Yes, that IS my name spelled wrong on my Christmas card. And no, I haven't sent them, yet.

But yes, I'm gonna. 

Is too late to fix them!

Stop asking so many questions.

Merry Christmas night to you!

Guess who was the bathroom trailer attendant in the Temple parking lot last night?

Yep. And Jake, too. And we also got a turn making sure nobody snatched the baby Jesus from the life-sized nativity. He's been pilfered before. Three times, according to Mr. Security.

And last week a lady in a trench coat jumped into the creche and opened her coat to pose for nudie pics with the babe in the straw.

People are weird.

The High Council voted to take 'host' duty at the Temple instead of a having a meeting this week. It was pretty fun, if a bit cold. There were cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate and lots of lights.

Really good cinnamon rolls.

In other news:

Is anyone else waking up at night in a cold sweat because she forgot to pick up assembled toys at Toys r Us?

Yeah, me neither.

So I guess it's just my Mom.

She waited til morn, and called me to see if I actually had forgotten.

I had.

I keep forgetting stuff.

I'm not organized enough for Christmas.

Please don't make me go to Wal-Mart this morning.

Why I'm eating raisins

Ack. Giant tin of Almond Roca is all gone. 

Have gained 3.2 pounds since Roca entered the house. Is not only reason for weight gain, but just symbol representing many bad but delicious choices I have made this holiday season. My favorite jeans are very tight, and so I was forced to wear alternate, larger jeans, with rhinestones on pockets, to party on Saturday night.

And now that Roca is gone, am now forced to eat raisins.

Is sad state of affairs.

Maybe will make cinnamon rolls (not with the raisins. Ick.) and hot chocolate, to avoid bah-humbugs produced by raisin-eating.

Rhinestone jeans really are quite festive, anyhow.

Right?

The Christmas letter my sister says I can't send to anyone, especially not Jake's Grandma, because it is foul

Dear friends and family,

So...uh...Merry Christmas!

Er...Happy Hannukah! 

(I like that I can spell Chanukuh however I like and it is totally kosher).

Hmmm...Feliz ano nuevo! 

I really need to find the tilde key, because I think without it, I may have just wished you a happy anus.

Hold up.

I can't write anus in a Christmas letter. I'm sending this to my grandma. And Jake's grandma, too. Who didn't know me as a child, and might think I'm a hussy, with all this potty talk.

Okay, let's see. What's up with the Beeswaxes?

Let's do this thing in reverse weight order.

Tommy is 2.5 years old. He enjoys telling me "NO!," eating entire jars of applesauce (which makes for a not-so-feliz ano), and pulling Jane's hair to make her scream.

We are all surprised and thrilled that Sam, 5, hasn't gotten kicked out of Kindergarten. Yet. Is a miracle, people.

Jane, 7, ate oysters at the Chinese Super Buffet one time. She's a foodie like her Mom, but with her Dad's backside. Sometimes, life isn't fair (for the Mom). Jane is pretty much a genius at riling boys up and then telling on them so they get grounded from the Wii. I'm not sure how this skill will serve her in adulthood.

Ross, 9, wants to read the Twilight books because he ran out of Harry Potters, Nancy Drews, Eragons, and cereal boxes. I told him no way, jose. Go watch Weird Al videos on YouTube like a good boy, and stop bugging me about books.

Jake is busy fixing other people's garbage disposals.

Kelly's cousin Melanie gave her the biggest tin of Almond Roca east of the San Andreas Fault, because, Melanie said, Kelly's jeans look too good. 

Kelly has been hard at it, eating the Roca practically full time, but is only about halfway through the tin, mostly because Jake tried to intervene and hide it in his underwear drawer. He was very crafty, and didn't expect that I would be doing any laundry. He was right.

Kelly is now ticked with both Jake and Melanie.

Yes, that one of the jeans is the only photo I'm enclosing in this foul letter.

Love and kisses,

Los Beeswax

(My real pictures came today. So now, I have to go write a real letter.

It isn't going to be nearly as fun as this'un.)

Oh, no, you didn't (wear that shirt to the Twilight movie)!

Oh, yes I did.

Jen got it last Christmas at a white elephant exchange, and gave it to me. I've been saving it for the perfect occasion.

It says: My heart belongs to my husband, but my neck belongs to Edward.

Somebody made it on her computer as a joke, and the letters were peeling up, and I am 35 years old, and I WORE IT OUT IN PUBLIC.

I went to see Twilight last night. I know I'm a little late. I'd heard it was pretty awful, so I wasn't expecting much. I have read all the books, but if you know me at all, you know I am not at all picky about my literary intake. I'm not proud if this, I'm just telling you so you know that when I read like 2000 pages of syrupy romantic teen vampire cheese, it doesn't mean I am fully invested.  I consume all kinds of literature, willy-nilly. (For instance, I am right now concurrently reading Gilead by Marrilyne Robinson, which won a Pulitzer Prize, and Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging, by Louise Rennison, which has not. Yet. 

Okay, fine. I'm lying. I'm actually reading the 4th book in the snogging series, who's target audience is fast 12-year-old girls.)

So, anyhow, what I want to know is: what's not to like about the Twilight movie? 

Sure, we could talk about cheesy dialogue, or shoddy camera work, or how that Jasper character didn't talk or move his face, and looked like he was wearing a rubber Josh Groban mask. Honestly, though, I didn't care. I can see good acting anytime, but where else can I see the stink-eye elevated to an art form? (Edward is a natural talent). Because, this movie had me from the first moment the Cullens entered the Forks High cafeteria. I was laughing hysterically while Edward sat next to Bella in Biology, sniffing about like he smells the worst fart ever, and throwing up a little in his mouth. Looking back, I'm not sure I OUGHT to have been laughing, perhaps it was meant to be a serious moment, but the terrific campiness was what took this movie from a 7 on the fabulous teen movie entertainment scale to a 10. Okay, maybe 9.5. But still, I ask you again: 

what's not to like?

I actually want to know! So, if you aren't tired of talking about it, please discuss. And if you so desire, please rate it on the fabulous teen entertainment scale.

New York travelogue, long style. I am incapable of Cliff's Notes, people.

Yesterday I was acting crabby cause the kids wouldn't do anything I asked, like bathe or practice the piano, and Jake said "you look like you need a vacation." 

To which I snapped back: "I just had a vacation." 

"Oh," he replied, "but I don't think running about New York for 5 days in high heels and frigid temperatures is an actual vacation. A trip, yes. But not a vacation."

