By the way....

August starts tomorrow.

INORITE.
August means thaaaat much closer to Fall which means boots! And scarves! And hats and layers and cooler than BLAZING HOT.
And also our closing date is at the end of August.
So a house and piano and garden and puppies are on the very near horizon.

(basically me and Mark every night as we discuss plans and such)

I'm discovering that these Minion gifs are the truest depiction of exactly how I feel pretty much all of the time. i.e...

I have been both the dancing minion and punching minion

My attempts at the concept of "Sexy"

(it's also depressing how close 

the other minions face is to Mark's reaction when this happens...)

My brawling skillz

(not to mention, that's exactly how it goes when I want to post

something that just happened on social media

and Mark doesn't want anyone to know)

Insert blasting Disney music and this 

is my cleaning MO

When I help Mark with repairs

My fashion sense

(all of it, the whole picture. yep.)

My level of maturity

All other aspects of life

The Way of the Cheesecake

First bite: awwww yissss mm, nom nom, glory allelu
Bites 2-3: No way is this slice big enough! There's not enough cheesecake!
Bites 6-7: Begin rationing. Nibble through the different sections of smooth filling, cake layers, icing (if applicable), and crusty goodness.
2/3rds done: Maybe I should start including the back of the slice....OMG there's chocolate on here!
2 more bites: I can't...I just can't go on. I'm not even enjoying this anymore.

And if I happen to be a good person and save the rest for later...
Next day: Gobble gobble.
Post cheesecake: WHY IS THE CHEESECAKE ALWAYS GONE??

The life of a fat kid at heart.
It's a hard-knock life.

Cookie dough.

MIX ALL THE DESSERTS.

Seriously, all it's missing is ice cream.

Raspberry Chocolate.

This is what he orders when 

he's feeling not-very-sharey.

Because I won't touch it (blasphemy, I know.)

Red Velvet and Snickers,

Half off Cheesecake.

HAPPY NAT'L CHEESECAKE DAY!

'Murica

I think I kind of just wrote a poem about cheesecake.

If I had enough caring to try I could maybe figure out a haiku.
You know what?
Challenge accepted.
Let's see here...(haiku's are 5-7-5 right? and something about japanese flow and certain words but I don't have any knowledge of japanese, just plain ole dumb english)

National cheesecake,
brotherhood of yum.
And sisterhood, too.

Cuz I ain't no discriminator. This post turned into something weird I was not planning on and as always I'm struggling to figure out how to end it....

Here's the best face swap ever swapped for your viewing pleasure.

Too Long for a Status...

Please validate that I can feel weird about this.
There's a rep that calls in to the office every now and again and the first time he called there was a moment between us over the fact that my name is "Hope".
Moments usually happen with my name and it's honestly never bothered me. I like my name and I give everyone their courtesy first-time "hope" joke and after that it better be clever, because I'm not obligated to laugh anymore.
But this guy had a special connection; apparently he had an ex-girlfriend whose name was Hope. But it didn't end at "oh funny, I knew someone named Hope once...." he went on to say, "I'll bet you're beautiful and have dark brown hair." Brunette IS the second most prevalent hair color in the US, so good job on that sir, you're being creepy.
When I asked for a name to hand him off to the appropriate employee here at our office he exclaims,
"Hope! You know this your Beau!"
I laughed it off politely and quickly put him on hold. Beau is a legitimate name and I had no reason to believe the guy had lied to me about his name, but turns out his name is actually Andrew.
It's been a couple months and he has never, not once, introduced himself as "Andrew" to me on the phone. If my coworker hadn't figured it out I would still think his name is "Beau" because every time I answer he starts off with "Heeeeey, this is your Beau..." in this syrupy voice that suggests we have this connection via inside joke.
Today, however, he completely lost me when I reciprocated his query as to how I was doing and he replied, "Oh can't complain, I was dead but now we're both alive and breathing so it's good!"
Or something along those lines, I can't remember exactly what he said because it was so bizarre!

It's completely harmless and I'm not worried or feeling harassed or anything like that. He's funny and it's nice to get a phone call that feels relatively personal amongst the other blurringly dull phone calls that come in all day long.
I just feel like that's not a very normal, typical interaction over business lines, amirite?

