Our Engagement Story.

Today is our one year anniversary of when we got engaged-on my roommate’s birthday, no less. I’m only *slightly* sorry I kinda stole her thunder that year…. I love you, Grettel!

Anyway, I know it’s a little out of the order I’ve had for writing down our story (does anyone even care that I’m writing it?), but dudes. It’s our anniversary, and I HAVE to celebrate/commemorate somehow.

Let’s get one thing out in the open: my engagement was not a romantic affair. There were no flowers, no soft music, no flash mobs, no elaborate speeches. I did get a spider though, and you’ll hear about that in a minute. All in all, it wasn’t the proposal that dreams are made of, that much is true. But I think the more important thing is the fact that I actually got engaged (and later, married), and the mechanics of it all don’t matter half as much in the grand scheme of things.

Okay, let’s actually start the story.

Once we decided that we were going to get married, we started planning on getting married in December. That way, we would have all year to save money and prepare as much as we could, and we rationalized that family is usually in town during December, so it would be easier to get them to spare a day for us. Tanner discussed it with his mother, who promptly told him that December was actually NOT a great idea, because Christmastime is the most wonderful stressful time of the year, and it would be more difficult to organize everything, get married, go on a honeymoon, and still enjoy Christmas. (Bless you, Terra. Bless. You.) Also, let’s be real. With Christmas so close, we probably wouldn’t get as many presents. (I know, I know, selfish, but presents are so helpful to newlyweds!!) We talked it over, and decided to plan for sometime around May.

So with the date officially unofficially set, and seeing as it was the middle of February, Tanner needed to pop the question SOON. When the question of rings came up, Tanner’s mother remembered that she had a ring from her grandmother, Tanner’s great grandmother. Again, we talked about it and decided that that ring would work out perfectly. I’ve always had a love for vintage things, this ring was a precious family heirloom, and it wouldn’t cost poor Tanner an arm, a leg, and our firstborn child.

The second week of February, I left for St. George, Utah to attend a theatre festival for a week. Originally, Tanner and I had planned to go to his grandmother’s boat over the weekend to hang out with his family and have a nice weekend away. Unfortunately, the St. George trip made that impossible, so I went to Utah and Tanner went to the lake. On my way home from St. George, Tanner and I were texting and he asked if I wanted to go to the lake the next weekend, because apparently his grandmother had some ‘stuff’ she had to do there. Later I learned that she really DID have things she needed to do, but I thought this was just a cover for his real intentions. I just knew I was getting engaged next weekend, and shared the news with everyone in the car.

Fast-forwarding to the next weekend, we made our way to Roosevelt Lake to meet up with his family. I was able to meet his grandma, and we had a lovely evening on the dock. While we were there, his mom got up and asked Tanner to come with her. We both got up to go, but she clarified that she just needed Tanner. I immediately got butterflies. She’s going to give Tanner the ring!!!!!!!!!!! I thought to myself. I tried not to look at the boat, but I couldn’t help myself. I took a quick peek just as I saw Tanner’s mom hand over a tiny white box. Now I knew without a doubt that I was getting engaged soon. We spent the rest of the evening together, and I pretended not to know about what had just happened.

The next morning, I got up and saw Tanner. He pulled me aside to tell me that, yes, he had the ring, and even though he wasn’t going to propose just yet, his mom felt I needed to see the ring in person to decide whether I wanted it or not. Tanner said he was going to go get it, and disappeared in the back room of the boat for about ten minutes. My heart was racing, my palms were sweating, and I was SO IMPATIENT WHY WASN’T HE SHOWING ME MY RING YET?!?!?!?!?!
He came back a few minutes later, and said he was in the bathroom. He avoided all my questions about the ring, and eventually I gave up. I would be seeing it soon anyway.

