epic

Wednesday, October 31, 2012



Happy Halloween from Lieutenant Dan and Forest Gump!


Call me Betty Cocker-Roach

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

If you're anything like me, food is more important than most things. Except sleep. And Grahm. And Jesus, of course. Stuffing my face is kind of my one true talent. Some people can sing; others can draw... Me? I can chow down like Michael Phelps training for the Olympics.

It's an honest-to-goodness miracle that I don't look like a frumpy Oompa Loompa.

My love of food, unfortunately, has been thwarted by my inability to cook. Remember the pot roast? or the bacon? Needless to say, I'm a teensy bit scared of the kitchen. So, it's kind of hilarious that I'm posting a recipe. I feel like I need a disclaimer of some kind: Not a real cook. Read at your own risk.

I recently discovered the Eat Yourself Skinny blog. This girl is Betty Crocker on steroids. She's absolutely amazing. Her blog has wonderful recipes, and they aren't (typically) too difficult even for numb-nuts over here.

Last night, I made her Funfetti Cake Dip. You read that correctly. Cake dip. Mind-blowingly nommm-tastic.


Here's what you'll need for her recipe: 
Funfetti Cake Mix
Lite Cool Whip
Non-fat plain yogurt
Animal Crackers for dippin'

So, ready? Stir it all together and let it sit in the fridge for three hours. And BAM. Amazing dip (pretty guilt free, too!) and a happy, adorable husband. Even I couldn't screw that up.

pumpkin posers

Monday, October 29, 2012

 
 
1) Grahm and I went house hunting for most of the day on Saturday. Jammin' to Imagine Dragon while imagining our new home was a blast. We found a house we love even better than the one with a jankosaurus foundation! (Thanks so much for all of your sweet comments.) I'm an Positive Pam. As cheese-tastic as it sounds, I know wherever we live... a mansion by the sea (ha) or a shack in the ghetto (word), it'll all be fine. Grahm is all the home I need.
 
2) They say blondes have more fun. I'm not convinced. If by "fun" you mean plopping your buns in an uncomfortable salon chair for three hours, getting foiled into an "My head is now protected from aliens sucking my brains out" oblivion, and spending hundreds of dollars just to keep your hair from getting all Cruella Devile on you, then sure... blondes have more fun.
 
3) Since we're trying to buy a house, I figured Grahmsterdoodle would appreciate not paying ungodly amounts of moolah for highlights... You may think, "Wow, what a great wife" but you shouldn't be so easily deceived. I just want my shopping fund to be bigger.
 
4) Finally, pumpkins. All month I've been wanting to clutch my chubby fingers around one. Too bad we didn't have any cash to actually purchase these plump orange delights. (My front porch is still unseasonably baredy.) We stayed at the patch just long enough to snap a few pictures. Pumpkin posers.
 
Please note the unneccesary quotations on the sign. "Thank You".
 
Fun side story: When Grahm and I started dating, I called him "Pumpkin Butt". He hated it, but didn't tell me till we were engaged. I guess he thought it was better than my alternative nickname for him, "Booger Buns".  As always, feel sorry for Grahm.

that time I bawled to my realtor

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Little did I know, this post was serious foreshadowing for my own life. We didn't want to say anything until it was finalized, but this week Grahm and I have been in the middle of negotiations for a house we super fell in love with. I'm talking hook, line, sinker, and Pottery Barn plans. Isn't it beautiful?

The seller accepted our offer on Monday, so all that needed to be done was an inspection. Grahm and I were beyond excited, but we specifically prayed that if this wasn't God's will for us that He would make it perfectly clear.

Grahm is out of town. So when I got a phone call last night from our realtor, I knew something was wrong... Turns out, our dream home has foundation problems. $15,000 worth of foundation problems to be exact. This blonde bimbo doesn't know a lot, but I do know you want your house to stay in one place.

