Writing Closet: Tail of Two Shih Tzus

It's Christmas this week, so I'm doing Story-time again.

So my family has two dogs.

Both Shih Tzus.

Who are two of the most ridiculous animals on the planet.

Don't get me wrong I adore them both to death and when I go see my family I snuggle them a lot and miss them tons when I leave.

But they have their quirks.

Tiger we got for Christmas, more or less, and she's the oldest.

And I mean that literally.

She is totally blind.

She is partially deaf.

She has arthritis and benign tumors all over her body.

And has licked one of back legs almost raw(we have to bandage it so she doesn't lick it).

Now, before you go feeling sorry for her, she's also got a snarky, crabby, independent personality that she's had since we got her. This dog is staying alive to spite us all.


And she had no qualms about showing off said snarky crabbiness whether the occasion called for it or not.

If you held her wrong, or played with her wrong(aka took her toy away before you were supposed to) or took away her food(including table scraps) you would know very quickly that you were in the wrong.

You would know, because she would bite you.

And I'm not talking a little nip either. I have scars from some of those bites.

Tiger also loved balls.

She wouldn't bring them back, but she loved it when you threw it and she could go get it. Then she'd put it between her paws and gnaw on it until she was ready for it to be thrown again.

Once I threw the ball under the couch and she went after it. This particular couch is low to the ground--low enough that Tiger had to belly crawl to get under the couch and get her precious ball--

--and she got stuck.

The idiot dog got stuck under the couch because she had a tennis ball in her mouth and wouldn't let go. For some reason the notion to let go of the ball so she could come out wasn't computing, and I eventually had to reach under and yank the ball out of her mouth so she could come out. Either that or you wait for her to sulk so you could drag first her and then the ball out from under the couch.

When we first got Tiger, whenever she wanted something, she would do this very distinctive sniff.

Not a sneeze, not a snort, almost like the she was blowing hot air to get attention from the idiots she lived with.

The twins called it her "hey stupid" sniff.

When she wanted outside, or food, or play or water or whatever, we got the "hey stupid sniff".

That was when she could see.

Now, when she needs something--including help finding her way into a room that she is clearly not in--she barks.

It's a very sharp,

very annoyed,

very demanding,

kind of pathetic sound.

She has no clue where she is, or where whatever she's looking for is, but she's not about to tell us she's lost because we're the stupid people, not her.

The scariest time for Tiger at the moment is Christmas.

Because our Christmas tree will attack her.

We have a setup in our house where you can get to the kitchen/dining area through three different doorways, and we usually put our tree in one of said doorways, so that it's there but doesn't get in the way of everyone/everything else.

Problem: Tiger uses said doorway to get to the warmest room in the house.

Last Sunday, she tried to use said doorway to get to said room

and because she's stone blind she ran face first into the tree

which was not supposed to be there.

So Tiger backed up to go in a different direction.

Second problem: she was standing between two branches.

And when she backed up she got poked from behind by the tree.

So she went forward again and got a face-full of pine needles,

and then a tail-full of pine needles

and that's when I picked her up and carried her to the room she was looking for.

Stubborn adorable little muttfuzz.

Mai Yin is the baby dog.

And I mean that literally--she has the permanent personality of a two-year old.

She doesn't growl, she doesn't yip, she cries.

About everything.

She thinks in extremes: everything is awesome or everything is horrible.

She panics when she wakes up to an empty room, because the world has ended and no one loves her anymore.

Granted, there are exception. Mai Yin is a lap dog and she's not as feisty as Tiger so when little kids want to hold her or carry her around she just--lets them. But even she has her limits. One Thanksgiving after relatives went home she did this

because if no one could see her then they'd leave her alone.


Don't get me wrong, she's utterly adorable and I love her to death, but there are times that she's too busy being kind to be intelligent.

For instance, it is currently freezing as all get out here so we put the dogs in doggie coats and jackets so they won't freeze.

Mai Yin refuses to wear them,

but she will shiver cause she's cold and makes no connection with sweater=warm

She also has one of the most expressive tails I've ever seen. We can always tell what she's up to based on that tail.

When she's happy it's up and wagging.

When she's relaxed or sad, it droops.

And when she's doing something that she probably shouldn't it sticks straight out.

This sticking straight out usually happens when she had metal in her mouth.

Yep. Metal.

 

Paper clips, straight pins, safety pins, needles, BBs, you name it, if it's metallic, it goes in her mouth.

When she first started doing this, all we had to do was get hold of her and finger sweep the object out.

But the little minx decided to have a bout of intelligence one day and figured out that if she moved the object under her tongue then we could open there mouth and--surprise! nothing there!

So then, one person has to hold her still and hold her mouth open

and the other one has to lift her tongue to pull the metal out of her mouth.

Cardboard too, that's another thing she loves to play with.

When the toilet paper rolls are empty, instead of throwing them away, we give them to Mai Yin.

Then, once she's chewed them to shreds, we toss them in the garbage.

One Christmas she got hold of one of my Ugg boot boxes(which are huge, btw) and she chewed on that for three months.

And apparently, my dogs aren't the only amusing canine's on the planet. Follow the links below to hear about Jeff Dunham's Canine Companions.
https://vimeo.com/185249890
https://vimeo.com/185250336

Happy Holidays y'all!!!!

Quirky Monday: Shake Your Bushy Tail(And Stay Away From Me)

Ok, y'all we're going to play a game.

 Riddle me this:

I am small.

I am brown.

I chatter in the trees.

What am I?

Give up?

It's a squirrel.

AKA the only animal I am still utterly terrified of.

No joke.

Spiders I can handle; mice, snakes and rats are pushing it, but I can deal.

Squirrels?

Nope.

Not happening.

Not ever.

Period.

The end.

This is not cute. This is panic inducing.

There's even a word for it: Sciurophobia. I'm not kidding, that's what you call being ridiculously, irrationally afraid of squirrels.

And it is all Dr. Quinn's fault.

