today's menu.

when i first started dating parker, i was convinced he was a picky eater.

"i don't like broccoli."

"i don't like chicken noodle soup."

"i don't like carrots."

"i don't like cauliflower."

if my mom was cooking something, i'd tell her, "parker doesn't like that." (which parker hated, by the way. "don't tell your mom i don't like what she's cooking!")

it wasn't until later that i realized i was wrong.

horribly, horribly wrong.

i'm the picky eater.

i hate cooked tomatoes. in anything. they freak me out beyond all reason.

i hate most kinds of cheeses other than maybe mozzarella and cheddar. and i've tasted a lot of other cheeses, especially of the french variety. mostly at an actual cheese party that the french club had while i was at byu. where i met one of the five browns and creeped on him by taking a picture. then i talked to him. 

but i digress.

i hate really thick pieces of deli meat. i'm not a huge cooked ham fan, unless it's a spiral cut honey ham, but even then the slices have to be really thin.

random, right?

then there's all this random food that i love that most people hate.

salt and vinegar chips? love.

pickled onions? yes please. and yes, i can hear you judging me through the internet and through time.

noodles with just butter and salt. what is that about?

so, i'm a picky eater. 

there you go parker.

this is actually somewhat unrelated.

it was just a pretty picture from our wedding.

(i need to upload more photos other than

wedding ones to my computer.)

not april fool's. this is fo real.

can we talk about how i made clam chowder tonight?
(with help from my kitchen sidekick, of course.)
(also, it doesn't look that appetizing. but it was.)

god save the queen

let's please enjoy the splendor of this picture.
i didn't even have to force him to wear my union jack apron.

in case you were wondering:

waffles don't cure a sad heart.

even waffles in the shape of roosters.

on the edge of drowsiness

I just ate a banana. It was a treat, of sorts, to make me feel better about not being as prepared for the last French exam of the semester as I wanted to be. ask Allison...I dashed out of here and ran up the Stairs from Hell about 15 minutes before they handed out the last test...too much going on

I shouldn't eat my feelings.
I don't, really, because if I did I'd be about 300 pounds, but I do it enough to know I shouldn't.

What's ironic, though, is that when I'm really feeling...when I'm feeling to the point of wanting to throw something against a wall, or climb into Stella and drive until there's nowhere left to drive, when I'm feeling like I should be at Branticus' house crying while he gives me bad advice but listens anyway....when I'm feeling those things, I don't eat.

I don't even have an appetite.

Like that whole summer with Wyoming Boy.
I lost weight.

Or like that time almost three months ago (we don't often revisit that day)....Whit Leigh pretended it was my birthday at Brick Oven because it was going to be "the best damn break up [I'd] ever go through" and I was barely able to eat a salad.

I guess it hurt to eat. I guess the thought of when life changes suddenly turns me from food.
It didn't hurt to eat that banana.

But sometimes it does.

"When the moon hits your eye..."

Yes, I know. It's ridiculously late. I have an early class tomorrow. Whatever. I was already up anyways because I procrastinated my physics homework due to the fact that I procrastinated my writing homework and had to do it all yesterday (it's a vicious cycle, really). Then, when I actually sat down to do my homework, my roommates decided to watch Moulin Rouge, which I'd never seen and wanted to watch. So, I did that. Then, I sat down to do my physics homework, and somehow, my roommates and I ended up talking about the Emergency Preparedness Packet on the refrigerator to our apartment, and how we're all going to die because of a firestorm (ya...we're kinda weird like that, but it keeps life interesting). SO....I figured that since I was up already, I'd post on my blog. Meh. Why not.

Today was an Enrichment Night activity. Basically, I went because they said there was going to be pizza. Allison and I sat down on their couches, kind of looked around at all the socializing going on, talked about how we wanted to just stand up in the middle of the room and say how the world isn't made up of rainbows and bunnies and sparkles and see what happened, and then we decided to leave. Candice, my other roommate, told me to take a plate of pizza home to Cynthia, because she had to miss the activity. So, we were walking home, and I was eating a piece of this pizza, and I all of a sudden got this urge to just go up to the window of one of the guys' apartments in our ward and just smear the pizza all over the place.

(PAUSE. At this point in telling the story, everybody I've told it to say, "No.....you didn't....did you?" No. No I didn't. UNPAUSE)

Well, because my better judgment decided to come into my head, I decided not to (as I said). But, Allison and I did decide that I should just go up to the window, which is ALWAYS open to the world...they never shut their blinds...and stand there all creepily eating my pizza. So...I did. I figured it would make for an interesting story, and I was in the mood for a laugh. The really funny thing was, though, that nobody in their apartment noticed. They were all in that room, and one of them was like, three feet away from the window where I was standing eating my pizza, but he still didn't notice. I wonder what would have happened if they had...