Which is totally true! Because I am still recovering from my vacation! Not that I would ever trade my trip to NYC for 5 days on the beach, because I like trips way better than vacations, but trips do take it outta ya. You know? 

Such a sage, brilliant man, that Jake Beeswax. And also, so good at finding things. And fixing things. Although, I DID take apart the broken roller ball apparatus on my Blackberry, scrubbed all the many, many microscopic parts with dish soap and a toothbrush, and put it back together all by myself this weekend with directions I found on the interweb. So I'm not a completely helpless female.

So, NEW YORK. We left the hotel by 9 am most mornings (7 am our time), came back to change before dinner, and didn't come in for the night before midnight. Which is the best way to do it, of course. Who sits around in their New York Hotel rooms, even at the Plaza? Nobody, that's who. Nobody smart, anyhow.

Don't be mad, okay? Because, I totally forgot to take a picture. I brought my camera, but left the battery at home on the charger. My Mom took like two, though, with her iphone. I'll try to get her to send those over.

I'll just start at the beginning. We checked into the Plaza and started to get ready for dinner and Billy Elliott, when Jen informed us that she had brought fancy, fancy dresses for all our evening escapades, and that night would be the fanciest of all, so we should try to keep up. (Okay, she did not tell us to keep up, she knew this would be impossible.) But luckily, I had packed my Nanette Lepore black-with-the-copper-sequins flapper dress for just such an emergency. And coincidentally, Jen had brought the biggest hair accessory ever made, to go with it. So we dressed as if we were going to the Oscars, and headed further down into midtown, to DB Bistro Moderne (French American 55 W. 44^th St (between 5^th and 6^th Ave) 212-391-2400) where we ate hamburgers.

Okay, not just hamburgers. Like, the fanciest hamburger ever: sirloin filled with braised short ribs, black truffle and foie gras. All the food was great. You should go there. Then, we had extra time before the show, and plus I couldn't walk because I was wearing the worst shoes EVER, so we stopped to eat pie. It seemed reasonable at the time, people.

By this time, as you can imagine,  we were quite full. Luckily, flapper dresses are quite loose-fitting.

Billy Elliot (Imperial Theatre 249 W 45^th St. Between Broadway and 8^th Ave) is brand new from the West End. I'd never seen the movie, but heard it was cute. Tickets were quite dear, so our seats weren't fabulous. Couldn't bring myself to pay scalper prices.

First, the bad. I cannot recommend this show to anyone, for two reasons:

1. Small, tiny children, cussing up a storm. (I am not being super prudy. F bomb dropped by 9 year old almost before curtain all the way up).

2. Small, tiny children, cast in the role of small, tiny gay children. (Okay, just the one.)

Lastly, the good. The music was very good, the choreography fantastic, and the child stars incredibly, horribly, unbelievably talented. With just a few changes, this could have been a family show. But it wasn't. I repeat. It was not. So sad.

Came back to hotel where the third toe on my right foot was entirely bruised because of bad shoes. It was totally worth it. Sometimes it becomes very clear why women are a mystery to men. Am a mystery to myself, occasionally, wearing such stupid shoes, and enjoying it.

The next morning, we hurried downstairs to the Palm Court for breakfast. 

I immediately spied some scones, nearly hidden under some chocolate croissants at the continental breakfast table. We procured them. They were deemed fabulous. We each got three, with some berries. Except Mom, who was still under the delusion that she would eat only healthy foods on this trip (silly, silly Mom), and got nasty oatmeal, but then shared my scones. We ate scones for breakfast every day, which were even better when we thought to ask for clotted cream with which to slather them.

We headed out for some serious shopping, 5th Avenue style. First we stopped in the diamond district (47^th St between 5^th Ave and Ave of Americas [6^th Ave]) because, well, Jen had some loose stones she needed to get tightened up.  (That was our rationale, just go with it.) We pressed our foreheads up against the windows for a great long while, then went to go see our friends at H. H. Jewelry. They are our diamond BFFs, and fixed Jen's ring asap. We tried on lots of enormous stones, then went to some sort of brasserie in Rockefeller Center for lunch. Had some mushroom soup, croque madame, panini, artichoke salad. So good, we will probly put it on the permanent food itinerary. If we can remember the name of it.

Then we headed over to Saks Fifth Avenue, which was packed full of people, scrambling over each other to snatch up 40% off handbags. There were no handbags left on the shelves, except for one. I reached for it, and was able to catch a glimpse of the price tag- $2,500, but of course, 40% off! what a deal!- before a lady yanked it from my loose, untrained-in-handbag-shopping grip, saying, sorry, that's mine, and slid it onto her arm with 6 others. I'm not lying to you, people. There were ladies in actual fur coats (I touched one, surreptitiously) yelling at each other about 3grr purses. It was fantastic, really. It really didn't feel like there was a recession going on over to the Saks.

But Jen was starting to panic, because of the crowds, so we quickly went upstairs and bought matching jeans with rhinestones on the butt. Which also seemed like a good idea, at the time. On the way back down, the elevator opened on the shoe floor, where boxes and tissue were literally flying through the air, people were yelling for sizes, and one look at Jen's stricken face told us it was time to get outta Saks, 40% off or no.

A quick trip to Bloomingdale's, and a few other quick stops, and we were back at the room to change for the show: August: Osage County.

So, here is another show I cannot recommend to you, even though I really, really want to. It was three and a half hours long, with two intermissions, but would have been only two hours long, without all the profanity. But yes, even so, we stayed. I would have sat longer, had they kept acting. It was one of the best plays I have ever seen. Mom loved it. Jen loved it. Jen said it restored her faith in serious theater. It doesn't give you everything, like a musical. It expects something of you, as an audience. Like, it expects that you know some t.s. eliot:

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

And at the end, you are such an emotional wreck, it takes you some time to recover, and get on your feet, and give them a standing ovation. 

(But you also feel like washing out their mouths with soap.)

But guess what? Afterward, there were no cabs to be found, because it was Friday night in the theater district, and it was COLD. So we walked almost all the way to Carnegie Deli (854 7^th Ave at 55^th St [kitchen hosing begins at 2:30 a.m., so best to be out before then, or you could get dampened by errant hoses]), where I got giant piles of pastrami with a side of sauerkraut, pickles and mustard, and then did not listen to Jen and my Mom's warnings not to eat so much or I would get very sick, and finished it up with cheesecake with strawberries. I totally dominated that meal, and didn't feel even so much as a single quease.

