classic

Just returned from mew'chal (Utahn for midweek youth activity). Usually we have it on Tuesdays, but this week's activity was going roller skating at Classic Skate, and Foursdays are Dollar Night. (Or whatever.) So we went tonight.

I went tonight.

I've been inactive since Bubby's birth, and now I've decided to ease my way back into the swing, starting with this choice activity, for which I missed the (I'm sure) thrilling discussion of this month's book. Six girls were in my automobile (is a piece of crap), and the brand spankin' new beehive sat shotgun. I taught this girl in primary three years ago, and she made me cry nearly every week. Tonight, I heard no fewer than four detailed stories from her involving vomit. And watching other people vomit. And getting dizzy and feeling like vomiting.

So awesome.

One of our fresh-faced deacons tripped a priest (priest meaning 17-year-old boy, not a, you know, a priest) out on the rink, and the toughest of all tough guys -- you know, THE MANAGER, pulled them aside and told them that the cops were being called.

The cops.

My friend, whom I'll call Annie, took care of that one lickety-split. No cops were called in the first place. And that manager had a really bad haircut.

The dj with the Y hat told us that hip-hop songs aren't allowed until after 9, when the kids go home. But we left before 9 and some kids were just getting there. Who are these people??? Annie and I enjoyed Dancing Queen and Bye, Bye, Bye a wee bit too much, and we're so sure that the kids were like, "Look at those two old ladies!"

They also played a song by Journey.













Today's Yay: Painted my fingernails (haven't done that in years).
Today's Boo: Struggling with my own pride-y issues.