Tuesday, December 17, 2013

ten things i don't understand about men

Ever since I got married, I've learned some things about men that make zero sense to me. So I thought I'd compile a list of them for you ladies who know what I'm talking about.

1Their complete fascination with explosions. I don't get it. I never will. If something explodes in a movie, that movie is suddenly 46 times better to most men. And if it's a really big explosion, let's add a few points onto that. What? How does that make any sense?

2How they can eat and eat and eat and eat and eat and somehow never gain a pound. It is seriously the most unfair thing in the history of the universe. I want that superpower!

3How they just cannot tell if something matches or not. This one is actually incredibly endearing to me. But no, Husband, you can't wear stripes AND plaid in the same outfit...

4Video games. Husband is one of those only-once-in-a-while gamers, but I will never ever understand how some men can literally play video games for 12 hours straight. Don't they get bored? Don't their hands hurt by then? Maybe I have a short attention span, but I get bored after doing anything for 20 minutes.

5How incredibly upset they can get when they watch sports. You'd think the other team was personally assaulting them by the way they can rant and rave about it.

6Doing risky things. Like spinning donuts in the car during a snowstorm or extreme sports or cliff jumping. Why are near-death experiences so dang much fun to them? Whenever Husband spins a donut while I'm in the car, I nearly wet my pants, and then spend the next hour freaking out about how we almost spun into the wall or the parked car or the church building and how we were THIS close to being dead and holy crap why would you do that?!

7Spitting. Why? I mean, whatever, but why?

8Watching people get beaten up. This kind of goes along with the explosion thing, but why does a good fistfight make a movie so exciting to them? There isn't even any kissing or romantic monologues during fistfights...

9How they can do pull-ups. Seriously. Even non-buff guys seem to be able to do them. But have I ever in my entire life been able to do ONE pull-up without jumping off the ground first? Nope. Life is so unfair.

10Butt-slapping after a game. What the heck?

But, all of these things considered, I love men, and I love my man. Thank goodness men aren't like women, or this world would be a crazy place.

Monday, December 16, 2013

how to not die while donating plasma

Once upon a time about five years ago, I was a broke college student who thought that the idea of $30 for getting stabbed in the arm with a Capri-Sun straw was a brilliant idea. So I went in.

I was fine the for the first thirty minutes of my donation. It was awesome. I was getting rich just by sitting on my butt watching tv!

And then, all of a sudden, for absolutely no reason at all, I started flipping out. I was shaking. I was crying. It took every ounce of strength I had to not rip that needle right out of my own arm and run from the room screaming. The nurses were trying to get me to calm down, telling me to breathe, but I just would not have it. I had a freaking Capri-Sun straw stuck in my arm and all of my blood was being sucked out of my body by an evil vampire machine and I was probably going to die any second! How on EARTH was I supposed to breathe?

So, if you know anything about plasma donation, you know that they withdraw a certain amount of your blood, extract the plasma from it, and then return the blood to your body (which is why it's safe to donate twice a week).

I had my major spaz-attack while my blood was being extracted. So the nurses made me wait until all my blood was back in me before they could remove the needle. Which takes five minutes!

FIVE MINUTES! I was still crying (which made me feel like an idiot afterwards, because it just so happened that one of the hottest guys I'd ever seen up to that point in my life was sitting in the donation spot next to me... but whatever. Crying is cute, right?), and I was so anxious that I scratched a rash onto the skin on my neck.

Finally, after what felt like forever, that nurse took the needle out. They still paid me, even though I only filled up that donation bottle about half-way, and I ran out of that place and never ever looked back.

But I've recently taken up donating plasma once again. And I've been doing so well with it, all things considered. So, without further ado, I give you

How to Not Die while Donating Plasma

  • Stuff your face. This is my favorite part. It always is less traumatic if you've had plenty to eat before you go, I promise. So take the excuse and eat tons of food (just make sure it's not super fatty, or else that'll mess up your plasma and you won't be able to donate).
  • Pee forty times a day. And by this, I mean stay super hydrated. The more hydrated you are, the easier donating will be. But yes, that will mean that you'll have to make at least 643% more trips to the bathroom throughout the day.
  • Don't look at the needle. Just don't do it. You, and everyone around you will feel so much better if you just don't look at it (I think this may have been my problem that first time I went).
  • Bring something to do. Yeah, they play movies. But for some reason, it's easier for me to get tempted to look at the needle when I try to watch the movie. So I bring my Kindle and read. The time flies by.
  • Know that the only part that hurts is when the needle is first put in and when it comes out. Once it's in there, you can't feel it. And once it's out, you're good. (The only other part I hate about donating is the way they prick your finger to test your plasma levels before you donate. I always jump about a foot into the air when they do that. Ow!) So that's a total of like... 2.5 seconds of pain. You can do anything for 2.5 seconds!

And there you have it! Go donate to your heart's content! (And also know that you are saving lives in the process, which is a total plus! :)

I promise, you won't die.

Saturday, December 14, 2013

the top five things so far about my marriage. in a great list. just for you.

1 The Blue Fuzz Dance
Husband and I received a fuzzy blue blanket for a wedding gift from a friend (shout out to Mary!), which we love and adore and always use for cuddling and sleeping and parading around like superheros because inside, we're both really about five years old.

