Bagpipe Coordinating for Aly's Rehearsal Dinner

Dad's going to do a bagpipe march performance for Aly's bonfire wedding rehearsal dinner. Dad and Aly spoke on the telephone. I just about died over this one; anyone who knows my Daddyo and/or Aly can hear this in their head:

Dad: So how far is the pier from the pit? Like, give it to me in yards.
Aly: Well...I'm not sure about yards...I don't really think about distances in terms of yards....
D: Well then, give it to me in feet, you can do feet right?
A: Well...it's like it would take you 3 or 4 minutes to walk it.
D: So it's like a football field.
A: No! It's like half a football field!
D: Well then you just walk slow. So you want me to walk down from the pier, down the steps and over to the barbeque pit.
A: There aren't any stairs.
D: So I walk down the ramp (BTW he's never been to the beach this dinner will be at)?
A: There isn't really a ramp! It just sort of eases into the sand. And I'd like you to walk from under the pier, if you don't mind your feet or shoes getting sandy, straight over to the pit.
D: Ok.
A: And then I was thinking in your get-up (kilt) it'd be so perfect if you gave a little shpiel about the Irish traditions of weddings...you guys being Irish and all --
D: Wait wait wait SCOTTISH. PLEASE! SCOTTISH!

Classic. This is the best weekend of my life!

Me + Baker = Friends

This is the 3rd weekend in a row I find myself back in the Vine of Ir. Home again, home again, jiggety jig. I should have just taken off work for the in between time too, because let's face the sorry truth: I've spent my wages from the past 2 weeks in gasolina (or just about), and I'm getting sick of 90% of the drive. Why in heaven's name are we permitted to drive 75 mph going to Yeetah but allowed only a dozing 70 when we're cruising to 'Fornia???? I'll make a bold statement: if we were allowed to drive the 75 miles per hour en route to CA, I would only be sick of only 63% of the drive. Yes, even!

Ruckiry, I have visited in blissful elation, heavy on the elation. It's not hard to have things go in such a way when the equation is Eatons + Sunny CA. It's just also really busy and I've not had moments to spare for as many old friends and as I would wish. Status of achievement in dutiful friend field: failure.

What have the recent weekends accomplished?

-An actual tan line. No! I will not take it back, as I, in my truth (as Paula Abdula would put it...since apparently anything can be or have a truth), have a real deal tan line on my pasty skin!
-The chance to peruse over my mission journals. Good to reminisce. Then I got an email from some recent converts and they all looked rosy cheeked and happy and sweaty (you just don't get humidity's end over there) and on the straight and narrow! 3 cheers for La Familia Aguilar!
-A chance to prove to myself I am indeed getting used to the dry and dusty oven that is Las Vegas. New phenomenon: Somewhere around the 215/I-15 junction I feel the back of my neck become soggy and my shirt clings to me in a way very similar to a Koala bear baby and his mother. HUMIDITY. Humidity that you can inhale and choke on in the CA airs.
-Reality check. The Irvine 1st and 5th wards meet no longer inside the cheery bricks of the Irvine Stake Center. Bah! We now have a "MEETINGhouse" which is kinder on our gas bills but much meaner for reminiscing sake, as well as my navigational pride.

• Con #1: The Irvine Stake Center is the place I sat my squishy 3 year old bottom on the tiny tiny chairs and first heard the words of the true and everlasting gospel (outside the home). The place I strutted myse'f into the first Irvine STAKE DANCE and stared at _e_f J_ _s_n from across the mosh pit wondering how he could be so devilishly handsome. The place I attended all 4 years of seminary and trained myself to loathe donuts, knowing well that if I indulged every Friday morningside I'd roll out of high school with diploma tucked kindly away under my arm. Ah shucks. It's a building close to my soul and packed a la brim with memories.
  
• Con #2: The Meetinghouse is about 1/16 as big as the Stake Center, only has 1 chapel, but I STILL get lost inside it. How do they make these things like mazes???? How??

Moving on.
-This weekend WILL accomplish the observation of and participation in the wedding of Aly and Andrew. A bon-fire rehearsal dinner. I know, it's 4.566 cycles of endorphins swirled in marshmallow sauce with a billion dollar bonus.
-I am completely pals with the peeps at the Baker exit. Baker is the perfect locale for a stop. Just about the time I'm thirsty as a 3 Amigo and as anxious to stretch my limbs as Sam will be after he's had the chicken pox (this occurance TBA). Now that I've done this stop 6 times in 4 months I am tight with the gas station employees and know which bathroom stall is most tidy and spacious.
-I've realized I do love Las Vegas and am happy to return each time.
-My bishopric sweat a few drops for me thinking I'd swiftly gone inactive.