"You...you... mean it's... over?" 
I was/am devastated. Pretty sure I've cried harder for this home than when I dumped my first boyfriend of one million years. My poor realtor. Probably never had a lady go all sob-fest 2012 on him.

God answered our prayer, just not in the way we had hoped. We are trusting Him to bring us to an even better house, one that isn't going to sink, or move, or run away. And while I am grateful He saved us from making a terrible purchase, I'm still a little heart-broken. Maybe that's silly, but that's how I feel.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LordFor as the heavens are higher than the earth,     so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts."

smatterings

Wednesday, October 24, 2012


I was going to post a recipe today, but I didn't want to cook. Typical. No wonder the hubs is so skinny. Poor thang.

On a scale of 1 to I should have my own TLC show, how much of a fatty am I if ants crawl all over my keyboard when I open my laptop? Guess I should stop eating cookies over it, huh? (Those last three words were unnecessary.)

Grahm left me today. You better enjoy him, D.C. My snuggle panda is pure gold... although I sure hope he isn't cuddling with anyone while he's gone.

I bought the new Taylor Swift album yesterday (not sure this a blog-worthy update). Regret. Only four songs are decent. ("Ronan" made me cry...in a good way. My ears weren't bleeding or anything.) She's like candy corn to me. I don't love it; I don't hate it... but I can't stop stuffing my mouth with those diabetes-causing orange kernels.

I've cried 8 times this week, and it's only Wednesday. Either I am A) female B) teensy stressed C) out of ice cream. If you said D) all the above, you win. Now go get me some chocolate chip cookie dough.

Cheers to a happier end of the week!

house hunting is like dating

Monday, October 22, 2012


Whoa, that's my face.
House hunting is exhausting and stress balls. Our epic journey to find "the one" has me reminiscing to dating (dear lord, I'm glad that's over) and how similar the processes really are. After all, both are big decisions that you have to live with for a good chunk of time. Granted, no loans are involved in finding your husband (at least not with mine).

1. Don't fall in love too fast. Otherwise, you're going to realize some slut with a bigger pocketbook has already snatched up your dream casa, or some chick with better hair and longer legs (aka everyone) has batted her eyelashes and stolen your McDreamy. Don't rush; get the facts.

2. Pictures can be deceiving. Sure, he may look like Brad Pitt's baby-face younger brother. The rooms may look bigger than the fupa dangling over my belt... but look again. His profile picture is probably from ten years ago, pre-beer gut and receding hairline. And the house's photographer just happened to have a wide-angle lens to amplify the closet-like room you thought was bigger than Kim Kardashian's buns.

3. Look under the surface. Sure, the house may look amazing. Hardwood floors. Crown molding. Impeccable backyard. Your man may seem like the cheese whiz to your enchilada. Gorgeous. Good manners. Likes puppies. But when the inspections are completed, you may discover that the foundation is crumbling, and your Prince Charming is just an unemployed, loser troll still living under his mamma's roof.

4. You always wanna go for the one that's out of your league. Every single time. I don't recommend this. He's always going to think he can do better. And your mortgage payment won't care about your shopping obssession.

5. Everyone has an opinion. Really, him? Really, that house? Some times this can be good and insightful; other times it feels like someone is taking a massive dump on our parade. If you don't have anything nice to say, keep that flapper zipped cause I don't wanna hear it.

I blogged over at My Happy Thought today. Lauren is the shizz. Go check it out!

deary me, it's Friday

Friday, October 19, 2012


Dear Husband: I'm sorry you had to deal with my armpit hair this week. I know it got out of control at one point. I was scared, too. Thanks for doing what all good husbands should... force their Bohemian wives to get their armpits of doom under control.

Dear Future House: Let's call you Waldo, because we're lookin' for you (although I really hope you don't have red and white stripes). I know you're out there. You've pretty hardwood floors, a huge walk-in closet, no hideous wallpaper to speak of... right? Make it easy on a sister, reveal yourself. I promise I will keep you squeaky clean (right before company comes over).

