Why don't you fling a wet hotdog in to their bag?

My co-worker Kelly and I were talking about Halloween. When she was a kid, one of the neighbors would give out single hotdogs. The wet hotdog was flung in to the open pillowcase and kids in her neighborhood were filled with joy. The thought of a wet hotdog being flung in my pillowcase makes me want to gag, it makes DaveCall giggle like a little girl.

There has been much controversy at Smalls Manor concerning the handing out of candy on Halloween. A little information might be needed at this point. DaveCall does not care for tiny humans. They don't interest him. So you can imagine my surprise when he became their biggest advocate for receiving candy from the Smalls. We bought a house over the summer and now live in "a nice neighborhood" (DaveCall's exact phrase), so we need to give out candy.

A few weeks ago DaveCall and I had the following conversation.
DTC: We need to buy some candy to give out on Halloween.
Me: No we don't. We just won't turn on our porch light and they will pass us by. It is the universal sign for we aren't giving out candy.
DTC: I don't want to be those people. We need to hand out candy.
Me: I have school until six, are you going to leave your nerd law gig early to come home and hand out the candy?
DTC: No.
Me: Do you expect me to miss school to give kids I don't know candy?
DTC: No. We should just leave a bowl of candy on the porch.
Me: So you want to give one kid candy?
DTC: How about we put a bowl of candy on the porch with a note that says "If you are the first kid here Congratulations, if not sorry, there was candy."
Me: How about we put the bowl out, with the note, but we don't ever put candy in the bowl?
DaveCall then glared at me. This conversation repeated itself several more times up until today when we went grocery shopping.

Today, at Smith's.
DTC: I still think we need to buy candy.
Me: Seriously, who is going to hand it out?
DTC: I think we should buy this bag of candy.
Me: I am NOT buying a TWELVE DOLLAR BAG OF CANDY to give to kids I don't even know. I have a better idea. How about I put a note in their bag telling them how much I pay in taxes towards their public education. Seeing as how we don't have kids we pay more for them to go to school than their parents. It could be like a cute little public service.
DTC-glaring at me: I don't understand why you just won't give out candy.
Me:I don't understand why you are so concerned that we give out candy. If I have to hand something out I am buying a package of wet hotdogs to fling in to their bag.
DTC: I really think we need to give out candy.
Me: Fine, how about two bags of kit kats.
DTC: We aren't going to offer variety?
Me:Seriously, now you are concerned about variety?!? Who is going to give out this candy?
DTC: I think we can put out the bowl.
Me: Do you have an arrangement with one chubby kid in the neighborhood.
DTC: Why won't you buy the big bag of candy?
Me: I agreed to buy candy, I am buying the inexpensive stuff.
DTC: Never mind. I will buy candy tomorrow.
Me: You are really going to come home early, from a job that requires you bill so many hours per month, in order to give candy to kids we don't know?
DTC: Fine, let's just buy the candy.
Me: Put the $12 bag of candy down.
DTC: You really aren't any fun.
Me: Pick cheap candy, or I am walking down the hotdog aisle.

Later that same night.
Me: Should we dress up like bananas to hand out the candy?
DTC: I'm not dressing up.
Me: Seriously, I don't understand your need to give out candy, but then you poo-poo the rest of the Halloween traditions.
DTC: I still like the bowl idea.
Me: I still like the wet hotdog idea.

Do unto others, especially when the other has blood running down her face!

I have had a strange mole growing under my lip for quite some time. There is a hair that grows out of it and seeing as how I am 31, unmarried, and pudgy I figured I needed to do away with this mole before people started asking me if I was a witch. So to the doctors office I went.

Not only was I having my lip mole removed, but also one on my back. I was given a gown and a room to wait in and told to sit up on the table. I am short and I was never picked for sports because of my sweet vertical jumping ability. I was told to hop up on to the table that was covered in paper, while wearing a gown that was open in the back but tied at the neck. In doing so I almost suffocated, due to my fat ass landing on the gown pulling it tight around my throat. I also ripped the paper. I waited forty five minutes for the doctor to come in. While waiting I realized that the walls were paper thin and I could hear people tinkling in the adjacent bathroom and all about a rash another patient needs an ointment for. This was not how I planned to spend my entire Monday.

When the doctor finally arrived, I had to get a shot directly in to the mole, which caused my chin and lips to become numb. The moles were quickly removed. The incision below my lip would not stop bleeding. After about twenty minutes of trying to stop the blood I asked if I could have a band aid and promised to apply pressure in the privacy of my own home. I couldn't spend anymore time listening to people on the other side of the wall tinkle.

On my way home I picked up my nephew and stopped at Cafe Rio to get some take out. I thought the band aid was doing it's job, I was wrong. When I got back in the car I realized the band aid was soaked with blood and there was blood seeping from it running down my chin. My chin was still numb so I didn't feel the blood dripping down my chin. It was pretty obvious that something was wrong. So why didn't some nice stranger say something? My nephew is only five and much shorter than I am so I am not surprised he didn't see the problem. Not one of the nice people getting my food ready, taking my money or standing in line beside me said a word. I know if I saw someone with blood running down their face I would say something. I am the person who will say something if your shirt is unbuttoned or if your fly is down, even if you are a stranger. I say something because I want someone to say something to me.

