Lemmon Peels

“The End is Near… Here.”

2011-03-04T08:00:00.003-07:00

The bearded men have been at it again. Marching around in my head with that crazed look in their eyes, obtrusively waving their wooden signs at my cerebral cortex, advertising, “The End.”

Don’t jump to conclusions. This isn’t the end of the world that they’re campaigning; it’s not even the end to anything significant. (And, just for the record, I have nothing in particular against bearded men, not even those with crazed eyes… Shifty eyes… Now, shifty eyes I take note of and cross the street.) But it is, nevertheless, an ending.

We warned you from our blogg-ed infancy to “get ‘em while they’re fresh,” and more importunately, to “get ‘em while they’re still Lemmons.” Well, we are Lemmons no longer. Cecily jumped ship, or rather, fruit stand, summer of 2009, leaving my softening rind behind to slowly ferment my way towards expiration. But with a generous helping of sugar, a bit of yeast, and an extended period of aging, I finally achieved a potency capable of inebriating any unsuspecting male. Enter tall, dark and handsome. Jason never had a chance… Try as he might to pass me by, and rest assured, he tried, he took to the concoction like uh… mother’s milk? (“Not her. Gin was mother's milk to her. Besides, he'd poured so much down his own throat that he knew the good of it.” “Do you mean that he drank?” “Drank! My word! Something chronic.”)

Haha, My Fair Lady. Oh hi. It’s Cecily, in the flesh. Or, rather in the blue ink. I was about to choose red, but we all know how heinous that would’ve been. (lemmon/lews/claytons…well at least one clayton…bleed blue. Go cougs.) Just wanted to cut into Jessica’s writing, like when our whole family gets together and we talk louder and louder to be heard over one another’s story-telling escapades. Caution, you may want to turn down the volume on your computer now. This blog could get loud. Okay, back to Jessica’s much more sophisticated, (and slightly weird, I mean bearded men?), writing. So, we couldn't do blue ink... you'll have to live with the bold thing.

“Is this it, then?” the question you are no doubt asking yourself, and you are not alone. (Because our Mom at least is reading this and tearfully choking on the same inquiry.) The answer: Yes. And No. I mean, honestly, won’t our legacy endure in the minds and hearts of every devoted and beloved reader. How could we possibly go silently into the night when champions such as Randy Punjab and Pink Felt Jesus live on? O rise up, dear readers, and be men! Fresh courage take! Every time you think about home cereal dispensers(oh man, all the time), employ the 10% rule, attend a candlelight vigil at the skatepark with skating to follow, get pooped on by rogue seagulls; we will be there. Together we will rise above the indifference and injustice of this harsh world and, yes, we will live on through all of you!

Can I get a “what, what?!”

…
Bleak. Ok, so, nope, it looks like this is it.

But let’s face it, we never wrote that much in the first place. (True.) Most of the comments and emails we received pertaining to this blog were along the same vein of complaint regarding our lack of generation, and requests for more consistency. Well, no. We will be your slaves no more! No taxation without representation!

It doesn’t matter anyway, the world will end on May 21st of this year anyway and with our track record there is no way that we’d produce another entry between now and then. Oh, yeah, you haven’t heard? Jason and I were driving down some obscure road cut through fields somewhere between Vacaville and the lush and prosperous Wheatland, California (our new home… well, at least for a few months, before it burns into oblivion with the rest of the world.) (“Summer Wheatly?! How the heck are you going ot do that?!”) when we saw the billboard floating about 3 feet off the ground, flushed in a glorious halo of light, trumpet equipped cherubim circling overhead, “MAY 21, 2011—The Bible assures it!” Below this prophetic proclamation a radio station was cited. We immediately knew that this was the biggest load we’d ever seen, so naturally, we tuned our radio to the suggested station. I wish I could share what we learned, but I honestly remember nothing… I just looked up the website for a true journalistic edge (Cecily is much better at that) and I don’t know that I got much out of that, either. It was like “Blah, blah, blah, You’re all gonna die, Blah, blah, May, 21st, Blah.” But from what I can tell the “rapture” will begin on May 21, followed by complete annihilation five months later on October 21st. All I can say is that my birthday is safe (the 5th of October, mark it down), so let’s make sure those gifts are good. Cecily and Bob... eh, not as lucky… Go ahead and return those gifts. (We’ll be celebrating my half birthday, mark it down, April 23rd, which will now fall before Jessica’s, so feel free to spend the bulk of your best gift ideas on me).

