To Jo:

Here I am, blogging in Washington D.C. like I have no priorities. 

I'm not going to tell you about my trip just yet because its not over and lets calm down and not get ahead of ourselves here.

Instead I'm going to just write a nice post about how my brother got married and about how I've had anxiety all weekend over not being in the same city as him/not being able to text him when Rachel believed me that the "R" in "Toys R Us" stands for "reunion."(Is she serious? Toys Reunion Us?)

Anyways, not to be mushy or anything but whenever something funny like that happens to me, Jordan is always the first person I want to tell. He has been my best friend my entire life, we have always had the same friends, the same values and the same sense of humor. 

When you get married it is really important for your mom to go through old photos of your life and cry a lot about how you used to be really little and do cute things like spill five gallons of honey on her new carpet or shoot a bird and then hide it in the garage.
These things, though annoying memories for your mother for most of your life, suddenly become precious and nostalgic stories that evoke tears for weeks before the actual wedding and frustrate your sister (me) when she thinks that now is a good time to tell her about all those times she snuck out in high school and the same precious-I'm crying-principle doesn't carry over.
What DOES carry over, however, is the obsession over old pictures. Here are some darling ones of Jordan and me growing up. 

I mean, really. We were darling, am I right?

Fun Fact: I was nearly bald until I was two. Considering that I now have enough hair on my head to supply pillows for the entire U.S. Army, this is strange. (What is also strange is that metaphor I just used. Sorry, it just happened.)

 

As we got older we did things like get significantly less cute and/or join scouts.

Things I want back: That sweet indian-patterned shirt. 

Things I never want back: Those mushroom bangs. 

 

In this next picture a few things are going on, mostly involving Jordan and his haircut that gives him a serious fivehead (as opposed to a forehead). 

1. Jordan is wear a necklace of some kind to ensure the decade is indicated (the 90's) 

2. I have progressed from mushroom bangs to an entire mushroom head. 

3. I am selflessly diverting the attention from myself to my brother by utilizing the double-point. He is ignoring the double-point in order to draw attention to the giant checkerboard in the foreground. The occasion for having that giant checkerboard or that buzz haircut is unknown and almost certainly uncalled for.

   

Now, brace yourself. 

This final picture is the most precious thing you have ever seen.

When I was younger I used to beg my mom every night to let me sleep in Jordan's bed. She would make me wait until Rachel (who I shared a room with) was asleep and then I could go in there and Jordan and I could talk and laugh and fall asleep. 

Not only have we fallen asleep in this photograph but we have done so holding hands, and not only are we holding hands while sleeping but we are doing it in matching t-shirts. 

Pathetically cute.

And now the kid is married.

Its hard to believe that it actually happened. 

At the wedding dinner we all told our favorite stories about Jordan and it was almost an impossible feat for me. There are far too many about the giant goof he has always been, and when I think of those stories it is hard for me to imagine that he has actually settled down enough to get married. (ha)

One thing is for sure, he picked the perfect girl. I couldn't be happier to call Laura my sister-in-law. 

(Now that I think about it, I haven't officially used that term yet. Hello Laura! My sister-in-law!) 

She makes him so happy and they were glowing in every way (except literally glowing, so maybe they were only glowing in one way) on their wedding day. 

Jordan (or "Jo" as I have called you my whole life), I am so proud. 

You've come a long way from that buzz.

Except for at your wedding. 

When you also had a buzz. 

But it looked better this time. 

Love you. 

Love, 

Katie

Conversation Fillers

The Jessica's and Erin used to always make fun of me when I would tell stories. 

Apparently, I am a consistent user of a certain filler phrase, and my stories would go something like this: 

"So today, I went to the store and I was running some errands and blah, blah, blah, all this stuff...when I ran into that boy I used to date and we were talking and blah, blah, blah all this stuff..." 

"Blah, blah, blah, all this stuff..."