And my final lesson:
-I shouldn't blog when it's in the middle of the night after a drive.

Curses

There is a position amongst us Leavitts that seems to be cursed, as the 4th girl in 6 months has just thrown in the towel, and I wouldn't put it past her to SKIP out the door on her last day, singing, "See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!"

Anyway but then I remembered one of my favorite moments from the movie Moonstruck. I hope to have a conversation of similar climax (if not similar subject matter) with one of my co-workers one of these days.

[Scene: Airport, Cher/Loretta Castorini has just put her fiancé on a plane to Italy and is watching it take off next to an old bitty with a lace shawl.]

Old Crone: You have someone on that plane?
Loretta Castorini: Yeah, my fiancé.
Old Crone: [angry] I put a curse on that plane. My sister is on that plane. I put a curse on that plane that it's gonna explode, burn on fire and fall into the sea. Fifty years ago, she stole a man from me. S'aprice l'uomo! Today she tells me that she never loved him, that she took him to be strong on me. Now she's going back to Sicily. Di returne Sicilia! I cursed her that the green Atlantic water should swallow her up!
Loretta Castorini: I don't believe in curses.
Old Crone: [shrugging] Eh, neither do I.

I got a dollar, I got a dollar, I got a dollar, hey hey hey hey hey!

'Twas spotted in the surf, which gives compliment to the clearer-than-usual-waters of Newport Beach. This paid for the parking meter, which left more cash for Golden Spoon. Sometimes the moon really does go into the 7th house, and Jupiter indeed aligns with Mars.

I love a good day at the lake of mead

this is how i position myself before, during, and after wake boarding.

eroiflksjjjj

i blame it on her.yes she is a vision (in pink), but i inherited this disease completely and utterly and unmistakably from her. she's long since overcome it with sweeping perfection; my mom sort of lives her life in a gliding serenity and has for many a year. she could be meeting anyone from keith richards to ghandi and would maintain poise and dignity. always dignity. i have yet to see the other side of the mountain of

tongue tied-ness.

mom tells the story of a time in jr. high when a nice young fellow had nursed a crush on her, and she had dismissed his affections faster than you can say "simon and garfunkle". later on she felt regretful, and wishful for a return to "the way they were." one day after school she walked along the vacated school hallway and saw young fellow perusing the scrumptious options of the vending machine. mom saw an opportunity to rekindle what she'd once shrugged off without a care. quickly formulating something clever and endearing, what ended up coming out of her mouth as she reached his earshot was, "Porking up???" end scene.

fast forward to the year 1998. mom no longer vocally biffs, she in fact has charmed everyone she's met for years, including her 15.75 year old daughter (moi). i was knee deep in a crush on billy nelson. being a student of another high school (our rival high school, no less!) gave him a hefty dose of mystery, as well as danger (you try mosing over to the woodbridge high school side wearing blue and green on football game nights! death on a stick!) we'd placed sweaty hands on each other for a few slow songs at irvine stake dances, we were getting to be chatty, all was going well. crowning glory moment: he came to MY, repeat MY sweet 16 party and rocked and rolled all night! when the neighbors kicked us crazy mormon delinquents out, we beelined over to 7-11 for 98 ounce slurpees and then zipped over to the bollard's ill-supervised pool for ensured ability to keep on rockin. since i had the metabolism of a bunny rabbit back in them days i was actually right as rain being in my bathing suit with slurpee soaked red teeth, lips, and tongue. the flirting was turning professional. i was thinking about writing a book about it. you could practically be zapped by giggle gamma rays if you passed in between billay and i. then, as my momma done taught me, the time came to play hard to get and get my flirt on with some different dudes. a bit later when 'twas nearing the stroke of midnight, when we all know Who goes to bed, we began to swaddle towels round about and make for the pool gate.

billy was standing by the edge of the pool. i had to make one lasting impression for the night, because, holy moly! i was now 16, i knew it, he knew it, and i would be needing him to ask me on many dates. dates and dates and dates.

in all my wet hair and towel glory, i strutted what my mama gave me on over, drafting and concocting in my noggin what verbal gems i would wow him with. i meant, truly meant, to say, "hey, are you going to take a dip?"

what came out was, "hey, are you going to take a dump?"

close curtain.

for the record, he did ask me on my 2nd official date a week or 2 later, and then a year later i went to his senior prom at the opposing high school, so apparently the slurpee hang over he endured the next morning erased my blooper from his memory bank.

and it seems the lapse of almost 10 years has done nothing to cure me. i still struggle. this morning in the hallway i was passing a bidness superior who shares my love for coldplay tunes and out tumbled, "hey, new album coldplay came last night."

bah. i'm starting up TTA for anyone else who wants to get a sponser and start coming to meetings.

