Leapin' Lizards

Guys, leap year. February 29.

The day anything goes, cause it's just extra. For tweny-four precious hours, we get to do whatever we want. It's like Vegas. What happens today, stays in today. It's almost like it never happened.

The only people we should feel sorry for are birthday leap babies. (If I was a leapling, I'd demand my birthday be celebrated the other 365 days of the year. That's a whole lot of cake. I'd also be 5.)  I betcha every man in the world would love this to be his anniversary; he'd only have to remember it every four years.

We don't get these throw-away days very often, so we should make the most of it. Right?

I may get a tattoo on my fanny that says "Leaping since '89."
I may go blast my neighbors car with 366 eggs. (Just kidding, that'd be expensive.)
I may go try out for the Olympics. I hear running to the fridge is a new relay. Winning!

This is us leaping, because it's leap year. (Blooper from engagement pictures.) My white boy has some serious ups, whereas I'm dangerously close to a wardrobe malfunction. It also kinda looks like I'm pooping.

So today, do something you'd never normally do! Leap into the possibilities... now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to do laundry.

Sorry for another...

birthday post.
I know that you know that I recently had a birthday, dontcha know. But I had to share what the hubs did last night for me, because (apparently) this is a newlywed blog.

Because we've been apart this last week (don't worry I ate my feelings the entire time), he hasn't given me a birthday present. I made a couple of not-so-cheap shopping trips, so I had mentioned something about him not getting a gift (because I'm super polite). But of course I didn't really mean that.

So last night we went out with his parents to Pappadeux, one of my favorite restaurants. When we came home, I expected him to give my present (naturally). But when no present surfaced, my teeny smalls started getting hurt. Let's be real, I don't really need anything. But it's my birffday! I wanted my husband to show me how (not so) monumental turning 23 is (spoiled brat alert).

He shrugged his shoulders and told me that he didn't get me anything. I, of course, thought he was kidding. "But babe, you told me not to get you anything!" I felt bad for expecting something, but also a little hurt. Wahhhhh.

Ten minutes later he comes back to our room where I'm sulking and playing Scramble with Friends (JenaMRoach, you will get destroyed). He hands me a deck of cars with a bow on top. "Here babe, I got you some cards."

Ummm. Thanks?

I literally thought he walked to our hall closet and wrote Happy Birthday on top. Somehow, he coaxed me into opening them.

It becomes more apparent that he didn't just throw this together. (I remember showing him this cute pin on Pinterest.) How precious is he?

I started feeling really bad, like a big spoiled three-year-old.

At the end of the deck he had four gift cards to some of my favorite stores, each one increasing twenty-five dollars. Barnes and Noble, Bed Bath & Beyond, Forever 21, and MAC. "I know you like these stores, and I know I probably wouldn't have picked out the right thing.... so happy birthday, babe."

It was a mean trick, pretending to not get me anything. He enjoyed watching me wallow, maybe a little too much.

Roadtrip Recap and other life-changing events, like turning 23

I was born today (well 23 years ago). You're welcome world.

We're back in San Antonio. Ten hours in the car isn't exactly the best way to spend your birthday, but at least Grahm was with me this time. I read the Hunger Games out loud to him for most of the way. (I'm super amazing at character voices, btw.)

So thankful for this wonderful Oklahoma trip and all the people I got to see. Really a great reminder for the wonderful friends and family we have.

Papa, a lover of dumb blonde jokes.

Nana, the wisest  and most compassionate woman I know.

The cousin's adorable babies, Titus and Nora. 

Lunch with sister in Norman.

Strawberry milk green tea with boba from one of my favorite places.

Seeing baby brother, his pretty girlfriend Shelby, and sister. We love each other, but didn't love this Mexican restauarent. A $4.50 split charge? Holllly molley.

The sibs. Kinda crazy how we all have the same genes. We look nothing alike.

Sushi with the best friends.

Sorry I'm not sorry that I match the curtains.

Apparently you get free stuff when you're the birthday girl. Get in my mouth, chocolate goodness.

Love this boy, even if he missed the memo to act like a walrus.

I'm twenty-three today. I'm thinking it's gonna be a good year because that was Michael Jordan's number and let's face it, he was the shizz.

Now if you'll excuse me... I'm off to get rid of the car stench that's enveloped my armpits.

Bloggin' on the Road (That's real commitment, my friends.)