The humiliation continued once I got to my sister's house. Seeing as how the band aid wasn't working I moved on to gauze and tape. I felt the like the girl from Sixteen Candles trying to drink from the fountain. Now not only were my chin and lips still numb but the tape and gauze didn't give so the food mostly fell back out of my mouth. My sister Jamie wasn't offended, she was super kind about it and even got me a second bandage when the first one soaked through. Now that's what sisters are for.

The moral of the story is do unto others as you would have done unto you. So that was my Monday. Hope yours was better.

Always say sofa dear, never say couch.

DaveCall are you two over two or three over three? Do you prefer tight backs or cushion backs? Do you like attached cushions or semi-attached cushions? This sofa will define us as couple - how do we pick? We is the keyword. How do you go from bulldozing over your significant other's feelings to coming to an agreement? Both of us are know what we like- both of us are good with design - but both of us can't agree. We both seem to hate the same things, but love very different things.

Making large purchases as a couple is tough. Either one person says "I don't care" and the other is left with the daunting task of trying to decide - and in this case it always overwhelms the decision maker, I have sold sofas for 16 years, trust me. Or both people want to decide but can never seem to agree, again I have sold sofas for 16 years and in that time have seen some of the most brilliant arguments between couples over furniture. So what do you do?

DaveCall and I are currently looking to buy a home together - yep kids, once again we are looking for a bank to legally bind us together. I figure if all my loved ones can't marry the person of their dreams then why should I? Plus DaveCall is fine and all for now, but what if I meet a sullen vampire in the schoolyard one day? Or Matt Hemsley finally pops the question? I hate to go to the post office, I can't imagine having to go to a courthouse and obtain a divorce. Don't try to tell me that vampires don't exist, they do. I've seen the documentary film Twilight. Second, don't tell me that it is pervy for me to be hanging out in a schoolyard, my vampire love is 117 years old, that is way more pervy than a 31 year old hanging out in the 'yard.

In the event that we do get married I would prefer to not have some flashy ring. I'm not saying that I want a KMart black hills gold special, but five $100 bands will do me just fine. If you are gasping right now, get over yourself. I can't imagine spending thousands of dollars on a ring that I will hate in five years. I have always loved a simple band and I always will. Also, a plus for the multiple inexpensive rings - 1) I lose everything, I don't always find it. I can leave one by the sink, one at work, one on the nightstand, one in the car and one in a secret place. 2) I am sure I will break some part of the ring, multiple times - I have been told that diamonds are incredibly durable, I am incredibly destructive. Incredibly destructive. You should pray that DaveCall and I never have a child. With DaveCall's desire to take things apart and my ability to destroy things, that child will probably spontaneously combust. You know what would be better than three months of DaveCall's salary spending its life on my finger?? A Costco sized bag of ring pops. That is even better that the 5 $100 bands! If I feel like my ring is too big and gaudy I can suck it down to a more appropriate size. If I chip it I can unwrap another one. Not only will people see that I am married but that I also like flavored hard candy - bam! Two awkward conversations out of the way. I would then take the savings from the ring pops vs the actual ring and use it towards a house (in this instance I am talking about one expensive ring, not $496.50).

Truth be told I don't really care for weddings. Sure I enjoy a good party, but I don't plan on having a wedding. Floral arrangements - pass. Fine China - nope. People staring at me as I walk down the isle - wouldn't everyone like to see DaveCall be walked down the isle by himself thirty years in the future (his dad)? I know I would enjoy that more. White dress - um, did you not catch the part about us living together - white seems tacky at this point. Love, honor and obey - doubts it. Showers - shoot me now. Bridesmaids? Good thing all my "sisters" are married - Bridesmatrons feels uncomfortable, and at this point if I have single friends aren't they old maids, perhaps they would wear a cat. * This old maid joke stems from someone telling me that at twenty-one I was an old maid for not yet being married. Bachelor Party - that would make me angry. Pictures - isn't that what your memories are for? Announcements - please see previous paragraph in which I tell you I hate the post office.

So back to looking at houses and making big purchases. I forgot where I was going with that....oh well.

Are you single? Damn!