One day, I decided it would probably be a great idea to wash the blanket, since we use it so much. And also because I'm a germaphobe like you wouldn't believe. (Oh, you think you're a germaphobe? You ain't seen nothin.)

So I stuffed the fuzzy blue blanket of awesome into the washer. And then the dryer.

Out it came, clean, warm, cuddly... and covered in little blue fuzz balls. And because I was busy, I didn't have time to rid the blanket of the fuzz balls when I first got the blanket out of the dryer.

Fast-forward ten minutes. The whole apartment is covered in little blue fuzz balls. The couch. The carpet. The love sac. The kitchen floor. Our bed. Every article of clothing we own. My hair. Husband's 5'o'clock shadow. I kid you not, that blue fuzz was everywhere, and I swear it was making babies at an insane rate, because somehow more just kept appearing.

So, naturally, we made up the Blue Fuzz Dance. It all started when I was brushing my teeth once, and I had a commercial jingle I'd heard on the radio stuck in my head. I decided that the words "blue fuzz" were better lyrics for the entire song. So I sang it. And danced.

The dance is mostly a rocking forward and backward while bouncing kind of dance. But it's awesome and you should all be jealous.
**Also, please not that I am better at the Blue Fuzz Dance than Husband is. But don't tell him I told you that.**
2 The See-If-You-Can-Find-Another-Place-to-Spill-Food-Onto-the-Tablecloth Game 
Husband is the best at this game. It's like the equation A+B=C.
A: We are eating at the table
B: The tablecloth is on the table
C: Husband is spilling things onto the tablecloth that probably won't ever wash out. Like Indian curry sauce. Or spaghetti sauce. Or gravy.
I'm mostly a spectator at this sport, but man, Husband is a natural.

3 Our Dual-Language Home 
Husband speaks Spanish. He can say tons of things. And Spanish-speaking people understand him.
I speak French. But I can say some things in Spanish. Like "hola" and "el burro sabe mas que tu." And Spanish-speaking people ask if I was dropped on my head as a child.
Every morning, our first words to each other are:
Me: "It's time to wake up!"
Husband: "Yo quiero dormir!"
Me: "Por que?"
Husband: "Por que ESTOY CANSADO!"
Me: "Yo dos, babe, yo dos."

See? This is definitely the beginning of a multi-lingual family. Our children are going to be linguists, I bet you four thousand dollars.
**I know that it's actually supposed to be "yo tambien." Don't judge me. I just like the way "yo dos" rolls off the tongue.**

4 Husband's very own workout plan
It goes like this. Whenever he does pushups, I sit on his back. He loves this. Also, if he is ever giving me a piggyback ride (you'd be surprised how often I don't want to walk all the way into the next room), I force him to do squats with me on his back. He doesn't even need to go to the gym anymore, I keep that man in perfect shape!
**I have no idea why this is so much fun for me. Maybe I'm weirdly sadistic?**

5 The Tomorrow-We're-Gonna-Go-To-Bed-Way-Earlier-Than-We-Did-Last-Night Game
We play this game nearly every single morning a few minutes after the alarm goes off. It goes like this:
Step 1: Groan like you hate the world
Step 2: Moan, "I hate the world!"
Step 3: Contemplate how much more sleep you could possibly squeeze in before school (for Husband) or work (for me).
Step 4: Contemplate how much you hate the world.
Step 5: Glare at Husband while he groans, "Yo quiero DORMIR!" (see number 3)
Step 6: Realize how late you are going to be for work and how you won't actually have time to get ready and how probably no one at work actually knows what you look like with your hair actually done and how you don't have time to eat breakfast this morning and just how unfair that really is. 
Step 7: Commit to Husband that no matter how many episodes of "Grey's Anatomy" you want to watch tonight, you can't stay up til 2am again.
Step 8: Stay up til 2am again watching "Grey's Anatomy."

Sorry for my super long hiatus from my blog. I don't have any excuses except for the fact that I just didn't feel like blogging for a while. But hopefully I'll be posting more regularly from now on. I pinky promise. :)    

Monday, August 26, 2013

why the lady at my church probably thinks i'm a creeper

I have a confession to make. I really like babies. But I don't want my posting this story to set you all off on an oh-my-gosh-you-are-so-baby-hungry-when-are-you-having-a-baby-are-you-pregnant-wow-you-need-serious-help rampage.Yes, I am excited to be a mom. Someday in the future. Not today. Not tomorrow. I got married 3 months ago. So... not having a baby yet. Sorry.

But you really don't understand how much I love babies. I can't get over how ridiculously cute they are. Sometimes when I see a really REALLY cute baby, my heart kind of hurts. That's how much I love them.

So once upon a time, Husband and I were sitting at church in a row in front of this lady who legitimately had the CUTEST baby I had ever seen. He had chubby cheeks and big blue eyes and he kept making all these little gurgly baby noises. I just couldn't help myself. I had to look at him every three minutes to see if he was doing any more cute things. (Which, by the way, he was. Every time I looked. Gah, he was so cute.)

Then we went to our Sunday school class and, obviously, I went over and sat by the same lady. Because, well, DUH. Her baby was setting my cute-baby-alert into overdrive and I couldn't help it.