We went out to the dock, where his family was sitting. We joined them, and immediately he and his mom started texting. I felt super uncomfortable because I was worried that Tanner was telling his mom that I had been asking about the ring, and I wondered if I shouldn’t have done that. I looked back and forth between the two, watching his mother’s facial expression get more and more incredulous. Oh, great, I wasn’t supposed to ask about the ring. She hates me, I know it. What have I done? Ugh ugh ugh she’s not even officially my mother in law, and I’ve already screwed up. While I panicked over my apparent stupidity and impatience, Tanner got up and went to the boat without me. Tanner’s mother, grandmother, and I sat in silence until his mom asked if I wanted to go on a paddleboat ride with Tanner. I said that it would be fun, while secretly worrying that she was just trying to get rid of my face so she could enjoy the lake in peace for a bit. Tanner returned, and his mom announced that the two of us were going to go on a paddleboat ride. Tanner agreed, we got into the boat, and his mom snapped a picture of us.

Low quality because this is a picture of a picture
 from a picture on a phone. Figure that one out, dudes.

We paddled out in silence until I was sure we were out of earshot, and then I asked Tanner what was wrong. He’d been acting really weird all of a sudden, and I was worried I had offended his mom somehow, and I just. Needed. Answers.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said in a voice that CLEARLY INDICATED THAT SOMETHING WAS WRONG.
“….Are you sure, cuz it sure seems like something’s wrong,” I said. “Also, is your mom okay? I’m worried I might have offended her somehow. Why were you guys texting each other?”
“No, you haven’t offended her, it’s just…. Okay. My mom wants me to propose to you today. Like, right now.”

Oh. Oh. Oh my sweet goodness, I am about to be Betrothed. My stomach did somersaults while I tried to maintain my composure. We talked about the pros and cons involving getting engaged in the next few minutes, the major issue being that he hadn’t asked my dad for permission. He wanted to ask him in person, especially since he’d only met him just once before and didn’t want to spoil my dad’s opinion of him. But on the other hand, we were practically engaged already, and it seemed silly to waste any more time.

During this time, I had been staring straight ahead and paddling as hard as I could, but I decided we should focus on each other and the conversation we were having. I stopped paddling, and looked over at Tanner just as a HUGE SPIDER
FACE. Now, I pride myself on not being afraid of spiders, but this was an exception. There was a huge spider on my beloved’s FACE. HIS FACE, PEOPLE. What if it bit him? What if it was radioactive? I can’t handle the responsibility of being Spiderman’s wife!

So I did the only responsible thing left to do, and screamed repeatedly. Tanner casually swiped the spider off his face and INTO MY SIDE OF THE BOAT. I continued screaming, and Tanner stomped the spider to death. He then tried to continue the conversation as if he wasn’t in mortal danger mere seconds ago. I, on the other hand, was still quite rattled, so I hyperventilated and mumbled such nonsense as, “such a… Big spider,” and “ohmygosh on your FACE.” Tanner eventually got tired of me reacting like a normal person and asked me to calm down. I took some deep breaths and eventually returned to normal.

We still hadn’t decided whether or not he should propose right then, but we DID decide that I should at least see the ring. Tanner pulled it out of his pocket, and I opened the box. Inside was a dainty white gold ring with a round, blue stone adorning the top. It shone beautifully in the sunlight, and made a star pattern appear on the stone. It was beautiful. I tried it on, admired it for a moment, and slid it off my finger. I awkwardly handed it back to Tanner, who held it in his hands, sighed, and said: “will you marry me?”
I shrugged, and said “Sure!”

Let’s take a brief moment to realize I had just shrugged off MY OWN PROPOSAL. AND THEN SAID ‘SURE’ LIKE SOME IDIOT. In my defense, however, ever since we had decided to get married, we would joke around and say stuff like: “hey, wanna get married sometime?” and then the other would say something like: “yeah, I guess. I’m not doing anything right now, anyway.” We never took these seriously. They were never real proposals, so I just assumed that this was the same thing! I was expecting something a little more elaborate, so the fact that Tanner had actually proposed went right over my head. Until I saw his face and realized he was serious. Then I quickly said, “I mean, YES! Yes, of course!!!” He put the ring back on my finger and we kissed.

