Spice Supremacy

I decided to label a bunch of my cooking stuff what with the new school year bringing new roommates and mild kitchen confusion. I looked down at my table and saw this when I was done.




Sometimes it makes me sad that my first initial is K. Welcome to the spice KKK. Apparently, my spices don't like mixing with other spices. No spice integration here. This is totally not me. It's too bad my initials aren't NAACP. I know that doesn't make sense, but I'm sure you get what I'm saying.

Prayers are answered. Even when you do stupid things.

I don't mean for this blog to be dedicated to the skunk truck, but it has supplied me with most of my traumatic experiences as of late, and I like blogging about them. So here's another one.

Once upon a time yesterday I went to go fill up the old skunky truck with gas. The gas tank access door thinga-ma-jig has to be opened with a key sometimes. But not other times. I can't explain it. It has a lock? Whatever.

So I was trying reallllllly hard to open up the gas lock, and totally bent my car key. To the max. It was both bent AND twisted. I didn't take a picture, (because I was PANICKING) but I should have. This is seriously what it looked like though:


But worse. It wouldn't open my door, and it definitely wouldn't turn the ignition. I thought about calling my dad to ask him what to do, but that's when I remembered that the key I destroyed was the one and only key we have for the skunk. My earthly father, the amazing fix-it-man that he is, wouldn't be able to help me.

At that point, I said a desperate prayer to my Heavenly Father that I would be able to somehow get home. I really, really did not want to have to be towed from the gas station. After my little prayer, I became a newly inspired and determined McGyver. I stuck the bent key back into the gas tank lock and then carefully, meticulously and expertly bent my key back into near perfect condition. Wait, should that have been physically possible? Probably not. Did it open the door? Yes. Did it fit in the ignition? Pretty much. Does the car start? Yes.

I said another little prayer of thanks as I made my way back to my apartment. As I got out of my little truck, I noticed that I had driven all the way home from the gas station with my ancient and probably non-replaceable gas cap just sitting gingerly on the roof of the truck-bed cover.

I then said another little prayer of thanks that the gas cap didn't roll off. I am a dumb dumb. And my prayers are still answered. That's good to know.

And I didn't believe him...

So. I drive a hand me down black and white 1984 Mazda pickup truck. I like driving it around town. Its fun. But also, if I reach speeds over 45 MPH it makes me feel like I'm flying through space in a tin can. So, I like to keep things very slow, and very local. As in, between Smith's and my office on campus. Anyway.

Ever since we inherited the Mazda from my grandpa, my dad has always said:

"We should make a hot rod out of it!!"

..... And it always made me question his sanity a little bit, because, well, have you seen the truck?

No? Meet skunky:

Not hot rod material.

So anyway, this morning I was trying to find out via google how big the gas tank was on this bad boy, because I have a sneaking suspicion that the gas gauge shows 3/4 of a tank when really it should read FREAKING EMPTY.

As I was looking for a PDF of an old owners manual, I discovered that people actually DO make hot rods out of yes, the exact same make and model Mazda truck that I drive. This phenomenon can be attributed to the rising popularity of restoring "mini trucks."

Hot rodders basically turn these little automotive pipsqueaks into itty bitty low riders.

Behold:

Gross.

Remember that slip n slide?

Summer Slip n Slide - Summer 2010 from baci on Vimeo.

This is some beautifully edited footage from my dear friend Brad. Don't be jealous that my ward is way cooler than yours.

Happenings as of late.

My ward constructed a giant slip-n-slide at a local park last night. This is what it looked like:

It was all fun and games until we decided a billion people should go down in rapid succession because that would be cool. And it was cool. Until we all accidentally dog piled at the bottom and a rather solid ward member struck me in the rib cage with his rather solid shoulder. I couldn't breathe for a little bit. But now I'm fine.

Also, I like to make my own thai food lately. Its healthy and delicious and super cheap. I don't know why I never thought that I could make it myself until now, but dang gina, I can.

