Wedding: OMG shoes

For the past 10 months, I have searched with my 5 bridesmaids for the perfect yellow shoes for my June wedding. And by perfect, I do not mean “unique,” “different,” or especially “special.” We were literally looking for yellow patent pumps, preferably round toe, preferably no peep toe, preferably not terribly tall or terribly short heel height.

Do you have any idea how hard these are to find?

We’d find them, and then sit too long and they’d be sold out. Or we would search and search and search and find nothing.

For months.

And granted, the wedding is in June, so we weren’t in a huge time crunch here. But let’s also be realistic: if we could cross this mutha off the list sooner rather than later, that’d be a-OK too, ya know?

Luckily, when you give my sister 10 minutes with the Internets and, she finds LITERALLY THE PERFECT SHOE.

Screen Shot 2013-02-03 at 10.27.58 PM

For $39.95.

When just minutes before we were looking at something not even as cute, with the price tag of $80.

Thank you, sister friend. And retailmenot for that nice little shipping code.

Now it’s just finding my own pair of shoes for the Big Day, and the whole What-Will-We-Wear question will be answered. Yayyy. SHOES.




Hi folks.

It’s been a while.

Since we’ve talked last I’ve become even more of a domestic diva. Yesterday I made homemade creamy tomato and basil soup. That’s soup with 4 ADJECTIVES. Everyone knows food with lots of adjectives is super fancy and people who make it are divas.

Tonight, I attempted a HuHut recreation. It was not bad. I will continue improving it until it tastes just like what I make at the Mongolian Grill. I will not be defeated.

Shockingly, with all this cooking I’ve been doing, I’ve lost about 3 pounds. I have no idea how this is happening except for the fact that I’m  eating less Pizza Hut since I’m dominating my entire Yum board on Pinterest.

Oh. I guess that’s probably how it’s happening.

In other world domination news, the other day I went to Target and did not buy a single thing because I’m so fulfilled in my life that I don’t need material objects.


Obvs that’s a lie.


Not pictured: lots of things.

I went shopping again after the Target spree weekend, which to be fair was mostly because of peer pressure during bachlorette party shenanigans (Lori’s getting marrrrrrrrrrried!). I will not be shopping again for a long time. Probably.

On another note, do you ever stand in a department store dressing room, look in the mirror and think, Damn this would look nice with Spanx?


Me either. That would be weird.

Working on my Inner Goddess

I’ve had this song stuck in my head for a solid three days

My neighbors love it.

I’ve also been becoming a Domestic Goddess. Ain’t no thaaaaang.

Last night, I made chicken salad.

When I started the chicken was FROZEN.

When I was done, it was delicious.


LOL no I didn’t. I obvs have tongs.

I didn’t eat the chicken salad because I accidentally ate leftover Chipotle chips and salsa while I was cooking soooo I wasn’t really hungry. But it was a delicious lunch today.

After proving my meat cooking skills I decided to make banana bread.

There was batter all over my kitchen because hand mixers are made by Satan, but it tastes real good.

All that, though, is just gearing you up for the grand finale.


Lemme tell you a story.

The day I officially moved into my new apartment, my dad came to see it for the first time. He LOVES patios, and even though mine is only about 3×6, it does have a great view and, hey, it’s still outside. He was pretty excited about it and decided I needed patio furniture, so he called my mom who was at Target and asked her to pick up some patio furniture for a house warming present.

Ain’t he sweet?

Mom picked out two chairs and a table that I was pretty excited about, but then she also brought me a plant.

A plant.

I can’t make minute rice and the woman buys me a plant. (I’ve since become a better cook; see above)

I was basically ready to throw in the towel right there, but then she spoke.

“I don’t know why I bought this, you’ll just kill it anyway.”

Game on, MOTHER. Game on.

My plan was to treat my plant like an infant but then I accidentally locked myself out of my balcony for a solid week (don’t wanna talk about it) and it diiiiiied.

Dead. Dead as a doornail.

I’d show you a photo, but I never took one because I was afraid in a moment of weakness I’d send it to The One Who Doubts Me.

When I figured out how to get onto my balcony (don’t wanna talk about it), I felt hopeless. The Mother had won. I had lost.

But yet.

Jeff suggested I cut off all the dead buds (AKA all of them) and start watering it again.

Thus began the watering marathon.

I watered that plant e’rrrrrrr day. That plant was my CHILD.

And damn, it looked good.

Then I went out of town and asked my sister to babysit the plant, but she did not see the point.

I was insulted, but I did not let it affect my plant growing ability. My coworker told me that it’s easier to keep a healthy plant alive than to resurrect a dead plant. I had already done some resurrecting, so obvs I was talented enough to keep the thing alive without water for a few days.


What up, Mom.

What. Up.

Domestic Plant Resurrecting Goddess, at your service.

