Very Mormon

I am Very Mormon this week:

1.) I sewed...a lot. I made loads of little bags (pictures to follow eventually) with zippers and everything, and a wee little pocket for my iPod.
2.) I made jam. Apricot. I cheated and made freezer jam, but I think that still counts, considering that it was 183 degrees outside.
3.) I'm heading up to Utah tomorrow for a family reunion.

I would totally make a joke right here about funeral potatoes or something but it's late and I'm sleepy and we're leaving at a quarter 'til crack of dawn, which is not very Mormon but is definitely very Knecht.

I hope you're getting a 50% cut

Dear Mario Lopez's Agent,

Sometime last year I seriously thought that Gwen Stefani was stalking me. Because every time I picked up a magazine or turned on the radio or tv, there she was. I couldn't get away from her. I'm beginning to feel that way about your client.

You must have some serious magical mojo because Mario Lopez is EVERYWHERE. He's on Broadway! He has a book out! He's hosting some show on MTV! He's sitting in for Regis! This is all pretty impressive since, let's be honest here, his only real talent is looking good with his shirt off. Oh, and he can rock a pair of stone-washed, tapered-leg, high-waisted, pleated jeans like no other. I do realized that that's way more talent than a person actually needs to be on every network morning show nowadays but even so, the level of saturation is incredible and I may have to get a restraining order. I guess in your book that's a job well done.

Except that you weren't done. Katie brought home a People Magazine the other day and I was not surprised to see Mario on the side of the corner. But I was entirely surprised to see the words "Sexiest Bachelor" underneath him. That had to be the greatest moment of your career, right? I mean, can anyone actually believe that's true when George Clooney is still single? Or Gerard Butler? Get real.

I guess I should say congratulations but my heart really isn't in it.

Best,
Rachel

P.S. In regards to the pictures inside People, I don't think the world needed to know exactly how thorough Mario Lopez's wax job was. I certainly didn't.

Trust me, you need this.

I keep forgetting to let you know that there are new items in my Etsy shop. Handy little pockets for your purse or bag.

I'm giving Andrea credit for the idea. I saw her pull a little bag out of her purse once and it was stuffed with little things that every girl needs but always seem to get lost in the bottom of the endless abyss that is a lady's handbag. Like an extra large collection of lip balm.

I'm modeling mine over there (using my fiercest pose that I learned from watching all those episodes of America's Next Top Model). The ones on Etsy have snaps instead of buttons. I think the buttons are cuter but the snaps are more convenient. If you would like one but don't see one in a color you like just let me know. I can almost guarantee that the World's Largest Felt Collection contains it.

Precious

As many of you know I use to work at a veterinary clinic. I have buckets of stories from my year and a half there that I plan to compile in a book that will no doubt bring me unimaginable wealth, because, let's face it, people are suckers for books about animals. But the funny thing is that it won't be about the animals. See how tricky I am? The best stories are all about animal owners.

Along with vaccines and routine surgery we also offered boarding. It wasn't anything fancy. We had runs for the dogs and pens for the cats and every animal got taken out a few times a day to play and run around. The only animals that got to roam freely were Brutus, the office dog, Mooshie, a 7 pound Maltese, Tina, 125 pound rottweiler (both boarded with us 3 or 4 times a week and new the rules, i.e. no peeing indoors or attacking the clients), and Will the office cat, who was paralyzed from the waist down so he did more scooting and swishing than roaming.

Before I continue I need to make the distinction between Pet People and People Who Have Pets. PWHP are those who like animals and like having them around but can tell the difference between an animal and a human. Pet People are those who dress their dogs up for tea parties, who schedule photo shoots for them, who refer to them as "my children". Crazy people.

We had a few Pet People as clients but the best one was J. Walch, owner of a cat named Precious. Or, more accurately, Precious Baby Pudda-Wudda Kitty Cat Walch. J. Walch called me one day in a panic. I was use to this. She never called in anything but a panic. Everything was dramatic and an emergency. She was going on a church choir retreat and her son was suppose to watch Precious for her but he flaked out at the last minute and now she is thinking about canceling the trip because she "couldn't leave Precious alone for two whole days! He'll just DIE!" Could I be a doll and see if there was any room in our kitty facilities? There was, thus saving Precious' life. Celebrate!

J. Walch showed up the next morning in tears. And this is practically verbatim so I'm going to put it in quotes (It's my blog, I can make up grammar rules if I want to.):

"Precious is livid! We had a fight this morning. He did not want to come. He absolutely refused to get into his carrier. REFUSED! What was I to do? I can't force him to come if he doesn't want to. But I couldn't leave him along so I forced him into his carrier. And guess what he did. He soiled himself. To calm him down I promised that he would have a lovely time with his friends and that you would be so loving and gentle with him. Well, he told me that if he could write a letter to you about how he likes to be treated then he would feel much better about the whole thing."

And then she handed me a letter, sealed in an envelope and addressed to "Dr. Mintzer and Nice Ladies." She asked me to read it.