Dear Buzzfeed: I've never laughed so hard. (That's probably not true, don't wanna build this up too much.) But seriously, people at work were concerned. Hi-freakin-larious. If you need another excuse to remember your birth control today, please do yourself a favor and read this.

Dear Marathon: You are approaching sooner than I'd like. Somehow I've convinced myself this last week that running isn't actually essential to this whole training thing, and that McDonald's fries will increase my speed. Mistake. I was feeling pretty good about my 6-mile run until a 8-month preggo lady passed me on the trail. Embarrassing. Maybe there's an award for last place?

Happy weekend, everyone!
 
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a change in plans

Thursday, October 18, 2012


Source
Not too long ago, Grahm and I got an envelope haphazardly taped to our apartment door. Dun Dun Dun. I was pretty sure no one in our complex was trying to snail mail us, considering we don't know anyone (We're a grand ol' time with a 9:30 bedtime.), and we aren't in sixth grade.

Curious, I tore open the enveope like a ravenous fatty expecting to find pie. The contents were disappointing (no pie). Our apartment complex was oh-so-kindly informing us that our rent will be going up $300 buckeroonies should we choose to renew our lease at the end of the year due to a high renter's demand in San Antonio. (I call bologna macaroni.)

Grahm and I had a serious conversation about houses a few months ago. We both want one. Fighting for parking like teeny boppers at a Black Friday sale and restraining our scream  singing for the neighbors aren't exactly the cherries on top of our oyster (what?). However, we wanted to do the smart thing. The right thing. We wanted to save more, if we could. We didn't want to settle.

With the news of the rent increase, our decision to stay in the apartment seemed idiotic. We could afford it, sure... but why would we? We've worked too hard this year. We have zippo debt. We've been frugal Phyllises. We've been responsible. This little envelope was just the extra push we needed to decide to buy our first home sooner rather than later.

We're nervous. It's a wee stressful. The holidays are comin' up (my buns are excited to gorge myself in mashed potatoes), and we have to be out of the apartment by the end of December....but we're thrilled. God is good, and He will provide the perfect home for our little family. Let the house hunting begin!

Wanna Swap?

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Recently Roached

Over a year of blogging and I'm finally figuring these shenanigans out. Scratch that. My sweet friend, Kristen, is figuring it all out for me. Thanks to her patience with my tedious demands ("Is there an extra space there?" and "Can you move it all to the left-hand side?"), my little blog had a glorious face lift. (When my crotch biscuits are all saggy and draggy, I'm gonna wish an actual face lift was this easy.)

Seriously though, Kristen is a God-send for blonde bimbos like me who think HTML is the equivalent to Star Trek lingo. (Is it Cling On? See, I don't even know.) I wanted the ol' blog to get prettied up, and this fine lady made all my dreams come true. (OK, that's a lie. She didn't have Ryan Gosling hand deliver my new blog on a platter of cupcakes. Darn it.) Go check her out (here) and have her beautify your little web site. Your buns will be glad you did.

Finally, I have a button. Hit me (not really, I bruise like a prune) up if you wanna swap, and I will give you the test to see if you qualify... (You do.)

Sooner born and bred

Monday, October 15, 2012

  
If you didn't go to a football school, then you really won't understand why Grahm and I paid a small fortune to attend the Red River Rivalry in Dallas this weekend. This sport is a big, big deal. Nothing says "I'm an American" like screaming your lungs out while watching boys pound each other to the ground. It's kind of glorious and vicariously cathartic, since I'll never be able to hurl all 105 pounds of me against a quarterback for the sack. Travesty.

I've been watching OU football since I was a fetus. I probably knew the fight song before I came shootin' out of my mamma. As one of the biggest fans on the planet, my daddy taught me well. He's been known to scream at the TV, rub his hands together for some "Sooner Magic", and he's even knocked a piece of trim off of the wall when he jumped for joy and slammed his hand against it. Hilarious. Attending the University of Oklahoma only confirmed what my father had been teaching me my whole life. Sooner football is all kinds of awesome.