In other news....

So if you receive this, now you know.

Sewing Hints (for future self)

I started a DIY project last night on a whim.
My whim was poorly founded in hopes and dreams rather than ability and competence.
But I haven't given up.

I am striving to make my own maxi dress using a "tutorial" I found on Pinterest (yay, now I'm a confirmed white-newly-married-mormon girl, revel in the discovery my dear readers). But I applied my own twist to it using fabric I had readily available and turns out fitted sheets are the total opposite of user-friendly.
I'll letcha know if it works out.
If not...this post will fade into oblivion and all will be none the wiser.
Just kidding, I'll probably share my failures so you can learn and not be burdened with the headache I currently am sporting. I'm a giver.

I'm actually doing some research so maybe I'll know things before I've already cut too much, or nearly permanently attached two pieces with my overly zealous sewing capabilities. Seam ripping is not my favorite. (That's a half-lie. I actually really enjoy the act of seam-ripping but I hate when I have to do it because I messed up.) So! The only convenient and memorable place I can think to keep all this "research" is here in a blog post.
(I first typed blop gost and I think I'll hafta make another post with my "blop ghost" creation....more on that TBA)

Good to know, right? Sewing is ridiculous. You'd think "I have these two pieces of fabric, I can just smack them together and sew a straight line right? How can that be hard?"
And then it is.
Hard, I mean.
Which makes me feel like a loser for not being bamf enough to just be like, "BOOM. Finished. I am the master seamstress." But it makes me feel better that there are dozens of pinstrosities and so many tutorials and I'm not the only one that struggles at the needle.
Wish me luck with this dress and my risky creativity to try and salvage the project.

Really Real Chronicles; part Junior

Sorely disappointed I can't use italics in the title bar. Boo you, blogger.

Last week I "started something", so this is me continuing that something in hopes I make myself less embarrassed and ashamed of my blemished social past...

This one's a quicky but a goody (and by good I mean totally atrocious and the traumatizing root behind my fashion drawbacks);
There were very few occasions wherein the neighborhood kids got to come over to my house, due to a wide range of dumb reasons all culminating in me wondering why in the world I didn't invite people over because our house was BOMB. friggin. diggity.
Regardless, (and again memory fails me) some of the popular, strikingly pretty girls from school were over and I was floundering socially so my mom suggested taking them on a tour of the house. Which in hindsight probably looked a lot like blatant bragging, "Here! Let me shove my 3 story plus attic and bombshelter, 8 bedroom, 6 bathroom, 10,000 square foot house in your faces because I don't know how to small talk!"
But I did it because what options did I have?
We were headed up the stairs to the top floor of the house (sounds like a hotel when you say it that way) and I noticed a weird stretching in my pants right by my knee. I was giving some spiel about how we'd recently changed the carpet on the stairs and trying to nonchalantly pull at the knee pit of my jeans, but it probably more looked like a bad attempt at that knee-banging dance move. But I soldiered on (mind you, there were I think 18 steps to these stairs so we've got a long journey ahead of us). The girls began following farther and farther behind, steering clear of my weird flailing.
About halfway up the stairs, the stretching in my jeans was alleviated and I felt a light brush down my shin as something fell out of the bottom of my pants. I naively assumed it was a rogue sock and looked down prepared to pick up a harmless white cotton sock and laugh coolly along with my understanding friends. Surely this happens to everyo---
Oh.
Oh no.
Staring back up at me in bright neon pink and purple flowers were a pair of wadded granny panties. My first panic fueled thought was,
"How did my underwear come off with my pants still on!!"
I was so consumed by my panic that I stood there and tugged at the waist of my jeans to check and make sure I was still wearing undies.
All the while the other girls are standing there waiting for me to explain myself, no hint of humor lighting their faces. I quickly bent and picked up the flowered garment, rolled it in a tight ball and went to walk on but decided that wasn't inconspicuous enough and proceeded to stuff the panties back into the waist of my pants.
My hosting dignity gone forever, I mumbled through the rest of the bedrooms and library, and the rest of the evening is lost to my memory.

Moral of the story: the dryer has a cruel sense of humor and thank goodness for g's that are far too big to worm their way down the leg of your jeans without notice.

