.

BYU Housing - Contract for Sale

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 20:53:00 +0000

These are pictures to show the bedroom with the contract I have for sale. If you're interested or have questions, please email me at HannahMarieC@gmail.com. Or call/text me at (435) 881 8518

Private bed and bath.
Fully furnished and decorations can stay or be stored.
Personal covered parking spot comes with contract.
Large storage is also available.
5 minute walking distance to BYU campus.
Contract only lasts till mid April.
The roommates are the best you could ever ask for. They are probably the number one reason to buy it.

$325/month - no deposit needed.

Teeny-Bopper Blog Issues!

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 23:09:00 +0000

Forgive me. My blog is still in its teen years and trying to find itself. OR its still a Utah County Provo dwelling resident that can't decide if it wants to claim "artsy" or not. Both are equivalent descriptions of the explanation I owe you on why my blog is poorly formatted. We'll get it right soon.
And now I'm off to the gallery stroll. yay yay, i know.

It's Time For...Smatchoo!? This Ain't No Fool's Gold.

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 20:56:00 +0000

The thrifty love birds are still going strong. Calling each of their six kids three times a day while on the road and mapping out all the hidden treasures of East Texas together. Really living the dream.
Here’s a little gem I wrote down from these two while riding in the back seat as they design an East Texas Tourism Map ….

Dad: “Diana, write down that I am officially lost. “
Mom: “Okay.”
Beginning to jot that down…
“Tucker, what day is it?”

My thoughts in the backseat: ‘I’m glad you two were at least able to find each other.
Being clueless but with the one you love – not bad a
way to get lost.’

Here's some of their latest eBay items.

DRAWING PENS $29
25 LBS OLD TOOLS $19

VERY OLD BASEBALL GLOVE TO PUERTO RICO $20
16MM FILM EDITING EQUIPMENT $80

1959 CADILLAC PARK LIGHTS LENSES $100

1959 CADILLAC EMBLEM, (ABOUT 1 INCH WIDE) $75

ANNIVERSARY CLOCK TO MALAYSIA $75 (COST the Parents $5)

1959 CADILLAC WINDSHIELD WIPERS $20

$1 GLOBE BANK SOLD FOR $12

ELECTRIC STAPLER $100 (Parents PAID $3 FOR IT)

STERLING SILVER THIMBLE TO AUSTRALIA $15

NEEDLESTITCH CRAFT PROJECT $5... CHA CHING!

8 LBS JEWELRY $17

LETTERING SENT TO SPAIN $177

1950S DAZEY CAN OPENER $10

TELEPHONE DIALER $5 (I kinda wanted that.)

Leaving the ninety and nine...

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Sat, 23 May 2009 07:39:00 +0000

...to find the one.

My poor lost lamb is on the wrong side of the train tracks but I'll do what it takes.

I received this latest ransom note wrapped and tied around a large rock... but not thrown through my window. They instead decided to just walk up the stairs and leave it on the door...

Answering their demands, I sacraficed cookes, $2.75 in state quarters, one tube of unused chapstick, and I threw in some floss. I dropped off the ziplock baggies at the Daily Herald which should have been the Daily Universe. I was confused under such trauma, I guess.

I'm beginning to think they really just wanted some thrills out of being publicly recognized on the blog. Smatchoo Sheep-nappers. That, or their mamas didn't love'em.

Shepherd's Pie

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Fri, 22 May 2009 20:49:00 +0000

This was the third ransom note and tormenting picture sent to me. Their version of Shepherd's Pie.

Hannah Had a Little Lamb

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Tue, 19 May 2009 18:25:00 +0000

...or at least I had its skin anways.

Returning home from Georgia, I walked into my bedroom, expecting to step onto my soft sheep skin rug, but instead felt a cold thin crackling piece of paper at my feet.

It read:

Written over a printed photo of my sheep laying on somebody else's carpet. The horror.

Then a few days later, I received another ransom note with my sheep being held above the toilet. A boy coodie invested apratment no doubt.

I'll find you my little sheep - if my name ain't Bo Peep. But in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy Paul McCartney's rendition of my great loss.

Tell Gomer We Said Happy Birthday.

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 04:26:00 +0000

Every year, sometimes starting in September, we receive emails, voicemails, oddly timed reminders -all of which are to announce that... April 13th is my Dad’s birthday. These reminders… come from him. The emails will have pictures of classic cars, Hershey candy bars and cash. It tells us to forward this to all our friends and put our money together and send any of the following. Then in a huge font is his address and phone number. Then an added note that reads:
“please no sweaters.”

And every year, we make this phone call…. (I speak for all 6 children when I write this.)

calling... ring ring

he picks up

Dad: Tucker Conley Birthday headquarters.