To me it means, "and a bunch of stuff happened that all kind of runs together now for me and also isn't really especially important or interesting." 

And that is how I have felt about this spring term. The past two months have been a blur of three extremely difficult classes at double-speed and a whole lot of work in between hours spent at the library. 

Or, in other words "blah, blah, blah, all this stuff..." 

I haven't blogged much about it all. First because I have been so insanely busy. And second because it was just...fluff, really. 

This week was finals and I am finally (pun intended) finished with that dang bachelors degree of mine. 

Now, I am about to take a two month break that feels like the only chance I will have to gear up for the rest of my life. Because come August it will be full-speed ahead into a master's degree and hopefully a PhD. 

SO, 

in the mean time, I will have a lot more blogging time and a lot more to say. (I always have a lot to say whether I blog about it or not.) 

#1. Tracy got married on Friday! Boy oh boy she looked gorgeous. In between meeting her outside of the temple and her reception I drove to American Fork for my cousins wedding. It felt a little bit like 27 dresses except at the end of the day I didn't meet a hot journalist who eventually falls for me despite the fact that I'm really needy and call him mean names. 

#2. You know my Harry Potter obsession is bad when I see an add for a "dual core" something or other and I am surprised when I click on it and realize that it is for a computer and not wands. #muggleproblems
#3. I'm getting into twitter. I still don't really get it but I obsessively follow all of Jimmer's tweets. And his girlfriends. #thingsyoushouldn'tadmitonablog
#4. I made plans to come home Saturday afternoon and drove into St. George monday at 6 p.m.
This is the kind of life I live.
#5. Last night we were all sitting around the counter eating and talking when the subject of real Americans came up. (Our family is the Jack Donaghy's of Santa Clara)
The usual names were thrown around.
Lincoln.
 Washington.
Ronald Regan
(My mom requires us to put our hands over our hearts when we say that last one. That is real).

Then, someone asked, "Who is THE American?"
Silence.
Mmmm. Hmmmm.
Rachel's face lit up.
"God."
We all nodded and smiled with satisfaction.
Just another night in the christian-conservative Wade household.

Okay well I am sure there is more to tell but we are departing for vegas in three hours to catch our plane to D.C. for Jordan's wedding and it is currently
 11:55 p.m. You do the math. I need to get three hours of sleep.
I will leave you with a picture of Jenna's beautiful baby.
Remind me to tell you the story of his birth. It's funny.
I'll be blogging from the east coast for the next week and blah, blah, blah, all this stuff.

  

(Okay, this picture also includes me but just ignore that part and focus on the perfect child. More to come.)
Love,
Katie

Whoops.

What I am supposed to be doing right now:
Writing a large paper worth 50% of my final grade.
What I have done tonight:
Ate peanut butter pie, watched the Heat/Mavs game (my heart is a little broken, but I'm happy for Dirk), went on a bike ride, stopped by The Elms, remembered Aly didn't live there anymore (miss you), talked sports on the steps with some wardies, made a ham and cheese sandwich, practiced spelling the word "sandwich" (I always spell it with an extra "h"), got on Facebook, accepted all 28 pending friend requests, facebook stalked everyone I know, facebook stalked everyone I don't know, made toast with nutella, wrote a poem, wondered what the big deal about Bachelor's degrees were anyways, bought a bus ticket from Baltimore to New York City (calm down, I know I am not currently in Baltimore), lay on my bed with my head hanging over the edge dramatically and cursed the world, watched this YouTube video, added Ellen DeGeneres on twitter, drank three glasses of orange juice, blogged about it.

Remember this guy? Well, the paper is for his class. And seeing as how he scares me out of my mind, I really should care more about it, especially since I'm fairly certain karma/his hook hand are already out to get me after that post.

But all I've been able to think about all day is how MANY papers I have written over the last four years and how I just don't think I can write one more.

Marathon runners hit their wall, and so have I.