It went something like this (and I'm not making any of this up and J.Walch was entirely serious about it):

Dear Dr. Mintzer and Nice Ladies,

I've very nervous about staying with you so to ease my fears I'd like you to know a few requirements I have while on vacation.

1.) I like to have soft music playing. Preferably Mozart.
2.) I think it would be lovely if you would light a few candles in my room.
3.) It goes without saying that I would like my own room. And I would like to spent time with you in the lobby so I can see the other animals coming in and out.
4.) I like to have fresh air so please open the windows and doors. Please make sure that there is plenty of sunshine for me to lounge in as well.

I'm sure that if you follow all of my wishes everything will
go smoothly.

Sincerely,
Precious B.P.W.K.C Walch

I smiled, took Precious, waved bye-bye to J. Walch, put the letter in Precious' folder and took him back to the cat room where I put him in a cage told him that if he had mastered typing a letter than he would certainly be able to imagine candles and Mozart. And then I shut the door.

I would like to say that she was as crazy as it got but I haven't even told you about the lady with 13 cats.

How does this feel?

(Disclaimer: I like sports. Really, I do. I don't follow all of them, and I have been known to root for or against a team based solely on the state they were from (name one likable team from Florida. I dare you.) or the color of their jersey, but, with the exception of cricket and Australian Rules Football, I can watch a game and understand and appreciate what's going on. I like watching a good game, I read Sports Illustrated, I have painted my face and worn a giant foam finger. So, I like sports. But I do not like sports television reporting, and this is just one of many points I could have covered regarding it. Like how the play-by-play guys always say, "The best thing they can do now is score." Why isn't this genius on the team's payroll?)

I'm not really a basketball fan. But I like to see people win so I tuned into the end of the NBA finals to watch the Celtics school the Lakers. And I was happy about that, until the post-game interview. I dislike the post-game interview more than I dislike basketball. And that's really saying something. I'm not talking about the post-game press conference, I'm talking about the interview where the reporter is on the field or court and grabs a player just seconds after they win, confetti and sweat pouring down, fans and players screaming and jumping everywhere, you know, general pandemonium, and attempts to scream the all important question that is burning on every one's lips: "You just won! How does it feel?"

How does it feel? As in, how does winning a championship feel? Well, I guess it feels pretty great. And that's just me saying that having never actually won a championship. How do you think it feels? And what revolutionary thing do you think the player is going to say? "Truthfully, I've had a better time playing basketball on my Wii, but I guess this is okay."

It's not just that they ask the question, it's that they ask it 3 or 4 times.

Reporter: How does it feel?
Player: Great.
Reporter: So, it feels pretty great, huh?
Player: Yeah, it feels great.
Reporter: Have you ever felt this great before?
Player: Well, this is a pretty great feeling...
Reporter: This must be the greatest moment of your life.
Player: (nods head)
Reporter: Of all the great moments in your life, where does this rank? Great, greater or greatest?
Player: Is this a trick questions?
Reporter: No, I just want to know how great does this feel?
Player: (palms the reporter's head and slam dunks it)

Tonight's post-game interview was particularly painful to watch. Some gal pulled Kevin Garnett aside, maybe 20 seconds after the clock ran out and asked him the question. He was emotional and looked like he would rather be with his teammates instead of having this woman nestle under his sweaty armpit with a microphone shoved up his mouth, and he took a second to compose himself and answer the question but answered it well, if not a little incoherently. And then she asked it again. And he answered it another way. And then she asked it again. She would not stop with the question! She just kept clinging onto him like a baby possum and shouting his name, even when he was jumping around and hollering. And it went on FOREVER. It was killing me. Let the man go! You're embarrassing yourself. Now is not the time to be the Young Intrepid Girl Sports Reporter With Moxy. Now is the time to get off the court and let the team have their moment. That would have really felt great.

The New Half Gallon

Dear Ice Cream Makers of the World,

You think you can fool me but you totally can't. I'm on to your little game. That game where you try to trick people into thinking that they're still getting a half gallon of rocky road but they're actually only getting 1.75 quarts. This would not be such a terrible thing if you lowered the price but you've raised it instead. This is a pretty rotten thing to do. I stood by quietly when the Cadbury Egg Makers of the World pulled the same trick but I will not be silent on this. I demand you give us the half gallon back! Ice cream is a sacred thing.

Sincerely,
Rachel

I believe you all owe me paper

Dear Everyone Who Reads This Blog,

It's the one year anniversary of this blog. Aren't you so excited? Like possibly it's the greatest day of your life? Ever? Yeah, me too.

Let's take a stroll down memory lane, shall we?

Remember that time I watched Maynard the Slightly Retarded Dog? Or when I almost died driving to Arizona. And my explanation for my Deep and Abiding Love for Wayne Newton. And my letter to Jennifer Lopez. How about my feud with Wal-Mart. And all those funny stockings. Knights of Columbus, it's been a good year.

