Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Middle aged Motorcycle Man

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Middle aged Motorcycle Man: It happens every year when the sun comes up and the winter is no more...it is not the spring equinox or the sunbirds going north for the win...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Imaginary World of Online Dating

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Imaginary World of Online Dating: I would like to pretend I have never gone out with someone from an online dating site. I would like to pretend that I was never fooled into ...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Air Kicking in Business Casual Attire

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Air Kicking in Business Casual Attire: Whenever I am in a serious situation where decorum is needed, I like to do a karate air kick just to spice up the moment. This has always p...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Funniest Person I know...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Funniest Person I know...: Writing this blog has brought to surface in my family one of the great questions of the universe. I know what you are thinking, but it is no...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Beauty School Mathematician

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Beauty School Mathematician: Everything I learned about geometry I learned in beauty school. I would like to justify this statement in some way but unfortunately it is c...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Focus Becky...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Focus Becky...: For better or worse, I have left the land of Ohio to return home to Utah. I figured out Victoria's Secret and decided it was not a secret wo...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Cleveland Rocks...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Cleveland Rocks...: Rock and Roll Hall of Fame I consider myself to be a rock legend in my own mind. I can sing at the top of my lungs until my...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Fine Art of Football

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: The Fine Art of Football: I am not what one might say athletically inclined. I think I failed to get in line for those genes, I was busy doubling down on my conver...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Cheesecake to Go...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Cheesecake to Go...: I'll tell you what I like about cheesecake, while we are on the subject.  It is tasty and creamy and yummy as a late night treat.   It is al...

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Chicken BiG PooPoo

Don't speak... Just B Pretty: Chicken BiG PooPoo: I have never had a talent for cooking. Let me step back and say I have also never had a desire to learn how to cook.  I am the middle child ...

Chicken BiG PooPoo

I have never had a talent for cooking. Let me step back and say I have also never had a desire to learn how to cook.  I am the middle child in all sense of the word. I have two sisters on older and one younger. Both of which can create masterpieces in the kitchen. (I love it when they cook!) Now I would like you to believe that my mother taught my older sister to cook but was too busy to teach me. And then she then realized her mistake of not teaching me and schooled my little sister.  Secretly this is what I think happened... but that is probably wrong.
Which leads to my story about this week's Sunday night dinner. My mom and I had decided that it we would have roast beef and mashed potatoes and gravy.
Side note: I learned how to make roast beef in the crock pot to impress a guy. The twist of that is I never really made him roast beef but just bragged about how yummy it was in my tummy. This might be reason number 849 of why I am single, to impress the man you actually may have to cook for him... note to self.
My mother makes wonderful mash potatoes and gravy. I do not know how to make either of those things. Once I was asked to make mash potatoes for a dinner party. I had to confess the truth, I was unsure what happened after the peeling portion of the project was done. My assignment was quickly changed to bringing a salad.  I love being rewarded for my ignorance, bagged salad is a wicked easy assignment.  So Sunday night I was reading a book, while my mom was cooking (pot roast does not need a lot of tending, or maybe it does and I just am not aware of it.) Anyway, I let it spill that I did not know how to make gravy. My mom offered to teach me, but I said maybe next time. And I think a silent sigh of relief escaped from my mom. You might say to yourself no sigh came but that is because I haven't shared the following story.
Picture it, a high school debate nerd such as myself who could not cook. Her older sister could make casseroles and cookies, her younger sister could make other dreamy concoctions. But the middle child lacked skill and a desire to learn. It was somewhere around my junior year that my mother threw down the ultimatum.  One Sunday a month it was going to be my assignment to cook Sunday dinner for my family. The first dinner went off rather well, I made chicken enchiladas and my family was really pleased with my cooking. But honestly, it was a lot of work and the reward was hollow to my weary soul. It was then that I realized if I kept cooking well for my family my assignment would never go away and that was simply not a good option and then I remembered eating a cajun dish at my father's house called Chicken Big Mamoo. It called for three different peppers, red, white, and black. If made correctly it was really good and spicy. If made incorrectly it was really hot and gave everyone the bad tummy bubbles. You know the kind that speak to you right before they want to show up for visit with a rumbling pain that says it is not an option at that moment to ignore your stomach.  Yep Chicken Big Mamoo was renamed to Chicken big poopoo.