So I chatted with her for a bit before Sunday school started, and that was that. Her baby fell asleep (really cute-ly, by the way). But it's not like I was watching him or anything.

After about thirty minutes or so, he woke up and started to fuss, so she took him out. I was a little bit sad, but I understood. Babies fuss.

I had to leave Sunday school a bit early to meet up with Husband to go attend another congregation's meeting, so I left shortly after that lady with the baby did.

I decided to stop into the bathroom on my way to find Husband so I could fix my skirt. It just so happened that the lady was nursing her baby in there. I just smiled and gave her her privacy (because despite what you may be thinking at this point, I really am not a creeper), and went to the mirror to fix my skirt.

It wasn't until later that I realized what that lady must think of me. First I kept looking over my shoulder at her baby for an hour, then I sat by her in Sunday School and watched her baby sleep, and then I (accidentally) followed her into the bathroom while she nursed him.

Oh my gosh.

I was so embarrassed I almost didn't want to show my face at church again the next week.

Dear lady with the adorable baby,
I'm not a creeper. You just have a cute baby. And I wasn't stalking you or him when I went into the bathroom. The fact that you were in there was a coincidence. I swear.

The end.

Friday, August 23, 2013

one time Husband almost got killed by a rabid, flesh-eating scorpion.

Husband and I have been living in Texas this summer while Husband works on an internship (because some people [unlike me] haven't graduated yet) (<---did you see that? I just rubbed it in! I'm a college GRADUATE, baby! Boo-yah!)

We have learned that Texas is a lot of things during the past three months we've been here.

It is big.

It is hot.

It is sweaty.

And it is scorpion-infested, apparently.

Which leads me to the point of this post: Guys. Husband almost DIED and I'm not even 100% exaggerating as much as normal.

We had the pleasure of having four scorpions invite themselves into our apartment this summer.

One day, I got up from work, turned around... and there he was. Scorpion Number One:

You're supposed to be safe in your home. But look at that thing! It was in my living room!

Luckily, Husband got home just in time to save my life.

He's a better person than me. If I were brave and stuff, I would have crushed that evil scorpion's soul with a sledgehammer. But I'm not brave, so Husband had to take care of it. He had mercy and set the little terror free outside. Which means that it was free to continue being icky and making babies and terrorizing the world. But it's okay, babe, I'm not mad about it or anything, I swear.

So I thought we were home free. Yay! Our lives were saved! We rejoiced.

But then one night I decided I wanted a six pack. You know how sometimes you just decide you want a six pack? Well I did on this one particular night. And so I put in Jillian Michaels's "Six Week Six Pack" workout DVD and started busting out the moves like a super ninja (or... something like that).

I'd been kicking my legs and waving my arms around in the air holding my hand-weights for probably ten minutes when I felt something crawl across my hand.

I dropped the hand-weight. I didn't even scream (I should be given a trophy for that).

There, chilling on my hand-weight like he owned the whole freaking world was Scorpion Number Two:

So I cowered in the kitchen while Husband set the little monster free outside. Again.

Really, babe, I'm not mad at all.

That was a close one. I was too scared to finish getting a six pack right away. And also, my finger stung where the scorpion had stung me a little bit.

I can't believe the nerve of that guy. Those are MY hand-weights!

But Husband was just laughing at the fact that I had been flinging a scorpion around for ten minutes on my hand-weight before I noticed it was there. Which I didn't find funny. I thought it was actually the most terrifying thing ever. I. Could. Have. Died!


Anyway. So once the sting on my hand subsided (which took like twenty minutes, actually. Not that bad, I guess), I started working on my six pack again and all was well.

Until one morning a few weeks later. I was sound asleep in my nice, comfy bed. Husband was getting ready for work in the bathroom. He called out, "Hey babe, come see this!"

Groggily, I roll off of the bed and head into the bathroom. And this is what I see:

Scorpion Number Three.


How dare he? That is worse than being pure evil. That's invasion of privacy and I wasn't going to stand for it.

Good thing Husband was all brave and stuff. After pointing awkwardly at it while I watched from a distance, he finally smashed the dang thing and flushed it down the toilet. No more being icky and making babies and terrorizing the world for that guy. Husband was finally learning a thing or two about how to take care of scorpions (Read: Do not let them live).

So all was well. Everyone was still safe. The bathroom became, once again, a place of privacy and solitude. We lived happily ever after.

Until one morning a few weeks later.

It was a Saturday morning. A lazy one. One of the Saturday mornings where you sleep in and wake up when you're ready and eat breakfast for lunch.

Except this morning, I opened my eyes, rolled over to say good morning to Husband, and started screaming bloody murder.

I think that really woke Husband up. He bolted out of bed swatting at his face like a madman as I wailed "Scorpion! Scorpion! Scorpion!" at the top of my lungs. It was total, instant chaos.

Once we finally calmed down and realized that the scorpion was no longer on Husband's face, we started laughing. Hysterically.

What a way to wake up, right?

We searched for the scorpion for a while, but we never found it. Husband thinks it's probably dead. I, however, am of the opinion that it escaped and is biding its time in the dark. Waiting...

Good thing our stint in Texas ends tomorrow. I don't know if my blood pressure could handle any more rabid, flesh-eating scorpions.

