"She was at the beauty shop for two hours. That was only for the estimate."

I sense a trend in my blogging habits. A trend as in, there are no habits. And you know what? I'm not even sorry. I do...THINGS with my life now. That's a lie. I really don't. Truth be told, I live in a cave. Barely have running water. No cable, no internet. I'm going old school and hitting up the public library for all my internet needs. But I shall start off with the most recent shenanigans from the Beauty School Senior (suffering from a severe case of senioritis)

Blondes Don't have more fun. Proved it.

Afro Pouf. Check.


Tyra, eat your heart out. And take that Rosemary's baby and shove it down your throat, because when you make girls cut their hair like this, they look like homeless street urchens.

I forgot how much fun blondes had, so I decided to take that car for a spin again.

Now these aren't super current, maybe like a month old, so it's grown out considerably. Considerably enough for me to be rocking a mullet. Because you haven't lived until you party in the back, and business in the front. I'm currently looking for my next big thing. Potentially open to suggestions. Awesome ones only.

"How do I look?" "Like a Beautiful Blonde Pineapple!!"

I've realized that most people think that I have literally fallen off the face of the earth. It is not so, and I'm sure you are relieved-me too for that matter. While going blog-silent for the last couple months, I have embarked on a new adventure. One that will undoubtedly bring many laughs for future blog posts. My new adventure is beauty school. So I am here in Rexburg, and about 2 months in, and so far it's not too shabby! I have thus far been desensitized to feet-thanks to pedicures, because flats are for quitters I am definitely one, since I more or less am required to see myself in the mirror for 8 hours every day, I avoid mirrors outside of school at all costs, and am developing calluses from teasing Miss Kim's hair every day! Here's the lowdown. I go to school with 50 girls every day, one the token gay. Who hates me to my back, loves me to my face, and like an attention starved child gets ignored to keep him in line. Apparently he doesn't like other people to know more about pop culture, fashion, and music than he. Everything I know about pop culture and music I owe to my wise pop culture friends in Moses Lake!!! Thanks for culturing me for this very moment in my life. Sorry Mr. Queen, but there is only room for one diva at school, and there are 49 other girls fighting for the coveted title. So watch out, or you're about to get your fancy striped suspenders snapped right into last place!

At first I was really intimidated by beauty school, but then I thought, ok I've seen Tabatha's Salon Takeover, and if these morons can get through beauty school and someone signed their professional license, then hell if I can't do it too! And after a few weeks of school, I kind of have a knack for it.

A very smart cousin (Sonja), after I mentioned that I was going to hair school and was growing my hair out, told me once that when I start hair school, to just wait and watch my hair get shorter, and shorter, and shorter. Oh how naive I was!!!

The Metamorphosis

The Beginning

Week #1 of school, I made a blueprint of what I would like to do to my hair-with the hopes that it won't melt off of course. Week #2 Perm. Yea. I said it. Perm. That happened.

Week #3 Highlights because my teacher was annoyed with the grow out of my previous ones. And Sonja, just so you know, he was very impressed with your work. Well done!

Week #5 Snippy Snip Snip. Cut it all off.

To Be Continued...

The Rest of these pictures are just some fun stuff we've done in class and us playing around.

This was after I brushed my hair out to do scalp treatments on eachother, they said I looked like a troll doll!

This was manicure day!

And this is an updo that I did on Miss Kimmie, which turned out quite well!

Enjoy!

And That's The Gospel Truth.