It all started out like any other Tuesday night. DaveCall was in Park City and I thought, "Oh yeah, I'm going to see if the old girl has still got it." I put on my sexiest outfit, over sized turtleneck, hooded sweatshirt, non-matching pajama bottoms, and my paisley Bobs. Yes I have Bobs and not Toms, the Bobs fit better and they still give a pair to those in need. I was rocking my ultra sex appeal outfit and headed out to the hottest spot in the 'burbs....Rancheritos. I was really putting out the vibe as I crossed the stupid $%^&*#@ creek. You've seen girls rocking that come hither walk that is all hips and ass, yeah I wasn't doing that, I think I was mostly trying to keep the mud off my Bobs, but it was sexy nonetheless. There were two super hot pieces of man meat also crossing the bridge, one with a t-shirt he must have bought in the children's department the other with a man braid that reached his pants. They were sexy, the kind of sexy that George Clooney is made of. I totally let them know that I was vibing them by walking on the other side of the bridge, not making eye contact and pretending to check FB on my phone. Just when I thought that this night was going to go somewhere they continued on to the liquor store and I continued to see what other hotties I could find at Rancheritos. I thought that I would never come across such amazing men again and seeing how DaveCall and I always teetering on the edge of calling it quits, I knew that I needed to have some men waiting in the wings. The dating scene was on fire at Racheriots, but if I were to date the man fetuses there I would end up in jail. So I decided to take my hot, short, fat ass back home. I smelled of refried beans, salsa and bad choices - if I ever I was to meet DaveCall's replacement tonight was that night. As I crossed back over the bridge, lady luck smiled down on me. The men that I couldn't wait to introduce to my parents and a t-shirt from a band that hadn't ever feathered their hair, was also walking back over the bridge. They scanned my super hot outfit that left everything to the imagination and they said the most beautiful pick up line I have ever heard, "Are you single?" Me, "NO" as I awkwardly looked away and fumbled for my keys in case I needed to use them as a weapon. His sultry reply, "Damn." Now a younger Randi would assume that my sex kitten outfit, awkwardly falling out bun and make-up free face was what had drawn them in, but old cynical Randi knew that they didn't care anything about who I am, only if I was available to drink their cheap beer and check out their one eyed snake. Thirty something Randi was hit on, and she appreciates the gesture, but grateful to not be single. Looks like my relationship with DaveCall lives to see another day.

I said I had a filter. I lied.

DaveCall can read me like a book. You know in the cartoon version of The Grinch (not the live- action-raping of the original classic) when the Grinch gets and idea, "An awful idea" and the corners of his mouth turn up and his eyes light up - DaveCall knows that face and can sense what is coming.

I have learned to keep my mouth shut - sometimes, but my face always gives it away. When I was younger and I would lie to my mom the tip of my nose would twitch. I can't make it twitch voluntarily, but without fail it would happen if I tried to sneak something past her. As I got older I found it was best to talk to her in the dark.....just kidding mom (fingers crossed)...No now I'm just kidding. What is the statute of limitations on lying to your mother so you can sneak out to kiss a boy? Anyone? Anyone?

I recently found myself in a conversation with someone that I had a STRONG difference of opinion with. I have always thought that men and women are equal, but Daniel Tosh recently pointed out that women are still thought of as number two. During this conversation I was reminded that there are many people who still think the man is in charge and the woman should obey. I could hear Dave Chappelle in my head, only his voice said, "You know when something is so "sexist" that all you can say is, Damn! That was "sexist"." I quickly learned that this person was never going to see things my way and I will never agree with theirs. It wouldn't do me any good to argue, so I found it easier to just keep my mouth shut and silently smirk to myself as I thought of what I would say. As if right on cue DaveCall, who had his back to me, shook his head as if to say "No!! Do not say that." Does DaveCall have eyes in the back of his head? Does DaveCall have a setting on his hearing aid that can hear my thoughts?!? What I wanted to say was, "Hey, the night before DaveCall started his new fancy lawyer job I said to him, Want to do it one last time while I still make more money." I am quite certain that this would have made the third person's head explode, but what a glorious blog post that would have made.

I have never felt like DaveCall and I were anything but equal. There are definitely things that each of us is better at. David is a great at blue booking, I still don't understand why you need a semicolon. David is great at edging and fine trim work, I am the greatest big areas without boundaries painter. David is great at reading lips, I am great at hearing. David is a fabulous cook, I know how to scrub a pan. David is a whiz at fixing things, I am wicked good at ironing. DaveCall and I are a team. Just because he is a man doesn't mean that he is in charge here - let's be honest we both think we are in charge here, and we both love each other enough to let the other occasionally think that they are.

The moral of this story is I am thankful for the equality in my relationship. I am for now okay with the fact that I didn't make someone super uncomfortable - I totally disagree with them and I have a blog, and they don't.

Side note: To those of you who have told me that you like to read my blog to your children, I am flattered. To those of you who think it is not child appropriate and have had to stop reading it to you children, Happily Ever Laughter isn't a fairy tale in the Disney sense, but more of the honest lessons learned in a Grimm Brothers fairy tale.

Public Restrooms

***SPOILER ALERT***I am not a mother. ***BONUS SPOILER ALERT*** This blog contains the medically correct word for man junk. ***CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED***

I don't think that I have the skills required to be a good mother, I would drown my young. I do however think that I am a fairly decent and polite human being - so I feel qualified to to judge the actions of others in the Maverick Fillmore Women's Restroom.

