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or at least a peek out my office window.

yes, that is a sexy man doll. yes, that sticker is a giant lie. yes, i’m a diane turner fan. and finally, yes mom, that is a shot glass at the office.

notice anything other than my poorly painted toenails?of course you do, i’m wearing mismatched flip flops. sadly, i didn’t notice until i was already in park city for the day. i was in a rush to leave and rather than take the time to wear pretty shoes i grabbed for my nearest flops.

it could have been worse, they could have been crocs.

Every Utahn who grew up in Salt Lake during the eighties remembers eating out at the Training Table restaurant. It was standard fare for high school date night, and their television ad didn’t change for about 20 years. I still think that the girl in the tv ad was hot. I wonder what she’s doing now; she’s probably a mom with four kids and a mortgage. . . a pretty hot mom, that is!

Any way, not to get distracted, I need to set the record straight. The other day we stopped at the Training Table for lunch and we ordered all of the standard stuff, including an order of cheese fries. (“Cheese fries, that’s the last thing I need, an order of cheese fries”) Of course we got an order of dipping sauce to go with the fries. For those of you unfamiliar with dipping sauce, it looks like a bowl of barbeque sauce with a big blob of mayonnaise in the middle.

As long as I can remember we always mixed up the dipping sauce with a butter knife. Everybody knew this back then. A quick stir with the knife and your cheese fries were ready for yet another Utah original. But out-of-towners unfamiliar with standard dipping sauce protocol were obviously unaware of the requirement to stir with a knife.

So, we’re at lunch and I notice that there’s no knife on the table, just a fork. And Sarah picks up the fork and begins stirring the dipping sauce. I’m immediately appalled at the gross breach of protocol and begin to “educate” everyone at the table who did not grow up here and did not know about the knife rule.

Whether you are originally from Delta, or California, or wherever, just understand one thing: we stir our dipping sauce with a knife! Got it?

to ensure my spot in heaven i added this to my car–

to celebrate the 23 years of slavery, i took ben to see social distortion friday night. i checked the supply and he had enough underwear (happy craig?), so i thought a real present was in order. i’ve always loved the mike ness, and listened to social d constantly in high school. ben would “borrow” my tapes as a kid and social d quickly made an impression and he was a fan.

despite the insane heat inside the venue we had a great time. it was good to run into some old friends from back in the day, and even better to spend time with my punk rock girls, and better yet i’m the proud new owner of a sick girl social d jacket. it’s mine, all mine…finally!

while thumbing through a copy of playboy at a friend’s house today i couldn’t help but notice this:

yesterday marked ben’s 23rd year of being my slave. sure, some call it his birthday and for those…HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BENNY! however, i’ll stick to happy slave day, or happy underwear day (a left-over from his youth).

ben is the middle child, this title was not assigned by womb exit but by attitude. the lad has every trait of a middle child, mostly because he has me for an older sibling and that has mellowed him beyond belief. having a mellow attitude in my family is unheard of, so on occasion (read:constant basis) ben was forgotten…”not left at the gas station” forgotten, but “shit, it’s your birthday” forgotten. we lived in small town utah, so running to target for a last minute present was not an option.

**enter underwear**

i have 4 younger brothers, so my mom kept spare boy clothing tucked away in her closet, i.e. new packages of boxers. this is what bennyboy received most years as a gift, sad but true. luckily for my mom he was a good kid and never took offense to her after-thought gifts.

when i asked ben what he got from my parents i wasn’t at all surprised to hear they bought him underwear. it’s nice to have things i can count on, while the style has changed for him (boxers to jesus jammies), the gift never has. way to keep it real mom!

as per request, you can read my column here! look for my giant grainy noggin and from there you can read this week’s story. sorry, it took so long to post–be patient, i’m worth the wait…or so i like to think.

please take note of the stripper, sharing a cover with any stripper is a dream come true! for those of you that are friends with my mom, expect that cover to be noted in the annual bragging rights christmas letter.

i don’t recall which lunch spot we were at when pmk captured this little goodie for me, however, i did remember to add ice to my drink–and that’s what’s important…