Friday, August 26, 2005

Hailey Jones, age 8

As you know, we recently moved, and though there are few things that I can think of right now that are not hellish about the whole process, there is one redeeming factor. You have to go through tons of old stuff. OK, before I completely lose you, that is not the fun part. The fun part is that, while going through said old stuff, you occasionally stop and look at what you're going through and you find little gems. Now usually, I stand in my basement chuckling to myself, but I thought, why not share my secret mirth with others? Also, it is becoming apparent to me that the "precious" stuff in boxes that I am constantly moving and restoring serves only one purpose: to be looked at and chuckled at every two years like some sad old clown. So I thought I might give some of these poor box-doomed items fifteen minutes of blog glory.

The first item I offer you is entitled The Ramona Quimby Diary, a little book that serves as a diary for little girls and also has the bonus of featuring little excerpts here and there from Beverly Cleary's Ramona series. Now while I'm sure it would be amusing to share some of those excerpts from those books here, this blog is about me so I'm more interested in the little girl's diary part, namely, my diary. There are lots of blank spaces in the diary to write your feelings. I guess I wasn't interested in those, as they remain blank. My favorite parts were seemingly the questionnaires, and those are what I'd like to share with you. The following are sample questions from the diary, along with my answers: (my 28-year old comments are in parentheses)

This is what I like about myself: how I can read and spell and draw, and that way I'm almost the smartest kid in my class. And also make-up the best stories.

(Almost the smartest? Dang. I wonder who was smartest. I also find it amusing that I did not "make up" the best stories, I just put "make-up" on them.)

I don't like these things about myself: my length and my face. And how I'm the oldest in my family because I have to set an example for my little brother and sister.

(My length? Er... Easy there, Smith boys, you know what I meant...)

This year I hope this wish comes true: that my cat will follow me wherever I go.

(All my cats have run away, so fairy godmother, you are so fired!)

These are the foods I really hate: Hash, onions, meatloaf, floats, peppers, squash, and spices.

(I have to explain the "floats." I used to have to take penicillin for my heart murmur. For whatever reason, I couldn't swallow it as a pill, so my mom chopped it up and put it in a root beer float once. I have only recently been able to drink a root beer float without gagging.)

Sometimes I would like to write an angry letter to David Sheldon and complain about how stupid and dumb he is!

(David Sheldon lived two houses down from me. In truth, he's the one who should have the complaint with me. In fifth grade, we "went out" for a while, and then I abruptly dumped him in the middle of social studies class. Across the room. Twice. I mean, I actually mouthed the words "You're dumped," then "J/K" then again for reals. I think he may have started crying. Not one of my proudest moments. You guys, please still be my friends. I will never dump you, I swear.)

The nickname I hate most is: Bun-Buns

(My mom gave me this nickname as an infant. How she had the foresight to know about my future "junk in the trunk," I will never know.)

All in all, the conclusion I draw from my responses above is that I was vain, insecure about my butt, shirked responsiblilty, and thought boys were dumb. Oh, and vain. Hmm. Some things never change.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

The call is coming from inside the house!

Hey, I have been in a horror movie, apparently. And not a very good one, by the looks of it. So, my brother-in-law instant messaged me the other day, "Nice, Hailey..." I responded with the usual, "Oh great! What have I done now?" He replied most unusually, "Why haven't you ever told us about your horror flick?" I was a little perplexed now, "Jake, please explain..." He instructed me to go to my name on where I found, to my surprise, that I had, in fact, played the role of Martha in Urban Legends: Bloody Mary. This discovery was a bit unnerving. Who was this other Hailey Smith, and why was she trying to be me? OR, even more disturbing, what if it was me, and I had no recollection of it? Has anyone ever been abducted by aliens before and forced to make B-horror movies? That would explain a lot, actually, about where they find their bad actors. So, for all I know, I am in Urban Legends: Bloody Mary, and for all I know, it's a delightful little family film for all to enjoy. All I'm sayin' is I better not take any clothing off in it, that's all I'm sayin'. Just FYI, I have submitted a complaint to the lovely people at, but they have yet to make any changes, so you can still go to the website and see proof of my horror film debut.