Grahm is in Nevada on business (insert a whiney newlywed-I-miss-my-hubby-so-much phrase here).

So instead of sitting around the apartment like a wart on a log, I decided to go to Oklahoma (the promised land) and visit as many of my friends and family as possible. Yesterday was a long, long day in the car; I can only scream sing for so long before I get bored. I may or may not have played one million games of WWFs/texted every person in my contact list. (Don't tell my mom.)

After five hours of cursing the heavens for not having cruise control, I stopped in Dallas to see my friend Julie. She was on my Peru missions team in 2006, and we've been friends ever since. I'm a duntz and didn't get a picture with her, so here's a not-so-recent (but highly attractive one of us). She's a gem in my life.

Next up was Laura and Jon in Tulsa, friends of ours from high school/the ones who set Grahm and I up. Loved getting to see her and her sweet baby... who totally loves his Aunt Jena (can you blame the little guy?). Please note how adorable I look with a baby in my arms. (Grahm are you reading this?)

Laura and I talked about the important things in life like what Youtube videos we've been watching lately, the latest gossip of all our friends, and how stretch marks are apparently genetic. Who knew? I asked my mom if she had any. I got this response:

... So crap, Alice. The spider-like purple veins of death are in my tummy's future.

Laura and I then visited our old high school, Mingo Valley Christian School. We brought some Taco Bueno to our old Bible teacher/drama director, Mr. Madden. (I struggle with accepting the fact that I'm an adult now and can call him Nate.) He directed all of the plays I was in, Grahm too. (We went to the school at different times cause G is older.) Nate may or may not have said that Grahm was the best actor he's ever had. (Insert crazy-proud-wife comment here.)

I was little orphan Annie my senior year. Do yourself a favor and check out the red poodle that died on my head.

Gotta love high school, especially mine. With a class of only sixteen, it's impossible not to shine. It took going to a state college for me to reevaluate what I thought I was good at. (Apparently I can't really sing... like at all. And I'm not nearly the basketball star I thought I was. Darn you, midget troll legs!)

Although I miss my hubby, I'm so thankful to see so many of the wonderful people in my life. Excited to see more over the next couple of days!

A guest blog and her pet peeve

Hey friends! Jena asked me to guest post over here since she's going on a trip (so jealous!) and somehow I finagled my way into getting her to post on my blog this morning too. I'm Sar from [life of love], come read her post and say hi!

When Jena asked me to blog post, I figured I'd continue on with her theme of pet peeves.

My biggest pet peeve? People spelling my name wrong. It's Sarah. You know, with an h. Yes, I know it's silent. Yes, I know that others may see it as unnecessary (although the Bible has it too, and we all know the Bible is the Word). And yes, I know that you know many other people named Sarah, or Sara, or Sarag (you know, the silent g), but please get it right.

If you email me and don't realize that my email address contains my name (with an h), that's okay. I'll let it go. But after the first reply, when I sign my name as Sarah, it's just plain ignorant to misspell it. And when I remember to spell your name correctly, even if it's Danyell (I know one), Jaimie (yeah, two i's), or Carleigh ('cuz Carly was too common), I don't complain, I just refer to you in writing correctly. 'Cuz I'm nice like that.

All you of non-Sarahs probably don't feel the same way, or maybe nobody has ever consistently buchered your name. I've been working with my major professor for four years now and I still get emails addressed to "Sara."

And that's the story of why I go by Sar.

Taking one for the Team

Mardi Gras is a day to release your inner fat child and let her go hog wild.
I do this every day, so this holiday isn't exactly exciting to me. I mean, sure I'll double my daily dose of ice cream and McDonald's french fries for the cause. Why not? (It took a lot of self control to not whoof down my cone before I had a chance to take a picture of the fatty dwelling inside me. She resides in my cellulite's chamber of secrets. I like to call her Berthe.)

I'm not even Catholic, but I'm sure all the saints want our help celebrating. This is, after all, leading up to the greatest day ever... the day Jesus arose from His grave. Kind of a big deal. If I can lend my part by eating an ungodly amount of carbs today, then I guess I'll take one for the team. I'm just a really good person like that.

Pet Peeves, link-up partay

I turn 23 on Sunday. While this isn't exactly a rip-roaring-I'm-so-mature-now-look-at-me kind of age, it's definitely got me thinking about my life as a young'un. In fact, I actually think about this quite a bit because... it's brought up a lot.