One Word: Slater. Not A.C. Not Kelly. But my Slater of the sweet sweet Christian persuasion. As many of you know, and as I have probably blogged about before, I love me some Christian Slater. Usually I'm not a fan of the hair helmet, but Christian has the bone structure and forehead for it, besides who doesn't want to be the one to blame for mussing up those perfect tresses? I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

But I digress. Recently a good friend of mine, has been called to teach Sunday School. Normally it would be cause for severe dread, and an excess of skipping out early from my ecclesiastical duties, mainly because we all know, that when friends become important with responsibilities, then you become fodder for their hoity toity cannons. So naturally I was afraid I'd get called on to read or give pence to the discussion. However scared I was to go to class, I pulled together and went. Back row of course. Said friend began his lesson, and about halfway through the lesson as I sat contemplating my soon impending doom and demise, I was comforted by one thing, and one thing only. The mention of Christian Slater. Instantly my ears began buzzing, my blood percolating, and my eyes dilating while visions of Christian Slater danced in my head. Pump Up the Volume as Happy Harry Hardon, Interview with the Vampire, Bed of Roses, and Robin Hood. Robin Hood, say what? Yes I did. And so did Clinton, the teacher. Dead set on publicly mortifying me (I believe), he brought up Christian Slater's character from Robin Hood, the mysterious Will Scarlett.

Clinton knows of my affection. And although I applaud Clinton's candor about my very much private feelings to the class, I frankly, was elated at the mention of Mr. Slater!! He was talking about the birthright, and posed the question why Robin Hood was the chosen son instead of Will Scarlett. Twas a good thing the query wasn't extended my way, for I all I would have-could have-answered was, "I do love me some Christian Slater!" So now, it is Clinton's challenge and duty, to somehow tie the gospel to something Christian, pun intended. You know what they say, "something old, something blue, something Christian, something true!!"

P.S. For those allegations that he beat up that hooker...be them as they may, I don't care. Did anyone ever think she might have deserved it? Gotta keep the pimp hand strong, right? Just what is it about this 'bad boy' that keeps my other thoughts in such great company? Is it the ‘eyebrow’ thing? Most definitely. It’s the suggestion, the hint and the intrigue of a thousand possibilities.

18 Comments and Counting...

As most of you know, I go through rather drastic creative spurts. Here and there. Now and Then. Sometimes (every day) the pessimist gets the best of me when nobody comments on my true life happenings. Much to my chagrin, I'm vain-shocker, I know. I pride myself on...well...me. And unlike those other uncultured artists who try harder when they get no accolades, I find that my pride is directly correlated to the amount of comments I get. I'm not asking for comments. Just a little reassurance that people actually think of me. Whether positive or negative. Perhaps nobody believes them and they say to themselves: "What a tangled web of lies this psycho weaves. " Or maybe, "This girl is a liar face to the max, and I refuse to comment on her falsities." Or the occasional, "I am so many shades of offended right now! SHUN!" Am I a liar? Of course. A rather good one I must say. Is my life a big huge fallacy? One worthy of a True Life episode on the tele. A day isn't complete without the inaugural planting of a colorful liars tree, with many swirly twirly branches, and blossoms of white...lies that is. But, be that as it may. I retreat into my mental pit of despair-complete with Albino henchman-when comments on my precious babies are lacking. But alas, sun through the clouds! My perma-tantrum has been alleviated!!! Thanks to a certain person named "Anonymous". Yes. That's their name. They commented SO much on my last blog, that I needn't worry ever again that nobody cares!!! Because you my friend care way too much about my happiness. And I thank you for the website links about male enhancement. They shall be dually noted for a future husby. How did you know that my sex life is unsatisfying? You sneak! You wily sorcerer!! You know what this woman wants. I shall wear thy comments as medals around my neck. Battle scars if you will. Momma always said be careful what you wish for! However, I'm not so sure I regret it ;)

P.S.

My Dearest Anonymous,

I very much enjoyed your take on different varieties of hookah I might like. I would greatly appreciate further comments with other "helpful" products. Maybe you can find in your secret marketplace a pill that you can put in water to grow a hot boyfriend that is mute, and has kisses like white hot fire. Thanks again for your tips. I look forward to more correspondence from you.

Anxiously awaiting your reply,

Gwen The Vain

For 21 years, I've been living a lie.

