last summer i got hooked on grey's anatomy.  i was living in vegas...what did you expect me to do -- go outside??  and in case you wanted MORE information on this dreamy subject, i have seen enough episodes to have identified The Grey's Double It Up method.  for some reason the script writers all think everything else is much more snazzy when they have the characters say their lines twice in rapid fire succession.  the second round is typically at a husky whisper or an "outside voice".  

ahem.  for example:

"her pain is at an 8.  she lives her life and her pain is at an 8!"

"i love you.  i friggin love you."

"i'm sorry we never got our chance.  i'm sorry we never got our chance."

"i don't need you to be sorry.  i don't need you to be sorry."

"i know i'm not a world class neuro surgeon.  i know that.  i know that."

"i made his bones.  i made his bones from scratch."

"i'm messed up.  i'm friggin messed up."

"it's in the past, iz.  it's in the past."

i could go on.  maybe you think, "that's why i don't watch that show."  or maybe you have already noted the Grey's Double It Up and, like me, will probably keep watching it until the cow's come home (or until patrick dempsey leaves the cast, whichever comes first).

why are these fake doctors standing in a field? duh, it improves dexterity.

Deep, elongated, almost hissing exhale

roses are red,

violets are blue,

i hope the economy gets better,

or i'm moving to monaco like i planned when i was 13.

here's a good thing to do on a tuesday night:

watch the HBO miniseries john adams with yogurtland to scarf and a loverboy to snuggle.

trust me, it's that much fun!

A remote with such purpose is a happy one indeed.

Poof! went the cable guy's wand and my roommates and I found ourselves with real channels.  i can like, um, totally, turn on the tv and current events, sleazy dramas, shamefully addicting reality tv...it's all before me, at my fingertips and at my mercy...mine, Mine, MINE!!!

(For $15 a month.)

The cable guy's magic stick also deposits DVR, so tonight I decided on my #1 favorite purpose of this new mess we've gotten ourselves into:

I ask you, who DOESn't love a grumpy old man?!?!

oscar soap box

when did the oscars become a cool kids table where they rip on anything that their [insert vegetable] sized intellects don't comprehend?  i watched it for a little while tonight and felt uncomfortable listening to everyone going on and on and ON about how these celebrities are carrying the world on their backs.  i don't doubt that acting would be difficult work, but it's a job, everyone's got to have one, and the praises were wwwwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyy over the top.  they don't even talk about the pope like that.  

i'm really tired of everyone acting as though mormons hate gay people, or anyone else for that matter.  while i can't speak for all 13 million members of the LDS church out there in the world and how they feel toward other human beings, i know that hatred is not something the mormon doctrine is in line with, not one tiny bit.  i'm especially tired of this attitude people have about mormons being haters because these whiners certainly don't seem to be afraid of hating whomever they wish.  also, i believe as a mormon raised in a conservative family i have always been very able to identify and express my feelings.  and as jeff said, anyone who disagrees should definitely attend a sacrament meeting the first sunday of the month.  

there i'm done.  goodnight my pretties.

A good song I'd forgotten about:

per nat's request:

She is so good at cutting hairs, and so fun to talk to, it's just ridiculous.

Thanks, Natalie.  I can see again!

cleaned out.

i'm bringing on a multi-level clean out.

clean out #1:

date and location TBA/D. mother meri always taught me to find a bargain, and in the earlier part of 2008 i think i found too many bargains, and now have wonderfully underappreciated things i want to unload.

clean out #2:

detox.

this is no detox of the "no treats except for sundays" breed. this is the detox that asks you to reach down into the cob-webbed craters of soul harbored resoluteness of heart and mind. it stretches 7 days, each one banning processed foods and accompanied by what i'm calling "the sauce." it is apparently whisking my insides like never before, and if you want to know what sorts of messages said whisking sends from my taste buds to my brain, i'll tell you. it tastes like rotten fruits mixed with mud and drain-o (and something else that the internet just isn't prepared for me to write). the first day i followed the directions and mixed the tiny vile with the quart of water. that just tasted like watery rotten fruits mixed with mud and drain-o, which, in case you've escaped the experienced, isn't so much more pleasant than the concentrated version. i was losing the stamina to muster the stamina for 73 sips of watered down hell, so today i chocked it down in 4 swigs. each time i looked at the glass for mercy, willing it to absorb itself into my colon without having to pass through my tastebuds, and then i looked at that brown liquid with hateful resentment, and then i realized,

wait. i brought this on myself. in fact, i paid money for the experience! i just want to do right by my mortal shell! i've got too much to live for!

please contact your local arbonne sales consultant to hippety hop on the bandwagon.