I’m not really sure what else they claim, and mostly I got bored looking at their site after about 2 minutes. But it got me thinking… I need jic (just in case) bucket list. So, here it is in it’s sixth revision:
- Skydiving- This is a popular choice, but need not be excluded simply because of it’s commonality.
- Children- Multiply and replenish, baby. Multiply and replenish--- scratch that, no time.
Run a marathon- I mean who doesn’t want to try something that killed the first guy who did it? Maybe I’ll do mine in mid October so I don’t miss out on much.
Cecily’s:
Eat an entire carton of ice-cream in one sitting-not such a popular choice, especially for the lactose-intolerant.
Own a season pass to Disneyland
Become a pre-teen Disney Channel Star-eh, probably missed the boat on this one

Now an interruption by Jason...
While we’re on the subject of the world being all topsy turvy, I saw in the news that the Astrological signs we’ve all been basing our professional and personal lives on are off by about a month (from here on out I’m sticking to Fortune Cookies to guide my future, just another example of China’s growing influence.) Even more disconcerting than the astrologers’ inability to use a calendar was the fact the 25% of the population believes that your sign has any bearing on anything. (Interesting side note: Given the anguished posts by some of my Facebook friends, I know more people than I thought that fall into the “25%.” Ahh, the wonders of social media.) Anyways, add that to the .0001% of the population that believes the world is coming to an end in 10 months and this is shaping up to be a pretty rough year for 25.0001% of the population. Just keep that in mind the next time someone cuts you off on the freeway or splashes all over the toilet seat in the PR’s, maybe it’s just not their year.

Well, this seems like a good place to end… I’m not saying you killed it, Jason, but… well, honestly in some sense you did. You and Matt…. Regular old ruffians and murderers... And so, it is with a heavy heart that we bid thee farewell, from the golden fields of aspiring adults, stretching our wings in a sky of dreams and possibilities and… hey, there’s Icarus! Cool spiraling down move, man! But as they say, “When God closes a door, he opens a window.” (And when Jason opens a drawer, I close it… over and over and over… :) So, we open for you two windows… windows into whole new realms of ridiculousness. So, here are our family blogs... check them out, add them to your bookmarks, hope for humor, pray for regularity, expect… the end of the world.

http://www.yourlewsnews.blogspot.com/

http://theresponsiblehaircut.blogspot.com/

Blah Blah Blog is Back, but ProBlahbly Not for Long

2010-01-27T22:14:00.003-07:00

The real problem is I only blog when I feel sad or funny. Jessica – Cecily = Not so funny and Jessica + Not at Disneyland = Not Sad. Not Sad : No Blog :: Not Funny : … No Blog. (I’m studying for the GRE… fyi- : stands for “is to” and :: stands for “ as”) Additionally, the blog is LemmonPeelS— emphasis on the plural— and currently I’m the only peel left on this rotten rind. But I did want to let the world (or the two people who may read this blog) know that “it (dland) is funny now” or at least behind me, although still somewhat embarrassing. Don’t bring it up around me.

So, what do I write about now? Maybe my job as a substitute teacher and the day that an eighth grade history class went “Freedom Writers” on me? Because the last 25 minutes the class started a debate on racism and attitudes toward color today, with questions about racial profiling, the term “nigger” (nigga), and reverse discrimination, which culminated in the class’ emphatic declaration that the solution was to stand united, if only in that class— to have each other’s backs and to “hold hands across the world”. The entire class, boys and girls from varied backgrounds, held hands in a big circle, cell phones out recording the moment. “We are One” was then written and signed on the whiteboard (nothing against blackboards). None of this was prompted by me… I was just lucky enough to witness it and I hope I never forget.

Or I could bemoan the Dating Awareness Month (D.A.M. or Dating Awareness Month Nonsense) that the Bishop of our singles ward has implemented, encouraging dating as a serious priesthood responsibility.

I live in fear.

Friday and Saturday nights are my junk food and pj, relax-at-home nights. I miss you, Disney Channel. I wish you existed, Saboyf.

Or I could brag about the rad distance team I’m coaching with Kay Nekota and how fast they’re going to be this season.

But the most intriguing thing I can think of writing about is the hot pink, foot-tall, felt figurine of Jesus Christ sitting on the desk of the FFA teacher I’m subbing for right now. It’s almost as cool as the Jesus band-aid that Everett sent me from New York (Jesus Heals!), which Jordyn won by default in our Real-Life-Wii-Sports-Competition that we never finished.
Wiffleball didn’t count, Jordy.

I was so moved I composed my feelings in verse. I’d love for someone to put it to music. I’m thinking big-band or jazz. It could be in the next edition of the hymnal.

Jesus, in felt

The incline
Of your humble head
That I climb
To reach the
Beckoning hands
Laid at your breast,
Soft as felt.

Neon like a zealot—
The intensity of
My Hot Pink faith.

The Divine inspiration
To erect and endure
The didactic statuette—

The Apogee of the Veracity
Of the Grandeur of our Lord—
Whose Dread hand did thou form?

