A Christmas Story (told through pictures)

Have you ever read the book "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever"?

It is a classic in my family and the cover of the copy we own reads "The WORST Christmas Pageant Ever" with the word "WORST" crossed out and the word "best" written over the top of it, to insinuate some sort of basic children's foreshadowing.

Initially you might feel that this post is going to be "The Most Boring Blog Post Ever," as most personal christmas stories are. Everyone likes to talk about their Christmas traditions and adventures, but nobody really cares to hear about anyone else's.

However, I did not have a normal Christmas this year.

So, please open those little minds of yours and mentally cross out the word "boring" so we can both agree that this will be "The Best Blog Post Ever."

This will also not be like that story that turned into the hit country Christmas song "The Christmas Shoes."

That song plays with my emotions more than my freshman boyfriend.

How did they fit that much emotional torment into one song?

Not only is the kid poor, selfless, and has a dying mother, but all this is happening on CHRISTMAS.

Throw in the fact that it is a country song and I'm in mourning until January every time I hear it. (Mostly because I listened to an entire country song.)

So, I've made you a few promises.

1. This post will not be lame and boring.

2. This post will not make you cry like a little baby.

3. If you nominate me as 8th grade president we will have soda pop in all the water fountains.

Thank You. Let us begin.

The night started out like any Christmas should. Getting dressed up. Mom taking pictures by the stockings. Feeling all christmas-spiritey.

It wasn't long before we were watching Jordan break the Christmas pinata for the second year in a row. Truth be told I whacked the heck out of that thing and it was just hanging by a thread by the time Jordan got to it. Also, this is my blog so I can say whatever I want.
Next it was off to Grandma Wade's house. Every year we have the nativity to beat all in-home nativities. In an organized fashion we are all dressed in full costume and given lines to read, songs to sing, and sticks to hit each other with when my grandma isn't looking.

Erin, Lauren and I are the "readers" every year. However, this being the first year that two of the three readers have husbands and life-plans (Hint: I was not one of them), Lauren was off in Texas with her new in-laws.

Because we were desperate we asked Erin's husband Broc to fill in and I must say, he looked quite nice in the red graduation robes traditional to the role of "Nativity Reader" (according to my grandmother.)

Other characters included a chorus of Angels...(I got booted out of this position years ago)


...Shepherds (When Roosevelt said "Speak softly and carry a big stick" he did not factor in the lung capacity of nine little boys with shepherds crooks)...



...and three wise men (AT&T commercial anyone? More bars in more places)...


After all the family festivities it was on to the friend bonfire that we had planned for last week until we got rained out.
You know you're from a small town when a bonfire on Christmas night in your sheepskin collared jacket seems like a fitting way to end your holiday.
Here is the twenty-foot tree we dragged out into the middle of the desert for kindling.

At some point in the night Erin and I got really nervous about the large, gasoline-soaked tree we were lighting up with nobody around for miles to hear us scream, but we didn't let it show.

The boys stacked crates around the tree, duct taped a few bottles of gasoline to the branches, lit a match, and....

...let 'er burn.

There was a point when we realized one of the bottles of gasoline hadn't burst yet.

You'd think this would be a problem.

But it wouldn't be.

Only because you have a friend who can just shoot it with his concealed ankle pistol.

Since there's not any actual crime in St. George, he keeps it around for occasions like this.

Thanks Mitch.

Devin also got out his gun, just to remind us how ultra-conservative we all are.

In the end it was The Best Christmas Ever.

If you wanted you could cross out "best" and write "most flaming"

but I guess that means something a lot different than what I'm trying to say.

I hope everyone else had a Christmas as adventure and family-filled as mine was.

Katie

Exposed

Frosty the Snowman is the creepiest children's song ever.

Imagine if there really was a giant man made out of snow with coal eyes running around your neighborhood screaming "catch me if you can!" at all the little children and threatening to return with his beady little eyes every year for the rest of your life.

Hide yo kidz. That all sounds really sketchy to me.

The good news is, I wouldn't really know about any of that snow business. I woke up this morning to a beautiful 57 degrees and sunny.

Sure I woke up around noon so things had already warmed up a bit, but in my defense I was up until 4 a.m. working on Christmas presents.

I just hope my brother reacts to the present I made him better than this kid does...

This poor kid. As an English major I love getting books for Christmas. (I also loved getting books for Christmas when I wasn't an English major.)

This year I requested Tim O'Brien's "The Things They Carried."

I really hope Santa delivers.