I should have realized I was making a bad choice when I pulled in to the parking lot and there was a playground covered in tiny humans, but I had to pee, so my judgement was clouded. My friend Rachel, also not a mother, and I were traveling back from St. George with DaveCall. We walked in to adventure's first stop and made our way back to the bathroom. DaveCall walked straight in to the men's room, I faced a line of fifteen at the women's bathroom. There were six adults and nine children in line for four stalls. For the first time in my life I wished I had a penis, seriously, first time. I realized that tiny humans get potty trained and need to use the restroom, but why does that mean the mom has to take them. I realize that you don't "see" things in a restroom with stalls and doors, but it was the penis that brought these tiny humans in to this world and it is the penis that should take them to the bathroom.

These nine children belonged to three mothers. Children who in my mind were too old to be fighting over who gets to pee with mom. I have always been an independent person, and as long as I can remember have believed that peeing was just me time, I don't invite my mother in. Somehow the oldest and youngest children went in to the stall with mom and the the middle three of her litter were left to fend on their own. The middle child, who I am guessing was at least eight, decided that she was going to shove her face in the crack of every stall and shout, " Mom I can see you" or my other favorite "Mom where are you?" She did this to every stall. Not once did her mother say, "Knock it off. Stand in line and stop being a pervert." or at the very least call her by her full name. Being called RANDI LYNNE always meant that I was in trouble - I do a sweet imitation of my dad shouting it, if you see me ask...but I digress, this post isn't about my parents stopping me from being a crappy kid, this is about one mother's disregard for social etiquette. I thought to myself, does this mother just not notice? is she hoping that someone will take this obviously obnoxious tiny human there by ridding her of the pain of raising it, or has she just lost her will to care?

Being the child with a bank account that I am and favoring my passive aggressive nature over actual confrontation I decided to further the uncomfortableness. I am sure that you are asking me how this makes me a decent human as I stated earlier but alas, I am a comic first, decent human second. In the words of Daniel Tosh, "I apologize if I offend you. I am not going to guess where your line of decency is, I cross my own from time to time, it's how I know I still have one."

I looked at Rachel and said, very loudly, "I can't wait until you go in to a stall! I am going to peak my head under the door." The only other lady (she was 50ish) in the bathroom not herding a group of tiny peers laughed - this is trouble as now I know I have an audience. "Rachel, I am really sad that we are the only people peeing in a stall all by ourselves, will you join me." Rachel timed in perfectly, "Maybe we could lap sit." Now the lady is really laughing. A stall opens up and I go in, alone, but not finished. As I pee I dangle my flip flop out the door and shout, "Rachel, can you see my shoes, Rachel I'm showing you my shoes, Rachel why aren't you answering me." I then realized that there was a fake mustache stuck to my rainbow flip flop, which is just funny on it's own, and I now proceed to attempt to remove it. The removing of the mustache was impossible, if I got it off of one it was then stuck to the other - keep mind that I am still peeing while doing this. Rachel came and stomped on the mustache and I was free.

The lady in line was still laughing, the mother's were not. Oh I get it, it is okay for your kids to be obnoxious but not me. I know that I am at least twenty years older than the kids, so some of you might be judging me. I don't see it as me vs tiny humans. I see it as me vs the mother. Mother of five (who I am most certain was younger than me) please try, all I am asking is for you to try to wrangle your child in. I know that you can't control their every movement and that they will be little shits, but you can at least say, "HEY, stop looking in the stall doors." You get to choose to bring your litter in to the restroom, I am forced to share it with them, so I ask that you choose to keep them somewhat in line. If you don't I might just have to start a conversation about the existence of Santa with the child you have decided to leave me with - trust me it will be a day to remember, consider yourself warned.

The end of an era, goodbye little white civic

This is an ode to my 1999 Honda Civic. I have owned five cars in my life, just a few weeks ago I purchased my fifth car. If you are doing the math that means I have had on average one car every three years I could drive, but averages aren't always accurate.

My first car was a maroon 1984 Chevrolet Celebrity, or the POH (piece of hud) as we liked to call it. It always smelled of gas, the windows didn't roll up straight and it was like two sofas on wheels, but it was mine. I was always thankful for a car, I have to admit that going to Alta where kids drove brand new hummers, BMW's and Mercedes did make driving a car that was so old a bit awkward, but I never fit in in high school, so why should my car. I drove the POH for ten months until I decided that I could afford a new car. We sold the POH for $500 and I had my down payment on my 1989 Mercury Topaz.

Ahh....the Topaz. We always said Topaz more like Toepathz (think severe speech impediment when you say it). The Topaz was two doors, had a spoiler and automatic everything - I thought I was living large when I bought it. My $500 down payment didn't quite cover the cost so I took out my first car loan. I remember when my Opa co-signed on the loan he said, "I will take it out of your hide if you don't make the payments." It made me laugh out loud, as I knew he would say that before he said it. The Topaz payments were $90 a month. I drove the Topaz my junior and senior years of high school. On my very first day of college it wouldn't start. We had a neighbor/mechanic take a look at it and we couldn't figure out the problem so I decided I would buy my very first brand new car - enter the 1998 Ford Escort.

