Many of my followers are upset about my idea that I look like the Mayor of London, Boris Johnson. Well, thank you for being nice, but I've embraced our dead-ringerness because who doesn't want to look like a famous person?

Plus, there's no denying that our squinty eyes are almost identical, both of us preferring skin folds to peripheral vision. Also, do you see how close-set our eyes are? We can't even use binoculars because the sides don't push together far enough. This means that birding is off the table for us both. We share that pain.

Boris and I both have mussed-up blonde hair*, and our eyebrows are too light to see. Our noses and cheekbones are virtually interchangeable. Another spitting image may be our mouths, but it's hard to get a bead on what his teeth look like, as British people rarely smile for the camera.

That's me on the right smiling openly.

*Okay, okay. Boris' hair has always been blonde.

I'm noticing that this fall, the fashion world is bringing us sweaters and other tops that include a full back zipper. The garment below is from one of my favorite stores, Anthropologie. If you grew up with a little brother, you'd never be comfortable going out in this sweater unless someone literally had your back.  The black bows practically scream:

"YOUR SISTER'S NEW BOYFRIEND IS RIGHT HERE IN THE HOUSE! WAKE UP MISTER! YOU COULD PULL DOWN FROM THE TOP TO LET THE GUY KNOW THAT HER BRA IS EQUIPPED WITH CHAINS AND PULLEYS! OR, OPTION TWO, YOU COULD PULL UP FROM THE BOTTOM AND REVEAL THE BRIMMING OVER OF HER MENTAL INSTITUTION UNDERWEAR! TOUGH CALL, YOUNG MAN AND HAVE AN EXIT STRATEGY!"

Anthropologie, didn't you have a little brother?

                                

I'll never forget the day I discovered that I look just like Boris Johnson, the Mayor of London. We were on an escalator, descending into a London Underground station, and along the wall was a stream of posters that included extreme close ups of the mayor. Not knowing who he was at that point, I became distracted and curious, wondering, "what's up with this big line of mirrors?"

When I realized that I wasn't passing my reflections, but photos of Mayor Johnson, I did a semi-black-out. Then, while I pulled myself together, I considered not mentioning the phenomenon to Bo and the girls, because I feared teasing from them down the line. But I'm too much of an extrovert to keep something big like this bottled up, so I pointed to the the male-me images as we glided by each one. "You guys," I said. "You're gonna to think I'm crazy, but I'm telling you that I look exactly like the Mayor of London."

Greta reached over and put her hand on my arm. "You're wrong Mom," she said. "I don't think you're crazy."

Guess which guy is me.

We got back from Turks and Caicos late last night and the first thing I did was check on our pet turtle, Natasha. She had all but trashed her aquarium because Bridget, our turtle-sitter, let it slip that we went down to see Margot with out inviting Natosh along. Through various hand signals, and by silently making the facial movement you would do if you said, "bwah, bwah, bwah," I tried to communicate to her that she would've made the trip way too sloshy. But she was ripping mad and turned a deaf red-ear.

The issue here is that Natasha is passionate about Margot, as you will see from this erotic video, which was shot right before Margot left for the semester. To clarify, in this scene, Margot is the one with human fingers.

Though I didn't ask, I'm pretty sure that one of them laid eggs 60 to 90 days after the making of this film.

Today I asked Bo if he tried to dig to China when he was little, especially at the beach. And he said, "Of course I did. But only at the beach. We weren't allowed to dig China holes in our yard. Were you?"

I've preached to you for months that cairn is the worst sounding word in the English language. But sorry people because someone (thanks, Mom!) said the word jitney out loud a few weeks ago and the clashing of auditory effects made me collapse flat on the floor, which, p.s., is the exact opposite of what cairns are up to.

Now for those of us who are lucky enough to be unfamiliar with the word jitney, it's a vehicle that picks up and drops off people at regular intervals.

 

Definitely a jitney.

Probably not a jitney,

 but worth seeing.

The good news here is that the English language is kind of like the popular table at a high school cafeteria, so weirdo words are weeded out because nobody identifies with them. And the fact is that over the years, both cairn and jitney have tracked negatively because they are virtual ice picks in everybody's ears.

More good news is that no one needs to say either word ever again because jitney can be shortened into "bus." And cairn can be shortened into "heap of stones set up as a landmark."

But here's what reminded me of all this jitney business. Yesterday, Margot and her friends got onto a small bus that left our hotel in Provo for the airport. It was time for them to fly back to South Caicos so they could start working and studying again at the School for Field Studies. As I watched the bus pull out of the parking lot I got a huge lump in my throat, I teared up in my mouth a little, and I thought, "man I hate that stupid jitney."

This is something that actually happened.  Bo and I were packing to visit Margot in Turks and Caicos, when I reached into one of our suitcases and pulled out a something that was hard, brown, oval-shaped and definitely a result of natural processes.  