I realize I have a baby troll face. I'm 5'1, I weigh 105 pounds, and I have the chest of an eleven-year-old boy (I put "Pet Peeves" right across my lack-ofs in that picture, and you didn't even notice). This, my friend, does not mean I'm a fetus. No, I'm not in junior high. No, I don't know if school is out today. And yes, I know it's impossible to believe, but I'm married. Gasp away. Let your jaw drop. I've seen it all.

I once met a friend of Grahm's at one of his volleyball games. Granted, I wasn't wearing mascara (deadly mistake for us blondes) but when Grahm introduced me as his wife, this guy look dumfounded. He literally said, "Oh my. I thought you were somebody's child." Dude, keep those insulting thoughts to your elfinwich! It's people like you who've lead me to massive eyeliner  and bra-stuffing problems.

I get my youthfulness from my dad. His recently graying hair is basically the only sign he's aging. He always wins that game at Six Flags where the guy guesses your age. We have a plethora of oversized stuffed animals from all his conquests.

Yes, it bugs the pants off of me when people assume petite = young. But the real pet peeve kicks in when they try to make it better by saying these six grody words... "You'll appreciate that when you're older!"

This may be true, but for right now... I kinda hate you. Those words ain't helping your case, my friend. You just took nine years off my life by assuming that I'm only fourteen. No, I'm not amused. The whole time we were talking, I thought you were taking me seriously. But really, you thought you were talking to a small child. I'm surprised you didn't use your whiney baby voice, or offer me some animal crackers.

When my boobs come in or I get my first wrinkle (whichever comes first), I'm gonna call all you "Oh my word, you're married?!"haters back and prove myself to you. Until then, I'll remain a baby face troll trying to make it in an adult world.

Link-up and share your pet peeves! I'd love to hear them!

Lazy Sunday

We just took a three-hour nap. It was spec-freakin-tacular. Since we're being lazy today, I thought I'd be lazy on the blog and post thess hilarious quotes.

I agree with Anita (right side), mostly because of a conversation I had with Grahm yesterday.

"Hey sweetie, can you throw the sheets in the washer? I'm gonna hop in the shower."

"Sure babe... how do I wash 'em?"

"Just put it on warm/cold and normal wash." I started walking back to our bedroom.

"Does it need... detergent?" he asks.

I paused for a long and awkward moment. "...Yes, dear. They need soap in order to get clean."

His question tells me more than one thing. 1) I seriously doubt he's EVER washed his sheets before. Ummm, gross? And 2) This kid would be totally lost without me. If I die, someone please help my husband do his laundry. Poor kid.

Friday, Friday! Gotta get down on Friday.

Dear Molly and Bekah, thanks for being my favorite trolls. I'm so excited to visit Oklahoma in a week, just to see your pretty faces. I love our three-way chats. Even from eight hours away, I still feel close to you both... especially when our conversations look like this:

Dear Abs, work yourself out please. Or tell me something that I can eat, so it doesn't look like I'm growing another butt.

Dear San Antonio, you've been raining a lot lately. I know it's not really you're fault, but can we stop this drizzling action? It's hair-ruining and only leads to outfit mayhem. I'm not in college anymore, so it's no longer acceptable to wear cute rain boots. You make me want to stay inside and ignore the world, so rain let's take a rain check.

Dear Grahm, you think you're funny. (I kinda do, too.) Thanks for helping me clean the apartment last night when we had our firsts guest over (your parents). Also thanks for adding to my grocery list. I'll be sure to pick these things up on my next trip to HEB.

Dear Mommy and Daddy, I miss you both so much! I haven't seen either of you since Christmas day. Nashville is so stinkin' far. You guys should hop on a plane with Carrie Underwood. I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Just tell her Jesus took the wheel, and you really couldn't control over it.

Forever Valentine

Brace yourselves for one of those my-husband-is-so-great-and-he-made-Valentine's-day-the-best-thing-ever-and-I'm-so-incredibly-lucky-to-have-him kind of posts.

If you haven't barfed yet, let me continue.

Last night, Grahm brought dinner home for us. He ran around like a chicken with his head cut off (pretty normal) to some of my favorite places for a delectable feast. Dinner rolls (the good kind of cellulite) and a couple of sides from Black Eyed Pea. Caesar salad from I forgot where? Coconut shrimp and shrimp brochette (good heavens it don't get much better than bacon-wrapped shrimp!) from Pappadeaux. And strawberry cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory.

