Carrie O.

This is my friend Carrie:

I think I have blogged about her before. But because she left the 100th comment on my blog, I thought I would devote a post just to her.

So anyway, Carrie is from Oklahoma, which automatically makes her awesome because it’s a random home state, just like mine!  We lived in the same Freshman dorm hall together.

Our friendship grew on the day of her birthday, our freshman year.  It was during Thanksgiving break, so no one was home in our hall and I just got back into town. I was so sad that she didn’t have anyone to celebrate with on her birthday, so we hung out in my dorm room together.  We had a bunch of laughs, especially when I put on a fashion show for her with all my ugly clothes….”You may think this is an animal!”

Well, Carrie and I became good friends, along with her roommate Bianca and my roommate Dana.  Probably the best memory I have of all of us was when we went to East High in Salt Lake where High School Musical was filmed.  We were all totally obsessed with HSM and especially with Zac Efron and ashamed to say it now, Vanessa Hudgens.  In fact, on the way there, we saw a limo, convinced ourselves that they were inside and I was so excited, I cried.

We even made a video to a song from HSM.  (It may seem like we were lovers in this video, but it’s supposed to be two friends upset at each other… plus we couldn’t find a boy who’d do it for us…)

To wrap up this post, I will write one of my famous acrostic poems:

C is for Cramming all of her work into the last minute, because she likes to procrastinate, just like me.

A is for Advertising because that’s her major.  We are always in classes together and love working together.

R is for Refined.  Carrie never says anything mean or rude.  She is the sweetest!

R is for Really happy.  Carrie always is smiling and laughing!  She’s never in a bad mood, and if she is, she laughs it off!

I is for I’m jealous of her Zac Efron posters.

E is for Especially looks like D.J. from Full House when she gets “Yearbooked”

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Flash Back

So, I finally wrote in my journal yesterday with all the deets of our engagement story.  I know it’s late.  But better late than never right?

Since I didn’t have this blog when we were engaged, I thought I’d share the story with you.

Background: We had talked about marriage, but hadn’t set any dates or planned anything. We also didn’t want that long of an engagement, and T.J. said he didn’t have money for a ring, so I figured he wouldn’t propose for a month or so.  But back in December, we had looked at rings and I just was so eager to get engaged and start the planning! Oh and one last thing, since we had talked about marriage, I wanted to the proposal to be a complete surprise.  I’m not a fan of the cheese.  I just wanted it to be all of a sudden and out of the blue.

It was Friday January 8th, T.J. took me to Red Robin for dinner.  While we were waiting to be seated, we walked through mall (I bought an amazing down coat–another awesome thing from the night) and when we were in Gap, I saw T.J.’s feet dancing in the dressing room and heard him snapping and singing. I asked him,

“T, are you dancing?”

“Uh… yeah… I just had a good day at work.”  (Really he was excited for the rest of the evening.)

Strange, but that’s why I love him.

I was pretty tired after dinner so we just went home for a while and watched The Office. All night he talked about how he wanted to go to Chili’s to get our favorite lava cake dessert.  I was kind of confused why we would go to another restaurant that night, especially after eating a lot of dinner, but he was so persistent.  He just said he was craving it and so I went along.

When we got to Chili’s, we ordered and he left to go the restroom (he actually went and arranged with the waiter what he wanted to happen).  When our cake came out, there was a note addressed to me.  I looked around thinking someone “sent me a note” like a mormon version of “sending over a drink” or something flirtatious like that.  Then I looked at T.J. and asked,

“Wait, is this from you.”

He nodded.  I opened it up and thought he was just being cute like normal.  Sometimes he writes me notes and poems, so I didn’t think anything was up.

There was a poem inside (his Grandpa used it to propose as well), but I couldn’t finish reading because I noticed T.J. reaching in his coat pocket.

“T.J. what are you doing?  WHAT are you doing?!?”

He didn’t say anything back, he just nervously smiled, eyes wide, eyebrows raised.

Kneeling down on one knee, he asked if I would marry him… Or something like that, we don’t really remember the wording.  And I don’t remember if I said yes right away, I just met him on the ground, kissed and hugged him.

We were so excited/anxious/nervous to eat our cake.  I couldn’t get the fork to my mouth without making a mess.

Anyway, it was great.  I was completely surprised and loved how it was out of the blue and random.   Oh and he arranged with his coworker, Abby, so she could take pictures of the whole thing.  I didn’t even realize she was there until after he proposed!

She said she wasn't hungry.

I took my girl to a fancy ball;

It was a social hop.

We waited till the folks got out,

And the music it did stop.

Then to a restaurant we went,

The best one on the street.

She said she wasn’t hungry

But this is what she ate.

A dozen raw, a plate of slaw,

A chicken and a roast,

Some applesauce and asparagus,

And soft-shell crabs on toast.

A big box stew, and crackers too;

Her appetite was immense!

When she called for pie,

I thought I’d die,

For in my pocket I had but fifty cents.

My mom used to recite this poem called “I Had but Fifty Cents” by Sam Devere whenever we would eat a lot.  It actually became quite a joke.

“She said she wasn’t hungry….”

Today I was reminded of this poem because I ate SO much junk food at work today.  I won’t even tell you what I had, but it all consisted of bucket-loads of sugar.  I proceeded to have a sugar crash at about two o’clock.  And you know the only way to get out of that… more sugar.

Oh gosh.

“She said she wasn’t hungry…”

Golf Star

Since we are on the topic of past sports stories, I thought I would share a golf story with you now.

This is where we practiced and had our home matches. It was way to hilly too be a golf course.

I was on the golf team for a few years in high school.  I think it was just my Junior and Senior year.  Anyway, the last year I think my coach just felt bad for me so she put me on the “Varsity” team but I still played JV matches.