I was nervous because it looked like some kind of a pod and I'm afraid of pods because they often encase unpleasantness like spider or praying mantis or even cockroach eggs. To ensure delivery of their contents, pods are built to last and hard to look at. I'm thinking my brother Dave probably chased me around with a pod or two when I was little.

Anyway, back to the pod-like formation* that I was now touching with my actual hand. I asked Bo if he knew what it was. He said, "Yes I do. That's a moose turd that I brought home from Montana. When you light it on fire, it smells like incense."

"Well it's a good thing our suitcases are out," I said, "on account of I'm leaving you for someone whose name is the Orkin Man. Because unlike you, he's against bugging people and he certainly won't give me any crap." 

This man really gets me.

*Something called a formation also has a high chance of turning out to be pretty disgusting, because no one can control its aesthetic -- it just keeps forming on its own.

I'm so happy to be visiting my daughter Margot in Turks and Caicos, where she's doing her semester abroad, studying marine science-y stuff with her amazing new friends. And while that sounds super glam, they are living very simply, taking salt water showers and washing their clothes by beating them on rocks, like in the Bible.

Margot and her friends are on a five day break and Bo and I met them at a modern hotel, flush with fresh water. I've never seen people more excited and grateful for simple pleasures.

When I first laid eyes on Margot, she looked so different -- so tanned and salt-encrusted, like the good side of a Triscuit. "I'm resisting the urge to lick you to see how salty you are," I said to her (okay, I know that sounds weird, but I knew she would understand.  Margot doesn't like going to art museums because she's afraid that she'll lick the paintings).

"What do you want to do first?" I asked her as she set foot into the air-conditioned hotel room.

"How about the opposite of a salt water shower," she said.

"So, pepper spray?"

"Haha, no," she said. "I think I'm gonna take a two hour bath."

"You are crazy filthy," I said, motioning her into the bathroom. "Get in the tub, woman. And if you like it then you better put a ring on it."

I put some roasted chicken into Isa's dry dog food for a treat  -- so flattered and happy to see that she counted it as food porn and instagrammed it:

My mom cautioned me -- never talk about your dogs at a party. "No one really wants to hear it," she said. "It's like being at the DMV counter. What you are saying is not getting through to a soul, and there's a long line of people behind you who all have boring stories to tell."

Maybe that's why I never write about our pets, Isa (a Westie) and Toby (a Scottie), preferring to focus on Natasha (a Turtle). For those of you who want an update on Natasha, she's fine, and rapidly outgrowing her oversized and decor-destroying aquarium. I wish there was something I could do to make Natasha stay the same size -- kind of like when I used to wear two bras to bed.

Anyway, I will share with you that Isa got in big trouble for digging a giant hole in our yard:

At first she seemed sad and sorry for making such a mess, but later I found this selfie of her in which she looks not sad and not sorry:

It seems like Congress might be about to reach a deal and I'm thinking that it's happening because of today's threatening hext from me.

The gist of it is, unless there's a deal today, each of the congressmen holding up the works will "accidentally" send his mother graphic and cringe-worthy oedipus rexts (which is when a guy sends his mom sext messages). My hext also cautions the congressmen not to text their mothers afterward to say they are sorry. Because even crazy people don't want to have make up sexts with their moms.

Well this is embarrassing. It's Columbus Day and the United States Government has been shut down for two weeks. How would Christopher Columbus, an old, old, great American Patriot have felt about these goings-ons?

In a word, he never would have stood for this kind of incompetence with regard to Congress running our great nation. Let me remind Tea Party Republicans that Christopher Columbus spurned the original Boston beverage-oriented event, sitting on his hands while a band of American Indians dumped a shipment of tea into the harbor to protest colonial Massachusetts' use of the word "corn" over the word they favored, which was "maize."

And why did he choose to support our government when that tea dumping prank would have been the best fun ever? Well, and I'm talking to you lawless members of Congress who are holding us all hostage, it's because Christopher Columbus relied on the U.S. Government to fund his expeditions and colonizations. If you Boehn-heads© had been running the show when Columbus was flexing his muscles, we never would have conquered and purchased Louisiana, and your beloved Texas would still be on Mexican soil.  

So Congress, let's honor Christopher Columbus on his actual birthday and reopen the government. I mean, come on -- we look like fools! Countries from around the world, like Spain, are reading this and cringing. 

New group vext to House Republicans:

Just texmexted 1200 chimichangas coming ur way from el alamo restaurant which got mixed reviews on Chow website plus good luck paying 4 them on account of u won't fund govt connie out.

Memo

To:     Connie

From:   House Speaker John Boehner

Re:     Today's Hext

Date:   October 10, 2013

I am speaking for all my conthervative colleagth in the Houth of Reprethentatifth when I say that you are a nasty lady and that today's curse on us is ludicrous and cruel. That said, I'm kind of a dick.  We will not bend to your demand that we reopen the U ETH Government -- in fact your daily hext messages are increasing our resolve to keep it shut down until we can hold open negotheeatheeinth with "Prethident" Obama. That said, I'm kind of a dick. And while we celebrate your right to bear armtth, which is granted to you by the theckond amendment, we cannot run this place competently with a gun to our heads. That said, I'm kind of a dick.