This reminds me, have you ever googled yourself? If not, you should. It's always fun to see what kinds of crazy things you've been up to. Ben found out that he is a women's hockey team coach, a drummer, a man who went on a killing spree, and my personal favorite, a fashion designer. He also found his real self, in a quote from and as a Provo Linux user (that's my little computer sports geek for you) I appear most often in theater reviews written by the lovely Eric D. Snider (love ya, man), and on horror film webpages (thank you, some crew guy from Urban Legends) I am also a member of various softball and dance teams and win lots of elementary school competitions. What a well-rounded person I am!

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Keeping up with the Joneses

Ben and I just moved into a new house, new neighborhood, new ward, the whole she-bang. Well, this past Sunday I got this little weekly newsletter in Relief Society and they had listed names and addresses of new families in the ward, along with little "capsules" describing them. Next to our name it said, "Just moved in, and already landscaping." Well, Ben and I spent a little while trying to figure out how one might read into that little gem of a statement. Here were some of our thoughts:

"Who do you think you are, Smiths, putting in grass, when everyone else clearly has dirt. You think you're better, do ya, skipping the year grace period?"

"The Smiths must have green thumbs--landscaping and gardening must be their special talent. We should keep that in mind for future enrichment lessons."

In my mind, the most likely scenario is some poor woman sitting in front of her computer asking her husband, "Honey, who are the Smiths?" He replies, " I don't know, but I can see their house from here and some guy is planting a bush."

Don't get me wrong, I think our new ward is swell, and I appreciate their effort to make us feel welcome. But I am just not quite comfortable with being associated with landscaping. I would have been much more satisfied if they had put "She looks like a snob and he's pretty cocky, but dang, they have cute kids."

Hello friends

Welcome to my blog. Everyone's doing it, ok? And I just love the different reasons people have for having one. Some of my friends miss writing and so it's great for them to flex those muscles. I have one friend who said she has one just so people will post comments. I'm not quite sure why I want one, but I think it might just boil down to plain old peer pressure. My husband has one now, all my friends have theirs going strong, and for all I know, my 5-year old daughter has one somewhere, simply called "Mila." And her only entry says "momistackganapdad" because that's what she instant messaged Ben last week when he was trying to get me, so I know she can write that much.

The title of my blog comes from a family expression used to describe any sort of markings left on your skin when you, say, sit on the grass too long, or lie on the carpet, or make too tight of a fist and leave fingernail prints in your palm, you know. Well, when I was in high school, I fell asleep one night doing my trig homework and woke up feeling a strange sort of soreness on my backside. It turns out that I had fallen asleep on top of my calculator. After enduring the expected "princess and the pea" jibes from my family, I went to inspect myself and found that I, in fact, had a calculator imprint on my skin. Let me tell you, I have never lived that one down. It is my stepdad's favorite story and he didn't even join our family until four years after it occurred. So, since then, those little imprints are forever known in our family as "hailey tracks." I think it was pretty much my mom's way of keeping a part of me close after I moved away to college. Feel free to dub your own imprints hailey tracks. It's not like those guys have another name.

Oh also, I don't know if it's "cool" to have your own name in your blog title, but I like my name. I also feel bad that I offended my name once. I was little and I complained to my mom that I hated my name, and why hadn't she named me something beautiful, like Elizabeth. She told me that I'd thank her for it one day, and I do now. However, I don't know who to thank for making it the number one name in America from like 2000-2005. I can't walk in the store without being screamed at 100 times from different women who want me to "get back to their cart now!" It's quite disconcerting.

Well, thanks for reading my blog, family and friends, and especially you lovely ones who hang out on "that inter-net" all the time (you have to say "that internet" like an old 80-year old lady in my ward who told us about her web discoveries one day in Relief Society)