stache.

"I'm keeping my mustache.  I've gotten, like, four comments on it this week alone.  I'm keeping it."

                  -Drew, after trimming his beard

kind of a miracle.

The truth is, I only feel like my real and honest self about two and a half out of seven days a week.  I'm too embarrassed to even attempt simple math in front of anyone else.  Sometimes I find myself paralyzed with this fear that my life will never consist of anything other than working full-time, even though I know that's silly.  At least, I hope it is. 
And I would have to say that, yes, I am in love.  Not the ABC prime-time kind of love.  Where I'm, you know, still waiting to see if he'll ever leave his wife for me.  Or sitting by a hospital bed surrounded by medical machinery, tears cascading down my face with mascara that never runs, holding one of his immobile hands in both of mine, just begging him to wake up from a coma.

No.  It's the boring, in-for-the-long-haul, fully-dedicated-to-one-another's-happiness kind of love.  Where we're already married.  Where we go to bed at 9pm if we want to.  Where we talk about water bills sometimes. The kind where I melt whenever he mows the lawn or loosens his tie or tells me that he cleaned out the kitty litter so I don't have to.  Where he fully supports the fact that I'll most likely never have hair past my shoulders.  Where he says he is completely fine spending our Saturday afternoon lunch date listening to me go into a full synopsis of my most current read.

I guess it doesn't make for the best writing.  Not the kind that affairs and comas and love triangles do.  I guess that's why the majority of stories are told prior to the happily ever after, not afterward.

But I am in love.  And isn't that kind of a miracle, in and of itself?

before-you's

I'll compare it to the feeling of hearing your own voice played back at you out of speakers.  Typically, you're the one who hears your voice the most out of anyone.  It's something you feel pretty confident in being familiar with.  But suddenly, when you hear it the way everyone else does, it sounds wrong.  There couldn't be more repulsive auditory stimulus in existence, and all you want in the world is for it to stop.

It's kind of like that.  Where I have this idea, this picture in my head of what I think I resemble.  But then I look in the mirror and find staring back at me a creature I can't recognize.  I swear we've never met.  And whenever I was around any of these others, any of the before-you's, the vision of myself in my mind had arms that were at least 13 inches too long for her body.  She was definitely cross-eyed.  She had a substantial uni-brow or something equally horrific.  Her teeth were all sorts of sticking-out and crooked and she was like an outhouse in the sense that you wouldn't want to be near her for any longer than your breath could be held in your lungs.

This was how I assumed I must have looked, based on all of these before-you's treatment of me.  Then I'd crawl home at the end of the night, look in the mirror and come to a realization.  The coast was clear - No uni-browed monster here.  I wasn't half as ungraceful and revolting as I had been made to believe.  So, I'd ask, What gives?

It was like this with you.  Except, of course, the exact opposite.  I could describe the entire initiation of our relationship with two words: Who, me?  After spending time in your oh-so lovely presence, I would face that mirror at the end of the night thinking that exact thing.  Here you had me under the impression that I was some sort of prepossessing cherubim when I was really, in fact, just plain old me.

white wash

According to Dr. Taylor Hartman of The Color Code, Drew and I were a very unlikely match.

You see, we're both Whites, with a secondary Blue.  Basically the male and female version of each other.

This combination is common in friendships, but not intimate relationships.  Apparently, it tends to lack a certain "spark," a "tension of opposites" other combinations provide.

Alison Leigh Jones Photography*

And this makes sense to me, on paper. We're both motivated almost entirely by peace.  We find life most enjoyable when it is free of stress and obligation.  We prefer to avoid confrontation, unless absolutely necessary.  Neither of us can stand to do anything that might possibly make another person uncomfortable, even if it makes us uncomfortable.  We feel deeply, but struggle with putting our feelings into words.  We're passionate and motivated only when interested.  We value kindness and sincerity.  We get very uncomfortable when others act out in an inconsiderate and unkind way.  We like secure adventure, and prefer the familiar to the unfamiliar.

In a nutshell, White on White typically leads to a constant struggle with leadership, motivation and being assertive.

The odd thing is, Drew seems to make me more assertive.  Much more so than I was in any other relationship, with a blue or yellow or red.  The way he never demanded any certain behavior from me; he took what I offered and never once looked displeased.  And I think that's what it was.  He made me proud of me.  I no longer felt the need to walk under and around my own tendencies to placate others' expectations.  All that mattered was that I met his.

