Monday, December 31, 2012

Striking Back

It is 1:44 a.m. California time and I am contemplating starting to blog again. 

I am here with my second family (the Nesers) watching the second (I mean sixth?) Star Wars, finishing up a long Sunday that began when we all woke up this morning on the floor of a crowded living room, realized that a pipe in the laundromat of the apartment complex had broken destroying any chance we had at hot water for the morning, and collectively decided that this was grounds enough to stay home from church. 

No hot water = No shower = We're not amused, Sunday. 

SO, instead of being righteous we slept in until 12:30 and then watched this talk to ease our consciences. 

It happens to be the perfect talk to listen to on the last day of the year so I thought I would recommend it to all of you. 

Part of it talks about how we should get off the computer and spend more face to face time with the people we love so it is at least a little bit ironic that I am blogging about it. Jokes on you though. You're also on the internet reading this post. 

We both have some things to work on. 

And speaking of face to face time, there is one person who I will be getting a whole lot less of that with . 

Her name is Aly and this is me crying all my tears because she is moving to Iowa and because we said goodbye yesterday and also because I wear that shirt every third day and that is really starting to become apparent to anyone who follows me on any form of social media: 

She has been there for every bit of my college highs and lows (mostly lows, if we're talking dating, mostly highs if we're talking how many times I set the record for consistently eating chicken sandwiches as my main form of sustenance). 

I could possibly write the longest and cheesiest post ever written about how Aly is the kindest, best, sweetest, wittiest, funniest person on this earth but Vader has just threatened to carbon-freeze Han Solo so I really should get back to the movie. 

That and I might cry more. 

I love her. 

If you meet her, you should do your best to be her best friend. You will really like it. 

I sure did. 

Love, Katie

P.s.- I like her husband (I guess) and her baby too. I will miss you guys! 

Monday, November 12, 2012

Just a few questions I have...

#1. Why do things that look like scams, and seem like scams, and smell like scams, (and your husband tells you they are scams,) have to actually BE scams? Can't my
na├»ve faith in humanity actually be well placed for once? 

#2. Can I have my $90 back? 

If anyone knows the answers to these questions, by all means, please speak up. 

Wednesday, October 31, 2012


I literally love Halloween.

And yes, I mean literally the way it was meant to be used. Not "figuratively." Although sometimes I use it the way that means "figuratively," even though I still say "literally."

I'm so ashamed.

In other news, I wore this skirt to school today:

I also cut my hair yesterday (BANGS!!) and between the two, somehow, it must have seemed to people (four, to be exact) like I was wearing a costume. 

I wasn't. 

"Oh, what are you supposed to be?" they said. 

"Well...just, myself, I guess."

One of my students even asked me if I cut my hair for Halloween. "Why yes," I said, "I permanently changed my appearance for the sake of this unrecognizable Halloween costume." 

This whole thing reminded me of the day that I wore my favorite sweater to school and forgot it was ugly sweater day. 

Later, Cj and I decided to stop watching The Adams Family, (which seems to be the only Halloween movie ABC Family has found suitable to play for the last month), and put on a costume for at least a few hours before he had to go to work. 

Unlike most pinners/bloggers/responsible people, we had nothing planned. 

After a quick search we came up with these beauties. 
Any guesses on what we are?: 

Okay fine, I'll tell you, we're trees. 

Considering how much I love Halloween, this was definitely one of my weaker years. 

But, I instagrammed it anyway.

Because we mustn't stop pretending to be hipster over a little setback like this.  

Happy Haunting! 


Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Marathon Prep

The last time I ran a marathon I was so freaking dramatic about it.

You can read about it here.

Now again, it seems, this race has found a way to squeeze a little drama-juice into my off-brand sports drink.

Somehow a marathon always seems like a great idea when you sign up for it, five months in advance.

Cj and I were all smiles in April when we filled out the application, all smiles in May when we got accepted, all smiles in June when we bought our new running shoes.

And then, July. (And even worse, August! September!)

Here is a little recap of how things have gone. The drama seems to build as the runs become longer :

7 miler- I slid into home plate in a softball game the day before (in shorts) and tore all the skin off the back of one leg. Had to stop at mile 5 because the fabric of my shorts had pussed (gross, that is a lot of puss) to my leg and then ripped off.

9 miler- Had been feeling sick all day, ate In N Out for lunch that day. Got home from my run and threw up 7 times. out. my. nose. (Should I have warned you that all of these stories would be gross?)

15 miler- Pulled a tendon (or something like that? english major here) in my ankle-area. Literally cried the whole fifteen miles. And by "literally" I don't mean "figuratively." Pain.

