Tomato, Tom-ah-toe

Every now and then, perhaps only once in your life time...I'm not getting my hopes up...you go on a date that is fun, chill, and you feel like you can be yourself. Dates can be awkward. Dates can be painful. If you've read our earlier posts, you know we're living proof of that.
Years ago, I think I was in high school (yes, that was years ago) I wrote on my "bucketlist" that some day I was going to go to a dance with a live jazz band, playing Frank Sinatra-esque classics, at the top of a ritzy skyscraper. A girl can dream, right? We all know that Rexburg is not home to ritzy or a skyscraper. However, once a year they do have a live jazz band dance. And, once a year, I tend to get asked out. And this year, I went! It was  fun! So what was so blog-worthy about this date? I'll tell you my friends. I'll tell you. Amidst the sparkling cider in plastic cups, the knowing eye-brow raises from the town founders, and the heart-palpitations threatening a CPR session, I was introduced to the good folks of Sugar City.

AND.....

I got called Ass-tree. 

ASS-TREE.

BY HIS MOM.

.........Austrie, Ass-tree, tomato, tom-ah-toe...

His mom? you may ask. He's from these parts- it was a community thing- his family was there. He obviously talks about me profanely when I'm not around. I kid...I kid...I kid......? No matter. At our wedding, his mother better have one oustanding wedding gift. Anyways, I've got to go. I'm in the middle of blending our photos together to see what our future children will look like.

I Was Right the First Time

Have you ever had the intense pleasure of saying, "I told you so?" Feel pretty good, doesn't it? It feels even better when that feeling is accompanied by a deep, gut-trusting sense that the facts being relayed to you couldn't POSSIBLY be correct. To mix things up for you a bit today, we have a small, tragic short story, accompanied with first-edition illustrations. Enjoy my friends. Enjoy.

It Feels Like a Perfect Night...

It feels like a perfect night

to write a blog post,

to make up for our absence

>uh-huh, uh-huh<

It feels like a perfect night

to sit on our sofa

and bemoan our dating lives

>uh-huh, uh-huh<

YEEAAAAHHHHH! 

We've done our shopping, bills, and our feasting

>Oh yeah, uh-huh<

YEEAAAAHHHH a-ah

We're fabulous, full, and in our prime. 

It's time, oh oh! 

(yelling)

I don't know about y'all

but we're going through withdrawals! 

All the men are ducking our tries

to get to the gates in white! 

Little do they all know

that we'd never say no. 

With our bio clocks ticking on

We ready to get it on!

The Hand of Shame

I feel like the Taylor Swift of the blog world. (I'll speak for the both of us because I'm pretty sure Corinne would agree. Plus we both love us some T-Swift) You know how she writes songs about boys and no one knows who they're really about? Except the boy who was involved...poor boy. Perhaps these posts are what's scaring any guy from asking us out... Perhaps there's a hope that if they do they'll end up on our blog (hahahaha I laugh at the thought that would EVER happen) Anyways, not that any of that matters. I have a story for you.
I don't go on many blind dates. And by blind dates, I mean any dates... A couple of weeks ago, our stake had this "stake date night" where they match you up with someone from another ward in the stake. The only comment I made was that I would like someone tall. :) It was a lot of fun, what I imagine a typical fun date would be like: dinner, frozen yogurt, games at my place, him meeting my best friend, her stamp of approval, etc. He was cute, a total gentleman, tall, had a nice accent, and knew how to rock out to Katy Perry's Dark Horse. WHAT? They just don't make them like that in the States. The next week, my faithful wing-woman Corinne accompanied me to his basketball game. True friendship right there. While she was busy yelling at the refs and commenting on the lack of accuracy in free-throws, you know, actually watching the game, I was busy with the eye candy. Heck, at one point he waved from the bench. That's flippin' Disney movie magic right there. Fast forward 2 weeks.
Corinne and I are enjoying lunch at the Crossroads (yes, we're both together, would you expect anything else?) We take a seat, at a prime-people-watching table of course, and start talking. No less than a few minutes later I look over at the table across from us and there he is. The guy from the date. Covering his face. You know, when you set one elbow on the table and place your hand over your eyebrows as if to hide from someone. So tell me how someone can go from waving at you from a bench on court at a basketball game to "hide yo kids, hide yo wife" status? We had a good laugh. Still laughing actually. Is this an appropriate time to hashtag? #storyofmylife

It Keeps Getting Better and Better...