Talk about a whole lot of nomming goodness.

He also brought these lovely ladies home. My favorites: daisies with a splash of roses. Like every girl, I adore getting flowers. They're beside me right now cause I just like to look at them. (I not-so-secretly hate it when girls claim they don't like flowers. What, you don't have a soul?! The only woman who can honestly say she doesn't like getting flowers is Phoebe Bouffe, and let's face it... she's a few donuts short of a double rainbow.)

He also got me this lovely Vera Bradley travel bag, which apparently everyone knew I wanted. He had to steal it from his mother who was (very sweetly) planning on giving it to me for my birthday in two weeks (Sorry, Beth!).

I'm so thankful for him. Really. He's such a thoughtful husband. Last night he said, "You know, you're gonna be my Valentine for the rest of your life." I smiled because that's just fine with me.

He may be singing a different tune about being forever Valentines, because his presents from me were terribly lame. I struggle with this every year, what do you get BOYS for Valentine's day? (I mean if the dude likes getting flowers/cards/teddy bears as much as you then you've got bigger problems, my friend.) I ended up making a scavenger hunt around the apartment so he could find all his presents (aka oreo balls, cookies, and his favorite beer).

I realize these look like giant cow turds, but they're pretty tasty if I do say so myself.  Grahm loves Oreos (and anything related to them) and cookies more than anyone I know, which is good because I can actually make that. If his favorite dessert was Tiramisu, we'd be in trouble.

We topped the night off by going to see The Vow. How original of us! :) It wasn't nearly as great as I was anticipating. They could have done so much with the story, but the screenplay was poorly written. (Writing snob alert!) I want soooo badly for Channing Tatum to morph into a good actor, poor kid. It's like God told him, "I made you ridiculously good lookin! You can't be an excellent actor, too! It just wouldn't be fair." We do get to see his rumposaurus though, so I'm sure his acting career isn't in any danger.

Hope y'all got to eat a diabetic amount of chocolate and got to spend lots of time with your loved one!

Grammys, fank you berry much

I love award shows more than you. (Please see CMA post for proof.) That being said, we haven't set up our cable yet due to extreme laziness (on my part). I can keep up with all my shows online, so I've haven't really felt the need yet. Well last night, I felt the need and BAD.

I searched and searched for live feed for the Grammys online. What shenanigans was Lady Gaga pulling? How did Adele's throat look post-surgery? Did Taylor Swift bring her little brother? Was Jennifer Hudson ready to pay homage to Whitney (which was stinkin' amazing btw)? So many questions I had to know. No live feed to be found. (If that's not the biggest travesty in our generation.)

Frantically, I called Time Warner to set up my cable. They could send out a technician... on Tuesday. A no go.

It looked like all hope was lost, so I (of course) started whining. "Grahhhhhm the Grammmmmys need me!" Either Grahm is the greatest husband in the world, or he got sick of my incessant grumbling (probably both)... but he went to Wal-Mart to fetch an antenna to make all of my award show dreams come true.

Like a trooper, he set the whole thing up. (I'm at a total loss if wires are involved.) We even took turns holding the antenna (which really looks more like a box than cute bunny ears) at just the right spot near our window (harder than it sounds). So I didn't get to watch all of it, but I was thankful to get to see some of the show thanks to hubs. If that's not true love, I don't know what is.

Brace yourself for the most attractive picture of me ever.

We heard these words a lot last night: fank you berry much. Which means Adele won big. Not that anyone was expecting her not to. The woman is the picture of class and talent. Like the rest of America, I love her, even if her lyrics (sometimes) don't make a whole lot of sense (set fire to the rain?). Grahm and I are constantly singing, "Someone like You" (and yes, you can judge us for that).

I bet there's no better feeling in the world than telling your ex off via a million Grammy awards. If Grahm ever dumps me, remind me to write an album about it so I can get famous. Also, remind me never to go all Nicki Minaj on anyone (doesn't she know Gaga's already been done?). No matter who you are, you cannot accessorize with a Pope. Her performance was terrifying. Demon possession meets crazy clown girl meets black Paris Hilton? Mmm no thanks.

Source

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to sweat buckets in the gym so I can have Rhianna's bod.