My Life in 2 Seconds

I didn't want to waste this gem on the highly likely probability of Facebook disappointing me and not showing this gif correctly.
Because it's basically the truest representation of my life.

Are you ready?

This is it people.

The real deal.

The big cahoona.

That's a saying right?

Second guessing myself.

GIF!!

I started something...

I posted recently about being more "real".
It's about to get really real and I'm not sure I actually wanna do this.

I finished a silly little free book on my kindle app yesterday called "Bridesmaid Lotto".

It was...cute. Not very well written and featuring a distinct lack of detail which is something that I, as an avid reader, feel should not be that hard to include. It's a short "novel" about a girl who gets thrown against her will into a celebrity wedding and I literally have no idea what ANY of the characters looked like. Not a clue. I know what they looked like in my head so I guess woohoo for handing over full creative license to the reader. I do however know exactly what each gown worn by the heroine and the celebrity bride looked like, down to the designer label.
I thought it was gonna be another "Icing on the Cake"...

which isn't even a far-cry from juvenile and silly, in fact that's about the gist of it, but the writing was cute and clever. I've read "Icing on the Cake" multiple times due to it's short and uplifting, bubbly nature and I doubt I'll ever go through "Bridesmaid Lotto" even one more time.
I enjoyed it well enough! But probably only because it was so short and I could finish it in two days having only a couple hours in the evening to read.
I did, however, come away with one goal in mind from "Bridesmaid Lotto". In the book, the protagonist (protagonista? is that word gender neutral?) has this "Disaster Diary" she uses to keep her ego at bay while she's in this whirlwind of hollywood and glamour by documenting memories of her embarrassing moments.
Annnnnd it seemed like a good idea.
Now I'm starting to think I'm crazy and will ditch this project a few weeks into it, or maybe it'll take off and be one of the "series" I actually continue working on. Heaven knows I have quite a few of those piled up in the "I'll get back to you someday" corner of my brain-space.

And without further ado, the first installment of the Really Real Chronicles;

It was my second or third year of efy (Especially For Youth) up at BYU in Provo, Utah and we had just finished the big, whaddya-call-it relay race game night activity thing? Loads of fun, no idea if our "team"/group won anything or if that's even a thing at efy. "We're all winners!" that sort of shindig. We were all seated on the grass field waiting to head back to the eating hall for dinner? Or maybe it was to the auditorium for closing activities and whatnot, I dunno. Not important.
Basically we're in a waiting period and all sitting around with nothing to do but talk. Let's say we're all 13 years old (as far as memories go, I'm not the greatest, can you tell?). My roommate/best friend was flaunting her impeccable social skills and chattering away with the other girls and <gasp!> even the hottie-tottie boys who were just fawning over all the attention and giggles. We stood up to get going and somehow the phrase "the meaning of life" came up and I will always associate that line with the scene in the Kim Possible movie (or maybe it's an episode, I dunno) where Rufus is chillin' with a bunch of other naked mole rats but they're all buff and steroid-y and one has this really deep voice and asks, "What is the meaning of life?" and Rufus squeals, "Cheeeeeese!!"
Soooo to be hip and funny and throw in a cultural reference I quoted those two lines, the first in as low a rumble I could muster and the second in a high, cartoony voice.
Judging by the concerned looks from all the hottie-totties I was not succeeding in being hip and/or funny and my cultural reference was more a societal suicide attempt and my roommate tried to save my dignity by laughing nervously and half-heartedly but alas, it was too late.
The shock turned to disgust and the stony cold backs of everyone in the group turned to face me as we walked across campus and I trudged behind wondering why I ever open my mouth.

That experience has never left my mind and for the longest time was my go-to memory to remind me why I should never speak without thinking for 5 minutes first and then by that time the subject has moved on and I will never say any embarrassing things ever again.
Sounds great, no?
NO.
I've since learned that it wasn't my fault. I wasn't dumb or worthless or unpopular because of my words. It was a mix of the fact that I wasn't with the right sort of people for that reference (I mean, anyone who can't appreciate a decent KP reference really isn't all that worth hanging around, amirite?) not to mention I'm a shy, silent type in a group of strangers so if you think about it, they're experience looked more like the quiet girl who never speaks randomly started babbling in awkwardly pitched tongues. I'd probably be scared too.
I now wish I hadn't let people's opinions of me squash down who I really was, what I was really like. I didn't actively try to find the people who could appreciate my personality so I lived in this suppressed state of misery because I never fit in.
But who does feel like they fit in, I mean honestly.
Be-e-e-e yourself.
Quote the movies you want to quote.
Wear the clothes you want to wear.
Be the person you want to be.
Find the people who like your random, your crazy, your weird. You aren't the only one. I promise.