That means I would play middle schoolers including sixth graders, but sometimes Freshman or Sophomores if I was lucky.

Just like tennis, I wasn’t that good, although I actually enjoyed this sport.  I loved my team and enjoyed learning how to play golf for free. But it was always so flipping hot outside, I thought I was going to die.  We didn’t get to use golf carts, so we had to walk the course everyday with our heavy bags on our backs, sweating like crazy and getting awesome tan lines.  By the end of the season, I would have one white hand from wearing my glove, and white feet from wearing my shoes all season.  (Kelly was the pro on our team, and her tan lines were incredible… the whiter the feet, the better you were.)

I wish I could say that I was good at driving, or putting, but it really was just the luck of the draw.  Sometimes I would hit a really good drive and then it would take me about 8 or 9 more strokes to get it in.  Other times it would take me a few strokes (and penalty strokes) to actually hit the ball for the first time.  There was really no way of knowing what would happen.  But I will say that my par was doublepar.  I was content with doublepar, cause at least I didn’t have to quit that particular hole.

One particular time I had already hit my drive and I went to find my ball.  Kelly (the pro) was there, and we were looking together and thought we found it.  I then preceded to hit the best hit you have ever seen.  Well, the best hit you have ever seen done by me.  Kelly was amazed, she never knew I could swing like that.  It gracefully landed on the green, right next to the hole.

When I was preparing to putt the ball in, I saw that the initials on the golf ball did not exactly line up to my initials.  It wasn’t my ball.  I had hit the wrong one.  And unfortunately I’m honest (well not unfortunately, but you know what I mean…)

So, not only did I lose that wonderful stroke, I also got a penalty stroke.  And my actual hit was awful.

It could have been the best round of my life.  Instead, it was the worst.

Tennis Star

When I was in 7th grade, I joined the JV Tennis team at school.  I don’t think I have to say it, because for those of you who know me well, you know I’m not very talented athletically.  But for those of you don’t know me too well, sports are not my specialty.  At all.

So the season went by, match after match, I never got to play.  I would do some scrimmages, but my coach wouldn’t ever let me play a real game.

Then the day came.  The two coaches coordinated and matched players up to people who were at about the same level.  My coach said he had someone in mind and that I was going to play a singles match.

Well,  I was stoked!  First match of the season, probably my last at the rate it was going, so I knew I had to make this one count.  Then my coach introduced me to my opponent. I’m not quite sure how to say this correctly, so I’m just going to spit it out.

She was mentally challenged.

My mom told me to let her win.

Here I am, the only game I get to play all season, and my mom wants me lose.  On purpose.

Judge me, hate me, call me prideful, call me rude.  But I couldn’t do it.  Probably should have.  But didn’t.

So that was my experience playing tennis.  I didn’t come back the next season.

The 411 on Homesickness

Okay, there are a number of homesick levels.

Level 1: Completely satisfied where you are at that moment.

Level 2: Home is on the back of your mind. You try to keep in touch when you can.

Level 3: Home is always on your mind for one little reason or another.  Usually brought on by seasons or specific people.  Sometimes tears are shed when things aren’t going quite right where you are, making you remember the “good ol’ days”.

Level 4: A holiday or big event is passing and you are away.  Bad news bears.  Fits and nostalgia are common.

Level 5: This is when you are wondering while laying in bed, “Why on earth am I here and not at home where I belong?!”  This stage is filled with long phone calls, torturing yourself by looking through old songs, home videos, or photographs, and tissues.

Needless to say, I’m always at least on level 2.  Don’t get me wrong, I loveeeee Utah, and home is where your heart is, right? So, I do feel at home when I’m with T.J.  But sometimes I do miss the good ol’ Fort now and again!

So today, I’m on level 3, which is not high enough for you to be concerned.  But it was brought on because my friend was telling me that she and her fiancé just bought a house in Fort Thomas, so clearly I had to check out the place on GoogleMaps… which led me to my old street

Here’s what I found:

Camp Memory

One year at camp when I was in the Young Women’s program at church, Blair and I were youth camp leaders over the first years.

While laying in our cots each night, we all would make up these little rhymes having to do with camp:

“I don’t know if it’s been said, but I wish I was at home in bed.”

“I don’t know if it’s been told, but camp is getting really old.”

Yeah, I know it sounds pretty lame, but at the time it was a blast.  But the best part of this nightly ritual was when this one particular girl just didn’t get that the two words had to rhyme.  Over and over, even when we told her, she just wouldn’t rhyme the phrase.

“I don’t know if you have heard, but BLAIR IS GAYYYY!”

“I don’t know if it’s been said, but today was really fun and I love being at camp.”

Those were the types of things she would say.

It was hilarious.

Even to this day.


You know you're po' when…

Meet Blair.

We’ve been the best of friends for years.  Probably since 4th grade.  We’ve got countless inside jokes, but the most classic and ongoing of these jokes has to be our “You know you’re po’ when…” set of jokes.

It all started because, well… Blair and I were poor.


But poor.

One Christmas, Blair was allowed to buy pump hand soap at the grocery store, instead of the normal bar soap.

And there we have the first “You know you’re po’ when…” joke.

You know you’re po’ when you get pump soap for Christmas.

Here are a few more than erupted throughout the years, all based off of personal experiences.

  • You know you’re po’ when the most common number on your FAFSA is 0.
  • You know your [parents are] po’ when you’re adjusted gross income is higher than your theirs.
  • You know you’re po’ when you have Roseart crayons and markers.
  • You know you’re po’ when getting a lunchable is the greatest day of your life.

And there you have it, folks.  If you have any more, let me know!