17 miler- Woke up with a sever migraine. Got ready. Walked out the door. Couldn't see. Walked back in. Fell asleep face-down on my bed. Suffocated to death. (But seriously. How did I not? That was lucky.)

18 miler- Awesome! Felt great! This marathon is going to be the best ever! I love running!

The Next Week- Jokes on me. Hurt my back in a soccer game. Confined to my bed for a few days, still unable to walk without walking like Quasimodo (although at least I don't look like him this time.)

And now, here we are.

I am heading back to the doctor tomorrow for some more testing, adjusting and therapy. He is going to tell me if he thinks I am capable of running the marathon this weekend.

"Capable" is not exactly the word I was hoping for when I signed up in April.

I was thinking more along the lines of "fully prepared to win the entire race to the shock of my entire family and my high school track coach who always thought I was kind of a dead-beat."

Although, I guess that is a lot of words. And a lot to ask for.

For now, I would settle for "able to finish."

Cross your fingers for me?


Thursday, September 27, 2012

On House Cleaning.

Our house has been a disaster lately.

I've never claimed to be the world's tidiest person, but lately I have been feeling a lot of pressure to have a perfectly clean home to show off our perfectly decorated new married apartment because somehow it is "living the dream" to live in a spotless space where we cook grilled goat cheese sandwiches and eat greek yogurt with fresh blueberries and put it all on Instagram which then sends it to Twitter which will then post my Instagrammed-Tweet on Facebook.

Imagine the notifications.

Now, don't get me wrong. Cj and I do our best to clean up when we can. We put our dishes in the dishwasher, even vacuum periodically. So why do I feel the need to apologize to people when they come over and find that our school books are spread all over the living room floor, or see that there is five piles of clothes in our room because that is the exact amount of outfits I had to try on this morning to make sure I had just the right one on for the poetry reading I was going to today.

What should I really say about that?

"Sorry. We've been really busy living fulfilling and wonderful lives?"

Because we have.

We go to school. We learn wonderful things and think about changing the world even though we are just a history major and a poetry major and nobody seems to care too much about either of those things these days.

We work. I attempt to teach new college students how to feel passionate about expressing their opinion, or even simply how to value their own opinion. Cj spends his nights officiating intramural sports while I participate in said sports and do my best not to freak out when he throws a flag on me in a football game even though I do not think I was flag-guarding (I usually am.)

We do church stuff. We go to our church's temple and we read our scriptures and we even pray to God every night for a really long time because we have a lot to say and a lot going on and mostly because we end up laughing or falling asleep somewhere in the middle and usually have to start over.

We have family things. And friend things. And we're running a marathon next weekend. And we've got some big trips planned. And we've got some small trips planned. And we like people so we want to see them all the time, and we want to call them all the time. We like TV and we like watching it together. We like when Scrubs is on every night at 11 and we like not going to bed early like we promised ourselves we would because we can't help but stay up and watch it. We like laughing our heads off and we do it a lot. Maybe some nights Cj will say "what should we do tonight?" And I might say "the same thing we do every night Cj. Try and take over the world." And then we laugh our heads off because that is always the stupidest joke ever but we still laugh because we love 90's cartoons and we love that we are almost exactly the same age, only 25 days apart, so we both watched all the same cartoons growing up, and we love that we get each other that way and mostly we just really freaking love each other.

And when you love each other, and you love your job, and you love your friends and your life, you just really don't care if your house is that clean.

So this is my final apology. I'm going to stop worrying and keep living, despite the fact that my suitcase from last weekend is still sitting in our hallway, unpacked and in the way.

Sorry I'm not sorry.


Tuesday, September 11, 2012

On Losing Everything.

The day after posting on Facebook that I have recently lost my house keys, mail keys, driver's license and credit cards (wallet), my soccer cleats and my favorite black boots...I somehow managed to lose my car keys in Smith's.

After about thirty minutes of searching and one ba-jillion promises to God that I would stop eating the brownies on our counter and instead eat the fiber one bars that are only 90 calories and much better for me if He would just help me find my keys, a kind person turned them in to the front desk.


I just couldn't imagine calling Cj and telling him I lost the only remaining key (of any kind) we have to our name. Also it was getting really awkward following the customer service lady around and trying to make small talk while I was dying a little bit inside.

It has been a few weeks of not only losing everything but forgetting everything, breaking everything and just...messing things up. Ever have weeks like that?After I loaded my groceries I sat in my car and cried a little because, well, seriously??? What is wrong with me??


Tonight at dinner Cj and I were talking about why I have been so absent-minded lately and I decided that it was probably God telling me that I am a lost cause and that I should quit all major responsibilities in my life and just stay home and watch Jeopardy.

Seeing as how I am pretty good at Jeopardy and second-as-good at Wheel of Fortune (which happens to air right afterward) it seemed like a pretty logical reason to me.