Don’t worry, I asked Mr. Johnson where he got it on my sub report. If it’s on sale, I might be able to pick one up for my mom (she loves pink… and Jesus). And just in time for Valentines Day!

Not Funny Yet

2009-08-24T15:20:00.001-06:00

My first favorite book was Go Dogs, Go: An absolute feat of literary genius. A triumph. Between its orange bindings twisted a plot paramount to any Alexandre Dumas, poetic styling not unlike that of the masters Donne, Hopkins, and Wordsworth, the human awareness of Jane Austen and humorous satire to rival that of William Shakespeare. You can imagine my horror then upon one day finding this prestigious classic besmirched with the graffitious pen of my toddler sister. I calmly and matter-of-factly informed my mother of these crimes, as I was not the sort of child to explode with overly dramatic storms of emotion. Obviously a characteristic still maintained to this day. I also reminded my mother that I never displayed such behavior when I was at so chubby and slobbery an age. She attempted to ease my suffering with a phrase I would come to hear often and know well... “Some day we will look back at this and laugh”. I found this lack of punishment and justice frustratingly insufficient. However, as predicted, I did eventually look back and laugh, even if with the occasional shadow of a sigh. The masochistically ironic rub is that indeed we often do look back and laugh at these pain-filled moments of grief and trauma. And while laughter may in fact be the best medicine, I find it a rather insulting remedy in the midst of heartache.

So I find myself again in a less than desirable position that will probably be funny at some future date. It may even be funny to those removed from the situation now. Feel free to laugh at the following. I live in Anaheim California. I work as a custodian at Disneyland. I scrap gum off of things with a metal stick. I clean up after a code v, a code u, and a code h… I’ll let you guess at what those could stand for. I live in a little room with two other girls. I sleep on the top of a bunk bed. I have three drawers. My roommate hacks her lungs out all night. I rode a city bus for the first time. I haven’t been on the city bus a second time. I wear white pants at my belly button with a white shirt tucked into them and a maroon belt. These pants would be considered by the world to be extremely short/high-waters, but Disney is convinced that above your sock is an appropriate length for pants. There are 20 people in my singles branch. Actually, there are only 18. 16. The number dwindles as I type. I ran by a foul-mouthed lady arguing loudly with her hairbrush in the middle of the sidewalk. I run by much scarier things that I will not list. I don’t get to see my sister, nieces, friends, or any of you other goons (a.k.a. family). I pray everyday that I will still be the favorite aunt when I get home. The one day I went to Disneyland with my roommates to play, I got a migraine. I only eat cold cereal… okay, not much has changed there.

One day I hope to be able to look back at all of this and laugh.

It isn’t funny yet.

Okay, okay, the pants are a little funny.

partiplog (participation blog)

2009-02-19T22:54:00.004-07:00

Blogs. They’re pretty cool. A fun way to keep people up-to-date on your life or just a way to say whatever the heck you want and then tell your friends to read it. But some blogs have become so much more. For example there are vlogs (video blogs), qlogs (question blogs), artlogs (art blogs), photoblogs (photo blogs), and sketchblogs (if you aren’t catching on to how this works by now, it’s time to walk away from your computer and go read some books.) Discovering these other types of blogs got me thinking, I wonder if they have advicelogs or supglogs (support group blogs). Or maybe, huplogs (hook up blogs… they would be like the personals section in the newspaper… oh wait… we’ve already got facebook.) The point is that we’ve had this blog going (on and off… and by that I mean mostly off) for over a year now and there is so much we haven’t done. There is so much untapped potential… sportlogs, techlogs, weathlogs, fashiologs, polilogs, scielogs, cerealogs, disnelogs, hotlogs… the list goes on.

We’ve decided it is time to branch out. Stretch our limbs. Peel back the rind and find the bittersweet juice that makes this citrus fruit so much better than grapefruit and way worse than oranges.

I’ve stumbled across qlogs in the past, usually when I’m looking up something really important, like the song in that cool sprite commercial when the guy dives into the basketball court. I love that song. I love the way mom gasped when she first saw the commercial. Anyway, I came across about a thousand qlogs that had postings from people that restated my question, “where can I find that song that plays in that cool sprite commercial?” And then there would be like four responses that said: “I don’t know, but I love that song.” “I don’t think it is a real song.” “Yeah, I don’t know either.” “I hate sprite and your grandma.” I still don’t know what song it was and I love my grandma.