One final thing I have to say before the Christmas festivities begin (we have the MOST fantastic Christmas Eve's at my aunt Diane's house, Pinata and my mother's 12 layer jello included):

Thank you to those who read my blog. I feel silly saying this because I know the list is short and close to home, but I mean it. I think I like the blogging world so much because it allows us to share our life stories. I like that I can sit on my bed at night and pick and choose what information I want to give to the world, and the world can read and then give their stories back to me.

A favorite writer of mine, Ann Beattie explains so well how I feel about blogging:

"Any life will seem interesting if you omit mention of most of it."

And thats exactly what this blog has allowed me to do. I can cut all the boring parts and tell things the way I want. So, thank you for reading it. Especially you mom. (Also, hows that jello coming?)

Alright, I'm done with that boring spiel.

Frohe Weihnachten.

Merry Christmas.

Happy Holidays.

Festivus for the rest of us.

Katie

Stellar.

It POURED rain all day today in St. George.

A rare occasion for this desert, where a twenty-minute rainstorm between long stretches of sunshine is not uncommon.

I love desert rain, it is so warm and it brings out the vibrant colors of the area, so I really didn't mind it today, as long as I get some good sunshine in before I have to head back to the grey slushpit of mediocrity they call Provo.

If it wasn't sacrilegious to think that the Provo Tabernacle burnt itself down because it couldn't handle one more awful Provo winter, then.....I would think that.

Which I still might.

But I'd never admit it on my blog.

So Christmas break has already been stellar.

So stellar, in fact, that I just used the word stellar, a word I'm pretty sure you have to have long acrylic nails with zebra-stripe tips on them and frizzy, reddish-curlyish-burnedish hair to merit its use in everyday conversation.

BUT, despite the fact that I have short, uneven nails with chipped, black nailpolish on them

I'm saying it.

Stellar.

Only because it really has been.

(That's right readers, I knew you felt a list coming on)

And here it is...

1. I have yet to wake up before noon.

2. I saw my best pregnant friend and her best un-pregnant husband and listened while they so graciously gave me some serious dating advice/orange juice.

3. Met with the TPC (Trivial Pursuit Club) for a rousing Christmas match that ended in me losing by one wedge largely because I could not name the other two chipmunks (Simon and Theodore).

(Fun fact I learned this time around: All members of the SS were required to have their blood type tatooed into their armpits. How weird would that conversation be?

"Franz is dying! Quick! Check his bloodtype!"

"How do I do that?"

".............wow, this is really awkward, but....")

4. Spent a late night at the Denny's on the St. George Boulevard where all the creeps hang out.

And us.

We go to this Denny's intentionally to see all the weirdos there and I sometimes wonder if there are other people who go to this Denny's for that exact same reason and if sometimes when they go WE are the creeps they are looking for.

5. Heard my mother and father sing in our church choir. My mom will be reading this post soon, and shortly thereafter she will call up the stairs to me for the thirteenth time since Sunday and ask, "But Katie, are you SURE the choir sounded alright?" and I will hit the button on the tape recorder I have set up for choir Sundays that will call back to her "Yes mother. Like a chorus of Angels." or "You never sounded better! And I mean it!" or "...and did I mention you can triple your profits??" which is the bit at the end of the tape left over from the 1994 AMCO salesman I recorded over who is also sick of being asked by my mother how the choir sounded and is trying to change the subject.

6. Spent an afternoon at Costco with previously mentioned mother. Once we finished all the samples we went back through and got our favorite ones again. "They never even remember you," my mom said excitedly, as if she has done this before.

My mom really knows how to keep the season alive.

Double costco samples=Stellar.

Seasons Greetings.

Katie

I started this post four days ago.

It's late.

And by late I mean really late.

And by really late I mean I've slept three hours in the past 48 and I also wrote a 15 page paper today in a 13 hour time period.

As a matter of fact, what in the world am I doing blogging at this hour?

-------------(The next day. Because I went to bed.)---------------------

I got on blogger and typed this ^^^ the day after.

And now, it is the next, next day, and after getting a total of nine hours of sleep in four days and driving home in a snowstorm last night, I just woke up...in my bed...in Santa Clara, Ut...at 3:30 in the afternoon.

Whoops.

I do this every time I come home after finals week. It feels like the weight of the whole semester just hits me once I finally have a second to breathe and think about how little I slept, how much junk I ate, and how many hours I spent reading 16th century British Literature and thinking about how nobody cares that so-and-so's dad won't let them marry their boyfriend because he isn't Lord of Worcheshire (possibly the name of a sauce instead of a place in Britain.)

They probably should have thought about that before you decided to be born in the 1700's.

The great thing about today's world is nearly anyone can marry anyone.

