We Need More Cowbell!

Oh, the joys of football rivalry. I think there could be a college course taught about the intricacy of football rivalries. We are fortunate to live in Utah, the home of the most intense football rivalry in the world. Ok, maybe not the whole world, but at least in the entire area West of the Mississippi. I am part of it, I am a Runnin’ Ute. I am not fond of BYU, when it comes to football that is.

Now, I have always felt that I have been a considerate Utah fan. I don’t drink and become belligerent. I don’t yell obscenities at women and children sporting “Y” shirts. I don’t paint a U of U on my belly and flash it throughout the game. I just cheer for the Utes and boo when it is appropriate. However, there was a moment of weakness that I succumbed to during the heat of a game.

About a fourteen years ago, Marlowe and I were struggling college students. We scrimped and scraped for tickets to the big game. We found ourselves right smack in the middle of a blue sea of BYU fans. We took our spots and enjoyed a tightly matched game. The only problem was the young fan behind me who brought his cowbell. I felt that this teenager came straight from doing his chores on the farm to the game.

He was well mannered, and so was his dad. But, he would not stop ringing that cowbell. The piercing sound of the ding-a-ling rang in my eardrum for four straight quarters. He seemed to have a nervous tick in his wrist by the constant movement of the bell. Is there such a thing as Tourette's syndrome for cowbell? Whenever there was reason for ringing, he did, loud, clear, and fast. Whenever the action slowed, so did the ringing. When either band played, he rang the cowbell to the beat. The cowbell expressed every emotion the boy felt. He was definately a farm boy. All of the cow milking strengthened his wrist and gave him increadible endurance for ringing cowbells. I was just about to go insane. Then it happened.

There was a minute left and the U of U was down. We made an amazing drive. I didn’t think we had a chance. The stadium was tense, the drama was thick and I was just about to crack. Then one series of events merged into another and we scored. YES! We did it! I must have been shocked into obnoxiousness because I turned around, faced the young teen and stripped the cowbell out of his hands. He stared at me with his gob opened, not sure about what just happened. Then, with my eyes blazing with extreme insanity I rang that bell in his face. I rang it loud. I rang it hard. I rang it and yelled, “How do you like that?” Then I rang it some more and danced around as if being possessed by the devil himself.

Being a naive farm boy, he just stared at me with horror and fright. I handed his cowbell back and gave him a crazed smile that said, “How do you like them apples you idiot?” Then I took my seat, still dancing my evil jig. But it wasn’t over.

I think if you were to review all of the film footage of U of U/BYU games, there would be a high percentage of games won in the last seconds by BYU. It’s as if the Y has control over the time continuum. The stars line up and all that stuff. Somehow, they reach deep down and make it happen. By using one of their "BYU miracles", they made a miracle play and won in the last seconds.

I just stared forward. I didn’t look left or right. I didn’t stand and run or turn around and apologize to the farm boy. I just fumed and stewed and ate crow. Oh, I was so embarrassed. I got myself into this mess. The bell started up again as loud as ever and I just let it go. Ring bell, ring. I earned it.

Tonight is the eve of the biggest rivalry game between the two teams. Title shares and BCS Bowls are on the line for both teams. Now, we have season tickets. We share an excellent area with the best Utah fans imaginable. Portal 34, you rock and I promise I will tolerate your cowbell.

Paris

Everyone should go to Paris at least once in their life. I personally go for the food and the clothing. Forget the museums, I can only take so much nudity. The majority or the art in Louvre has a naked women. Naked women breastfeeding, naked women eating in the park with other naked women, naked women riding horses, naked women doing laundry. NUDES EVERYWHERE! But the men depicted in art are usually clothed. Except the statues, and even then, their "package" has been broken off. I am not a prude, but the Louvre and Rodin museum are nothing but sophisticated soft porn. I never thought that I would be so affected by this, but I grew tired of female genitalia quickly. I consider myself to be very open-minded, but my mind can only take so much nudity. Rodin was a master at the human body, and for the most part, I could handle the nudity. However, there were some extremely sensual poses, erotic female art that went a bit too far. Even getting off the subway, there are topless murals of Josephine Baker. And be warned, do not watch the local t.v. after 10:00 p.m. Just a bit on the nasty side of things.

Yes, Europeans have a liberal view on nudity. You know the forbidden school yard song "There's a place in France...", I've seen the inspiration for the song, minus "the hole in the wall", they just show it to you all, everywhere. OK, I know there are more to museums then nudity, and I am an avid art lover. However, just a bit tired of seeing the boobs. What it all amounts to is this: Most of the women depicted in the art have my same figure, so it made me feel like I was viewing my curvy body with all the other people and I got embarrassed.

This is my third visit to Paris. This time around, the pace was much more leisurely. Perhaps that is why I notice all the naked women. Before, we rushed from one thing to another. But, other than than, the city is still magical. The Latin Quarter is still lively. We took the time to discover the Marais. I wished I would have spent more time there. We even went on the sewer tour. Yes, it is a real tour and it does stink.

But most importantly, I got to spend quality time with Marlowe. We both lapped up the Parisian culture. One of our favorite things was checking out the bathrooms (or toilets as they call them) in restaurants. Usually, they are down in the basement and are very old. Being six feet tall proved a challenge. I had to hunch over while traversing down a spiral staircase to the bathroom. I felt like Alice in Wonderland.

