Mawwaige! Mawwaige is what bwings us togethah today...

For the following post, I will turn my sister's wedding into a story all about me. Me, me, me. Welcome to my blog.

Last week my little sister Marianne, who is old enough to vote but not yet old enough to gamble, announced that she was going to marry her fiance Frank on Monday instead of in November. (I just call them by their celebrity couple name, MariFran.) Since I'm no good at photography, setting up chairs, or being a deejay MariFran asked me to make their wedding cake. Technically I've never made a wedding cake. However, I have baked cakes and then frosted them and I've been to a few weddings. That's about it as far as my baking credentials go.

Naturally, I agreed eagerly because I am a moron. I spent all day Sunday breaking the Sabbath and baking cakes (and reading Catching Fire). Monday morning I rambled on over to my dad's dance hall to frost some cakes. Let me tell you, frosting cakes takes five things: 1. A long time 2. Eight bags of powdered sugar 3. An entire thing of shortening 4. My mom's expertise 5. One bag of peanut butter M&M's and 6. One animal-style cheeseburger from In 'n Out.

I cannot emphasize the time factor enough. We did not have enough time. Here's my mom checking her watch. It was like 3:00 at this point. The wedding was at 4:00.

We frosted our butts off.

And then I skedaddled on home to comb the chunks of food out of my kids' hair and bring them back for the wedding, but not before I got stuck behind this guy on Snow Canyon Parkway, where the speed limit is 40 mph:

This is when I forced Marianne to pose with the cake monster before the ceremony: "DAB NABBIT, hold still or so help me I'll never let Carrie take you to the dollar store EVER AGAIN!":

This is my son. His official name is Darrell. His nickname is D.J. but his unofficial nickname is Chancho. It's complicated; that's why he's so depressed. One of my favorite things to do to drive D.J. nuts is play with his ears. Can you blame me? Look at how voluptuous and pink and fuzzy they are. I can't stay away from them. I love this little guy's ears. He'll probably need therapy one day.

"Mawwaige. Mawwaige is what bwings us togethah today...":From this angle it looks like MariFran got married in a quarry, but it was actually a beautiful setting, especially once I got there. Aren't Marianne and Frank cute?

Jedi Shampoo

The directions on my new shampoo, which smells of almond and shea butter:

"Massage shampoo into your locks and let the moisturizing ingredients infuse every strand. Rinse and allow the much-needed alone time leave you feeling just as replenished as your hair."

It really says that. I read it this morning while I was amidst the Moisturizing Ingredients Infusing the Strands phase. The directions on the back of the conditioner were identical, which is strange. I feel like someone's trying to pull one over on me. Like some sort of shampoo Jedi mind trick.

It seems like they are marketing this shampoo to a very specific set of people, doesn't it? Who in this world can only get a moment's peace in the shower (and sometimes not even then)? MOMS. That's right, ladies. I found our shampoo. And it was a complete accident, too. Talk about serendipity.

(What's next, I wonder? Directions on toilet paper? "Enjoy your much-needed alone time...")

"I (chest pound) have made fire!"

Remember in the movie Castaway when Tom Hanks makes fire and then dances around it, yelling?

"I (chest pound) have made fire!"

I had a Tom Hanks moment on Wednesday when I danced around this:

Please don't judge me for taking a picture of it. It was a monumental day for me. It is whole wheat bread that is both homemade and edible. At least, it was edible once we smeared half a cube of butter on it and drowned it in honey. Maybe an old dusty yearbook would also be edible if it was prepared this way. (Yes, Meegan, that is your blue loaf pan. Too bad you're in LOGAN. Sucka'!)

Yesterday I decided that I wanted to figure out how to make a yearbook, I mean, loaf of wheat bread that was not only edible but delicious. I consulted my Aunt Mary and she gave me a recipe for the following:

Creepy how much it looks like the other, crappier wheat bread, isn't it? Creepy. It looks like the other wheat bread but it tastes like it fell from heaven.

Which reminds me, I am glad that Heavenly Father has stopped the system of giving us our blessings in the form of mysterious chunks of bread. I prefer my blessings to be in the form of mysterious boxes of doughnuts.

Or yard sales full of brand-name, barely used clothing that is just the right size for my kids.

Or a car that keeps running even though the mechanic only gave it three months to live.

Or a husband who knows how to solder.

Or making it through my morning run without getting attacked by perverts and/or having a heart attack.