As far as Drew goes, he's now much more talkative and likely to verbalize his opinions.  This is probably common in any relationship, because we're always more likely to talk when we have someone who values our words.  But, I tell you, this man used to be like Fort Knox to me.  That is, until he figured out that he had chosen a girl with a pathetic need for verbal validation.  Then he got talkative real quick.  Obviously not as talkative as me, because women use 17,000 more words a day than men, on average.  But you see what I mean.

Now, I don't disagree with The Color Code, because that book is like my third Bible.  (Blasphemous?  Borderline, probably.)  All I'm saying is love is its own creature.

*Alison Leigh Jones Photography Website, Blog. 

valediction

Whenever Drew writes me a note, he ends it with:

                            All my love,

                                             Drew.

And I cannot get enough of that.  I can't even explain why.  I just look down at the scrawled-on piece of paper, with a closed-lip smile, squinted eyes, and think, youuu charming devil, you.

Because he just is, in the most subtle, no-agenda kind of way.  The very first time we "hung out" alone, he put his arm around me.  He just did it.  And I call it a hang out because it wasn't a date.  It just wasn't.  Can't possibly qualify.  We went and got sushi.  I paid.  And I'm pretty sure every single person he has ever come in contact with decided to call him while we were sitting there.  I was annoyed with all of them.

We headed up to one of my three favorite parks.  The one that overlooks the valley, that everyone now knows about, so it's always crowded.  We laid in the grass and listened to music and never once touched each other.  At all.

As we walked back to the car, he just grabbed me by the waist and pulled me toward him.  As if this were a normal, expected kind of thing, that had happened on a regular basis for a considerable amount of time.  And I'm reeling on the inside, trying to act cool about it on the outside.  Like, yeah, you know, Drew's arm is around my waist.  No big.  NBD.  (It was.  It was a BD.  A B-freaking-D.)

I asked him about that a few weeks ago.  Because, from my experience, it takes a lot of nerve, to just reach out and touch another person without their explicit approval to do so.  Given, the greater the risk, the greater the potential return.  But still.  Scary.  There were times that I had to have a countdown in my head before leaning in to kiss someone.  Like, three....two....one....smootch. 

I guess I just wanted to know where in the world someone gets that kind of nerve.

He said to me, "Meg, if I wanted to date someone, I just did."

So, there you go, I guess.

misc.

"Hope on. Journey on. 

Honestly acknowledge your questions and your concerns, 

but first and forever 

fan the flame of your faith, 

because all things are possible 

to them that believe."

-Jeffrey R. Holland

Drew finally came home yesterday, after deserting me*.  Which means I was actually able to get a good night's sleep for the first time in FOREVER.**

It's kind of pathetic, really.  I used to sleep alone every single night of my life and everything went fine.  Now I have to wear one of Drew's shirts and leave lights on, and not even that works.

Before Drew happened, I planned on living all alone in a classy studio apartment...in New York, or somewhere else edgy, until I was at least 28.  When I think about that now, I just laugh. 

Oh, and I didn't end up getting that promotion, in case anyone cares.  I took it harder than I should have, mostly because the news came on the week of the month where I'm incapable of handling most anything emotionally.  You know.

Seriously.  It was so dramatic.  The only thing I can compare it to is the feeling of getting dumped. Where you feel sad and heavy and sorry for yourself all day long.  And you might be able to take your mind off of it here and there, but then you remember.  And it's like you just heard the news for the first time all over again.  And you can't stop talking about it to everyone and anyone who gives you eye contact.  This can go on for any number of days.  And did.  But I'm better now.

If you're like me, and your guilty pleasure is acoustic guitar, poetic lyrics and haunting melodies, you should really listen to this guy.  He just released a new album, and I'm obsessed.  It's the perfect rainy day music, but I listen to it every other day too.  It makes Drew want to fall asleep.

I'm getting seriously annoyed with being a grown-up in the Summertime.  In any other season, it's still generally bothersome, but not nearly to this degree.  I need outdoor adventures involving tan lines, swim suits, sunglasses, questionably-colored lake water, boat fuel, and not wearing pants!  Don't you understand?  But I'm just sitting in a chair.  In jeans!

*going on a business trip
**meaning two whole entire days

this beautiful man.

Who I happen to be married to.

He's beautiful.

s c t t r b r n d

I know.  Cats.  I just like cats.  And the Husband, given.  Not sure which gets pictured more often here.