Also, should I start posting the "things that must go" on this blog? Sometimes I update that blog more often than this one. I need to strike a balance. Or everyone just needs to read that one too. Go here for the latest updates on things that must go. Today's special: Ants and ant-like creatures.

Memories.

A couple days ago I woke up from a nap with the "Miss Susie had a baby" song inexplicably stuck in my head.

Not familiar?

It's a really trashy rhyme we used to sing when we were playing a ghetto pattycake game in elementary school. Our version went like this:

Miss Susie had a baby, the baby had a bill
miss Susie went to heaven, the baby went to
HELLO operator, please give me number 9
And If you disconnect me, I'll kick your big
BEHIND the 'fridgerator, there lay a piece of glass
Miss Susie sat upon it, and broke her little
ASK me no more questions, I'll tell you no more lies
The boys are in the bathroom, zipping up their
FLIES are in the city, the bees are in the park,
Miss Susie's with her boyfriend, kissing in the
D-A-R-K D-A-R-K Dark dark dark!
The dark is like a movie, the movie's like a show
A show is on a TV set and that is all
I KNOW I know my mama, I know I know my pa
I know I know my sister with a 40 acre bra!

I didn't think anything of it when I was little. I also didn't think anything of this one:

Mailman mailman do your duty,
Here comes Shayna with a big fat booty
She can shake it to the right
she can shake it to the left
when she shakes it she's the best


Oh. And there were tons more. One of my favorites when I was little was this gem my friends learned while cheerleading for the Fremont Football League, aka the FFL, as in, the pee-wee football league in my city where little girls learned how to be hoochies and little boys turned into thugs. Way to go, Fremont. Anyway. It went like this:

Who000 rocks the house?
Kelly rocks the house.
And when Kelly rocks the house,
she rocks it
ALL THE WAYYYYY DOWNNNNN!

Now, we didn't use this rhyme during pattycake. We didn't use it during hopscotch. No, not even playing jump rope. When we sang that one, we stood in a semi-circle and whoever we said "rocked the house" would dance in the middle of the circle until the ending line. On the ending line, the girl in the middle would shake her hips all the way down to the ground. As in. We rocked the house all the way down.


.....crickets......


WE WERE 9 YEARS OLD.

Has anyone else ever felt this way?

I feel like old school black and white dodge caravans totally look like killer whales.

Am I wrong?

I can't believe I forgot to write about this...

I watched "Invictus" for the first time a couple of weeks ago. It blew me away. It's set in newly post-apartheid South Africa. Even though segregation laws had been done away with, the people of South Africa were far from being united. It's actually a pretty accurate portrayal of true events, and that always gets me. The movie itself is mostly clean. There are a couple dirty words to beware of, one of which is pretty blatant, but the rest are kind of hard to make out because they are being mumbled by Rugby players with South African accents.




Rent it.

Also, the movie is named after the famous poem "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley. It's my new favorite. It's amazing to me how literarily incompetent I am sometimes. I had never heard of it until watching this movie, but I love love love it.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever Gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell grasp of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid

It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.



I may or may not have just typed that entirely from memory. Booyah.

Things that must GO.

I smelled someone's fart at work today when I tried to get a drink at the drinking fountain. Please visit Things That Must Go for further details:

Drinking Fountain Farters

OMG the horror.

I likey this song.

Its tooooooo bad I wasn't old enough to be a Bruce Springsteen groupie back when he was in his prime. And when I say I wasn't old enough, what I really mean is that I wasn't born yet. I think this concert was held in 1986. So close. Then again, maybe it's for the best. His groupies were probably disgusting hoochies. But dang, do you BLAME them?

Maybe I will marry someone named Bruce. Ya, I know. It rhymes with spruce, and goose, and abuse, but man. Bruces seem to be winners.

Bruce Wayne?

Winner.

Bruce Springsteen?

Winner. A patriotic winner.

A white-trash batman, if you will.