For those who don't know, Dr Quinn was a tv show that aired back in the 90s on CBS about a female doctor(Jane Seymour) who moved from Boston to Colorado in the 19th century. My great-grandpa used to watch it all the time, and he usually had it on when we'd go over for Christmas or birthdays or whatever. One of my few memories with him is sitting in his house with him in his recliner and me on the floor or in a chair near the tv and watching this pioneer show that I loved(and only found out the title of much later).

Anyhoo, one episode of this show had a rabid dog as part of the plot, and I was a little nervous about dogs and rabies and things, and I happened to voice that fear in the hearing of my uncle Paul.

Now, Paul is an outdoorsman to the core, so he knows about things like this and he looked over at me and said(as near as I can remember and with the best of intensions I'm sure): 

"You know, it's hard for dogs to get rabies--"

"It's usually squirrels."

Now, I don't know if he was totally joking at the time, nor did I really care. The only thing my seven-year-old brain could think of was that my family went camping a lot.

Camping outside.

In the mountains.

With  squirrels.

So many squirrels that there were signs like this:

Cue internal mini-panic attack which has plagued me ever since.

Following that nice little tidbit of information I lived in certain fear that I would meet a gory end at the hands--well, paws-- of a vicious rabid squirrel.

If we went camping, I stayed close to the fire, because squirrels were smart enough not to get burned(apparently).

When we went up the canyon, if there were squirrels in the parking lot, I stayed in the car until they went away(and got  various impatient cries of "Chelsea, just get out of the car!" from various relatives).

Girl's Camp was one of the most stressful weeks of my life simply because the furry monsters were everywhere. And they were going to kill me.

Two years ago my family went to Park City on vacation, and my mom and I were riding up one of the lifts and I saw a squirrel ten feet below me and nearly had a heart attack(and highly amused my mom).

Scuriophobia is not going to go away. I know that. But it can be managed, if I work on it long and hard enough. I'm not as vocal about it as a used to be, so that's progress.

Meantime, it amuses the family, and to some extent myself. I mean, I'm not in a Stephen King horror story, so it's not like I really will die by random rabid squirrel attack.

Plus, it's a fun word to say. Sciurophobia.

How's that for quirky?

From the Writing Closet: The Ocean and a Piece of Canvas Make Me Peter Pan

My family likes to joke that I'm the oldest because being born first is one of the bravest things I've ever done.

I absolutely agree.

Why? Because I a have a tendency to be afraid of almost everything--heights, rapids, taking off in a plane, coming down in a plane, driving on the freeway, driving period, the dark, water slides, putting my head underwater, squirrels(yes, SQUIRRELS), mice, rats, snakes, spiders, haunted houses, Halloween(I KNOW)--you name it, I react with varying degrees of  mind numbing, body-shaking terror.

Some of these things I've been able to get under control. Or at least, to a point where my reaction is less than drastic. Usually, this is accomplished with the assistance of family members.  Sometimes the assistance is literal. Other times...."assistance" is my euphemism for "trickery."

Two Christmas' ago, my parents sent my sister Alisse and I on a cruise to Calatina Island and Mexico. Alisse is a planner, and more of a risk taker than I am(at least, I like to think so), and so is my dad, which meant that as soon as we got our interary he and Alisse were looking for ways for the two of us to occupy our time while on Catalina and in Mexico. And one of those things they found was...

Parasailing.

Like, you and a piece of canvas and a harness eight hundred feet above the Pacific Ocean which would result in certain death should we fall.

Sounds fun, right?

Alisse showed me the parasailing excursion package and it was all I could do to keep the fake smile on my face. She was excited; I was not. Then we saw the price and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"That looks really fun," I told her. "But....I can't afford that, so maybe we could find something else?"

And I walked away a forgot about it.  If I couldn't afford it, then I had nothing to worry about, right?

Flash forward to Catalina Island, January. Alisse and I wake up on the ship and she looks at me and goes: "Hey, make sure you wear clothes that can get wet."

"Ok," I say, reasoning that of course we were on an island so of course we were going to get wet(yes, snigger if you want to; this is my thought process).

So I put on what I deem are reasonable "island get wet clothes"(jean capris, T-shirt) and we disembark and Alisse pulls out her phone, which is fine because we have reception so why not. I don't pay any attention until:

Alisse(pointing her phone at me): Hey Chelsea, so what do you think of Catalina?

Me(understanding she has the camera on, and thinking nothing of it): It's pretty cool.

Alisse: Yeah?

Me: Yeah.

Alisse: Well, guess what we're doing here?

Me(still suspecting nothing): What?

Alisse: We're going parasailing!

Me(thinking it's a joke): No we're not.

Alisse: Yes, we are!

Me(still really hoping this is a joke): No, we are not!

Alisse: Yes! Yes, we are! You said you couldn't afford it, so dad paid for you! Isn't that great?

Me(out loud): No.

Me(internal monologue): No. No, no, no, no no! I had been safe; I had a perfectly logical reason for not going(no money); Alisse knew that, dad knew that; I know they all like to mess with my head, so maybe this is just a joke. It has to be, right? She's kidding, ha ha, very funny. She's kidding. She has to be kidding, right? Right? RIGHT?!

And all this time, I'm following her down the dock and into this little boat(a perfectly safe, well handled boat that does this kind of thing for a living) and we're pulling away from the dock and I realize...she's not kidding.

This is real.

I've been coerced into being attached to a harness.

A harness that's attached to a piece of canvas.

A piece of canvas that will be launched from this boat eight hundred feet into the air.

And if anything breaks, I will fall.

And when I fall, I will die.

And after I die, I will come back as a ghost and haunt my sister for the rest of her days.

I cannot believe she's doing this to me!

We get out far enough to parasail safely. I sit in the boat and people talk to me and I say something, but I have no idea what. Alisse is smiling at me, and I peel my lips back from my teeth and hope it looks real. Two people go in front of us and while they're getting attached Alisse turns to me and says "I paid extra so we can have pictures."

Which means the entire world gets to see yours truly having cardiac arrest eight hundred feet above the Pacific Ocean.

On film.

For all eternity.

Awesome.