Next weekend is our anniversary.  The Husband and I, not the cats.  One year of marriage and nearly two of being a romantic unit of sorts.  Feels like much longer for some reason that I can't explain.  I was always so terrified of marriage.  It seemed to me like such a nerve-wracking gamble with the potential to end up such a mess.  Which, I mean, I guess it still could, but we do what we can to avoid that.  Keep things happy.  Except I don't even like that word, so I'll say real.  We keep it real.

Like this guy:

"Cause I'm keepin it real!"

stroll.

"Praise the spells and bless the charms

I found April in my arms.

April golden, April cloudy,

Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;

April soft in flowered languor,

April cold with sudden anger,

Ever changing, ever true -

I love April, I love you."

-Ogden Nash 

Spring is like a dream.  I mean, there are flowers everywhere.  It's important to savor it because in Utah, it isn't long before all of the green of life blooming around us turns to brown. Dead, dried, flammable brown.  

On a walk Saturday night, Drew and I slowly strolled, enjoying the just-right temperature and cracked, uneven sidewalks. It used to be that a trip around this city would bring back a flood of memories into my mind.  Every street sign, park or neighborhood had a story to tell about nights spent years ago with someone I don't keep in contact with anymore.  It used to make me sad.  I felt like it had all gone to waste for some reason.  But I realized as we walked that I had somehow passed that feeling up.  It didn't feel like I was walking through memories anymore.  I doubt this will make sense to anyone.  But it felt like I had been living like this, in the one bedroom next to a convenience store, taking walks and talking about the future with a husband named Drew my whole entire life. 

I studied blossoming trees, city buildings and old charming houses with well-manicured lawns.  It's hard to decide if this is a good or bad thing, but I wouldn't mind it if I never lived anywhere else. 

good.

Let's just make believe for a moment that you aren't a dreamer who always assumes the best in every person and situation.  And that I'm not a skeptical misanthrope that doubts every good thing you say.  On second thought, let's not imagine that. Because if those things weren't true, I'm not sure what would have brought us together and kept us there with such force.

I've figured something out.

There is a terrible and malicious tendency inside of me to compare my life to everyone else's.  That isn't actually the thing I've figured out, because I already knew that about me and so did you.  Let's back up a bit.

Marriage is the best choice I ever made, but I've found that it also opened up a whole new region of things I could potentially feel insecure about.

What I've figured out is how to send this horrid tendency back to its miserable home, at least as far as my marriage is concerned.  As for the rest of my life...it's a work in progress.

You see, since I've been married, I've spent nothing short of an outrageous amount of time thinking things like this:

"We don't rock climb like them.  Why don't we rock climb like them?  Do we even like rock climbing?  I guess that makes us unbearably boring."

"They stay out later than us.  Does that make them more fun?  Should we be more fun and stay out late too?  I'm so tired."

"His wife has a master's degree.  Why don't I have a master's degree?  I'm clearly the worst wife ever."

"Wait, they cook?  We lose."

"They fight more than us.  We must not be open enough in our communication."

"They fight less than us.  Our marriage is doomed."

But I've found the solution, and that is serving my husband.  After my brain purges itself of all these irrational thoughts, I finally come to terms with the fact that the only thing wrong with my marriage is that I think something is wrong with my marriage.  I get proactive, and make efforts to do little things that I know will make him happy.  In turn, we are happier.  Suddenly, we're back to our roots.  To laughing every thirty seconds, to discussing musical trivia, to dreaming about our future, to waking up slow on Saturdays, to planning road trips for concerts, to dancing in the kitchen, to having what seems like unreasonable amounts of fun doing absolutely nothing.

Good for the rock climbers, and the stay-out-laters, the gourmet chefs, and the mater's degree earners.

Good for you, and good for us.

23rd.

Have you ever held a bunny?  I used to live next door to a farm when I was about five years old.  They had bunnies. I was fascinated with them.  I liked these bunnies to such a major degree that I ventured over to see them one day without telling my mother.  She must have gotten real concerned, because by the time I got back to our house there were police cars in the drive way.  She had called them to come and search for me.  I remember her hugging me and crying and telling me to "never ever go away without telling her again!"  Even if it was just to go hold the bunnies.

Bunnies are nervous creatures, to say the least.  When a bunny is handed to you, they are always kicking and squirming around with their little hearts beating faster than hummingbird wings, trying their hardest to get away.  In order to get them to calm down, you have to make them be still.  This can be a challenge. You have to get them in your arms and hold them real snug until they finally stop fighting.  That's when they quit their kicking and resisting and you can touch their soft ears and feel their heart beat gradually slow down.

