Don’t eat at Denny’s: a non-sponsored post

All year long, Eric and I had planned to buy plane tickets to visit my 
family over Christmas. That’s just what you do when you live half-way across
 the country from them. Well, as the time grew nearer, and the tickets 
didn’t get any cheaper, the wheels in our heads began to turn. 
“What are our alternatives?”, we thought. Shortly after, I called Eric at work 
and our conversation went a little bit like this: 
“What if we drove to Oklahoma for Christmas?” 
“Hm. Okay.”
“Yeah, why not?”
And it was settled. 
And in case you were wondering whether or not we look awesome 
at 5:00am before setting out on what would be a 23-hour drive, well, 
this picture will answer that question:
Correct answer: we look awesome at 5:00am
After 15 1/2 hours of driving, this is what we look like eating, 
because I thought you might like to know:
And this is where I enter a plug not to ever eat at Denny’s. 
I would probably be correct if I were to guess that everyone already 
knows that, so consider us the suckers in this story. 
But, just in case you were conflicted: never eat at Denny’s 
(this is not a sponsored post by IHOP or Waffle House, 
or any other similar breakfast-serving establishment). My thinking was
 that waffles and pancakes would at least be better than a cheeseburger 
made out of sausage casings and chicken feet, or whatever it is they use 
in those fast food things called “burgers”. But I am here today to admit to you that 
I was wrong. Furthermore, Eric agreed because his memory 
of Denny’s was foggy, and thus the perfect blunder was laid out before us. 
It was terrible in every way, and we left feeling like we had just
 been forced to swallow oil and slime for half an hour. 
In other words, we felt gross and the opposite of satisfied.
After our stay in West Memphis (which is the younger, 
less attractive step-sister of Memphis), we 
hit the road for the last 8 hours of the trip.
It finally ended. And it ended here, at my parent’s house, 
which was bursting with all kinds of Christmas cheer. 
In a few words: it was worth it. 
Pictures to prove it:
Merry Christmas Eve, everyone. 
If I am somewhat off the radar over the next few days, 
I am with my family and probably trying to forget about the internet. 
I hope you are enjoying a happy Christmas season remembering 
God’s gift to us through His son.

this week…

This past week we have had something going on every day after work, whether it is not fun stuff (errands) or fun stuff (friends). Tis the season!

I am tempted to live in the future, knowing that next week we will be home with my family. But I can’t let these last few days before our trip become non-days of just filling time. Nope. I would miss the look on Eric’s face when he puts on a well-fitting suit jacket, or the joy in finding the perfect gift for a niece, or these first few minutes of quiet I have had to myself all week. This weekend is going to be packed to the brim with last minute-necessities and celebrating advent and I am looking forward to it so much. But this moment here, right now with my coffee and the clicking of these keys as I type, it’s the only moment I have.

Happy Friday, friends!

The Nutcracker

Last night Eric and I went to see Ballet West perform the Nutcracker at the Kennedy Center. I love the Kennedy Center, and I am obsessed with Ballet West thanks to the CW’s new reality show about said company, Breaking Pointe, so I was beyond ecstatic to be there. I feel like I know the dancers personally, obviously, because of the show, and also probably because I stalk them on twitter and instagram. I am not ashamed. 
We chose last night to go because I wanted to see my favorite ballerina perform the lead, the Sugar Plum, and she was just beautiful, as I expected. Let it be known here that Beckanne Sisk will be a principle dancer in just a few short years. She is someone to watch, okay? 
I got major chills during the Snow Queen pas de deux and the fake snow started falling, the fog machine was going full speed, and the children’s choir started singing. At intermission, I stifled all urges to start dancing in the lobby with the adorable little girl who had no such restraints (thankfully).
Sadly, I was not able to meet any of the dancers, but I did check my instagram feed to see how they are liking DC and what they were doing before the show. I think that embarrasses Eric.
What did we do before we had a direct connection to our favorite ballerinas? Wait for the next issue of Pointe Magazine?? Ha!
It was also Eric’s first full-length ballet, and he did not hate it. That’s perfect since when we become millionaires, I plan on becoming a benefactress of  a ballet company and I need him to support my giving out large sums of money to that cause.


midweek musings #6

Midweek musings is where I start a post without knowing where it will end up. I hate doing things without a plan first, so this is an exercise in stretching myself. Thanks for bearing with me.

I have a recurring nightmare that involves me forgetting that I am enrolled in one or more college courses, going about life as normal, and then remembering that I have done nothing for those classes, and then having a minor panic attack as I realize I am going to fail.

Maybe that means I fear failure. Possibly. Or maybe I am recalling the time when I enrolled in a German reading class just for fun (to do over the summer in my spare time, you know), and then only did one assignment. I had a lot of fun paying my parents back for that class. Sarcasm.

People say to dream big–no, what is it they say? Shoot for the moon and at the very least you will land among the stars? What does that even mean? For people like me, I really don’t have any problems dreaming big. For people like me those phrases can be harmful–I do not need encouragement to romanticize life. So, in that sense Generayion Y-catch phrases have failed me.

I guess now is a good time to start thinking for myself and start a new catch phrase for overachievers: Shoot for the moon, but shoot for the ceiling first. If you are successful, then the troposphere,  then the stratosphere, and so on.

That’s catchy, right?

Speaking of dreaming big…Gordon dreams of gracing the cover of Vogue. He dreams of a world that does not discriminate against guinea pigs as beautiful specimen. All I have to say to Gordon is: shoot for the moon, buddy.

photo by Eric