When I test drove the Escort I realized I had never learned how to drive a stick - so my mom, who is part race car driver, test drove it for me. I stalled the car four times trying to leave the dealership, all the salesmen stood and laughed. For some strange reason (most likely because despite what most people think I am extremely frugal) I thought that buying a car without air conditioning would be a wise and prudent decision. I drove the green escort for two years before I spotted my dream car - a two door Honda Civic with a spoiler.

I drove by the 1999 White Honda Civic for weeks. I knew I had to have it. My dad and I went to look at it, but they wanted too much so we walked out, he walked out, he was my ride, so I followed. I watched that car every day for six weeks. My parents went out of town and I decided, very ballsily that I was going to buy it all on my own. I went to the dealership, I negotiated my trade and a price for the new car and I had a loan all on my own. I called my parents to tell them what I had done, and I think we were both a bit terrified for me. I can't imagine twenty year old Randi dong this, but she did - truthfully I shouldn't be too surprised, I've always been ballsy. When I bought the civic I never thought I would drive it for eleven years. It was the car that defined my twenties. I loved that it was a stick shift, I loved that it had a sunroof, I loved that it was two doors, I loved that I bought it all on my own.

The white civic holds so many dear memories for me.

It was the car I moved out of my parents house with.

It was the car that I drove to Thursday night volleyball in.

It was the first car that I ever owned all on my own.

It was the car the MikeyCall covered in coleslaw.

It was the car that drove away from my flooded home.

It was the car that I paid off and then drove for six more years.

It was the car where Lucy lived.

It was the car that had a fight girl powder puff sticker.

It was the car that said "Save a whale harpoon a fat man".

It was the car I put more than four accent chairs in (not at the same time).

It was the car that I loaded 6 dining chairs in-even though the warehouse said it was impossible

It was the first car I got in an accident in

It was the first car that I watched turn 100,000 miles in

It was the car DaveCall and I took on all our trips

It was the car that had an awesome moon roof for viewing the stars in Leeds

It was the car that had the keys that made a special sound I will always recognize

It was the car that was SO MUCH NICER than DaveCall's white Honda Civic

1999 White Honda Civic - I have loved you, and you will always hold a special spot in my heart. I wish you much love at your new home.

I said I was getting a new car, not a wedding

DaveCall and I got a new car. We are both going to be driving it so we decided to get a joint insurance policy. We are both incredibly crafty, but I think DaveCall's dad is too smart for us to sneak the car on to his policy....so I called my agent. I have never met my agent and I have only talked to him once, I usually work with his assistant. His assistant was out of the office so I worked with the assistant's assistant, or ass-ass for short. So I gave ass-ass all the info she needed to figure out a quote and asked her to call me back when she had the numbers. When ass-ass called back she had some very surprising information for me, "Randi, on behalf of everyone here in the office we would like to congratulate you on getting married." Silence on my end.....until I said, "Uh, what." Ass-ass, "Steven (the agent) said that you were getting married and we are all so very happy for you." Me, "I don't know where he got that, but like I said before my boyfriend and I bought a car, the only thing legally binding us together is XXX Bank, no plans for marriage here." Ass-ass, "But Randi, Steven said you were getting married." Me, "I have to be honest, I have never met Steven so I don't know where he got that idea from, but I can assure you I'm not getting married." Now one would think that at this point she would drop it, but no we went one more round. I checked with DaveCall because I thought maybe he was holding out on me and not telling me that he and my insurance agent were besties, but no DaveCall has never met him either. I love that because we bought a car together people think we are getting married. I love that I had to defend my life to a stranger. I love that she wouldn't let go of the idea. It took all I had to not shout, "IT'S MY LIFE, I GET TO BE RIGHT ON THIS ONE." I am thinking we need to start shopping for a new insurance company, after this exchange they don't strike me as the brightest stars in the sky.

Things my Ethel says

I have a most fabulous neighbor. For the purpose of my blog I will call her "Ethel". Ethel is in her eighties. The first time I met her she did not care for me - I'm sure the fact I was wearing a bandanna and carrying a boom box (don't judge we have all owned one) didn't help. Once Ethel got to know me she began to adore me - like everyone should! Ethel is like Gladys Kravitz and the Golden Girls combined in one person. Ethel says some pretty amazing things to me and I feel like they have to be shared.

About a year ago Ethel had surgery on her "girl parts" - this is what she referred to them as, I couldn't make that kind of shiz up. She was having some complications and had to go to the doctor for a follow up. (Important side note: Ethel has been single for over 25 years).

Ethel: Doctor, I don't understand why I am bleeding.

Dr: Well Mrs. X it is a very delicate area and it was very important to me that I preserve the nerve endings.

Ethel: What the HELL for?!? I am eighty years old, stitch it shut.

When she told me this I somehow managed to not burst out in to hysterical laughter, but was able to ask her one question, "Ethel, what if you wanted to have a gentleman caller over? Having your who-ha (yep, that's what I called it) stitched shut wouldn't be helpful." Ethel replied, "Oh Randi, I'm not going to have a gentleman caller over, I don't know what I would do with a man." I think if I heard Ethel and a gentleman caller it would be like an early Christmas present, assuming that their boot knocking didn't happen on Christmas morning.

