Search

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Pizza

because pizza is happiness, obviously

Month One of Happily Ever After

So, a month ago today, this happened:

12106979_10153109727368038_4491958099770293837_n

And between wedding planning, the wedding having, and midterms (because I decided to get married in the middle of my penultimate semester) I didn’t make a single blog post – I realize this was probably devastating for the vast majority of you all.

I wanted to knock out the ‘thankful November’ social media posts and the past few months all in one go, so here are a few of the things I’m most thankful for in my new marriage.

  1. Andrew wakes up early every morning to drop me off at work because even the buses aren’t running that early in the morning.
  2. He surprises me with his fantastic cooking after really long days. That man really knows how to work a steak, lemme tell ya.
  3. Andrew tells me my burnt brownies are actually really tasty when even I can’t stand to eat them.
  4. He calmly put up with me calling him 27 times on Saturday because there was a WASP INSIDE our APARTMENT (he was stuck at the auto shop waiting for the car to be repaired, so he calmly talked me through an escape route to the local soda shop where I could wait the crisis out).
  5. He acts like he’s interested in Jane the Virgin (probably one of the most amazing TV shows ever created) and lets me explain the intricate plot line to him (with only minimal references to soap operas) and he even asks questions to prove he’s listening.
  6. Andrew waits to watch Friends until we can both watch it together.
  7. Andrew acted like it was totally fine that I played Christmas music and started putting up decorations on November 1st. He even put up Christmas lights on our porch!
  8. He got so ridiculously excited when we got our first (and only) trick-or-treater on Halloween and it made me fall even more in love with him.
  9. He supports me in my dreams and supports me in pursuit of them.
  10. And finally, Andrew snuck out of our apartment before I woke up this morning to surprise me with roses and breakfast.

Happy one month anniversary, Andrew! I’m grateful for you and for how fun you’ve made marriage so far!

Advertisements

The Best Age to Get Married

The best age to get married – now, stay with me here – is whenever you darn well please.

I’ve seen a lot of blog posts about ‘I married my husband at 19 and it was the best decision I ever made’ and ‘You should get married in your 30’s’ and ‘Stay single forever!’ and, I’m sorry, but I think that these are all extremely confrontational.

People get married when they meet another human and they think, “You know, I really like this one. I think there’s something special about them. I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life talking about coupons and bills and taxes with this person and maybe occasionally going to see a movie.” That might happen when they’re 19. It might happen when they’re 27. It might happen when they’re 34 or 46 or 58 or it might not happen at all and – this is the really important part – it doesn’t matter. Like, at all.

People are people, regardless of when or if they get married, and they deserve your respect and your support.

The Car Wash

(For my Creative Fiction Writing class – the writing prompt was to write a car wash scene in 400 words using only objective details)

Lemon citrus. The artificial freshness of the car soap tickled Eric’s nose and made him sneeze. It was an unforgiving July afternoon in Elko and the black finish of the SUV was scalding. He moved carefully to avoid pressing his skin to it. Already, sweat began gathering on his brow and he plunged his hand into the cool water, fishing for the sponge before slathering it onto the burning surface.

His elbows were burned as he reached across the roof, but he gritted his teeth and continued. The car was much taller than Eric, making it difficult for him to reach the top, so his arms strained and sweat started to cling to the gray cotton shirt he wore. He sneezed again. His elbows were turning red from the hot surface.

The windows were last, after the doors and rims. Eric scrubbed at the carcasses of bugs stuck to the windshield. He meticulously worked so that no streaks were left behind by the sponge.

In the back of the car, he picked up old makeup wipes, fast food napkins, bobby pins, and seven empty water bottles. He hesitated briefly before picking up the engagement ring wedged between the cushions of the back seat. It was an expensive ring, one massive princess cut diamond surrounded by smaller diamonds. The sunshine glinted off of it, casting a small prism on the beige back seat. Eric threw the ring in the trash bag with the old napkins.

After heaving a big sigh, he backed out of the car, stretching his back and letting the bag fall to the cracking cement of his dad’s driveway. It was even hotter in the car than it was outside and the sweat was dripping down his back. He sneezed one last time.

The front seat was much harder to clean than the back seat. An ice cream cone had been melting since the night before. It reeked. The ice cream was smeared into the passengers side carpet. There were bits of paper torn up and stuck in the gooey mess. Eric took an old rag and scrubbed at it, gritting his teeth angrily. He didn’t make much progress, but after the stickiness was mostly gone, he called it good and went inside for lemonade.