Emotions control me, I can't help it...

I've been avoiding this because I knew I'd be emotional by the end of it...but I caved.

Chills. Laughter. Tears. Goosebumps. All within a short couple of minutes.
Two of my favorite actors, one playing an absolute hero in my life, centered around a movie/story that led me to love some precious characters and the actors that portrayed them.
It's an homage to everything I hold dear!
And literally, at the song-writing sequence I laughed aloud forgetting I was sitting at work.
I'm very worried for the emotional state I will end up in going and seeing this movie in the theatres.
Please watch the trailer.

I understand that Disney is not everyone's favorite, but it is mine. Please respect that. This is my blog, my personal space that I just happen to share with you. 

The Rules

Sunday afternoon/evening I realized I didn't like where my body was going. Not as in where my being was traveling but literally the path down which my physical body was headed. I am not fat by any worldly standards (except perhaps Hollywood) and I'm decently healthy (other than a childish tummy that's been throwing a tantrum lately).
But I don't feel good in where my weight is going. It's partly because I'm insecure, but I also enjoy the feeling of being fit and slim. I say 'slim' because I have no dreams of being "skinny". I won't ever be "skinny". I don't have the build and I actually thoroughly enjoyed lifting weights in our basement during my early teens so that bulked my muscle up quite a bit. I'm dense. I won't ever be a contender on ANTM. Unless they do an "America's Next Top Dense Model" cycle then I am all over dat. I'll tooch dat booty like you never seen, miss Tyra.
Not really. Ain't got no booty to tooch.
In any case, I have some fat I could stand to lose and by thunder I'm gunna try! It happened the same way when I was in junior high. I just suddenly found that I'd decided to eat better and lose weight. It's not something I can plan to do or motivate myself to do, it just...happens. And on sunday, it happened.
Without telling my husband, I told myself I'd get to work an hour early in the morning so I can get off earlier and hit the gym at 4 instead of 5. He was exceedingly perplexed the next morning when I was up and getting dressed when usually I stay sprawled in bed, completely content to repeatedly bonk the snooze button. I did that for 3 days until today when I learned apparently I can't just decide to come to work an hour earlier. I'm stuck at 8-5 it seems.
But Mark and I talked it over and that might work to our advantage anyway, because he can go to work later in the morning and hit the tail end of all the horrible traffic and I can take the 5-6 hour and workout and come home right as our A/C is turning back on. Our unit is set to a timer that between 3 and 6 pm it isn't running, so we save quite a bit on our bills that way. But it's kind of miserable to be here in the apartment anywhere between 3 and 6 pm.
I'm finally able to run on the elliptical for a half hour straight without needing to quit or pathetically wheeze at a pace only excusable for a terminally ill grandpa with a wooden leg, courtesy of the landmine he encountered in WWII. I use the "fat burn" program which from what I gather is supposed to be a quick incline into 'hard' mode and stay there for the majority of the run and then work back down into cool-down the last 4 minutes. But I run the whole time. Finally remembered my headphones today so I could listen to my 'Shakira' station on pandora and it almost like she was there as my personal cheerleader. Talk about fitsperation.
After that warmup, I've been mainly focusing on upper body strength and building up my core. I think I'll throw in one day a week as completely a leg day. Probably around the weekend so I won't have to be driving stick shift to work the next morning.
I can't believe I've spend this long blabbing about my piddly workout routine.
The purpose of this post was and is to publicly declare the rules we have made (my husband and myself) in the realm of eating.
Food.
A real achilles' heel to my desire to be trim.

SOML. Srsly.
And Mark is no better than I am. We're foodies. We love it. We love cooking together and we make some scrumptious stuff. But usually it involves frying, grilling, baking, and lots of condiments. Not to mention Circle K is the perfect fight reprieve. DrP, I will always love you. Always.
But on to the rules! We've been discussing and coming up with little ways and ideas to keep the munching down to a minimal and cut back on all the processed junk we usually inhale.