So sorry, I thought I could make this travelogue compendious, but it turns out I can't make anything short; is just not a skill I have. So I will have to post the final New York installment later in the week. 

Tune in next time for more food, three more shows, more shopping, eating, the Tenement Museum, an (unsuccessful) attempt to go to Church, and snacks! I'll bet you are on the edge of your seats! If so, you should get up. Your bum will get sore.

Coldplay Phoenix Concert Review by the Minivan Mama

You know, most of my best concert experiences have not in been in big, giant arenas. I mean, the big shows are big deal, so you invite all your friends and do your hair up real big for the occasion, and you might even buy your favorite missionary a $35 Depeche Mode t-shirt and send it to the Philippines to rub it in that he didn't get to come along (not realizing until you were actually married to said missionary and folding his laundry that three other lady-admirers attended the same show and sent him identical shirts). 

Me, in Jake's shirt before I sent it halfway round the world. 1993?

Or maybe you drive all the way to Vegas, to see R.E.M. through binoculars, and then ride all the way home to Provo in the trunk of your OWN car, because no one wants to sit three across the back seat of your Acura Integra next to a guy named Balls. Including you. Thanks for driving, Jeff. (Brown. No thanks to you, Balls. Because, I think your real name was Jeff, too.) And thanks to Traci Fong and Kelly Robbins, who refused to get into the car until Balls was sitting shotgun. It was like a Chinese Fire Drill/Musical Chairs game, wherein I was clearly the loser.

Or maybe you went to see Ringo Starr, James Taylor, and Jimmy Buffett in Tucson, on the same night everybody under 40 in the state of Arizona went to see U2 at Sun Devil Stadium.

Nobody ever accused you of being extra cool.

But last Wednesday night, a mere 18 hours before our fabulous turkey supper, you were treated to the best big-concert experience of of not-so-young, not-terribly-cool life.

(And, remember, by YOU, I mean, ME. But also, maybe YOU. In case you were there, too. But really, this third person thing is getting tiring, so from now on, YOU just means, YOU. Not ME.)

I'm talking about COLDPLAY.

When I googled a bit to find the setlist, I kept finding things that said "Coldplay: The band you love to hate."

Which I don't get. Because I just love to love them. But then I think I figured it all out. See, everybody knows that they are awesome, and so they love them. But then, lame-o's like me show up to the concert in blue Honda Minivans with vanity plates. And when my former college roommate, Kari, and I sit squaw (I don't have to be PC, do I? It's my blog) in the second-row black leather bucket seats, and I say, hey Jake, the child locks are on, will you get my door? He just hits that button in the front and-wallah!- the door opens! Which, looking back, doesn't seem very rock'n'roll. Any actual cool people in the parking lot who saw that might think, I hope those mini-vanners are headed to Elmo on Ice featuring the Wiggles. And then they see me, stepping out with my big hair, 4-inch heels, and William Rast jeans, and think, Coldplay is clearly losing their edge, if that gal is here. Although, I will grudgingly admit that she is medium-foxy.

See, I'm just not edgy. And neither are most of the thirty-something soccer moms that totally dig Chris Martin (in a totally platonic, wish-we-could-set-up-a-playdate-with-Gwyneth-Apple-and-Moses-but-also-wouldn't-mind-seeing-his-blonde-fro-up-close kinda way). So I think maybe they'd like us to keep on buying the albums, but just keep quiet about it, and not write long, rambling concert reviews that include stuff about minivans with automatic doors.

Whoopsy-daisy.

So anyhow, the concert was GOOD. Really top-notch. Here's the setlist:

1. Life in Technicolor

2. Violet Hill

3. Clocks

4. In My Place

5. speed of sound

6. Cemeteries Of London

7. Chinese Sleep Chant

8. 42

9. Fix You

10. Strawberry Swing

11. God Put A Smile Upon Your Face 

12. Talk

13. The Hardest Part

14. Postcards From Far Away 

15. Viva La Vida

16. Lost

17. The Scientist

18. Death Will Never Conquer

19. Viva La Vida (remix interlude)

First Encore

20. Politik

21. Lovers In Japan

22. Death And All His Friends

Second Encore

23. Yellow

I would like to focus on my favorite parts: numbers 6, 11-15, and 23. Cemeteries of London just sounded GREAT. Better than the album. Then later, they went out into the audience a bit and got into a tight little pack, where they played these fast, short techno-ish versions of God Put a Smile... and Talk, and then Chris played The Hardest Part, and then this pretty little piano thing-y called Postcards from Far Away, which is on the new Prospekt's March EP, which you should get because it is good, and then, when he hits the last, heartbreakingly beautiful note and you think, this can't get any better, BOOM, they go straight into Viva La Vida. Wowie. This minivan mama can die happy, now.

The encore, Yellow, was also fab. It is just a GOOD song, people.

I would also like to say that I have new respect for the multi-talented drummer, who drums so fast that when you watch him you get a little seasick, and who can play the Church bell, some sort of mandolin and a tambourine, and also sing fairly well, although in the style of Kermit thee Frog. But I shan't look up his name to tell it to you, because his hair is not blonde and curly. It is baldy. To each his own, eh, ladies?

Anyhow, they say they are coming back next year! So, who wants to come along? Kari already said she's in. But don't tell her relatives, because they will be ticked if she skips town for any more major holidays.

Check out this video for LOST! It is all concert footage. Thanks, Kari!

Want more Kelly blogging about Coldplay? You are in luck!

Why I dig blonde afros

Why Coldplay was driving me bonks

More later, but isn't Thanksgiving a fab holiday?

So, all the excitement is over. New York, Coldplay, lovely visitors, and Thanksgiving. And while it was all very fun and exciting, I cannot say that I am sorry that things will come back to normal. I am actually the sort of girl who likes her excitement by the teaspoon, so that I may savor it.

Jake has taken all the children and gone to dinner with his family at the Old Spaghetti Factory (bless his saintly soul), and I am all alone. This solitude is a rare and exciting in itself. I was feeling a bit contrary, because my planned and plotted nap this afternoon had been foiled, and I thought, I can totally picture myself in a big tub, bubbles up to my eyeballs, holding one of those long-handled cigarrettes from ye olden days of back knows when.