This is how I see you and me.  I was like one of those nervous bunnies, and you had to get a good, firm hold of me and not let me go before I finally settled down long enough to realize that you had a hold on a whole lot more than just my resistant limbs.  You had a hold on my heart.

Happy birthday to my sweet, sweet man.  Thanks for making me sit still.

genes.

Sometimes I get bitter.  High cheek bones, flawless olive skin, perfectly shaped eye brows that never need plucked, long eyelashes, thick, luscious, naturally wavy hair.  This much is considered typical in the Mulvey family. 

And I just think that it's completely unfair that his family has all of the good genes while I sit here with my impossibly white, acne-proned skin, fine hair, mediocre-length eye lashes and high-maintenance eye brows. 

But then I remember that I married this guy, so I get to look at him all of the time.  And he's going to make our children pretty, so I should stop complaining.

PS- Love you, Mom and Dad!  It's not your fault that you're so white.

you do and I do.

It was a busy weekend.  Friday night, I saw The Alabama Shakes.  I haven't seen such an impressive and acoustically flawless show in a long time.  All I can say is Brittany Howard is my hero.

Saturday morning, my family all piled into a 15 passenger van and headed for Vegas.  We were there to see my brother and sis-in-law's baby get blessed.  It was both wonderful and overwhelming to see everyone there.

Sunday night, Drew and I finally made it to our blessed bed.  It seemed to welcome us, to have missed us as much as we did.  I settled my head onto my favorite nook between Drew's shoulder and chest.  My eye lids growing heavy, heavy, heavier.  I heard him say, "This is the happiest place on earth."

I couldn't agree more.

enough

“How wrong to think I was anyone else, like thinking grass stains make you a beautiful view, like getting kissed makes you kissable, like feeling warm makes you coffee, like liking movies makes you a director. How utterly incorrect to think it any other way, a box of crap is treasures, a boy smiling means it, a gentle moment is a life improved.” -Daniel Handler

I've gotten to a strange point where I'm not sure what is enough.  My goals used to consist of staying good, going on a mission, getting married in the temple, going to school, writing something worth while and having babies.  Eventually.  Later.  A lot later.

Marriage sort of jumped out at me.  Seriously, I had other plans.  I was moving forward with my independent female life.  I was untamed and unwilling to be tamed.  I was off to some distant and as of yet unfamiliar land.  But then Drew came along, and without a single word of persuasion or criticism escaping from his perfectly kissable lips, he had me convinced.  I couldn't leave now.

I wasn't a fool; he was the definition of tall, dark and handsome.  He knew when to be serious and when to not.  He smiled when he saw me and listened when I spoke.  He knew the difference between "you're" and "your."  If I left, he wouldn't be available for long.  If I left, I would be gambling with the likelihood of being with the perfect man. And when it comes to matters of my heart, I have a strict no gambling policy.  Not that I gamble anyway.  I've never understood the appeal.  Casinos, gross. 

So, just like that, the goal of marriage was attained.  Completely out of nowhere and feeling surreal.  I had taken time off from college starting the year before in order to save money for my "mission."  The money I ended up actually saving was a pathetic and embarrassing amount.  That whole taking time off from college thing turned into never going back.  There was nothing specific I had been going for.  College is a lot of time and money for not having any reason to go.  Plus, Drew was in school and we needed a bread winner.  So bread win I do.  Even though I'm not sure why it's even referred to as "winner."  That's ridiculous.  Let's adjust that to bread earner, because, at least in my existence, money is earned with alarm clocks and 40 hours, not won.  Where I do nothing and then squeal and jump up and down?  Get real.

And, just like that, here I am.  I'm 22 years old.  I work full-time and have a family history calling I quite like and a primary calling that I complain to my husband about more than I should.  I don't know how I'll ever get good at making dinner.  I like sleeping in just as much as I did when I was ten, but nowadays I get out of bed when I'm supposed to.  The idea of motherhood scares me to death, but it's something I plan on jumping into eventually.  Again, later - a lot later.   I try to be good.  I don't watch R-rated movies and keep the curse words to a minimum.  I scrub my toilet on a regular basis and, with Drew's help, keep the dirty dishes from capsizing in the sink.

I'm a wife, an employee, a teacher, a daughter and a sister and an aunt.  I take pictures with my cheap camera and I write.  I've never run a marathon but I take the stairs every weekday.  I've got a heart thunking in my chest and do my best to put it to use.  I'm inherently reclusive but smile at people when they walk by - sometimes it's forced and sometimes it's not. 