Today I had another glorious conversation with Ethel.

Ethel: Our neighbor told me she is gay.

Me: Yep, I knew that.

Ethel: She is the first gay person I have ever met.

Me: Seriously?!?

Ethel: Yep, I didn't grow up with gay people.

Me: Seriously?!?

Ethel: Are you okay with it?

Me: Yep. Some of my best friends are gay.

Ethel: I'm an old lady and people being gay is new to me, but if you are okay with it, then I think I will be too. I think gay men would be fun to hang around with, they always seem to be very stylish.

Me: Yes, they are very fun to hang out with.

Ethel: You are okay with it.

Me: Yes, I am very okay with it.

Me: Ethel, do you know what the Pride festival is?

Ethel: Yes.

Me: Ethel, would you like to go with me to Pride this summer?

Ethel: You would take me? I think that I would like to go.

Just as Ethel was unsure of me at our first meeting once she got to know me she came to love me. I think that she is one awesome eighty year old and I think that once she gets to know our neighbor and other people in the gay community she will adore them as well.

My slot is regulation size for a standard valentine envelope

I have three memorable Valentine's days. Sorry DaveCall, none of them involve you.

I think I was in the second grade and the year was 1988. We had all created our Valentine's boxes and were going around the room handing out our "heartfelt" envelopes. What does this really teach a child? You had a list with every kid's name on it and you filled out a card for each person, whether or not you liked them. Trust me there were many people I didn't want to be my valentine and I am sure that the feeling was mutual. A boy in my class came up to my box and tried to shove a giant envelope in my tiny slot (holy crap that sounds dirty). He was like, "Uh this won't fit" and I was like "my slot is regulation size for a standard valentine envelope." It's memories like this that make me realize why I didn't date much. I didn't care that his love package didn't fit, I didn't need him to validate me. About a month went by and I was going through my over sized Esprit bag, which like my purse today, was a dark abyss of shiz. I found a large envelope and inside of it were three beaded necklaces and an anonymous valentine. I had forgotten all about young Mr. X trying to give me his gift, so I walked back in to class and shouted, "I think someone tired to leave these plastic necklaces in my bag. Who did this?" No one answered, but one blond boy looked very uncomfortable. Now twenty years later Facebook keeps suggesting I be his friend, I don't think I will as I never did thank him for the necklaces. I did however rock the red beaded necklace in my third grade photo. Visual picture: short chin length red permed hair, one side clipped up with a huge black banana clip, white button down shirt with the collar pressed straight up and flicked out (think Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink) and a red beaded necklace.

My second memorable Valentine's day was in 1998. I finally had a boyfriend and it was the most romantic day of the year, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I had to work that day and Zach and I were going to dinner that night. I put quite a bit of thought in to the perfect outfit for my perfect day. My final choice was most glorious: a red ribbed turtleneck sweater, black corduroy overalls and black doc martens - even in high school I knew how to be sexy for my man. The day started off perfect, Zach sent me a dozen red roses at work - all the older married ladies were jealous of my young budget free love. Disaster struck at lunch time. I was so lost in love that I knocked my bowl of cream of broccoli soup all over my lap. Have you ever tried to remove creamy soup from the ridges of corduroy? Impossible. I had to race home and settle on my denim overalls - there was nothing sexy about the denim overalls. I met Zach that night for dinner, but my outfit was ruined and the day never was the same.

The final memorable Valentine's day was in 2002. I was living with Tiffy and Lou and we were the Fight Girls. Oh how I loved being a Fight Girl. We got home late from whatever mayhem we were involved in to find three vases of flowers on our porch. They said to Fight Girl #1, Fight Girl #2 and Fight Girl #3 and each card said Happy Ballumtimes. The three of us then of course had to spend quite a bit of time determining which of us was which fight girl. The flowers were unexpected and there was no romantic attachments and they were perfect.

If you need Valentine's Day to remind you to be romantic you are lost. If you need Valentine's Day to tell someone that you love them then you aren't really in love. If you propose to your significant other on Valentine's don't tell me, it will probably make me gag.

I should have been a cow-girl.

I never thought I should have learned to rope and ride, thank you Toby Keith, however tonight I decided to create a country Pandora station. My first choice was Dixie Chicks. This station started out fine, first song Dixie Chicks, yep, this is what I signed up for. Second song Taylor Swift -thumb down. Third song, Dixie Chicks, why yes, thank you Pandora, I think we established that I like Dixie Chicks. Fourth song, Taylor Swift - Pandora I HATE YOU. Did I not just thumb her down one song ago?!?! Pandora, I thought we had something special, but now it's like you don't even understand me, it's like you don't even listen. How quickly I can turn on technology - so passive aggressively I deleted this station. Attempt number two, Lee Ann Womack....redemption.

I have such a soft spot in my heart for country music - judge me, I don't care, and true to form I won't judge you back. There is something true, calming and incredibly peaceful about country music. In my soul I am Dolly Parton. I love country dancing - line dances, slow waltzes and honky tonks. I wonder if I could talk DaveCall in to going on a trip to Nashville? Of course we would wear matching wranglers on our trip (I do apologize if you just had to imagine my fat ass in wranglers, imagine it with pockets, it is far less painful than the brightly colored non-pocketed version).