The mental image was very pleasurable, in a dangerous, old Hollywood way. But it isn't what nice Mormon ladies do, right? Or really, what any smart ladies anywhere do, who don't want cancer or stinky hair. Which is like, everybody. Or ought to be, anyhow. Plus, how weird would I look, when the drug addiction had grown, and could not be contained to my bathtub, flicking tobacky ashes from that foot-long cig out the window of my blue Honda minivan? Totally not gamorous, right?

So instead, I got in the tub with a frisbee-sized chunk of pumpkin pie and about 2 cups of whipped cream (please be advised that whipped cream is not one of those things I enjoy more by the teaspoon, like excitement), and read The Geurnsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society until my toes grew raisiny, and the water tepid.

Bliss, people.

Also, don't hate me, but I didn't gain any weight in New York. Even though I really should have. If only due to the many, many blueberry scones I ate with clotted cream every morning. And that was just breakfast. Perhaps I have a tape worm?

So now, I've grown bit cocky, and feel like maybe I'm some sort of superhero who's rear is immune to pie and scones. Which is a slippery mental slope, I know, but what a fantastic superpower, eh? Luckily, I've almost eaten the pie up, so the leftovers problem will be moot, soon enough.

After I've polished off the jell-o salad, anyhow.

Thanksgiving is a lovely, lovely holiday.

More on New York, Coldplay, and our fabulous Utah visitors later. I'm going to go paint my fingernails and catch up on some TV.

Live from New York...Friday Night

Kelly: So, hows about we take the subway to Saks Fifth Avenue?

Mom: No, I don't like the subway.

Kelly: You haven't been on a New York subway train since 1968.

Mom: So? People pee down there.

Kelly: What about you, Jen?

Jen?

Jen?



Jen: (Hailing a cab). (Cab pulls up to curb).

(We all slide into the cab.)

Kelly: Jen, are you ignoring me?

Jen: Huh?

Kelly: Can't you hear me?

Jen: I got these special thick earmuffs, so I can't hear you talk about riding the subway.

*******

12:oo pm

Mom: I'm not feeling so good

3:00 pm

Mom: Maybe I shouldn't have taken that packet of vitamins the size of my fist? My stomach is all gurgly.

5:00 pm

Mom: I don't know if I am going to make it to August: Osage County. I'm quite uncomfortable.

Jen: Mom, you are a diabolical genius. You have totally been developing your alibi all day long! You totally have an out, at either intermission! I am totally stuck there.

Kelly: No, Mom is even smarter than that. She has cleverly refused to even hail a cab or pay a driver in all the years we've been coming to New York. If she needs to go back to the hotel, she'll neeed an escort.

Jen: Mom is a genius. Plus, my stomach is feeling a bit queer.

*********

Jen: So, I read on your blog that Alyson is worried that you are a 50 year old pervert. And then you said you hoped that Alyson wasn't a pervy man, either. So I think you should tell Alyson that if she turns out to be a pervy man, she can go ahead and sit with us at the theater tomorrow, but she cannot go to dinner with us.

Cousin Joe Sings Christmas songs. You want his CD for free?

I think you people should buy like 100 of these and give them to all your relations and what- nots. (Who-nots?)

Or, getting only 10 would be okay, too. 

Or, I guess, just one, even. 

You can order them HERE.

Or you can go see them at the Mesa, Arizona LDS Temple, Dec. 20 at 7 pm for a free concert.

What's that you say? How about I give away a CD for free?

Yeah, okay, I will.

So leave me a comment to enter. And if you link to this giveaway in your cozy corner of the internets, you are entered again! And if you buy one for somebody else, you are entered again! And if you leave me a comment telling me how I'm awesome, you are entered 10 more times!

No, scratch the last one. I already know I'm awesome. Sometimes. (Not so much today, though, when I've been cleaning my house ALL THE WHOLE DAY LONG, and I think I forgot to brush my hair. And maybe my teeth. But my house is pretty awesome. You should come over.)

And since I'm going to be out of town, then very busy with COLDPLAY and then the turkey, let's let this CD thing go until Monday, December 1, shall we? About 10ish am? 

Okay! See you then!

P.S. Joe and I were in a fake band together for like two weeks in 1995. We played a sweet gig in my living room at the Riv*. 

Okay fine, it wasn't a gig. It was a practice. In case we had a gig. But we didn't.

I think our fake band broke up because the other band members figured out I knew only 4 chords on my guitar. Or maybe because the songs I wrote with my four chords were so depressing it made them cry. 

I'm lying again. 

I'm the only one who cried.

Those songs were fantastic. I should record them like Joe and his boys did. But then I'd have to give all the copies away for free, because who wants to pay for only 4 chords?

I think the Christmas songs are better.

* The Riv (The Riviera) is a seedy apartment complex in Provo, quite near to the BYU. Not for even a moment of the 2.5 years I lived there did I ever feel like I was on a tropical vacation. 

You should leave me comment now.

Pie and burger fast. To get ready for the Big Apple. Where we will see 4 lovely musicals and one stinker high-brow play, maybe.

So guess what? I don't have any time to try to write something witty and clever. I'm going to NEW YORK this week! And then this morning I remembered I forgot to lose 5 pounds before my trip. So I am on a strict pie and In-n-out fast, (where I don't eat pie or In-n-Out). But it is very hard, because I noticed there was a House Hunters International recording on my TIVO last night, and nothing goes better with HHI than a Hamburger Animal Style, hold the pickles. So maybe I should go on a pie and In-n-Out fast where I ONLY eat pie and In-n-Out? Cause what if my plane goes down over Kansas, and I spent my last days depriving myself of some of life's greatest pleasures?

Talk about a tragedy.

So I am very thrilled about my upcoming trip. I got us tickets to 5 shows: Billy Elliot, Spamalot, Tale of Two Cities The Musical, 13, And August: Osage County.

Every year I pick a serious play that turns out to be a real stinker. Is tradition, like how I eat the chocolate out of the advent calendar pockets and blame it on the baby. The first stinker was Democracy, the second, Rock'n'Roll. Except, I didn't totally hate Rock'n'Roll, (just mostly hated it it), so I stayed when Mom and Jen left at intermission, both complaining of  ailing intestines (seemed rather convenient, as nobody got sick during Legally Blonde or Mary Poppins, now did they?), and had to find my way through Times Square and into a cab all alone late at night. 

So now, I think I pretty much know how it feels to be a pioneer.

