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I just realized, I LOVE paranormal. I do. I’m sorry. I read all the Twilight books (again, I’m sorry). I love watching The Gates on TV (okay, most of the time I forget it’s on and have to play catch up on Hulu). The Gates is a new show on channel 5 on Sunday nights. It’s a little like Twilight meets Desperate Housewives meets CSI. Paranormal drama with each episode. Gotta love it!
I like The Gates. I do. There’s a whole lot of paranormal going on. You’ve got your regulars—vampires, werewolves--BUT there is also witches and succubus type beings (female demons who get their energy from killing men). Me likes this! I had just finished catching up on episodes I had missed when I turned to my husband and said, “Boy, if I had to pick between being a witch or a vampire or a werewolf, I think . . . I think I would pick witch first, followed by vampire, because I don’t think being a werewolf would be fun at all—except I would get a new wardrobe all the time (shredded clothing).” His reply, “Go with vampire. You’ve already got witch down.” Ahhh, he knows me!! So I asked him, “If you had to pick what would you choose?” “I’m pretty sure if I got to be anything, it would be victim.” That made me laugh. I could totally see that—but if I were a vampire, I could bring him back and make him my vampire companion who would forever be bonded to me . . . WAH,HA,HA,HA!!! (Wait a minute, we have an eternal marriage we are bonded forever. Hmmm . . . there has to be a perk here somewhere . . . could he be my slave? Yeah, I like that. I will give him immortality and he will be in charge of washing dishes and laundry for FOREVER . . . WAH, HA,HA!!!) All that dark paranormal stuff intrigues me. (Don’t get me wrong, I like holy stuff too). It’s all fun. NO!! I don’t believe in witches or werewolves and I don’t care to be on an Edward or a Jacob team , I just like the concept of something different. In the aspect of creativity, maybe there isn’t much being done with it that hasn’t already been tried, but I am willing to give The Gates a go. It’s winning me over—especially with the concept of a human’s (police chief and his family) living right in the mix of all this. You know at some point, one of these creatures is going to get them. But which one? I must keep watching. Vampires and werewolves . . . throw in the witches and succubus’ and you’ve got me at hello.
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 I used to subscribe to a magazine called Cookie. After a couple of years, it went away. The magazine people called me to tell me of this news and to offer a different magazine in its place (I had already paid and they obviously didn’t want to give me my money back). I said, sure. Send me a new magazine.
Okay, here’s the problem. Cookie was a magazine for mothers and kids (more designed for rich moms who can dress their kids in $1,000+ outfits, than for the average Utah stay-at-home-mom, but still, it was for moms). So what magazine did I get to replace it? Allure. I decided to give it a chance. It’s not my thing, but okay. So far after several months of reading this magazine, I find that Allure doesn’t have any allure. I am not allured at all. There is nothing helpful in it for me—the average Utah stay-at-home mom (Okay, maybe I’m not an “average” stay-at-home mom. I’m more, “below average,” but still). Here is my review of the September 2010 edition of Allure: On the cover: Kim Kardashian (this is already a letting me know this issue is going to suck). I could not find the actual cover for the magazine, but I did find the picture above that is on the magazine cover. What lady wants to see another lady in a slinky bra like thing? Wait, don't answer that. I don't really want to know. I just know it ain't me. Some of the featured articles on the cover are: Beautiful skin, now and forever; Tiger’s mistress opens up; Make peace with your hair, 9 easy looks; Brand-new makeup. Bold colors that break the mold, Plus: style while you sleep. Hmmm . . . so far not so good. Then I open the magazine and this is what happens: 1st) Six little postcards for Allure falls out. 2nd) I am inundated with the smell of perfume samples. I shall count how many . . . three. That’s actually not as bad as I thought. It sure seemed like a dozen when I first pulled it out of its plastic protection. 