Then we realized he hadn’t asked my father. Crap.
Tanner dialed his number, and as he stumbled over his words (he was a nervous wreck and it was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen), I admired my beautiful new ring, snapped some pictures, and tried to process the fact that I was FINALLY going to get married.

Okay, I realize that saying FINALLY is a little dumb, considering the fact that A) I had just barely turned 19 a few weeks ago, and B) we’d been dating for only 5 weeks. But I’ve been wanting to get married since I was 12, so it felt like a long time to me. Cut me some slack.

My dad gave Tanner his blessing, and when Tanner told me, the tears came. This was really happening! We decided to hold off on calling everyone for a little bit, and began paddling back out.

Apparently, I’m just not allowed to have a nice moment ever, because this was the moment that my bladder decided it needed some attention too. So we paddled as fast as we could back to the docks, where Tanner’s mom was waiting for us. She looked at us expectantly as I jumped out of the boat and ran for the bathroom. I also had no idea what to say to everyone (I’m guessing that shouting “I’m ENGAGED, b*tches! wouldn’t have gone over well), and wanted a moment to myself to collect my thoughts, so it was the perfect crime. As soon as I walked out of the bathroom though, I was ambushed by my fiance (fiance. Not boyfriend anymore! Holy cow!), and we *officially* announced to everyone the happy news.

We went on a celebratory boat ride, where I finally called my parents.

 I called my mom first, but she didn’t answer, so I tried my dad. He answered, and we reveled in the craziness of it all. Before he hung up, though, he said that he wanted to tell my mom the good news.

Oh dear.

My mom called me back just minutes after I got off the phone with my dad, and I had to figure out a backup plan, fast. So I tried to casually ask her if we could stop by later that afternoon, and she said of course. The whole time I was talking to her, my new family looked at me like I was going crazy. What the heck was wrong with me, not telling her I had just gotten ENGAGED? After I got off the phone with her, I explained the situation, and they forgave me.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, as phone calls were made, a date was set, and preparations were begun. I was engaged to the boy I loved most, and we were completely unprepared for the next hectic 90 days.


The blood donation that changed my life.

I pride myself in being the kind of person who just doesn’t throw up. I haven’t puked in 7+ years, in fact. I’m really very talented at breathing through the nausea, calming my stomach down, and holding it in.

Yeah, well, all good things come to an end.

Today was an important milestone in Tanner’s and my relationship. Today was the day we would bleed side by side, saving people’s lives one drop of blood at a time. We donated blood, in case that wasn’t clear. I love donating blood- love it! I love knowing I’m helping someone in a way that is life-giving and vital. It’s beautiful to me, and I was excited to share this experience with my love.

Apparently this day was to have more milestones than one.

I didn’t think too much about the donation today, aside from drinking a lot of water and making sure I had my ID with me. I really should have thought more about the donation though, because in my distracted state I didn’t eat anything after breakfast- and one of the important things to remember when donating blood is to have eaten every meal that day leading up to the donation time. Silly me.

Tanner and I signed in, read the provided safety information, and got ready. We were really hoping to be able to donate at the same time, to, you know, bond and stuff. Unfortunately, we were seated across the room from each other as we prepared to be interviewed, so we couldn’t bond over that. Still, we were hopeful that true love would prevail and we would be able to bleed together after all. A young man sat in front of me, hooked up, bleeding, and cracking jokes. I watched him as he went from cheerful and joking, to pale and weak. They stopped his donation immediately and gathered around putting cold packs on his forehead and making sure he stayed conscious. As this transpired, he remarked that he had donated several times and had never dealt with this problem before. The nurse laughed and said “well, every time is different! You never know what could happen.”

All at once, I knew. I KNEW something was going to go wrong with my donation today, I just knew it. I tried to dismiss the thought of anything bad possibly happening, because I’ve never had ANY problems at all when it comes to donating blood. But still. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling I had, and I hoped it was all just in my head.