Kid: So Dad. The birthday’s comin up, what c-

(Interrupts)

Dad: a 1965 mustang convertible.
Kid: well-

(Interjecting again)

Dad: “Or any convertible. And a Hershey bar. With almonds.”

We laugh and yada yada and

Kid: so really. what can we get for –“
Dad: No really a convertible. That’s it. And some chocolate. Or a million dollars. And no model toy cars. That's cheating. Want to talk to your Mom? Diana!!!! (yelling for her while you haven’t even answered the question)
Mom: Hi honey. (but probably doesn’t even know which child it is yet.)
Dad: So Diana, the kids are getting me a 1959 Cadilliac convertible for my birthday. I can’t wait! (click)
Kid: Mom? You still there?
Mom: yes honey. He put down the phone and is doing something else now.

(sigh)

I want you all to know that never. Not ever. Has Tucker Conley ever answered this question using any other words. Never has he given a different answer. And while you start to plead with him that this be the year that you get a some other ideas, he passes the phone on to my Mom.

Kid: well I guess you know that we’re not getting him a Mustang or Cadillac convertible.
Mom: uh, yes. I wouldn’t worry about it. (not an ounce of frustration in her voice.)

Kid: Do you know what we could get for his birthday?
Mom: Well. Let’s see. (she’s thinking)…………. Oh I know! (Her voice crescendos as if it’s really the perfect idea). He could really use some socks!

Great idea Mom. Thanks for both your help.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Hello Again

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 00:07:00 +0000

What have I been doing in the place of writing smatchoos? Well...

I built a swing.
Not like it was hard or anything. Because I just told some boys to do it. I have great Home Teachers. And the board for the swing, was a Christmas gift in 1997 from my Dad. He made it so you can take it on and off the rope and has a hand painted poem, "The Swing" written on it that he also recites time to time. (swapping verses and lines with my Mom of course.)

We always had a really great swing growing up. Texas pine trees are perfect for them. But I did the best I could do with the trees we got here in Utah, outside my house.

Dad, Caroline, me and Marianna on our swing.

Also, I have started my bike project. I need to get this painted and ready for summer. I'll show you the finished project in a week or so. Its going from blue to buttterscotch yellow.

I'll be getting back to blogging soon. But just know that I've been having a great time. Lots of good posts to come.

My Mama's Cornbread. Smatchoo? eat dat!

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 20:48:00 +0000

My Dad loves to tell us when Mom burns something. We'll usually get some old jokes out of it and some new ones. And since us kids aren't home anymore to get to hear it, he skypes me while holding this cornbread pan (asking me i fI can tell what it is) and then later sends the folowing email:

Forget-Me-Not-Cornbread Recipe

Mix some corn meal with some flour and some eggs and stir until the phone rings. (new joke)Add some salt, butter, baking soda, baking powder, (grease the pan), vegetable oil, a little sweet milk, and a pinch of buttermilk, and some sugar and a spoonful of honey or molasses and a squirt of WD-40.(old joke) (chopped onions optional).Preheat the oven to 4500 degrees. (old joke) Mark down what day it is on your kitchen calendar. (new joke) Open the windows, take the batteries out of the smoke alarm (might be new) and then don't "forget" to take the cornbread out of the oven about 3 or 4 days later, depending on taste...and voila! Forget-Me-Not Cornbread!
I could only take a picture of one below because the others were snatched up by our guests.

And then he proceeded to take pictures and made sure he had a good background color for it and everything.

(there's a piece of cornbread in the middle incinerator. (old joke) When the cornbread turns the same color as the skillet, it's ready). (old joke, but still love it.) Also known as "blackened" cornbread. (sounds familiar, but not for sure)

Remove the cornbread from the skillet for cooling. One story on the origin of Forget-Me-Not Cornbread is that the request was for cornbread sticks, but the cook thought they said "bricks". Probably a rural myth like the hushpuppy story.

Can you find the cornbread in this photo? (Yes. that's right. He keeps going. He goes to get his rocks that he collects. Rocks that he brought home from our family vacation at Lake Powell in the station wagon that already had 6 kids, two trunks on top, magnetic chess sets and a large electronic keyboard. And no, I'm not kidding. But remember, we're making fun of Mom here. not him.)

Fifty percent of the taste is in the presentation. Here we have a vintage piece of Fiesta with a Stanley Chisel, a Wiley Coyote (Looney Tune reference... normal) ACME Pistol Grip Hack Saw and a Tru-Temper Steel handle claw peen hammer with rubber grip. Some prefer the classic wooden mallet with the chisel. And others take the cornbread out to the shop where they make good use of the bench grinder and drill press and vise and 36-inch pipe wrench. Bon appetite, y'all!

Everything you see here, except for the cornbread - came from Flinn's junkyard and probably has been posted on ebay.