Thanks to everyone who comes to visit. Imagine me handing out chocolates and hugs.

Hugs and Kisses from your Best Pal,
Rachel =)

P.S. I put a load of new reviews up on the other blog. If you haven't had enough of this, take a gander.

Reality Check

A couple of things...
1.) Who is super excited that Lisa didn't win Top Chef? I sure am. I liked both Stephanie and Richard so it didn't matter to me which one got it. All I really wanted was for Lisa to not win. She was just so unappetizing.
2.) Is Cat Deeley pregnant? I'm watching So You Think You Can Dance right now and she looks a little bit like she could be with child. She keeps patting her belly and she's wearing a high wasted dress that could have been chosen the hide something. Maybe she had too many donuts this morning. Time will tell. Maybe Google will as well.

Okay, and a bonus...
3.) I LOVE the way the British say boogie. Like booooooogie. Cute.

Nephew Love

I spent the afternoon with these guys. Awesome.

I think these cats just proposed marriage to me.

Dear People I'm House-sitting For:

You're coming back tomorrow and I wanted to give you your grade.  It's a solid B-.  Since I spent most of my academic career getting B-'s I'm going to say that it's nothing to be ashamed of.  

I'll tell you what could have given you a higher grade.  A toaster.  The first night I got here I wanted some toast (naturally) so I pulled some bread out and looked around all the counters in your vast kitchen and couldn't find the toaster.  I looked in all 85 of your cupboards.  Nothing.  I looked again, because surely, you must have a toaster.  How could you not?  A toaster is the most essential of all kitchen appliances.  You can get by with not having a Kitchen-Aide, but a toaster?  What do you do at midnight when you're feeling a little peckish?  Or when it's dinner-time and you've looked in the fridge at least 5 times hoping that someone has magically put something in there for you to eat but no one actually has?  You have 3 blenders, but no toaster.  This just seems negligent.  I had to toast my bread in the oven, like a savage.  

Everything else I had a beef with was out of your control so I can't dock you for.  Like your cats' inability to respect personal space.  They are constantly by my side, walking all over me or wrapping their entire body around my ankle and licking my foot.  Have I mentioned that I don't like cat tongue?  And, full disclosure here, the idea of cats kind of give me the heebs anyway for the single reason that they march around in their own toilets.  Have you seen cats in litter boxes?  They take care of business and then they scratch around in it.  And then they jump up on your lap, or kitchen counters, where normal people prepare their toast.  Or they lick their paws and then lick you.  It's disgusting.  I once saw someone share her ice cream cone with her cat.  She would take a lick then her cat would take a lick then she would take another lick.  Do you know where that cat's tongue has been?  ON ITS BUTT!  

Aside from that I don't have anything against cats.  There is something very comforting about having one purring in your lap.  But your cats loved my lap so much that they would often fight each other over it, usually in my lap.  In order to get them off I would either have to stand up, which would often end in both of them clawing onto my pants, or I would have to squirt them with the water bottle, which I think they're becoming desensitized to.  It use to be that all I would have to do was shake the bottle at them and they'd get off, but now I have to actually squirt them 2 or 3 times before they stop giving me that look that says, "What do you want, Woman with a Warm Lap?  I'm lounging here."  What I want is for them to stop kneading my legs with their poopy paws.

Well, welcome back.  I hope you had a great trip.  Your home is lovely and I appreciate the gig.  Do call again.  Although I will be charging you substantially more the next time around for all the licking I have to endure.

Regards,

Rachel

Those sleeves are FIERCE!

"Hey Rachel. What's that you're wearing?"

Thanks for asking. It's a blouse...that I made BY MYSELF!

Can you believe it?  Yeah, me neither.  Why?  Because I don't actually know how to sew clothes.  Seriously, I just winged the whole thing.  All I had going for me was my love of instructions.  I love following a pattern.  I truly believe that as long as I have directions I can do anything.  Need a bomb diffused?  Get me a manual and I can give you a 95% chance of not blowing us up.  The other 5% I will blame on poor technical writing.   

I think it turned out okay.  Some of the seams are uneven and the button loops are a little wonky.  But see those sleeves?  Those puffy sleeves that Anne of Green Gables would be envious of?  Those sleeves redeem it all.  Those sleeves make me a sewing genius.  Because they had this thing called a stay (I had no idea what that was), and I had to do something called under-stitching (under what?) and then the gathering.  Knights of Columbus!  Had there been a cliff for me to throw the sewing machine off of I would have done if because of all of that gathering.  But they look sensational.  I'm giddy with the joy of those sleeves.

This has completely pulled me out of my "I hate all my clothes. I have nothing to wear. I'm going to stay in my jim-jams for the rest of my life and live amongst the Tragically Ugly because there isn't a single cute article of clothing in my closet," phase.  Do boys go through this phase? Or are their phases more along the line of, "How many consecutive days have I worn these jeans? 15? Is 15 too many days?" Yes, 15 is too many days.