EDIT: After I wrote this post, we found Scorpion Number Five. Husband found the little devil in the shower this morning on his last day of work before we leave Texas. Mr. Scorpie tried to fight, but it was futile. Husband won in the end, and we sent that monster off on a ride down the toilet.

Don't mess with us.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

i love us. mostly because we're so dysfunctional.

Today I showered. I know, let's all gasp together and move on. So I opened the shower door, and, lo and behold, it looked like Husband had gotten into the washable bathtub crayons again.

I'm sorry, but that's just plain cute. I don't care if you have no heart--you have to admit, that's adorable. Plus also, he's getting really good at drawing hearts. You should have seen the hearts he drew when we first got married three months ago. Those were scary. Like mistakable-for-sloths-with-eating-disorders scary. But don't worry, I took it upon myself as his wife to teach him the very intricate art of heart-drawing and I must say I am possibly the best heart-drawing teacher in the history of ever. Probably.

Anyway, all I have to say about this is that this photo, folks, is a prime example of why Husband is my perfect match. Did he say, "I love you honey-pumpkin"? No. Did he say, "Your eyes are like stars"? Nope (though he did once compare my eyes to sapphires while we were dating. My eyes are green.) Did he say, "As you wish"? Nope. He told me that he loves me more than all of the other things.

He speaks to my soul. And my soul is probably, like, four years old.

So basically what I'm saying is... he's dysfunctional. I'm dysfunctional... You get the idea.

Boy, do I sure love being dysfunctionally married. :)

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

things i love

1When my cookies don't have raisins in them.

2When cucumbers aren't ruined into pickles.

3Those days when I can sleep in

4When I can eat a bajillion pieces of cake and lose ten pounds.

5When bugs don't come into my house.

6When the system I use for work isn't the lamest thing ever.

7When I can finish a morning run without feeling like I'm kind of dying.

8When I don't drip sweat into paper cuts.

9When I don't get a hangnail that rips off and bleeds and makes me want to cry like a two-year-old.

10When the movie is as good as the book.

Okay, so this was mostly a disguised list of things I hate... but I get points for optimism, right?
What do you love?

Monday, August 12, 2013

the story of that one time when Husband almost got me thrown in jail forEVER!

Once upon a time, my mom and dad and siblings went away for a week-long vacation (that Husband and I weren't invited to because we couldn't get work off... [We love being responsible adults... Not]). So Mom and Dad asked us to house sit for them. We took care of the dogs, watered the plants, and made sure that nothing exploded while the family was gone.

See, my parents had recently installed this brand new, fancy-but-kind-of-not-fancy-at-all home alarm system. Before they left, they showed us how it worked, how to put in the passcode, and that was that. Everything was going to be great.

Until early the third morning of our stay at the parents' house. The sun was not yet up, but we were. Husband had a 7am meeting that morning that he could not miss, and I had a date with a workout video before work.

It all happened while I was in the bathroom (because that's obviously when exciting things are supposed to happen, right?). I heard this loud beeping noise that sounded strangely like Husband had let the dogs out without turning the security alarm off. It was really loud, so I assumed Husband could hear it. I wasn't really in the position to go and plug in the passcode to shut off the alarm at the moment, so I just crossed my fingers that he was on his way to save the day.

But then the whole house started wailing like it was dying. The siren was loud. It was relentless. And the sudden shock of adrenaline to my system was incredibly effective at quickly getting me out of my morning zombie phase.

As I hurriedly washed my hands in the sink, I heard Husband desperately punching in the passcode and yelling "the buttons aren't working! It won't let me put in the passcode!"

And then the siren stopped and a piercing voice boomed from the security system box. "Hello, can I get your name please?"

Husband was flustered. And he stammered like crazy as he tried to tell the police that he was the Johnsons' son-in-law... but he got their first names wrong in his panicked state.

Super convincing.

"We're just house-sitting for them while they're gone..." he finally trailed away, wiping sweat from his brow.

"I see. Can you give me the spoken password?" the woman on the line asked skeptically.

"Is that the same as the passcode?"

"No, it isn't."

Dang it. My parents hadn't said anything about a password...

Husband and I looked at each other with panic in our eyes.

"They didn't give us a password," Husband mumbled.

"Thank you."

And the police hung up. The siren began wailing again. I scurried around throwing on clothes and praying out loud that pretty please I wouldn't get thrown in jail.

Husband looked at his watch. "Shoot. I'm late for the meeting... I have to go..."

"Go," I told him. "I'll figure it out."

And, reluctantly, he left.

It wasn't until he'd driven away that I realized that I had left my wallet (which contained every legal proof of ID that I had) at our apartment. And I didn't have a car.

I finally got the siren to shut off, but I couldn't stop myself from dreading what might happen next.

What if the police showed up and carted me off to jail? What if the next time I saw my husband was through prison bars? What if I had to wear handcuffs and looked awful in my very own mugshot?

At about this point, I was calling every member of my family--and where they were, it was about 5am. ("Sorry, Mom and Dad, but I might be going to jail, so if you could pretty please wake up, I would appreciate it a lot...")

After several phone calls, I finally got Dad to answer. He was already laughing.

"Making yourself known this morning, aren't you?"

Apparently, the police called them to tell them they had robbers in their house. Thank goodness my dad was feeling nice enough to verify our alibi.

