Just a Warning

If you choose to read only the ingredient list and neglect to read the entire recipe, your microwave could end up like this:

Over the weekend, Danielle and Haylee came over to my house for "CRAFT DAY." Well, I was a bit rushed that morning and just a bit before they were due to arrive I realized I didn't have any treats made. NO TREATS?!? What kind of gathering has NO TREATS?!? So, I looked around my kitchen and accessed the situation. I pretty much had no ingredients. Then it came to me, CARAMEL CORN. Found a quick and easy microwave version and set about making it. Then I discovered I had no brown sugar. No problem, run (literally, dan had the car) down to the corner market/drug front. I headed outside to discover it was rain/snowing. Plan B. Make brown sugar from white sugar and molasses. Totally worked. Throw everything into microwave for a couple minutes. Open microwave. Caramel volcano has exploded. DO NOT put the baking soda into the mix till after its microwaved. It will create a science fair project like explosion. Just FYI. Needless to say, it was a treatless event. 

Luckily, my co-crafters have more attention to detail then myself, and due to their diligence and instruction following, I think our Christmas countdown blocks turned out pretty well. 

In other news, Dan is gone back east for a week for Army training stuff. 

Meaning Lauren is home alone.

Meaning: 

A) She is sleeping with all the lights in the house on.

B) She is eating Breakfast for Supper. Every. Single. Night. Soooo gooood 

(I still don't understand dan's aversion)

C) She is using the countdown blocks to number the days till Friday, 

when she goes home to St. George (only 2 left!!!).

See Steve. Be inspired by STEVE.

I had an interesting shuttle ride down this past weekend. A young man that was being transferred from a drug treatment facility up north to one in St. George ended up riding by me. I was surprised when he asked me about a book I was reading, a rather unknown Egyptian novel, and that he knew a lot about it. He was very articulate and we talked about the book book he was reading, Rough Stone Rolling (one of my all time favorites), and had some very interesting theological discussions. Kinda crazy. Then my mom picks me up and sends me into K-Mart where I’m promptly asked by a woman lying on the ground on aisle 14 to help her up. She was looking at a price on the bottom shelf and now cant get back up. I looked around for someone to help me, but as is common for K-mart, it looked like the rapture had taken place and were the lone people left behind. I pretty much threw out my back hoisting this older, heavier woman up. But I got her up and she was able to continue her K-mart shopping. Weird day. It seems like when one weird thing happens, it dominoes into a day of bizzareness… ANYWAY

Snow Canyon Half Marathon: BRRRRRRR. That’s about all I can say. You should NOT wear short shorts to a race that begins in snow. It will in fact make you slower, not faster. Running tights are they way to go, sure they’re not really flattering on anyone (except those rare exceptions * cough * anna *cough* *cough*)… So yeah, between turning into a Popsicle and vomiting up diet coke and a granola bar (the breakfast of Olympians), not a good first few miles. 

When I got down to the last mile and saw someone on the sidelines wearing camo pants, I was like “Hey, someone has camo pants like my dad! What are the odds? (I thought my Dad was at work).” When I got closer I saw it was my Dad! I tried to run as fast as humanly possible for someone of my abilities in order to impress him and make up for my years of athletic failure in front of him (soccer, cross country, three legged races). Ha. The whole family came out and cheered us on. It was quite nice. 

After the race Anna and I went back to mile 8 where she had ditched her fleece jacket. There was this lady hobbling along wearing a bib number, looking like she was going to cry (She was at mile 8 and well over two hours, and its freezing and windy!). Anna offered to drive her to the finish line, and she gladly accepted. I need to start having people drive me to the finish line; I think it would improve my times and make racing more fun. Just an idea.

There are two criteria in the book of Lauren as to what makes a good race: 

Criterion One: Cool Shirts (You know, so you can wear it around the gym and then people are like “Hey did you run that race?” And then you’re like “Hey, yeah, I totally did!”).

 Criterion Two: Good Post Race Treats (Because really the only thing that motivates me to exercise is FOOD. I wish I was joking. I spent all 13 miles thinking of cookies).

Snow Canyon 1/2= Hideous Shirts and Frozen Yogurt at the finish of 40 degree run? Double Fail. But Anna and I both beat our previous ½ Marathon Times, so its cool.

All race pictures are courtesy of Kiersty. She, Eli, and her hedgehog came down. They are always fun to play with and Eli adds nearly a foot to the median height in our household when present.

After the race, Anna and I accompanied my Mom to SUPER SATURDAY where we learned the invaluable skills associated with creating cake pops. We decided we needed to try our hand at this first world ridiculosity. So we did.

I know I’ve mentioned Steve before. He is a spin teacher in St. George with a cult following. And I am part of the cult. It is particularly hilarious because he magically appears at every race that Anna and I joke about him at. We laughed that he probably ran the STG Marathon and then ran back to help others. Low and behold, the newspaper Marathon special comes out. Front page picture: Sexy Spin Man Steve helping an injured runner across the finish line, while still managing to finish in 3:08. Today I’m looking through the Snow Canyon ½ Marathon official pictures, there is Steve. In the very front of the start line. I have no doubt he completed some meritorious act here as well and will use it to inspire his next spin class. 
He is not a mere mortal.

 HE IS STEVE.

scary things

My main activity this week was hunting down my bishop. The great and abominable institution known as THE BYU didn’t accept my ecclesiastical endorsement, apparently I had the wrong form. I couldn’t register for classes or apply for graduation, which I urgently needed to do. I already had the interviews with both my bishop and stake president (not easily accomplished); I just needed a signature on the right form. I can’t even tell you how tempted I was to forge it. Our bishop is like an elusive white wolf. I called his home, his cell, left multiple messages. Emailed him. Called the 1^st counselor. Called the 2^nd counselor. Called the executive secretary. Dan left threatening messages. I’m not joking. Living in a ghetto downtown branch is no joke! On Sunday we showed up to Stake Conference, Dan monitoring one door, me monitoring the other. Somehow, he got past us. Luckily I spotted him in the pews after the service had started. I sat directly behind him and didn’t take my eyes off his bald head. Finally, after a lovely two hour wait, the meeting ended and I forced a pen into his hand. He offered no reason whatsoever for ignoring me. Whatever. I have my signature. 

Carving pumpkins is a Mealy-Streeter tradition that had to be carried on. Mark and Leana had us up to their place and though Dan refused to get his hands covered in guts (what kinda boy is he?), we still produced a team skeleton pumpkin.

{halloween 2008. don't judge.}
Having no Halloween functions to attend (our ghetto ward doesn’t trunk or treat), we planned to lay low and watch some Netflix. Then I got a text from Danielle that they were having a little get together at Haylee's house. So Dan and I threw together a last minute costume, quite reminiscent of our first married Halloween, and headed down to Provo.

 We were muertos, you know, the day of the dead skeletons that Dan and I have quiet an affinity for? Next year its back to the hard-core sewing  themed costumes. 

(Bonni, you’re going to be in SLC and throw a party right?)

Despite it being Halloween and all, the scariest thing to happen this week was SNOW. Me and my frostbitten hands aren't ready for this. Luckily, I get to go home this weekend and warm myself.

{best thing to happen to my life. i wish it came with a cat}
Until then, if you need to find me, I will be curled in a ball in front of my heat lamp.