For example, despite the fact that we are from slightly different social classes, and were born over a whole decade apart, my Dad is totally down with me marrying Adrian Grenier.

Right Dad?
Right World?

Right...Adrian?

So here I am, on Christmas break.

I have spent 17/24ths of my day in bed (which, if you know me you know is a dream for me. I love my bed more than almost anything) and have already made four dozen cookies and read half a book.

It doesn't seem like things can get much better, but if they do, I'll let you know...

...I'm going to have plenty of time for blogging this break.

It's a Christmas miracle.

Katie

Budget Busters.

I have fully emerged into the life of a college student.

This semester represents new lows for me(or highs, depending on how funny you think this whole situation is, which may be pretty funny).

I have eaten various pasta, cheese, and spaghetti sauce combinations over the last three months. Sometimes pasta with cheese. Sometimes pasta with sauce. Sometimes both if i'm feeling crazy. Last night I hit a new low when I didn't have enough pasta to make a meal so I cooked up what I had, put it all on bread (cheese, sauce and all) and ate a...spaghetti...sandwich...?

This basically describes my new approach to food: eating anything that will fill my stomach and taste somewhat decent if I add enough garlic salt.

I'm pretty sure I got my food creativity from my Dad who made nothing less than barbecued meatloaf (as if meatloaf wasn't bad enough) when I was twelve and my mom went out of town for the weekend.

The sad part is, I'm to the point where I would probably give that one a try if hamburger wasn't out of my budget.

I won't get too far into my other money-saving, college-life shenanigans but they have a lot to do with selling my clothes for rent (consignment anyone?), selling my plasma to pay utilities(free powerade anyone?), and going on a date I was wholly uninterested in for the free meal.

(I am not proud of that last one, but a girls gotta eat)

I just thought I'd give you fellow starving-studenters out there a few survival tips.

You'd be surprised what you can do with a loaf of bread, even when you're out of peanut butter and jelly.

Love,

Katie

It's fine. It really is.

I have three best girl friends.
And in the last month, within a two week time span:

One got engaged (and boy are they a happy couple)

One got married (and boy are they a beautiful couple)

And one got pregnant (after being engaged, and married. And boy am I not the happy father, I just don't have a picture of the real father on my computer)

Major life changes.

I hear those happen to people.

For one second I was feeling a little left out of the group, until I realized I've undergone some recent major life changes of my own.

Or at least I was sure I had. I just had to think of them.

So, here is my list, none of which involves stressful party planning, having to live with a boy or morning sickness.

Suckers.

1. I cut my bangs on Sunday, all on my own.

2. I've only watched one episode of 30 Rock this week.

3.............

Who am I kidding? I always cut my own bangs, and I caught up on all five seasons of 30 Rock so there was only one episode to watch this week.

So my life is slightly less exciting than my three best friends?

I'll live.

I still made a Navajo gingerbread house at a Relief Society activity tonight.

I still just spent the last three minutes contemplating who decided we should use our left hand to type the "b" on a keyboard instead of our right. (It's exactly in the middle! What a conundrum!)

See guys?

Crazy things happen to me too!

The only difference is, nobody throws me a shower to commemorate the fact that I vacuumed my apartment for the first time in a month.

Though it really would be nice if they would. It would also be nice if, for that shower, they would bring us vacuum bags so we don't have to keep borrowing our neighbors vacuum every month or so.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is,

Congrats Aly, Erin and Jenna.

Don't think I'm buying your husbands Christmas presents too, just because you're related to them now.

Love,

Katie

Friday Funny Story(ies).

I know it is Saturday and not Friday, but Saturday doesn't start with an F, and I was aiming for alliteration.
I would have posted this yesterday but I kept forgetting my blogger password.
Logical people use the same password for most things they do.
I, instead, like to make up a completely random password every time I need a new one, usually thinking of something completely unrelated to my life or anything normal.

I also change these passwords quite often, just to really mix things up.

To top it off I run two separate e-mail accounts and always forget which one I use where.

It's only after that I realize all of this is the worst idea ever.

I hate so much about the way I choose to be.

(Name the quote^^^for ten bonus points)

Funny Story #1:

On Thursday one of my contacts ripped so I spent most of thursday and friday only being able to see out of one eye, because I didn't have money to get a new pair just yet. (Told you being poor is funny.)

Anyways, the result of seeing 20/20 from one eye and 20/5 million from the other eye was me feeling extremely disoriented and dizzy all day, and also missing my water bottle three times in English 385 due to my lack of depth perception.