And the real story, so that Mom doesn't feel bad...

Actually, Diana and Daniel made some great gumbo a few nights ago and lots of perfect cornbread sticks, but in the excitement of entertaining our neighbors, a few extra sticks/bricks were left in the oven longer than was needed.

This too shall pass

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 08:00:00 +0000

I just had to pursue other interest than blogging for a little while, but don't worry, I have lots of posts just waiting to get picked.

So the mini Cadbury eggs are in stores again. I bought two bags. And I ate two bags. And while holding one bag in my hand walking past the mirror - I realized that I was a walking oxymoron.

Skinny jeans + Cadbury eggs = oxymoronic me.

Smatchoo to myself.
Wear wide leg till Cadbury egg season passes.
And while sitting at my cubicle, I looked down at my lap and noticed the tightness of my skinny jeans was at least keeping my thighs somewhat gathered. 'Ohhh. This too shall pass,' I thought. Just get those Cadbury eggs out of the store.'

Its gonna be okay girls. Just like that awkward 14 year old stage. Its only for a short time.
Enjojy it.

Hey Fam,

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 01:11:00 +0000

Remember Dad's Valentine Story? Resold and made the front page of the Salt Lake Tribune for Valentine's Day in '98. Pretty funny and clever, Dad. But our favorite part is the last paragraph that you have a hard time reading aloud because all the jokes stop and its all about Mom.

Forgive me on this V-Day for not nurturing all my textual relationships.

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 23:41:00 +0000

Warning. This is a sappy V-Day post. And for those of you who cannot handle a sappy post, I have provided a clip from Lonesome Dove in the lower right hand corner.

Okay, so I was thinking today… ‘How could technology really help me?’

I need a counting code placed into my brain’s html source for all the times I think of calling/texting/g-chatting/facebooking/emailing/poking? – whatever certain person I should be. And then have that number sent out through air waves to this person’s brain chip, email, blackberry, iphonepod whatever. And this number should count for all the things I wish I had time to say. “Zero zero zero nine hundred sevent-two I thought of yous.” Feel loved already okay?

“00972 thoughts that Hannah has had to contact you…. But she still hasn’t because she’s weird like that.” And she feels real bad and hopes that people aren’t mad when they see that I took the time to post on my silly blog and not the time to text Happy Valentine’s Day. 'Hannah thinks she's so popyalar!' I know. right.

heartless people, enjoy the clip. And for more contradictory posts such as this, visit the Dancing Spiderman.

The Missing Digit That Said I l?ve you.

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 07:31:00 +0000

It’s true that Argentina was dreamy and magical, but it was also a time of deep reflection for me. And I was actually happy to be feeling away. But sometimes my thoughts needed to be said aloud and preferably in English. I ended up calling my parents more than expected for someone who considers themselves quite independent and not easily homesick. Usually at odd hours of the night, dialing 001 903 ……

“Hi, its me.”

“Let us call you right back so it’s on our bill.”

“k, thanks. “ click

Ring Ring.

“Hi.”

“Hi, how ya doin and how’s the Spanish?”

This was the beginning of a many great and comforting conversations with my parents. They let me talk out my 2007 realizations and I was becoming better for it.

The minutes passed but I was always the one to say, ”I’m good now. Thanks. Goodnight.”
And then I’d wake up again to Argentine opera music and Christinia painting in the kitchen, which was also quite soothing in a non conversationalist sort of way.

Returning home, I found ways to interject my experiences from Argentina in most all conversations. My bewitchment of it was apparent. While telling stories to my parents, I remembered,

“Did you get the phone bill from my calls?”

My Dad was staring into his Mac screen and my Mom was eBay packaging. Neither one looked up or answered. The silence made me unsure if either one had been listening.
Then right at the moment that the delayed response would have made me ask again, my Dad spoke up,

“Fifty dollars.”

‘Fifty. Not bad,’ I thought.

I let it put me at ease and went on talking, Argentina this and that.

Sometime later when I was visiting home again, I went into the office to use my mother’s computer. A system of bookkeeping and very important papers lined her rectangular work space. I sat down and read a paper off to the side. It was from a phone company and dated for the months I was in Buenos Aires. First noticing the all caps, ‘TOTAL:’ in the lower right corner, my attention zeroed in on what was missing from the 'fifty' they had told me earlier. Pun intended.

And it was in a decimal place that counted.

But its value was not because it was in the ten’s place.
Its greatest value was in the fact that it was missing. And that it was my parent’s secret.
But I knew where it was. It was the missing digit that said,
I L-0-ve you.

Thanks ya'll and Happy Valentine's Day to my fam!

Automatic songs for today are Main Theme from Notebook (so you can appropriately weep while reading.) And then Stevie wonder, I Just Called To Say I Love You.