Someone has to be the Jeopardy person. It might as well be me.

I told a friend this plan and she said this: "God does not create lost causes. It would be awful to believe that your only lot in life was to do nothing of importance."

And I thought about it for a while, and while her answer was really sweet I decided "not really."

Because I really like the new pillows we have on our couch and I'm especially fond of sewing and/or when the category on Jeopardy has anything to do with the TV show 30 Rock (which has only happened once but I'll be darned if I didn't get every single answer right.)

Now, I don't mean for this blog post to take a dramatic turn but I can just feel it happening and I'm going to go with it. Because somewhere in the middle of my wallowing-in-self-pity and Final Jeopardy I learned that the levvy in my hometown of Santa Clara, UT broke, seriously damaging 25-30 homes and small businesses.

This has happened to us before. Flooding, that is.

 In 2005 my town flooded enough for me to watch dozens of homes literally wash away in a raging river. I remember staying up through the night on "flood watch" with my friends, as we sat at the edge of a cul-de-sac and radioed in as more pieces of our town broke off and fell in.

This experience taught me that losing a home is tragic. I know it seems obvious when I write it out like that, but I think before that I always equated tragedy with only death.

But this. This was tragic. It was tragic when my close friend and advisor lost all of his family pictures and childhood memories to the flood. Tragic when our family friends lost their new home that was scheduled to be finished in less than two weeks after years of building. And now, it is tragic again to hear of friends and neighbors who have lost their businesses and possessions to a natural disaster that you never imagine will happen in your dry desert.

Your home is a part of your family, so is your hometown. And, just like in 2005, the thing that can be done is to get off your couch (and turn off the TV) and help. Use your hands. Use your kindness. That is what you do when something awful happens. Only I am here, and they are there, which is hard. It's hard not to be there for your people when something tragic happens.

I don't know how this silly post turned into me sharing my heartfelt feelings about the home and the people I love. Sometimes writing takes you places you didn't plan on being.

What I do know is that the past two weeks I have felt like my own levvy was knocked down. Like I have been my own personal flash flood, destroying everything in my life. What can I do? Sometimes, it rains. And sometimes, it rains so hard that a giant wall of water takes down your favorite gas station.

And so, I've decided. I'm going to stop being the flood and start being...not the flood. And I'm going to do that by remembering cheesy and relevant ideas like this:

Even if I have lost all major items that help my life to function, I have in no ways lost everything. Today was a reminder that it could always be worse. That I really don't have it that bad.

Praying for Santa Clara, praying for America. And you, my friends, can too.



Tuesday, September 4, 2012


Cj and I made a 5 second decision on our way to Costco to, instead, be on our way to St. George. 

It is proof that sometimes overly-rushed, un-thought-out and somewhat immature decisions can, in fact, be the best ones. 

We spent the weekend eating cilantro-lime shrimp tacos, surprising all of our friends and family one by one, and watching American Pickers with my parents. 

My Uncle Dave put it best when he said: "Funny how all roads lead to bulk food or Mom's cooking."

I sure am glad we chose the "Mom's cooking" road this weekend.
 It was more delicious and involved sleeping on that awesome Serta in my brother's bedroom. 

St. George 4 Life. 

(No seriously. Should we live there forever? You can vote on it.) 


Monday, August 6, 2012


I was looking for an e-mail today and stumbled upon some journal entries from my sophomore year of college.


Cj often accuses me of being dramatic.

Not in the "I'm so mad at you, we're fighting" kind of way. More in the "everything is either the worst thing ever or the best thing ever" way.

I usually try and deny it, but after reading these journal entries he just might be right. I think it comes with the territory of being a poet. I got feelings, you know?

Here are some highlights: 

#1. The part where I made a list of all the dumb things I had done that year.

The list includes everything from drinking 64 oz of Powerade in 22 minutes because Robby Mildau dared me to, to peeing with the stall door open in the basement of the JFSB because I didn't think anyone else was around and I thought "well, it's now or never."

#2. Making lists of all the things I like about my roommates in an attempt to stop being mad at them.

One item on the list was "She has very pretty hair, when she decides to shower."

Obviously it was working.

#3. The nine separate times I quote Radiohead in an attempt to express my teen angst.

They, like, seriously spoke to my soul.

#4. The three-page, single-spaced entry I wrote over my horror at turning twenty.

The second page includes a short piece about how I sat in the grass by myself outside my friend Jenna's house when it turned midnight so that I could stare at the stars and mourn in peace. That is real. I seriously did that.

When I think about it, this was all only four years ago and it is probably a little too soon to be bringing these things into the public eye.

