that." This took me by surprise and I thought "Why?" It then occurred to me that after immortalizing some of the stupid things Jordan has done/said, ("In 1842 Columbus sailed the ocean blue!") perhaps it was my turn to have a spotlight on my own actions and we all debate if I have an unnaturally high number of chromosomes.
As stated in a previous post a couple weeks ago, I had won tickets to Annie Get Your Gun at the Scera outdoor theater. We spread our blanket right in the center of the crowd and settled in for the show. (Hold on, I just dropped a raisinete down my shirt and I'm trying to figure out the most graceful way to dig it out while at work)
I'm not sure what the play is classified as, if it was meant to be a comedy, but there were a couple places that deserved a good chuckle. However, about halfway through the show one of the characters delivered a line, and apparently out of the entire crowd I was the only person that thought it was funny, and unfortunately in the complete and utter silence I emitted a laugh even a donkey would have been embarrassed of, and loud enough that I'm confident it bounced back off the mountains. It erupted from me before I knew what was happening:
I was just as surprised as everyone around me, who most likely assumed I had Down Syndrome. Half the audience turned to get a glimpse of who could produce such a laugh, while the other half took enough pity on the poor down syndrome girl not to stare. Meanwhile, Jordan had very slyly scooted completely off the blanket and away from me, and was now sitting off in the grass to my left. I could tell he was considering hopping onto the blanket of the people next to us to further distance himself from association with me.
I think Jordan was more embarrassed that I was. He hasn't let me forget it either with constant heckling and abundant reenactments of the laugh that could be heard in the next city. I'm less able to recreate it, though Jordan does it perfectly, and the fact that I have to cross my eyes to get remotely close tells me a lot.
Admittedly, I do have quite the knack for laughing at the wrong time. During Two Towers I had a complete laugh attack when the King was crying for his dead son. And unfortunately, because I saw it in the theaters multiple times, I laughed good and hard multiple times as well. Perhaps my sense of humor is broken . . . ha ha, ellipses is fun to say!
As stated in a previous post a couple weeks ago, I had won tickets to Annie Get Your Gun at the Scera outdoor theater. We spread our blanket right in the center of the crowd and settled in for the show. (Hold on, I just dropped a raisinete down my shirt and I'm trying to figure out the most graceful way to dig it out while at work)
I'm not sure what the play is classified as, if it was meant to be a comedy, but there were a couple places that deserved a good chuckle. However, about halfway through the show one of the characters delivered a line, and apparently out of the entire crowd I was the only person that thought it was funny, and unfortunately in the complete and utter silence I emitted a laugh even a donkey would have been embarrassed of, and loud enough that I'm confident it bounced back off the mountains. It erupted from me before I knew what was happening:
"HUH HUH!"
I was just as surprised as everyone around me, who most likely assumed I had Down Syndrome. Half the audience turned to get a glimpse of who could produce such a laugh, while the other half took enough pity on the poor down syndrome girl not to stare. Meanwhile, Jordan had very slyly scooted completely off the blanket and away from me, and was now sitting off in the grass to my left. I could tell he was considering hopping onto the blanket of the people next to us to further distance himself from association with me.
I think Jordan was more embarrassed that I was. He hasn't let me forget it either with constant heckling and abundant reenactments of the laugh that could be heard in the next city. I'm less able to recreate it, though Jordan does it perfectly, and the fact that I have to cross my eyes to get remotely close tells me a lot.
Admittedly, I do have quite the knack for laughing at the wrong time. During Two Towers I had a complete laugh attack when the King was crying for his dead son. And unfortunately, because I saw it in the theaters multiple times, I laughed good and hard multiple times as well. Perhaps my sense of humor is broken . . . ha ha, ellipses is fun to say!
Friday, September 3, 2010
Whatever Happened to a Happy Ending?
Recently Jordan and I got Netflix. It has been the most amazing thing, although we have become serious couch potatoes. We have every movie right at our fingertips, and it's beyond fantastic since we are big movie lovers.
However, lately I'm getting discouraged with movies. Either I suck at picking the films, or Netflix decided we're messed up people and only provide messed up movies in the list of shows available for instant watching.
Lately I've been craving a nice feel good movie with a happy ending, but it seems like in all the movies we've been watching people are getting raped, spouses are getting cheated on, people's dreams are destroyed, their lives are miserable and everyone dies.
I thought that since the French are supposed experts on love, they've should have figured out how to create a happy ending. I watched a couple French films, and it turns out that the French are more messed up than I would have expected.
Even the movies that were recommended based on the movies I gave high ratings ended up being twisted and dark.
I've officially given up. It seems as though all the movies lately are about sex & drinking and have zero plot beyond the main character trying to get laid. Is it so much to ask for a movie that develops characters, have a rise and fall, a climax and then above all a happy ending?
So, I call out to you- please give me a good quality movie to watch that has a great plot, happy ending preferred. I will watch your movies and report back. Please, what's your favorite movie?
Love you,
Bre
However, lately I'm getting discouraged with movies. Either I suck at picking the films, or Netflix decided we're messed up people and only provide messed up movies in the list of shows available for instant watching.
Lately I've been craving a nice feel good movie with a happy ending, but it seems like in all the movies we've been watching people are getting raped, spouses are getting cheated on, people's dreams are destroyed, their lives are miserable and everyone dies.
I thought that since the French are supposed experts on love, they've should have figured out how to create a happy ending. I watched a couple French films, and it turns out that the French are more messed up than I would have expected.
Even the movies that were recommended based on the movies I gave high ratings ended up being twisted and dark.
I've officially given up. It seems as though all the movies lately are about sex & drinking and have zero plot beyond the main character trying to get laid. Is it so much to ask for a movie that develops characters, have a rise and fall, a climax and then above all a happy ending?
So, I call out to you- please give me a good quality movie to watch that has a great plot, happy ending preferred. I will watch your movies and report back. Please, what's your favorite movie?
Love you,
Bre
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