If you didn't believe what I said in the previous post about the excessive cuteness of my niece,

this is how she awakens:

It's cute enough to get the stimulus package working for ALL of us.

Disneyland is SO MUCH BETTER WITH MUFFINS!

Yesterday I went to Disneyland (CA Adventure if we're going to be specific) with The Jexies.  Being there with Nephew (5) and Niece (3) and Baby Niece (3 months) made it a million times more fabulous.  They were beside themselves with glee 90% of the time, and it was s'darn cute I hardly noticed my pride being pinched by Nephew's ability to go enthusiastically go on all the rides I couldn't handle with a dry face until I was 10.  ALso, I got to go on Tower of Terror with just Elizabeth, and her reaction was fantastic.  Blood curdling screams mixed with gasps of laughter, and my hand was well squeezed.   

I also got to watch Baby Niece so the rest of the family could go on a ride together.  She just smiles and smiles, gurgles and coos.  It almost seems...perfectly wrong how much she just charms and delights and looks at you with such appreciation.  She better just stop it or I'm going to kiss her chubby cheeks right off.

P.S. I got some insight into what sort of a horrid, uptight mother I'll someday be.  I was going on a ride with Nephew.  Maybe some of you have been on one similar (I have at Great America in NorCal); there are individual swings and they all lift up and swing like crazy.  I had never thought it was even a frightening ride -- a big deal for a pansy like me.  Nephew was good on the height requirement.  As soon as I buckled him in and got into my swing, I started to panic.  This is ridiculous.  Look at him, so small, so young.  He's in this loose little swing??  No shoulder strap?  Just him and a metal seat attached to yards and yards of chain?  Doesn't metal bend and break from time to time??? What if he's not buckled properly?  I leaned over and started jiggling Nephew's clasps and safety restraints.  "Aunt Merzy, what are you doing?  We're not supposed to grab on to other swings!  I'm fine!"  "Just...just..just...do you want to hold my hand, [Nephew]??"  "What?  No -- we can't!!"  Then the ride began and my eyes were glued to him, I was probably wincing, and he just smiled and giggled the whole way through, waving to his Dad and sister every time we passed them watching from below.  I think I shaved 4 months off my life, and gave him a bear hug of relief after it was through.  He was a bit confused but gave me a zerbert with the hug, and then said, "Aunt Merzy, don't forget your purse from the bins over there."

I love those muffins of mine.

Movie List:

We watched this one on Saturday night after Stake Conference with 2 other couples. English humor is the best thing in the world and then quickly is the dirtiest thing in the world. I heard some belly laughs escape me, though.

I had a hunch I'd like this movie, as both Ricky Gervais and Greg Kinnear are my secret boyfriends, and I did like this movie, but am I the only one who was sobbing at the end?

We saw this movie last night. It would have probably been better but The Devil Wears Prada sort of stole its zip. I would have been apologizing to Jeff for suggesting it but he was laughing more than I was.

Best Movie of the Weekend. If it's in the mix, it will always be the Hitchcock.

Happy Birfday to the Meri Who Gave Me LIFE!

To the Cosmopolitan Queen of Posture, Broccoli, and Resourcefulness,

I say Many 'Appy Retuhns. I love you and your weedly ways.

You make Europe look good.

As soon as my young mind wrapped itself around the concept of romance, I wished to receive one of these:

I think it's partly because it seems so luxurious and Carey Grant-ish, partly because I'm pretty sure that's what Mrs. Shellhammer is eating when she's totally off her feet shnockered in that scene in Miracle on 34th Street, ("Hello?  Hellooo?  Oh daaahling, how silly of me.....") and partly because it's chocolate -- that stuff of the heavens.

I finally got one from a nice boy.  And some other endearing items.

Commercial holidays are boss.

2.14.09

To my darlings near and far, you quite know I do love you.