Grahm did not go to OU, nor was he indoctrinated at a young age to the glorious crimson and cream. But I've converted him, and he's a wonderful fan, who screams louder than most alumns.

Dear lord, do I love me a rivalry, especially because we dominate most of them. (I'm kinda the queen of smack talk. It's all part of the fun, people.) This game did not disappoint! We were all going crazy as our boys annihilated the hideous orange team. Giving high-fives to everyone around us like we were all best friends. Screaming till our larynxes burst. Jumping up and down on the bleachers. (Grahm was wearing flip-flops and I was in cowboy boots, if you see where I'm going with this... poor guy.) We slaughtered them, thus proving that Texas does, in fact, suck. It was my first Red River Rivalry, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to top it.

Molly and I even got to meet Papa B, the president of OU. Basically, he's a Norman celebrity. He smelled good, too. Not the usual powdery old-man stench (in case you were really wondering). We told him that we had graduated in 2011, and he replied, "OH, I can't believe it." So I guess it's true. We do look 15.

It was a wonderful weekend full of fair food (I think I gained ten pounds), total football domination (63-21), and Oklahoma friends who I miss more than anything. Boomer freakin' Sooner, y'all.

fancy that

Friday, October 12, 2012

source
 
  
I'm workin' on two hours of sleep, so I'm a teensy grump-tastic this gloomy morn. My mustard scarf was the brightest thing in my closest, so I'm hoping it wakes up this tired grandma's eyewinkers. Or maybe, I just want to appear cheery despite the "Look out world, the beast is (unfortunately) awake" sign that is clearly plastered across my fo'head.

I've been takin' extra freelancing gigs to support my shopping addiction, because it's the only thing I love more than a pleasant slumber (note: new purse). Hence, the lack of sleep. God, how awesome would shopping in your sleep be? I'd have visions of ModCloth and Etsy dancing in my head instead of the usual (Ryan Gosling). Then again, maybe not. I'd probabaly have a closet only Lady Gaga could love if I made purchases while catchin' some Zzzzs.

I kinda blame Grahm for my shopping problem. Typical. He's the sweetest and always asks, "Hey lemme see! What'd ya get?" instead of furrowing his manbrows and demanding the (very long) receipt. Maybe that kid needs to put a muzzle on this loose canon of his before we end up selling his wardrobe for food.

Despite my groggy state and my ability to blow through money faster than the Obama administration (I know, I know... I already regret that one), nothing can get me down today! It's Friday. It feels like fall outside. And this weekend I get to see my favorite friend and my favorite football team in Dallas. Fancy that.  

Happy weekend, everyone! Boomer Sooner!

Grooming your Groom

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

We all do it. We all need it. Some of us more than others... It's called damage control. Maintenance. Tweaking the canvas God gave us, so we won't be lookin' all Wolverine for the rest of the world.

Now when I say groomin' your man, I don't exactly mean helping him scrub-a-dub in the tub. There is a line, people. I'm talking about tweezers and the pure joy of ripping unnecessary hair from your spouse's face.

Marriage, as we all know, is a wonderful display of acceptance and love, but let's be real... the "Just as I am" mentality doesn't exactly float my boat when it comes to bodily hair, especially when it's staring me in the face. Call me rude, but I think I'm doing the world a favor by preventing my husband from becoming the next Anthony Davis. (Google it.)

Men don't seem to really be bothered by their unruly hairs. They don't care if there's a clear division between left and right or if those dangling hairs above their eyeballs blur into one scraggily, horrifying line.

I can't really blame them. I guess if you're already accustomed to a white, hairy manthigh, manbrows are just a drop in the Amazonian bucket.