Pre-Takeoff. My Internal Monologue "I'm going to die; I'm going to kill her; I'm going to DIE; I'm going to KILL HER..."

I don't say anything. I can't think, I can't talk, my heart is pounding, and I'm shaking. I'm shaking and it isn't from the cold. Two more people go and then it's our turn. I stand up, very grateful that the boat moves with the waves so my shaking body could be mistaken for keeping my balance rather than the utter terror that's gripping me.

As instructed, I sit down next to Alisse, and our guide is telling us where the metal bits of the harness click and hold us into place and making sure we're secure.

I'm not smiling, not at all. I'm gripping the sides of the harness on either side of my head so hard my fingers are cramping up and I'm so grateful my sunglasses are covering the panic that is no doubt alight in my eyes.

Our guide nods, and I hear the wizzzzz of the para cord moving, and then a WHOOSH and I'm moving.

I'm gliding in one smooth movement up into the sky and the boat is shrinking and Alisse is all smiles.

I make myself keep my eyes open as the parachute jerks just a tiny bit, and we're gliding eight hundred feet above the water.

The first thing I notice is the silence. Not oppressive silence like you hear in a horror film, but beautiful, solemn, contented silence.  It's just me and the sky and the sun. Yes, it's a little colder up here, but I don't mind it.  My heart stops racing and the terror ebbs.

Next to me, Alisse has her arms flung wide, grinning like a loon. My hands are still wrapped around the sides of my harness, but I make them uncurl and imitate her. Slowly, slowly I stretch my arms out. The harness grips me in all the right places, keeping me secure. I stretch my arms out further.

And I'm flying, soaring above that amazingly blue water, just me and Alisse and no one else. I can see the tiny white dot of our tour guides boat and birds--birds?!--flying below me. She giggles and looks over at me.

"Chelsea, we're PARASAILING!!!"

"I KNOW?!" I grin back, and it's a real grin; I giggle and it's genuine laughter. Because yes, she did more or less trick me into doing this, but you know what, it's FUN!!!!

I AM PETER PAN!!!!!

I AM PETER PAN!!!(don't ask what my legs were doing--I had other things on my mind)

We look at each other again and squeal as the parachute is lowered, dipping out feet into the ocean before pulling us back to the boat("See?" says Alisse. "I told you wear clothes that can get wet.") and I'm still grinning.

Grinning as I land on the deck.

Grinning as my harness is unhooked and the boat makes it's way back to the dock.

Grinning as I get back onto the island and still grinning when we call the rest of the family to let them know what we've just done.

I did something that utterly terrified me.

And it was AMAZING!!!!

Back in our stateroom, I had an epiphany, and that thought stayed with me long after the cruise, and it's  something I've been thinking about off and on for a very long time. 

Sometimes there are things you need to do which paralyze you with fright: financial things, social things, employment things, entertainment things. 

Sometimes you kick and scream and refuse to do them because it's too scary until Life says "too bad you're doing it anyway," so you do the things that scare you anyway. 

Sometimes, when you do things that scare you anyway, they turn out to be one of the most fantastic things you've ever done in your life. 

So yes, there are still things I am afraid of. There always will be (the sight of a squirrel will send me into mini-paralysis until the day I die). 

There are things everyone is afraid of. 

 But if you take a leap of faith and do them anyway, you will be a much better person for it.

End of the Run. The scariest and most amazing thing I've ever done!

Quirky Monday: Week of Mush

You know how I theme read? I also theme watch. And since it's Valentine's week, here's a little Valentine quirk for you: 

I watch chick flicks and period films the whole month of February.

I'm one of those types who plunks down in front of the screen ready to squeal at period romance and mourn over the fact that so few people behave like this anymore(that's for a later post)

So for you reading pleasure, below is a list of the films I indulge in this month--with a new one recently added, because Sean Bean in frock coat. 

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

 Follows the coming of age of a young governess, Jane Eyre, and her love for her master, the enigmatic Mr. Edward Rochester. Read so many times both covers are torn off, pages are dog-eared, and binding held together with—wait for it—packing tape.

Originally published: October 1847

Adapted for Film/Television:   adapted thirty-four times between 1910 and 2011

Adapted for the Stage/Radio: Adapted 22 times between and 2013 including radio adaptions, and web series

Most Famous Adaptions:

Film: Starring Orson Welles and Joan Fontain; 2011 Starring Michael Fassbender and Mia Wasikowska

Stage: Adaption by John Caird and Paul Gordon, starring Marla Scheffel  and James Stacy Barbour

Television: 1983 BBC starring Zelah Clarke and Timothy Dalton; A&E 1997 starring Samatha Morton and Ciaran Hinds; Masterpiece Classic 2006 starring Toby Stephens and Ruth Wilson(personal favorite)

Radio: Campbell Playhouse 1944 starring Orson Welles and Loretta Young; BBC 1994 starring Ciaran Hinds

**NEW**Clarissa by Samuel Richardson

Note: Hardest classic I’ve ever read. I have developed an intense dislike of epistolary novels.  Follows the lovely Clarissa Harlowe, and her seducer Robert Lovelace.  Also has the ability to makes me cry quarts--at the villain’s demise of all things

Originally Published: 1748

Adapted for Film/Television: Once in 1991

Adapted for Stage/Radio: Once in 2010

Most Famous Adaptions:

1991 BBC Starring Sean Bean as Lovelace(and that, ladies and gents makes 102 on my stupid list!!!!)

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

The lives and loves of the Bennett sisters, particularly Jane and Elizabeth, the latter of whom catches the eye of the proud and misunderstood(yes, I said misunderstood)Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. I could go on a whole spiel about why Darcy is so misunderstood—but that’s another can of worms altogether.

Originally Published:

Adapted for Film/Television: Eleven times between 1938 and 2005

Adapted for Stage/Radio: Nine times between 1935 and 2014(I happen to know the playwright of the 2014 adaption)

Most Famous Adaptions:

1940 Starring Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier(and containing the BEST Lady Catherine/Elizabeth showdown ever “I like her. She loves you Darcy; she’s the one for you.”  Eeek! Why was that not in the book?!