That night, it rained. He forgot to pull the car back into the garage, but he didn’t forget to fish through the garbage to find the ring.

Being a Bride-To-Be

If you know a bride-to-be, hug her ASAP. Seriously – like, go find the poor woman and hug her until right before that moment when the hug turns from ‘okay, this is nice,’ to ‘what are you doing…?’ She’ll probably appreciate the gesture briefly before reminding you that she has about a million and three things to be doing and the bakery still hasn’t called her back and she needs to remember to take off that thing from the registry because her grandma already gave one to her and she has 200 invitations left to address and holy crap she’s moving in two days and hasn’t even started packing. (I’m definitely not talking from personal experience. Oh. Wait…)

11052502_10206306655168030_3120381135671990382_o
Here I am at the moment I turned into a Bride-To-Be

Now, let me clarify: I’m so excited to get married. Andrew is great. I really adore him and I’m super thrilled at the prospect of getting to live out our long lives together and eat Wendy’s way more often than we should because he humors my addiction (clearly my priorities are in the right place: marriage and Wendy’s, amirite?). With all of the excitement comes a heaping side of stress and anxiety – all you married women probably know what I’m talking about. As soon as one thing is taken care of, another seven pop up. And of course there’s always the fretting about, you know, whether people will enjoy themselves or not, or whether they’ll come because six weeks seems like an awfully long time to remember somebody else’s wedding date.

The worst part of it all is that NO MATTER how hard you try, YOU WILL turn into a Bridezilla. It’s just a matter of time before you sink into your darker alter-ego. You’re aware of this fact the entire time you’re planning the wedding. It might be just a brief stint on the dark side. It may be that you become intimately familiar with it. I think I’m walking the fine line between ‘Oh, yeah, Mallory was a little demanding during the planning,’ and ‘She was awful. It was awful. Don’t ever get married. Don’t ever go to a wedding. Avoid all married people and all married-to-be people at all costs because she was so crazy that any committing to that must be crazy as well.’ Maybe you monopolize a specific fabric, maybe you demand your groom-to-be sits with you while you address invitations for hours and hours and hours on end, maybe you spend literally four months looking for the perfect shoes, maybe you micromanage every little detail until you drive yourself and everyone around you insane. I’m definitely not guilty of any of those things, but if any of you were, I’d probably forgive you (please extend the same courtesy to me because I actually definitely am guilty of every single one of those things).

11255830_10206721632382201_7079761325317228184_o
Andrew’s very patient with me through all of my Bridezillaness 🙂

In closing, I’d just like to remind you that brides-to-be are people, too.

And, yes, please hug me if you see me because I could probably use it.

Book Review: Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald

I’ve always been fascinated by The Jazz Age, so when I picked up this book at midnight in a bookstore in DC, I was instantly enthralled. was utterly enjoyable to read, even when the choices made by the characters were frustrating and self-destructive. I finished the book in a little over two weeks. Every time I sat down to read, I struggled to put the book down.

The novel follows Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald from when she’s 17 (and meets F. Scott Fitzgerald) through her life until the death of Scott. It embodies the tumultuous Jazz Age and the members of The Lost Generation. It’s exciting, it’s frustrating, it’s romantic, it’s filled with angst, alcohol, and affairs. It shows just how paradoxical life can be.

The genre of this novel is ‘biographical fiction,’ meaning that the author, Therese Anne Fowler, took all of the known facts about the Fitzgeralds and filled in the blanks. For example, Ms. Fowler points out that one moment Ernest Hemingway and Zelda got along just fine and then something happened (no one knows what) and they were disdainful and resentful towards each other from that time forward. Ms. Fowler puts her interpretation into the novel, given all the facts that she knows for sure and assuming that her idea may be the most plausible. To find out what she thinks caused Ernest and Zelda to hold one another in such low regard, you’ll have to read the novel yourself.

It was beautifully written, too. Ms. Fowler gave a voice to a controversial and widely-unkown woman and made Zelda seem well-rounded and completely human. A lot of the things we do know about Zelda have been manipulated over time to not show the full picture. I believe this novel, though it’s fiction, helps show how the facts may have been manipulated.

I laughed out loud sometimes, I cried towards the end. My heart ached with Zelda’s and it was overjoyed with hers, too. Zelda’s Southern drawl was also put into the novel, which I enjoyed after living in the not-so-deep South for a few months.

Five Stars. I highly recommend it. It’s entertaining and informational.