You have my word that I will always do what is best for our great natheeon. That said, I'm kind of a dick and I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

Memo

To:   Connie 

From: Congressional Tea Party Members 

Re:   Today's Hext

Date: October 9, 2013                                          

Please remove AT ONCE the curse you put on us that makes us lisp when we express our core values. We need to be able to say

the conthtitootheeon, the theckond amendment, tackth cutth, illegal alienth, Nanthy Pelothi and thodomy to be able to run this government efficiently. 

Thank you,

Conthervative Houth Republicanth

p.s. We just threw up in our mouths a little bit.

Here is a group hext from me to House Tea Party Republicans:

U r cursed to say sorry i just thru up in my mouth a little bit each time u r interviewed on tv connie out.

Like lots of people my age, I use flash cards from Urban Dictionary to help me memorize the latest slang terms. Here's some slang I came across today that pertains to text messaging:

"EXting" is texting your old boyfriend or girlfriend.

"Hexting" could be EXting, only also putting a curse on him/her.

"Flexting" is doing flirtatious texts.

"Vexting" is sending upsetting texts.

"Vortexting" is an overly dramatic text that draws uninvolved people into an angst-y situation.


Here are a few more that I made up, which I feel are really going to take off: 

"Texmexting" is texting a Mexican restaurant for take out. 

"Latexting" is an SOS text like, "you got condoms over there bro?"

"Oedipus Rexting" is when a guy sexts his mother.

"Chexting" is when you text your mom: "we out of cereal lady."

Dear SFS students:

I am so flattered that you are reading my blog and I'm looking forward to meeting you! 

Margot's father and I were super busy before she took off for her semester abroad, so we're unclear about where you people are or what you are doing. We've spoken with Margot just once since she left home, but we couldn't really focus on what she was saying because we were simultaneously watching The Best of Chopped. Anyway, she said she is not able to shower, so we are guessing you are somewhere in Eastern Europe. 

Margot said that you are working on Cake-O's, which is our family's favorite cereal, so we couldn't be happier, and my brother Dave would like to order four boxes. She also said that you are all loving Pot Cake-O's, which Margot's father and I would have enjoyed when we were in college, as well. However, I think I am speaking for most parents when I caution you guys -- please do not bring any Pot Cake-O's back to the United States of America no matter how much you've come to love them.

I know that you all are business majors, but how about running some lab experiments, like: "How To Keep Pineapple Upside Down Cake-O's From Popping Right Side Up Once You Pour The Milk On?" I'm thinking this kind of science-y stuff will round out your projects.

See you next week!

Love,

Connie

Recently, and maybe as a joke, I was chosen to make a selection from the wine list at a french restaurant. My mouth said to my friends, "I'd love to," and I started flipping through the pages. At the same time, my chest and my throat said to me, "There's nothing we can do for you. You're going into a swivet." Then my brain said, "Fine. But let's keep this in-house." 

I was fretful, lost and alone, until I laid eyes on a wine with a flavor profile that included "nervous" as one of its characteristics. "Oh, poor thing," I thought, and I closed the menu.

The wine came and I tasted it. Giving the bottle a supportive wink, I said to the waiter, "Oh yes -- this wine is doing a great job!" Then I explained to my friends that the wine was known to be a little nervous. "Also, it may be self conscious because of the 'petit' thing," I whispered. "Well, there's no need for that," my husband said. "This wine is doing everything right. Let's drink this bottle down quickly, and then order another one, just to show our encouragement." 

I knew the cheese store I walked into with my friend Jan was going to be upscale because its name contained the word "Farm." Farms used to be venues you didn't want to focus on when buying anything dairy because they conjured up thoughts of muddy stuff, people waking up early, flies being swatted with tails and the inside of a cow touching the milk you were about to drink. But now that people are demanding whole, locally grown food, farmers are revered and farms are highly regarded, even though we all know that they're still pretty smelly.

Anyway, the shop had a giant collection of cheeses that were displayed on tiers in a large glass case. And on top of each cheese was a small description written in tiny chalk letters on tiny blackboards -- like a classroom for enormously fortunate mice. As I was peering into the case, an intense woman in a chef's jacket approached me and said, "I see you're trying to select something. What are you thinking of, in terms of a flavor profile?"

Oh no! A flavor profile was going to require at least three good cheese words! I could have been prepping for this, but I had unwisely spent my time imagining that I was a small, cute, lucky elementary school mouse. "Rectangle" was the first thing that popped in my head. Then, just as Jan walked over, I started saying out loud some wine words that I had memorized. "I'm thinking of something big, full-bodied, complex, earthy..." 

"And Velveety," Jan said, in her Tennessee accent. 

"Did you say velvety?" the store lady asked. 

"Yes," and make it a Kraft cheese. 

"And by craft, do you mean artisanal?" 

"Yes."

What's happening!!!!