Returned Misioneros

Learning a new language is like learning how to shave your legs. At first it's seems really fun but after a while it's just a hassle. There are always spots that you miss and you occasionally cut yourself. This is how I feel about Spanish. I pay attention in class but there is always something I miss and I frequently make a fool of myself. Well I was given a Spanish assignment to interview a native Spanish speaker and write a 2 page report about it.

 As many of you know, Justin recently came home from his mission. He spoke in Church on the Sunday and afterward we invited a few family friends over to celebrate the only way we know how; with brisket. I took advantage of this opportunity to invite Mario and Marta Hernandez over so that I could interview them for the assignment. I told everyone in my family that they'd be coming over but somehow Justin got a bit confused. I guess he thought that I had invited them over so that he could teach them the missionary lessons . . . false.

We all sat down to dinner and I started asking Mario and Marta questions in my less-than-perfect Spanish. Suddenly Justin blurts in with this statement "Marta, ha orado para saber si el Libro de Mormon es verdadero?" or for those of you who don't speak Spanish "Marta, have you prayed to know if the Book of Mormon is true?" Here's what was going through my head: Did he just say what I think he said? What is he doing? Stop!! At this point I was discretely pinching Justin's arm and kicking him under the table. He didn't stop. So I excused myself and then 30 seconds later called for Justin's help in the kitchen.

Me: "What are you doing?"
Justin: "I thought I was supposed to be teaching them"
Me: "Noooo, I invited them so I could interview them for a school project"
Justin: "OOOHHH . . . can I teach them afterward?"

Oh freshly returned missionaries, you are a special breed.

St Pat's

Almost 2 years ago, I found myself stepping off of a plane in Ireland. It was love at first sight. The green hills, the cool brisk air, the music playing in the distance. It was “magically delicious.” This is one of the reasons whyI love St. Patrick's day. It is one of my very favorite holidays. This year to celebrate I decided to make some Irish Coddle (a really gross-looking but yummy tasting soup).

I invited our good friends "Standrew" Murray over for dinner, which turned out great. Afterward I made a St. Patirick's day creation of my own invention. I'm calling them "green refreshers."
They are a combination of:

• Sprite
• Pineapple or Lime Sherbet 
• Vanilla Frozen Yogurt
• Limeade
• Green Food Coloring

It was a fantastic St. Patrick's day!

Busted Backs and Windows

Racquetball is like tennis right? Only instead of a net there's a wall? Call me crazy but it doesn't seem that dangerous. Then again there is a hard rubber ball bouncing off walls at high speeds, so maybe there's more to it than I thought. Well, there must be, because Mark came home from a racquetball game acting like he had just been hit by a car. He could barely move.

It was a Friday and he spent to evening in a hot bath while dictating the paper he needed to write to me. Saturday he tried to go to work but he quickly realized that, that wasn't going to happen. So, I picked him up and started calling chiropractors. I think I called every chiropractor in the Utah Valley and none of them were open on Saturday. We finally found one that was on-call. We went to his office around 7 pm and he worked on Mark's back for 2 and a half hours.

He started with some normal chiropractor stuff like massage and little adjustment tricks, but when none of those worked, things started to get interesting. First he did some electroshock stuff which wasn't too strange, but when that didn't help he strapped Mark into what looked like a torture chamber

Mark was still in a lot of pain so the chiropractor layed him on the table for what looked like another adjustment trick then... BODY SLAM! This guy literally had both feet off the ground when he landed on Mark. (he should look into professional wrestling).  That didn't help Mark so he had one final trick, acupuncture. I think I was more afraid than Mark; just being in the same room with needles makes me queezy. It was horrifying to sit and watch a body-slamming, torture-chambering man jab needles into Marks back and then just leave them there. Worst nightmare, ever!! I did manage to pull it together long enough to snap a photo.