I used to make a habit of looking up to heaven and asking them, "Am I enough?"  It took me a while to hear the answer, but now I understand that God made me, and therefore, I am enough.  God doesn't make an inadequate anything.  That's what humans are for.  

The question I send up to the clouds these days sounds quite similar, but means something very different to me.  Now that I know that I'm enough, now that I know I'm capable of anything that gets chucked in my direction, Is this enough?  Now that I can't deny that I heard the answer and have this knowledge in my head, now that I can't turn back without a compromised conscience, Is this enough?

Am I doing enough?  I don't know how to tell.

I always liked this day.

Valentine's Day has always been fun for me.  In elementary school, I used to hand make cards for all of my classmates with colored construction paper.  And every year I made one a little extra special, shoving in a few additional pieces of candy with it for my one and only crush from grade 1-4.  Josh Monson.  As it turned out, he only liked the cards with baseball players on them, made fun of my favorite teddy bear dress, had eyes for none other than blondes, and once threw a ball at my head.

I don't know what I saw in him.  That mindless ball-throwing blonde lover.

Yes, I did do something for my husband (who has never thrown anything at my head or made fun of any one of my dresses).  But I can't write about it just yet, because as this point it's still a surprise!  You can definitely expect a post about it though, because I'm pretty proud of myself and feel the need to boast.

Happy Valentine's Day!  Go make someone else happy!

about us. for love-u-ary.

In honor of the grand month of love, Jessica over at The Lyons Den recently wrote a few posts about she and her husband.  I loved it so much that I decided to dig up this old draft that I had in queue and post the sucker.  Be sure to pay Jessica's blog a visit - she's hilarious as well as stylish and I guarentee you'll enjoy yourself.

-The first time Drew told me that he loved me, I didn't say it back.  What I said was, "Thanks..."  I know, how rude.

-We do not remember the first time that we met.  But did a lot of dating...around each other in high school.  That's right, he's kissed some of my old friends/acquaintances.  I have no problem with this because we weren't even involved at the time. But when I run into these girls in public places, I have to work hard to keep my mind from repeating, "You kissed my husband...you kissed my husband..."

-The conversation before our first kiss went something like this:

        Drew-  "Meg, I'm so terrified to kiss you."
        Me-  "Why is that?"
        Drew- "Because it's been two years and I'm out of practice and I've liked you since high school."
       Me- ...*Really lame and sheepish and nervous giggle*
       Drew- "But...what the hell, right?"

-That kiss happened on the first date to see Explosions in the Sky.  My very first first date kiss ever.  And last, I guess.

-He says that he's seen me as someone he could marry ever since he knew me.  I'm not sure if this is the truth or if he said it to make sure I stuck around.  Either way, it worked.  I'm still here.

-The day I decided I would marry him I was on a road trip to Las Vegas with some gal friends.  I don't generally enjoy Las Vegas, but we had to see Bright Eyes.  You understand.  Anyway, my car broke down in Kanosh.  Where even is Kanosh?  Drew showed up like a gallant knight in shining armor to save us damsels in distress.  Who could resist.  I also figured that his family must be pretty awesome considering that they lent us, a group of twenty-something girls, their car.  (And maybe this meant that they liked me a little and could possibly deem me worthy of their perfect son?  It was a long shot, but I was hopeful.)

-One time, while we were, uhh, courting? he had a dream that he shaved his beard, and woke up afraid I would break up with him.  I wouldn't have, I promise.  I only would have cried for a few hours.  Kidding.

-Drew is the first boy I've dated that my mother ever liked me with.  That's when I was sure something must have been different.  My mother is a tough critic.  Or maybe I just dated clowns.  It's probably a mixture of both.

-We basically fell in love in bowling shoes.

social norms.

My favorite part of our weekend, other than just sitting at home with my cat and robust, bearded partner was walking out of Big Lots.  Drew and I are just making our way to the car when we hear, "Are you Jesus?!  ARE YOU JESUS??"

We looked around, but couldn't tell where this voice was coming from.

If it was you, I am sorry to say that, no, you did not see Jesus in jeans and a pair of Vans in the parking lot of Big Lots on Saturday.  I suggest you just wait it out until judgment day.

what did you call me?

My cat is so cute.  Also, I finished an entire burrito from Taco Time today.  That's never actually happened before.

On Friday night, Drew called me Megan.  I know that seems normal because it's my first name and all, but it was strange.  He never calls me Megan.