• You're allowed seconds at dinner but it must be at most half the size of your first helping.
• If you're still hungry, eat a piece of fruit (i.e. orange, apple, bunch of grapes, etc)
• If you're still hungry, drink a whole glass of water.
• If you're STILL hungry...."you're lying" --Mark Douglass
• Serving of fruit and/or veggies in every meal of the day.
• Water before any other beverage.
• Eating lavishly is a social thing. If you're at a party or something, enjoy the food! But enjoy it in sample sizes. And really enjoy the hosts' water supply.
• Think out of the "box" when it comes to dinners.
• Leftovers are a marvelous thing. Just remember to take them to work. Bad leftovers are nobody's favorite thing.

That's really all I have for now. Mostly we just need to work on portion control and clean eating and hydration. The usual.
I feel really good about these goals and hope that we can stick with it for as long as possible. I'd love to see both of us get to comfortable weights and be really proud of ourselves.

Here's hoping...

Final Workhour Musings

I'm seriously having this bizarre rush of epiphanies right now and it's kind of annoying cuz I'd love to blog it all out while it's happening but
A) Working right now
B) Only 20 minutes left of work cuz honestly I have no qualms about blogging while I'm at my desk. I'm a decent multi-tasker, my workload doesn't suffer any because of my blogging.
I posted a point blank status on facebook of a phrase that popped into my head right as I was about to start feeling sorry for my social life and that phrase was....
"You'll never be included if you don't think you...." wait that's not what it was. Referencing my own facebook page for my own words....aha!
"You'll never be included until you think you SHOULD be."
Now that I'm looking over it again maybe the emphasis would be more properly placed at 'you'.
"You'll never be included until YOU think you should be."
Regardless, my point? Friends don't make you, you make friends. Socially I've had a real tough time my whole life which is poo-poo for me to say because in reality I've had the most marvelous crapload of friends I should be eternally grateful (shoutout; little green alien dudes).
But sometimes I'm not. Sometimes I feel bad for myself. And that's dumb. And I just realized that I could be sharing my life with people.
But I don't.
And then I get mad that nobody cares?
Arrgh the hormones and irrationality!!
So I shared the status that opened up a peephole into a part of me I'm not particularly proud of (i.e. my insecurities in social aptitude). And a couple minutes later I realized that maybe if I shared more vulnerable parts of myself, people would actually relate to me and want to hang out with me because I could help them feel better about their own vulnerable parts. (As clean and innocent as that can be taken, that's how I meant it.)
I'm so worried and obsessed with being perfect, hilarious, pretty, admired, and befriended, I'm spending NO time at all trying to just be me and inspire others to be themselves, too. I love people. I love stories and personas and individualistic qualities. Why then am I trying to be everyone's ideal person?
So I guess I'm making a goal to be more real more often. I share a lot of complaining stories with a humorous twist so that it's entertaining to read but maybe I need to include some softer, deeper (as in within myself, not necessarily philosophical), sensitive issues I run into in this crazy life-maze.

This is my pseudo-journal after all.

Say my name, say my name

Paige.
Faith.
Holly.
Gale. (Gail?)
Harp.
Pope.

