Friday, April 29, 2011


Who April wedded it best?

Will and the duchess?

Or the Walters?

Happy Anniversary, Stephen Dear.

And for those of you not a part of royalty or my marriage, Happy Friday. Enjoy:

Thursday, April 28, 2011

incredible slippers

I haven't had many run-ins with the police. I'm fairly law abiding, so I'm not usually on their radar, both literal and figurative. But we're not all perfect, and some times we forget that our car needed to be inspected three months ago and sometimes we get pulled over. I got pulled over. Since I've had so few interactions with the men in uniform, I wasn't really sure what to do. And as it turns out, neither did Mr. Officer. It was honestly 15 of the strangest minutes of my life. 
Officer: "Hey. Thanks for pulling over."
Me: "Um, yeah. Sure."
Officer: "I just had to pull you over because blah blah blah (something about inspection)."
Me: "Ok."
Officer: "May I please see your license and registration?"
I handed him the needed documents.
Officer: "Is this still your address?"
Me: "It's my parents. I'm recently married." I didn't tell him recent meant a year ago.
Officer: "Being married is the greatest. It's like dating but you hang out more."
Me. Nervous laugh. "Yeah."
Officer: "Ok I just need to record some information. Will you be ok here?"
Me: "Um, yes. I'll be fine."
Officer: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Yeah."
So I waited, he handed me a ticket, making sure that I knew how to get a ten dollar reduction, and I drove away very confused. I think maybe he was trying to make friends? It had been a long, lonely day on the motorcycle, and he just needed someone to talk to? Which is fine, but pulling me over wasn't really the best way to get to know me.
Or maybe once again, my 15 year old looking face really threw him off, and he thought I was young and fragile and would not handle getting pulled over well. LIke I might burst into tears at any moment.
Or maybe he was just a weird dude.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

sell a used car to your grandmother

My dog is smarter than I am. He also has greater organizational skills and self control. I'll give Ollie a treat and I assume that he eats it. But the other day I learned that Ollie sometimes hides the treat under the bed, and saves it for when he's hungry later. Never once, in my entire life, have I been handed a treat and thought "You know, I would really enjoy this more later when I'm not quite so full." Every time I'm handed a treat, I eat it immediately, then search for more. And if I ever were disciplined enough to save a cookie, cupcake or brownie for later, the chances of me remembering were I hid it are slim. Very slim.

In further celebration of Anniversary Week:

I can't find the official video. But the point is, Stephen is skinny and we've lasted a year (almost). Skinny love. duh.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

when the company goes public

Congratulations are in order. After years of hard work, someone finally noticed.  Yesterday my boss presented my with the above tumbler, and said there was no one else who deserved it more. He's right. It would be extremely difficult to find anyone as passionate about or as committed to a beverage as I am to Diet Coke. There are a whole buch of modifier issues in that sentence that I am choosing to ignore.  But I can't take all the credit for my accomplishments. I'd like to thank Mom, for placing her Big Gulps in the cupholder that I could reach from the back seat of the car and steal sips without her noticing. That one babysitter that one time who believed me when I said I was allowed to have Diet Coke as  six year old. Raj, at 7-11, for the discounted fountain drinks and the occasional candy bar thrown in for free with my purchase. Stephen, for reminding me how horrible all my past attempts at quitting have been. Each mission companion, for only rolling their eyes every time I said it was time for another Coke Light. And finally, my coworkers, for keeping the fridge stocked with my aspartame-filled beverage of choice at all times. You have all made me who I am today, an addict, a lover, and a caffeinated fiend. Thank you.

Monday, April 25, 2011

I like that

It's going to be a nostalgic week, folks.

We're closing in on a full year of marriage. It's weird that we've been married long enough to have mustard in the fridge that is too old to eat. It's weird that we have a fridge. And an apartment. And a dog. I mean, obvisouly, I'm glad we have all those things, well maybe not the old mustard, but you get it. It's just still surreal that I'm a wife with a husband, and we as husband and wife have a  photo on our ward bulletin board. It's surreal after nearly a year. Is that normal? Or do I have prolongedsurrealismosis?  Is there a medication for that?