The worst part about papers is that no matter what you do, it always somehow ends up being 2 in the morning and you realize that no matter how bad you don't want to write this paper, you are going to have to do it, and you should have just done it seven hours ago when you were sitting on your couch throwing things at your roommate just to see if she would notice. (She didn't)

Ahhhh. The agony. 

I'll never make it alive. 

But if I do, I'll blog about it tomorrow. 

Farewell readers, it's been real. 

(I wrote "goodbye" first but "farewell" seemed more appropriately melodramatic)

Love, 

Katie

To: Broc Hafen

I had this texting conversation with Erin's husband Broc tonight:

Broc: "You are losing fans with the lack of posts." 

Katie: "ha I'm sorry! I don't have the internet right now (true story). I'll try and post tomorrow!"

Broc: "Maybe you could hit some more male fans by making this next one a little more bloody/action packed." 

Katie: "Great advice. I've got a good story about a cat fight I saw last night at a concert. That should work."

Broc: "Excellent idea. All your ideas are excellent. I take back what I said last week about you getting skunked by your uncle in ping pong in front of everyone. You are cool."
(Sorry if you don't remember sending that last text Broc. I'm sure you did.) 

Anyways, remember this girl? She actually wrote this song for tonight when two things would happen: 
1. My darling friend Casey Goodman lent me his extra computer. (doesn't it make him sound rich to say "extra computer")
2. My cute friend Russell Ochoa is from Mexico.
Oh, and he fixed my internet. I just like telling people that he is from Mexico so you don't think I only have white friends from Utah. Plus he has the most darling Mexican accent you've ever heard. 

Anyways, on to the cat fight story: 

I went and saw Ratatat last night in SLC. 

At one point we were pushing out way to the front when I heard a girl behind me say to the girl next to me something to the effect of, "Kindly get out of my way. You're blocking my view."
Except with a lot more F words.
To which the girl next to me replied: "If you'd like you could rip all the hair out of my head instead."
So she did.
And I stood next to her and watched.
And then a big boy came in and picked up the hair-puller and carried her out and everyone cheered and said the F word more to commemorate the fact that both girls were really drunk and that one of them had significantly less hair than when she came. 
The End.

The second best story of the night was when we moved to the edges of the crowd in order to obtain the ability to lift our arms above our heads.
I was dancing with myself, minding my own business, when this guy with a huge dread-lock ponytail that kept spearing me in the face turned around and offered me something small and on fire.
It took me a second to realize he wanted me to smoke it.
Now, call me naive (maybe twice. I deserve it.) but being from Utah, this was actually the first time I have been offered any sort of drug whatsoever.
I would just like to give a shout out to the Ad Council, the U.S. Government and Dixie Downs Elementary for investing millions of dollars into commercials, posters and drug-free weeks all leading up to that one moment at a Ratatat concert in Salt Lake City where I could say "nah, thanks" to the man with the bandana wrapped around his dreads that had pictures of little signs that said "Caution Men Working."
I was so mad I didn't say "No!"
All that practice for nothing.
Love, Katie
P.s.- I will blog more. I swear. With pictures even! And now that I have the internet back, this really might not be an empty promise.

Blah. Blah. Blah. It's been forever. Okay, now to the post...

So blogger got all "new" on me or whatever so while it used to upload pictures backwards, now it does it....forward. So, being lazy, and it being Friday, and me being the tech-savvy girl I am, I am just going to leave the pictures as is and tell you my last week or so backwards (or maybe it has been longer. this 18 credit workload is making all the days blur together).

Just pretend you are Michael J. Fox and this blog is the DeLorean.

Also, if you want you can pretend we might not make it to 85 mph before the train tracks end and/or your mother is trying to kiss you at prom, just to spice up the reading.

(If you haven't seen the movies, get out of here)

Alright, alright...starting with the most recent: I found ten dollars in my pocket last night! 

I got out some summer shorts I haven't worn in a while (Provo, remember?) and realized there was something in my buttoned pocket. Opened. Realized. Jumped up and down in exaggerated excitement.