I'm still not sure if this is also a side effect, but I dreamed a crazy dream Thursday night that my friend Eric kept posting facebook status updates about onions. (weird? But, a dream, so understandable.) I woke up late the next morning, put in my one contact and rushed out the door to class. On my way that same friend Eric walked out of his apartment and I, still extremely disoriented, made the comment, "So, Eric, what's up with all these facebook updates about onions?"

Oh man.

As soon as I said said it my brain said, "Wait. Dummy. That was a dream!"

I panicked.

"Onions?" said Eric. "Onions?"

"You said that twice." I said. "You said that twice."

Then I didn't know what to do.

If this had been any other normal day, where I could see clearly out of BOTH of my eyes, I would have told him all about the dream and we would have chuckled a bit and moved on.

However, I was feeling way too confused about what just happened, and my brain was on overdrive from trying to decide if that was a door coming at my face or something I should high-five, so I did a terrible thing.

I lied.

"Oh wait," I said, "That must have been my other friend Eric (insert last name here)"

"You have another friend with the exact same name as me?"

More panic.

"Uh...yeah..." I lied more. "I think he's in a cooking class."

A COOKING CLASS? REALLY KATIE??

Guys. Cut me some slack. Lying with only one eye is harder than it looks (no pun intended.)

I thought about repenting for it, but decided that the creeped out look on Eric's face was punishment enough.

I only have so many friends so I've got to stop pulling stunts like this.

Funny Story #2:

Supervising women's flag football today was awesome.

It was championship day, which always brings out large crowds of obnoxious boyfriends who try and yell instructions to their girlfriends on the field.

They usually yell things like, "Sweetheart, don't run out of bounds. They'll make you stop."

or, more condescendingly,

"What was that call ref?? She didn't even mean to hit her! It was an accident!"

Today's story isn't really a story, but more of a quote.

In the Division III championship, one of the girls missed a catch in the endzone.

Walking back to her team we heard her say,

"Man, guys, that ball is hard to catch! It's like a dreidel!"

A dreidel. What an analogy.

Speaking of which, Happy Hanukkah to all my jewish friends, especially that girl.

Katie

All Girls should get what they want.

I'm aching to travel.

I spend hours that I should be doing homework looking up cheap flights and pictures of places I could see and go and experience.

I want to go back to Berlin. I think it is the idea that I can't be there as easily as I could go somewhere in America that makes me miss it such an unnatural amount.
I miss being around a hundred languages and a thousand different cultures and types of people all at once.

I miss having something to see on every corner, feeling inspired by everything and everyone.

Winter in Provo is grey, but I imagine most of the world is this way during these months.

Everyone hiding behind layers of clothes and thick brick walls.

Everyone freezing. Everyone talking about it.

There is so much to complain about in the winter.

So, I'm going to instead start complaining about my newest obsession: India.
I think most of this obession comes from memories of the movie "A Little Princess," when the little slave girl tells about a pillow she has that reminds her of her home in India. The whole thing makes me feel like I too am living in an attic because some mean orphanage lady was tricked into thinking my rich father was killed in the war.

Which, ironically, makes me think about how unfair life is.

I WANT an India pillow.

I WANT an Indian slave-girl friend.

I WANT to go to India.

How, you might ask, am I going to accomplish all this?

1. Dropping out of school and using my grant money to fund my trip.

2. Locating my long lost father who wasn't actually killed in the war and digging into his funds after using some of them to save the orphanage and my Indian slave-friend.

I have a really good feeling about all of this.

I just can't forget what I learned from Disney all those years ago.

"All girls are princesses...
...And princesses go to India."

(I may have added that last part myself.)

Katie

Happy Mother's Day.

When I'm having trouble starting a creative writing assignment, I usually try writing a blog post first to get some writing juices going.
It's pathetic that, while it takes me hours to think of something abstract to write about for my class, I can almost instantly start writing about myself/complaining about my life/posting old pictures of my mother that she demands I take down (which I will not take down even though I only barely live far enough away from her that I'm not as scared of her mom-wrath as I used to be.)

Today, instead of doing any of those things, and because I may have burned some bridges with the Leia analogy, I am going to give a shout out to my beautiful mother who does so much for me, puts up with all my quirkiness and often reassures me that someday someone is going to like me for who I am, despite that fact that I dress weird and have a christmas sock fetish.

And just in case it was boring for you to read about how much I love my Mom, I am going to post this funny mom video.
Quit your whining.

I still don't think I'm any closer to starting that assignment, and my second time-wasting idea, watching 30 Rock, is now officially out, seeing as how I finished watching all five seasons in a months time.

New anti-writers-block activity suggestions welcome.

Katie