My favorite kind of qlogs are the those in the medical genre. It always has some name like DrMDlog. I know because I had a freaky rash a couple months ago and I was scouring these sites looking for possible diagnoses for my symptoms. I ended up reading questions like the following:

“My son came home with a red rash on his forearms and has been complaining of an upset stomach. The rash has persisted beyond a week now and I am unsure what it is or what to do. -Deliriously Unaware Mother”

The first answer is always by a “real” doctor:
“Dear DUM,
From what you have told me, your son is experiencing a mild case of uradermatolopolio. Soak forearm in cool water. Apply moisturizer every twenty minutes to affected area for the next seven months. If symptoms persist see your local doctor. –Dr. Watergate”

The next few comments are by just about anyone:
“Do you have any witchatock spiders in your house? Because the same thing happened to me two years ago. I thought I had some rash, but it ended up being these spider bites. I tried everything and eventually had to move out of my house. I would start looking for a good real estate agent now.”
“My good friend had a similar experience and she didn’t do anything about it and it just went away in about four weeks.”
“Have you tried peanut butter?”
“My uncle died from something like this. Turns out his spleen exploded and he died.”

In my case, and probably in DUM’s case too, despite the sound advice gained from my research on the internet, I ended up going to my doctor to get a real diagnosis. And I gained a valuable lesson: qlogs are good for absolutely nothing. Which is precisely why we would like to try it out here on our blog for a little while. Sound fun? Yes. It does.
So, here’s how it’s going to work… you submit a question, any question, to us and we, using our vast library of knowledge and life experiences (and maybe the internet), will answer your questions right here on our blog. This is the chance of a lifetime, people. The chance of a lifetime. (Repeated for emphasis.)

Just post your questions here on the blog. If it’s a medical question… might I suggest DrMDlog.

NYT (notyourtypical) lemmon peel

2009-02-16T00:27:00.007-07:00

I realized today that pain is a relative term when I smacked my own face with my hairbrush. I won’t even try to explain how this took place. Let it be known that I am hazardous to my own health and occasionally the health of the nation. Or at least my apartment. I should be required by law to come with a warning label. The point is that I ended up with a fat lip and enough blood to make me woozy. It hurt a little, but it wasn’t what I would really call painful. At least not compared to the hip/I. T. band injury that is currently plaguing my life. The injury itself is less painful than the pain of being unable to run. Still greater is the pain of feeling out of shape and being left behind while the team travels around the country to race. It’s all relative. I’d rather smack my face with a brush twelve times a day for the rest of my life than miss another race. But fortunately we can’t pick and choose pain. Or else I would always choose that sick stomach pain that comes after eating a pint of ice cream. Because that is always a worth-it kind of hurt. Or maybe the pain of guilt that would come after running over the bike gang that constantly sits in the middle of the street in front of our apartment, because I hate them with “every fiber of my being”. But they do some pretty awesome stunts on those baby bikes. No, wait, they don’t.

The worst kind of pain is the type that you can’t just stick some ice or a band-aid on. Like this morning when our friend got the call that her grandma had passed away. When it comes to pain like that we use euphemisms like “grief “or “sorrow”. But dumb it down and it’s all just pain. Raw, yawning, gaping, open-wound kind of pain. Tears like that sting a whole lot worse than any fat lip.

But whether it’s a leg injury, a death, or just a stupid fat lip, it’s nice to know that there isn’t any kind of pain that we have to bear alone, because there isn’t any pain that hasn’t been felt before by a loving Savior. I know we don’t usually do serious topics, because rarely can a couple of Disney-channel watching, cereal eating, wanna-be 12 year olds be serious, but in a world of unavoidable hurt it is important to remember the one we can always rely on. Because although pain is relative, God isn’t. He is constant. I am grateful for a loving and attentive Father in Heaven, and His perfect son Jesus Christ. I’m grateful for prayer, for the scriptures, and for a Mere who is a pretty dang good example to me because she understands all this and is pulling through like a champ.

In addition to heavenly help there are usually friends and family in your corner when things get bumpy. In that back-stretch of the track where the crowds aren’t cheering and the race starts to hurt, there are always those few that you can count on to be there pulling for you. This is just a little shout out to those still there in my corner. And to you, Mere, I’d take a fat lip for you any day, I’m on your backstretch, and you are running one heck of a race.

Don’t call it a comeback, I’ve been here for years…

2009-01-29T09:53:00.001-07:00

So, Cecily wrote a blog last night and ran it by me. It was pretty funny. I contributed like .000001% of an idea to it, and so I figured I had better write a little something something myself... I mean we can't all get pooped on, but I've got stories... oh, let me tell you, I've got stories...

Like... did you know that the word poop comes from the Latin term Puppis, which is that raised part in the back of a boat, aka the poop deck. I always thought that it came about the other way around. I guess I just figured that those poor pirates had nowhere else to go on the boat; so when nature called they took it to the back of the ship... swabbing the poop deck just isn't as gross anymore.