K-Dawg

This post is narcissistically inconsequential, but eh, it's my blog.

Did you know my middle name is Kathryn? It is, and I've always been very proud of it. My family's stuffed with Kathryns; my mother's middle name, 2 cousins' middle names, an aunt's first name, a cousin's first name, this cousin's daughter's first name, I could go on. These are some of the best Kathryns to ever girate across the globe. I think it's a beautiful name, even when spelled with a C (happy, Annie?), but in my family the consistent design sings K-A-T-H-R-Y-N. Since, as previously mentioned, there are so many of us Kathryns amongst my maternal extended family, I didn't know this until I was 19, but it turns out I am a specific namesake here. My parents chose it for me after my Great Aunt "Katie," a woman of whom I have not a blip of memory, but by all accounts was very sophisticated, very headstrong, very creative, very snarky, very witty, very much so an enemy of PETA, judging by the heaps of fur shawls and coats that she left behind when she went to receive her eternal reward. In my head I think of her as a happy Cuisin-Art blend of Greta Garbo, one of Brigham Young's more bossy wives, and Audrey Hepburn. My mom tells endless stories of her and I can't wait to meet her one day and have a long, juicy conversation.

Which brings me to, is the fact that families are forever not the best?

Sneezing Panda:

Wedges are dangerous.

Raise your hand if you've ever been working at an upscale women's shoe store and you've been selling one of these "wedge" shoes

and you say to the woman whose 28 karat ring is blinding you, 

"Wedgies have been selling well because they're more comfortable than a stiletto."

[My hand is well up in the air.]

Woops.  She bought em even though I called them a Deacon's gift to his little sister.

It all started with a wish to be more heart and lung healthy,

so I went to do a little of this:

and then the Huntington Beach skies dropped a little and then a lot of this:

and so I came home like this:

And I discovered a hole in a most inopportune location on my 11 year old running shorts.

My friend Alyson just sent me this picture,

and my heart melted a little bit. Sometimes you just wind up with amazing friends whom you love like crazy.

Aly and Annie, I'm still MUCH more fun to hang out with than Andrew and Jon, right???? RIGHT????

Thanks for the picture, Al.  That was a good day.

"Hoo hoo"

is what my freshly painted owl says.  Why the owl?  I don't know.  I like owls.  They're brimming with smarts.  I forgot how fun painting can be when you don't go into it expecting to outshine the Sistine Chapel.

I painted my initials Thursday just to make sure I still knew how to wield a brush. Each letter was supposed to be a different font.  Even though it didn't have quite the effect I had envisioned, I'm still down and jiggy with it because I had a great time.  I obviously still need to paint the edges.  Friday I painted the owl.  Is this the sort of moment in which Emeril shouts, "BAM!"?

And now I'm out of money to buy canvases so I'll move on to the more economically efficient watercolor.  I hated watercolor when I was in elementary school -- maybe 20something Merzy will appreciate it more.

The End.

Vote 2009!

Yep! It's your consitutional right.

Trim the bangs and keep em blunt, orrrrrrrr

Grow em out and do the swoopy thing.

I'm serious, you have to give your opinion. You're the ones who have to look at me.

Guessing Game Treat

Guess who just got a toll road citation (long story) reduced from a whopping $97.50 to $4.50??

I'll give you a few hints...

- She's got chubby cheeks...
- She prefers fountain over canned...
- She's busts up laughing every time she thinks about The Office's Angela chucking her cat up to the ceiling...

Give up?

ME!

Surprise!!! Jeff Hayes' 2nd 29th Bday!

That's what the secret Facebook invitation said. It's really fun to be the hostess of a party when everyone loves the guest of honor.  You say the word and people come and come running.

A boy and his cake.

A glazed smile.

A snog.

Mike Cunningham is the sort of photographer that makes you love your life even more.

He makes Tax Accounting look good.

Shmoozing.

Giggling.

Inebriating.  Bah ha, Drinking Anti-oxidant Cherry 7-Up (you think I'm kidding that time, but I'm not.  7-Up cares about your Vitamin E intake).

Martha Martha.  How do I love thee?

James James James.
I think this might be one of my favorite pictures.  I love Emily Hatch for so many reasons, but one of the toppers is her laugh.  You can hear it a mile away, and it's quite infectious.  True story.