But not really, cuz lezzzz be real, goddesses don’t serve.


What up party people!?

Jeff and I spent an awesome long weekend visiting his cousins on the East coast. His cousin Ali paid for us to fly out there after we got engaged – crazy nice right!? We had been pumped for so long, so we were ready to go!

We spent most of our time in Atlantic City doing the tourist thang, and finished it up with Washington DC and the tourist thang.

Jeff saw the ocean for the first time:

He was the only one there!

Just kidding. I’m just a stealthy photographer like that.

After the ocean we hit up the bar scene in AC, which for the record is basically awesome and revolves around gambling (where I won $50 AND THEN STOPPED unlike someone else I know who’s name rhymes with Heff but I don’t want to name names) and beach bars (where they sing Mumford & Sons and Jimmy Buffet and I swooooooon). Lots of #winning.

We also went to this AWESOME sushi bar with THE BEST SUSHI IN THE WORLD and where I took my first saki bomb. Here is the problem with saki bombs, though. No one told me they are like liquid amnesia. I did not know, so can I just plead ignorance?

Friday night (saki night) goes from blurry to slightly clearer around the time I was back in the hotel room, dumping makeup remover into my contact case.

My contacts did not survive.

So now I look like this for a week while I wait for the eye doctor to order more:


Just KIDDING, guys. I was playing in Photobooth.

To clarify, not kidding about saki. LIQUID AMNESIA. Just be careful.

And now I’ve officially spent the last too many posts talking about my drinking habits. I promise I don’t have a problem. I just happen to have a lot of blog worthy moments when I get my drank on. Also, my mom adores reading about these experiences, so should I really deprive her of that?

On a related note, the next 4 posts will discuss my college GPA, my volunteer work for underprivileged children, and how I plan to be the first woman president of the United States and also Canada.


But I did see some museums:

Like the American History, where we met Kermit the frog and the first Macintosh computer. It was 1/8 the size of the screen I’m currently typing on. Thank you, Steve Jobs.

Also, the Air and Space Museum.

Isn’t this guy cute?



Aaaaaand now I’m back and will be working a bunch this week as I gear up to move on Sunday.

And now I have to go because Fun. is performing on Lenno and I gotta get my jam on. PEACE.






Pee hands and urine handles

With the start date for my new job right around the corner, I’ve been doing a few things to get ready, such as finding an apartment and peeing in cups.

What, is that weird?

Actually, I had to take a drug test; I don’t just get kicks out of peeing in little tiny cups. I’ve never had to take a drug test before, so I thought it was kind of a weird request. According to the nurse handling my urine, however, it’s super common. Oh, America.

I went to get the drug test over my lunch break, so I prepared by drinking approximately 107 oz. of water in 30 minutes. I actually don’t think that’s possible, but I drank a lot of water. The test was going to be at the hospital, and since this isn’t an extremely hoppin’ town I live in, our hospital parking lot is, give or take, the size of my parents driveway. Everyone in Mitchell was visiting the hospital on this day, so I drove around with a very full bladder for a while before I finally parked lightyears away and ran my behind up to second floor so I could finally pee.

But pee I could not. There were two people in front of me to pee so I had to sit with an uncomfortably full bladder in the waiting room while a new employee watched a video made in the 70s about pathogens. Awesome.

It honestly didn’t take TOO long for it to be my turn. A nurse came to get me and gave very specific instructions to empty my pockets, wash my hands, put my purse in the cupboard. I guess they have to be specific so crack heads don’t sneak in clean urine in their purses (ew).

Once I was in the bathroom there were even more specific instructions: pee in the toilet. Then pee in the cup. Then pee in the toilet. Then DON’T FLUSH THE PEE OR YOU HAVE TO START OVER AND WE WILL PUSH WATER DOWN YOU UNTIL YOU HAVE TO PEE AGAIN.


So, I did my business and in doing so peed all over myself and wasn’t allowed to wash my hands. Then I opened the door and realized that other people also were probably covered in urine and touching the door handle with pee hands and I totally got the heeby geebies.

This is why I hate hospitals.

Pee hands and urine handles.

The nurse handed me a wet nap, but really, it was a wet nap and I was covered in urine so my cleanliness is still up for debate at this point. Ga-ross.

SO THEN I’m standing in the hallway where people are coming and going (HA, LITERALLY) and the nurse goes into the room to wet nap the shelf where I put my cup of pee. And the toilet is still full of my urine. And she is hanging out next to it.

And this, friends, is why I did not go to school for nursing.

My pee is then put into two viles and at this point we are standing in the middle of the hallway and she is working with my pee. So people are walking by and I’m just all, Hey how ya doing, yeah that’s my pee, this isn’t weird at all.

Then I had to label my pee, which meant touching the container again, which once again contaminated my hands with more urine.


I hightailed it out of the hospital as soon as I could and I don’t intend to take a drug test again any time soon.