The interview went well enough, with many jokes exchanged between the nurse and I. I got settled into the chair and as I was being prepped to donate, Tanner was seated right behind me! What luck! I was only able to see him via iPhone camera, though, which was slightly lame. I was still very, very happy to have him nearby though.

He’s so cute when he bleeds
The donation itself was fine. I continued joking around with the nurses, taking creeper-style pictures of my Tanner, and watching with pride as the bag filled up with my blood. (I’m also pro at bleeding really fast, so that’s cool.)

When the bag was full, a nurse came over to take some additional samples for testing. She asked me how I was doing, and I immediately said I felt fine. And I did, until I said that. That’s when it hit me.
It started as little waves of dizziness, which I didn’t think anything of, but it quickly escalated into full-blown nausea. I was sweating and shaking, and I silently prayed the nurse would hurry up, finish what she was doing, and get me the heck out of there. I also hoped she would recognize that I was not doing so hot and ask me what was wrong so I didn’t have to point out that I felt slightly like death. She apparently noticed that I didn’t look like my regular happy self because she asked if I was feeling okay. I told her I was a bit dizzy, and she called over a nurse to give me a cold pack.

Oh, great. I thought to myself. Now I’m going to call all this attention to myself and make all the nurses here think I’m a total sissy. Good HEAVENS that is one cold paper towel. Ow ow ow owwwww brain freeze… Also- you’re about to puke, girl. You’d better let the nurse know before you decorate your shirt with your breakfast. 

As quickly as I could, I let the nurse know I was feeling nauseous. She put a trash bag on my chest and immediately I put it to good use. In between heaving, I noticed that more nurses were showing up and… Oh, no. They were putting partitions around my seat for the sake of “privacy”- which really means they let everyone know I was having a crisis and that it required hiding. I also felt terrible, because if Tanner hadn’t noticed the unusually high amount of nurses around my chair before, he definitely noticed that I was now hidden from his view and something was not right. I didn’t want him to worry, but I also didn’t want to be throwing up, and as we know, we don’t always get what we want.

Eventually, I stopped throwing up, the room stopped spinning, and I was finally able to speak without ducking back into my trash bag. The only thing still hurting was my pride, and the place where the needle had been. Tanner walked with me over to the resting area where we sipped juice and I forced myself to eat some crackers. The nurses over the resting area kept asking if I was okay and even suggested I lay on a cot for a few minutes, but I assured them I felt fine. Looking down at my whiter than usual arms, though, I could understand their worry.

Tanner took me home and has been taking care of me since then. He made some lunch for us, and got me some Gatorade to help me feel better. I honestly can’t tell you enough how wonderful this boy is. At least twice a day I think about texting his mother to thank her for raising such an absolutely fantastic son, because he really is. He is selfless and caring, and I couldn’t get a better guy if I tried. I’m so grateful for him and everything he does for me. Yeah. I’m crushing preeeetty hard on that one, and I can’t wait to marry the living daylights outta him.



Flirting tips and tricks guaranteed to get you a man.

This has got to be my favorite. It’s fail-proof.

If you follow these tips and tricks, you’ll have yourself a man in no time at all!*


*these have not actually been tested. Results may vary.

Things that are difficult.

After being here for over two months, I feel like I have settled into a routine of sorts. And for the majority of the time, I am very happy. I’ve told you guys this dozens of times, in fact. I love Thatcher! I love my bike! I love my ward! Happy, happy, happy!

But in all honesty, it’s not all sunshine and daisies and freakishly huge grasshoppers. There are struggles. There are issues. And what kind of person would I be if I didn’t tell you all about them? So here goes.

Coming home is hard. I was able to attend my little brother’s baptism over the weekend, and it was a weird experience. Having only visited twice since moving, I’m definitely not used to the changed dynamic of my Mesa home. For one thing, I keep forgetting where everything is, and I feel guilty every time I eat their food. Is that not bizarre? I suppose since I have to buy everything now, I feel the loss of even a few crackers.