After this long ordeal Mark and I walked out to our car only to find that it had been broken into. Our entire life savings ($5) had been stolen. Mark says it's my fault for leaving the car unlocked but, being from the ghetto, I say "I woulda had rather leave da car unlock and let dem steal fi bucks den bust da windows out my car." (sidenote: Bust The Windows Out Your Car by Jazmine Sullivan is one of my favorites songs). Luckily we didn't have anything too valuable in the car so nothing but the money was taken. But it made for a very eventful Saturday.

Angry Birds

You've all heard of the game Angry Birds right? Well the premise is that these little green pigs stole eggs from some birds, which made the birds angry and now they have declared war on the pigs.

Well 4 weeks ago our finches laid 4 eggs and about 2 weeks ago we expected them to hatch, but instead, one by one, they all mysteriously disappeared. I like my birds and I don't like to think that they pushed their eggs overboard, because in my imagination they are sweeter than that.  So, I've decided to blame it on the pigs. I don't know how or when but sometime little, green, legless pigs broke into my apartment and stole our eggs!

In an effort to avenge our caged birds, Mark and I bought smart phones and have taken up playing Angry Birds every spare minute we have. Before we bought these phones, we used to cuddle at night before we went to bed... now we just play Angry Birds till we fall asleep. We're a little bit addicted, but I never knew vengeance could be so fun.

The Bacon Man

Bacon. It makes everything taste better. I've always liked bacon, but Mark, well he LOVES bacon. In fact there isn't a thing that Mark can cook without bacon in it. For Christmas last year I almost got him a cook book called 177 Ways to Cook Bacon.

A few days ago I asked mark to clean out a pan full of bacon grease. His response was "Why do I always have to do it?" My reply was "You are the bacon man, you always cook the bacon, you always eat the bacon and so you always clean the bacon."

Well Mark has really taken that to heart and sincerely adopted his new persona. An hour ago I walked into the kitchen and Mark quickly shewed me out. "Go away! the Bacon Man is working." Not much later he brought me a delicious sandwich and said "This is for being a good girl and listening to the Bacon Man."

It ain't so bad being married to the Bacon Man.

A Prank

Have you ever heard the story of of Scheherazade? The legend goes that the King of Persia found out that his wife was betraying him, so he had her beheaded. Then angry at all women he decided that every night he would marry a new virgin and then have her beheaded at dawn. Well he quickly ran out of virgins and there were only a few left in the kingdom: one of which was Scheherazade, who bravely volunteered herself to marry the king. On their wedding night she began to tell a story. The king listened in awe as she told the tale through the night, but when dawn came she said there was no time to finish before her beheading. Desperate to hear the story the King spared her life for one more day. The next night she did the same thing and again the King spared her life to finish the story. The cycle was repeated day by day until Scheherazade had told a thousand and one stories, and by then the King had fallen in love with her.

What's the moral of the story? Never bore your audience. That is the first great rule of writing. Now I'm not saying that my brother, Justin's writes boring letters, but they don't exactly satisfy his audience. For example, a few weeks ago I wrote him a letter telling him about the frostbite on all of my toes. I expected an email back or at least just a mention of me in a letter to the family but no... nothing. Instead it was just, "Such and such person that you don't know is progressing well" and "Joe Stranger is really great." In frustration I called my mom who turns out has a similar complaint. She always asks Justin questions which he never answers. So I decided some revenge was in store

I wrote an email to Justin telling him that my frostbite had gotten worse and that my doctor had scheduled a time to have it amputated.  "I'm going in for surgery this Saturday so by the time you read this email I will only have 9 toes" Additionally I told him that once the toe was removed I would be getting a tattoo that reads "Gone to Market" with an arrow pointing to my missing piggy. Much like this one:

Well Justin finally emailed me back and here's what he said:

No way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So are you officialy a 9-toe-er. That is.... ummmm.... almost funny and very sad. Sorry to hear about that. But don´t worry, in the resurrecion you will have all of your 10 toes again! Love you sister, even if you only have 9 toes Have a fantastic day, good luck with your feet. I´...ll be praying for you.

He gets home in two weeks so he can just believe me till he gets back and see's my feet. That ought to teach him not to ignore my emails.