1995 A&E/BBC Starring Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth(with that LAKE SCENE!!!! why was THAT not in the book?!)

“Furst Impressions” Wishbone episode starring the darling Jack Russel Terrier as Mr. Darcy(if you haven’t seen it, Youtube it—SO CUTE!!!)

2005 Starring Kiera Knightly and Matthew Macfacdyen (Confession: I am not a Kiera Knightly fan, but this movie was one of her good ones—and the little thing with casting Collins as a shrimp—loved it!!!)

2014 by Melissa Lelani Larson. Premiered at BYU in Utah for the 50^th anniversary of the Fine Arts Building

The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy

Follows the story of the dashing masked hero, Sir Percy Blakney and his wife Marguerite St. Just, as they rescue French aristocrats and foil the plans of the slimy Chauvelin.  Read the first book in four hours—lost sleep due to how good it is. Sequels? Not so much.

Originally Published: 1905

Adapted for Film/Television: Eighteen times between 1918 and 2006

Adapted for Stage/Radio: Adapted three times between1950 and 1997

Most Famous Adaptions:

1934 Starring Leslie Howard(playing the fop to the hilt!!!)

1982 Masterpiece starring Anthony Andrews, Jane Seymour and Ian McKellan(SO dashing as brunette, and fabulous foil for Anthony Andrews!)

1997 Broadway Musical by Frank Wilderhorn and Nan Knighton originally starring Douglass Sills, Christine Andreas and Terrence Mann

1999; 2000 A&E Adaption starring Richard E Grant, Elizabeth McGovern and Martin Shaw(some fans hate this—I happen to LOVE it. All of them! It’s called poetic license people. Deal!)

North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell

The most famous of the Gaskell novels, follows the somewhat snobbish Margaret Hale as she moves from the south of England to the North, where she also catches the eye of mill owner John Thornton.

Originally Published: 1855

Adapted for Film/Television: Twice; 1975 and 2004

Most Famous Adaptions:

2010 BBC Starring Richard Armitage and Daniela Denby-Ashe

Mansfield Park by Jane Austen

Note:  my personal favorite Austen

Fanny Price is sent to live with her rich relatives at Mansfeild Park, where she observes that just because you’re rich, it doesn’t make you happy. She also falls in love with her cousin, Edmund.

Originally Published: 1814

Adapted for Film/Television: five times between 1983 and 2014

Adapted for Stage/Radio: three times between 2003 and 2014

Most Famous Adaptions:

1999 by Patricia Rozema starring Francis O’Connor and Johnny Lee Miller

2003 BBC Radio starring , Felicity Jones,  Benedict Cumberbatch and David Tennant(and Benedict and David make stunning brothers!!)

Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell

Originally Published: serialized 1866

Adapted for Film/Television: twice in 1971 and 1999

Most Famous Adaptions:

1999 BBC starring Keeley  Hawes, Justine Waddell, Tom Hollander and Anthony Howell(I personally don’t find one of the leading men all that stereotypically attractive, but hey, to each her own. His voice makes me squeal.)

Quirky Monday: Open the Door

When I'm with a guy, I expect him to open my door.

All of them.

Whether it's a date, or not.

How's that for weird?

I went to shoot a publicity video with a friend once, and he parked the car, and walked across the parking lot. And left me in the car. I waited maybe two minutes before he texted me "are you coming?" and I texted him "I don't know, are you going to open the door?" And the same thing happened when he drove me home. When did open the door to let me in, he said "it isn't a date".

I'm sorry. Does it have to be a date to open the door? Personally, I don't think so.

With four brothers, who have opened the doors for me, my sister, and my mom from the time they were three(and trust me, there is nothing more adorable than a chubby three-year-old-wrestling with a door three times his size and stubbornly insisting "No! Do self!").

Maybe they ruined it for me, I don't know. But I happen to like when even random stranger guys open the door for me.

I'm the weird female that stands in front of the door when she sees a male behind her to see if he'll open the door for her. 

Nuts, right?

Yes, guys, I'm a snob.

It doesn't have to be a date for a guy to open the door for a girl. 

The end. 

Quirky Monday: Gag-amole--and Other Things You Couldn't Pay Me to Eat

There are a list of foods I will not eat. Ever. It's a short list, but it's a list, none the less.

I have the world's weakest gag reflex. Seriously, anything that squishes, or sounds squishy or feels squishy, I have issues with. It's bad.

Especially if it squishes in my mouth.

Ok, maybe about fifty percent of the time if it squishes in my mouth.

Cream, I can eat fine;  apple crunch, cobbler, pies, fine. Yes, I will eat them . Jello I will eat. Squash I will eat. Pickles I will eat.

Tomatoes? Kill me.

Cold cereal(or hot cereal) with milk(and sugar and all that other stuff people put on it)?  Not so much.

Guacamole?  Not on your life.

Avocados? Sharp stick please. In my eye. Now.

Actually, looking at it like this isn't the bad part. It's when  I can see the inside that it gets bad. 

I don't like the way it looks; I don't like the way it smells; I don't like the feeling of it in my mouth. At all. Like ground up snot--or something equally gross.

The funny thing is, that with the other foods on this "gag list"(and I didn't even give you the rest of them), I can watch other people eat them just fine. Just don't offer me any. Avocado/Guacamole is a different story.

When I was at girl's camp, we had a "spa day" where one of the leaders made guacamole and cocoa powder face masks that we all go smeared on your faces. The.Worst. Forty-five minutes. Of. My. Life.

Avocados are almost as bad. Same deal--the look of it, the feel of it, the smell of it. I accidentally tasted it once(nobody told me it was in my salad!!!!) and I thought I was going to die.

Ok, maybe not die, but there was definite nausea going on in my body. Ick. Ick, ick, ick. Sometimes my mom and sister still have it in their salad or something, and it's all I can do not to gag.

Don't ask me why, but there are some foods I will never, ever eat, even if my life depended on it.

Guacamole is one of them.

And it will always be a problem.