3rd) How many pages of advertisement does it take before I get to an article of some sort . . . let’s see: Estee Lauder, Gap, Banana Republic, Calvin Klein Jeans (naughty picture by the way), Clinique, Guess, DKNY Jeans, Lancome, L’Oreal, Origins, The Allure menu, Garnier, Chanel, Allure’s virtual store, Dillard’s (4 pg layout), Olay, Allure. Com (again), Fendi, Nordstrom, Vogue eyewear, Garnier eye cream, O.P.I, A contributor’s page, Fekkai, Aveeno, pg 44 has letters from readers, Giorgo Armani, another Allure.com virtual store advertisement, Revlon, Stay with me guys, I’m flipping pages as quick as I can (This is real. I promise I am not making this up), Illumifill, WAH-LA!!! Finally!! Page 52 has an article titled: Beauty by numbers: Scandals. Fifty-two pages into the magazine, I finally come to an actual article!!! Does anyone else find this funny and at the same time, wrong?? From there the advertisements keep on coming. Also the articles are STUPID! Seriously, there is an article about purses in which most of the purses cost over (insert drum roll please) $2,000. Are you serious? There is one purse that is shown that costs a mere $89 called Nine West. But who wants to be seen with the cheapo bag? Surely, not me. A few more articles: How to look good after a workout A rolled cuff looks best with pants that have a vintage men’s style Those Crazy Egyptians How to wear a poufy skirt What is in? Cat Eyes—How to get your makeup purrrfect. How to pull off the military look How much sleep did you get last night? Wow. There you have it, guys. These are articles that really make me think about our world and what I can do as a human being to make it a better place for everyone . . . NOT! The magazine is probably 70-80% advertisements (of one kind or another). The articles themselves are superficial and of no importance to me—there is no way I will ever wear a poufy skirt, try for the military look, or wear makeup that give me a cat-eye look. Sorry. Ain’t gonna happen. This magazine is awful. I get it in the mail. I flip through a few pages and then I toss it in the recycle bin. My subscription is running out—thank goodness—so I only have a few more months of this nonsense. If you are into nonsense, this magazine is purrrfect (Had to do it. Sorry). Two thumbs down and a raspberry of the tongue for Allure.  Our van just rolled over to 200,000 miles this past Wednesday.
It’s old. It isn’t fancy—has no bells or whistles. And, it’s purple (otherwise known as the purple nurple in our family). We bought the van from a government auction when Calder was just a baby. Calder is now almost 9 yrs old. That’s an awful long time to own a vehicle. We paid a little less than $7,000 for it. Quite the bargain, but at the time I thought it was going to bankrupt us. It was more than we had ever paid for a vehicle—it makes me laugh now. But I will tell you, our return has been a hundred fold on this van. Sure, when I want to talk to another car that pulls up along the passenger side of the van, I have to unbuckle, lean across the seats and manually roll down the window. Sure, when I want to make sure all the doors are locked, I have to push down (yes, push down with my finger) each lock. My vans doors do not magically slide open or close; the windows are stationary on those doors as well; one door is actually broken and will not stay completely open on its own; it’s missing a visor (Caden hung on it when he was five and busted it off); the chairs will not recline; the outside of the van is scratched up (all my fault, but if you saw our driveway and garage system, you would completely understand). Let’s just say, there’s a whole lot wrong with it. But there’s been a whole lot right with it as well. We hardly have had to put a lot of money into it. The sucker just keeps going and going. It has been to Canada, Texas (2 or 3 times), California a number of times and Arizona as well. Obviously, we have put a lot of miles on it. It has been (and still is) a very good van. We have had a lot of wonderful traveling memories with this van. 200,000 miles—WOW! That’s a lot. Since Wednesday, I have already added another 70 miles or so to it. So how many miles can a vehicle go? It’s like how many licks until you get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop? Does anyone know. Will this be the year I get a new van? Who knows? The way this sucker is going, I will be blogging about it when it reaches 300,000 miles. (Does that even happen?) Here is the query that seems to be working for me (for some of you who have been curious as to what a query is):
August 12, 2010 Dear (insert agent name), Samantha Jean Haggert is a beautiful twelve-year-old girl—but no one knows it. All they see is an awkward boy in a baseball cap and baggy pants. Sam’s not thrilled with the idea of hiding her identity, but it’s all part of her older brother’s plan to keep Sam safe from male attention and hidden from the law. Fifteen-year-old Jacob will stop at nothing to protect his sister, including concealing the death of the one person who should have protected them in the first place—their mother. Sam and Jacob try to outrun their past by stealing the family car and traveling from West Virginia to Arizona, but the adult world proves mighty difficult to navigate, especially for two kids on their own. Trusting adults has never been an option; no adult has ever given them a good reason to. But when Sam meets “Jesus”—who smells an awful lot like a horse—in the park, life takes a different turn. He saved her once, and may be willing to save Sam and her brother again, if only they admit what took place that fateful day in West Virginia. The problem? Sam doesn’t remember, and Jacob isn’t talking. Desert Rice is a 74,000-word young-adult novel. I have a B.A. in English, and I am an active member of The League of Utah Writers. Desert Rice won first place in the Absolutely Write 2010 Annual First Page Contest. I thank you for your time and consideration, and I look forward to your response. Sincerely, Angela Scott (insert info) I will post my first chapter on My Writing page (see tab above). Like I said, it may never see the light of day. These two agents may not like my work at all, but that doesn’t mean I will stop dreaming—it only means I still have more work to do :) Per Nemo--"Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming." Or in my case--"Just keep writing. Just keep writing." I have been asked, “When are you going to blog about your high school reunion?” So here it is in all its glory:
Friday night was the Alumni social. When I walked in, I was like, “Am I at the right reunion? Who are these people?” But as I started recognized more and more faces, my heart calmed down and I realized I was indeed in the right place. Now, don’t get me wrong, there were many more people there I simply did not recognize and the name tags didn’t help me much either. At one point, I just went up to people and said, “Obviously, we went to school together, but I don’t remember you. How’s it going?” There were a lot of bald men roaming around—funny yet true—and most seemed to pull it off quite well. I wish they would have taken a picture, “Hey, all you baldies over here!” That would have been fun. One lady had obviously been drinking and made things interesting for all. Good times. She was funny and made me wish I had come drunk too (it would have made the night easier). *Note: I do not condone drinking and do not plan to take up that habit. But under such stressful times (yes, high school reunions are stressful), I can see why the lure of alcohol might be the way to go. Oh, and what the heck was with the 50 or so big bags of chips? Just a little curious. Saturday was the family picnic and evening dinner social. The picnic was fine. I think under the guise of having our families and spouses with us, many of us seemed more relaxed, friendly and more open to go up to other people. I knew of the three events, this was probably my favorite. I didn’t feel so uptight and out of place. I felt like me. (Oh, and the big bags of chips seemed to fit in better at this venue). The dinner on the other hand, I went back to being uptight and nervous. Why? Beats me. Even my husband commented to me. He said, “Angela, I have always thought of you as a confident woman, but put you back in a high school type situation, and I don’t hardly know you.” It’s true! And it’s WEIRD! High school was not a horrible time for me. I loved high school. I loved my friends (of which most I still am in contact with and consider my great friends to this day). So what the heck was wrong with me? I don’t know. I did go up to a few people and talked, but for the most part, I stuck to my little familiar group. But the funny thing is, most everyone else did the same thing too. You sat with who you were most comfortable with, and who the heck can blame anyone for that? Sure as heck not me! I like comfortable. Clicks? I guess you could call it that. I prefer to call it "comfortable." It has been twenty years. My mind is mush. I was not good at remembering people, which was to my disadvantage. If I didn’t recognize you, then I was simply too nervous to go up to you and find out more about you. That is my fault. That is something I need to better work on. I think another thing that put me at a disadvantage, was that some of the people I would have loved to have reconnected with and seen how they were doing and the different turns life has taken for them, simply were not there. Sue Jeffrey—where were you? I missed you. Glen Remy, Matt Rose, Julie and Jeanette Sloots, the list could go on and on. These people, my comfortable people, were not there. Now don’t get me wrong, I was overall glad that I went. There were people I was glad to see—good, wonderful people. The dinner was great. The entertainment, not so much (sorry planning committee, it’s true, but you did your best and that is all we can ask of you. I still think you did a great job under the circumstances). Most importantly, I am glad for those people who came out of their “comfortable groups” and made the rounds in talking with people they may normally have never talked to in school—you know who you are, you sweet things. I need to learn to be better at that, and maybe next time I will be. Maybe as I continue to age and my mind goes, I will be walking up to everyone at my 50th year reunion and hugging people and clasping hands while having a golly good ol’ time in doing it. (Because at that time, my mind will not be able to decipher who was my friend, who was not, and who actually only works at the venue and didn’t graduate with us at all). So, Roy High School 1990 20th class year reunion—we are getting old, but we seem to be aging gracefully. See you at the next reunion--perhaps. Okay, this is it. Tonight is the first night in a slew of activities for my 20th year high school reunion—Go Royals! Class of 1990, rocks! (Okay, that was cheesy).