So, I didn't get thrown in jail. In fact, I didn't even see a police officer.

I did, however, give Husband a hard time the rest of the day for nearly getting me put into jail.

And we lived happily ever after. Well, technically that part actually came after we accidentally locked ourselves out of the house later that same day and had to break in without setting off the alarm for the second time. But that's a different story.

Thursday, July 4, 2013

why my wedding day was NOT the best day of my life

So I've just kind of come to accept that right now I'm kind of horrible at being a regular blogger. I wish I could be all legit and write something awesome every day, or remember to take pictures of the cool things I do, or have hilarious things to say all the time... But the truth is... my blog will probably never be a regular thing. It'll probably continue to go in random spurts just like it always has. And you know what? That's okay with me. :) So here goes my first post in three months!

Throughout my whole life, people have always told me that my wedding day would be the best day of my entire life.  But they were wrong.

My wedding day WAS wonderful. It was the day I did the best thing I've ever done. I knelt across an altar in a holy temple and was sealed for time and all eternity to my very best friend.

But on my wedding day, I was also exhausted. My face hurt from smiling so much. I hardly ate any food (other than the one bite of cake that Husband smashed in my face) all day. It was reeeeeeally hot in that wedding dress. Things were stressful. My shoulders hurt from trying not to slouch. So many people stepped on my dress that it ripped in the back. My veil weighed five-hundred pounds, I swear.

My wedding day was not the best day of my life.

You know what was? It was the next day. Waking up with the sun and rolling over to see the person I love more than anything in the world smiling at me with those sleepy, I-just-woke-up-and-aren't-I-the-cutest-thing-ever eyes.

And then the next day after that was the new best day of my life. And then the day after that.

Every day I'm married to him is the new best day of my life.

Getting married is fun. But it's not as fun as being married.

I love hearing Husband talk in his sleep. He says the funniest things! ("No, you got it all wrong! I wanted beef and CHEESE!")

I love it when Husband leaves notes for me on the shower walls with washable bathtub crayons ("Waking up next to you makes waking up worth it.")

I love making dinner every night and sharing it with the kind of guy that thinks every single meal I make is the best thing he's ever tasted in his life. ("Seriously, babe, this is the best thing EVER!")

I love having a new last name. And not just any last name. His.

I love holding hands in church. I mean, we could do that before we were married, but I love the way it feels like family now.

I love how when I wake up from a nightmare, my husbands wraps his arms around me and brushes back my hair from my face and whispers that everything is going to be okay, he's got me.

I love sharing things. And maybe I won't always love that, but for now, it's definitely a favorite thing.

I love slumber parties in the living room when we pull our mattress out and pile it high with couch cushions and pillows and blankets.

The wedding was great, but the days that have followed the wedding day are even better.

If you aren't married, you should look into it. I hiiiiiiiiighly recommend it. :)

And just because I can, here's a photo dump of the wedding day. Enjoy!

 It was a custom dress made from my mom's wedding dress lace. I loved it!

 He didn't get to see the dress until the day of the wedding.

 The look on his face made me so happy!

We were married in the St. George, Utah temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
May 4th, 2013

Right after the ceremony.

 Found those shoes on Pinterest! Loved them!

 We had so many people there who loved us!

 Custom-made jewelry made by my daddy. I gave him the design, he created it. It was beautiful!

Not to mention, I inherited the cutest bunch of nieces in the world!
My nephews are just as cute, but I love this picture. :)

 Most attractive man ever, I know. ;)

Who ever said "happily ever after" didn't exist?

I'm the happiest I've ever been in my entire life!

Monday, April 8, 2013

honeymoon honeymoon honeymoon honeymoon...


Fiance and I are on top of the world right now because guess freaking what?!

Fiance just landed an amazing internship for the summer!!!!

(Imagine us screaming and jumping up and down and hugging each other and then calling all our parents and then jumping and screaming some more. Because that is definitely what happened.)

Because of this internship, our honeymoon-less wedding that is happening next month is now no longer honeymoon-less! This internship means that Fiance won't be taking classes over the summer, and it also means we're moving to Texas for three months!

So guess where we're going on our honeymoon!

I'll give you a hint.

Or how about this hint?

Or this:

Still have no idea?

Well, here are a few more hints:

  • When we go, the average temperature will be about 85 degrees
  • The average water temperature will be 77-80 degrees
  • It's made up of hundreds of little islands
  • I'm going to come back ridiculously tan (this is a PROMISE!)

Give up?

Okay, you totally guessed it.

We're going to the Bahamas!

I've never been anywhere tropical in my life, so I'm unbelievably excited for this.

Let the countdowns begin!!!

17days until I graduate from college (finally!)

26days until I marry my best friend!

31days until we move down to Texas!


34days until we take off for those white sandy beaches!

Could life get any better right now?

I submit that it cannot! :)

Where did you go on your honeymoon?
Have you ever been to the Bahamas?
What should I make sure to not forget to bring with me?
Where can I find a new inexpensive swimsuit?

I'm going to the Bahamas!!! :)

Monday, March 25, 2013


Ever since I was little, my ultimate goal has always been to be a mother. Nothing in the world is more important to me than that, and I can't wait for the day a few years from now when Jon and I will be able to add a little one to our family.