The closest I have ever come to the Grand Ole Opry is my roommate whose fiance who was up and coming in the country music circuit. In our home the downstairs bathroom also doubled as the laundry room, room is extremely generous as it was more of a shower closet with a stackable washer/dryer. I never thought to lock the door as I thought I was home alone. My roommate, we will call her Smashley, was home. Smashley opened the door just as I was stepping in to the shower. We both screamed, my only concern was my chest as that was all I covered. Now if you remember Smashley's fiance was up and coming in the country music business. That night I came home and as I walked in I heard her fiance, we will call him Shyan Rupe, playing his mandolin. Shyan Rupe had written a delightful new song and he was debuting it just for me, it was entitled Randi the Naked Roommate - one day this gem (the song, not the second nasty image this blog has supplied you with) will be revered at the Grand Ole Opry.

She can dance if she wants to!

I have always been fascinated with dancing, I unfortunately was not blessed with the gift of rhythm. My heart beats fast each time I see Captain Von Trapp and Maria dance the Lendler. I love watching Scarlett and Rhett spin around the dance floor, it wasn't even ruined when I learned that they are on a moving platform because Clark Gable couldn't dance. I have a few friends who have some of the sweetest dance moves and a certain grace as they dance that I am extremely jealous of - Andy & Alee I am talking about you! I was the little girl who always spun the opposite direction of everyone else. Shuffle ball change may as well be called wire this electrical outlet because I have no idea how either works. I always found myself doing some sort of weird bouncing at high school dances as an attempt to not draw attention to my lack of skill. I was in my early twenties before I came to the full realization that I was never going to be a ballerina, a rockette or even a square dancer and so I decided to embrace my dance "moves" and let them shine.

We were in the courtyard area after the Vegas market and we were swaying our hips when a crotchety old man walked by and said, "NO DANCING." Uh.....don't be such a weft old man, this is perfect place for dancing, rather obvious if you ask me. I am of the faith that dance parties can happen anywhere, and frankly should happen at least once a day. My friends and I had an impromptu shuttle bus dance party. It takes a certain commitment to your art to have a shuttle bus dance party, it is most helpful if you have a head rest to use as support and a bus driver that doubles as a DJ. I performed riverdance at Jam, and was told I was the only person to ever do riverdance there. My interpretation of riverdance would bring a tear to Michael Flatley's eye, tears of pure admiration for my skill and passion. I was alone in my store doing inventory reconciliation when "She works hard for the money" came on, I danced my heart out - I don't need an audience. My sister Jamie and I bonded when we both professed a love of Neil Diamond. We blared Neil's sweet jams over my parents sound system as we jumped/danced on the sofa - George & Nan - I am too old to ground now and I am sure that there is a statute of limitations on sofa jumping/dancing.

The key to regular dancing is to have an inner soundtrack - I usually hear one of two songs in my head. The Rolling Stones' Miss you or David Bowie's Golden Years. If you don't have your own inner soundtrack you are welcome to use mine until you find what inspires you. My only plans today are lunch with DaveCall, esq. Perhaps there is law office dance party in my future.

For the record we aren't arguing - he's never right

I recently had someone tell me that when DaveCall and I "fight" on Facebook it makes them uncomfortable. For the record we are not fighting, I am right and he is wrong. J/K (oh how I miss the simplicity of a good J/K, sigh, days gone by). Truthfully, if you see "disagreements" between DaveCall and myself on Facebook you should know the back story and know that we are solid, solid as a rrrockkk.

When we banter back and forth we are usually sitting at our dual laptops in the same room or even better sitting side by side on the sofa with our smart phones. The banter back and forth makes us laugh, both of us trying to out wit the other, and most of the time trying to shock the other. I am always laughing (mostly at myself) and he is usually shaking his head.

Just today I had a co worker tell me that DaveCall and I should have kids, her sole reason for us bringing a human in to the world was, and I quote "David is so cute, he would make a cute kid." I replied that sure DaveCall's offspring would be cute (my feelings were slightly hurt as it was DaveCall brining all the good looking genes to this offspring) but that they would be little shits in lab coats. My "concerns" didn't seem to worry her and why would they, she wouldn't have to raise our child. I am quite certain that my awesomeness mixed in with DaveCall would result in one of two types of children, Pinky or the Brain. If DaveCall and I "fight" on Facebook imagine what our combined genes would do to the soul of an offspring......we would most certainly have to name the kid Jeckel Hyde Smalls.

Little Red Corvette

Today I had the distinct pleasure of renewing my driver's license. In the fifteen years I have been driving I have had three licenses and each experience has been quite memorable.