Y'all, the Duke of Cruel Irony has been working overtime in my life today! All throughout the day today, Austrie and I continually had to put our eyes back into our head as they bugged out over one ridiculous incident after another. Prepare yourselves, for what you're about to read happens to most people over the course of several months, not hours. Are you sitting down? You sure? Have you buckled your seat belt? Ok. Here we go...

It all started at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m. Yes, you read that correctly. A.M., as in before the rooster is even crowing. I blearily stumbled into the doors of the gym, glasses haphazardly hanging on my face as I pulled my hoodie over my head and began a short warm up before my circuit training. There are pros and cons to working out so early in the morning, but one of the great perks is that typically I have the entire gym to myself. Translation: no waiting for slow pokes to get off machines, I always get my favorite treadmill or bike, and I never have to fight for the dumbbells. Today, however, the Sultan of Satire sent my ex's twin to the gym at the exact same time. Now, to some of you, this may seem like a big so what? kind of moment. I ask you, dear reader, to place yourself in my shoes for a moment: There you stand, drenched in sweat like some kind of sumo-wrestler that just got done with the all-you-can-eat-hot-dog-challenge, morning breath that was the inspiration behind the title The Desolation of Smaug, and looking like you're missing your prairie bonnet because your soaked hair has begun curling all around your ears. Now, before you run away shrieking, add upon this already nightmare of a role-play running dead-on into someone who looks exactly like the love of your life who doesn't love you anymore. Are you rocking in the fetal position yet? Perfect. So you can imagine my horror when this exact scenario happened to me this morning, made exponentially more awkward by the dead-lock stare of 12 seconds because I felt like I'd been punched in the gut with the visual shock. Needless to say, high levels of comfort were demolished, throats were cleared, and a speedy exit was made. You would think the Fates would cut a girl some slack after watching such a dismally pathetic display of social grace, but I think instead they rolled out the popcorn machine and called some friends. In just a few short hours, I had an email from my stake president informing me that my mother had importuned him on my behalf for a date. My mother. She might as well saved herself the time it took to type the email and just sent me a paper bag to put over my head, all for the price of .45 cents! As I walked from devotional to class, still laughing over the events of the day, my date from the previous week walked right by me, made eye contact, and then, with less couth than a cockroach, quickened his stride to five steps for my every one. I couldn't stop the laughter, and literally looked heavenward, exclaiming,"It just keeps getting better and better!" all the while, supporting Austrie from the laughing attack that almost left her crippled on the gym floor. But the day wasn't quite done yet; I know: you can't imagine what else could have happened after such an epic amount of opposite sex failures, but don't worry, the universe saved it's piece de resistance for the very end. Around five pm, my phone rang, with a woman on the other end, who excitedly exclaimed,"Corinne, I have a young man in my office who is looking for something to do tonight, and I told him I know a nice girl!" Hold the phone please. Let me look in the mirror to see if I have a sign that says "I'm now a placeholder for bored males at the last minute." Hmmmm.... (looking in the mirror) nope. Don't see the sign. You might want to check Tinder though-I hear there's lots of shallow waters there.

In the words of one red-head,"It's UNCANNY!"

Marriage Should Come With An Invisibility Cloak....

By popular demand, I've brought forth this gem of an experience for you all to relish in. Drumroll please ladies and gentlemen...........

Today, I made a fool of myself....SHOCKER. I broke out my "Welcome Winter" outfit: Amethyst tee, with cerulean/navy damask sweater....SO PRETTY. I even went to the extreme length to let my waves embrace the crisp air by finger-setting all my curls. Anyways, the point? I looked good. This hypothesis was further proved earlier this afternoon when I went to a forum in the Taylor Chapel. Trying to slip in unnoticed, I sat in the back, in the first empty seat I could find, which just happened to be next to an attractive boy. Now, usually I am the first one in a situation to chat up those around me, but to my surprise, this boy just jumped all over me and was peppering me with questions, not letting me get a word in edgewise. Pretty soon, we were joined by his roommate, who kept leaning over his buddy to touch my knee, shake my hand, blah blah blah. Now, let's be clear: I could hear a hallelujah chorus singing, because this is the type of thing that NEVER happens to me. Here I am, getting chatted up and flirted with by not one, but two boys! Whoa. But, what's this? A THIRD BOY YOU SAY? Why yes, I did. That is exactly what happens. While I'm being romanced by these two competing roommies, a third boy sits in the empty seat next to me, and quickly begins to dominate the conversation. He puts his arm around the back of my chair, is extremely flirtatious, and then starts ooo-ing and ahh-ing over my sketchbook, another thing that NEVER happens to me.