Speaking of Latin, I have a test on Friday. "O Latine, Moriere! Moriere! MORIERE!" I hope none of the originally intended sentiment in that statement gets lost in translation. Although I do hope that my translations on the test get lost in my professor's office so that he is forced to give me an automatic "A". And so that he doesn't laugh at me when he grades it.

But a overweight and classically nerdish professor laughing at me alone in his office isn’t quite as bad as my whole nerdy rhetoric class laughing at me to my face, as they did a week ago when I came to class with two bags of ice strapped to my butt. It wasn’t the bulge under my sweatpants that was so bad, but the puddle that filled my seat by end of class. I stood up, my saturated rump sagging behind me, and tipped my desk as a river of “water” spilled onto the floor. In the midst of shocked expressions and stifled laughter my only defense was to pull down my pants… okay, so I was wearing spandex underneath. The point was to show melted ice was the responsible party and that I didn’t need depends. Yet. Still, because of a strictly enforced honor code, the spandex exposure didn’t go over well either. Needless to say, the desks around me stay strangely empty these days.

Hopefully we’ll have more luck keeping people around our blog… but I’m not holding my breath. I’m not holding anything. Except when I’m in rhetoric… I’m holding it.

It's a bird, It's a plane, It's a blog... nope it was a bird.

2009-01-28T21:02:00.002-07:00

So, the lack of our blogging is such that we’ve probably completely lost readership. Sad? Yes. Mostly because, our lives are still pretty hilarious and worth documenting. We keep talking about potential blog topics, but because of this Cannon Center trip, or that new episode of Hannah Montana, they’ve never become reality. So what is the inspiration for today’s post after such a long lemmon peel drought? Well, I became the sad, innocent, and completely unsuspecting target of some airborne creature’s waste yesterday. In other words, I was pooped on by a bird, or some kind of UFP: unidentified flying pooper. Or perhaps UFC sounds better: unidentified flying crapper. I don’t know, you decide. The point is, I haven’t been pooped on since 7th grade. For all you who were fortunate enough to attend, or have seen Willis Jepson Middle School, (ah, such a gem. Nay! A diamond in the rough), you know about the unusually large population of seagulls who stalk the school waiting to crap on pubescent, self-conscious, pre-teens, and/or eat the left over lunches that litter the quad every day. It is in this setting that 12-year-old Cecily is enjoying her lunch, proudly wearing her Twisters soccer team sweatshirt, in preparation for Jepson’s team try-outs set to begin right after school that day. Somehow that poor seagull, sick with half-eaten chick fil a’s and pizza, managed to poop both on the front and back of that sweatshirt. Talk about a good omen for the beginning of try-outs. The rest of the day was spent sweatshirt-less, and my locker quickly adopted the seagull poop as its new aroma of choice. The real hero of the story however is mom, who had to wash the sweatshirt when I got home. And she had to comfort me when I was cut from the team a few days later. But yesterday’s encounter with crap was softened by the fact that my WHITE winter coat, is surprisingly easily cleaned. Seriously though, do those birds aim? What cruel fate attracts disaster to white clothing and recently washed cars? Aren’t birds migrating right now? I ran in 15 degree weather this morning, shouldn’t I be migrating right now? I suppose it isn’t always the bird’s direct doing. Let’s not forget mom’s legendary poo-flicking accident which resulted in some absorbed reader’s yogurt getting a little something extra (if you know what I mean). All in all, I decided it was a sign: It’s time to blog. So welcome back lemmon peelers. Welcome back.

Some Summer

2008-09-18T17:07:00.004-06:00

When you’re summer goes from the end of april to the beginning of September, you’d think you could write a few blogs. Not the lemmon sisters. But doesn’t it make this one all the more exciting? One can only hope we haven’t lost our adoring fans. ADORING. Am I right?

So what the heck have we been doing this whole time? What the heck haven’t we been doing? Oh so existential. Let’s review some of our favorite summer moments.

What we learned in summer 08:

-When dirt girl wants to feed the chipmunk cheetos; don’t interrupt. (fanSPAZtic)
-eating eAtInG EATING!
-Coach races pigeons in addition to falcons
-bone stimulators: can they work??
-Cecily has the stress reaction that won’t stop reacting.
-“Now is this island completely surrounded by water?” wow.
-chickens should be the state bird of Hawaii
-Kyle knows just enough about the Twilight series to carry on a conversation. And make fun of it
-Cecily’s room is clean! It can be done
-Jessica wore a pink dress. And flirted while wearing it.
-Unlike many dads, our dad encourages kissing. And more kissing.
-Brooklyn knows all the words to Popular from Wicked
-Cecily learned how to switch car seats from one car to another. Tricky business
-swimming with turtles=EXCELLENT! Their mannerisms match Finding Nemo exactly
-BYU cross country shirts work well as splints
-Don’t hike the Na Pali coast when it’s raining
-If you’re car is making funny noises, or is a really old ford windstar and struggles on the drive to Stinson Beach, it’s probably just been filled up with “bad gas”. It’s not the car’s fault.
-baby cougar shirts for cross country=VERY INTIMIDATING
-If the first 30 minutes of your bike ride is downhill, with the wind, and on gravel, it’s 50 minutes and hellish when you turn back around
-If you’re on Ghiradelli Square you gotta get the ice cream…even if the date appears to be going poorly
-We ate the last meal ever served in the old cannon center. Oh canc. How we will miss you.
-When coach gives you directions on the hill run and you get lost, it’s embarrassing to flag down cars for help when everyone is in BYU uniform
-the first night your missionary returns home is probably not the best time to review recent dating experiences
-When random people can pick you out of a crowd at a soccer game, it’s cool.
-When you get in the football game day program, it’s even cooler. Except then you’re family makes sure everyone and their dog knows about it.
-summer reading with mom is our favorite. We miss the goose girl.
-colin firth should never play the gay role. Never. It’s just wrong.
-ain’t no party like a rock band party. Jess knows more of those songs than you’d think.
-Tom Holmoe and Brian Santiago liked our skit. THE MOST
-Jenna and Stacy are freaking hilarious (Tyra Banks, Michael Phelps, etc…)
-The stereotype of Mormons and large quantities of large zucchinis is REAL! Real, people.
-The authority of coach: “How many people want to lift at 9:00? How many want 10:00? Okay, we’ll lift at 11”
-speaking of lifting…sorry Josh, we skipped push press and snatches all summer. We pick and choose our lifts. Oh yeah, clapping push-ups were out too.
-when you can’t race on east bay golf course, or cascade golf course, you get to do loops around the field at the track and the coaches call it a “unique course” and “spectator friendly”. They forgot “awful and boring; awfully boring”
-Charlie Boys Barbeque is SO GOOD
-usada and wada
-Lemmon and Lemmon Handheld Videography is not the best choice to immortalize your wedding… we’re not the worst… we barely edge out Dilford and Butts 8mm.

no ending.

We were supposed to post this awhile ago, but kept forgetting. More updates about school and what not to come.

Bloopers!

2008-05-23T13:00:00.002-06:00

Finger dancing skills, light girl skills, a freaky laugh...you know, all the good stuff.

cellphone

2008-05-18T23:43:00.006-06:00

As you may already know, Jessica has some cell phone issues. Mostly she just never answers it. You may be one of the thousands frustrated by her lack of cell-availability. You may wonder why she even owns a cell phone. You may also be harboring a secret belief that she is the biggest nerd in the world. If you identify with any of these... this film is for you.
PS Get excited for the soon to be added blooper reel!
Or, if you don't want to wait, you could send a self addressed envelope, 2 General Mills UPC symbols, and $1.00 to us and we'll send you a dvd complete with movie and blooper reel... not a bad deal.

Zero Comments

2008-05-10T19:30:00.005-06:00

Jess and I have realized that our last blog was…what’s the right word? Disturbing? The problem here is that jess has been sick and feverish the past few days and I…well I have no excuse except that I’d been inside almost the whole day and was going a little crazy. And we think we’re hilarious when really we’re just weird. In light of our insanity and the blog found directly below, we thought it appropriate to do a follow up (either to justify the temporary madness, or confirm that it is, in fact, a permanent problem: you decide).

Today’s topic is running through sickness. Jessica and I have had some fun adventures this past week. Starting with Huntington Beach on Sunday, Disneyland Monday, driving back to Provo Tuesday, a rained out track meet at the U on Wednesday, and finally a rescheduled track meet on Thursday. Jess had made a few comments about not feeling well before her race, but she ran the 1500 meters anyway posting a 5:04. Although she has run better times in practice, we took comfort in the fact that she was not last place. Coach’s post race meeting went something like this, “Have you been taking your iron?” Yeah, he was proud. Little did we know that Jess would spend a feverish night shaking under 7,000 blankets.

The next morning while talking to my brother, Kyle on the phone about it he said, “I feel like you girls are always getting sick when you race. Is that just bad timing?” Good question, “Kyle”… if that really is your name.

Moving on… racing under the influence of …influenza (I had a little bird, her name was Enza, I opened up the window and in flew Enza- best when sung while jump-roping) often results in slower times, bad placing, ugly pictures, and in rare cases death (refer to Cecily’s indoor conference 5k). However, racing while sick can be a positive experience with the help of Divine Intervention. Let’s review the past. During cross country 2007 sickness was overcome a total of two times resulting in some pretty awesome races: Hawaii and Regionals.