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 00:37:00 +0000

May we never complain for feeling under appreciated.

This is a serious smatchoo post. It may be the big kahuna smatchoo of all smatchoos.

Irena Sendler, was a member of Zegota, a Polish underground organization formed to aid Jews in escaping the fates of the Holocaust.

Irena, by the circumstance of her race and position in Warsaw, Poland was safe from Nazi persecution. But she risked her life to save an estimated 2,500 Jewish children from death.

While working for the Social Welfare Department, Irena had permission to enter Warsaw’s ghetto to check for signs of disease or other sanitary issues that Nazi’s were afraid could cause on outbreak beyond the ghetto. With each visit, she disguised children as packages, or hid them in coffins or potato sacks to bring them to Polish families until they could be reunited with their Jewish family members. Irena also trained dogs to bark to cover children’s cries from German guards. The names and secret identities of her saved were placed in jars that she kept buried until after the war so she could continue her work in reuniting families.

A year after working under Zegota, Irena was arrested by the Gestapo and they broke her arms and legs because of the information she withheld from the Nazi’s. Given the choice to save her life, she refused and was sentenced to execution.

But because of the very nature of Hitler’s men, the executioners were able to be bribed to spare her life. Left beaten in the woods and then kept in hiding for the remainder of the war, Irena dug up her jars of names and began tracing their blood relatives.

A year before Irena died in May of 2008, she was nominated for the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize.

She lost.

To Al Gore’s presentation on global warming.

So that every syllable rings clear in your ear, What is the matter with you, Politics?

But I doubt Al Gore will ever get A Righteous Among the Nations Award, which Irena did receive some years before.

Rain Drops on Roses and ...Salvation?

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 06:33:00 +0000

Here’s a little taste of single’s ward sacrament meeting today.

She’s trying to get the words to describe a feeling almost indescribable. And that's difficult times ten, when you’re in the spotlight. And she’s been silent now for a minute which probably seems a lot longer in such public speaking settings. She finally gave up and just let the words come out,

“Ugh! “(the giving up sigh)

“The atonement is just one of my favorite things!”

'Okay Julie Andrews.'

I held in the laughter and contemplated what I would want to say to her after. Like,

“No way! Me too! Avoiding damnation is like in my fave five!”

I mean, as long as we're talking about salvation as if it's a daisy, skinny jeans, 2004 Jetta or brown paper packages tied up with string. Might as well add atonement to my top 8 on My Space.

Rain drops on roses, whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens... and no Redemption? Julie, Some Nun you are!

Okay, that's it. I'm creating a Facebook fan page....

Salvation

Watch for your news feed...

Hannah Conley is now a fan of salvation.

'Cuz she wasn't before?'

Smatchoo and Amen to that sista!

Facebook - Decreasing Stranger Danger One Friend at a Time

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Thu, 05 Feb 2009 22:13:00 +0000

I'm going to write in real Blog style today.

Ah! K, So the weirdest slash coolest thing happen to me today!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was like going for a jog Saturday morning and was just about to the doors of Guru’s on Center street just here in P-Town.

And this guy walks out and there was a slight run-in but nothing catastrophic. I made eye contact with the stranger so I could do one of those ‘excuse me’ nods but not have to say it out loud cuz I’m already out of breath . And then we both seem to do a double take. Not because of love at first sight attraction, I mean I'm jogging here, but because I somehow KNEW the stranger but didn’t. And he was having those same thoughts too! Don’t ask me how I knew, I just have good girlie vibes sometimes…. SOMEtimes. So of course all of this has happened within seconds and I have resumed jogging with my back toward him and I felt like he was still bothered by how we knew each other. (the vibes again)

Jogging up and down I was thinking thinking thinking…..'huff huff' out of breath …

‘Ah! how embarrassing!’

I caught on to how we recognized each other.

‘Should I tell him in case he didn’t know???’

I twisted my torso around and saw he was still watching me run away while trying to figure it out too.

So I yelled back,

“Facebook! “

He yelled back,

“Yes! THANK you!”

“We’re Soooo Creepy!”

And to think soemone the other day was saying how careful we all need to be on facebook. But really, the creepiness of it all had just made my jogging experience safer - in a way. You know. Cuz I wouldn't have had to yell, 'Stranger Danger!!'
With the amazing networking of facebook, And if he HAD attacked me. I could have said,

"I will tell your mother on facebook buddy. So just back off."

I think I'll wear this jogging next time.
And no, its not about getting over a thousand friends. It's about being safe out there! Gosh add people - peoplllle!

Not That I'm bragging. But I climbed a crane.

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 02:07:00 +0000

New York Contruction men sitting on a crossbeam to eat lunch.

