I. CAN. FLY.

On Friday, our old singles' ward was having a closing social, which is typical out here in Utah. These closing socials are TYPICAL because everyone feels the need to play HOT POTATO with apartment complexes every semester/school year until they find their eternal mate. This means a lot of resident turnover, a lot of moving boxes, a lot of dwindling friendships, and subsequently, a lot of awkward/overly enthusiastic introductions for the first few weeks in each new BYU ward. And don't even get me started on the poor bishopric who are in a panic to assign strangers to callings in a ward that has to start from scratch every fall. Poor guys.

ANYWAY Sloan and I took the chance of looking like the loser-married-couple and showed up to the closing social to see our old friends and the bishopric, even though we technically weren't in the ward anymore. It was fun, blah, blah, blah. And afterward, we invited everyone there that we knew to come and watch a movie at our house.

Which brings me to another topic, Sloan and I just bought a big, honkin tv (yesitwasexpensivenoidon'twanttotalkaboutit). We have surround sound, a sub, the whole nine yards, so we were all looking forward to watching a totally sweet movie that would rock our world.

AND WE DID.


It was AWESOME. Sure, there were haters (I mean, you can't please 15 people all at once), but I forgot that basically the entire Space Jam soundtrack is what I listened from, like, ages 8 to 11. THOSE SONGS ARE DOWNRIGHT INSPIRATION. I was PUMPED UP the whole time, I could hardly sit still...which annoyed Sloan.

And, let's take a moment back in time, to forget the emerging weirdness that became R.Kelly in the late '90's and remember that "I Believe I Can Fly" was the little kid anthem of the CENTURY back then. I mean, heck, my whole 5th grade class sang it at our elementary school graduation, swaying like a gospel choir, while my God-fearing and Gladys Knight-loving teacher directed us, bawling into her Jamaican pashmina.

Here is my point, folks: Space Jam is awesome.

That's really it. There's nothing else that needs to be said.

Nothing.

Fort. Night. Anniversary!

So, today (as I'm sure most of you already know) is Sloan and mine's two week anniversary...in other words, we've been wed for a fortnight. I decided to surprise him with a HAPPY FORTNIGHT ANNIVERSARY dinner.

I did what any newlywed would do on this occasion: I went to Zurchers (party store), looking for medieval party supplies. The girl that was helping me thought I was a bit weird, but she was polite. I found a plastic breastplate, shield, helmet, and sword (and yes, I squealed with delight with each item I found. That place is AWESOME!).

I then I got some mutton from a local deli (OKAY IT WASN'T REALLY MUTTON, it was just lamb kabobs from a Greek restaurant). Also, I couldn't find any stores that carried Meade, so we settled for goblets of Dr. Pepper. And apparently, there were no wenches for hire to serve us our feast, which is what I think would have made it feel really authentic.

Sloan was a good sport and put on the armor, even though he had NO idea what was going on, and I brought him into the kitchen for our dinner.

And here's my knight in shining armor enjoying his pseudo medieval meal (aka, being a good sport):


Love you, you manly man.