Any time I want to pluck the unyielding hairs out of my sweet husband's forehead, I have to beg him. Sometimes he'll let me, sometimes he'll run away. Usually, the conversation will go something like this:

Me: "Hey, do you wanna do something really fun?"
G: "Always."
Me: "OK. Well, I'm talking a grand ol' time."
G: "Babe, I already agreed."
Me: "OK close your eyes. I have to grab something. I'll be right back..."
G: "No, babe! You are not plucking my eyebrows. No. No. No. Do not get the tweezers."
Me: "Please, babe! You know I love to tweeze!"
G: "Back away from me woman. I said no."
Me: "Really, I'm trying to help! It'll make you look pretty!"
G: ".... Um, yeah. Pass."

Moral of the story: If you don't already, you should feel sorry for Grahm.

Fall Fluke and a Food Truck

Monday, October 8, 2012

I never thought I'd be thankful for cool weather. But boy howdy! This lady is loving the recent temperature drops here in San Antonio (aka Mexico). It was 55 yesterday, so every Texan busted out their winter wardobe. Us included. Can't let my amazing Oklahoma scarf collection go to waste now can I?

As much as I thought I would love the concept of constantly hot weather, I actually hate it. I miss the change of the seasons. I miss the crisp fall air and the colorful leaves. I miss bundling myself into an oblivion of longjohn layers and constantly snuggling to keep warm. My pumpkin-flavored candle just ain't cuttin' my mustard when I step outside to sunshine and 87 degrees. So praise the Lord for two days of actual October-like weather!

In an effort to get to know our city and the "happening" places, Grahm and I have been trying new restaurants out the past few weekends. This weekend was really different for us. We went to a trailor park full of food trucks. On purpose. Almost as good of a place to people watch as the fair.

Of course we picked the one weekend it's slightly cold. (It was a tiddy bit nipply but we made the breast of it.) We sipped on some hot cocoa and listened to a country cover band that made Grahm's ears bleed. (He's a music snob.) Scouring the slew of trucks around us, we tried to pick the food truck for us. Deciding which food truck to eat from was like deciding which nose hair to tweeze. We figured they'd all be painful, in one way or another. But hey, we were there for the experience!
We skipped anything seafoody, for obvious reasons. Anything spicy we also nixed. (We didn't want this meal to haunt us for the rest of the week, if you know what I mean.) So then it was basically too options: Toasty Bun Burgers or Primo's Pizzaria. Pizza, we cleverly reasoned, probably had less chances for ecoli infestation. We ordered a pizza and a salad. I was skeptical, but hopeful.

IT WAS THE BEST SALAD I'VE EVER HAD. No joke, my friends. Apparently, these guys make everything from scratch. The dressing, the pizza dough... Nom nom heaven.

The guys even let us check out their sweet truck. It was pristine, state-of-the-art. You could have eaten your salad off the floor. (I totally would have.) It made me instantly ashamed of how dirty and mediocre my kitchen is...  but let's be real, I'll never be creating anything as life-changing as their salads and pizzas.

Moral of the story: Scarves are amazing. Food trucks won't always give you the trots.

Run Jena Run

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Running is a glorious thing that only .002% of the world's population really understands. And I'm not one of them. Eric Liddell (Chariots of Fire, anyone?) said that when he runs he feels God's pleasure. Part of me wonders if he forgot a couple of words... "When I run to Raising Canes and eat the delicious fried chicken, I feel God's pleasure." Now that I can relate to.
In case you missed this, or you don't have the itty gritties of my entire life memorized (shame on you), I'm training for my third marathon. Let me just tell ya, training ain't no walk in donut park. It's hard. My calves ache constantly. My mind is tired of being this bubbly coach who peptalks herself into doing another run. "Cmon, girl. Give me a V-I-C-T-O-R-Y! 15 miles is nothing!"