I guess I am just putting a lot of trust in the fact that I have grown up at least a little bit in the last four years.

Except for the Radiohead part. Who am I kidding? They will always speak to my soul.


Monday, July 30, 2012

How Last Night Went:

6:13 p.m.- Woke up from 3 hour sunday nap. In my living room. On an air mattress. Face down.
It is so hot in our non-air-conditioned house that we sleep out there because it is cooler.
Also I drooled everywhere. 

6:14 p.m.- Realized the drooly-air-mattress has a hole in it. 
Now taking applications for Plan C. 

8:17 p.m.- Went to Spencer and Michelle's house for treats and Olympics time. Watched these funny parents: 

10:23 p.m.- Came home to grade papers. First, began tearing apart our pile of "packed" boxes (we're moving again in a week) in an attempt to find earplugs so I wouldn't be able to hear Cj watching "Independence Day" while I worked. 

11:04 p.m.- Found the earplugs. They were on the desk. Not in the pile of boxes. 

12:43 p.m.- I accidentally watched Independence Day anyway. I also accidentally cried on the part when the President gives them the speech that says they can kill all the aliens they want if they can only find their American spirit.
God Bless America. 

1:17 p.m.- While grading noticed a weird screen on Cj's computer. 

Me: "What is that?"
Cj: "Uh...I'm playing Pokemon."
Me: "Of course you are. But then why does it say 'Hipster' on the screen?" 
Cj: "It doesn't."
Me: "Yes it does."
Cj: "Noo.......Fine. That's my Pokemon name."


2:57 p.m.- Finished grading
Looked over to see Cj in the chair next to me staring blankly off into the distance.
I'm not sure why he feels the need to stay up with me every time I have some major project to accomplish, but it's darling.

6:41 a.m.- Woke up for class.
Strategically placed various heavy things on our already deflated air mattress so Cj wouldn't totally sink to the floor on the other side.
I secretly hope he woke up and caressed the cheek of my gym bag before putting on his glasses to realize it wasn't me sleeping there.

What a night.

As a side note: This new (or at least somewhat new) Siri thing freaks me out.

I can't shake the idea that eventually we are going to have whole electronic houses that respond to us like that. 

Then, before we know it, our sons are going to be doing boy band dances to "Slam Dunk da Funk" while we are out for the evening.

What is this world coming to? 


Thursday, July 26, 2012


Grading papers is never not the worst ever.

I am always feeling torn between being the uplifting teacher who engenders confidence in my students and the realistic one who doesn't hand out a false sense of academic success.

Honestly, I get the feeling my students don't care either way.

They just want the highest grade they can achieve while still finding time to post the latest Ke$ha-Katy Perry mashup on Facebook.

I have spent my afternoon grading in the heat of my bedroom (only 3 more weeks of no air-conditioning!) and reflecting on how many times I can write "I don't think this word means what you think it means" before I quit and join in the conversation that has currently ensued between my students on the mashup video. OMG it's soooo crazy.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em I guess.


Friday, June 29, 2012

A Bug Story.

I'm kind of a...bug person. 
I know that sounds weird, but what I mean by that is that bugs don't normally creep me out. 
I'm just not the type of girl to panic when a little guy crawls across my bathroom floor, or a moth comes in the window. 
I usually try to scoop them up or shoo them out (sometimes even with my bare hands) and then move on. 
I have never, in my recollection, intentionally killed any kind of insect or spider. 
Just not my thing. 

...tonight Cj is out late picking up his cousin from the airport, making tonight my first time going to bed without him since we've been married. 
I wasn't really that nervous, although I did make him burrito-tuck me before he left, just to be safe. 

About 10 minutes after I heard the front door close, I rolled over in bed to see a giant...something...moving quickly down the wall and then across the bed. 
I jumped out of bed, grabbed my cell phone, and ran into the hall as I observed the thing move slowly across my comforter. 

I called Cj. 
I told him that it was a spider the size of my palm. 
He didn't believe me. 
He's right. 
I was exaggerating. 
But it was white, with brown spots, which is probably worse. 
I told him I was positive it was the kind that kills you. 

He told me to shake out all of the bedding and then go back to bed. 
I hung up and said "you are a mature adult" a few times out loud, then, I took everything off the bed and shook. 

Naturally I did this with my mouth and eyes closed so the spider couldn't come flying into any openings. I even made sure to blow outwards from my nose continually so that if it approached my nose holes it would be greeted with some kind of spidery-mount-vesuvius. 
My ear-holes were the real Achilles-heel in the plan, but sometimes a girl's just got to suck it up and go to battle. 

At some point during all the shaking I realized that the spider might not actually be in the bedding anymore. It might have actually moved into the bed frame itself. 
I asked Cj, but he said I couldn't sleep on the couch.