Quirky Monday: My Stetson

When I was a little girl, my mom told me about Annie Oakley, and my great-grandfather used to watch Dr. Quinn during family Christmases, and I watched with him.

What do these things have in common?

Stetsons.

That's right, when I was going through the "I want a pony" phase as I child, it was also the "I want a cowboy hat" phase.

Eventually, the "pony" bit went away, because going up in the suburbs you learn that there is no way that you would be allowed to ride at break-neck speed through fields like National Velvet if a) there are no fields to begin with and b) there are no riding lessons available, and therefore no horse.

However.

The cowboy hat thing?

Didn't go away.

Not ever.

I wanted a Stetson. Not one of those plastic toy jobs either--a full-on leather job that I could wear whenever I wanted. If Annie Oakley and that one guy from Dr Quinn could sport one, why not me?

Truth be told, it wasn't just Dr. Quinn that got me into the "I want a cowboy hat" kick. It was also all those old westerns--"Westward Ho!", and "Seven Alone", and--in college--all the Jimmy Stewart Westerns that had me wanting something like that. Maybe I couldn't live like a cowboy, but I could sure look like one!

When I was sixteen, my family when to Yellowstone. During our souvenir shopping, my dad asked me what I wanted. My answer?

A Stetson.

And we found one.

A beautiful felt job that I wore the rest of the vacation--and subsequently lost during my move from home to my apartment four years later(but hey, I kept the thing for four years and I took pretty good care of it too!).

Flash forward to this past week. In Arizona, there is this town called Williams, which is the last town that was on the original Route 66(my cousin called it "Radiator Springs"--thank you, "Cars".)

 And in this town, there was this shop.

 And in this shop, there was a sale.

On Stetsons.

Leather Stetsons.

Goodbye souvenir money.

So yes, once again, I am the proud owner of a Stetson. A leather Stetson.

And this one I intend to keep, thanks very much!

Quirky Monday: Road Trip Rules

Today I am blogging from my car(hence any typos contained herein with no apologies whatsoever). I am currently surrounded by my family members and we are all currently dying in one form or another.

This is because we are on a nine hour drive to get to our vacation spot.

You heard right.

A nine hour drive.

Not that I haven't made this drive before(when I went to see my world premiere in AZ), but there is a difference between driving down to AZ with a single person and driving down to AZ with seven people--who are also your family members.

A good different.

Because now--since we're all at that point in our lives where we rarely get to spend more than a couple of hours together--once a year we get to spend a whole week together. Just us. And it's awesome!

But first we have to get there.

And in this case, it means we drive.

For NINE BLOODY HOURS!!!!!

And ok, it's not as bad as it sounds, really. Not since we aren't the kind of family that plugs ourselves in...ok, we do, but not the whole trip.

Before we all got electronic devices, we would play games, like The Alphabet Game. Using only roadsigns and liscense plates, we would see how quickly we could get through the alphabet(which is how my parents kept a 45 minute drive entertaining when they had a five-year-old or two who hated the free way cause they couldn't see out--among other things.)

There's also classics like SlugBug or Yellow Car(which is my personal favorite cause you can play that one for hours and don't really have to explain the rules.)

And then we all got electronic devices. Which was good and bad. It's bad cause there's always a point in the trip where we all get sick of each other(because nine hours in a confined space will drive anybody coo-coo) and plug ourselves in. But it's also good becuase:

1. I become my brother's favorite person cause I have a portable dvd player and bring all the movies.
2. At least three people in my family have(or have access to) an Audible account, so we can all listen to Audiobooks as a family
3. When we get tired of audiobooks there are at least four devices that have music and are fully charged which we can bicker over for music choice(or we just let everybody else listen to something and plug ourselves in, which ever works best and causes less fight.)

The point is, whenever my family goes on a trip together, it's awesome. And sometimes, getting there is awesome too.

Now if we could just get out of the car for like five minutes, that'd be great.....

Quirky Monday: My Fountain Pen

Last week, I happened to mention in passing that when I write sans screen, I do so with a fountain pen.

You guys.

I FRIGGIN LOVE FOUNTAIN PENS

I do. I really, really do. Maybe if I hadn't been into the whole "I wanna grow up in the 1700s/1800s/1900s" as I kid this would be such a "problem".  But, I was the child blessed with:

A. A grandfather who raised me on classic movies like "Frenchman's Creek", "Naughty Marietta", "The King and I" and other movies featuring quill pens.

B. Access to the film version of "Little Women". Jo March wrote with a nib pen. And always had ink on her hands!!!

C. Jane Austen. The books, the films, the quill and nib pens(and the men and the clothes). And,

D. Enough money to buy what I needed when I needed it(i.e. fountain pens--thank you Pilot!)

As a kid, I was into the American Girl Franchise and my favorite was Felicity. Because she wrote with a quill pen. I used to grab bird feathers off the street at attempt to make little "quills" of my own.

Of course, these "quill pens" were more often than not ball point pens scotch taped to feathers, but to a five year old, this was pretty dang good. When I did finally get my hands on a "legit" quill pen(from the American Girl Felicity craft kit), I used it so much, I broke the nib off. Yes, I literally broke the nib off.

When I was fourteen, my great uncle got me a glass fountain pen set for Christmas. Needless to say, I used up all the ink in one bottle in less than a month and got ink all over my hands and felt like Louisa May Alcott.

When I started college, one of the first things I did was checkout the bookstore--for obvious reasons. As I was browsing, I made an amazing discovery:

Pilot makes disposable fountain pens. These disposable fountain pens:

And they were right in front of me. For--well, I could afford them, and I that was good enough for me.

I bought a bunch. And used them up in less than a week.

Those have become my writing pens. Ballpoint pens are for school work and work-work and other boring stuff. But to create, I need a creative pen.

I need a fountain pen.

Name of the Game: Writing Closet-How Much?

Short today guys. And just a little anecdote,. I wasn't going to write today, but I changed my mind, because today at work someone asked me a question. It's something every writer gets asked, but something I never though about before--until today.

"How many hours do you spend writing a day?"