2 residual benefits from my group date on friday:

1) we played croquet and i liked it! i really really liked it! no, don't fall off your chair. please, really, is it necessary to choke, cough, and then spray out the beverage you were sipping as you read that first sentence? i feel like croquet is a happy union of english snobbery and yankee silliness. i would be looking into buying my own set of wickets and clubs right this very second, but i preemptively heard a set goes for around 1,000 george washingtons. hmmmmm.....
2) my first dining adventure at pei-wei was enough to make me a life-long customer because of a few reasons, but most of all it was the bottomless pit of fortune cookies that captured my little girl heart. especially when your 5th of 7 snagged cookies reads promises such as this:
how am i supposed to be expected to hold a camera straight when there are new pearls of excitement?

And the Oscar goeth tooooo

if i were famous, my name would be Meredith Diamante, the overall effect would be a blend of these 2 vixens,
i would divide my time between my london and prince edward island and palo alto homes, i'd have an on-again, off-again relationship with edward norton, and my breakthrough/oscar snagging role would be the lead in a sci-fi remake of hitchcock's vertigo, which i acted in opposite the aforementioned hunk.

naaaaaaaaah.

but even without the excuse to don a multi million dollar loan of baubles and custom made dress, i should like to thank the academy and the following people for these reasons, along with all the other forbiddingly intense services they continue to perform:

1. dad for playing the guitar down the hall as we fell asleep as wee kittens, thus making the sound of muddy waters an incredibly nostalgic and beauteous one.
2. mum for not raising me on doritos but rather on carrot sticks and golden spoon
3. elizabeth for preventing from cutting all my hair off again a few months ago
4. sarah for introducing me to the best version of sean connery as has yet been seen by the world
5. cam for having a diet coke intervention with me in 2005 and introducing me to ryan adams
6. alyson for teaching me to enjoy tricky situations and chuckle and chuck them off. you're a really cute bride, too.
7. annie wahnah brothah for teaching me how easy it should be to compliment often
8. heather for not laughing at me (too hard) when i'd make 39 point turns and take out my stereo, put it in the case, and hide it in my glove compartment every single time i got out of the car, whether it was to go to church or to run into rent a movie.
9. megan for praying for "a boy."
10. krisha for bringing turd ferguson to life for all of us
11. melissa l. and cora g. for being happy heroines of mine
12. lani lani lani for being a felon with me
13. auntie ruthie for abiding my laundry excuses when i'd not practiced the piano forte
14. katie w. for helping me perfect my horsie noises and robyn wright impersonations in the 80s
15. the big cheeses at the diet coke company for providing my guilty yet guiltless pleasure.
16. the big cheeses at people magazine for providing my other guilty yet guiltless pleasure
17. lindsey a., raime, brakell, and jessica for guaranteeing 1 hour of the work day on wednesdays will be sheer unadulterated fun
18. lindsey a. again for knowing so many movie lines she can be her own hero
19. annie g. r. for visiting pepperchini land with me
20. jesse waldowski for expiring my membership in the virgin lips club in your gold pontiac with cow print seats on the eve of easter sunday, 1999.
21. hilary, margaret, erin, kate, miji, becca, and ALL my other fuzzy cousins for getting me excited about a fuzzy eternity of cummings chocolates, singing in disonance (on purpose), and saying everything in as abnormal or round about way as possible
22. my uncles for giving my mom a fat complex as a young girl (jk)
23. my aunties for being ever perfect hostesses, full of sophistication and pluck and homes full of TLC and chocolate.
24. jim halpert for proposing to me in my dream last night
25. lott for being my uber amazing mission comp
26. hna. cintas for being my crazy but loveable mission comp
27. hna. gomez for teaching me how to make cheese, glue, and pinatas on the mishy mish
28. phil cendoma for staying "cool under pressure"
29. tara stella for getting almost teary with me about the george cloony/sara larson split
30. dana for buying us kona grill a few weeks ago
31. aubs for having the best pregnant belly and still being so stinking skinny
32. the dude who works upstairs in my office building who is the one and only soul to believe i should be called "G" -- it's an honor.
33. that's all i can think of right now. i've forgotten loads of people.
34. oh wait! bishop andreasen and president muir and uncle robert for showing me what a church leader can be
35. la familia moya for being happy no matter how many prehistoric spiders are dangling from their ceiling
36. darling and jader for giving me once in a lifetime feelings in getting to be a part of their baptism.
37. ken craig for having the best stress-relief blog and most well-behaved children
38. thank you, thank you, [blowing kisses] goodnight!!!!