Over these last few weeks, I've been bombarded with crazy. Whether it be the testimony of the kidnapped and tortured, or whether it be the once again love of me by a weirdo-WHO HAS A GLASS EYE-that goes unrequited. But believe it or not. It gets better. I try to mind my business in the singles ward. I have a routine. I sit by the same person every Sunday. I talk to the same people every Sunday. I waste time and dilly dally all the way to Sunday School so my ADD self doesn't have to sit through the entire borefest every Sunday. I have the same internal stuggle every Sunday whether or not to suffer through Releif Society-with that one there I know I'm not alone. I get disgusted by the same people-yet they switch it up on be and disgust me in different ways, but it all has the same typical outcome=disgust and continued ignoring.

However, these last couple Sunday's have thrown me off my "routine" game. My attempt to dilly dally was sabotaged by my "new" visiting teaching companion. Who-despite being in the SAME WARD with her since I graduated high school-i.e. 4 years ago, and also despite introducing myself to her 4 times at her request-DOES NOT KNOW ME. I mean I'm kind of important. I wouldn't say that I'm necessarily a "big deal" (yet), but people know me! I did Saturday Activity announcements for 6+ months! I semi-regularly attend institute, and usually they re-introduce everyone every week. How can this be??? Am I not remember-able???

I think I have found the reason. I, Gwendolyn B. Stoker. Am not Gwendolyn B. Stoker. My name apparently is Kimberly. Name change? No. Switched at birth? Probably. Twice I have corrected people for calling me the wrong name. Usually it's Kimberly. My family always said I was adopted and looked like the milk man...Mr. Milkman do you by chance have a daughter named Kimberly?

Old McDonald had a Dog; E-I-E-I-O

Once upon a time, Momma Stoker was given an ultimatum-she doesn't like dogs-Either we get a dog, or she goes. That dogs name was Beazer. Much to Mom's dismay, but to us kids' chagrin. 15 thoroughly enjoyed years later, Beazer is paddling around the chocolate river in heaven, complete with chocolate Costco muffin clouds and chocolate covered macadamia nut tasties. Beazer, not one to ever turn down a chocolate anything, was always the footwarmer, the food moocher, and the vegetable vaccuum. We always thought that the chocolate would get him first, but he MythBusted that urban legend. Beazer was right there with me, when I was an aspiring sled dog teamster. I on my roller blades, and Beazer, my sled team, mushed his-and my-way up and down the driveway. The only Schnauzer I think that knew the word mush and knew how to open up a backpack to get to the yummy delights inside zippered lunch boxes, and could drink out of a straw.

Beazer was the best toy Kalvin and I ever had. The best friend LauriAnn ever had. The best foot warmer Mindi and Bryce ever had. And the best bed hog Mom and Dad ever had.

Beazer will be missed, just like all my M.I.A. chocolate muffins.

Where Are They Now: Stoker Edition Part 1

We at the Stoker house-hole have been hard at work cleaning out the garage. Let me tell you, I found some gem pictures and decided to give my audience a walk through the Stoker Hall of Then and Now. And some of you haven't seen most of us since we were "yay" high, I threw a couple complementary old school photos along with an updated one-just so you can associate the Old School mind blowers with the New School goodies. I'm not going to explain the pictures, because I think they alone speak thousands of words. Enjoy!

We will start out with the oldest: Mindi

Next up: Bryce

Middle Child: LauriAnn

And Second to awesome: Kalvin

And now, a special extended bonus: Me. The good, the bad, and the glasses.

I don't know if you can tell, the picture is pretty bad, but that is baby me, on a cabbage patch doll pony.

Just give me a flipper and sign me up for Toddlers and Tiaras please!!!

So apparently I had a "thing" for ole Mickey Mouse. And I wore it on my sleeve!! Or on my glasses...that my friends was yet another "Gwen" schtick, a mini mickey mouse window cling on my glasses. I was AWESOME.

Those bangs. That hair. Those glasses. And that killer sweater. I could never go wrong with those!

Yep. Those ARE shortalls. I had almost every color.

Mickey Superfan

I always said that a bow and big bangs was my schtick. Here's proof.

All my single ladies:

All in all, after my observations, I think it wouldn't be too far from the truth to deduce that we have not change one bit!!