Once Upon A Time...

It was a young man's 23rd birthday. Now, there is nothing particularly exciting about a 23rd birthday, meaning you can't celebrate your achievement of legality and the ability to watch rated-R movies without pulling a mission impossible to get into the theater like on your 18th (woohoo?); you can't be welcomed into the awaiting arms of alcoholism and create memories that were meant to be forgotten like on your 21st; and you don't earn lower rates on car insurance like your oh-so-exhilarating 25th (some of you may not even get that exciting birthday gift). Moral of this rambling? This certain young man was looking forward to birthday wishes and a dinner on his 23rd birthday, and that's about it.

Wedding plans, schoolwork, and endless piles of office work stood in this young man's way of celebrating his birthday to the utmost extreme. What was he to do? Well, his kind and caring and completely humble fiancee decided to present said young man with a small token of her love, a tiny surprise that would at least bring a smile to her hard-working man's face.

So, on the day before the young man's birthday, the fiancee got her creative juices flowing and tried to brainstorm a cheap yet thoughtful gift that would make his day a little sweeter. The lightbulb went on, and she stopped by Waffle House and bought his favorite pie. A Chocolate Cream Oreo Pie. She sneakily brought it home and organized the fridge so that the pie was completely undetectable. Her plan was to set up a birthday surprise the very next morning so that the young man would walk out to a scrumdidlyumcious surprise and a sweet birthday card sitting on the bar. (okay, it isn't the most expensive or imaginative present, but we are on a budget of both time and money, people!)

All went according to plan. At 6:30am on September 10th, the young man was completely surprised and happy about his birthday bar layout. And though try as she might to convince her young man that a Chocolate Cream Pie was an acceptable birthday breakfast, he insisted that he would enjoy said pie much more after a long day of school and work. Amateur.

Later that day, the young man and his fiancee sat on the couch discussing the days events and waiting for friends before they left for a celebratory dinner of sushi. The conversation was flowing smoothly when all of the sudden, the young man jumped off the couch in swift motion and let out an excited howl, "My pie!" As the fiancee recovered from her minor heart attack, she watched as the young man took exactly 3 bounds to make it to the fridge (for a normal human being the distance would have taken 7 bounds). Right after she heard the door open, the young man reach for the bag, and then...

Insert foul language here.

The fiancee ran into the kitchen to see what was the matter, only to view a heart-crushing scene of the helpless young man staring stricken at the horrendous sight before him: a Chocolate Cream Pie face down on the tile floor, whip cream smeared along a surface, a surface of which the fiancee could not recall had last been swept, much less cleaned. Oreo pieces had rolled under every appliance, and the tin lay bent and dented in the middle of the kitchen rug.

Before the fiancee said a word, she looked at the young man who pathetically looked back at her with what she sensed as complete and utter devastation. Then, in one quick movement the young man began shoveling handfuls of the pie into his mouth that had not, supposedly, touched the ground. This was an equally pathetic scene to witness. 10 minutes later, the mess was cleaned, the destroyed pie was in the trash, and the couple was reasoning that in a few days this scenario might be funny; however, at that moment, it certainly was not. Sushi and drinks seemed to lessen the impact of such a blow, but the young man was never able to taste his birthday pie (other than the handful of germ and dirt ridden dessert that he had managed to inhale before his sensible fiancee put her foot down.)

Moral of the story: the young man's birthday surprise may have been a little too much for him. Maybe for his next birthday, the fiancee (the future wife) should try something simple like a cupcake or a cookie, something that won't increase the young man's adrenaline and turn him into a raging, pie-craving hulk.

Enjoying the Little Things

There are so many updates and posts that I should fill my writing time for the day, posts that would make up for lack of posting over the last couple of weeks: wedding updates, job descriptions, too many freakishly trippy dreams to count, and even a scary story to throw in with the bunch. However, for right now, I want to stop and reflect on a little moment that happened not too long ago. When I think about this moment, I still smile and occasionally scare the unsuspecting passers-by on the sidewalk with a crazed outburst of laughter.

This is Why I am Marrying This Man

It had been a very boring day for me. I had the day off and nothing to do with my free time. Chance had been at work all day, and I was spending the day over at the apartment, trying to unpack some of the things that I wouldn't need over the next three months as I travel back and forth between my parent's place and work. I wasn't necessarily committed to this task because when Chance finally came home, he opened the door to about the same amount of unpacked boxes in the middle of the floor that had existed when he had left. Without saying anything about my lack of progress, he sat down on the couch and watched a couple episodes of Gilmore Girls with me. I was on Season 2 in my circulation of the show, so in the episode, Max Medina (for those of you who actually watch GG) is visiting Lorelai and Rory in Stars Hollow. In one scene, he surprises the girls with Ring Pops before they go into the movie. As soon as this happened on the show, Chance jumped off the couch and exclaimed--yes, he exclaimed-- "Oh YA, I have you a surprise!" Wondering what he could have possibly found for me as he was working at the job site (a fraternity house at GA Tech) all day long, I watched him search his bags. He ran back over to the couch with a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans! Does he know me, or does he know me? 

I was so excited that I opened them to share! I know what you are thinking: "You share? Right." Seriously, this just shows how elated I was over his surprise. Right before I picked out a flavor I wasn't scared of, Chance suggested a game. I'd pick out a candy for him to eat, one that he couldn't say no to and one I couldn't intentionally choose for the flavor, and then he would do the same for me. 

On the first taste, Chance ate a hot pink Candy floss (cotton candy) flavored bean. 