Plan B was organized. 
I made a bed for myself on the floor out of all the shaken-out bedding. 
I made sure to do this in a decently clear spot so I could see that thing coming. 

I continued work on my lesson plan for tomorrow morning. 
That's when it happened. 
I felt movement on my left shoulder. I looked. 
Nothing was on it. 
BUT, as if on cue, the spider came crawling out onto the pillow just above my shoulder! 

You've got to be kidding me. 

I then spent the next twenty minutes chasing it around my blankets and then the bedroom and then, the kitchen floor using mainly a notebook and my cell phone to steer it one way or another before I would panic when it would come too close to my hand with it's poisonous brown spots. 
What a moral dilemma. 
I couldn't kill it based on my gandhi-like approach to bugs, but there was no way I was sleeping tonight knowing that it was roaming the aging linoleum of our tiny apartment. 

Eventually, this is how things ended: 

I feel content knowing that Cj will come home to our largest bowl, upside down on the floor of our kitchen, left to deal with the moral dilemma I could not bring myself to face. 

The irony of all of this is I will probably be awake, worried about that poor spider, under that bowl, all alone, in the dark. 

You'd think I'd lose sleep over the more important ethical issues of this world. 
Like the fact that they made a movie about Katy Perry. 
And that it is in 3D.

Maybe that spider would be better off dead. 


Tuesday, June 19, 2012

It Just Gets Better.

I started teaching again yesterday. 

It is always a bigger ordeal than I think it will be to "orient" a class full of freshman as to the inner workings of a writing class. 

It feels like everything is a giant surprise to them. 

"Three papers? Really? Wow." 
"Grades? Honestly? That's nuts." 
"No snack time? Because in high school..." 

They're so precious. 

It was my turn to be surprised when a student came up to me during the break to inform me that he could not participate in the class Facebook group because he was paranoid about Facebook. 

Understandable. Everyone has their "things."
I suggested making a Facebook profile that had all privacy settings on and only using the account for class purposes. 

He said it wasn't other people he was afraid of. He told me that the actual Facebook corporation was out to get him. 

Rough life pal. I've heard Zuckerberg's a beast. 

I asked my student if he would be okay with a class blog instead. 
He said he'd have to call his parents and see. 

You takes all kinds. 

The good news is, with that kind of fear of the internet, I can be positive that kid will never see this post. 

No harm, no foul. 


P.S.- Go Heat! 

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Day Off.

I woke up with a headache. 
So we went back to bed. 
Then when we woke up again Cj was feeling sick (flu?) 

We were trapped. 
Based on our waking-up-track-record (0-2) we just couldn't risk going to sleep again. 
But, both of us being sick, we couldn't really get out of bed. 

So...we stayed in bed. All day. 
I got up once to make nachos.

I'm not saying every day should be like this. 
But I can't say I'm mad it happened. 

Here's to the occasional sick day. 
And to eating nachos in bed. 


Friday, June 1, 2012

Life Changes

It's blurry but its real. After 23 years of virgin hair I finally took the plunge and dyed it. 
And by plunge I mean I did that thing where you walk into the water with your arms up, standing on your tip-toes because it's cold and you are a big wuss. 
And by all that I mean I only dyed the bottom of my hair. 
But still, if you know me at all you know this is big. 
I don't really do "change." 

It's called a melt, and I love how it turned out! 

I texted this picture to my mother this morning and the conversation went like this: 

Katie: "Check out my new hair!" 

Mom: "I don't get it. What is different?" 

Katie: "Mom. It's completely blonde on the bottom now."

Mom: "...on purpose?" 

As if half my hair accidentally marinated in peroxide for 15-20 minutes with a thorough rinse and condition afterward. 

Oh Mom.

News #2: I was brushing my teeth this morning and part of my tooth fell out. 

Really. That's the whole story. 

There I was, doing my up-and-downs, right before my back-and-forths, when a big chunk of my left molar just popped off. 

Is this normal? 
Do teeth do this? 
Don't I already know the answer to these questions? 

All I do know is I have spent the evening testing various tooth-hole fillers. 

Things to NOT replace a molar with: 

peppermint gum 
tinfoil (ouch)
my winter semester term paper 
a tic-tac (pre-sucked) 
the love of the childhood pet I never had 

I figure if I don't find something soon I'll have to do something drastic, like go to the dentist. 
And pay someone money. 

Heaven forbid I finally have an injury that can't be fixed by superglue. 

I'll keep you posted. 


Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Craig's List Breaks my Heart.

A few weeks ago I posted an ad on Craig's List, offering my services as a summer nanny here in Provo.

