Dreadlocks and a Wedding

Everyone should grow up on a street like Holly Lane. For many reasons, but especially so that they can have friends like these two: Believe it or not, I have known these hoodlums since we were five years old. And now one of them is officially a married man:
Congratulations to Nate for marrying such a lovely girl. And congratulations to Logan for pulling off the classiest Best Man hairdo I have ever seen:
I have watched this boy sport a man perm, cornrows, and a full-on mullet with steps, but white boy dreads? That’s taking it to a whole new level. Holladay Elementary Alumni, class of '98 (with the happy addition of Butch). I think we turned out pretty well. And yes, I was always on the bottom row of those elementary class photos, why do you ask? Remind me never to stand next to Nert when someone is taking a picture. Even on the days that I am wearing high heels.

Bring on the sequins

Just in case you were wondering which celebrities’ careers are officially in the crapper, the lineup for the new season of Dancing with the Stars has been announced. And it includes Tom Delay, the former Republican House majority leader. Wow. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

On to the rest of the lineup. Kind of a letdown in my opinion. There is still no Tom Selleck (Annie, I think we need to write to the producers or something), and the rest of the cast selection ranges from shockingly predictable (wasn’t it only a matter of time until Donny Osmond graced us with his presence?) to virtually unknown (if anyone can tell me who Joanna Krupa is without googling her name I will give them a quarter). The one person I am excited to see on the show is Melissa Joan Hart, known to most of you as Sabrina the Teenage Witch. To me she will always be Clarissa of Clarissa Explains It All, otherwise known as the greatest TV show ever created for the preteen demographic (Hannah Montana can suck it). Clarissa rocked. She was smart, sassy, and had incredible style. Plus she had her own computer and a window seat in her bedroom. Here is a sampling of Melissa Joan Hart in her glory days:

Now, you would think that it would be depressing for me to see one of my childhood icons feeding at the bottom of the celebrity food chain by appearing on DWTS, but for some reason it feels oddly satisfying. Like my life has come full circle or something. So here’s hoping Melissa Joan will kick some Osmond butt and take home the trophy.

Anyone else care to weigh in on this oh-so-intellectually-stimulating topic?

*Oh, and just in case you missed the part where I became shamelessly addicted to a reality TV show, you can read all about it here.

30

For most of my young life, my relationship with my older sister was an unfortunate cliché. We fought. All. The. Freaking. Time. We argued over clothes, chores, the loyalty of our younger sister, etc. You name it, we probably had a screaming match about it at some point in time. We loved each other, we just didn’t like each other all that much.

But then we both grew up a little. And, against all odds, started not only tolerating but actually enjoying each other’s company. We found common ground in our distinctly Russian tastebuds (lox and bagel, anyone?), our love of movies that are so bad they are actually awesome (we’ve watched more ABC Family specials than I would like to admit), and a fondness for bargain shopping at Nordstrom Rack and the Park City outlet mall.

In many ways Elena has become like a second mother to me and the rest of our siblings. When she was first married, Smash and I often escaped whatever chaos was going on at the Preo house by going to Elena's apartment (much to the delight of my brother-in-law I’m sure). And even now, six years later, we still flock to her home regularly for either a good meal or a good laugh. We watched her do everything first: leave home, get married, buy a house, have kids. And she did it all with an unwavering sense of confidence and self-assurance, two qualities that absolutely define my sister.

Elena is someone that I often go to for advice because I know she will tell me exactly what she thinks, and not just what I want to hear. She isn’t afraid to tell me that a dress makes me look like I'm carrying twins, or that renovating an old house requires way more work and money than anyone tells you. She doesn’t sugarcoat and I love her for that (most of the time). She is someone in my life that challenges me, but is always there for me when I need it. She helped me strip wallpaper in an old smelly kitchen when she was five months pregnant, gave me countless haircuts and eyebrow waxes in her kitchen over the years, and guided me through many an emotional crisis. Her friendship has been one of the most pleasant surprises of my life, and I feel fortunate to have not one, but two sisters that I can call my closest friends.

Happy 30th birthday, Helen! I'm so glad you don't dump milkshakes on my head anymore.

Things-I-Love Thursday

A few years ago I went to a screening of The Go-Getter at the Sundance Film Festival. The movie was pretty forgettable- just your standard Sundance fare- but I will always remember it because it introduced me to the music of M Ward.

Man, I am absolutely in love with his voice. If you’ve never had the pleasure of hearing it, I have added four of his songs to my playlist (“Fuel for Fire” is my favorite). And, if you like what you hear, you can see him perform at the Gallivan Center tonight for FREE! Details here.

I will be there, along with around ten thousand other people reveling in the joy of free music and the chance to legally consume alcohol at an outdoor venue. So come prepared to squish and possibly get beer spilled on you multiple times. But that’s part of what makes concerts fun, right? Right…

I think I can safely blame this on the public education system

Although it’s been a couple of years since I got to partake in the glory that is summer vacation, my brain is still convinced that once temperatures climb above 90 degrees it is allowed to spend the next three months in a state of relative hibernation.

Seriously people. I am dumb as a rock these days. Which wouldn't be such a bad thing if I didn't normally put so much effort into trying to be smarter, but seeing my efforts go to waste is kind of frustrating. For example, I usually have a good handle on current events and the like, but lately every time I start reading anything remotely serious or technical, it usually dissolves into the whole “lights on, nobody’s home” phenomenon and I’ve just read through five pages of The New York Times without paying any real attention to them. Don’t even bother asking my opinion on the whole health care fiasco, Judge Sottomayor’s confirmation hearings, or any other topic that cannot be found in the Arts and Entertainment section of the newspaper. I will probably respond with a confused look and a profound “durrrr….”