Taken in 1932 by Charles C. Ebbets

(I don't think these guys would be very impressed with my claim to fame. But I'm going to tell it anyways.)

So I’ve heard that the brain’s reasoning and decision making skills do not fully develop until the age of 21 or so.
I think I can support this theory.

I climbed a crane.

There’s a large crane that can be seen just right off of University Avenue and 200 North in Provo. No, I didn’t climb THIS crane. But seeing this one every time I walk in and out of work reminds me… ‘Hannah, your IQ has come a long way. ‘

But this crane does happen to look a lot like the crane that was on Utah State campus while building the new library in January 2004. And THAT is the one I climbed. I was nineteen. Two years short of being able to make the decision, “ I should not climb any cranes.” My parents forgot to instill that rule in me I guess. I'll blame them for such brainless behavior. Add it to the list of many Hannah misconceptions starting with:
Hooters is not a football team.

How do you get from being safe on the ground to the point of being hundreds of feet in the air with no ropes or nets to catch your fall? Let’s analyze my nineteen year old self…
What was important to me then?

1. Having my hair done (my roommates will attest to this)
2. Collecting all the music that I loved.
3. Trying to pull off smart in a scientific way (I was a dietetics major when my strengths were clearly elsewhere – art, philosophy, writing and such)
4. Attempting to be athletic and sporty (hence I took a snowboarding class and ended up dating my instructor. Haha! Thanks but no thanks. I know. Right. That’s like the equivalent of a guy saying he dated his French teacher.)
5. Dressing the best at 80’s dances.
6. Avoiding Walk and Talk at ward prayer… and

7. What I was going to do the next weekend.

So as you see, avoiding death was not on my list. It didn’t make the cut. And I think the fourth reason down about trying to be athletic may have been what triggered,

‘Climbing a crane is important to me.’

Or ‘The comments about my hair always being curled could finally be less creditable. Prissy girls don’t climb cranes in negative 10 temperatures. Prissy girls don’t climb cranes - period.’
Dont ask questions. This is all the explanation I can offer to you.

The intelligent warnings in me to not do it were but milliseconds long and easy to ignore. And even easier the more I ignored them. They were as small but as many as orange sparks flying from a campfire. You know what I’m talking about.

The construction site was fenced off with a sign 'PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING.' and a trailer with one light on. It was 1:30 in the AM. There was six of us that decided to climb. Leaving one smart person on the ground – Jeni Smith Baxter. She was our lookout.

Since being quiet was such a factor for not getting caught we said that we’d have to go up one at a time and then send the next person after a few feet up so that we were staggered out on the ladder. (Trying to make smart decisions within a dumb one doesn’t reverse the fact that the first one is still dumb.)

I was the fifth to go up.

The ladder goes up about 15 feet and then you reach a platform. No walls. Just an iron criss crossed floor that allows you to see below. And then you walk on this to go to the next ladder which is now on the other side. As you climb, your back faces the direction of the inside of the tower (so that was nice). Haha .The platform could catch your fall as long you aim yourself at it and hopefully the overlaying sheets of ice would not send you sliding off the edge. After all it IS January - in Logan - in the middle of the night.

I had reached three platforms when I noticed the ice around the bars was getting thicker. I was half way to the next platform but I was getting a funny feeling in my fingers – hmmm. Something I hadn't thought about while on the ground. My gloves were just the thin knitted gloves you buy at Wal-Mart.

They didn’t feel like they were grabbing on as good anymore. So I wrapped my arms around the bars so that I could give my fingers a break from being on the ice and took off my gloves and stuck my fingers in my mouth to warm them up. It stung.
I didn’t know if my imagination was getting the better of me or not … but suddenly and without a real choice to do so, I was having vivid thoughts about my grandparents who had passed away in the past few years. I couldn’t stop thinking about them as my arms were wrapped around the icy iron.

‘Are they here, like angels in the movie heart and soul?'

I couldn’t be sure, but for some reason, I did know ….’Grandma and Grandpa are angry.’ …..and I was going to hear about it later. Maybe after I fell and died. I remember deciding that now was a good time to reflect and repent.

‘I’m sorry I don’t like FHE. I will try harder.’
‘I’m sorry I lied to that boy because I didn’t want to go on walk and talk to Aggie ice cream.’
‘I’m sorry I said my Russian professor was a commie.’
Oh and I’m sorry for calling Tanya Hanks - "Tanya Skanks" – just because it rhymes doesn’t make it true. – But maybe possibly.
'There. I'm good to go. ' I dried off my saliva drenched fingers and kept climbing.

I reached the point that the crane's beam intersected with the tower and by now I was about as pure as the day I was baptized. I was hoping to get beamed up to heaven because I did not want to go back down.