At the beginning of the year when the dates for the reunion were announced, I was like “Alright! Sign me up!” Now, that it is here, I’m not so sure I’m all that excited. I have butterflies in my stomach—isn’t that weird. Why is it that high school (a meager three years of 38 years) still haunts and defines who I think of myself today? Did it really have that incredible of an impact on me that just the thought of reuniting with some of the people from school makes me want to cry a little? What is that about? Criminy! I haven’t seen most of these people in like what, 20 years, so what’s the big deal? I think I am way over thinking this. I am a good person, gosh dang it! But I tell you what? This gosh darn good person is planning on tucking, lifting, plucking, squeezing, and hiding most of her goodness to make sure it looks even better for this weekend. And to do all of that, it comes at a price—thank goodness for Visa. Man, I wish I had something cool to say once I got there too, like “Hello, I am Dr. Cornford” but that’s a lie. I wish I could say, “Hello, I am Angela the inventor of the sham-wow” But no, I ain’t got that going for me either. I’ve got nothing cool like that (sham-wow’s are cool. Have you ever tried one?) Instead, all I’ve got is the truth: I am a wife to a man I absolutely adore, who is so good to me he is coming to this reunion without complaint; I am a mother of 3 miracle kids whose very existence has filled me with more joy than they will ever know; I am a writer (unpublished as of yet) but I am a writer none-the-less (I have two books under my belt and a third that should be finished this fall). I’m peddling my current book to agents as we speak (fingers crossed). I am the inventor of post it notes (Okay, that one is false—I took that from Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion movie). I am going to the reunion. I am certain when it is all said and done, I will be all the better for going. I will have renewed old friendships and had a great time. I will not judge ANYONE while there, because I would hope the same respect would be allotted me. We are older. We are wiser. And hopefully we are much kinder. I will see you there. Please come up to me, tell me who you are and say hi. I don’t care if we were friends in high school or not—come say hello. Tell me how you are doing and all about your family. I’d be genuinely interested to know. (And if your nervous , like me, just know you are not alone). I had so been hoping that keeping a blog would be far easier than keeping a journal (for which I am notorious for starting and then stopping). Most of my journals read a little something like this: Dear Journal, It is a new year, and this year I have vowed to be a better journal keeper despite the fact that my life is ordinarily dull. I will write each day more faithfully. So, let me tell you a little about this past year . . .
The problem, that is usually the only entry for that particular year. The following year would say something like this: Dear Journal, Sorry I was horrible last year, but this year I will be better. I promise. See the pattern? I was certain that blogging was the way to go. But it is quickly becoming apparent that I’m not too good at blogging weekly either. Like I said, my life is ordinarily dull. Or maybe it has just been this summer which has zapped me from my usual perkiness (I am a perky person, gosh darn it. Are you wanting to pick a fight?) I keep telling myself that once school starts I will do all of the things I have become lazy about doing—running, cleaning the house more often, my eBay business, and of course, blogging. So, Dear Blog, I will be better. I will blog about my ordinary business for people to ponder upon (and be grateful my life is not theirs). I will blog weekly (since daily is obviously a much too big of a task for me to commit to). I promise! My twenty-year, high school reunion is quickly approaching. I am now registered to go. Yikes!
I don’t know whether to be excited or terrified. I’m trying to gather a posse of friends (old high school buddies) to come and make the experience less traumatic. If they don’t show? Then I just may be sitting next to people I used to hate back in the days, and just might not enjoy in these current days. AND I will have paid $64 to do it. I’ve never been to my twenty-year high school reunion before (duh) and my biggest question is, what do I wear? What do I wear to the alumni social? What do I wear to the family picnic and then again that night at the big dinner? I’m pretty certain my old prom dress will not fit. I have two weeks to shed 30+ pounds. Anyone know how to do that without bruising? Actually, I am going to go and simply be myself. I have spent 38 years crafting the person that I am today. Every wrinkle, every pound, bump, and beauty mark is mine. I am who I am. And I think I’m a pretty okay kinda gal (Feel free to disagree, but remember I have freedom to disagree with what you disagree with :P and I will stick my tongue out at you). |
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