So how’s your Thursday?

Around the Net

  • I’m loving this shirt worn by my boyfriend Zach Efron, who happens to be a big fan of this blog.

    OK he’s not a big fan of this blog. Or my boyfriend.

  • Did you guys see my face on these posts yesterday? I’m leaving my Operation Beautiful internship because of my new fulltime gig, and it’s very bittersweet. I totally had a moment yesterday when I saw these posts. Healthy Tipping Point has been one of my favorite blogs for years, and I have such a soft spot for OB, so to be mentioned on there – even though I feel like I “know” Caitlin through all our emails – was just crazy cool.
  • I’m assuming the RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF VIEWS on my blog yesterday was due to the above two posts and not due to absolute hilarity, but still, YOU GUYS. SO MANY VIEWS. I logged into my Dashboard today and thought my blog was malfunctioning. Wowza. Are you back again today? I hope so!!

Condiment Catastrophe: a story of egg salad

I was going to make this for lunch today.

I was going to take pictures.

It was going to be a really pretty photo shoot because you know what is prettier than a hard boiled egg’s bright yellow and a perfectly ripe avocado’s green fleshy goodness?


Maybe this:

*Gratuitous photo of my future nieces. Gorge!

Back to my egg salad.

So last time I tried to make egg salad at Jeff’s house (sometimes I go there for lunch cuz it’s .2 seconds away from work and my parents’ house is wayyy too far away for an hour lunch break [not really, but his house is much closer]) I did EVERYTHING my mom/The Pioneer Woman/Google told me to do and my eggs were not cooked. It was heartbreaking. Do you have any idea how it feels to crave egg salad like crack and get everything all set up and put together and spend 20 minutes boiling two damn eggs and neither of them cook all the way through!? It’s enough to make you sick.

Literally. That’s how you get salmonella.

I didn’t have the salmonella problem this time, thank GOODNESS. I was getting ready to mix everything together and I took the mayo out of the fridge. Back story: unless it’s on a BLT or LIGHT in a salad (pasta, potato, egg) I do not go near mayo. Ewyuckno.

It jiggles.

It freaks me out.


So of course I had not realized that the mayo in the fridge had expired IN DECEMBER and was CURDLING and I bet you anything Jeff had been eating it up until we went on vacation last week. Climb aboard the vomit train…

I was able to find some Miracle Whip that only just expired last week (!!!!) so I squeezed in the teeniest amount just to make the egg stick together, basically, because if I hate anything more than mayo it’s Miracle Whip.

I threw in some mustard and worcestershire sauce (<- KEY!) and tasted my creation and it was surprisingly delicious despite the condiment catastrophe.

But then I ate a spoonful with avocado (my one true love) and I decided that on their own each are glorious, but together notsomuch. I think it was a consistency problem. Too much mush in one place. That being said, maybe when I actually have mayo and not that other crap I will try Ree’s recipe. Who knows.

After all this, my camera died anyway so it didn’t even matter. It’s like I never ate at all. Because after all, if there is no Instagram photo of it, did it really happen??? I ask you.

So now I’ve got a sliced up avocado in the fridge marinating in lime so it won’t go all nast and brown on me, and I’m trying to figure out a way to use it ASAP. (Guacamole is the obvious standby.)

I’ve also got a husband-to-be with a totally clean fridge because the mayo situation freaked me out so I started purging, which really wasn’t a bad idea anyway cuz yesterday Jeff ate a 13-day-old enchilada.


I got a job.

A real, live, big kid job.

And I’m pretty pumped about it.

But I’m having a problem.

Suddenly with this job, I feel like I’m rich.

Really rich. Beyonce rich.

Everyone warned me this would happen.

My friends, their parents, my parents, teachers.

“When you see what you’re making, it’s going to hopefully be more than you’ve made before. DO NOT LET THIS GO TO YOUR HEAD.”

When Jeff got a big kid job and bought a bazillion dollar truck like it was NBD we fought and fought and fought.

And by we I mean me. And by fought I mean yelled.

And I said, Oh, I will NEVER do that. Silly Jeff.


I think it’s happening. Because this is how I feel:


A new outfit for a concert? SURE! A mousepad with Rue’s face on it? YUP. Instagram photos turned into magnets? I NEED AT LEAST 15!

But the harsh reality is that I owe a bazillion dollars to the government and my father (that’s an exact figure) and I have a really pathetic amount of money to my name right now, and in a few short months I will be paying for super fun things for the first time in my life. Super fun things like car payments and cell phone payments and RENT. OH MY. And also everything else because that’s what happens when you grow up.

The reality is, I actually have no money.

So then the excitement turns to this:


And I get sad.

And then I think


Why am I being sad?!



And then it’s like this again:


See, you guys? It’s a vicious circle.

I’m off to buy a few hundred dollars in iPhone apps.