.....You know, I never really worked it out. Writing for me isn't just sit at a computer and type. It's plotting in my head; and scribbling on notecards, in notebooks(with my awesome "writing" fountain pen!!!) and my phone; and create playlists; and muttering conversations to myself while I shelf read and put books on shelves( a. yes, those are two different things, and b. yes, I do it all the time--and get really weird looks). All this in addition to actual "writing"--that is, putting words on the page to form them into a story.

Anyway, she asked me this question and I didn't really think about if before I answered:

"Five or six hours."

Yes.

That is what I said.

And later today during my commute I really thought about that answer, and all the other things listed above. You know, it's the truth. I do not go to sleep because I'm too busy writing. I have to sent a loud timer at work when I'm on break cause I'm too busy writing. I've almost been late for work(and other things) because I'm too busy writing.

And ok, it's not five or six straight hours. It's consecutive. Two hours here; an hour and a half there; maybe a whispered twenty minute dialogue(see above). Which is SO helpful, especially, as previously mentioned, I have to work on several projects at a time. Yes, it's a "have to" kind of thing.

But, that's one of a writer's vices, isn't it?

Quirky Monday: B&B-My Favorite Fairy Tale

So remember last week I said something about my favorite fairy tale? This one:

I don't really have any one reason why Beauty and the Beast is my favorite. Maybe it's because it was the first movie I saw in a theatre(thank you BYU dollar nights!); or maybe it has something to do with my obsession over celebrity Dark Horses; or maybe it's just because it's a fairy tale and I'm a sucker for fairy tales--I don't know. But this story has always appealed to me.

Like, the idea of someone transformed into a Beast(Dark Horse) and shut up in a castle with either:
a) talking furniture
b) invisible servants
c) visible servants
d)magic
or a combination of the above, and then bring in a girl who is so open minded and kind that even before she realizes her feelings she is nice to him.

I have seen/read just about every version of this tale that I can get my hands on. I've read the original fairy tale; and Grimm fairy tale; and the two by Robin McKinley(Rose Daughter is actually my favorite of the two); and the updated version by Alex Flinn(Beastly  the novel was so good--and the movie ruined it, which by the way, is one of the few times I have regretted spending money on a movie). Actually I've read Beastly so many times the cover might fall off--the pages are certainly well used.


I also own the Disney DVD, and have seen the  1984 Susan Saradon version; and I gave the TV series a shot(disappointing, both of them--ick); so yes, basically every version I can get my hands on(including the French film, which is brilliant!!!!!). I have also seen the charming Rebecca de Mornay musical(which truly is charming)--see clip below or follow this link:

I did I quick IMDB check before I wrote this, and there are 200 listed titles. Which means that there are going to be some good ones and some crappy ones--and I've seen both the some of the good and some of the crappy. True,there are also some versions I have yet to see, but this is chiefly because they are out of print(grrrrrrrrrrrrrr)

Like this one. This one I REALLY want to see and can't find ANYWHERE

But yes, I love this fairy tale. I love this fairy tale so much I'm pulling a Shannon Hale and making my favorite fairy tale into something to call my own. Which a really freakin cool. And I will finish it this time!!!!

Also, PS: when the Emma Watson/Dan Stevens version is FINALLY released,  I WILL GO SEE IT OPENING NIGHT!!!!!

Quirky Monday: The Boy Who Never Grew Up

Dream roles?

Artists get asked this question more than once, for multiple reasons. We all have them--that role we want to play more than anything and will do whatever it takes to get it(including crazy gym workouts, like some people I could mention--but won't).

I have more fun designing, writing and directing than acting, but I do have a shortlist, like every other artist I know. It's changed, yeah, but there's always been one that's remained at the top of the list since I was---I don't know--six?

Peter Pan.

Guys, the Disney movie was one of the first VHSs my family got--and it was all I wanted to watch. I was convinced that Neverland was a real place, and that some day I would learn to fly and go spend the rest of my life there. I was certain that if I could figure out how to throw myself horizontally forward hard enough, and at just the right moment, I could fly; and once I learn how to do that, getting to Neverland would be a piece of cake!

I remember the first time I heard the soundtrack to the original Broadway musical. Did I get it? Not really, it was a soundtrack so some of the songs didn't make much sense in my seven-year-old brain. But I did enjoy walking around the the house singing "I Won't Grow Up" at the top of my lungs.

The Provo Library had a VHS of the film they made starring Mary Martin in the 70s, and I watched that so many times I'm sure I drove my mom out of her mind. It wasn't until I saw two separate productions at two different high schools, that it finally clicked: this was a musical, not just a movie. This was a play someone wrote! I'll never forget the feeling I had, watching it live and clapping with all my might to get Tink back to life.

In 2000, A&E released a recording of a revival done in California starring Cathy Rigby. You guys, the times I watched that movie--oh my goodness!!!

Being old enough now to get all the mechanics of the film, and that it was a play, and that it was getting produced again, I realized why I had been so obsessed with it in the first place. Ok, the two reasons.

1. I want to play Peter Pan before I die.
I do. More than you can possibly imagine. If we're talking logistics here, I would love to portray that role because it's one of the few parts in my vocal range, so I wouldn't have to worry about straining or falsetto or any of that. Also, Peter gets to fly. Like a lot. Who wouldn't want that?

2. Everybody in one way or another,  wants to be Peter Pan. Period.
I mean, never grow up? Fly? Live in a world with no cares, no worries, just have fun? Fly? Fight pirates and Indians on a daily basis? Fly? Have a fairy for a--sort of best friend? And did I mention fly? Who wouldn't want to fly?

And yes, I did see the ABC Live Presentation. I know, I know, but it was "Peter Pan" so I gave it a shot. One of the stupider decisions I've made in my life. And I saw the awful film starring Jason Isaacs(question: did they have to up the romance when it kinds didn't even really exist one Peter's side. I mean, hello, he says his feelings are "those of a devoted son"--he's probably not even thinking about romance or whatever. Plus, Wendy in the film? Not so pretty. Just not--but that's just me, so whatever). AND I may or my not be counting down the days until "Pan" is released--and saving moola to a) go see it in theatres multiple times; and b) buy the DVD upon release. Because THIS:

Here's my question: this show gets done over and over and revived and revamped and re-everything-else-ed because it's a legit classic(see 2, above).