It's either Meg or a term of endearment.  That's it. 

And as far as what I typically call him, his name could be legally changed to "Honey" and my life would be no different.

Do you and your spouse/significant other/partner/companion call each other by your first names?  Or are you more like us and probably drive other people crazy by using pet names?

If you're single, well, you know what to do...

history.

He brought me See's and Diet Dew.  And I feel much better about this whole Monday thing.

I have no idea how to transition this, so I'm just gonna move on.  Did you know my parents have been divorced and re-married twice?  Which means they've been married to each other three times?  That's a true story.  One that is probably too complicated and personal to get my blog on about. But aren't they cute?

When I was younger, and they were living separately, I was always worrying about them.  Those of you who have experienced divorce probably understand what I mean here.  Are they bored?  Are they lonely?  Is Dad hungry?  Does Mom have anyone to gab and watch movies with?  It was a conflicting experience, because I, being young, wanted to go out with my friends and do silly things.  Like "hot tubbing" and/or "going 80's." (Which meant we dressed up in neon colors and danced to 80's music until 1am in a sleezy club in Salt Lake City.  I can't say I know why.  My brain wasn't fully developed.)

My parents encouraged me to go and do these things, insisting that I needed to have fun and not worry about them and they were fine and they'd see me for dinner in a few days or whatever.  I knew it wasn't my fault that any of this had happened, and that I also couldn't do anything to fix it.

But in the moments where I felt especially helpless, I always turned to one specific song.  The song of all sad, therapeutic songs.  Yes, we're talking Fix You, by Coldplay. 

"Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you"

It's pretty ironic because, as I have previously stated, I knew I couldn't fix it or them or anything about the situation.  But this song seemed to appeal to my irrational feelings and voiced the thoughts that I didn't have energy to put into words at the time.  Which is the best kind of song.  I'm not even a very big Coldplay fan.  But that song, it hit the spot.

That song was on the episode of The O.C. that Drew and I watched on Saturday night.  And what did I do?  Bawled like a baby.  Even though things are much different now, and my parents mostly keep each other company and, rest assured, my mom sees to it that my dad never goes hungry, those emotions came flooding back.

And I was glad.  Drew and I talked about difficult things.  How they shape and mold us into stronger, more capable people.  I'm glad that song still brings tears, that I still remember.  Because I learned things from those experiences that have become a vital part of who I am and how I live my life.

My dad.  Somewhere in the 70's,

I don't mean that we should hold on to the bad memories and let them control our lives.  We should do our best to rise above negative or difficult situations.
 
But I'm not sure how to learn other than by reviewing history, and if I forgot my history, I would likely forget what I learned.

today.

 "Don't they know you're supposed to have a last name?  It's like they're an entire generation of cocktail waitresses." -Kathleen Kelly

Today, there is a really nice zit right smack-dab in the middle of my forehead.  You couldn't miss it even if you tried your hardest.  I like to call these "third eyes."

Today, I think I may have broken the rice cooker after dropping it because it hurt my burnt finger too badly to hold it any longer.  It made a lot of noise when it hit the floor.  Sure hope it works tonight, I was too late for work to check.

Today, I've come to realize that I use my pinky a lot.  Mostly because it stings real bad whenever it touches anything. Because this pinky is the burnt finger that I mentioned earlier. 

Today, I tried to help push a lady's car out of some ice.  It didn't work.  Awkward.  I mean, what do you say?  "Well, it looks like I'm missing about ten pounds of muscle mass that I would need in order to be of any use to you.  ...See ya!"

Today, I forgot salad dressing for my lunch.  What am I supposed to do with all of these vegetables?

Today, I'm annoyed because a few months ago, Drew and I had a bounteous amount of tupperware.  And now we only have five containers.   It's like losing socks in the laundry, we'll never know where they go.

 Today, I didn't even do my hair.  I just wet down the parts of it that were sticking up when I got out of bed.

That's actually everyday.

Today, I will be 22 in a week. January never seems like much of a time to celebrate, with its negative temperatures and ugly inversion.

What if I just decided to celebrate my birthday in July?  Do you think anyone would really even notice?  I mean, most of the time people just act like they knew it was your birthday, even though they completely forgot.

So what would the difference be?  Instead of them forgetting in January, they would be forgetting in July.  I think that'd be fine.

Today is not my day.

My husband scrapes the windows of my car for me every morning. This means so much more to me than flowers or even chocolates ever could.  He's too much goodness in one man.