Thursday, April 21, 2011

to your face

Imagine you're throwing a party. Your guests seem really great. Very polite and very complimentary.  It's December so they offer the season's greetings freely. "We wish you a Merry Christmas," they say. "And a Happy New Year," they add. They mention something about good tidings, not only to you but your kin as well. And you're thinking, "these are the best party guests ever." But then something goes wrong. It's starts with that one sly guy who you knew you really shouldn't have invited, Apparently he has a craving. "Now bring us some figgy pudding," he insists. The others join in, "Now bring us some figgy pudding," they demand. "Bring it right here," they yell. And then it gets really bad. "We won't go until we get some!" that horrible neighbor with all the cats yells. It's already 10:30, you're exhausted, you have a sink full of dishes, and you're ready for these people to leave. And now you have to make figgy pudding? Where do you even buy figs? And then how do you turn those figs into pudding? Is it like a souffle? Because those never turn out right. You scramble through The Joy of Cooking, find the recipe, replace figs with raisins (they'll have to get over it). Thirty minutes later begrudgingly dish thirty bowls of figgy pudding, watch your "friends" devour your makeshift treat, then you push them out of your now destroyed home. "We wish you a Merry Christmas!" they say, "AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!" You scream as the door slams shut.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Oh Kevin, that's a lovely tribute

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

you need more vitamin c

This is the most science/math I've done in at least five years.

Monday, April 18, 2011

love what she sees

I know how to play the piano. I do not know how to play the piano in front of people. And to me, they are two very different things. In the fifth grade, I practiced Deck the Halls for two months before the Christmas recital. I could play it at three times the recommended speed and with all the drama of Beethoven's seventh. But only alone in the practice room. On stage in front of fifty spectators (all parents), I froze. My fingers wouldn't move and my eyes filled with tears. I stumbled through what maybe sounded something like a dying cow, and hurried off the stage.

Fifteen years later, nothing has changed. Yesterday I was the pianist for church at the Provo Care Center. It was the furthest thing from an intimidating audience imaginable. Yet I felt as though I were in front of a packed Carnegie Hall, and wildly unprepared. I played an old standard for the opening hymn, and made only a few errors. But then the Sacrament hymn. Oh, the Sacrament hymn. I decided to play it safe and play only the top hand. Turns out playing it safe would have meant not playing. The first verse was ok, but then I realized there was no way I could make it through the following two verses without messing up, and immediately messed up. I forgot the key signature. I forgot where my fingers were supposed to hit. I forgot I had a brain. And though I didn't cry, I did turn red, and I did sweat, and I did just stop playing. But not before once again reenacting a dying farm animal.
One more career crossed off the list of future career paths.

Friday, April 15, 2011

ooooh ooooh oooh

Thursday, April 14, 2011


In the middle of the night, Stephen woke up and said, "Look! It's a child's toy!". And when I asked him where, he said I couldn't see it. It was the like the opening scene of every horror movie I've ever seen. I just sat and waited for the creepy yougster with hollow eyes to crawl out from under the bed.

And speaking of children, there's a kid in our ward who says ee i ee i oh at the end of every prayer.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

four million years

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

This is probably only funny if you're a Morley. Sorry, nonMorleys.

This isn't the first JibJab my dad has made. It's usually a holiday thing. And there is one that I will always remember....cue blurry memory sequence.

It was my first winter in Latvia, and I was not doing well. It was cold, I could not speak Latvian, I did not enjoy running down people on the street to tell them about God, and I was fat. So fat. Sometimes girls say that they are fat when they've gained two pounds and their jeans are just a tiny bit snug. This was not that kind of fat. This was twenty pounds within three months. If I was a more secure person, I would share the pictures wherein I look as though I ate both the Pillsbury Dough Boy and the Michelin Man. Some people wear their weight well. I wear any weight gained on my face. Being round faced to begin with, there really was no hope. I stopped sending photos home after the first transfer. It seems a simple solution, right? Diet. Exercise. Yes, I know. But thrity minutes of exercise barely made a dent in the chocolate intake. And I needed that chocolate. You know how people eat their feelings? I had a lot of feelings. And chocolate was the single solace. On top of that, Latvian cuisine consists of mainly potatoes and bread. Also my clothing was essentially a variety of tents, so it didn't really seem to matter what shape my body took.
So there I was, a chubby, sad, sister missionary, checking my email. I watched the JibJab Dad Brad sent, our family in a snow ball fight to some catchy tune. I laughed so hard, my double chin shook. And I made every other missionary watch it, as if they would care.
And so began the pattern of being highly amused by the slightly amusing. It's how I survived.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

mr. k

Over the weekend Ollie caught a bird that was already dead, and ran away from a  stuffed bear. He also hid from the vacuum. We're very proud.