On mine? After plopping the cinnamon colored candy in my mouth, I imagine I had a very distraught and disgusted look on my face because Chance smiled and asked if it was that bad. After my response of "It tastes like dirt," he looked at the flavor key and lost it, and I mean lost it. It had been a serious minute since I had heard Chance laugh that hard. After coughing and spluttering through his laughing fit, he announced that I had eaten Earthworm.

At this point, I was determined to make sure he ate something gross. Alas, his next selection was Watermelon.

Don't worry, this turn was followed by my eating a Rotten Egg flavored bean. 

After lamenting on my rotten luck (See what I did there?), I started reading the variety of flavors on the back of the box out loud. I came across Soap, and Chance vehemently promised that he would be done with the game if that one was chosen for him. WHELP. On his next turn, a light blueish/white bean proved to be his downfall. He spit and cursed and gagged a bit as I doubled over laughing so hard that I couldn't breathe. As soon as I grabbed the candy out of the box, I knew it had been Soap. After his William Shatner-worthy overacting, he forced me to eat one more so that we each had 3 though, and wouldn't you know it? He sure "picked real good." My final selection? A Booger flavored bean was enough to make Chance crack up again and me almost gag. 

I really can't tell you the last time we had laughed that hard. As gross and odd as our little game was, I wouldn't have traded that moment for anything. 7 years later and he can still always make me smile (Even with a mouthful of Earthworm flavored candy in my mouth). 

He is such a gift, and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with someone who knows the value of surprising me with nasty-flavored, Harry Potter-themed candy. 

That, ladies and gents, defines my Prince Charming. 

Trying to Catch My Breath

Life seems to be stuck in fast forward at the moment, and I look around and know that I'm certainly not the only one who can't seem to turn my brain off at night. For the past couple of weeks, I've been finding small, trifling things to complain about. Wedding planning catching up with me? I pout about it. Falling behind on my Italian project? Dwell on the fact that I have officially procrastinated for 2 full semesters. School graduation and deadlines tapping me on the shoulder to remind me of their existence every 5 seconds? Run and hide under the covers and complain some more.
This seemed to be my recurring pattern, with a couple of hiccups like my computer breaking, until yesterday. It was so difficult to get out of bed, and I seriously contemplated covering my head under the pillow and pretending that I never heard my alarm. I assume everyone else was in the same boat as I was because we were incredibly slow at the Writing Center. Around lunchtime, I went on my break, and I picked up my silenced phone to check messages. A text from Chance flashed across the screen showing only the words "I was in an accident..." Of course, my phone screen cut the message off right before the phrase "I'm okay." My stomach dropped before I could see the text in full, and even after I was able to read it, I was incredibly anxious until I could get him on the phone.
He was, as he said, okay. I picked him up at the Movie Stop off Barrett Pkwy. Apparently, he had been stopped at a light right before the on ramp to 575 on his way to work. A work truck rear ended him, owing to faulty breaks. His bike rack went right on through the back panel of his car.

Poor Lil' Toaster

We went straight to Kennestone just to be safe because his back and sternum were already sore. I may or may not have pestered him to go and make sure everything was where it should be. After a temporary stint in the ER waiting room, an X-Ray, and one game of I-Spy later, we were headed to fulfill his prescriptions and then have dinner with my parents for my dad's birthday. (It was dinner and a floor show once Chance had taken some of his pain meds and muscle relaxers!)

All of this to say, I am so thankful for my life: for my fiancé, my family, my friends, my education, and all of my opportunities that are pushing me toward my future career. Unfortunately, it took a very horrible experience to jar my mind and help me remember, warning: cheesy line ahead, what is truly important.

Our Meet-Cute

High School Sweethearts

Chance and I have gone to school together since the 5th grade. We didn't really meet, however, until my best friend and Chance's neighbor, Jocelyn, introduced the two of us outside of the car-riders' line. Little did I know that the baby-faced football player wearing a Saw shirt and long, blonde hair would be my future somebody. Chance later asked for my number by me locker. After a couple of weeks of talking on the phone, in between classes, and at other school's football games, we started "going out" just after Chance's 16th birthday. 

Chance claims he doesn't remember this, but I distinctly recall turning him down when he asked me to go to Six Flags with a group to celebrate his birthday. He asked me to go, and I promised to check and see if I could. After a considerable amount of thought, I made up a lame and most likely transparent (to anyone other than a teenage boy) excuse about not being able to make it. Reason being? I was terrified of getting on the Monster Plantation Ride with the heavy and dreaded expectation that I might have to kiss him before the light at the end of the monster-filled tunnel of love. Does Six Flags even realize the kind of pressure they are putting on young, slightly prude minds?! In all seriousness though, my 15-year-old brain just wasn't ready to kiss a boy I hadn't even agreed to date yet.


Photo Credit


Our first "date" could be, and has been, considered an afternoon trip to Waffle House. That's right, Waffle House. My mom was greatly concerned with allowing me to ride in the "hooligan's" newly attained Firebird (not to be confused with a new car because that thing was falling apart), but she finally agreed to a short ride to whatever eatery was closest, ergo Waffle House off hwy 20. Chance picked Mallory up from an after-school practice of the play High School Musical, presented me with a Butterfinger candy bar, and opened my car door. From then on, we dated throughout our high school career.


After a brief break and time to experience our freshman year of college, we met to catch up after months of not seeing or speaking to each other. Where did we meet? You guessed it: the Waffle House on hwy 20. We have been together through the thick and thin, loving every second of what the present holds and looking forward to what the future has in store.