The question isn’t really, was the race good or bad. The question is, “Why the heck are you racing with 103 (is there a degree button on the keyboard?) degree temperature?” For normal people the only thing they’re running at a 103 is a fever. But this brings us to the crux of the matter, and that is that runners are insane. Why else would an individual dress in only underwear and a tank top and run their guts out when their body is already doing a pretty good job of beating itself up. Let’s see… my head is pounding, my body aches, snot is running out of my nose like a faucet, I have diarrhea and the bubonic plague, but I better go race this 5k. Wouldn’t want to miss that. It’s okay because I’ll get endorphins that will make me happy. I’ll get a runner’s high. No. You’ll wish that a ravenous tyrannosaurus rex would eat you alive.

True, runners are different (or as mom’s everywhere like to say, we’re “special”), but it’s not all bad. As our cousin Sarah Spilsbury pointed out this past weekend, we get to eat whatever we want. This may be because while with her we consumed In n Out, two and a half boxes of cereal, two and a half bags of chips (and dip), a vast majority of the singles ward ‘break the fast’ meal, and all the goodies that Disneyland had to offer, except the corn dog stand, which closed before I got to it. Those corn dogs are supposed to be huge. Next time, Disney, next time.

In conclusion, we find that going to the circus cures all diseases. If it doesn’t work, at least you got to see the circus. And while you’re there kindly grab us some peanuts, cotton candy, and a corn dog or two.

Included in this blog: SPECIAL FEATURES!!
*Deleted Comments*

"...and in rare cases death (refer to Cecily’s indoor conference 5k).(Yep, she's dead).(NOOOO!!!!-to be sung like Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back).

"dude if we had 7,000 blankets, we could make the sweetest tent"

"That's the funniest thing I've read all morning, and I wrote it!"

" Because racing through sickness is something that many runners face, we put together a list of tips that come from the president of CIRC or Chronic Illness Runners Club, Jerry Noodle:
1. Be hydrated. Drinking water helps to flush out sickness.
2. Run conservatively. You have to remember that you are sick and you need to take it down to a pace that your body can handle so that you don’t burn out.
3. Don’t slide into home if you are wearing white pants. Those stains rarely come all the way out.
4. Hefty little pigs never blew my house over. I wanted a raise and I got one.
We later found out that Jerry’s illness was Alzheimer’s disease."

IT'S OVER!!!

no one will get it. no one will get any of this.

2008-05-09T17:49:00.000-06:00

Some time later…
Ceclika reminds me that lots of stuff has gone down lately. Disney, Jimmy, finals, races, sickness, race-sickness, qualified, B+ latin miracles, randy punjap’s retirement, homemade pizza,

“I think it would be cool if randy punjap retired.”
“From what?”
“Exactly.”
“Boredom? All he does is sit on your bed all day.

“Portrait of a Cecily and Jessica. Cecily is running into walls.”
“Boredoom.”

“Try breathing really deep. Like when you’re going to do the funny laugh… Does that help?”
“No.”

“We resorted to watching the bonus features of Indiana Jones to pass the time.”
“Those were pretty cool.”
“Yeah, but who does that?”
“Us… and Randy Punjap.”
“Randy Punjap is a bear.”
“With an eye patch.”

“We need to make some friends.”
“How do you make friends.”
“Be cool.”
“…”
“I am cool.”

“Hey this makes me look like I’m walking like a penguin.”
“What? All I can see are your flipsy arms.”

“Well, I haven’t even checked my grades yet”
“I know. I know that”

“We can call it ‘Insights to Insanity’”
“We can call it ‘randy punjap’s retirement’”

“I don’t want to be called ceclika… it sounds like paprika.”

"We're not dead yet!"

2008-03-21T12:20:00.011-06:00

A Provo High freshman boy knocked on our door Wednesday night preaching that if we signed up for The Daily Herald to be delivered daily for only $8 a month we would be helping him pay for college. It was a good thing I answered the door and not Jessica. I was sold on two things; 1- This kid had a green Taking Back Sunday shirt on (a sure sign of trustworthiness and sincere academic aspirations)and 2- I am a communications major...maybe I should know what's going on...and support the printed word... Maybe.