Further evidence of my newfound stupidity includes the following:
1) Asking Mike the same questions over and over because I’ve forgotten the answer he gave me two minutes ago.
2) Needing to use the calculator on my cell phone to perform the most basic arithmetic (math has never been my strong suit, but it’s getting downright ridiculous).
3) Obsessively googling basic grammar rules that I am paid to know.

The one exception to my sad case of Seasonal Stupidity Disorder (SSD) is my choice of reading material. I think years of summer reading assignments for Honors and AP English classes conditioned me into thinking that it’s not summer unless I’m reading A Classic (i.e., something long, wordy, and usually depressing). This summer’s pick? Great Expectations. I’m interested to see how that will go.

Anyone else suffering from SSD?

Things-I-Love Thursday

I love a good bargain. I also have a childlike love for all things shiny. So when I found these ten-dollar beauties last week, I knew we would have a happy life together: Only despite all their shininess, these shoes still aren't as awesome as Dorothy's. I just clicked my heels three times and I'm still at the office.

Lame.

Yep, Definitely A Keeper

In case you hadn't already figured this out from earlier posts, my house is pretty old. Like built-in-the-70s-and-never-been-updated old. When we moved in, we remodeled most of the inside and essentially took five years off our lives in the process.

But the yard is a different story. It is a beast we haven’t had the guts to tackle in earnest just yet. Because the house was an estate sale, by the time we moved in it had been vacant for a year and a half and the yard resembled a jungle. We did a lot of trimming and pruning, but it still has quite the primitive feel to it. OK, maybe not so much primitive as completely white trash.

The only problem with pretending that if we just ignore the back yard it will magically re-landscape itself is the deck. Because we live in a split-entry home, the only way to access the backyard through the main floor of the house is by walking across a structure composed of lumber from the Nixon era held together by little more than a few rusty nails and some good kharma. It wouldn’t be an issue if the darn thing wasn’t suspended ten feet in the air, but as it is I have had to warn friends that by coming over to our place for a barbecue they are essentially taking their life into their own hands.

Mike and I had talked about re-building the deck sometime in the future, presumably after a small child fell through it and we were therefore morally obligated to, but it seemed pretty low on our list of priorities. So you can imagine my surprise when I came home and found this on the back patio:

Along with my husband and Father-in-Law hard at work constructing a new deck. I know most women swoon over coming home to bouquets of roses or boxes of chocolate, but my guess is that they have never smelled the intoxicating aroma of fresh lumber or experienced the simple joys of being a contractor’s wife.

Anna Marie Leppard

Welcome to the world, baby girl. It was great to finally meet you.

Congratulations to Mark and Helen on making such a beautiful little thing.

Things-I-Love Thursday

I first read through this talk by President Gordon B. Hinckley a few years ago, and it has since become one of my all-time favorites. Even if you are not a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I wholeheartedly recommend reading it. I think its message is pretty universal and relevant for everyone.

I have many flaws in my character, but the one I’m finding hardest to overcome is my tendency to criticize- to adopt a pessimistic attitude, dwell on the faults in others, and express my negative opinions in some form. Like most flaws we ourselves possess, this is one that is brought to my attention mostly when I notice it in others. I have realized lately how boring it is to be around people that always dwell on the negative, how taxing it can be to constantly hear demeaning gossip about family and friends, and how frustrating it is to see members of my faith disregard our most deeply-held beliefs by shamelessly criticizing one another.*

Although breaking this habit is probably going to be my equivalent of beating drug addiction, this talk inspires me to do it. Not only because of the quality of the address itself, but also because it brings back memories of President Hinckley- someone who, in my opinion, was the epitome of class.

President Hinckley was a man of superior intelligence (and one after my own heart- he majored in English at the U), who often quoted the likes of Shakespeare and Longfellow but spoke in a manner that was simple and straightforward. He was humorous and witty without resorting to sarcasm or cheap laughs at the expense of others. He constantly reminded people of their potential, of their ability to become better, but did so in a way that encouraged his audience instead of demeaning or belittling them.

I think President Hinckley must have seen many flaws in the world and in the membership of the LDS church, but, in a perfect example of practicing what you preach, chose to accentuate the positive. By doing so, he inspired and uplifted millions of people. To me he will always serve as an example of the power and dignity that accompany the simple act of choosing to be kind.


*Disclaimer: This post is NOT directed to any particular group or individual. These are all things I am guilty of doing as much as anyone else.

Buckle Up, Jazz Fans

Dear Carlos Boozer,

Let me tell you a little story: Once upon a time there was a lovely boy named Paul Millsap. For half of the Jazz’s season I happily watched him tear it up on the basketball court while you sat on the bench sporting your hideous designer suits and nasty diamond earrings. It was a wonderful time.

But then you came back. And oh, the horror. I once again had to start screaming curse words at the TV as I watched you stand motionless under the opposing team’s hoop while they dominated you. “For the love of all that is good and holy, play some defense!” I would scream. But apparently my plea fell on deaf ears.

I didn’t let myself get too worked up about it, though, because I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. You are quite the little whiner, you see, and had made it pretty clear that you wanted to leave the Jazz. So I patiently waited for the news that you would take off for your beloved Miami and we would be rid of your hideous “And One!” scream forever. Of course, I knew there was a possibility that Jazz management might just be stupid enough to keep you, but I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

Then last night Husband informed me of this news: http://www.ksl.com/index.php?nid=304&sid=7002123
And I almost cried a little. Because if the Jazz have to get rid of Millsap so they can keep paying you the big bucks to do absolutely nothing, then I might just have to boycott this next season. So the moral of the story is this: You suck and I am very angry with you.

Oh, and do you remember that time Ronnie Price totally owned your trash?



Yeah, me too.

Wishing you another injury,
Dasha