Sorry. So this year, the probable stinker is August: Osage County. Which is 3.5 hours long. I think Jen is already planning to bolt. I am going to see if she wears her trainers. Or if she schedules dessert at Chickalicious during the third Act. She wanted to go strictly low-brow with the entertainent this year, but I just couldn't do it. Maybe next year, if Osage County is bad news. Which it could totally be. Seems likely.

And guess what else? A blogging friend, Alyson of New England Living, is coming out to see Spamalot with us! And then, I think we are going to an early dinner at Bar Americain, but Jen is holding the food itinerary hostage. I think she wants to laminate it and surprise us on the airplane (or maybe she is just really, really busy being the Young Women Prez).

As soon as I get back, my old (okay, not old, former) college roommate and her family are coming to see COLDPLAY with us, and are staying for Thanksgiving! Which is good news! But this roommate was always a bit fastidious. And by fastidious, I mean, she liked to keep her clothes in the dresser and did her own dishes most of the time. And she also liked to do calculus. Which seemed a bit suspect, at first, but she turned out to be nice in spite of it all. So I am trying to clean stuff up a bit, because back in college, I was too busy looking for boys to clean anything, and I want to show her that I have changed! That I am soo tidy now!  But creating that illusion will take some work, and I am going to be out of town for the days preceding her arrival. 

Maybe seeing Chris Martin live will blind her to my not-quite-pristine refrigerator shelves? I'm counting on it! Just don't look in my closets, okay, Kari?

Anyhow, I've lots to do, cleaning things out and not eating burgers and pie. (Or eating lots of burgers and pie. I haven't quite decided which.) Also, I wanted to read some Dickens to prepare for A Tale of Two Cities, the Musical. But that may not happen. Either way, I don't have any time for long, lengthy posts.

A-hem. 

Whoopsy-daisy.

Oh well. You should tune in Thursday night, when I will be blogging live from

5th Avenue/Central Park South! 

(No, we are not staying in the Apple Store. Or FAO Schwartz.) 

Dear Lemon Meringue Pie,

I'd like to apologize for eating you for breakfast on Monday. You likely thought you were safe from consumption until at least 10 am. You didn't realize that it was going to be a busy day around here, and if I was going to have time for stress eating, I was going to need to start early. 

Love, Beeswax

Are you people super busy, like me?

Are you forgetting stuff?

Do you have no time for your TIVO?

Do you have about $300 dollars worth of clothes you didn't use for family pictures, that need to be returned all over town?

What? No? Where did I lose you? Let me back up.

Do you get your kids off to school on Monday morning and wonder why your home looks like a frat house the morning after a crazy party? Like, a party with the sorority girls and lots of kegs? Cause mine does. Pretty much exactly.

What, you don't believe me? You don't think I've been inside like, a trillion frat houses? You think I'm a nerdy goody-goody who went to the University of Arizona for two years and never went to a single frat party? Or tapped a single keg? And you think when I write about crazy keggers, it sounds false and uncomfortable, like when 7th Heaven tried to deal with the hard hitting issues?

Well, you might be right. But I was totally invited to the parties. All the time. (All the girls without moustaches were invited). But I was super busy doing the stuff that nice, goody-goodies do. Which is a secret. So I can't tell you. But I'll give you a hint. It might include going to Church dances where sometimes we had to dance to the Footloose Soundtrack. 

Yes, this was 1992. Everybody did not need to cut loose.

So anyhow, my house looked really bad on Monday morning, but actually, my carpets didn't reek of vomit, urine, or beer, and worse, like what I imagine is on the carpets of real frat houses (those boys should really opt for tile), so I guess that's a plus. But apparently I can't lie very well about the checkered past I don't have, waking up in dirty fraternity houses, etc. So there goes my career in fiction. 

The one I was going to have when I wasn't quite so busy.

I'm not so busy to notice that my kids are pretty hilarious right now. Even though I'm still in mourning because Tommy started calling Winnie-the-Pooh by his given name instead of "Yucky-Poo," and he doesn't scream "hot SH*T" when he is concerned that his car SEAT is going to give him second degree burns (only downside to fab weather). But Ross asked me yesterday if he thought he could make a living with a television show in which he crashes self-designed lego vehicles into walls. And in the lego store, Sam saw the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull merchandise and told Jake "Hey, Dad, that reminds me of double-u double-u double-u dot legos dot com backslash Indiana Jones!"

It is all about the Legos around here, nowadays. Except for Tommy, who is over in the corner right now playing with Lincoln Logs, and potty talking to himself. "Pee or poop, pee or poop, pee or poop?" I wonder if this means he's ready for toilet training? He seems a bit confused. I should wait.

Family pictures could have gone way worse than they did (and have in the past). It was like when you go to the dentist and you don't have any cavities. Great, of course, but still, a trip to the dentist. I sure hope we get something good, cause we aren't doing that again for two years. I ended up scrapping all the previous outfit ideas for Jane, thanks to some of your helpful comments, and bought her this cute little ensemble from Janie and Jack, which she wore with jeans and ballet shoes:

I could go on. But I need to go can 20 pounds of meat that will soon go bad, put away all the groceries I was out getting until 10:30 last night (but spent $25 and saved $150, so it was worth it, I think), go get Tommy out of the corner and interact with him a bit, and take a shower. I might need some In-n-out for lunch to sustain me. And then afterward, more pie. 

Dear Lemon Meringue Pie,

Consider yourself warned.

Hey you. Please help me dress my kid.

So, we are taking family pictures with a new-to-us photographer on Monday morning. Which is torture, and I'll likely become murderous, so I don't do it very often. Anyhow, I think I have everyone's outfit picked out,  but one: Jane.  

Choice #1

Choice #2

What? You think the skirt in choice #2 looks like my sister's junior prom dress from 1993? Er, it could be. You are clearly a very perceptive (wo)man. You see, if you hoard stuff long enough, you can use it again. Maybe. If the people who read your blog pick it. 

Being a pack rat is really a fantastic idea. I'm not sure why it gets such a bad rap.

So be honest. Tell me if it looks like I rigged up my only female offspring in cast-off formal wear. The rest of us will all be in black, red, white, and gray. And Justin Timberlake's jeans. So that we will look like hot tamales.

And by we, I mean, me. O'course.

So,   #1 0r #2 for Jane? Or should I spend tomorrow afternoon shopping? 

Election day! And fun size gluttony! And a free apron at Jane's blog!