The City of Magnificent Intentions

For the past 13 weeks, I’ve lived, worked, and played in The Federal City. Today was the last day of my congressional internship. It’s been such an incredible experience. Just today, on my lunch break, I wandered around the lawn in front of the Capitol building itself, and then walked past the Library of Congress and the Supreme Court. The beautiful architecture never fails to take my breath away. The historical significance leaves me in awe constantly. I learned a lot about myself and the world out here this summer.

11065540_10207332625496647_5262956686752210367_o
Here I am with Congressman Rob Bishop
  1. Humanity is incredible. There’s this sense of community that you form with everyone around you, even though you’ve never seen any of them before and you probably will never see any of them again. Whether it’s explaining the new route because of an inevitable metro outage (yet again) or a shared exasperated expression over a tourist who won’t move from the left of the escalator no matter how many time they’ve been asked or making sure the mom who got separated from her baby on the metro gets reunited or even just how everyone here will say good morning to you if you give them even just a hint of a smile. We’re all constantly acknowledging the value of each individual and for some reason, that doesn’t happen as often back home.
  2. I am resilient. I survived late night metro rides, a moldy shower for three months, daily public transportation, a cockroach infested apartment building, 6 miles of walking a day, and the most humid summer I’ve ever seen. I felt empowered being out here and like I could probably conquer just about anything back home. Or, at least, Trax.
  3. City life is not always glamorous. Coming from the suburbs of Salt Lake City, I always fancied myself a bit of a city girl. And I do love cities – for brief periods of time. Living in one isn’t always practical. The closest grocery store to me here was a mile away and I didn’t have a car and it’s miserably hot here in DC during the summer months. So, I went grocery shopping twice this summer. Twice. That’s it. Food was expensive no matter where you went, as was public transportation.
  4. On the other hand, sometimes it really is. Tall, historic buildings, fancy cars, important people all around…
  5. When I chose Political Science as my major, I chose correctly. The world of politics is even more fascinating close up. The work that Congress and the staffers put in is incredible. The system may be broken, but after seeing the behind-the-scenes for three months and observing how passionate everyone is, how much everyone cares, I would have to place the blame on the uninformed, uninterested voting pool. More specifically, the uninformed, uninterested young people in the voting pool. Apathy leads to dysfunction (think of it in the context of a relationship. If half of the relationship just really doesn’t care – or only cares every four years – how well can the relationship function? The answer is not well).
11036202_10206819538149784_5372823322304068163_o
Hanging out with F. Scott Fitzgerald at the National Portrait Gallery

I love this city. I love the energy, I love the vibrance, I love the diversity, I love how the air is constantly electric with politics, I love all of the food (there really is so much good food – it’s overwhelming).There’s so much to see and do here and I feel like after living here for three months, I finally started scratching the surface a little bit.

11212591_10206667845197555_5432728184627111159_o
Until next time, you magnificent city, you. xoxo

New Beginnings

Starting something new is always difficult because – somehow – it feels like you’re jumping into the middle of that thing. I have so much I could potentially write about and yet for every story I could tell, another back story is needed. That gets complicated quickly.

11270704_10206728590276144_5833325749989412817_o
This is me with a peanut butter fudge cheesecake cupcake. Yes, it was incredible.

I suppose I’ll start off by introducing myself (that seems like the logical place to start, right?). My name is Mallory, I grew up in Utah, I go to college at Utah State University. I’m wrapping up my undergrad degree in Political Science this year (with a minor in English). As I’m writing this, I have one week left of a Capitol Hill internship in Washington, D.C. So, you could say I’m pretentious and stuffy if you’re into that sort of thing.

I really, really enjoy eating good food, reading great literature, writing short stories and poems, and staring at the ceiling while I silently listen to music. I love the ocean. I love the mountains. I love learning about history and politics and philosophy and literature. I know that I’m funny, I hope that I’m interesting, I try to be mysterious.

I decided to write this blog because I wanted a place to let people know what I think about my favorite things – restaurants and recipes and books and stories and songs. I also wanted a place where I could talk about current events and my life. This blog will be a hodgepodge of everything because I believe art should imitate life and life isn’t neatly organized into ‘travel blog,’ ‘food blog,’ and ‘book blog.’ Life is one big conglomerated mess of friends, food, love, art, and food (again – because I really do love food quite a bit).

1395816_10202422580512288_719813953_n
You can see from my ecstatic smile that I was quite thrilled to be pictured with Mark Twain.

I’m excited to see where this new beginning takes me and I hope that you’ll join me for the adventure! (And if you don’t, that’s okay, too. I don’t harbor grudges. Usually.)

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