Saturday Sweetness

It's my favorite day of the week again! I may or may not still be in my pajamas. Nothing says, "It's Sarturday!" quite like avoiding slapping some DO on the ungodly amounts of BO pouring out of me and saying goodbye to the usual restraints of wearing a bra. It's Saturday or "Take me as I am" day in the Roach household.

Today (this week really) has been/is sweet for many reasons.

I've gotten a few more freelance jobs, which is exciting! I'm doing anything from editing articles, ghostwriting, and rewording/editing charismatic Christian nonfiction. That last one has been the most interesting, for sure. Apparently "prophets" don't like it when you correct the grammar in God's voice. Despite the craziness of these projects, I'm thankful for them. We can officially start saving for a house now. (That last sentence makes me feel old. I mean, I shouldn't own a house... I don't even know what a mortgage is.)

Source

I got a new iPhone case. My sparkly one broke, and I need something to protect my girl. It's amazing what all you can do with this bad mammajamma. I don't know how/if I would survive if something happened to her. She's like my first child (except that I'm dependent on her, not the other way around).

And yesssss, I do realize this is backwards. Don't worry about it.

My husband is the greatest thing since sliced bread. We decided to go out to eat last night, and apparently so did everybody and their second mother. We wanted to go to Texas Roadhouse, and I guess everyone decided to Valentine's Day earlier (lame) cause there was an hour and a half wait. Holy crap, no steak is worth that.

I wanted so desperately to see The Vow (don't judge me, you know you wanna see it too) but we're gonna wait till Tuesday. Dinner was grand, even if he talked almost the entire night in an Italian mobster accent.

Yesterday I took a break from ghostwriting and went through all the pictures on my computer. This is a dangerous and time-consuming task. I caution everyone who wants to go do this. You probably aren't gonna like what you find. For example, I realized how incredibly vain I am. Basically all my photos from 2004-2006 are of me. And they're hilarious. Apparently I thought I was model material back in the day. I cringed on more than one occasion looking through these.

One of the gems I found was this senior picture. I would love to go back in time and ask myself "WHY, good lord, WHY?" Why are you wearing that hideous hat that you NEVER wore until that photo shoot? No it's not cute. Why are you wearing a wanna-be Inspector Gadget trench coat? No it's not stylish. And if you just had to have a rose (I wasn't even obsessed with the Bachelor yet!) WHY couldn't you get one that looked more alive? That combined with my baby troll face is just too much...

Tonight we are going to chow down on some pizza and play Settlers with Grahm's parents. I usually only like the games where you don't have to think a lot, but you get to scream at normally unacceptable decibels. This one, however, I learned from nannying the same kiddos for three years. It's all about strategy, and I'm pretty awesome at it. These fools are going down.

This is G in the old apartment. He probably lost this game.

What are you guys up to? Why has your Saturday been sweet?

A guest blog and a question

Today I'm over at the wonderful Nagehan's blog at Confessions of a Turkish Girl, one of my favorite blogs to read!

She asked me to discuss my marriage and what makes it work.
Since we all know I'm an expert in the field with five months of hard time under my belt (har har), I know you're just quakin' in your boots to see what wisdom I can impart (basically none).

Go check it out. She's wonderful.

For now I leave you with this question --- can blondes pull off yellow? It's my favorite color, and I even wore it to prom one year (yikes!)... but now I'm questioning my otherwise solid fashion choices. I'm scared to leave the apartment lest someone point out my (not-so-obvious) fashion faux pas. "For shaaaaame!"

They're after us...

Two words:

Uh Oh.

Dating Anniversary

Grahm asked me to be his girlfriend two years ago today. (You can still celebrate that after you get married, right?) This is a picture of us as baby face trolls, just starting out in a relationship. Hence, the ungodly amount of awkwardness. (What in the name of Aunt Jemima are my bangs doing?)

We went to the same itty bitty Christian school, just not at the same time. (He's an old fart, so he graduated three years before me.) Mutual friends of ours, Jon and Laura, had been scheming to get us together. (I think I'm gonna have to give them our first child to repay our debt or something.) Here they are at our wedding. 