But for many, life throws them a hard-ball and makes becoming a parent more difficult. It breaks my heart to hear stories of a couple that desperately wants children but haven't been given the opportunity to have any.

My brother and sister-in-law, Mike and Madison Olson, have begun the process to bring a child into their lives. They've gotten approved for adoption, and now all they need is to find a child to love.

If you know of anyone with a baby that needs loving, wonderful parents, please check out their adoption page or their blog.

Mike and Madison

Friday, March 22, 2013

my favorite things about today

1I slept in until 8:50! Was I supposed to? No... Was it amazing? Yes. Definitely yes.
2The wedding is six weeks from tomorrow. BAHHH!
3I actually shaved my legs today. Hooray for not being stubbly and gross!
4I had two (TWO!) string cheeses at lunch today!
5I finished everything on my to-do list done at work. Yay productivity!
6Waffles for dinner! And they were the best waffles in the world. Possibly also the universe.
7I'm wearing old sweat pants!
8It's Friday!
9We only have three more episodes of LOST!
10I used a total of ten exclamation points in this blog post! (make that eleven)

This is how excited I was to eat real Belgian waffles in Belgium.
They were even more delicious than they look, too. :)

What's awesome about your day today?
Do you like exclamations points, too?

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

a scarier side of the city of lights

I lived in Paris, France on a study abroad program four years ago. It was a beautiful experience, and there was so much I absolutely adored about it all.

Taken on my first day in Paris

But there was one day that I'll never be able to forget from my stay in France, and it's one that still makes me shudder.

I was in a busy metro station by myself in the middle of the afternoon during my first week abroad. I was scrutinizing a map, still trying to figure out which line to take to get to Garden of Tuileries, when it happened.

A man, obviously drunk and homeless, grasped me around the waist with one hand and dug his fingernails into my shoulder with the other. Panicked, I yanked away and booked it into the crowd with a spasm of adrenaline and fear.

But he followed me. He chased me through the throng and across the platform. He caught up to me, yelling angrily at me in slurred French. Then he started kicking me.

That's when a word I didn't even realize I knew in French came to my lips, and I screamed it at him until everyone within earshot turned around to watch.

The anger in his eyes blazed, but he recognized defeat. Too many witnesses.

So he stepped forward, dug his heal savagely into the top of my foot, and then stalked away.

It took all I had to get out of the metro station before I broke down into tears. I'd only been in France for about four days, but suddenly I just wanted to go home.

I was afraid of men for a long time.

This is what I wrote about the experience soon after it occurred:


The padding of feet behind me, the shuffle of toes, the slap of soles against the concrete. I gulp. Refuse to look behind me. I might see Him again.

The sound is everywhere, mingled with the bubbly chatter of tourists and the refined conversations spoken in lilting French.

But the footsteps…

I crush my hands to my ears and flatten them against my skull. My earrings stab into my flesh like the pinpricks of His eyes on my skin.

Like a whisper behind me against the cobblestones, the footsteps continue. The whisper becomes a babble as it weaves in and out of all the footfalls that surround me in the street. The babble gathers strength and hammers my mind, its roar drowning out all thought.

Tears sting my eyes, hot blood floods my cheeks. And still the footsteps never recede.

The voice of a man leaps through the air beside me and I am sent shaking. My body reels away from the low vibrations of his speech. I understand him. I see him. But it is not Him.

The man asks me where the Sorbonne is. I mumble a few phrases in French, my eyes trained on the ground. I point. The man leaves.

I swallow down more tears.

I am almost running now. Running away from the footsteps, away from His voice.

But men surround me, they weave in and out of shops and stands and buildings. They are everywhere. And they are all speaking.

And I am screaming.


No sound escapes my lips.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Even as I do, I can see Him again. See the hungry look in His eyes, the grease in His hair, the grime in His skin. And His scent assaults me. Oil and alcohol. I choke.

And then I feel the grip of His arm around my waist, feel His filthy fingers curling into the flesh of my shoulder. The yank of His body as He tries to pull me away into the dark.

My eyes fly open. He isn’t here.

But they are everywhere.

What's your scariest travel experience?

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

i dreamed a dream...

Okay. What the holy hannah hobo heck is going on with me? (Forgive my bad language)

I'm (almost) 23 years old. I've gone nearly that entire time with a relatively dream-less existence. Other than a few random dreams (you know, the one where you go to Prom naked, or where you fall off a cliff and get so worked up over falling to your death that you have a mini spaz attack in your bed), I'd never been one to have exciting dreams. Or weird ones. Or awesome ones.

I'd wake up, and I'd remember wisps of dreams, but never anything concrete.

I don't know what's in the water these days, but something is definitely up. I'm remembering my dreams like a crazy madwoman, and all of them are beyond weird.