Natural Hair Color and Green Day

Thank you to my dear opinion givers on the subject of hair changing. I went back to my roots (pun INtended) and dyed it my natural color.
Dark brown. It feels good in a silly way to be back.

It reminds me of the first day of 7th grade when in 1st period we had to go around and say our favorite music group. A bonding experience to kick off the 2 most painful, puberty-stricken years of life.

As we went around the circle 'twas heard:

Hot Jock Future Pot Smoker: "Green Day."
Princess Popular Cheerleader Future Pot Smoker: "Green Day."
Nerdy Dragon Ball Z Future Pot Smoker: "Green Day."
Crater Face Coburn Future Pot Smoker: "Green Day."

You get the idea.

Then it came 'round to me and I said, "The Beatles."

And then commenced the school year when my 100% naivety was chipped and ripped at until a measely 54% remained. As I saw my pals begin to smoke (and offer me) ciggies and mary jane, snog (etc.) the boys, wear spaghetti strap tank tops, use 4-letter words, listen to CDs with "Parental Guidance" warnings slapped on the covers, get "a coffee" from Starbucks, etc. I clung to my lack of ultra-trendiness tooth and nail without becoming a nun. It was fun and easy because at the end of the day I had Annie and Elizabeth to leach on to, and a few classically solid g-pals to tootle around with. But even as I was desperately intrigued by and covetous of a few styles sold at Wet Seal and Contempo Casuals, although I flailed limbs to the down beat of rap songs booming at school dances and sleep overs by the likes of Criss Cross, Coolio, etc., they ultimately made me want to run for the hills for fear that liking them would change EVERYTHING about me. And so I continued to accrue wardrobe items from The Gap, The Gap, and The Gap. My Mom stood alone with a license to take scissors to my hair for a blunt cut, as LAYERS would surely be the gateway drug to teenage pregnancy. And LSD (I knew what that was because, remember, I listened to The Beatles).

Then I think Sarah and Elizabeth and I made up some inside jokes that comprised us being g-funks so the once-shunned rap became (gasp) comical. And I thawed out. I think I'd been doing an OK job of being "IN the world but not OF the world" but due to some good old sibling goofiness I learned how to laugh at the world too instead of being cripplingly stressed out by it. Whew.

And then I even highlighted my hair at the age of 25. In a professional salon, no less! I bought Kanye West's latest album and Homecoming would have to be one of my most beloved songs of all time. And you know what? I haven't even been excommunicated!

But I do find some degree of warmth and comfort in seeing a natural head of br-izz-own hair in the morning before I jot off to work with diet coke in hand.

Marky Mark Lovin

i get bothered by pretty boy celebrities of much teeny bopper attention. i tend to reserve fruitless crush calories to be burnt upon skinny, brooding, large shnozed actors such as


yet after a small selection of movies where he's proven he's not just overwhelmingly large amounts of bicep and a head full of air, i am converted.despite his best efforts in the 80s and 90s to prove otherwise, he seems to be pretty good at what he does! i will most definitely be borrowing sarah's clearplay for the happening by m. night shyamalan.

2 pictures that are making my monday 23.68 knotches better

"Cast off the shackles of yestehday, a-shouldah to shouldah into the fray, ouah daughtah's daughtahs will adore us, and they'll a-sing in grraateful chooorus..."

Mama Ain't Playin

Gracias to Annie, Princess of Power

That lovely title banner? Yeah, you want one too.

Annie, the girl who is at glorious fault for this gorgeous coupling due to her much celebrated marriage to a true stallion
and is mama and wifey and blogger and artist of all sorts and music sharer and RS teacher and chef and spin class instructor and photographer magnifique and has a set of the best teeth in the free world and i could really really go on for miles more...

took the time to whip up a blog title banner of divinity por moi.

i love you, annie. let's play soon in the holy land.