For another, I have to learn how to manage my time. Since I’m not readily available in Mesa, I am now a hot commodity, it seems. All of my siblings want to spend one-on-one time with me RIGHT NOW, and my parents want to spend time with me RIGHT NOW, and my friends want to see me RIGHT NOW, and I want to be with them all individually RIGHT NOW, but that is impossible. And so I have to figure out how to divide my time between everyone, and that is easier said than done. It’s so hard when everyone you love wants to be with you, because you want to reciprocate that and spend as much time as humanly possible with them, but the fact of the matter is, there are other loved ones who want to see you just as badly as all the rest. So I was stretched very thin over the course of those few days, and even though it was a wonderful time, I was emotionally exhausted by the end of the weekend and ready to be back in my tiny apartment with my crazy roommates. I’m not as in demand back there, so it’s easier. I can only hope that winter break helps solve those problems, as I will be in town much longer.

Those things aside, I want to get to the heart of the matter. The true reason for writing this post, which is…. Food. Did you expect anything less from me? Specifically, Asian food. I am going through major withdrawals.

It’s funny, because I really didn’t have that kind of food very often back home, but it was accessible almost 24/7, which was comforting. But now? I am nowhere near a Thai restaurant, or an Indian buffet, or- and this is the painful one- a sushi bar. Thatcher just doesn’t have any of those things. And it is slowly but surely killing me and depriving me of my happiness.

Okay, fine, I’m just kidding. But I am suffering.

For example, tonight I had a hankering for pad Thai, so I decided to get crafty with it and make some myself. Meaning I made rice noodles and topped them with a meager spoonful of peanut butter, soy sauce, minced garlic, and lime juice. A far cry from genuine, perfect pad Thai, but I tried, okay? It’s the thought that counts…. Right? I’m pathetic.

At least I haven’t attempted to make sushi with the canned tuna and brown rice I have. Yet.

A girl needs her sushi fix every now and then.


Haeley and the Mystery of the Fizzing Watermelon.

I think this is as close as I’ll ever get to being Nancy Drew.

It began as a normal night. I sat on my couch, alone, save for one roommate who was peacefully slumbering away in our room. It was late, and I was tired after watching a movie. As I removed my headphones and made for my bedroom, I heard the strangest noise. It was a…. Hissing? I slowly backed up into my kitchen, searching for the source of the sound.

I initially thought it was a gas leak, and it was spelling out certain doom for the lot of us. I couldn’t smell anything out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t mean anything when it comes to gas leaks.

Once I determined that it couldn’t be a gas leak, I then thought it must be a balloon. We had some balloons in the apartment about a week ago, and I was sure we had gotten rid of them all, but there could be a hidden one lurking around somewhere, right? I checked, and was wrong once again.

As I was turning around, I was met with a peculiar sight. The watermelon on our counter was covered in white foam. Did one of my roommates wash dishes and accidentally get soap on the melon? Upon closer inspection, I deduced that the foam was coming from the watermelon itself. What’s more, is it appeared to have been flowing free for some time, as the counter was covered in a beige fluid leading to the frothy puddle pouring from the fruit.

I got closer, looking incredulously as the foam continued to spurt from some unseen pore in the watermelon, I noticed the smell it was giving off. I expected to smell a sour, fruity smell, but was instead met with the aroma of yeast, almost as if the watermelon was actually a lump of bread dough. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was definitely unnatural.

This watermelon HAD to be under some magnificent stress for it to be able to force such liquid through its tough rind. I knew it was undoubtedly due to blow at any time, and it would cover the kitchen and me in a pulpy, rancid mess. I knew what I had to do. It was time to take action.

I gingerly picked up the great, rotting fruit and made my way for the door. Fearing that at any moment it would blow, effectively scarring me for life, I walked swiftly towards the nearest black barrel in sight. On my way to the bin, I was met with a small crowd of attractive young men who looked at me quizzically. I suppose the sight would be an odd one, maneuvering through the dark parking lot with a large oozing melon. Nevertheless, I was on a mission and had no time to stop and discuss the matter at hand. So I merely smiled briefly and continued on my way.

