I was six years old when I flew for the first time. Having never been on an airplane before, I was totally enthralled with the entire process. The tickets, the luggage, the take off and the landing. I even ate the inflight meal. I didn't know any better. And that is the only flight I remember enjoying. Every flight since has been nothing short of a total nightmare. Like my flight to Johannesburg. I sat next to the bathroom. For 18 hours. Then my flight back from Johannesburg. I sat next to a man who had probably never showered. The flight attendent yelled at me for wanting a diet coke in the morning. She said I might as well be a drunk.   Then our honeymoon flight to KeyWest. The tire popped. On the airplane. And it turns out it takes a long time to fix that. It takes an even longer time to get passengers off a blown-tire plane and into a terminal. We of course missed our connecting flight and were forced to spend the night in The Welsley, the nearest hotel to the Atlanta Airport, which at the time was housing a number of traveling high school marching bands and what appeared to be a Viking convention. That's not a joke. Lots of men in antlered hats and burly beards.There was the flight after the New York Marathon, when my legs felt as though they might fall off, and the flight was delayed six hours, and then my poor poor legs were crammed beneath the overly reclined seat in front of me.  Finally, last night's flight was no departure from the pattern. The man sitting in front of me was heavily intoxicated. I haven't smelled that much alcohol since the Latvian bus. My sockless feet were next to the airvent, and lost all sensation about half way through the flight. The man sitting next to me continuously stuck his finger in his ear. The children sitting behind me were competing for loudest burp. And there were mysterious white sprinkles that ended up all over my bag and all over my clothes. I can only pray it was not dandruff from another human's head.

safety

Stephen just got glasses that look like this and his beard is about this scruffy. So in short, he's one blue suit away from my dream come true.

Last night my family's dog, Gidget, jumped out of the upstairs window, onto the roof, then off the roof and onto the street to chase a cat. And you have to admire that. I don't know that I've ever wanted something so much that I would be willing to jump off a roof for it.

Also, I've hit a moral dilemma. I need BYU to lose. My bracket predicts that they will lose. And there are few things I want more than for my bracket to dominate all other brackets in the office. In fact, I would maybe jump off a roof if it would help. But then again, how rad would it be if BYU won? It's self v. the greater good. Sort of.

you're hot and you're cold

Plate courtesy of Allyson and Jon. Recipe courtesy of Martha.

There are very few things I enjoy more than baking. Maybe that sets women back 70 years. Whatevs. There's just something about a mixer on high speed, beating sugar and butter. It's the happiest sight in the world. And lately I've really gone to town. I've gone through 8 boxes of butter in the past month. 8. Not sticks. Boxes. And I use any excuse to bake. Any sort of gathering becomes a reason to bake a cake or batch of cookies or bars. So when does a hobby become an obsession, and when does that obsession become a problem, and how soon should my loved ones intervene? I'll bring treats for the intervention.

There comes a time in every marriage when husband and wife must turn to each other and ask, "How did it come to this?". For Stephen and I, that moment was yesterday when we spotted the enormous mound of dirty laundry on the bathroom floor. Between a week vacation, our building's broken washer, and constantly forgetting to get quarters, we've accumulated about eight loads worth of wardrobe waiting to be washed. And while we feel overwhelmed and full of dispair, Ollie couldn't be more thrilled. He's starting making a game out of it, seeing how far up the pile he can climb before we pull him off and remind him the the 428th time that it is not ok to chew socks.

just the way

I don't know if you've ever watched three straight hours of television, but it's not something I would recommend. It leaves you feeling the same way you feel after eating 12 cadburry mini eggs for breakfast, which, coincidentally, I did this morning. But how could I miss the Bachelor finale and the After the Final Rose post-show?

ziggy played guitar

This one time, in th fifth grade, I ate an entire bag of baby carrots. I just couldn't stop. And I spent the entire next day throwing up. Today, I ate at least thirty baby carrots. Again, I just couldn't stop. So has growing older and taller built up my carrot gluttony immunity? Only time will tell. And speaking of overeating, we recently dined at India Palace. And while enjoying the tandoori, we spotted a picture of emaciated Ghandi staring at us. And then we felt bad. But we finished the tandoori anyway because shoot it was delicious.

computer based

Lately I've been wondering it's so difficult to find anything to write about. Then last night, mystery solved.
We went bowling because sometimes we just need to go bowling. Our preferred lanes are in the basement of BYU's Wilkinson center. So we parked in Visitor parking, because we're just visitors now, and headed inside. It was literally ten seconds before some guy walked past, singing to himself at full volume. And that's just it. Campus is full of CRAZYSAUCE people, and I miss them so so much. They added such a unique flavor to my college existence, and proved a never ending well of writing fodder. Now, working fulltime, it's all too normal.
There was a child bowling a few lanes down from us dressed as Mario. Red overalls, hat, the whole kit and caboodle. None of his siblings were dressed in anything extraordinary. Just him.  You go, Mario.