when your husband offers to make you a turkey BLT at 9 o'clock at night, you get on your knees and thank the Lord

Everyone says this, but when you're engaged, you don't think there's any possible way you could ever love your person more than you do. Like your body/heart/mind are not physically capable! That's what you think, anyway.

But then you get married.

And then your spouse sees you ugly cry late at night (over really dumb things most of the time). And they see all your morning hair. And they hear your terrible shower-singing voice. And they trip over the wet towels you leave on the ground. And they have to wash your dishes and fold your underwear. And they rub your back when you have cramps. And they sit through movies they do not like with you.

And then

Something really cool happens.

That love you thought could never get deeper starts to expand. It keeps stretching and filling up empty spaces you didn't know you had. It's bigger than the frickin' universe (which is technically also stretching...).

On Thursday night, I was crying myself to sleep. It feels lame to even admit it because all I really do every day is go to work. I shouldn't feel as stressed or anxious as I do. My husband is a TA for two classes, he's in school full-time, and he's in the young men's presidency. He's much busier than me. But the next day he brought me flowers and a card and some chocolate.

My co-worker said "Why did he bring you flowers?"
I said, "Just because."
Her response: "Wow...that's a good man. He brought you flowers just because he was thinking of you."


faux-UTI pains, John Lennon, and marketing

 when you're auditing a class but the professor still expects you to be in the group project

What do all of those things have in common?!


Except for the fact that they all had something to do with my week! And that's gotta be the lamest mutual interest ever.

I gave a tour of the library to some 14-yo boys today and let me just say, when you're stuck in an elevator for four floors with ten boys of a certain age, you will wish elevators came with Glade Plug-Ins.

My iPhone stopped working suddenly on Thursday morning and in my frustration I told my husband he could go get me a Google phone (to his delight). Well, I've had it for a little over a day now and I'm not sure I can do it. I am so weak. The thing about iPhones that I liked (which some people really H8) is that there's a lack of options. It comes with a podcast app, woo. I don't have to download one! It comes with ringtones. I don't have to pick one of my favorite songs as my alarm, which would slowly destroy that song for me anyway. YOU KNOW?! I think I've just become a victim of Apple's ruthless marketing.

And I know how much of a victim I really am because I started auditing a marketing class this week and gosh I never realized how much of what I consume is based on marketing. It's like subliminal BRAINWASHING. That's not a thing. But you get it. I learned that my Smith's rewards card is not reeeeally a tactic to save me money, but to track what I buy and then sell that data to the companies who want me to buy from them.

I mean, wat.

If you're not interested in marketing well you can just get off my blog then.

Jk. I promise I'm not tryna market John Lennon or UTIs to you (because who would want to market those two things together, and why??).

Speaking of UTIs, I've never had one, but yesterday I thought I had one for sure based on some..specific symptoms. And it feels like my body is being sawed in half from the inside. But whatever. I will ignore it until it goes away or I slowly die.


The first week of school has been gr9. And I'm not even in school, you guys.

*you're still wondering why John Lennon got mentioned on this blog*

*well, I'll never tell*

(there's no reason)


who do I have to throat punch to get the A/C turned down in here?!

By "in here," I mean work. There are probably 30 vents in every square foot (hyperbole), so I wear a sweater to work, but then after leaving  the temperature has climbed back up to 95 and I'm sweating the whole way home.

You're like, there's an easy solution for this. And I know what it is. TURN DOWN THE AIR CONDITIONING.

You thought I was going to say "just take off your sweater and put it in your backpack," didn't you?! Well I didn't. I paid this university a lot of tuition money (and my ROI is not working out very well right now), and I'm starting to think they used it to constantly pump out cold air in places that didn't need it.

I always get nostalgic around this time of year because school starting = fall, and fall = you're not going back to school, McKenzie, and therefore you = old.

Simple maths. And I'm kinda ready to be done with the whole school thing. I'm not in school anymore, it's true, but I work for the university, and I will not talk much about that because it'll put you to sleep, but let's just say I spend a lot of free time looking for other jobs. That's another thing that makes me want to throat punch someone.

I keep finding jobs that sound like my dream job, but they're not in Logan. My anxiety is probably at an all-time high. Just like the air conditioning.







I wasn't expecting that ending!

(and suddenly this got really deep and existential)


one sweaty walk

95 degrees and 1.7 miles and tight jeans
One street, full of old houses, roofs caving in,
Spiral staircases and on a scale from one to ten
Every house was an eleven (as far as ghosts go)
Past the house with a fitted sheet twisting in the
Stale breeze, contributing to the gentrification
--or maybe despite it--a canal like those of my childhood
Drifts past, unassuming, ready to pull any kid
Three feet or under through
To the mushy depths. What a way to go.
Dammed up by moldy crabapples, bottle caps,
Baby ducks bobbing their heads, diving for nothing,
For oily trash! I talk to them for awhile, I ask them
What they’re doing, eating that. Their mother weakly
Paddles in place with her mouth hanging open, how did we
Come to this? Or maybe she is just hungry.

One duckling suddenly flips, the water barely moves,
Belies his instinct, but I secretly hope it’s something his
Mother taught him because he had to learn faith, too.
He had to learn disappearing into the vague deadly
Currents would only be temporary, only be dark
As he tunneled to the bottom for something only his heart
Understands--to partake of something, to hold onto it yourself,
What else is there besides that? And then he surfaces,
Shivers and shakes his feathers,
noticing me for the first time.

I helped them cross the road. And in that moment, I swear we were.. not gonna overuse that dang quote. Dangit!!!

The rest of my walk was littered with haunted houses and gated yards and flowers.

95 degrees is a cheap price to pay for such delights!-your modern day Anne Shirley


when you're in love with a house

Unfortunately, I have been house-hunting on KSL for quite some time now (five years?) without having any intention of buying one. Because, you know, money.

And I'm not moving, not yet.

Fortunately, when you're not really looking for a house it's kinda fun. You can click on any listing, no matter the price, and drool over the pictures and imagine yourself lounging on the furniture that wouldn't even come with the place anyway.

Here are some neat houses I have found recently.

 I mean, what.

This next one makes me cry. The WOOD PANELING.  I know it screams 70s but I love it. 
I am sorry.

The actual inside of this next house wasn't my favorite, but their backyard situation was...A SITUATION.



On second thought, why are the owners of these houses selling them? If I lived in a single one of these houses I'd never leave.


the aesthetic pleasures of "brooklyn"

The movie, not the place.


There's nothing I love more than a movie with complementary colors. Not to mention that this one comes with a side of teary exhilaration and little fissure-like cracks on your heart.



typical summer night in ogden

if you know what movie this is from you win a corn dog

we drove past the corner of 21st and Monroe—
you know, by the Sinclair gas station with the good corn dogs 
(good by definition of gas station food)—
three cop cars and one ambulance and one stretcher 
and one guy in handcuffs. Oh and someone else on the stretcher, 
in a bag. The corn dogs come in a bag, also. 
They are not very fresh, but can be made decent 
by a microwave and a greasy white paper bag. 
This body bag was white, too, and the man in handcuffs 
stood casually with his weight on his left side, right foot 
up on the curb, talking to a policeman like you would 
the man who hands you the corn dog (seventy five cents). At first 
we pretended like the body wasn’t even there, like 
it hadn’t happened. Death had never been that close, 
ten feet away and next to a gas station and right as the sunset 
was getting to the good part and how is that fair? That’s all I kept thinking—I hope their last sunset was this good, 
I hope they weren’t sorry. And the ambulance’s lights were still on, 
but it wasn’t in a hurry.