Just as I reached the black bin, I was overcome with a wave of curiosity. Would it really explode? What if I threw it? What then?

But then my conscience whispered that that would be considered littering, and I try my best to always listen to my conscience, so I threw it away, went back to my sweet little dwelling, and cleaned up the counter.

And that is the story of how I almost blew up via watermelon. The end.


Here’s actual footage of the fizzing fruit:

Colds and Shakespeare.

I have just been having one adventure after the other lately!
I’m growing up all over the place, it seems. I mean, first I move out, then I start college, and now I’m doing perhaps the most grown-up thing yet:

Dealing with a cold all by myself.

I don’t think I ever fully appreciated being sick at home with my family. That sounds so weird, but hear me out: usually at the first sign of illness, I would beeline to the box of essential oils that resides in my parents’ bathroom and down some spicy oils that helped me feel better almost instantly. After that, I usually took some Vitamin C, Airborn, and Lysine. All things that were almost always stocked up in our cabinets.

This time around, however, I had to go to WalMart and get the stuff myself (did YOU know Vitamin C cost as much as it did? Ouch). I’m feeling better now, but gosh I hate being sick. I can’t taste hardly anything, I’ve lost my singing voice, and everything is nauseating to me. Oh- and since I’ve been drinking so much water, I have to pee all the time. TMI? Sorry. Reality bites.

I cannot WAIT to be healthy again.

Let’s talk about Shakespeare now.

I’m taking a folk dance class each Tuesday night, and we’re learning dances from the Renaissance period, which is actually REALLY cool. I love dancing, and I enjoy this kind of dancing more than I thought. It’s really easy, because the steps are generally simple, and in the Renaissance, dances were very clear and repetitive. Plus I get to pretend I’m a dancer from that time, so I stand straighter and glide more than I would in, say, a hip hop class.

Last night was my first time in the class, and I was met by a surprise. I assumed the class would be full of young women in leotards, ready to dance and make me feel like a clumsy elephant, but that is not the case! It’s a class of only 8, and they’re all completely average people. Including Shakespeare.

Okay, fine. His name is Bob, and he might not be Shakespeare… But I’m pretty much positive he actually IS. He’s taking a Renaissance dance class, so obviously he’s trying to reconnect with his roots. He’s got the right hair for it, and he looks about 400+ years old, so the only logical conclusion is that he is, in fact, Shakespeare.

And Bob. Or should I say SHAKESPEARE?

Obviously, he has aged somewhat, but that’s to be expected when you’ve been alive since the 1500s.

Peeps, this is so perfect. He is taking a Renaissance dance class. Ol’ Shakespeare is still developing his skills. I am honored to have him in my class.

Despite his remarkable survival skills, “Bob” still makes me a little nervous. Being centuries old tends to make people fragile, and he is no exception. I kept my eye on him the whole class to make sure he didn’t keel over or crumble into dust. Good news- he survived.
I know we’ve only just met, but I’ve read so many of his works and loved them all, and I’ve even performed one of his plays, so we’re pretty much BFFs by now. I love him. It’s impossible not to- he’s so sweet and slightly clueless about what’s going on in the class; constantly turning the wrong way and doing the wrong step. He’s adorable! But then again, I’ve always loved elderly folks. They are so fun and you can learn so much from them. I hope Bob and I become friends, because he’s awesome.

And how many people can say they’re chummy with the Bard himself??


A short story told with a lot of words.

I could tell you my experience in under 140 characters (thanks, Twitter!) but that really is no fun at all. So instead, I will present you with a cautionary tale of woe and pizza.