Yeah! After today, I will not get any more robo-calls! Because, who listens to those things, anyhow? And I need to drop off my early ballot, which is not so early, but I have researched everything, including every single proposition, non partisan race, and judge. So I feel I have done my duty as an American citizen for today.

Halloween was fun. I always like the actual trick-or-treating, you know. Too bad I've been eating hundreds of tiny candy bars for 4 days now. (My Mom gives out full sized candy bars. She says they are the REAL fun size.) Need to quit eating, so that I can save my gluttony for New York in a few weeks! 

Today our high should be only 79! BRRR, is nearly chilly! So in celebration, I am going to attempt to wear a juicy tracksuit all the whole day long! And a bra, too, even! Oh, and my "I voted early" sticker, too! I totally think I can do it. I am gonna look super fine, people. Cause that bra really makes the whole outfit! If your see me on the street, you're gonna be like, "wow, see that hot-civic-minded-soccer-mom over there? She is medium foxy!" It might get pretty sweaty, later, but I can crank up the AC, if I need it.

My sister-in-law, Jane, is giving away an apron over to her place. That she will make you, her own self. Remember how she made one for me, for my birthday? And how, when I wear it, I feel like Donna Reed, only in color? So you should go enter to win, because if you do win, and you wear it to cook your dinner, you will not be able to resist humming "I Feel Pretty." 

Happy fetching Halloween, people.

I'm hoping things go better today than they did 

last year. 

Last year, Halloween was rough.  If you want to read about my tiny little nervous breakdown, you should click on the link above.

I haven't lost any of my children yet, today. The day is still young, though. Young and toasty. It was 94 degrees yesterday. Which is too hot, for nearly November, you must agree. 

I should wear a bikini for my costume to make some sort of anti-heat political statement. Fans of both McCain and Obama could rally, sweaty-pitted, together, against the desert in which we reside, which is obviously getting us down. (And if something is getting us down, then it is up to the government to fix it, right-e-o? No, sorry, I'm being passive aggressive again. I'll stop.) But really, what use is there in punishing my fellow men, the already-suffering victims of our weather? I haven't been to the gym since I did some crazy yoga moves back in August, and yanked out my shoulder, so things are likely to be a little loose, if ya know what I mean. Plus, I'd need to buy a bikini, and I don't have time for bikini shopping this morning. 

Although, if I wear the bikini, I don't have to do the laundry until tomorrow.

HMMM.

Happy Halloween, people.

P.S. Coldplay's video for Lovers in Japan is free to download from Itunes right this minute. Sister-in-law Jane just emailed me!

Sesame Street is my new favorite show (oh, and Tommy's, too)

Um, Tommy is totally into ELMO right now, and so I've seen a lot of Sesame Street lately, mostly in fast forward, so's we can get to the goldfish, Dorothy, right quick. But I slowed down just in time to see this, people:

"It must be those angles, put a smile on your face. Not to mention the hypotenuse." 

Is hilarious, people. SAHM hilarious, anyway. Which, of course, might not be hilarious at all, because I've been cut off from the outside world and forced to watch things like Barney, Yo Gabba Gabba, and something I don't know the name of, but is obviously trying to gravy train The Wiggles. And I know it is unbelievable, but those people are MORE ANNOYING THAN THE WIGGLES. I'm getting a bit misty-eyed, wishing for something catchy like "fruit salad."

So I guess what I'm trying to say is: thanks, Sesame Street. Thanks for throwing me a bone.

Cause again today, they had a song called "Plain White T" to the tune of "Hey there, Delilah." I can't find it on the internets yet, but let me quote a bit from verse 3 for you:

Hey there that's Tina
She's a T wearing a tube top
and a terrific tam-o-shanter
yes, she's T number three
and I decree
her, Tim and me,
we are all T's
the letter T.

OOH, I'm the letter T...
and she, she's the letter T.
And he, he's the letter T
We make the 'tuh' sound guaranteed

Tuh, tuh, tuh, tuh, tuh, tuh...

If you've got it on your TIVO, you should check it out. Because it is pretty awesome.

New Reality: Some thoughts on the economy by El Ross Grande (my Dad)

A few weeks ago, when the Stock market started to plummet, I watched the news and listened with rapt attention as the white-teethed anchormen told me... nearly nothing. I began to realize how little I understood about how our own economy works (tried to avoid such knowledge in the past, I'll sheepishly admit.) Then I realized, these politicians and newspeople might know even less than I do about it all, otherwise, they might actually tell me something I don't already know. Which scared the crud outta me, if you want to know the truth. So I called my Dad. Because, he's got a B.S. and part of a Ph.d. in Economics (Vietnam War was creating a glut of doctoral students, so he took his MBA out into the world and (barely ever) looked back at the world of academia. I don't think he really changed his major to Parks and Recreation like my Mom said. At least not for long, anyhow.) So, after about two hours on the phone, my Dad had talked me down a bit, and explained to me why we can't let all the banks who made cruddy loans fail, even though it seemed logical to me that in a market system, we take the bad (banks fail) with the good (high times during the real estate boom). I'm still a little ticked off about the whole thing, honestly. Because, why should everybody else has to live the with the natural consequence of their actions, but not banks or insurance companies?

Anyway, my Dad knows what he's talking about, not only because he learned it at school, or at work, or watched the MacNeil-Lehrer News Hour every night for like 30 years even though we all made great fun of him for it (sorry, Dad), and even reads the Wall Street Journal, and other deadly boring stuff like that; but because he's sort of medium-oldish, and he's been around to see some stuff. People my age and younger weren't even old enough to consciously remember the last real recession we had, although, I can vaguely recall sitting in the back seat of our Chevy Nova (I loved that car, and cried when we sold it to smokers), waiting in line for hours to get some gas. And I think fuel shortages from the middle east oil embargo precipitated our economic troubles in the early 80s. But really, I have no idea what I'm talking about, because who teaches history majors anything about what actually goes on in the world? Nobody, that's who. 

So, here's a guest post from my Dad. I've only ever had one other guest post, and it was also my Dad, from back when I was still partly under the delusion that this was a book blog. So, check it out, too. Now, if only I could get my Mom to write something, as well...

In July of 1932 the Dow Jones industrial average closed at 41.63. In the three years since the famous stock market crash of 1929, the market had given up about 91% of its value. The most popular song that year was Brother Can You Spare a Dime?. A comedian at the time said," My broker told me to buy stocks for my old age. It worked wonderfully; within a week I was an old man. Many businesses are better off than ever", he concluded, "take red ink for example, everyone is using it."