Here are a few examples:

dream 1: in which the immaculate conception makes a second appearance
Pretty self-explanatory. I dreamt that I was hugely pregnant all of a sudden with a child I hadn't conceived. Nobody would believe that the baby had just popped into existence, though. I specifically remember one bit of the dream where I'm sobbing profusely screaming, "but I have no idea where this baby came from!" Everyone just laughs.

dream 2: in which i wake up on my wedding day three months too early
I wake up thinking it's February, roll over and look at my phone. It's May 4th. I fall off my bed in shock. Fiance's calling me asking me where the heck I am. Mom's calling me asking how come I didn't order the wedding cake. Bridesmaids are asking why they don't have anything to wear. I book it out of the house and drive to the wedding place, only to realize that not only had I not yet gotten the alterations done for my wedding dress, but I actually forgot to get dressed that morning. Yep. It was one of those dreams.

dream 3: in which i'm a sneaky shower-taking ninja
The landlord of my apartment has newly painted my bathroom and told me not to shower in there until the paint dries. But I need a shower (not in a I'm-disgusting-and-dirty kind of way, more in an OCD-I-must-shower-twice-a-day kind of way). So I sneak into the bathroom after the painters have gone and take a shower. But the painters figure me out and start banging on the door yelling at me to stop showering. And I try to pretend like I'm not actually there, but I fail because I have to go to the bathroom so horribly bad and the painters hear me using the toilet. Geez Louise.

dream 4: in which the gym starts on fire but i still want to work out
The title of this one is pretty self-explanatory, too. I show up at the gym, and find out that it's totally on fire (like, blazes up to the sky, polluting the earth with smoke, and all that jazz), but I don't want to miss out on my workout for the day, so I ignore the fire. Oh, and somehow I've lost all my clothes (why do our dreams DO that to us?!), and there are all these creepers trying to take pictures of me. And then when I get into the smokey gym, none of the treadmills work except for this one bizarro one that has a head that you talk to instead of a screen with buttons. And it looks like Ron Weasley but has a really bad sense of humor.

The list goes on... but I think there are a few things we can learn from this:
1I need a hobby.
2I am a workout maniac (as evidenced by the fact that I haven't been to the gym in close to a month...)
3Maybe I shouldn't shower twice a day.
4I should probably get more sleep than I do.
5I should definitely make sure to wear clothes to my wedding.
6I should learn better ninja skills. Like how to use a toilet without making any sounds.
7I don't fear fire.

Have you had any crazy dreams lately?
Do you somehow embarrassingly lose your clothes in half of your dreams?
Have you ever worked out in the middle of a fire?

Monday, March 18, 2013

because google friend connect is committing suicide...

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

lose twelve pounds? check!

Hey, guess who's lost twelve pounds since the beginning of 2013?

Me, that's who!

This nastiness is what one pound of fat looks like (gross, right?) Looking at this makes me want to do the biggest victory dance ever that I lost TWELVE of these bad boys!

Call it "shedding for the wedding," call it, "dieting," call it "holy crap I didn't realize I had love handles til I saw that picture!" Whatever you want to call it, that's what I've been up to this 2013. And I couldn't feel better!

Knowing that there are probably several of you out there who want to lose a few pounds, I thought I'd share my "how I did it" secret formula of success. (Remember, I'm not a physician or an expert. I don't know squat about much. But I do know what works for me. So take it for what it's worth. :)

Ever heard of MyFitnessPal? If not, you definitely need to check it out.

They say that the number one way to lose weight is to simply log everything you eat. "If you bite it, write it."

I've tried doing that a zillion million times (yes, that is a scientific number). I've written things down in notebooks, in my journal, on the "notes" app on my ipod. I even guesstimated calorie counts. Somehow, it never worked for me. I'd log for about a week, and then I'd forget. And I'd misrepresent myself. And I'd leave things off. Soon enough, my food log was done. And I moved on to bigger and better things (like ice cream!).

MyFitnessPal is great because it does all of the work for you. All you have to do is say, "hey, I ate a bowl of Lucky Charms for breakfast," add that bowl of Lucky Charms onto the little app, add in the milk, and then you're off. It calculates the calories FOR YOU. So you can get onto doing better things. And also so that you can't lie to yourself and pretend that a bowl of Lucky Charms is only 70 calories (because, sorry, it isn't).

When you first get set up with MyFitnessPal, you tell it how much you weigh, how old and how tall you are, what kind of physical activity you do, how much weight you want to lose, how quickly you want to lose it, and then it calculates a daily calorie goal for you.

So let's say MyFitnessPal calculated that you should eat 1700 calories per day. You eat a bowl of Lucky Charms (110 calories) with skim milk (86 calories). This genius app calculates that you have 1504 more calories you can eat for the rest of the day. It makes it easy for me to know how much I can eat.

The best thing by far about MyFitnessPal (in my opinion) is that it has a ginormous food database. If you eat it, it's likely that the food is listed in MyFitnessPal. And if you make a lot of homemade food, you can put together your own recipes on the app, and it calculates the calories in your recipes, too!

It also has graphs that show how much weight you've lost, it gives you more calories when you exercise, and it has awesome community motivation and support on the message boards.

Oh, and it's FREE.

Nobody paid me to tell you about MyFitnessPal. I'm telling you because I think it's so dang stinking awesome. I'm down two pants sizes (a size I haven't worn since high school)! I look better, I feel better, and even though it was hard (anyone who tells you that a diet won't be hard is lying to you), it was worth it. And easier than any other diet I've done.

And. It. Works.

So, take it or leave it, but I think this app is the coolest app I've ever used.
(Sorry, I have't taken any photos yet. But I'll post them soon!)