Who wouldn't want to be the Boy Who Never Grew Up?

Name of the Game: Discovery in Music...Oh crap!!!!

Ok. I have lost count of the number of times I have said I'm in trouble on this blog. But--

Guys. I'm in trouble.

So much trouble.

I have made a discovery that I never thought I would make.

I have come to like something I swore I would never go near.

Never.

Never ever.

And then it happened.

One little Youtube video, one little song, and it was all over. This song.

Crap.

Crap, crap crap!

Guys, I think I like country music.

A lot.

Ok, maybe not all country music, but there's some good stuff out there. Florida-Georgia Line, and Tim McGraw and Big and Rich and....other stuff. That I can dance to.

Maybe that's the problem.

See, any music I can dance to, I like. That song up there? I can dance to it, so I like it.

Yes, I said I wouldn't ever listen to it.

Yes, I said there was no way anyone could convince me it was a genre worth giving a chance.

But now I have, so there you go.

Name of the Game: Thespian Perils

"I went the the chiropractor today/yesterday/going tomorrow..."

"Rolled/twisted/broke/sprained my ankle/foot/hand/. It's now elevated."

"Muscles hurting. Hooray!"

"New muscles discovered. Now hurting. Hooray!!!"

"Just got stabbed/shot/kicked/smacked/punched/for real. No big deal."

Yeah. Stuff like that shows up on my newsfeed, nearly every day. No, it's not because I'm friends with klutzes, and hunters, and maniacal crazy people--ok, maybe some of those are true, but the main reason is because I have friends who are thespians. 

And guess what? I can always tell when a show is going on, even if I haven't seen all the publicity and stuff, because of the social media posts like those above. In theatre, you don't have  stunt doubles--most of the time. 

Yeah, I can see in shows like Beauty and the Beast you kinda need one for the Transformation, but most of the time it's you, onstage getting beaten to a pulp or attacking someone with whatever weapon is close at hand. 

And when you're not doing that(cause not every show you're ever in will have a fight) your running the backstage marathon to get from one side of the stage to the other; and change costumes in sixty seconds or less sometimes--in the dark(or the semi-dark depending on where the dressing room is and the size of the theatre and all that).  

We do this by choice. When BYU did The Count of Monte Christo a lead actor broke his foot on opening night and performed the rest of the run.

 I was in a production of The Scarlet Pimpernel and Percy Blakney cut his hand open on the guillotine(why we had a real blade, I'll never know; none of my business; moving on...) and still finished his epic fencing match;

Right, so that's just SF make-up, but that's what the guy's hand looked like AND HE STILL FINISHED THE FIGHT. And the show!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And showed up the next day with thirteen stitches and finished the run.

 Last year, I got a blinding migraine mid-stunt and by some miracle was able to finish my fight without killing anyone.  

I have now seen three separate actors walk into three separate stage weights, get various injuries and still finish either the performance or the run--depending on the gravity of the injury. 

Guys. We do this for fun. Not on purpose; stuff happens, it's bound to.  You know what the upside is? For one thing, we could get awesome scars and stories to talk about later("yeah, I sliced my hand on a guillotine while I wielding a rapier and stuff"); but we also get an idea of how committed we are to a project. 

Yes, there are sometimes extenuating circumstances where we need to call it quits; but we hate doing that. We put so much effort into our art, we hate backing out and letting people down. 

We put one hundred percent effort into everything we do. We get cut; we get bruised; we pull muscles; life happens. And when it does, we take it in stride. 

Artists do crazy stuff, and crazy stuff happens to us. But sometimes, we get dang good stories out it!

Quirky Monday: I am a Lizard

There are times I wear big wool sweaters.

And sweatshirts.

And various other layers.

In July.

I'm not kidding. I have worn a heavy sweatshirt in July because I'm freezing to death. In the summer.

My hands turn purple on a regular basis.

My feet have gone numbs with cold.

In August(that's the hottest month of the year people!)

I KNOW!?!?!?!?

Because I am a lizard.

A very, very cute lizard, but a lizard none the less.

For some stupid reason(thank you genetic make-up) I get really cold if the temperature drops below seventy degrees. Yes, I said seventy degrees.

My family went to Oregon for vacation a couple of years ago, and we decided to do a beach day. The boys were going to learn how to surf, and the girls were going to hang out on the beach.

The Oregon beach.

Not the California beach.

And yeah, it was fun, but I spent a good deal of "beach time" curled up in a fleece blanket and two jackets just wanting the wind to stop. 

On the beach. 

In July. 

I KNOW!?!?!?!?!?

Weather like this makes me happy:

I will be in heaven whenever a forecast like this happens. But when I see something like this:

I curl up and die. 

Curl up. 

And die. 

I guess that's why one of the family jokes is that I need to move to Cali, or Texas, or Arizona, or something. Somewhere with no snow, no ice, no sleet, and the weather stays WARM. 

Yeah. That would be so nice. 

Name of the Game: Parkour--And My Lack of Coordination

A few days ago, a friend of mine posted on her blog about her obsessions, which got me thinking about one of mine.

I obsess over things. All. The. Time. For aesthetics, celebrity, creativity, perfection, etc. And then there are the times I obsess over something because I can't do it for whatever reason--and I really really want to.

Currently, it is PARKOUR.

And yes, up until recently I had no idea what it was called. What I did know is the things that David Bell does in the following clip were really really friggin cool!!!!

Now, I've said before I am not the most coordinated person in the world(can't even dribble a basketball, remember?).  And right now I know myself well enough to know that with my awful coordination I can't ever do this and look as sipic as David Bell or Jeremy Renner do. Like what he does right here:

Not without hours and hours and hours of training anyway(and practice; and maybe a good stunt double).

Which brings me to part two of my parkour obsession. 

Question: If it can be done in films, why not put it on stage?

Even better, why not be the person to write about it and then put it on stage?