No matter how far I'm running, 5 or 18, the first mile is always the roughest. All I want to do is die. My buns are loudly barking, "NOOOO. STOP. You want McDonald's fries. You don't really want to do this. What is this whole sweating thing? It's making us uncomfortable. And sticky. STOP IT. We can't take it anymore. Did we mention fries? PAIN PAIN PAIN."

I've decided the theme song for this round of training is Wilson Phillip's "Hold On" 1) because it's awesome 2) because I resonate especially well with the lyrics, "I know there's pain...Can you hold ON?" 3) and for some reason, it makes me think of Wilson the volleyball in Cast Away when Tom Hanks loses him in the ocean, and it makes me run faster. (I know, weird.) Tom Hanks also makes me think of my favorite movie, Forrest Gump, and the infamous line, "Run Forrest run!" So obviously, I gotta do what dear ol' Jenny says.
It's not really that I like running. I don't get runner's high. Sweat in my eyewinkers and bloody socks (my toes like to rub up on each other, get a room guys) doesn't exactly do it for me. It's more of the challenge, pushing myself. I love doing something that most people would never want to do (probably smart) or have the stamina/discipline to do

Running will always be like the unruly calluck above my ear; I love how I'll never master it. It'll always be ridiculously challenging. I'll always want to improve on my slower-than-your-granny pace. It's not always fun, but I enjoy it. Especially the finish.

The marathon is in four weeks, people.

Bigger

Monday, October 1, 2012

Source
It's campaign season, for those of you living under a rock. And I've been struggling with it. It's just October, and I'm already tired of the campaign ads, the 99 percent, the 47 percent, the Facebook slams, the zillions of political articles I (for some reason) choose to read, the pointless arguments, the ever-changing polls, etc.

Caring about who gets elected is certainly new to me. Before I met Grahm, I was a stout pan-theorist when it came to the political arena. (It'll all pan out in the end, baby.) But something changed when I started dating a man who's interested in the world and politics... I started caring way way way too much. I haven't been handling it well (understatement).

Lately, I've been reading a lot of blogs by Christian women. They all pretty much say the same thing: It's important to vote, be informed, Romans 13:1-2, stop bashing other parties, etc. (I promise I'm working on that last one.) All good things to ponder... but I think our problem, my problem, is an even bigger one.

Did you know God is bigger than politics? Seems cheesy, maybe even cliché to say. Some of you may be nodding your heads. "Duh Jena," you may be thinking. But do we really, in our hearts and minds, know this truth? I certainly don't, or at least, I need a big, fat reminder of it. 

If we believe God is sovereign, if we believe our heavenly Father is in control... then does it really matter who's sitting in the White House in January 2013?
How small my view of God if I think all is lost with a Democrat in the presidential chair (the actual chair, not the Clint Eastwood version). How pathetic my view of the Creator if I think our country's only hope for change is a some rich Mormon wearing a red tie and too much hair gel, or an African-American with a kick-ass wife and a fancy speech.

Is the world going to fall to pieces if Romney eradicates Obamacare? Probably not. Will America survive another four years with Obama? Definitely. Believing anything different is putting a God in this teensy tiny box and sitting our fat, prideful rumps on top of it... which is what I've been doing lately.

My friends, our hope shouldn't be in some man vying for our vote this November. Both candidates are incredibly flawed, sinful people. Just like we all are. They will never be able to satisfy or fix this country's needs, its hurts, its struggles. They aren't the solution, but they also aren't the reason for everyone's problems. They aren't the spawn of Satan. They won't ruin our country. They won't destroy our hopes or freedoms... because God is mightier than any man carrying the title He allowed him to have.

It's definitely important to care about what happens with our country, to be informed, and to exercise your American freedom to vote. It's important to have opinions. I can still be a conservative Republican; I can still be worried for our economy; I can still care about this election.

But ultimately, perspective is everything. I need to understand the importance of the presidential position in light of Almighty God, who is bigger, stronger, and more significant than any candidate or political view. He can do anything He wants, regardless of who becomes president of this blessed country.