Now I will go down to my grave saying I really meant to cook a cajun dish that the whole family could enjoy. I was not trying to inflict a 24 hour lifestyle restriction to the bathroom on my family.  But having declared will all conviction I am innocent of purposely inflicting bodily harm upon those who partook of my meal. I will quietly say as a secret between you and me, nope I never had to cook Sunday dinner again.  Is that rewarding bad behavior or simply a protection mechanism against a bad cook? If you would like deciding, I would be more than happy to cook a cajun dish for you?  Ahh, there is the answer.

Cheesecake to Go...

I'll tell you what I like about cheesecake, while we are on the subject.  It is tasty and creamy and yummy as a late night treat.   It is also taken on a mythical life of its own in my life. Back in the day, longer than I want to admit, I decided that I was going to go on a quest for double digit dating. What is double digit dating you may ask? Well, let me tell you. It was getting more than 10 dates in one year. This might not see like a lot but to me it was huge.  I had determined it was time I put some effort into dating or at least getting my "numbers" higher.
Side Note: I think that my attempt at working the numbers took precedent over the idea of actually making a commitment. If you must know I am afraid of commitment. Making the big purchase of marriage has not come easy or more truthfully has not come at all. I blame continuously shopping in the discount store of love and my lack of flirting techniques. One time my mom told me that a guy was checking me out and very quickly I said where, where and started to look around to find the guy. It was then that my mother said, 'How are you my daughter and don't know the subtle art of flirting'.  When I am attempting to flirt it is painful to watch, root canal kind of pain. My skills have gotten better with time, but they really had no where to go but up.
Ok back to the original quest of double digit dating. There were rules to this game, first the guy had to call me and ask me out. Second, he had to pay for the meal. Third, I had to try to listen to my date when he spoke. (The last one was the trickiest I will not lie.)
This lead to a series of very interesting dates. One date I ended up eating pizza with weird/eclectic toppings and then western dancing. The burps I tried to hide on that date were not pretty.  Luckily I could blame someone else on the dance floor and I did.
Another guy asked me out to play tennis, it was summer and hot and the middle of the afternoon. To add insult to injury I am not athletically inclined. So I spent the date hitting the balls like I was playing baseball and watching him run to pick them up all over the court. Ironically, I was able to get two more dates out of him. One where we played racket ball and I spent the time trying to actually hit the ball without hitting him. I accomplished that about fifty percent of the time. The other we went hiking and I realized that he was outdoorsy and I like to view nature from behind a window.
What you should know is that I was not quiet about my quest for double digit dates. Instead, I published the information with my closest and even not so close friends.  I kept a running total and told anyone who asked for the information.

Along the way I determined that the dates were fun but when they dropped me off kissing did not seem to be part of the program. I can't give you a good reason why on that one. Since I got no team action I wanted a sweet treat to satisfy my cravings. So I told my friends it would be funny to order 'cheesecake to go' on one of my dates. Only I would not share it with my date but take it home and enjoy it alone where that kind of love belongs. Everyone decided this was a good idea. I determined to go forward with my 'cheesecake to go' crusade on my next date.  Only one problem. The person I was dating at the time was friends with my friends. So the cheesecake to go was mentioned to him. So there I was on my date, it was an italian restaurant that has super yummy carmel cheesecake. I had been paying attention to computer jargon with numbers of zeros or something.  When my date turns to me and says 'You can even order cheesecake to go'. My quest was deflated, my precious treat was foiled.  Alas, I would go home with no cheesecake.  The idea did not work if my date was complicit in the adventure.
The good news is I did manage to pull off 'cheesecake to go' but on that date I also got a few kisses so I was more inclined to share. I guess the magic to sharing cheesecake is not the word please but a couple kisses. (don't tell my mom)