This week I have stayed with a family in my home ward’s children as the parents go on a wild, whirlwind adventure across the seven seas (not really, but this is for dramatic effect, ok?) it’s really been quite nice. I feel bad because I’ve had to ditch them at home for a few hours every day while I’ve been at work, but they’re both old enough to largely take care of themselves. I’m mostly just the chauffeur. ;^) consequently, this has led to a bit of an inferiority complex for me. Being the “adult” in the house and also being the shortest has been, well, something of a challenge for me. In addition to never being home during the day and having the eldest be so independent (she has made dinner all by herself each night, so I’ve largely just been sitting at the counter watching and secretly hoping she doesn’t think I’m a big boob for just sitting there. It’s just that dinner has been a really simple affair each day and I would just be in the way (not that I’m not willing to help, I just don’t want to step on her toes when she is already so capable)).

All of this is beside the point, however. We’re here to talk about pizza. I just needed to provide a little backstory to this cautionary tale.

Last night we got pizza. A meal that didn’t need to be prepared by our hands, so we were all able to just relax and enjoy the atmosphere that comes with being in a tiny restaurant surrounded by the smell of greasy, delicious food. I sat back and quietly reveled in the majesty of Fat Boy’s Pizza. It’s been right next to my house for years, and I’ve never ventured inside, so this was a transformatory experience for me. (Btw, is transformatory a word? It seems like it should be). Soon, the pizza arrived and we eagerly scrambled for a slice. It smelled delightful, and the steam rising steadily from the cheesy surface assured me of its freshness.

Now, perhaps it’s because I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Perhaps in my eager, hungry haste I forgot all decorum. Perhaps I assumed the steamy plume ascending lazily into the air was a special effect, and not an indicator that this pizza had just come from a FREAKIN’ OVEN. Whatever the reason was, I soon learned the consequences that come from prematurely noshing on a hot piece of pizza.

We all partook of the pizza at what seems like the exact same time. Our reactions however were vastly different. As the steaming pizza entered my waiting mouth, it seems the pizza gods threw back their heads and laughed at my naïveté. What happened next seems like something out of a horror movie. It was the stuff of cheese-covered nightmares.

The pizza was actually fresher than I thought. That means as soon as my teeth closed around that bite and sealed my fate, the sheer temperature of the pizza instantly burned the roof of my mouth so badly it formed a huge blister almost on contact. What could perhaps be looked at as a scientifically fascinating exhibition of the human body’s fantastic abilities, was nothing short of pure, unadulterated torture for me. My mind instantly began to race.








All of this transpired as I perspired and tried desperately not to fall to the ground screaming while smoke poured from my mouth. Instead, I smiled nervously even as tears threatened to fall from my pained eyes. I kept my mouth politely closed even as the battle raged inside. At last I was able to swallow, and squeak out a feeble “well, THAT was hot! I really burned my mouth!” To my relief, I found I was not the only one suffering. The eldest girl also accidentally tormented her taste buds as well, and as we struggled for breath I snuck a look at the little boy. He had suffered some casualties, but was happily chugging along on his pizza, seemingly unaware that it was actually 5000 degrees Fahrenheit. This child is superhuman, I think.

After we finished our meal, I staggered outside with the kids in tow. Trying to sound lighthearted, I suggested we get some Popsicles; a plan I decided would help them and me in turn, although I decided upon ice cream for myself.

We also rented Man Of Steel, and as soon as we got home I started shoveling ice cream in my mouth in a desperate attempt to cool the flames that still burned on. It helped to some extent, and we sat down to watch the movie.

Halfway through the film I noticed an odd sensation. Was this possible? Was I just dying and this was my body’s way of breaking the news? Whatever it was, I felt something fall from the roof of my mouth. I discreetly removed it and, upon closer inspection I discovered the horrifying truth: the skin was falling OFF THE ROOF OF MY MOUTH. HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN.

Throughout the rest of the movie, small strips continued to shed, like a carnivorous rain. I didn’t think it was possible to burn yourself that badly, but at least I handled it like an adult, I rationed. After the movie, I helped the girl stuff envelopes , and it was then that I learned I was not alone in my struggle. She, too, had scalded herself to the point of blistering, and she, too, had tried not to freak out over the inhumane temperature of the pizza. In that moment, we bonded like two girls who have been hopelessly wronged by one of the most seemingly innocent of foods.

