Judging by the amount of hair dye present in the ranks of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, I think the whole singing thing is just a cover for the fact that it's actually a support group for women who are afraid of gray hair.
I just got a flier in the mail that says, "Life's too short to clean your own house." Now I'm all depressed at the time I've wasted scrubbing toilets.
Why are the only restaurants with drive-thrus the ones that sell nothing but piles of grease? How about a drive-thru sandwich place or a drive-thru Jamba Juice?
Someone needs to inform Utah that if I have a valid out-of-state driver's license, that means I know how to drive in UTAH without taking a test again.
Last night I had a dream where I was trying to keep my kids from having meltdowns while I waited over an hour for a doctor appointment. The night before I dreamed I was in charge of some primary event and one of the kids threw up, leaving me to clean it up. Why do I dream about things I hate doing in my real life? Why can't I swim in a barrel of candy or use the clouds as a trampoline instead?
How is it that I can look in the mirror and think I look fine, but then I see a picture of myself and realize my butt must be moonlighting as a billboard somewhere?
I'm really glad Santa put coal in my mom's stocking after a particularly naughty year in her childhood. It's great to be able to point to a real person who actually got coal in her stocking.
I think I will feel a little out of place in Utah until I use a weed whacker to style my hair. Even better, a weed whacker with a little purple dye on the blades.
Who thought up the one-bulb-goes-out-the-whole-string-of-lights-goes-out concept? Honestly, people. There is nothing more irritating then searching a whole string of lights to find one uncooperative little bulb.
It is November 30th and my Christmas cards will be mailed tomorrow. I'm pretty sure that is one of the signs of the times (nestled in between "earthquakes" and "wars and rumors of wars").
How come no one ever stops by thirty seconds after I've cleaned the whole house, but thirty seconds after Michael has gotten out every toy we own and the kitchen floor looks like it was last swept in 1945, everyone feels like popping in for a visit?