Nothing says "It's okay you have to ump women's softball for the next three hours" quite like a piece of paper with a number big enough for two whole feet of subway sandwhich.

Good thing my girl Kaitlin was there to take a quick pic for me.

 Moving backwards...Aly had lemons at her wedding, and at the end of the night we were so incredibly exhausted from such a long day and such a long, amazing weekend, that eating them seemed like a good idea.
Fun fact about Katie: I don't really like baked goods. The only sweets I usally like are sour things. (Get it? Sour sweets? Get it?)
I will do just about anything for a red sour patch kid.
The lemons were a little more than expected however.

 Pictured below is most of the group that drove out to the wedding.

     Aly has often been referred to as "Shakira." What I wouldn't give for those latin hips of hers. (or her dads. that family has it down.)

Just so we're clear, the order of things in which I would progressively do just about anything for is this:

(SERIOUS) I'd do anything: for red sour patch kids.

(MORE SERIOUS) I'd cut off a limb: for Aly's killer hips on the dance floor

(MOST SERIOUS I'VE EVER BEEN) I'd willingly watch women's basketball and/or flag football and/or any gender playing baseball for eternity: to touch Jimmer Freddette.

Priorities, priorities, priorities.

When Aly's dad walked into the living room and said to a bunch of twenty-something's

"Okay guys, we're going to take the party bus to the club,"

I don't think he realized that meant something a whole lot different to us than taking a school bus to a country club.

          Sam and Aly have been best friends their whole lives. Aly and I have been best college friends our whole college. It was about time we joined forces.

While Aly was off being married and all "happiest-day-of-my-life," I spent my time with these lovely groomsmen. Reason enough to never want to get married: when you can no longer spend an entire day pretending you have four dates to the big Prom.

I feel kind of bad because I have been acting slightly grossed out by Aly and Taylor being married (seriously, that's disgusting.)

But I guess they are kind of cute. And I guess I do kind of like them both.

Moving backwards to the best day of my life. Hannah and I both had a birthday the weekend of the wedding. We also both brought the same swimsuit to the beach. Little known fact: we are actually soul mates.

Pictured above was the best part of the trip. It went a little something like this:

Hannah: "It's on my bucket list to jump into these Bellagio fountains and after this weekend I am moving across the country and never coming back to my favorite city in the world Vegas and tomorrow is my birthday and today is your birthday..."

Katie: "Naturally, our only option is to jump in."

Police: "Get out or we will arrest you. Even if it is your birthday and this is your lifelong dream and we are crushing it."

BUT WE WERE SO CLOSE!!!?!?!?!!!!!

Prior to vegas we stopped in St. George for a quick birthday dinner on the back porch with perfect weather and delicious food and a cute family that is not pictured here. (Unless you see that small guy in the background)

Prior to driving to St. George these cute Germany friends brought me nice things and then let me convince them to put mustaches on in honor of Cinco de Mustache (a tradition I would be missing that year for the wedding. You're welcome Aly.) You can ask Tracy, nothing drives me crazier than fake mustaches and how funny everyone thinks they are, especially in wedding photos. I hate it. However, Cinco de Mayo has been deemed the only acceptable time to have a fake mustache and have it be really fun/hilarious. You can laugh now.

My two best friends in the world. One of them is pregnant. Guess which one.

And finally, the best group of people from the best place on earth.

I'm sure glad I traveled back in time and ended up at this place because I love these people more than anything.

In other news: It will never stop raining. Ever again.

Now you know.

Love,

Katie

Apologies.