We took our time up there, had spitting lessons and then spitting contests. I lost.
We could see the top of the business building on campus. (The tallest building in Logan. Woewah. )

Business Building on Utah State Campus. The crane was to the left of this view.

Logan’s mountiains did look overwhelmingly majestic. The snow capped peaks were strongly contrasting the black sky. They were more noticeable now than they were when the sun was shining. I felt parallel with them and could look straight on without paying attention to the city below. If anything, my crane adventure had offered me new perspecitves. Mainly the perspective on how much we under estimate God. Or maybe this was me trying to get brownie points while praying that I not die on the way down.

k, so I climbed down. No broken bones. Proud and a part of me was sad that we didn't get caught and chased over the fence. You know, because you always say that AFTER the fact.

The next morning I did my hair with remewed pride in feminity. With every wrap around the curling iron I was foreseeing my anticiapted, “Not that I'm bragging, but I climbed a crane last night. What did you do?”

The Boy is Yours!

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 05:59:00 +0000

She thought I was a home wrecker. I tried to explain,

“No, ya see… I was bored. And when the idea came to my head I didn’t have time to stop the words from coming out. It’s been a problem my whole life and I’m sorry. I don’t even know who he is. I promise. He’s all yours.”

She wanted to believe me but she had this slight reserve in her face that said, ‘I’m still suspicious.’

You’re probably wondering , ‘What hussie thing did you do , Hannah?’

t was not bad AT ALL! It was more like a Wholesome Hussie thing to do. I’ll explain.

So we’re sitting in Relief Society ( I know. Relief Society. You're already disappointed) and I’m just slumped in my chair because it’s the same room for Sunday school right before this and I was just feeling a little mundane. And sometimes with feeling mundane… total apathy accompanies it and there’s no telling what you’ll do to get out of it. Boredom and apathy can be a scary combo – especially at church.

So the stage seating is getting packed with girls and we’re about ready to start Relief Society. First there’s announcements, a song, a prayer, a second set of announcements that missed the first go round, then good news minute and a welcoming of any new members or visitors.
My attention span was hanging on by a thread and I don’t think I had even had the ambition this time to move my head around to look at each person as they announced themselves as ‘new or visitor’. (Usually I’m not so anti –social, it was just an off –day I tell ya) But selectively, my ears caught this,

“Oh you’re just visiting today but not in our ward?”

“No I’ll just be here every now and then.”
Her friend speaks up and says, “She’s engaged!”

(audience gasps)

“Oh you’re engaged to someone in our ward? Who is he?”

“Stephen Oswell”

ME: “Dang it!” (Really really loudly, might I add)

And then we all laughed, like I was hoping they would.

Except for - the fiancé.

Actually, except for the majority of the small corner she was sitting in. The laughing people versus non laughing people was almost like setting their group apart as a gang or “the cool girls’ lunch table.” And I had gone from being invisible to quite a high profile. I was feeling very noticed.

I turned my head to smile back at them as if to say, ‘Jay Kay. Jay kay. You may laugh out loud.’ But she was not havin it.
She was still trying to decide if this was something to be on defense about.

I felt bad, but assumed that someone who was sitting within talking range of her would explain that it was meant to be funny.

‘Aw well. ‘ I thought. The class went on, we sang the closing song, we gave the prayer and I was out of there. I had already forgotten about my home wrecking comment and I was off to a meeting . The bishop was a little late coming in and then he asked during the meeting,

“Hannah , do you know Stephen Oswell?”

Respoding quickly, “Me?! No, I really don’t. I promise. I don’t even know who he is.”

That was all he asked. Thank goodness.

I was hesitant the rest of the meeting. I knew that I would have to talk to that girl and tell her that I didn’t even know that a Stephen Oswell was in our ward. Ugh. So much for trying to spice up my Sabbath. This girl was probably a whole five fingers younger than me and I’d have prove to her that some graduated girl living in Provo but not in school anymore was NOT trying to steal anyone’s guy. Does anyone have any ideas on how to prove that in dignified words? Me neither. You just have to take it in stride my friends.

Side note: At anytime you tell someone that you live in Provo, but don’t go to BYU, they will sentence you to a silently understood verdict, ‘she’s out to find a husband.’

Don’t even try to tell them, “I got a job here… I have family here…. uh I'm still here because the economy is bad??“ Nope. You are wasting your time. The judgment has been made and the smirk on their face is irreversible. And ya know, maybe that’s the graduated Provo dweller’s own fault. I just don’t know anymore. Because those two things define you now. The ceiling is LOW, and it is hard to break.

Back to the story.

I find her. I tell her. But as you first read, it didn’t go THAT well.
A few weeks later, I’m at an apartment and a guy walks in and we get introduced.

“Stephen this is Hannah.” I had forgotten.. but he hadn’t.