Or not living on an active tectonic plate boundary.

Or hearing "Pump Up the Jam" on the radio.

Or finding a parking spot next to the cart thing.

So many gifts from heaven...

Vegetable Suicide Intervention

First, a little business. I need to announce the lucky winner of the rest of my bag of M&Ms. And the winner is...

My Short Aunt Cathy!

Sorry, Readers, but the winner wasn't chosen randomly. You should know me better than that. I chose the winner based on the following four factors: 1. Does his/her husband repair my car when it breaks? 2. Do I feel bad for calling this person short? 3. Does this person send me neat pictures via e-mail? 4. Is this person awesome? If you haven't done any of those things, then you know why you haven't won. (I mean, you may be awesome, but has your husband fixed my car? EXACTLY.) And next time you'll think about it before you try to win, won't you?

I don't have anything to say today, other than that I need to clean out my refrigerator. In the last two months I haven't gone near my fridge other than to retrieve chocolate syrup and milk. It's pretty frightening in there; that's why I don't visit often.
This overwhelming need became apparent to me last night when I was attempting to make dinner and I retrieved THREE separate bottles of KC Masterpiece that each had roughly one and a half tablespoons of barbecue sauce in them. While I was rooting through the condiment shelves I also found a bottle of liquid smoke that I had forgotten about and a jar of cloudy green juice that used to have pickles in it. I know that on the bottom shelf, in the very back, there is a bowl of tuna salad that could probably be donated to science. I haven't seen it in a while but I know it's there, unless it left the fridge of its own accord. I wouldn't blame it. Anything that had to spend its days next to DJ's giant pot of Beef Brisket Stew Concoction would be begging for death. I fully expect to open the door one of these days to find a head of romaine dangling from a piece of spaghetti. Vegetable suicide.
Anyway, that's what I'll be working on today. Happy Spring Break.

Passive Aggressive Apologies and a GIVEAWAY!

I apologize in advance for the randomness of this post. I haven't even written it yet, but I feel that an apology will be in order. I have eaten a lot of plain M&Ms today.


I apologize, DJ, for studying late into the night and not saving any energy for...you know...


I apologize, Professor Green, for not studying for my midterm. I'm just going to rely on my good looks for this one. That, and my natural genius (hey, they've gotten me this far...). I have better things to do tonight.


I apologize, Relief Society of the Snow Canyon 6th ward, for allowing the lesson I was giving on temperance to turn into a debate over the evils of cell phones. (Anyone else see the irony there?) I will work on my classroom management skills. [Elderly ladies: Cell phones are practical. Spring chickens: Try not to let your cell phone ring during church; it freaks the old ladies right out.]


I apologize, Readers of my Blog, for using terrible grammar and for never posting. And for not being Christ-like. And for posting a picture of the World's Ugliest Dog. And for not doing giveaways.


I apologize, Children of Mine, for yelling, being impatient, and all around ill-tempered. It isn't because I don't love you; it's because I'm still learning how to be a mom.


I apologize, February, for celebrating your passing. I think you're the most misunderstood of all of the months. However, you contain no food-centered holidays, you are cold and dismal, and no one likes you. Sorry.


I apologize, Person Who Sent a Fake E-mail to My Husband, for calling you crazy. I can understand how you might feel that my husband's Alaskan fishing lodge is a scam operation set up for the sole purpose of swindling you out of your money. You must have been truly concerned to go through the trouble of creating a fake e-mail account, sending a fake e-mail (in which you called yourself a "wealthy investor"; so very Cosmo Kramer), forming a posse, and cornering my husband in the parking lot like you were on 60 Minutes or Get Gephart or something. I apologize for calling you crazy behind your back. I wish I could have said it to your face.


I apologize, Ancestors, for not turning my heart to you. My fun (even though she's short) aunt Cathy sent me an e-mail with pictures of my grandparents and it made me wish that I had known them. I was really young when they passed away. These pictures made me wish that I knew more about them. Don't they look like fun?

I wonder if they would have hated cell phones.

Random Giveaway Announcement!

If you are interested in winning the rest of my Family Size bag of plain M&Ms, leave an interesting factoid about my grandparents in a comment. While supplies last. Don't Tweet about it because I'm not on Twitter and I won't even know how to find out about it if you did. You can post something about it on Facebook and if I see it I'll think it's neat, but it won't necessarily increase your odds of winning. Just saying.