Blog, Followers, Friends, Mother,

I have neglected you and I'm sorry. It has been a busy week or two between going home, weddings, National Star Wars Day (May the Fourth be with you), umping softball for the first time in my life (meaning watching a game of baseball or softball for the first time in my life. Yes, it made me naseous.), and going to California for my bestie's wedding.
Now that I am finally back I have one or two or ten assignments and to-do's before I will be back in blogging shape. Sit tight, calm down, and be excited to hear about my second encounter with Captain Hook and how I almost got arrested in Vegas last weekend. (You were bound to find out sooner or later Mom.)
In the mean time, enjoy this picture of my pregnant Jenna, and a not pregnant me. I'm so excited to be a honorary aunt!

Much love,

Katie

P.S.- Happy 25th anniversary to two amazing parents. You've done pretty alright, if I do say so myself.

It was a dark and stormy night...

This week I started spring term, and my last few classes of undergrad work.
I have been a little nervous because one of the classes I have to take is only offered on Tuesdays until 5:30 and I have staff meeting every Tuesday at 5.
Walking to the class I told myself that most English professors are really chill and it should be no big deal. The sun was out, I had eight more weeks of class, campus was emptier than normal, and I was feeling all 500-days-of-summer.

I ran into a few friends along the way and told them the professor and the class I was heading to.

I started to worry when this was the reaction I got:

"CRITICAL THEORY....? WITH PROFESSOR....???" they said.

They told me he was mean. They told me he hated everyone, that he was the scariest professor I would ever have. They told me he especially hated redheads they thought. They told me I had spilled something on my shirt. (Not relevant, but also true.)

"WHYYYYYYY?????" I yelled.

"You know why!" someone said back.

And I did.
I knew why.
I knew it was because I had all nice, fun, and understanding Professors for four years and I just couldn't graduate college without having one make me question my existence.
I knew it was because I had offended the Gods of Summer by signing up to go to school during these sacred sunshine months.
I knew it was because my life is so full of irony that the only time I ever had to leave a class early was the one time I was petrified to ask.
I knew!
But I was hoping they were wrong.
I slowly walked the long green mile down to the back corner of the dark basement where my class was held. I could feel the cell phone service and internet access dwindling with every step.
I took the closest seat to the door, planned my escape route, watched the clock.
When the clock struck three the door slowly opened and a man walked in wearing a long dark coat.
He set his books on the table with his back to us, took off his coat and turned around....

This picture might seem like an exaggeration (almost everything I say is an exaggeration, deal with it), but it's closer to the truth than you think.

Because when he turned around we quickly discovered that the man literally had a HOOK FOR A HAND!

I about passed out.

He spent the next two hours lecturing us on classroom etiquette and the odds that we will understand what he is teaching us (3 in 1,000 apparently.)

He informed us that anything below a "C" was unacceptable and that quite a few of us would be deemed unacceptable.

And he did all this with a dry-erase marker tucked between the prongs of his hook.

Finally, he passed out his syllabus, and on the front page, in bold, it read,

"you will not come late or leave early unless there is an emergency."

I wondered if my heart giving out, out of fear of his hook-hand constituted an "emergency."

Eventually the time came that I had to leave for work.

I had been sweating so much the past few hours that there was no way I was getting out of there without him sensing the change in humidity when I left the room.

I held my breath, counted to three, and bolted.

I thought I could hear him behind me all the way up the stairs.

I breathed a sigh of relief out in the fresh air again until I realized something.

I was going to have to go back on Thursday. 

Thursday came and all day I felt like someone was sneaking up on me:

I was paranoid. I walked into class and this time the Professor was already in there.
I slowly approached him, keeping my hand at the level of my face (more a phantom of the opera thing but I was taking all precautions).
He asked me if I was the one who had left early last time and I launched into a long explaination of why, talking a mile a minute.
When I finished he smiled, rubbing his hook hand and said...
"Of course. I will e-mail you notes on what you missed each week."

And that is how I learned for the second time in my life not to judge people based on how they look or what people say about them.
The first time was in sixth grade when I told a kid he was weird for parting his hair and then I had a crush on him all through middle school.

Moral of the story:
I should have known. Hook is one of my favorite movies.


Bangarang.
Love,
Katie