Exhausted sounding, he asked, “ Are you the one who talked to my fiancé about not even knowing who I am?”

Digging my finger tips into my eye sockets, “I am SO sorry.”

The automatic song for today: The Girl Is Mine - Michael Jackson

Correction! Kathleen (a more modern day pop culturist) has enlightened me greatly! I knew there was a song that was better for this but I thought it was by Mariah Carey and finally gave up on trying to find it and just used Michael Jacksons. But clearly,, this one is MUCH more fitting.

The Boy is Mine - Brandy and Monica

Gone to Texas for a little while...

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 05:26:00 +0000

Hannah's goin back to Texas for a little while and I think I'll go see Gladys...

Me and my sister, Melissa have just been crackin up at this tonight.

How was YOUR weekend?

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 07:06:00 +0000

Probably the best weekend ever.
It went like this.

A knock at the door…
Hey, there’s a …
Yea, we might come just after this movie.

Movie ends. Put in movie number two.

A knock at the door.
Silence.
Knock knock.

……………..
KNOCK KNOCK!
come in.

do yall wanna….?
Uh. ..we might. Maybe in a little bit.

11:30 pm.
Movie number three.
Knock Knock.
Are you still coming?
Maybe.

And as Penny would say. "You guys are so NAST."

(No Rich. Not becuase we're messy. Because we ate a whole chocolate cake in on night. by ourselves.)

Also, I just love that both our phones are sitting there... as if we were going to use them.

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 18:21:00 +0000

My new excuse for still being here in Provo.

Uh hum….ready?

The economy is bad.

automatic song for today: Mercy Mercy Me - by Marvin Gaye

You the Spittn' image of..

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 01:56:00 +0000

Everyone's always tellin me who I look like. Its a weekly occurrence. But I guess its true. Here's my research.

Dad

Me, as a happy two year old. Such an angel. I know.
My niece, Tabitha.

My niece, Sarah
Mischievous me

Sarah

And unfortunatley, quite frequently I get ... Celine Dion.

Yipee.

I'd rather it be Natalie Portman or something, but whatever.

My Little Girl Worry

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 21:47:00 +0000

So the economy’s got us in a frenzy. My friends and I were talkin ‘bout it over lunch the other day. But I just thought,
‘We’re adults. Blah. How did our worries and our conversations get so boring?’

You know adults always think,
‘What does a kid have to worry about. Not a care in the world. ‘

But that isn’t true. My concerns as a kid were real and much more interesting.
Sifting through my 1991 memories folder – ah. here it is. The number one worry of my little girl childhood.

And it’s legit.

I’d be watching an old movie that my media conscious parents set me down in front of, because whether or not it was Marilyn Monroe seducing Tony Curtis on screen or Fred and Ginger doing a tap dance – black and white meant, “Totally fine. This’ll give you culture.” And it did. Thanks.
But everytime I saw one of those on screen kisses..

Gidgit and Moon Doggie
Tammy and The Bachelor
Jimmy Stewart. Kathryn Hepburn.
Cary Grant and whatever woman he had at the time…

I just sent up a silent prayer saying,

“Oh please, Can I just get kissed like that before The Second Coming?”

I was always thinking,

‘I’ve got to hurry and grow up before the world ends and we all become saints! How boring!”

And at family prayer – forget that. I was sayin my own in secret. I’d always throw in a ,

“If you could let me grow up in time… that would be nice. But if not. I understand. “

Cleary I misunderstood a lot of things about the Second Coming as seven year old. I’m sure my Primary teachers did the best they could. But little did they know that while trying to teach me salvation, all I could worry about was getting to be the leading lady to a leading man – just once.
But whenever I thought about turning sixteen (the allowed age of dating) ...which was another NINE years away and more than double what my life span had been ... I just thought,

‘Oh dear, this’ll all be over by then and I’m never gonna get a chance to be old enough to get kissed like Betty Grable.’

And it didn’t help that I knew that the year I turned sixteen, would be that futuristic sounding TWO ZERO ZERO ZERO. There was something scary about that and Y2K had not even been made up yet.

I just knew that by the time we were writing a bunch of zeros…. That was gonna be it. We’d all be like the Jetsons and I would miss out on all the good classic romance. That - or we’d all be too angelic to do any romantic beach parties – Gidget. Sheesh. Sandra Dee played dumb as a door nail now that I think about it. But it seemed to work for her.

So smatchoo economy! We don’t care. We’ve got better stuff to worry about. Let’s give our adult lives a break. What little person worries did you have?

Comment and tell me. It just might make our day.

All the good On Screen Kissing happened before all these ZEROs. Watch.

The end of the song says, "You better get it while you can baby"...Cuz we're all about to get beamed up to heaven. Well... some of us.