*WE INTERPUT THIS BLOG FOR A SPECIAL NEWS UPDATE*
Two local girls, Jessica and Cecily Lemmon, are in critical condition after doctors pronounced that they are moving into the final stages of Wehatehomeworkandtestsandcoldweatheritis, or what is more commonly known as Spring Fever. These sisters are locally respected runners and recent winners of Provo's prestigious Cereal Eating Contest.
Long time and close friend Randy Punjap informed us that Jessica and Cecily have always struggled with Early Onset Senioritis, "Some day they is coming home to the house and never doings the study. They is always with the electronies and the laughings and singings. I always is saying 'You go nowhere! You do nothing!' But they is listening never" Randy said.
Studies have shown that the increasing threat of Spring Fever infects one in five young adults yearly. Researchers have yet to find a cure, but early warning signs inlude procrastination or neglect of homework, slow reaction time to alarm clocks, slurred speech when speaking on subjects of academia, irritability, loss of hearing in class, drowsiness when stationary for extended periods of time, increased attraction to outdoors and sunlight, uncontrollable staring out of windows, and when indoors in a constant unresponive state of lethargy. If your child is experiencing severe diarrhea, consult your doctor immediately.
In honor of Jessica and Cecily the community will be gathering at local Provo River Trail Skatepark, for a candlelight vigil and prayer circle on Friday night at 7:00 p.m. Skating to follow.
*NOW BACK TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOG*

I mean, it would be nice to be "in the know" about local news. Maybe then Jess and I would have been informed that it is no longer safe to park in your own parking garage, "I am shocked and disgusted at the increased levels of Gadianton Robber behavior in Provo" (quote generously provided by Mom). It's always nice to wake up to the news that 19 cars have been broken into and stolen from. That's okay, perhaps now that the crime has been committed, we will simply follow the hard hitting investigative journalism that is sure to follow. And we'll surely join the facebook group "The LPGW" (Lanai Parking Garage Watch) that is bound to be created. Luckily, we don't keep many valuables in our cars. Jess has some loli-pops and her library card, and mine has...trash. Oh yeah there's a cowboy hat in the trunk too. Please, somebody steal that.

On the plus side, now Jess doesn't even have to roll down the window to catch a little Spring Fever.

The Law of Ten Percent

2008-03-06T21:31:00.002-07:00

Parents spend a great deal of time trying to teach their children certain values, showering them at every opportunity with golden nuggets of wisdom that they’ve picked up along their own journey through life, in hopes that the stupid mongrels, who just hung their sister off a tree branch to play piñata, might amount to something more than drunken convicts.

Despite our uncanny ability to zone out during most of these blessed teaching opportunities, a few important lessons have stuck with us… Mother is always right, if you want to continue to breathe outside air and feel the warmth of the sun… If you throw your sandwiches away at school, someone will find out… The mother phone tree should never be underestimated… Life is always better with a bowl of ice cream… But the bit of instruction that has really come to be an integral part of our lives is what we call the 10% rule. The basic principle of this rule is that any story you tell need only contain 10% truth. The other 90% is pretty much whatever the heck else you want it to be. We have yet to determine if this rule falls into the category of literary devices such as hyperbole, apostrophe, tenpercentole… or if it is more of a scientific law, a thermodynamic measurement of how much we’ll burn in hell.

Needless to say, it has come in handy in numerous situations. From the justification of class II criminal offenses, to excusals from school, to possibly its most essential use, writing research papers. It saved me once when I was about five and had the urge to spank baby Cecily’s diapered bum. I threw all my five-year-old muscle and might into that smack. Of course the kid had to start crying and then mom had to come running in and well… you can see where this is going… When asked what happened, I confidently responded that, “I came in here and she just started crying.” At least ten percent of that response was completely accurate. I came in the room and Cecily did start crying. And that’s how it works. We’ll leave more recent examples out of it.

So, why are we telling you all this? This our official warning to you that anything that appears on this blog may only contain 10% truth. If you happen to be included in any of our entries and feel that we are misrepresenting you or your life, we apologize but urge you to keep in mind our standards. Raise the bar. Raise the bar?

why deal with the peel?

2008-03-03T12:56:00.005-07:00

basically we just like to hear ourselves talk... or make people read the junk we write. plus, we are fairly convinced that we're funny.

life ambitions include, but are not limited to: winning community road race prizes (bring on those triple xl t-shirts), writing childrens books and whatever the heck else we want, owning large cereal dispensers (such as the one found in school cafeterias and hotel continental breakfasts), and building a theme park in the backyard we don't have yet.

when we were kids we published a popular newspaper, you may have heard of it, The Lemmon Times. Met by immense success and a plethora of positive reviews from the literary community, The Lemmon Times fostered new writing endeavors, "Birthday poems for Mom", "The Diaries of Junior High Angst", and "What I wish I'd Known Before I Met Coach Shane: Advice for Aspiring Runners and Falcons", just to name a few. Now, back by popular demand, the subtle but succulent writing styles of The Lemmon Sisters will be posted here, peel by peel, for your viewing pleasure.

so, sit back and become part of the magic. it's magic harry!