We'd like to think we're hardcore...

... but really, we just ride on the coattails of other people's coolness.

For Christmas my nordic-blooded brother gave us a trip to the shooting range and permission to use his blue-steel beauty.  It was empowering.

I used to wonder why in the movies all the bad guys were such bad shots.  Now I know.  It is HARD to aim those things and then when you think you've got it just right there's a sudden kick-back.  I now feel like I can relate to the poor StormTroopers in Star Wars, although I'm not sure laser guns present the same issues.
Zach: Poor StormTroopers.  At least they had that sweet armor that deflected even Ewok arrows.   Oh, wait...

 

 I've heard rumors that women tend to be better shots than men.  Alas, this was not the case.  Zach in all his macho glory whupped my trash.

Zach: One of the few things I've ever beat Clarissa in, I assure you.  My chest shots on my man target ensured low misery and a merciful kill.  That said, if it had been a zombie horde, its no wonder that studies have shown that 73 percent of wasted ballistic wounds come from some type of handgun (The Zombie Survival Guide, pg 48).  That means more time at the range and more reason to own a machete.

Thanks for the sweet Christmas present Hans! 

You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch

I didn’t know it when I married him, but Zach is a total Grinch when it comes to certain aspects of Christmas. 

Take, for example, decorating the Christmas tree.  Tree decorating is a near sacred ritual in my family.  Each person receives an ornament every year that represents something we’ve done or a place we’ve gone.  We gather around with eggnog, peppermint cookies,  and the Kurt Bestor Christmas album and line all our ornaments up by year and put them on the tree in order as we tell the story behind them.  Warm fuzzies abound.

I thought it was huge treat when I told Zach that we could decorate the Christmas tree a few weeks ago.  His response was that I could decorate if I wanted, but he was going to study.  “Oh, and by the way I’m sorry but I drank the eggnog and cookies are probably just unnecessary calories.”

Little girl heart full of Christmas joy and happy memories = BROKEN.

 Zach: Just so you know, I went out and bought more eggnog.

Turns out Zach doesn’t like Christmas shopping, reenacting nativities, or chocolate dipping. According to him, putting up decorations is only half a step up from doing the dishes.  Talk about a heart being three sizes too small.

There is, however, one tradition that we both enjoy.  Every year my family takes a trip up to Salt Lake to see the lights on Temple Square, stay at the Little America Hotel, eat the breakfast buffet in the morning (in my opinion the best part) and see “A Christmas Carol” at Hale Center Theater.

The Little America has perhaps the finest breakfast in all of Utah.  Continental eat your heart out.

The Little America. Much like the Grand America. Only half the price, at the cost of nation's finest commodes.

The Hale Center Theater.

Zach: After fine dining, and watching the stirring performances at the Hale Center Theater (Clarissa: honestly, I cried at least three times during the play, and I caught my 6'6" hulk of a man brother doing likewise), my small heart (or belt) grew four sizes that day.  I should now have strength of 10 Grinches plus two!

Our Christmas Card To You

We wanted to send out Christmas cards this year, we really did.  All the cool people do it, and we desperately want to be cool like that. 

Randy, the ever-loving, patient, and talented photographer graciously took our festive picture and I was quickly snookered in by Vistaprint's cheap inexpensive showcasing of his talent.

$0.50 a pop?  We're all over that. 
Oh, a $5 picture upload fee?  I guess that's fine.
TWENTY-TWO DOLLARS IN SHIPPING TO BE HERE IN A NINE DAYS?!?!

I think not.

Zach: you know we love you guys, but...

The thing is, we spent two days of extreme effort composing the four-line rhyme on the back, and I could NOT let all that work go to waste.  So, for your enjoyment, we present to you...

OUR CHRISTMAS CARD:

Now, squint your eyes, and pretend that you're holding a 100% recycled material matte-finish card in your hands, fresh from a hand-addressed envelope that arrived a full week before Christmas.

We love you guys!  Merry Christmas!

A Devious Plot

Zach and I have adorable nieces and nephews.  Like really cute.  So, in an effort to steal them away while they are still in their tender years, we are slowly addicting them to caffeinated, sweet drinks.  We are thereby attempting to make them associate us with a delightful, sugary surge of sensation.

Zach: I  couldn't figure out why he was sucking so intently

on the bottle until I realized there was a small, but well-utilized leak.
Whoops.