You see what my creative brain does to me? 

This week the name of the game is creative insanity!!!!

Also: Learning Parkour? Now on my Bucket List. 

You're welcome!

Name of the Game: Dark Horses

I don't know what it is, but a face like this just gets me.

Gets me right in the feels.

And ok, this is just one example(it's Ian Somerhaulder, by the way), but it's a great visual for one of this hopeless little romantic's big stupid weaknesses.

Dark Horses.

The Character Archtype, not an actual horse with a dark colored coat.

Maybe it's the fact that all the men in my family are brunettes.

Maybe it's the fact that half of the men in my family can be sarcastic jerks(that I love anyway).

Maybe it's the weird sort of sex appeal that these characters in books and films seem to project without a great deal of effort.

Maybe it's the fact that I am a hopeless romantic who turns into a great big pot of goo any time I see an attractive face(animated or otherwise).

Yeah, I know, he's not a brunette, but he's still the snarky little anti-hero that I love so much!!!

Or maybe it's a combination of all the things. But if you want me to read a book, or see a film, or play, and you want me to love it, be sure there is a Dark Horse in it.

Right. So I know there are some of who who don't exactly know what a "Dark Horse" is. They are the rogues, the anti-heroes, the characters you may or may not be able to trust. They are the characters who's motives are shady or unclear; who, once you end up trusting, are oh so glad you did. Still unsure? Let me enlighten you with a couple of (biased) visual examples. From films/TV Shows:

Supernatural-Dean Winchester
Australia-Rover
TMNT-Raph
Avengers- Well...All of them?
X-Men-Wolverine
The Vampire Diaries- Damon Salvator(see pic above)
Tangled-Flynn
A Midsummer Night's Dream-Demetrius
The Three Musketeers-Athos
Buffy the Vampire Slayer Angel(sorta)/ Spike(DEFO)
The Last Airbender-Zuko
Firefly Mal/ Jayne
Princess Mononoke-San/Ashitaka
The Breakfast Club-John Bender
Graceland-Briggs
Gossip Girl-CHUCK BASS
The 100-Bellamy
Star Wars-Han Solo
Once Upon a Time-Hook
Daredevil-Matt Murdock
BBC's Robin Hood-Guy/Alan
Much Ado About Nothing-Benedick
Any James Cagney Film Between 1930-1950

Yeah. There's the list. And a piece of insight into my taste in media. You're welcome.

But the thing that all these in this list have in common is that "Dark Horse" trait--or two. They have the tendency to be moody, sarcastic, occasionally violent, snarky, men-with-a-past-they-need-to-atone-for-and-always-have-questionable-motives-at-one-time-or-another type characters that for some reason I find incredibly sexy.

Because I'm a romantic.

Now, I couldn't live with one--I don't think; I've never tried--but my goodness they are so fun to see, read about, and write.

Quirky Monday: #nofilter OR Sarcasm

There are two things I suck at.

One is being patient. Both my family and my close friends know this and get deal with it every day, all the time. Sorry, guys. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

The other one they get to see and deal with all day every day is my sarcasm filter.

And the fact that I don't have one.

A sarcasm filter, I mean.

I don't know what it is--probably something to do with my genetic make-up, thanks Dad!--but I get this weird thrill out of being snarky and sarcastic.

To anyone.

At any given opportunity.

People who know me really well are able to spot when I'm being sarcastic(something to do with my word choice, my teeth, and my eyebrows, apparently); other people, not so much.

Guys, I swear I'm working on it.

Except there are times when I'm sure my brain-to-mouth filter just plain doesn't exist.

And yeah, I know there are times when sarcasm should be avoided, and I'm getting better at spotting those; but that still doesn't keep me from getting in trouble, thanks to some snarky remark that shoots out of my mouth before I can stop it(open mouth, insert foot....)

Like the time I was in high school and got tested for my writing skills.

My school district had this ridiculous idea that the only way to tell if high school English teachers were doing their jobs was to give us a Writing Assessment(take the first three letters of that word-- "assessment"--and you'll know what me feelings are on that subject).

So each year we had to write a five paragraph essay no longer than three pages answering a question picked by the district. And we had an hour and a half to do it.

I get it. I do. School districts want to check up on how well the teachers in said school districts are doing their job; and the only way to check that is to look at student test scores, blah, blah, blah(and I have a whole other rant on what's wrong with this, but that's for another post)....

All I'm saying is that if you want to test these students and get serious results, then don't ask them stupid questions.

You guys, the questions were asinine! We had to be persuasive about things that--in the long run--didn't matter.

At all.

Want to know one of the really good ones? "Should high schools increase the amount of vending machines present in schools, or just raise the prices of the contents of said vending machines? Why or why not?"

Seriously!

That was the question!

We had to write a freaking three page five paragraph essay answering that question!

So what did I do?  Well, since:

I just wrote a bitingly sarcastic essay along the lines of: "of course we should increase the number of vending machines and raise the prices of it's contents; because everybody is secretly addicted to sugar anyway and we want to do everything in our power to feed it--not!"

That's all.

Yeah....

Apparently, those who read it didn't get satire.

Like, at all.

Or sarcasm.

Not the least little bit.

Results: one of the few Writing Tests I actually failed.

They placed me in the non-honors/low-level courses so I could learn to "become a more serious writer" and "increase my writing scores on the English and Writing portions of my upcoming ACT" (ha, ha, ha!).

But that's what happens to me all time! I get asked stupid questions, and react accordingly; or overhear stupid arguments, and react accordingly; or just have the snarky comment that wants to come out or I'll burst.

And I let it out!

In spades!

Open mouth, shove foot down throat....

I will say though, that there have also been times that sarcasm has worked to my advantage. Sometimes people take what I say seriously, even when I don't mean it that way. I made a sarcastic comment about a policy at one of my summer jobs once; and they changed it(for the better, it turns out), because they thought I was totally serious!

There are times I am so sarcastic I should not be allowed in public. But then there are also times when I'm glad I'm sarcastic, because I doubt I'd be the same person, and I'd really kind of miss that.

Just a little.