Another thing Marlowe and I took up is what we refer to as "belly shots". No, it's not a game you play at the local pub. What we do is hold the camera around our neck, and shoot pictures. People are not expecting it and we get some great shots.

All in all, I can't wait to go back. There are a lot of gypsies and con artist. We were approach by a couple and they acted like they found a gold ring and they were trying to give it to Marlowe. They didn't go for me, probably because I stared them down from the get go. But Marlowe has a kinder, more approachable look to him. She was trying to distract him, we weren't sure what they were trying to accomplish to be honest with you. I finally was very rude and shooed her away and asked her if she spoke Spanish and she immediately left us alone. I found that phrase helped us ward off being an American target. But we will be back, it may be some time, but we will return.

Shopping at Sears Can Be Embarrassing

Yes, it’s been months since my last blog, but know this, I have had many things happen - good, bad, and not so bad. I had to share this story that happened to me at Sears.

Part I
So, I was shopping at Sears. I’ll be honest, I usually don’t shop at Sears. It’s just not convenient to where I live and , well, we parted ways several years ago when I discovered Target and Old Navy. But, I happened to have some free time on my hands, and went shopping and found myself wandering from the food court to Sears. They were having an unbelievable clearance sale. Plus, they had some pretty cute stuff. Unfortunately, every woman in the area already knew this because they were all there at the same time. I just grabbed as many items that I thought I liked and checked out.

Once I got home, I evaluated my purchases and found a handful of things that didn’t work out. I put them back in the Sears sack and put the sack at the top of my stairs so I wouldn’t forget to take it with when I traveled back to the mall.

Part II
OK, this part is a little bit...well...something that women really find funny but men usually don’t. But, the story would not be complete if I omitted this part. My five year old and his friend got into my tampons. They were using them as rockets. Pink applicators covered the floor, while the white innards were found in various places. I quickly picked up the impromptu rockets and put them in a garbage sack.

Part III
Marlowe took out the trash, including my Sears sack. I chided him, as we were late leaving for the mall. He quickly retrieved the Sears sack and off we went. Then the horror began.

I stood in line to do my returns. A nice lady from India was helping me. I took out my receipt and said, “I have some returns”. Then I dumped out the contents of the bag onto the counter and to my horror a few pink tampon applicators along with a partially smashed diet coke can came out with the clothes. You know that scene in movies when everything is in slow motion and someone’s distorted voice is saying, “Nooooooooooo”. That’s how I felt.

I quickly put my hands on the foreign objects and scooped them up, all while maintaining strict eye contact with the sales associate. I felt that if I penetrated her eyes with my fierce stare, she wouldn’t dare look at the counter. I quickly stuffed the pink applicators into the diet coke can and then slipped it into my purse. I finished the transaction and fled like at bandit.

When I found Marlowe, I held up the diet coke can and rattled it. I said, “Listen to this. Do you know what that sound is? That sound is what fell onto the counter and Sears!” We had a laugh.

In the process of taking the trash out, Marlowe grabbed the garbage out of the boys room and threw it in the Sears sack thinking it was a garbage bag. The diet coke can was just a bonus from the sack being tossed into the outside garbage can.

It may be a while before I go back to Sears. Online shopping is much less embarassing.

Syrup can spoil your favorite flats

In my world, I seem to have a bizarre magnet attached to me. Or at least I see things in an unusual way. But maybe not, perhaps we all have odd things happen to us. Some of us tune them out while others blow them out of proportion. I think I call them how they are, so I would like to start sharing some of my odd experiences with you. Actually, you need not be afraid because most of my stories involve humorous situations,

Let me start out with the most recent event. On March 9, 2008 I went to the store. The store is a magical place to attract odd events and people. This trip to the store went smooth. Then I had to get syrup.

I walked down the isle and started eyeballing the syrup. I was debating on whether or not to splurge on Mrs. Buttersworths or just go for Western Family. I decided to purchase Log Cabin because I just didn’t trust Western Family and Mrs. Buttersworths reminds me too much of my own figure so I didn’t want her. I reached for my choice and knocked over a giant bottle of Western Family syrup from the shelf. It came hurtling down and landed in such a way as to cause a great explosion of syrup that went mostly in my left shoe and up my leg. I was so shocked. I thought to myself, “Am I really standing in the middle of the isle with syrup in my shoe.”

The answer was YES! I wasn’t sure what to do, due to the massive amount of syrup my foot was swimming in. Why did I choose to wear flats. Why didn't I wear one of my 16 pairs of boots. They repel things so well - isn't that why cowboys and hookers wear them - to deflect unwanted things? None the less, I sloshed up the isle until I found an employee to help me. He was so understanding but a bit shocked by the presence of syrup oozing out of my shoe. He offered me a towel but I said I just need a bathroom.

I squished my way through the store to the bathroom, leaving a trail of sticky syrup that rivaled Hansel and Gretel. I hiked my leg up to the industrial sink and started rinsing my shoe out. Then I washed my foot. The pink soap didn’t work very well removing the syrup remnants. But enough was removed so that I could return to my cart and check out with some sort of dignity. I drove home and my car started to smell like IHOP.

Why does this always happen to me? Honestly, I haven’t had a weird experience for a while so I suspect that I have some coming down the pipeline. So I am telling myself to be prepared and to keep an open mind and retain a sense of humor.


-JaNeanne Dazley