 If we do this long enough hopefully they'll choose to come live with us.  In the meantime, they fulfill the first major purpose of a blog: cute baby pictures.

Lessons learned from Thanksgiving break

Lesson #1:  The McRib really is back. We decided it didn't QUITE live up to all the hype, but it was delicious enough not to make it all the way home.





Lesson #2: Although we fail at making a decent curry, you really can make your own sushi.  We are so very proud of ourselves.



Tempura Master

 

Bamboo placemat Rolling Mistress



Lesson #3: If you're assigned to make roles for two dozen people for Thanksgiving dinner, you really should think out your baking schedule so you don't have to fit 52 rolls into your fridge at one time.

Lesson #4: You really can graduate from the kid's table.  Ladies and gentlemen, I have arrived.


The kids table.  Sans ME.



The very adult table.  Somehow not as glamorous as I'd always imagined.
Zach: Notice I am not at the adult table... I imagine it is glamorous...



 Lesson #5: It doesn't matter if the Turkeybowl consists of my cousins and uncles playing in our 50 foot front yard, Zach will STILL talk animatedly about the depth of talent in his 3 man team for at least half an hour. 



Zach, QB Extraordinaire

 Lesson #6: Sleeping in every day lets your body know that it's time for hibernation.  In addition to still demanding extra sleep, my astute body has even wisely started packing on at least five pounds to keep me warm and comfortable this winter.

Zach: Zombie lesson #7: Machetes don't need reloading.  Happy Holidays!

My Dad is the Bravest Man I Know

A few weeks ago I was sitting calmly in class discussing codes of egress when I got a phone call from my mom.  I ignored it because, hey, I was in class.  Then I got a text:

"Dad was in a bad bike wreck.  Going to the hospital.  Meet us there ASAP."

Naturally, I freaked out.  I ran home, grabbed Zach and the car and we rushed to the ER.  I was expecting something like this:

What we found wasn't much better.  If you get squeamish, I would skip the next few pictures.



It may look horrible, but I knew Dad was ok when the first thing he said was, "Oh, Zach is here?  Let's get him to x-ray his ankle while they do my face!"  And then he proceeded to repeatedly ask about his bike, which looked like this:

That's the front fork, completely sheared off.

 

We're not entirely sure what happened, as my mom was in front and my dad doesn't remember, but somehow Dad went through the back windshield of a car.  Other than a broken occipital bone, a nasty contusion on his arm, and a sweet jagged cut on his face he was miraculously ok.  In fact, he even managed to use the bathroom by himself when he first arrived.



After Hans and Zach gave him a blessing we left Dad in the very capable hands of the plastic surgeon.  The next day he looked much, much better but he could still give you the blood red EYE like none other.  Remind you of anyone? (It was only on one side of his face.)

That day we got a very panicked call from my little brother on his mission via his mission president.  Apparently Hans had sent him a picture, but no one had sent any REAL explanation or update of status.  In his words it was like "getting a picture of your father's broken body and then letting you sit and wonder what happened."  His letter of retribution was swift.

One week later Dad looked even better.  He'll have a wicked awesome scar.

Now, three weeks later the scar just adds to his ruggedly handsome good looks.

My Dad is the bravest man I know.  Two days after the accident he was looking at a new bike.  A month after the accident he's planning another 100 miler in California.  The man is unstoppable.

No Picassos We

Have you ever seen one of those modern, abstract art looking things and thought to yourself, "I'm pretty sure I could do that.  In fact, I think my 2 year-old niece could do that."

Yeah, that's what we thought.  Until we actually tried to do it on a double date with my old roommate and Zach's cousin (yes, I openly admit that I'm trying to get Kristin into the family even if it means shamelessly setting her up on blind dates with unsuspecting but willing relatives) and produce our own abstractness artistically.

As you can see from our Bizarre Tree of Life  and Fingerpainting Toddler, it's a little harder than it looks.  Based off the results we decided we needed to express our creativity using other outlets.

Zach: Guess whose is whose.  Hint: I can't do straight lines. or curved lines.

Zach's creativity was a little more forced because I had to manage a "construction project" for class. This meant that while I could draw the plans and supervise, I could not actually touch the model.  This also meant that I needed slave labor, or at least someone who would work for back rubs.  Enter Zach.

My professor gave him (I mean me) full points for the model, but told me to tell Zach that he probably shouldn't be switching majors any time soon.

As for me, my creativity was expressed via strategically stabbing a squash.

Happy Halloween!