I got my first license one week after my 16th birthday. I chose to wear my finest men's plaid shirt from the Gap. I also thought that the greatest hair I could achieve would be to blow dry my perm out and then use the actual iron to finish straightening it. It was a glorious photo, two thirds of it was hair and then a sliver of face and plaid. It was the old Utah green laminated licence and I couldn't wait to get the blue version that said adult. In my angst of having a green license I spelled my own name wrong when singing and had to shove an awkward "E" in to my middle name. It must have been destiny that spelling was not in the cards of this licence. I had had this licence for 4 years before I realized the DMV had spelled my last name wrong. I got pulled over and the cop was back in his car forever, finally he came back and said, "How do you pronounce your last name?" I had to stifle back laughter as I said, Smith, the traditional pronunciation. On my license my last name read SMTIH, I didn't get a ticket, but I did have to promise to go to the DMV and correct my records.

I went to the DMV to change SMTIH back to SMITH. The girl helping me asked if I was a natural redhead, I replied "Yes." She informed me that she had a thing for natural redheads, which I had already deduced as she had a redheaded woman tattooed on her arm. She said I couldn't handle her other redhead tattoos. After much badgering from my friend she informed us that she had a flaming "who-ha" tattooed on her chest. I was baffled as to why she didn't think I could handle that, was she not paying attention when I told her I was a natural redhead, I came with the factory flaming "who-ha" and not the after market addition she had.

It was my 21st birthday and I was in what is lovingly referred to as my "fine arts major stage." I once again thought a button down shirt would be ideal, but this time it was from the women's department. I layered it with a full length wrap sweater, big dark lips and big curly hair. I had wanted to tie a floral scarf around my neck, which became the staple of the fine arts look, but I didn't own one that matched my over sized amethyst earrings. I was so exited to have the blue adult license that I wasn't thinking when I put it in my pocket and sat on it, permanently creasing my license and irritating me to no end. I had this licence for 10 years. People have told me they prefer my hair short, people have told me growing it out was the best thing I have ever done, I've been told that it doesn't look like me unless I smile. This license has been with my throughout my twenties and I was rather sad to see it go, but it expires in a week and so to the DMV I went.

After two very dated photos I thought long and hard about what I should wear. I decided an aubergine boat neck shirt would be classic. The man taking the pictures was not happy and seemed irritated that I wanted to take my fur trimmed puffer coat off, but this was my moment, my hair was perfect, my outfit was well planned and I would not let his time schedule ruin my photo. FLASH and off I went. I filled out the final form, took a vision test, signed and dated the form, certified my information and was then handed my temporary licence. OH HOLY MOTHER!!! The picture is a close up of my chubby cheeks, my long red hair is hanging over my shoulders and all you can see is the top of my collarbone/breast plate - in other words, it looks like I am not wearing a shirt at all. Thank you universe, I had no idea you were such a fan of the button up. Wish me luck at bars and airports as this will be the decade of the Lady Godiva license.

I get by with a little help from my friends, I shoot my beverage out my nose with a little help from my friends

I have spent a large portion of my life feeling like I don't fit in. I am regularly told "You are so weird" it used to make me feel sad, but not anymore. I am who I am, and if I am "weird" to you well then suck it, weird is where the fun happens.

95/17ths

Today is mine and DaveCall's 95 month anniversary. Yep, that's right, we celebrate each month. Feel free to make gagging sounds, I would if I read this on someone else's blog. I liked DaveCall from the moment I met him, he made me laugh. People who knew both of us were baffled that Randi Smith and Dave Call (at this point his name was not the one word phenomenon it has become today) were dating. We are different in so many ways, but 95 months later here we are. I believe that our success has come down to a few key things - we love being together, we truly miss each other when we are apart, we know how to be apart, we can talk about anything, we appreciate the differences between us, we both want to make this work and most importantly one of us knows how to use the mute button.

I have been thinking a lot about relationships lately. I have a friend going through some serious shiz in her marriage right now and it breaks my heart. How do people get to a point where they can be so unloving to the person who they chose to have matter most? I am not saying that DaveCall and I are perfect because some days I would love nothing more than to smother him with a pillow.* DaveCall is always kind, it is one of the top five thing I love most about him. He would go out of his way to help a friend, a stranger and even an overly demanding redhead.

I believe that each day we get to choose our attitude, no matter what life has in store for us. We were getting on a very crowded elevator and one woman started to direct us all. She said, "Welcome to the elevator, we are about to play elevator jenga so I am going to need everyone to fit together." Her attitude made a rather awkward situation light and airy. She had such a happiness in her voice, and showed kindness to everyone in the elevator, holding the door for each of us as we got off. It was a small simple act, but it made my day. We are all humans, we all have feelings and we all want to be loved for the unique people we are.

I believe that each day we make small choices that can add up to a lifetime of happiness or misery. I am so glad I made the choice to attend Monday Night Football at the Call's, it has brought me 95 months of happiness. DaveCall I look forward to the next 95!

*I realize that if DaveCall is ever actually smothered with a pillow the first person they will investigate will be me, and this post may come back to haunt me, but I believe in being honest and if I can go eight years without smothering him then I am pretty sure I can go the rest of my life without smothering him, that and I know some awesome defense attorneys.