The Fine Art of Football

I am not what one might say athletically inclined. I think I failed to get in line for those genes, I was busy doubling down on my conversation skills.  But others must have gotten into the sports line because to some individuals is given to be ability to hit a ball with a bat, to others to be skill in spiking the volleyball, and yet to the few and the great the strength put on shoulder pads and run face first into another human being.  Yes that is right folks it is almost time, if not already here for the great American game named football. I have never been a fan of football but working around men you learn to pick up on the language enough to be more or less annoying, depending on my mood. The only thing I know to say is "sucks to be the kicker" because honestly that would be the worst.  To be the guy who only has to kick the ball to score the winning points but then fails and destroys the hearts of fanatics for years to come.
When I was in college this happened to a kicker at the University of Utah. They were playing the rivals of BYU and it came down to a field goal. If the kicker was able to get the ball between the posts then victory and bragging rights to the U fans. But alas, it was not meant to be, he missed the kick. The story would end here only it doesn't.  Six months later I was cutting this guys hair who played football for the U. And here is how the conversation went:
Him: I play football for the U
Me: Sucks to be the kicker, did you see how that one guy missed the kick on the BYU game
Him: Uh yeah, that was me
Me: Oh, sucks to be you
I don't think I got a tip on that haircut, my bad. I would like to say this is the only time I have put my foot in my mouth but we all know that would be a lie. Because a few years later I had another U football player in my chair, a quarterback and here is how that conversation went:
Me: Did you see Rudy
Him: Yes
Me: That was a really good movie
Him: Uh ok
Me: I would never run the ball, running the ball is stupid always throw...
Him: Some explanation about why to run that ball that I did not listen to, because honestly listening is a lot of work and I was attempting to cut his hair at the time
So here is where the story becomes ironic. At the next game this quarterback decided run the ball and got hit and broke his shoulder. Should've listened to his hairdresser, even if she did sound like she belonged on the short bus.

So with a definite lack of football knowledge,  I recently decided to venture out to the Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio. I thought it would be wicked funny to tell people I went there because I know nothing about football.  My lack of ignorance of the game showed.  In this museum is a room that is filled with heads, not real heads but sculptures of every man's head that has been inducted into this Hall of Fame. Only I did not know any one and so I wandered aimlessly looking at heads and once you've seen one head you've seen them all. So I started to people watch and that is when it hit me. I did not blend in, I did not have on my teams jersey, I don't even have a favorite team, I did not know the dark art of football language, numbers and stats were flying around me but I had no interpreter. I was a woman in a foreign country wandering aimlessly.  Until I found the room that showed video clips. It was then that I realized with relief I did have a place in football, maybe I could not understand the intricacies of the sport, nor could I talk in the full language of the game. But what I could do is watch men in very tight pants beat each other up. Call it what you will but that is a good time.

Cleveland Rocks...

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

I consider myself to be a rock legend in my own mind. I can sing at the top of my lungs until my voice cracks and I can dance like it is going out of style. But unfortunately, I was never found by an agent and given record contract. This will be regret number 76 in my life. That being said, I rock with the best of them. Only without the drugs and booze and sex.  But even with those 'limitations' I am a super star, a rock star diva, the greatest non famous rocker in the world.  So when I got the chance to go to the Rock and Roll Hall of fame in Cleveland Ohio I said to hell with playing it safe I need to get my rock on.
I decided that before I made the trek home to the great salt city I needed to explore the land of Ohio. Which meant taking a road trip to Cleveland, because when people want to travel and explore Cleveland is at the top of their list.
Ok first side note: Cleveland Ohio is surprisingly a pretty cool city. It is right off of Lake Erie and has a pretty fun downtown. They did have a casino that everyone lined up to get into but I just thought that was silly. Get a real life and go to Vegas.
Anyways, my first night there I went to an italian restaurant. It was recommended by the concierge, listening to him was my first mistake. The restaurant menu starred liver and tongue and other parts that I normally don't think should go into my mouth. So when the waitress came over and asked what I wanted, I basically said what I did not want to eat and then went with her suggestion.
Second side note: I have learned to eat alone at restaurants because of my single entity status. This is really not hard as long as you have a book. However, I try to avoid eating out on Friday or Saturday date night because who wants to see all those date interviews. What do you do? what do you like? Place unwarranted giggling in between questions. Ugh.
At the restaurant a group was put in the table next to me. Though I do not like to watch the dating game, this one screamed 'let me entertain you' and who am I to turn that down?  The gentlemen (I use that word liberally) was trying to impress his group by his great knowledge of wine. I am not a wine drinker but I know a whiner when I see him. First he complained about the poor selection, then he moaned that the waiter did not know what he was talking about, throughout his tirade he repeatedly bragged about how smart he was about wine. (Really? wine? I know a lot about chocolate but I don't hold my dinner guests hostage with my big brain) At some point I stopped pretending to read and just stared at him. Who turns down fee entertainment? Not me.  At last the waiter brought forward good wine, or what I can only assume is a great wine because they guy told the waiter he had turned him on in that special no no way. Both the waiter and the date looked disturbed with that statement and thus did the uncomfortable date laugh. I did not realize the right wine could change your date preference from female to male.  After finishing my unknown meat meal,  I happily paid my bill for food and entertainment.