Pencil Skirt Project Aborted

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 07:52:00 +0000

You know when you’ve got an idea or a plan and as the peak of genius is almost there – you get learned.

My thoughts:

‘Finally its Sunday. I should look forward to this for more humble reasons, but sometimes that bores me. So I’ll just admit to myself, I’m excited because I get to wear my new pencil skirt. It’s definitely a subtle way of looking too good for church.'

The tactic, or my “project” was to look like an intelligent girl that can’t help but look this sassy. So sue me Relief Society Prez. The gurl can’t help it.
So good in fact, that no one will say it because it will be embarrassingly obvious.
So I walk up the stairs to Sunday school in my black suede heels...

“New dress? It's nice.“

“What. “ – ‘ugh, thanks’

“I just said you look nice.”

“Yea, I heard. “ ‘gee whiz kid, don’t ‘you read my blog?’ Wait. NOT EVERYONE reads your blog, Hannah. You have got to stop thinking that. Well if he did, he’d know that….’

And then she walked by.

He said nothing to her. In turn giving her the better compliment because he was too stunned to speak.

A grey pencil skirt from Express. Just like mine. But not.

She had it fitted so that there were stretch ripples where the hip joint met her torso. And the same slit that I had in my skirt was actually serving her a purpose as she walked.

I learned that this slit is helpful because the skirt is suppose to be tight, and when walking it gives you room to stride while you strut. Slit stride strut - genius engineering.

Just like a little girl with my toes turned in, I looked down and for the first time realized that my skirt looked like a rectangle. No ripples at the hip joint. As straight as a line could be. And one worthless slit in the back.
‘Ugh. Pencil Skirt Project Aborted. ‘
I had been blown out of the water. A woman’s silent war. If it had been a cartoon I would have pulled out a white flag from my purse and waved it above my head. But I didn't have to because it said it all when my Relief Society President said, "Oh that's cute." Oh how I failed.

I came home and bitterly threw that thing in dryer.

Then just to test it before my blind arrogance got away with me a second time, I held the slit together with one hand while turning my neck to watch myself walk away from the full length mirror. Unfortunately, I had zero trouble putting one foot in front of the other. ‘I need restricted stride,' I thought.

So I cut out a picture of a Victoria Secret Model wearing a similar outfit, stuck that sorry skirt in a bag and drove to the Eurpopean Taylor’s on Unitversity Avenue.

I walked in to see some white purple transparent hairdo poking up over a counter.

I was afraid of this. But I proceeded anyways.

I held up my bag over the counter in one hand with the Victoria Secret clipping in the other and said, “ I need THIS, to look like THIS. On ME. Can you do that?”
She stood up, looked me over head to toe with squinty eyes. And when I noticed she was almost my same height, I realized what a Tall order I was asking.
“Just try.”, I said.

Do You Realize It is 2009?

hannahmariec@gmail.com (Hane-nahMarie) — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 02:36:00 +0000

Two zero zero eight.
Went by in a blink.

I almost get anxiety about how careful I need to be with every minute of my day. Trying to do all that I want to do, get good at all that I want to be good at, and spend all the time I can get with all the people I love.

How do I post in time before this New’s Year’s party to tell you all the changes that have happened. So I’ll just say,

“Here’s to all the realizations of 2008 that made me happier than I ever realized could and to all the realizations and changes I’ll have in 2009 that will yet again surprise me."

I decided that my song for bringing in the New Year will be Do You Realize by the Flaming Lips.

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face

Do You Realize - we're floating in space -

Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry

Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know

You realize that life goes fast

It's hard to make the good things last

You realize the sun doesn't go down

It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

I’m not as intrigued by the philosophy of this song as I am its catchy tune.
But I am intrigued by this.

In October 2008 from talks, “Finding Joy in the Journey” and “Untill We Meet Again”, President Monson of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints said,

“I begin by mentioning one of the most inevitable aspects of our lives here upon the earth, and that is change. At one time or another we’ve all heard some form of the familiar adage: “Nothing is as constant as change.”Throughout our lives, we must deal with change…

This is our one and only chance at mortal life—here and now. The longer we live, the greater is our realization that it is brief. Opportunities come, and then they are gone. I believe that among the
greatest lessons we are to learn in this short sojourn upon the earth are lessons that help us distinguish between what is important and what is not. I plead with you not to let those most important things pass you by as you plan for that illusive and non-existent future when you will have time to do all that you want to do. Instead, find joy in the journey—now.
“My Sincere prayer is that we may adapt to the changes in our lives, that we may realize what is most important, that we may express our gratitude always and thus find joy in the journey. “
Code for: "Smatchoo! Make your life extraordinary!
Have a great 2009!
Go HERE, to hear Presidnet Monson's "finding Joy in the Journey"