A Wee Bit of Hysterical Mania

A timeline without any calendar dates: I perused the interwebs, as I am apt to do, and discovered one afternoon the Utah Jazz would be holding national anthem auditions in October. And by perused, I mean I typed “Utah Jazz national anthem auditions” into Google because that is the kind of girl I am. Naturally I decided I needed to head up to downtown Salt Lake City and stand in line at the EnergySolutions Arena with a ton of cute Mormon girls with great singing voices and then, petrified, sing for strangers with a red card.

I hate strangers with red cards.

Photo courtesy of gettyimages.com

The point of the red card was to cut people off who sucked had provided for the judges enough song to make a determination, but naturally it meant nothing. Right. To reiterate, I hate strangers with red cards.

But luckily I wasn’t carded and made it through the entire anthem (all minute and a half of it, which further proves that red card really did mean something — don’t tell me you don’t have time to hear us all sing it because it’s the shortest song ever) and then, wonder upon wonders, I actually got chosen.

Me, little Mary from the block, singing at a basketball game in front of thousands and thousands of people, put up on the Jumbotron for all to see.

The Low Point

First of all, we know how much I do not want to be on the Jumbotron tonight. But then on top of that, I have been blessed with an enormous zit, which you and I both realize will be amplified about a millionfold (give or take a couple thousand), and probably by tonight it will have morphed into a human person because that’s just how my luck goes.

And I was really having a fantastic day till Husband mentioned to me the impending doom of performing in front of thousands of people, with a video camera shoved in my face, and then I became hysterical. Performing always seems like an awesome idea, but the panic attacks always insist otherwise.

Also, I need a haircut.

I’m a Beatle.


Confessions of Girl Nerd (and why I need a new name)

My becoming a recreational gamer is one of those predestined things. I wasn’t allowed anything Nintendo-based as a child, and I’ve yet to pass beyond the 2nd level of any Mario game that’s ever been invented in the history of all time, hence the recreational part. But I did spend a lot of time playing “Oregon Trail” and — are you ready for this? — I completed “Amazon Trail” in sixth grade. The whole thing. Twice.

Image courtesy of wikipedia.org

When I got married, I told Husband all about this picture book I not only wrote but also illustrated. Two brothers, regulars at the neighborhood arcade, are sucked into one of the games. (gasp!) The older brother, determined to not let his brother die, must COMPLETE THE ENTIRE GAME in order to stay alive.

I see that you’re opening your mouth to say something: As soon as I finished telling him about this story, Husband said, “Um, that’s Tron.

Image courtesy of imdb.com

Confession time: I have never seen Tron.

But potential (and accidental) copyright infringement aside, the point was to show how I was into gaming even before I could game.

I’m not quite sure exactly what it is that I love about particular computer or video games. The achievements? Unlikely, since I am generally really bad at all of them. Winning? Probably not. I never win.  I know that, if given the opportunity, creating avatars is on of my most favorite things ever. My XBox avatar has five outfits (and counting). And I may or may not have begun “Dragon Age: Origins” about 8 different times mostly so I could create new people.

Same goes with “Sims 3.” [And as an aside, I came up with a Sim costume for Halloween last year; as it turns out we didn’t have friends then, so there were no Halloween parties to attend, but I have big plans of pulling out the plumbob this year.]

The Low Point

Husband did a lot of working, recently, on this big event and was getting home around 10:30 – 11:00 pm every night. That’s an important little factoid. Save it for later.

It took me about a week to finally cave and play some “Call of Duty” alone — I generally prefer playing with him because it’s just more fun [another aside: I discovered that I am actually WAY BETTER without him, so maybe I should generally prefer playing without him], and there’s something very depressing about sitting on an exercise ball in our living room playing video games all alone.

With, you know, hundreds of strangers.

Image courtesy of gamespot.com

The upside to playing with Husband is his ability to stop. He gets tired of the games pretty easily and wants to take a “How I Met Your Mother” break, which, incidentally, he does not tire of easily. I discovered, last week, that when I play alone, I have little to no ability to cease and desist.

Here’s what happens when you have little to no ability to cease and desist: You will probably agitate your carpal tunnel.

I’ve been spending a lot of time debating which is lamer: that I have carpal tunnel in the first place (secretarial work … it’ll get you every time) or that I agitated it by playing “Call of Duty: Black Ops” ad nauseum day after day.

We might have a draw.



Oh, you’re probably wondering why I need a new name.

The Low Point: Take Two

Today I had to run to the admin building to pick up some gift cards we’re sending out as gifts on behalf of the department. When I got to the window, the woman asked for the custodian’s name (as in … person who requested the cards … not a janitorial custodian), so I naturally gave her mine. Because I’m the custodian. She handed me a form to sign and

Her: “You’ll need to put Mary’s name on the line for the custodian, but you can sign your name at the bottom.”

Me: “Um, I am Mary. So … I’ll put my name … there.”

Her, after a very pregnant pause: “Well, then, you can sign your name twice!” (smile here)

This happens sometimes. Asian kid gives a white kid name and confusion ensues.

“Hi. My name is Mary … and I have a white person name.” “Hi, Mary.”


No, this isn’t actually a post about faux wrestling matches, even though that would both get my post written and be the low point of my day. This is about something else just as terrible, however.

An Introduction: Meet Josh Weed. He has a blog named after himself because he’s that kind of a person and it’s super hilarious and you will probably find yourself, much like I did a few weeks back, reading every one of his posts, snort laughing to yourself while your spouse played video games wondering why you were being such a weirdo. In case you need the additional help, you can find his blog here. Don’t do anything rash and head over to his blog right now because that would mean I’d lose readership immediately and we can’t have that. Finish reading this, then head to his blog and continue following it till he doesn’t post again, and then return back home.

Photo courtesy of joshweed.com. I am nothing, if not magnanimous, so I clearly took great care in choosing the perfect photo for my blog.

All I can really say, without giving too much away, are these two words: Bambi nuggets.

Josh and I have a long history of being friendly pseudo friends. We haven’t ever done anything like hang out with each other, but when I was in middle school I saw him give a riveting performance in “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” and then I was friends with his sister and then his brother and then his other sister. I never really became friends with his youngest brother because he’s seven years younger than me and that would make me a creep. His mom and dad are probably in my top 20 most awesome adults I know. At any rate, he and I know each other well enough for me to refer to his wife by her nickname.

The Low Point

I’m not entirely positive how it is that I got sucked into this, but I started a game of Words with Friends tonight with Mr. Weed. Why on earth would I do such a thing? Because he has heinously left the world of Scrabble for the stupid game and, well, this one time I beat him at Scrabble and it made me feel really positively about how my life was going, and I can’t help but think it might happen again. [Sorry, Shadra, but I’m not going to play with you. I love you, but if you’re still hanging around the Scrabble board, then we’ll just keep it that way. Mmkay? Hugs!] I know, I know, Alec Baldwin plays WWF so we should all play it, on planes and trains and what have you, but I have a difficult time accepting a rip off of my most favoritest game ever in the history of all games ever. In all time. Plus there’s no dictionary.

But that’s not even the low point. I mean, it felt like it would be as I was allowing WWF access to all my personal information on Facebook, but then this happened:

What the heck kind of letters are these!?

Yeah. Friends indeed.

So, Josh Weed, you’re up. Just try and beat my starting word of two points. I dare you.