The Brown Ladies’ Annual Christmas Tea

I, naturally, didn’t take any pictures of the beautiful evening, so I yoinked some from my amazing sister’s blog. (Thanks Tawny!)

We eat, we have a nice little program, and we decorate ginger bread houses. No men or testosterone around, just all us beautiful, amazing Brown women. Enjoy the lovely pictures. :)

Out of It

Just wanted to say, sorry I haven’t been around much. I’m really behind on blogs and, like, life. Just doing my best to survive right now. I love all you guys and will be back to my old self soon, I’m sure (and hope). In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a couple of pics of the sweet men in my life. Love and peace to you all, my friendcicles!

In my opinion, they’re so much cuter like this

Than like this

Are we in agreement? ;)

An Open Heart Can Never Stay Broken

My dad gave me this today, this beautiful necklace with two open hearts connected, with diamond angel wings (they are Kendall’s). He wanted to tell me that if I keep my heart open and allow others to nurture and love me, I will be healed and will one day have a heart full of peace and joy; that the cracks and broken pieces can heal, and that I will be able to love another daughter again here, on this earth, and later, with Kendall.

He hugged me and said I needed to be in his life; I needed to take up space in his world and in his heart. I am needed. I have a place here.
He very well made me want to live, today.

Thanks Dad. I love you.

[Pic taken on Thanksgiving, Dad was doing magic tricks and I was his lovely assistant. ;) ]

Curls

Are they too much?

Are they too Bella and her perfectly innocent, naïve, bouncy curls with the headband she was always sportin’ in the flick(s)?

‘Cuz I swear I’m not going for that.

I’m more just going for the whole “I’m healthy and want to look chipper and like I’m trying to participate in life” look.

I hear it’s all the rage right now.


Verdict?

Why I Like Living in Utah and/or “Mormonville”

[And just to be clear, I am LDS.]

1. Getting your boobs and your nails done is waaaaay cheaper, than, say, in California. And probably even Kentucky.
2. Drinking Diet Coke feels like a delicious sin.
3. There are so many kids at the play-place at McDonald’s, that you can easily blame someone else’s child when your kid pees down the twisty slide. *coughMistycough*
4. There is a good chance you have tried every casserole invented on God’s green earth. I would estimate you have liked approximately 45.768% of them. If I’m being optimistic.
5. You’re not considered unkind if you don’t give money to the homeless, since you have to give an entire 10% of your income to the Lord, anyway. I figure He’s got the homeless people’s backs. Although, it is pry safe to assume that the poorest homeless people live in Utah. Is that an oxymoron?
6. One may, out of desperation, come up with many alternatives for curse words. Let’s use “shit” as an example. Some of the words I use as a substitute include, but are not limited to
-shat
-S-face
-Shoo-fah (thanks Tawny)
-suck-a-doodle-doo
-S-Bomb
…and, of course, when I am playing Mario, I say the real thing because I cannot control my language when I kill him. I feel too awful.
7. Having an eating disorder is not technically breaking The Word, like, say, being an alcoholic. (In the LDS Church)
8. The day “Breaking Dawn” was released, I happened to be at McDonald’s letting the kiddo play around while I munched on some fries. I looked around me and EVERY WOMAN was sitting in a booth with her nose in that book wearing Team Edward or Team Jacob shirts. I had a good roar seeing grown women and mothers getting’ all hot and sweaty for Eddie’s rock hard marble bod. Us Utahn’s love us a good fantasy, don’t we?
9. The chance of becoming an alchy in Utah are drastically lowered because the alcohol content in beer and other liquors is roughly equivalent to what you’d find in baby formula.
10. In Utah, getting asked to the Prom is FUN. No one just comes out and says to you, “Hey, you wanna go to prom with me…?” (look down, scuffle feet.) No, you get asked in a silly tricky way, usually with a riddle or something you have to solve left on your doorstep, trying to figure out who asked you. I sure had a lot of FUN when someone asked me to the Winter Formal or whatever by putting a LIVE MOUSE in my BED. THE BED I SLEEP IN. That was really FUN. REALLY REALLY FUN. FUN IS DEFINITELY HOW I'D DESCRIBE IT.

Why do you love living in Utah or in your state?

Why 2 Anorexics Should Not Make Mashed Potatoes

1. Because these particular two [recovering] anorexics (Whit and I) HATE to cook – contrary to many out there who are obsessed with it.
2. Our OCD got in the way and we whipped and whipped and whipped and whipped and whipped and whipped and whipped and whipped (hold on did I get eight "whipped's" in there? I NEED eight. ;) those damn mashed potatoes until we couldn’t find a single lump.
3. Only when everybody ate them, they were really lumpy. Our Lump Radar sucks. I pretended my sister had made them.
4. When skimping on the amount of butter one should put in said potatoes, I clumsily dropped some of the butter wrapper in the potatoes. And it was never to be found again. (And trust me we parted those potatoes like the Red Sea to comb through them.) Whoever got that little gem got a leeeeeettle extra fiber that day.

Next Thanksgiving I’m going to ask for a simpler assignment than to bring 20 POUNDS OF MASHED TATERS. Holy oh my moly with some guacamole. Like maybe can I pretty please bring that canned cranberry stuff, or maybe water? Yeah, I’ll bring the water. How can you screw up water unless you like bring it from the toilet or something?

I did, however; make three punkin’ pies. I was a little nervous about food poisoning though due to a little, like, issue of a curdled factor in the condensed milk, but no one so far has reported any pukage so I think I’m in the clear. I’m such a pioneer.

The Plan (she says, irritated)

My life, currently, sucks as much as hair on soap or getting stuck behind a bad/slow/stupid driver. Or a rotten tuna sandwich.

Why, you ask? Because apparently I need a life-sustaining, soul-sucking babysitter. The Food Police are realllllly ridin’ my ass.

Breakfast? Twin Brother brings it to me, and watches me eat it. Chomp chomp yum yum.
Morning snack? Same thing. (Except the smell of Boost makes me want to up some chuck.)
Lunch: oh, Mom’s totally all over that shiz.
Afternoon snack: Brandon brings it promptly at 3:30,Grinning hopefully like a mad mad fool because he loves me and he wants meat on my bones.
Dinner – Mom: “You need to eat more.”
Evening snack: Brandon: “Here’s a Boost, honey.”

I know it’s not their fault they have to do this. (Let’s blame the T and the D.) And I know they don’t want to be the food police. I’m sure they hate it just as much as I do. Well, they probably don’t, because the silent rage that courses through me when I see them stare at me while I push crumb after crumb in my mouth cannot compare to the mild discomfort they feel. I know it. Their distress is multiplied 100 times plus my body mass index, and then doubled by all the calories I’m eating every day which then, finally, equals my distress. True story.

But if I don’t do this whole “creating inpatient in an outpatient setting,” thing, then I’ll have to actually, you know, go inpatient. AND THAT IS NOT AN OPTION NOT EVER EVER OVER MY DEAD BODY.

Apparently losing xx lbs in 2 weeks isn’t “normal,” even if I am grieving.

And dammit here I thought I was, all, like, recovered. Sorry you guys, I guess I'm not.

I miss Kendall.