Grahm and I went out twice in Oklahoma. I thought he was adorable (still do). We started talking, because that's basically the only thing we could do after our first two dates... cause oh, did I mention? He lived in Tampa. He had to go back to Florida to finish up his degree. I was still in Oklahoma, finishing mine. Do the math and that's a whole lot of mileage between us. Not a good start to a relationship. (I was the kind of person who judged people in LDR. "Pshhh. How do you think THAT'S gonna work? He can't even come change a tire for you.")

Well karma kicked me in my overly plump buns.

Several weeks and a million phone conversations later, he flew down to see me. (Last night he informed me that he was broke at the time. Talk about priorities. Girl? Food? Girl? Paying rent? Girl, it is!) 

We went to sushi and ice cream, a classic date night for us even now. He told me he was in this 110 percent and really wanted to explore "us" further. I almost broke it off a few hours later. I mean, the guy lived in FLORIDA. Not exactly a hop, skip, and jump away. And if you don't already know by now, I'm super needy. I didn't think I was cut out for this long distance thing.

For some reason I didn't break it off before it even had a chance to begin. (A good thing too, because I'm basically the bomb.com at LDRs.)

We Skyped the crap out of each other, sent letters/packages, and visited each other as often as possible. It sucked, but we managed. It helped that we weren't used to seeing each other every day. A few months later, he graduated and moved to Oklahoma. And now, here we are... two little Roaches in love. Life has been some kinda crazy wonderful... but mostly crazy.

Saturday's sweetness

Saturdays are my favorite. Grahm is home. We sleep in, eat terribly, and argue about who has to make the bed. (I always lose.) Here are some reasons why today is so sweet:

1. I'm finally working! Because the job search hasn't been panning out so far, I decided to turn myself into a freelance editor/writer. Editing isn't new to me (red pens are my homeboys), but freelancing is. Right now I'm working on a few manuscripts and loving it (the editing process not their books). I can already tell you're going to really start checking out all my spelling/grammar issues. I ensure you its all write, like mostly probbubly. (That was painful.)

As a freelancer, I've got to find my own work. I'm constantly trolling websites for people who need a proofreader or copyeditor. Sometimes I come across real gems like this one: 

My name is Trevor and have about a 65 page ebook that I 

have written that I need edited. I would like someone who 

exels in grammer, punctuation and can maybe even through 

there odd two sence in if needed as it is just a self help book 

on how to get your ex gf back if she breaks up with you. 

Poor Trevor. No wonder your girlfriend broke up with you; you spell worse than my dog. (We don't actually have one, but if we did he would be a spelling champ.) Trevor dear, you obviously have way too much time on your hands. I mean, really? What did you think was going to happen - your long lost lover would read your pages, riddled with errors, and come flying back into your arms? "Oh Trevor, you had me at Halloh."

I secretly want to give this to my ex-boyfriends to test out his methods. After all, I'm sure this guy really did his research. I wonder if there's a chapter in there entitled, "The Married Ex-Girlfriends: Time to Step Up your Game."

2. Yesterday I went shopping with my fabulous mother-in-law. She knows (too well) my obsession with Vera Bradley and took me to a fabulous sale. Everything was 40 percent off -- aka all the bags were screaming, "Jena, I really want to come home with you!" This is my new I'm-a-working-girl-now-without-an-office-so-I've-got-to-carry-my-computer-around-to-places-with-free-Wifi-and-free-refills-so-I-can-make-money-so-I-can-spend-money bag.

3. I got this sweet card in the mail yesterday from Molly, one of the best friends. It really made my day, especially when she corrected her own spelling mistake. (I've taught her well.) Isn't snail mail the greatest?

4. Tonight Grahm and I are going with his parents to the Thunder vs. Spurs game. It should be a blast. I may or may not have played basketball in high school, so I know a thing or two about the game. (Actually my knowledge of sports significantly decreased when I went to college and could no longer repeat everything I heard my dad say.)

I know what you're thinking... "Jena, you're 5'1''. Who in the name of Michael Jordan (he's one of the five NBA players I know) would let you play?" Well, my friends, I went to a Christian school. Basically if you could walk, you made the team. But don't worry, I was super good... like two points a game! I even tore my ACL. (This was God's way of telling me, 'You really weren't made for this, little one.')

Why yes, I did just go take a picture of my 2005 (I was only sixteen, sheeeesh!) yearbook. Judge away. At least I have proof.

Hope your Saturday is full of sweetness! Speaking of, I'm off to find me some more ice cream. This dinky pint just ain't cuttin' the mustard.