I will be teaching summer term and I am also taking the summer to write my thesis (slash lay in bed and watch "Revenge") but I thought it would be nice to pick up a little extra money to support the fam by watching someone's kids a few hours a week.

To reassure potential employers that I am not a total psycho I posted a picture of me with the post (possibly not my best idea?) because if someone posts a picture on the internet it is obviously them and you can immediately trust them.

So far the responses have been awesome, hilarious and ridiculously creepy. Enjoy:

"I know you are looking to do more child care, but I was looking through CL and saw your picture.  You are very beautiful.  I am an amateur photographer and i would love to have you model for me.  I am 35/m based out of slc.  If you are interested, please let me know.  I look forward to getting to know you." -- Tom

Very flattering Tom. Maybe we can do the whole two-birds-one-stone thing and you can amateurly photograph me nannying some children. And then probably get arrested for it. Seems like your kind of thing. 

"Do you do vacuuming and mopping? Or can you make my boys do it? It hurts my back."-- Carrie

What do you mean by "make"? And is this the only thing you want to hire me for? I feel like I'm missing something here. Either way, sorry about your back. 

 "I saw your post on Craigslist...we are looking for someone to watch our 3 1/2 year old little boy this summer in our home. (Monday-Friday, 7:45-2:15) will be $20/day...$80/week." -- Sarah 

You do realize, Sarah, that this would pay me a little over $3 an hour? Obviously the picture didn't offer a very good first impression (if only we could say the same for Tom.) Also, is Friday a freebie? Or do I just pick either $20 a day OR $80 a week? I'll have to think on that one. 

"Do you baby sit at clients house or your own? I am looking for childcare in walking distance of my house... I live at 300 s 400 e..." 

No name on the email? The use of multiple elipsis? And you want me to give you my address? You make me nervous anonymous person. 

One couple even sent me the link to their child's blog. He's two years old.

I can just picture him awake late at night after the one-year-old is in bed, slaving away on a post about his latest DIY kitchen craft. 

Is Craig's List just a forum for bizarre encounters with potential serial killers and moms who are really bad at math?
Despite my experience with it, probably not. 
But it is definitely not a forum for finding a nannying job. 

Here's to another episode of "Revenge".  


Monday, April 16, 2012


A few weeks ago Broc said to me "Katie, what are your goals for your blog?" 
And I said..."I can't hear you. The blender is going."
And then he said, "I said, what are your goals for your blog?"
And I said, "What??" 
Except this time the blender wasn't going, it was just one of those times where you say "what" even though you did hear them because you want a second to think about your answer. 
And then he said, "You have to have blog goals. of your goals could be having people read it." 

At this point I still hadn't had enough time to think about my answer so I just said "WHAT?" again and he rolled his eyes and moved one. 
Only NOW I have had enough time to think about it (meaning finals are over and my brain is now down to only one major life project, which is planning a wedding. Piece a' cake!) 
Anyways, I have made a list of blog goals.
Because Broc said I should have them.

And Broc has a wife who is having a baby, so I bet he knows about stuff. 

Katie's Blog Goals & Other Important Life Commentary: 

#1. Have people NOT think I want them to know every detail of my life. Or that I want to say cheesy/profound things. I know that is the major goal of some people's blogs.
I just want to talk about crap. That is seriously it.
#2. NOT have this turn into my married blog where I post pictures of the time me and my husband and all of our friends had a crazzzzaayyy parrrtaaayyy where we all decorated leprechaun cookies for St. Patrick's Day and drank out of little green and white stripped straws that get all bendy when you drink out of them because they are cardboard, but they do look good on my blog.
And we recycled them.
#3. NOT be so worried about writing on my blog that I forget to live my life.
#4. I know people/bloggers who fall into all 4 of these categories. If you are confused what I mean, the categories are as follows:
A. People who share way too much personal info on their blog/love their husbands
B. People who baked the Leprechaun cookies
C. People who blog every day even when they have three papers to write and are being audited for failure to pay taxes but they haven't had time to worry about that yet because they need to blog about it first (see A)
D. People who eat the cookies, leave the party, and fall asleep face down on the couch before they have a chance to blog about how frustrating those cardboard straws are. 

I'd like to consider myself a "D." Although the kinder point I have been trying to make for a few paragraphs now that I have yet to get to is this: The A's, B's and C's are much more interesting to read than whatever crap I put on my blog. I just choose to define my major blog goals based on NOT being them.

Except for just this once I'm going to be a little bit 'A' and say that I get married in THIRTEEN DAYS.
You've got to be kidding me.
Who wouldn't be excited to marry this darling boy?
Why yes...this is a sneak peak into our bridals. (Though notice how I picked one of just our faces?)
Stay tuned for more.
Though probably not until AFTER the wedding.
Blogging any time between now and then would most definitely make me a 'C."