Banks were in so much trouble that depositors were terrified of losing their money and people literally tucked their money into their mattress. Checking ground to a halt. Most transactions for the average household were done in cash. If you needed to pay your rent, you walked over to the landlord and handed him a fist full of dollars. There was no FDIC, so when a bank failed, people really lost everything. My own grandfather was angry until the day he died that he had not known enough to get his $2500 out of a small bank in Safford, Arizona in time. That was a life savings for recently married 30-year-old Ralph Layton. I can still feel his pain and frustration. He had to put off his dream of building a home and buying a farm for his family. Easy loans for homes and farms would not be around again for a few years, so he set out to save again.

Life suddenly looked bleak, as people understood that realizing their dreams was going to take longer than they'd hoped. By the end of the great depression, most people who had a job felt grateful just to be able to feed their families.

People who knew what it was like to fear starvation could not turn away another hungry family. Welfare, as we know it, had its origin in the depression as well. My Mom remembers running into the house in Central, Graham County, Arizona, to tell her own mother that the "Okies were coming" so she needed to get them something to eat. (Those "Okies" were from all over the midwest, and beyond, but they all got called Okies.) So, in spite of hardship, there were some good things about that time.

The financial crisis today has the same cause as the problem that created

the depression. A bubble created by easy and abusive use of credit, burst, and the entire system had to deleverage. When banks have bad loans, they must increase their own capital. If they cannot, they fail. When people cannot obtain credit, the money supply deflates and the price level drops. When that happens quickly, everyone panics. They become angry and confused, as homes, investments and jobs are lost. It feels the same to us as it did to our grandparents that experienced the great depression. This time, I hope, the government understands that they must use every tool necessary to prevent the money supply from deflating, and maintain our confidence in the financial system. Of course, the bigger the panic, the greater the task. Safeguards like the FDIC, the welfare system, the bank regulation, the Federal Reserve's efforts to increase the money supply and guarantee our deposits tend to make this one a little less scary, but it still gives us all a big headache. I think it helps me understand how my grandparents must have felt in 1930.

A friend of mine that I worked with at Nestle for many years was planning to retire next year. He told me yesterday that his 401K was now a 201K, and he would need to work another 10 years to retire with the same income that he had planned to have next year.

Or, maybe like the rest of us, and our grandparents before us, he will need to adjust to this "new reality."

My Dad, Big Ross, with my son, Little Ross, at Skyline, nearly 10 years ago.

So, let's say we skip right to Thanksgiving? I already made the rolls.

Last night we had an Enrichment activity where we learned to cook a turkey in a paper bag, and shared holiday recipes. 

Which is lovely, of course, but that is not why I attended. I didn't really want new recipes for Thanksgiving, because I always get assigned to make Aunt Ardy's rolls. And, no, I didn't go just to socialize with all the nice ladies that I don't ever see anymore because I am in Primary, although that was lovely, too. I went because people would bring samples of their recipes, and I have rule that I shall not ever turn down a Thanksgiving dinner, whatever day of the year it is served. And really, I wouldn't want to turn it down. Would be crazy behavior.

Like, why can't we just skip all this Halloween stuff, and have Thanksgiving in October with our obviously brilliant Canadian friends? My kids don't even have costumes and the ward party is Saturday night. I went to Spirit the Halloween Superstore yesterday to preview the goods, and the place was literally 50% sexy-fill-in-the-blank-lady costumes (really? Sexy Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz? With stiletto ruby slippers?), 40% really scary crap that made me wet my pants a little bit, like plastic bloody legless old man stump people that scream and crawl at you on the floor, 5% sexy costumes for tweens (seriously, the section was called naughty innocence, or something repulsive like that. Is horrid proof that the end of the world is nigh), and 5% regular children's costumes, made of crappy pup tent fabric, for nothing less than 30 bucks. Without any props or regalia, which cost extra, and have mostly already been purchased by braver moms who were able to talk themselves into coming here last week, and who probably had the foresight to wear Depends. I cannot bring my children here anyhow, because remember how Jane still sleeps in my room because I showed her Michael Jackson's Thriller video, like 6 months ago? This place is way worse than Thriller, freaky-wise.

 So I left. And I dulled my sorrow with paper bag turkey. Which is surpisingly juicy. 

I brought some of Aunt Ardy's rolls along with me to Enrichment, as part of my deep cover as an inquisitive holiday chef. Because, I really felt like destroying my perfectly clean kitchen. And because they are good rolls, if you like buttery pillows of heaven. And if you don't, I think we might need to break up, and I don't think we can even be friends.

And while I made them, I started to think about Ardy. And I got pretty sad, because Ardy and Uncle Dick were killed in a car accident a little over a year ago. But then I thought about this one time, while I was still in college, when we had been over at their house in Dimple Dell Park, in Sandy, Utah, when Ardy was trying to send me and cousin Melanie home with piles of food, as usual; and as usual, we would take it and scarf it down like a pack of rabid hyenas after a 10 day fast, and then return, the next day, to our awesome 90's low fat diets that didn't work because it was pretty much all carbs all the time; but who cared, cause honestly, we were pretty foxy with or without those 10 pounds. You know, the good old days. 

That long ago Sunday evening, Aunt Ardy said something that changed my life a little bit: "pie for breakfast, cake for lunch, cookies for dinner," (okay, it might have been candy bars for dinner, but the spirit of the mantra is still intact). Something clicked in my brain when she said that, and ever since, I make no pretense about the treats. I am proudly all about the treats. Pie for breakfast is a great idea, and if you are lucky enough to have pie at your house at 7 am, you really ought to eat it. Only maybe not every day, cause then your pants get tight, and that is super miserable. But as I thought about pie for breakfast, I wasn't so sad anymore. So I think Ardy was comforting me with rolls and thoughts of pie. It totally worked.

Ardith Taylor Eakins, while on one of her missions (either Myanmar or Cambodia). Look at that weirdo missionary behind her. What a card. Maybe one of you will be like "hey, that's my husband," and I will be happy to know that that little weirdo was able to get a date. Cause honestly, he's a weirdo.

So after all that, I forgot to bring the recipe for the rolls to the potluck, er, I mean, important learning experience that will bless the lives of my family with my new culinary expertise. So I said I'd put it on the internets. 

So here is the recipe. 