I have more pictures.  Or, rather, Mike took more pictures.  Next post.  Or, if you're on Facebook you can stalk ALL 60 pictures snapped at the party.

Some razzle dazzle hilights from a fabulous weekend:

Let's talk Junior High School, circa 1994-1996.  Admittedly horrific years of Merzyhood.  Braces, acne, kanine teeth which grew in as tiny upside down triangles, bad hair cut, bad fashion sense, bad math grades (try as I might), and to tie a ribbon around it all (really, really tight with a double knot), my friends started smoking pot and getting frisky with the boys.  Boys with bleached hair, no less.  I lived and breathed for 3 things: Christmas Break, Spring Break, and Summer Break.  These were days I could spend listening to Simon & Garf with Annie and Elizabeth and Los Otros Eaton -- people who loved me whether I could deliver an Algebraic solution or not.  I would try to put them out of my mind when they were afar off, but as the calendar days crept closer to one of these hiatuses, I would silently express my excitement through the notetaker doodle.  All through the school day while Mrs. Parks or Mr. Robbins prattled on I would fill my notepaper margins with Christmas trees, Stars of David, Heavenly Hosts, Easter Bunnies, palm trees, ocean waves, etc.  I knew deep down that at some point these breaks would be over, and when I returned to these pages for test study, the festive images would taunt and haunt me.  However, pre-vacay Merzy cared not, and focused instead on the treat that lay before her.  And every January or end of April, I would partly resent those reminders of the now-closed Scholastic Respite doors, and partly rejoice that I'd at least enjoyed them while they were open.  Anyway my point: this past weekend I did not have to work, threw a surprise party for loverboy, skipped town and saw the Craigs for a bit, the  Reynolds for an afternoon/evening, the Jexies for Younger Niece's baby blessing, and came home to a loverly group of peeps watching the Tivo-ed Superbowl at Jeff's house.  I knew all last week that the weekend was going to be off the hizzie, and put out of my mind what I'd come back to (work, life decisions, healthy eating, taxes, etc.)  Now that the weekend is over (Monday dawns in 13 minutes), I drag a bit, but only just, as life is considerably better now than it was in the mid 90s.  I shall look at these pictures and remember the good times.  There shall be more good time images, too, for I have fotographer phriends.

Ah hem.  Le photo gallery:

Now that's just cute.  Nephew, Older niece, and Jex Grandpa playing cards on le couch.

If you say you don't think it's cute I shant believe you, not now not ever.

I think this picture pose is rather cheesy.  We did it because Younger Niece is crying something fierce, and this way it looks like the adoration is mutchal.

See?  My niece hates me.  And that's not the only reason this picture is rotten on my pride: I'm so pasty I almost glow (and not in the EFY way), and my growing-them-out bangs are poking my eyeballs, but still, it's from a smashing weekend, and so I love it in my way.

I had to throw this picture in. I find issue with it, but I am obsessed with its wonderfulness at the same time: Elizabeth and Merzy simultaneously and unintentionally enlarging their nostrils.  Smallish sized noses with tremendous nostril pulse capacity.  One sure fire way to tell if you're looking at an authentic Eaton or an imposter Eaton: how far and how frequently do they flare?

P.D.A. in the house.  Busted out by Kris as I was pushing the "click" on the camera.  I love Julia's expression, too; I think she knows exactly what's going on behind her and knows there's nothing she can do about it.

P.S. My sister Sarah and I both have competition now.  Older Niece seems to have a crush not only on Harry Reynolds, but one on Jeff Hayes as well.  She's 3; Elizabeth and Kris shall reap the East Winds when she hits teeny-bopper.

That's all for now.  As Cam used to say, G Night.

Sam, what do you want to say to people who read my blog?

From my nephew Sam: "This is Aunt Merzy's blog.  That's all I want to say.  I'm 5.  No, Aunt Merzy, write I AM 5.  My sister is 3.  My favorite thing about school is recess.  And Friday I like to have treasure box.  My mom had a silly mom song and it takes forever to get to the end.  And the song is in the Baby Einstein movie but she sings it silly.  And uh, I'm thinking...what was I going to say?  It's about moms singing to their kids.  Bye."