And we can't have that.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

I'll never not be sick forever.

Pneumococcal Pneumonia. 
When I was younger my brother told me it was the longest word in the whole world (I think because one of my grandmothers had it at the time?) 
It wasn't until just about 5 seconds ago when I looked it up that I realized it isn't even one word. 
It's two. 
And I don't have Pneumococcal Pneumonia. 
But I DO have regular kind of Pneumonia. 

Remember that "bad cough" I was talking about last post? Who knew?

I sure didn't. 
In fact, I was so annoyed that Cj and my mom were making me go to the doctor that I complained the whole way there about what a huge waste of money and time it all was. The wait at the doctor's office was super long and at some point CJ had to leave to go to class and I sat there like a grumpy grouch (who couldn't stop coughing) until the doctor called me back. 
I was a grumpy grouch while he listened to me breathe. 
A grumpy grouch while he forced me to get an x-ray for reasons I was not understanding. 

And then...I felt rather sheepish when he showed me the cloudy stuff in my lungs. 
Good thing Cj and doctors know just how to ignore my stubbornness. 

Meanwhile, all this coughing has put me in the mood for a funny story: 

(It's a women's flag football story. Which are the best kind.) 

So I'm on a team this semester with a bunch of girls who I have never met. 
My friend Jill invited my sister and me to come play and I showed up the first day, shook hands with my teammates, attempted to learn names, and stepped onto the field.
And there they were. 
Team Pretty in Pink.
It was 10 a.m. on a Saturday and they were wearing sparkly pink hair bows and black strips under their eyes (it was cloudy, mind you.)
This is a team that represents everything I hate about women's flag football.
I even wrote a book about it and provided the text of said book below for easy reading.

Lessons I would like to teach Team Pretty in Pink: 
#1. Pink+Football= Nothing.
 No seriously. Nothing. They don't go together. Nobody has ever thought that. Ever.

#2. Women's flag football does not require your quarterback to have a playbook on her arm.

#3. Your quarterback should not have a playbook on her arm if she runs over to the sideline between every play to ask the "coaches" (boyfriends) on the sideline what they should do.

#4. Stop it.

I was dreading playing this team because I was unsure how my team would fare (I'd just met them all) and losing to a team in pink who has to depend on boys to run the game for them makes me feel the same way Frodo looks after he gets bit by a giant spider.
That face is just about how I felt for the entire first half. The pink-heads scored three touchdowns to our one and we didn't even get the extra point. Things were looking bleak and their pink shorts were really starting to rub me the wrong way.

Our quarterback called us all in and called a play.
By some miracle (part of which involved one of the pink-faced girls literally jumping on my back as I ran. The nerve!) we scored a touchdown our first play back on the field.
Then, we scored another.
And another.

I could see their little pink cheeks turning red.
(Okay, now I'm just being rude, even if it is a little bit deserved, and even if they...were wearing pink! on a football field! don't they know??)

The game ended like this

We were up by one touchdown and they had the ball with 20 yards to go. If they scored they could tie or possibly even win.
My quarterback walked over to me.
"Ignore your man (woman)" she said. "Just go for the quarterback's flags."
I was nervous but I was going to do as I was told (what do I know about football really? I know you're not supposed to wear sparkles.)
The whistle blew...I ran as fast as I could (not very fast)...she was going to throw the ball to my open mark...I dove...

....and suddenly another whistle was blown and the game was over.
I was still laying on the ground from the dive but I looked up to see the quarterback standing there with her flags on the ground...ball still in her hands...and her pants on the ground.
It really was an accident.
But it was the most "poetic justice" accident that has ever happened.

Even the refs high-fived me.
And you just virtually high-fived me.
And I accepted.


Sunday, March 11, 2012

I must be dreaming.

When Cj and I first started dating we would talk about our yacht a lot. 
Besides the fact that "yacht" rhymes with "a lot," you might have noticed one other thing about that statement: 

We don't have a yacht. 
Which is fine, really. We just like to talk about it. 
For example: 

Me: "Hey Ceej, can we get one of these shark shaped submarine jet ski's Mark Titus told me about to keep on our yacht in case it ever sinks/we want to scare the children?" 


Cj: "Boy do I love *Taco Bell. We should get one of these on our yacht."
*RIP the Beefy Crunch Burrito, except not on our yacht. it still exists there.

When we got engaged things shifted a bit. We went from mentally placing things on our pretend yacht, to mentally placing things on our pretend registry list. Again, examples: 

Cj: "We should register for unlimited Honey Nut Cheerios that will be spoon fed to us for the rest of our lives." 

Me: "We should register for not Katy Perry."  