Ardith's Rolls, 

(Kelly's version)

3 eggs

1 1/4 c. very warm water

1 t. salt

2 T. or 2 pkgs. yeast

1/2 c. sugar

1/2 c. or 1 cube melted butter, (plus another cube for later on, keep that one cold)

4 c. flour

Stir eggs, water, sugar, salt, and butter thoroughly with the Bosch whip whip attachment. Add yeast and stir again. Let stand for 10 minutes or until when you stir with a wire whip you cannot see granules of yeast. It must be thoroughly blended. Add 3 cups of flour, 1 at a time, beating well after each with the wire whip. (I beat the first 3 cups with the whip attachment, then change the beaters to the cookie paddles.) Add the fourth cup of flour, and beat 5 minutes with the cookie paddles. I usually add a little more than four cups of flour, just because it looks too sticky to be believed, but maybe it is better without? Ardy seemed to think so!

(if you don't have a mixer, beat the first three cups of flour in with a wire wisk, and the fourth with a wooden spoon.)

Cover with a towel and let rise in a warm place (oven). When it is double in size, quite heavily flour a flat surface and pour the dough onto the floured surface. It will be very sticky. Turn it over once and pat the dough down with your hands until it is about 1/2 to 3/4 inch thick. Cut using a glass about 2.5 inches across for smaller rolls, or 3 inches for larger ones.

Grease a pan lightly. Cut a round of dough, place a small pat of butter near the middle, tuck it all the edges to form a ball around the butter pat, and put it in the pan. Put the rolls right next to each other, but not quite touching. I do them fairly small, and get about 6 across the short side of a jelly roll pan. place the next row a little ways off to give some raising room. Each batch makes about 45 of these smaller rolls, or 36 larger ones.

Let the rolls rise until about double in size or a little less, about 30 minutes. Put them in a preheated 350 degree oven for about 15 minutes. They need to be reasonably brown on top to be done in the middle, but watch them closely. They brown fast!

I usually double the recipe, and use a total of about .85 pounds of butter. I take the rest of the pound, and melt it to brush over the top of the warm rolls. Just cause I can.

Dick and Ardy, with cake. Which means, of course, that it must be lunch time.

Field Trip! I'm posting at Light Refreshments Served today

Hi nice people! I'm over at Light Refreshments Served today. Come on over and decide if 4 is the new 7. (And if you feel like it, leave lots of comments saying I'm awesome, so they'll invite me back again someday.)

The Duchess, finally, and in the middle of the day, like a fancy-lady. But without any bon-bons. Which is sad.

So on Friday morning I was on the phone with my blog friend, Janell, aka Frumpy, who is recovering from brain surgery! No, seriously, it is incredible, but she had a tumor removed, and is okay and recovering, which is wonderful news. It was so great to talk to her. Hi Janell! But anyhow while we were talking, my sister Jen kept calling in, over and over, clickety-click-click, and I was like, stop calling me from the Bahamas and rubbing it in, cause I am on the phone long distance right now, and I can't listen to how your cabana boy is a bit slow with the diet cokes, but how the ocean is warm and clear, the sand pink and soft. So when I finally called Jen back she was like, HELLO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? And I was like, none of your beeswax. And she was like, oh never mind, cause when we went to the airport last night to go on our trip to Disney World and the Bahamas, we accidentally got the wrong day, so our flight is actually tonight instead of last night, but try telling that to our boys who are all lathery about Disney and what-not, but then had to drag all the luggage home, and then go to school today, and school instead of Disney is a big bummer, even a parent knows that much. But the good news is The Duchess opens today, and it starts in 30 minutes, so get ready! Oh and bring Tommy over cause I've got the babysitter already, and why don't you click over when I call you, it was obviously an emergency, hello? 

THE DUCHESS? 

And I was like, hel-lo, I was busy talking to Janell, long distance and it was very important, you know, but then also in my mind I was secretly feeling very popular for 10:30 in the morning? Because, so many calls. So then I had to rinse the shampoo outta my hair cause Janell caught me in the middle of my shower, even though I told her I wasn't busy, but long distance is long distance, and gets special treatment, so I rinsed out the shampoo and jumped, wet-headed, into my blue van, but not before Tommy had stripped off nudie while I was in shower numero dos, and greased himself up head to toe in Aquafor (which is like lotion only with wax, and which we sometimes use as diaper ointment), and had to be wiped down a bit, but was still pretty greasy, let's be honest. It took some time to wrastle him into the car seat's 5-point harness, slick as he was. I threw my hair up and accessorized on the way over. I think the overall effect was good:

Here we are (above) just after the show. I told Jen, is declasse to put the knockers on display before noon, but she said no way am I putting these away! Is special occasion! 

So we missed the first 10 minutes of the movie cause I was hurrying but I'm not very quick and speedy, as most of you know, but we saw the rest of The Duchess, which was good but pretty racy, don't say I didn't warn you, and also so so sad, but in a good way, with some costumes that could seriously knock the socks off a body, if any body wore socks in the desert. It is way too hot for socks; but actually, now that I think of it, it isn't that hot today; is pretty nice actually, so a person could wear socks if she really wanted to wear socks, but who does? Not me. So I didn't. But if I had, they would been knocked off anyway, so the no socks thing was a good preemptive measure. So then I went back home, feeling like a fancy lady, watching movies in the middle of the day like that. I thought to myself, I could really use some bon-bons, which I've heard are the official snack food of the fancy-lady. I wonder if the Fresh & Easy has bon-bons? Am unsure. Anyhow, the whole movie theater was packed with effete, midday-movie-watching ladies like me. I was also pretty fancy cause Jen bought us matching Duchess necklaces on Etsy, which are so, so cute you might just die when you see them. I hope not, but it is possible, I warn you. Is not actually Georgiana on the necklace, but is close enough, you know? I could tell you it is Georgiana, and you might not know the difference, but I am nothing if not honest, eh? Maybe is Marie Antoinette? But before, not after you-know-what happened. Cause who wants a headless lady necklace? Is only creepy, not cute. Marie and Georgiana were late-1700s contemporaries and also buddies, cause G came to visit Marie here:

Jen and Kelly at Marie Antoinette's crib, May 2006.

So now Jen and I can wear our neck gear whenever we go see period films, or go to Europe, which is like, pretty much all the time. And I know I sound nerdy, but I am actually quite excited by my new regalia. Our Duchess necklaces are a little like the Starship Enterprise uniforms that Trekkies wear to the conventions; but more subtle, of course.

I am nothing, if not subtle.

What makes you feel like a fancy-lady?