 I finished Firday Night Lights. Sob.  So now I'm watching Say Yes to the Dress. It's taken a full year since our wedding for me to even begin thinking about anything wedding related again. I thought that finding the perfect dress  would be like a dream. But at times it felt like a night terror. When I was four years old I had a doll. It was a girl's head with the body of a cupcake, and it smelled like plastic strawberries. At one point, in one of many dress stores, I looked it the mirror and saw that doll's twin.
Luckily, with lots of help, I found my perfect dress. But it's not a hunt I'd want to go on again. But I don't mind watching the poor souls on SYTTD cry, and yell, and alter in their search.

Friday, April 8, 2011


Today I have once again proved to myself that I will someday make a really horrible mother. For breakfast I had two diet cokes and a bag of peanut M&Ms. I haven't stepped foot in a grocery store in over two weeks.

You know how a lot of homes have cross-stitched niceties framed and hung on the walls? Stuff like "Home is where the heart is." Well wouldn't it be awesome if someone cross-stitched sayings such as "I know you are but what am I?" Or "Your momma's so fat...". They would be cross-stitched with pink embroidary floss with a little flower border. Awesome, right?

Last night I bought some popcorn at the movie theater and it cost $5.74. The cashier gave me a quarter. Obviously, that's a penny discrepancy. So here's what I'm thinking. This young man is pocketing one penny for every transaction (a la Office Space). He's probably made a solid two dollars so far.

Good news:

And it only took 3 years! Sad.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

I dropped the black album

Dear cyclist,
Your bike is not a car. You may think you're fast. You probably are. But not 60 MPH fast. Therefore, I have to pass you in my car while you ride outragesouly close to my lane. You must want to die. That's fine, whatever, none of my business. But don't you think it's a bit cowardly? Forcing some poor driver to knock you off your bike and be forever responsible for your death? I can't handle that right now. I don't do well with guilt. Killing you would kill me.  So I guess this is a selfish request, but take the bike path.
I switch lanes just to avoid being anywhere near you.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

There You Go

As it turns out, two notches of gas will not get a car from Provo to American Fork. Two notches barely gets a car from Provo to Orem. FREEWAY FAIL. I still live in the same city where I attended high school. Sometimes certain community events require my presence in the school. It's always strange to go back. It's as though all the memories of those four years, sit and wait, condensing and swirling and never becoming less vivid, until I enter the school again and am hit with glimpses of times gone by. Pajama Pants Tuesday, the journalism lab, my locker that was in the scary Drama hall, the track, and so many great people. Speaking of high school, I can't stop watching Friday Night Lights. And I can't get enough of this song. Chills.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

in the deviltown

We watched Pride and Prejudice over the weekend. Stephen had a great insight. He siad it was the best love story ever written because two realists fall in love.

Monday, April 4, 2011

tomorrow's game

I just resigned from my correspondent position with the Daily Herald. It turns out I don't enjoy writing about city council meetings. At all. And while I sort of feel like a quitter, overall I feel very relieved. And kind of proud that I was able to realize how truly bad I am at something. Because I am really really bad at writing about city council meetings.  Now I know that I not only don't have a future in journalism, but I also don't want a future in journalsim. One more future career path I don't really want to take. Now I just need to find one that I do. A career path more lucrative than arranging flowers, baking cookies and watching TV. What do I need to do to get paid for taking care of baby monkeys? Please don't say vet school. 

Friday, April 1, 2011

It took a few years for me to realize that April Fools was a yearly thing, not a monthly occasion. Obviously, I understood that April Fools was for April, but I thought there was a March Fools and a September Fools, and so on. And I thought that the day of the  month didn't matter. Essentially I believed that every day was its own April Fools, and I acted accordingly, pulling pranks pretty much anytime I felt like it. But none of them were very successful. The saran wrap over the toilet was discovered, the toothpaste in the oreos was smelled, and no one believed my liess I didn't really get good at pranks until my twenties. It was only then that I truly mastered the art of deception. I faked an engagement. On Facebook. Christian, the fake fiance and I thought we'd get a few laughs. What we got was three hundred wall posts. And calls from bishops. And people congratulating us on campus.And family asking questions. And just a whole lot of trouble. I haven't really made many joking attempts since then, what the repurcussions being so severe. But maybe it's time to start May Fools again.