Recently we've developed yet another way to carry on quirky, fake conversations. 
Birth control. 
I may or may not have spent a little too much time lately reading about the side effects of birth control. One night Cj and I got talking about it and decided that the list is so all-inclusive that we should just start blaming all problems on it. 
Here is a list of things that we have determined are a side-effect of birth control: 

being hungry
the irregular heating/cooling system in my apartment
the cough I currently have
KONY 2012
ABC's "Once Upon a Time" (Never seen it, but I know it's birth controls fault shows like that exist)
bad weather
losing my flag football game
these pictures of Kobe Bryant 
Katy Perry 

I'm sure all three of these lists are not even close to an end. 
Nothing like pretending you are rich and/or blaming all your problems on modern medicine.  

All I know is, when I get that yacht we registered for, you're all invited for a BBQ. 



Monday, March 5, 2012

I mustache you a question...

(***CONFESSION: This is actually a post from over a month ago that I never got around to posting. If this offends you just consider it "vintage" and then it will feel trendy instead.)

So there I am, riding passenger side through Barstow, California on New Years Eve, sicker than a dog. 
I am wearing the same sweats that forced a middle aged man at the last gas station to tap me on the shoulder and say "you have...uh...something on your pants." 
To which I replied, "Thank you. I sat in Mayonnaise."
My head is wrapped up in the new faux-fur-throw (say that five times fast) that my Grandparents got me for Christmas (I'm that hard to shop for,) and I'm periodically moaning between waves of nauseousness as traffic spins circles around my driver who is trying his best to keep things steady and in my stomach. 

Said driver, who also happens to be my fiance, does the only thing he can do in the situation and puts on some calming Disney music, a cure-all for his family as well as for most of Mormon culture, one that produces annoyingly positive results despite my bitter cartoon-networky-protests.
We make it through the basics first: "The Bare Necessities," "Kiss the Girl," "A Whole New World." 
It isn't until we finish a Spanish version of "Colors of the Wind" (an ironic combo) that he can't take it anymore and bursts into song just in time for music from "Tangled" to come on. 

"...All those days chasing down a daydream
All those years living in a blur
All that time never truly seeing
Things, the way they were
Now she's here shining in the starlight
Now she's here, suddenly I know..."

I thought about the words he was singing for a second, thought about my mayo-stained predicament, and laughed until I almost threw up, and then silently giggled to myself for the rest of the drive. 
The ideas Disney puts into little heads.
They are wonderful, and beautiful and incredibly idealistic, and I guess that mayo probably would shine in the starlight, but I just can't imagine a fiance barfing in the passenger seat as they bypass the world's first Del Taco is any little boy (or girl's) daydream.

I guess I should clarify.
My children will definitely watch Disney movies. And I doubt all their hopes and dreams will be determined by what they see and hear in them (most little kids just think the horse is funny.)
I think what I'm trying to say is, I'd rather be laughing my blanket-wrapped head off in an X-Terra in the middle of the Mojave Desert than singing in a 2-Dimensional boat about my sparkling blur of a life to an 18 year old.
Somehow I resist this whole scene:
(sorry Brynn.)

In other news: I'm getting married next month.
Cool for me!



Sunday, February 12, 2012


It's like...I still exist, you know? Just because I haven't blogged much, I'm still around. 
Who knew? 
A quick update of the last month or so: 

#1: We took our engagement pictures! One of my closest friends Tracy Hill ( took them for us and she did an INCREDIBLE job.


There is a lot more where these came from. These were just some of my favorites.

The rest of the month goes something like this:
- wedding plans
- grad school
- five intramural sports
- teaching freshman english
- craft stores
- urgent care (3x) for the fiance
- relief society stuff
- family

And this week, it is this: the flu.

Influenza, if you will, (and apparently I will) is such a life/fun sucker.
Seriously, all I want to do is throw up on someone I don't like, get this out of my system, and go play in my intramural soccer game.

And, being sick and irrational, I am of the mindset that when it comes down to it, everyone should just get to do what they want.
Except for maybe M.I.A. because that is weird.
Or him:

Because he's mean.

Speaking of celebrities, I was sad to hear about Whitney Houston.
If you know me you know that I know absolutely nothing about celebrities,
but I can't say I don't love the scene in the politically correct version of Cinderella (an asian prince with a white dad and a Whoopie Goldberg mom??) when she flies on a cloud of sparkles next to Cinderella's carriage in order to convey the message that nothing is impossible.

I'm fairly certain my exact thought as a child was, "If Whitney can sparkle-fly, I know that I can one day have a Hairagami snap-bracelet braid-bun."

So inspiring.

Or, at least she has a beautiful voice.

Happy Sunday.