A thing from Minneapolis

Introducing The New Sustainable Dani

I put my sandwiches and grapes in tupperware instead of plastic baggies, and I tell Seth we will not be buying an SUV anytime soon.

So? What do you think?

Her name was Brabera

I can't stop watching this video. Over. and over. and over again.

How awkward can you get?

I look across the waiting room at the temple, and who should I spot leaving the room but my old friend Fashionable Jim.

It's been forever since I last saw him.

I say, "Jim. Jim!" in a loud whisper (he always had exceptional hearing).

He looks over and gives me this look that says "OH MY GOSH. YOU?? HERE?? WHAT A DELIGHTFUL SURPRISE!" (we're in a state where neither of us was living the last time we saw each other.)

I start to walk toward him, with Seth whispering, "who is that??" behind me.

I proceed one and a half steps before I realize that there is a guy in front of me, also walking briskly toward Fashionable Jim. I freeze.

They greet each other with a warm embrace, clearly having the same conversation I would have been having with Fashionable Jim had I been the dear old friend he'd spotted in an unexpected setting.

I hang my head in shame and fall back into my place beside the window. Then I don't say hi to Fashionable Jim after all.

Overheard loud and clear through a wall at the thrift store

Child, practically crying: "Mommmm, when you tell me that if I don't wear sunscreen I'm going to get skin cancer and die, don't you think that's a little harsh?? That scares me!"

Mother: "Well, it doesn't seem like it scares you, because you never wear it."


Did I buy anything at the thrift store, you ask? Yes, I did. Trivial Pursuit, 20th anniversary edition. I have yet to discover if it has all the pieces and if I know the answers to any of the questions.

A quiz

What does this say?

Dear David and Liberty,

I regret ruining your wedding reception.

Love always,
Dani

Okay, fine.

You want to know how my brother's wedding reception went?

I will tell you.

Here is how the crowd looked BEFORE I sent the gigantic decorative swing set behind the reception line toppling to the ground with an earth-shattering crash:



And here is how the crowd looked AFTER I sent the gigantic decorative swing set behind the reception line toppling to the ground with an earth-shattering crash:



Apparently it was not made for swinging on.

Do I need to describe my feelings on the incident? I think not. But just in case, here's a picture:



Thank goodness it fell backward and didn't squish any old ladies or babies.

And thank goodness it was made of durable materials and didn't shatter.

It took at least an hour before I was willing to get up from my hiding spot and slink over to the refreshment table. But all the good miniature pastries were gone by then.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

The other day, a fly died in my arms.

Okay, a fly died ON my arm.

After I smacked it, President-Obama-style.

I'm not famous.

When you search for "Paltrow," you get pages and pages of Gwyneth.

When you search for "Bieter," you get at least a few entries up top about Dave (Boise's mayor).

When you search for "Claus," it's all about Santa.

When you search for "Grigg," Dani is nowhere to be found.



Well. Maybe someday.

Sorry, Bidda

There's this nickname I have for Seth, and he hates it worse than death. Every time he asks me politely to stop calling him that, I consider it. And then I say, "Maybe."

And then sometimes I say, "It was an accident."

But I don't think he believes me. I think he thinks I call him that name just to torment him.

He tries to draw analogies, like "You calling me Bidda is like scraping your fingernails on a chalkboard." Or "You calling me Bidda is like me tickling you" (which I hate worse than death).

But it just pops out! It comes naturally! It may have been his name in heaven before he came to earth.

Something happened the other night that I feel lent authenticity to the nickname. Or at least proof that I don't do it on purpose to annoy him. The only reason I know this happened is because Seth told me.

I was asleep. But then I sat up. And I was mumbling about finding a photo to put on the fridge. And then Seth apparently tried to accuse me of not making sense or not being awake, and I said, "Stop bothering me, Bidda."

And then I rolled back over and slept like a rock the rest of the night.

So.... right? You're thinking the same thing I'm thinking?

If I call him Bidda in my sleep, it shows how much the nickname has become a part of my soul. Right?

But I think he sincerely hates it. So I may stop. Just like I gave up my regular routine of tapping him on the top of the head while he's praying because he asked me to do so with just the right look of pleading in his eye.

But it will be tough. Because I call him Bidda even in my sleep.

I want to go down in history as the best wife in the world. Obviously, I'm well on my way.