All of these and probably more have been used at least once in place of my actual name. (which is "Hope", by the way. In case that wasn't clear.) Most commonly used are Faith and Holly for obvious reasons; including, but not limited to, simple association. I practically answer to Faith because it's easy enough to gather that they mean me, I mean they're looking at me and directing their voice at me, right? Faith is close enough. And I'm getting used to Holly. I really like the name so I don't mind being associated with it.
'Gale/Gail' was weird. I think it was because I had a best friend in private school named Gail and maybe our teacher got us mixed up. I dunno.
'Harp' is more of a tongue-twister than a name mishap. It happens more often than you'd think. People see that I play the instrument. "Harp" and "hope" are two four-letter words that begin with H. Chaos ensues.
'Pope' was the dumbest thing I've ever experienced and totally humiliating for both myself and the perpetrator. It was sixth or seventh grade I believe and we were in Music Class playing a get-to-know-you game involving sitting in a circle and using people's names. The resident popular cheerleading blonde crony was taking a turn and attempted to send the "ball" to my court by calling out, "Pope."
Naturally, I didn't answer. People were confused. She was staring at me. "Pope? That's your name right?" Doubt crept into her face as I just sat dumbfounded and she mumbled apologetically, "Sorry, I wasn't sure...it sounded like..."
Pope? As in the head of the catholic church? My parents are neither hicks nor celebrities, so NO. My name is NOT "Pope".
'Paige' is happening because the girl who previous-previously filled my current position was named Paige. So that makes sense. Luckily, she was an excellent worker and well-liked so I can at least be complimented by that.
I mention all this because here's where I take issue with people calling me by a wrong name. If you've been repeating "Paige" or "Faith", or what have you, over and over again and finally are almost about to shout it before I realize somebody sounds like a parrot, turn around, and meet your gaze; please understand that I have no idea you've been saying that name for 2 minutes straight because it's not my name.
That's not my name!
I do not respond to it.
It doesn't register in my brain.
Heck, 'hope' barely registers because, go figure, it's an actual word used quite often in the English language so I learned early on to not jump to attention every time it graces my ears. So why make it awkward for all of us and be pissed off that I didn't answer, or a weird combination of mad and embarrassed (mostly with yourself) that I now have to play off as coolly as I can? Don't make me do that.
Just chuckle at yourself, and wave me over.
No hard feelings.

Disclaimer: This is in no way a pointed remark at anyone in particular (except you blonde cheerleader from middle school) (just a little bitter humor) and what I'm hoping to get across is that I'm totally laid back about my name and I take no offense when/if you call me something other than "Hope".
I've been called much, much worse, I assure you.
<mysterious eyebrows and sultry wink>
<I don't know what I meant by that>

Sorry (totally) NOT Sorry

Raise of hands, who wants to lounge in their pj's, hair in a top knot, bowl of Bliss chocolates resting comfortably in their lap and enjoying a superheroes movie marathon with me this weekend? Because that's all I want from my life right now.

Somebody help our friend here off the muscle-machine. Enter Hope, "I VOLUNTEER!!"

Oh, here sir, lemme take that shirt off your hands for you. No really, it's no problem. 

Steamy...

Close enough, the shirt is in the process of coming off.

 

Mark Ruffalo has a rockin' bod and apparently makes such good use of it, I am unable to scour google for the warehouse scene in Avengers after he crashes Hulk style. So that intense face must suffice for now. Holy NSFW batman.

Speaking of whom....

Scruffy facial hair; 10 POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR

Another scruffball, with an unfortunate dilemma of me having never seen the "Wolverine" movie...

Looks like the beginnings of an excellent Salsa routine there.

And finally, the other man whom I have not had the pleasure of witnessing his performance as of yet...

As far as I'm concerned, they got rid of the lucha libre panties so in the realm of character-looks-decisions they coulda done just fine leaving the beard for the whole thing.

Also, rain is always a plus.

Maybe he was doing laundry. Maybe that's extremely attractive.

I leave you with our final main man in a gif that I could honestly stare at for hours. It's like free creeping without the chance of them feeling your burning stare and turning to look.

Person Desires Adventures

I just had the overwhelming urge to go on many and multiple adventures and I don't wanna forget them.

In no particular order....

• Hike to Havasu Pai and camp 
• Return to Disneyland
• But first, Disneyworld and Magic Kingdom and Epcot
• Take Mark on the Hollywood Tours and Jurassic Park rides in Universal Studios Hollywood (and enjoy the rest of the splendorific park)
• Kayaking
• Weekend stay in Mexico
• Lighthouse restaurant, atv-ing, street markets, and taco stands being the main attractions.
• Repeat trip to Apache Lake; 
• Another chance to cliff jump with the now correctly formatted gopro
• Parents haven't been! Too beautiful!!

These are adventures that I find completely plausible at this point in our lives. There are so many other grander (and consequently more expensive) voyages I'd like to go on at some point but those'll have to wait until we're "rich and famous" (said in Mrs. Toad's rolling spanish accented voice).
Can you tell this office job is squashing my wanderlust? Rude.