So, let's recap:

As the forum begins, I find myself surrounded by three attractive men, all who seem to be vying for my attention. As I sit and take notes/sketch, I decide to take matters into my own hands. Of the three boys, it was the third that captured me the most. Sitting there next to him, knowing I might never see him again, and yes, possibly letting my eternal companion slip through my fingers (pathetic, I know. I'm gagging as I write this), I decided that I would give him my phone number on my way out the door. I quietly HAND-LETTERED my name on a piece of paper, with my digits underneath, and prepared to hand it to him like I was some kind of smooth babe or something. Now, for those of you who are not designers, hand lettering is pretty much the "leopard bra" of design. It's like saying, "Oh yeah, you see how amazing this handwriting is? There is plenty more where that comes from." So, as the forum ends, my heart starts beating faster, and I'm getting a little nervous. But then I remind myself that the worst thing that could possibly happen is he never calls me. But, I would forever be the incredible girl who was confident enough in herself to pass on her number and then strut out the door. So, I coolly gather my things, stand, and say to the fellow on my right,"It was so nice meeting you. Here's my number. I'd love it if you'd call." TO MY HORROR, this man looks a little embarrassed, and then proceeds to tell me he's MARRIED.

MARRIED!!!!????

Bad form sir. You should be totally ashamed of yourself for shamelessly flirting with me, and stealing my attention away from the two SINGLE boys that were sitting next to me! Gah! And this dork's poor wife! She will probably find my number in the remnants of his bag, and then forever have a vendetta against me, an innocent bystander in the line of fire of her hubby's chocolate pools of attractiveness. So, it's official. At the time of marriage, both partners should receive invisibility cloaks, so as to end all this ridiculous confusion on campus, and put an end to all the I'm-Trying-So-Hard-To-See-If-There-Is-A-Ring-On-Your-Finger-Without-Being-Obvious-ness.

Those Moments

Have you ever seriously considered what kind of superpower you would like to inherit? I have. Too many times to count. For the most part, I always settle on being able to hear people's thoughts. Not all the time, just whenever I tap into my well of power. Living in a world where too many people are too afraid to tell you how they really feel is frustrating, and it would un-complicate a lot of things for me if I could just read their minds and move on with it. But sometimes (and by sometimes I mean at least three times a week) I find myself wishing that my power would be the ability to disappear. That's right: Poof! Vanish! Presto! Gone! All those moments that you relive at night before sleep claims you, those moments that make you cringe with how uncomfortable they were? Those would be completely eliminated by this ability! Like that moment when your ex's twin catches you staring? Or that moment when the worst blind date of your life sees you in the Cross Roads when you look like an orc who escaped from Mordor, and decides now is the time to acknowledge your presence? Or the time you awkwardly run into the boy you dumped as gently as you could, and in an effort to escape, make a dash for the nearest classroom door, only to discover it is locked by having your full body weight rebounded against you?! OR perhaps, just maybe, it's that moment when your dear friend who wants to be more than friends asks if he can come by your apartment with a friend to introduce you to. And maybe, just maybe, you agree, although you're somewhat puzzled. You puzzlement quickly turns into shades of anxiety as he arrives with a little china-doll-just-graduated-high-school-brunette, and announces that they're engaged. Your emotions fluctuate from total shock (because who gets engaged in two weeks?!) to hoping with all your might that she doesn't know who you are, and what roll you've played in her new arm candy's life. And maybe, just maybe that moment becomes almost crushingly unbearable when said fiance then asks you if you can come to the wedding? And all you want is to disappear in the floor, to hide in some obscure part of the world and never have to smile through the stilted introductions while you hope that this sweet girl doesn't know that you're the one her man has been pursuing for the last year of his life. Or maybe this is one of those hypothetically-speaking moments. Maybe.