In that moment I learned that it’s okay if you’re not exactly “adult”. Sometimes it’s okay to freak out over pizza and cry a little. And it’s also okay to never want to eat pizza again.

You have been warned.


Salted honey ice cream, aka my conversion story.

I’m pretty sure I am the last person to jump on the salt EVERYTHING! bandwagon.

You know what I mean, guys. Let’s see… Salted caramel, salted chocolate, salted Oreos, salted brownies, salted frosting… I’m pretty sure they’re going to eventually come out with salted sea salt or something soon. (um… That alliteration was amazing.)
Anyway. My point is, I never really understood what the big deal was. I mean, salt is EVERYWHERE. Our obesity epidemic is a testament to that. So what made salted sweets so special? (again. I am on FIRE with these alliterations) I just didn’t understand. I mean, I love salt as much as the next red-blooded American, but why the fuss?

Enter Pinterest.

A few days ago I was innocently scrolling the infinite pages of Pinterest when what to my wondering eyes did behold…. But salted. Honey. Ice. Cream. This caught my eye in a big way: first off, ice cream. Secondly, honey. Two of the things I love! And since it didn’t look like difficult, I decided to follow the link.

My life has changed since that fateful day.

I know now that I was wrong. I was wrong to assume that everyone was crazy for loving salted sweets. It’s a beautiful cacophony of flavor, and I have been transformed by this experience. Salted honey ice cream is a wonder of engineering. It will change your life forever. It’s so delicious and creamy, you won’t mind the fact that you are going to make yourself hopelessly fat, because after all, the phrase is “fat AND HAPPY”, amirite? And even though you try, you will get it all over your lips, but that’s okay! Because guess what? You get to lick it off. And what’s more, is it leaves your lips all buttery-ish, and it feels just fine.

The only drawback is that you can’t eat too much at one time because a) you WILL feel sick, and b) you don’t want to run out of this too quickly.

But seriously. Make this.


Never text in bed- a cautionary tale.


Moths are attracted to light. That is a true fact that has been proven time and time again. It is indisputable.

Just a little background for the story I am about to tell you.
Due to the lovely weather today, our door was open for the majority of the day; including, I’m assuming, a little bit of the evening. Prime opportunity for a sneaky little moth to make its way into my lovely house. 
I had just returned  home from work and was chatting with my mother in the kitchen when we noticed a healthy-sized moth flittering about upon the ceiling. We didn’t really think much of it, and soon the moth was forgotten. 
After eating dinner and perusing Pinterest for a bit, I headed to bed. I turned the lights off, snuggled into the covers, and continued my text conversation with my good friend Sarah. 
All was well and good. Until.
Until that powdery little devil named Moth decided to make his presence known. 
I suppose dear old Mothy was extremely attracted to the light emanating from my cellular device, because before I knew it, he had found a comfortable place to rest and observe the light. 
These gifs accurately display the compromising emotional state I was in at that precise moment. 
Quickly, like a ninja/jungle cat, I leapt out of my bed, across the room, and out into the hallway whilst shrieking and flailing my hands about like a madwoman. Mothy flew out of my mouth and (hopefully) out of my room as I tried to explain amidst a fit of nervous giggles what had happened. Apparently my shrieking had startled my father, the only other person awake in the house. 
So that is my story. Never text in bed. Also, never let strange moths into your bedroom. You’re better than that.

Easy ideas for April Fool’s day.

Since I didn’t get to pull any pranks this year, I decided to share some simple ideas for you! Enjoy!

There’s the classic “surprise you’re not actually pregnant with a human” joke:

There’s also the “alternative ending proposal” stunt you can pull:

Or there’s the ever-popular car crash idea:

Hope you can use these ideas to your advantage! I hope you have a very successful April Fool’s day.