The next day I headed off to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was awesome. There was a thirteen part documentary on the Beatles which I watched all of and made random comments to whoever was sitting next to me at that moment.  I wandered this place for six hours looking at everything I found interesting.  But towards the end of my journey I realized that no one came up to me to ask for my autograph.  And as I was singing my lungs out to 99 red balloons no one came into the booth wanting to create music with me. And that is when it hit me, my rock and roll is just too far into the future. But their grandkids are going to love it.

View from my room

Downtown Cleveland

Unknown Meat Meal

Lake Erie

Focus Becky...

For better or worse, I have left the land of Ohio to return home to Utah. I figured out Victoria's Secret and decided it was not a secret worth keeping.  Lucky for me I had some great friends who were going out to deliver furniture to a family member in DC and said they would swing around and pick up me, my stuff and fluffy puppy and take us home. Who turns down a free ride?? Not me. Not Fluffy puppy.
That being said, I have to take a side note to let you in on a little information about my driving skills. I am bad.  I get bored and cannot concentrate. This is one reason why I drive a stick shift. I learned long ago I needed something to do when driving so I could remember I was actually driving. If I am driving long distances I need a timeframe to get there or else it is anyones guess when I will roll in. The time I moved out to Ohio from Kansas it took me two days of slightly concentrated driving. It would have taken me longer but I was following the same path as the trucker who wanted me to get to some town in Illinois. So I meandered my way down the road while he called me up and told me to focus a million times.  (Side note: Focus seems to be the motto that people like to tell me in my life.. when playing sports as a child my mother would scream from the stands "Focus Becky" to which I would think focus on what??) When I got to the little town in Illinois I was told the reason for the focus badgering,  he wanted to go to a specific truck stop buffet.  I hate buffets. I don't care what anyone says, the person in front of you picked his nose then used the same spoon you getting your food from, yeah I said it. Hindsight being what it is I should have told him to forget it I was not a cheap date... but I guess I was a cheap date because I went to the buffet with the brown purple onions and did not say anything.  Ok I will focus back to original topic of me being a bad and slow cross country driver.
So when MaryAnna the girl who always gets me into adventures (see boy scout camp story) showed up with her family I was let in on the secret of their driving. Here is how the conversation went:
MaryAnna's Mom: Are you ok with sleeping in your car in a rest stop
Me: Uh no
MaryAnna's Mom: That is how we travel, so you will have to get used to it for this trip
Me: Huh?
MaryAnna's Mom: We drive straight through with no stopping and sleep in the rest stops for a few hours and keep driving till we get there
Me: Uh Ok

This is what I thought when I said ok... I don't think I am going to survive this trip. There are weird people in rest stops. Granted there were a lot of truckers so potential dates galore. But still.. no showering, no comfy beds, no stops along the way to see the worlds biggest ball of twine?  This was going to be a trip the likes of which I had never experienced.
So how did it all go? Well, in less than 48 hours we drove from Columbus, Ohio to Salt Lake City, Utah. No showers, couple of teeth brushings, sleeping in cars in rest stops with no air conditioning. We showed up dirty and ripe to my mother's house and not once did anyone have to tell me to focus. That my friends is a successful road trip.