How do you diet?
Have you ever used MyFitnessPal?
Do you like free awesome stuff?

Saturday, March 16, 2013

cross-eyed and proud.

If you've ever met me in real life, you've probably (okay, definitely) noticed that I have a "lazy eye." (I hate hate hate that term. I'd prefer that you call it by its scientific name, "Amblyopia." [What, you've never heard of that word? What normal place have you been living?!])

(I know my eye isn't that bad in this photo... I wanted to put up a good one, but I have this crazy tendency to delete/hide/burn all of the photos of me when my eye is all skeewompus. So this'll have to do. Sorry guys.)

To me, the term "lazy eye" feels so negative. It feels like it's my fault. Like my eye is being a lazy bum and just needs to get off the couch and stop being lame. But that's not what it is at all.

See, the story of my eyes started the day I was born, almost 23 years ago.

I was brought into the world on a summer evening with a head full of dark black hair (who knows where that went), dark olive skin (coming from a redhead mother--who knew?), and a pair of severely-crossed eyes. Cute, right?

The doctors told my parents that my eyes were nothing to worry about. Most kids' eyes are a little crossed when they're born. It would all straighten out with time, they assured us.

But mine didn't.

My eyes were stuck like that. And it wasn't until I was a few years old that God granted us a miracle.

One morning, my mom and dad were taking me on a walk outside in a stroller. A nice man with a kind smile stopped them to admire their baby. It was only after talking to my parents for a few moments that he mentioned that he was an eye doctor, and that their baby's eyes needed medical attention. If my parents didn't take me to the doctor soon, I could go blind in one or both of my eyes.

Mom and Dad took me to see an eye doctor right away, and my weird crossed eyes were given their first scientific name: Strabismus.

Strabismus isn't common, but is also not extremely rare either. It is basically when the eyes are not aligned (not as a lazy eye, but as a rule. Meaning that the eyes are always crossed no matter which direction they look). To compensate for the double-vision that results from crossed eyes, the brain (being the efficient machine that it is) learns to shut off the vision coming in from one eye. Which is all fine and dandy. Until the vision from one eye has been shut off for so long that the eye loses its ability to see at all.

I went onto the operating table twice when I was four years old. I was terrified. I can still remember lying on that bed both times, staring up at doctors with hairnets and surgical masks, trying my best to be a big girl and not cry, but not really being able to help it. And then I remember waking up afterward, absolutely blind for several days while my stitches healed.

After the second surgery, my eyes were mostly aligned. I was required to wear eye patches and do daily  eye muscle exercises to strengthen the weakened muscles and to make sure I kept the vision in both eyes until I was in high school. But the damage was done by that over-efficient brain of mine. In trying to help me by shutting off the vision in one of my eyes while I was cross-eyed, my brain lost its ability to use both eyes at the same time. Enter the new scientific name: Amblyopia.

So still, to this day, I only see out of one eye at a time. That means zero depth perception (which also lends itself to lots of hilarious mishaps on almost a daily basis). It also means that sometimes when I talk to people, they think I'm talking to someone else. It also means that 3-D movies? Yeah. Not so much.

But most of all, it means that I have a lazy eye. Because I only use one eye at a time, the eye I'm not using just pretty much does what it wants. And I have absolutely no idea unless either someone tells me or I look in a mirror.

But you know what else having a lazy eye means? It means I can tell who my real friends are. They're the ones who don't love me in spite of my bizarro eyes--they love me because of them. They're the ones who laugh along with my when I pour my milk on the counter because I can't tell where the cup is. They're the ones who don't even notice my crossed eyes anymore because it's so normal to them.

They're the awesome ones. :)

Where am I going with all of this? Let me explain.

I started wearing glasses when I was five years old. Since then, I've worn all shapes and sizes of glasses. I've come to love the way glasses help me see the world so much better.

I know that thousands of people wear eyeglasses. Some of them have Amblyopia just like I do, some of them don't. All of them are able to see the world so much better because of their glasses.

And that's why I'm going to tell you about GlassesUSA.com.

GlassesUSA is a company that sells glasses online. Not only are they easy to find, but they're also incredibly easy to use. They have pretty much every type of glasses imaginable. I kid you not. Want hipster glasses? They got 'em. Want librarian-style glasses? Yep, those too. Harry Potter glasses? Oh yeah.

You can browse by frame type, by shape, by gender styles, by price--the options are endless (I'm not kidding), and work for any eyeglasses prescription.

Not only that, but they also offer a 110% lowest price guarantee and a 100% satisfaction guarantee along with a generous refer-a-friend program. Additionally, you can stay up-to-date on all GlassesUSA happenings through their Facebook page (www.facebook.com/glassesusa) and their Twitter feed (@GlassesUSA).

And, because they love us, they've decided to offer all of my blog readers a fantastic 10% off discount! All you have to do is use the discount code: Blog10.

Not only that, but they have a page full of fantastic offers that you should definitely check out if you have a brain at all. :) Check it out under the "Sales and Coupons" tab on their page.

The coolest thing about GlassesUSA, though, is the fun virtual mirror you can use to try on your glasses. Check it out! I love the look of these frames. I picked my best model face for you. :)

Here, try it out for yourself!

Do you wear glasses?
If you purchase from GlassesUSA, make sure to tell me about your experience!