sometimes // YOGA

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sometimes i feel like yoga class is just one hour long 

struggle to hold in a toot. 

(while doing fart-inducing poses)

namaste.

i'm an awful date.

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in theory, i am actually the worst date ever. i really am. 

i know this because i have some experience in awful dates. for example...

• i drove around for an hour while the boy pointed out all the buildings his family owned. he also told me his parents were about to buy him an audi. i thought he was talking about his belly button + got through the night by chuckling over belly-button reconstructive surgery. 
• i hiked 2.5 miles. the sentence could end there and still be in the worst date category, but there's more! we came to a clearing + he asked to kiss me + i said no + we hiked 2.5 miles down in silence in a single-file line, von trapp style (sans matching curtain-outfits, unfortunately). 
• i once went on a date where the boy told me the highlight of his life was getting his wisdom teeth out + decided to sing me his favorite skrillex songs. hmm, okay.

and while those dates were awful, the boys at least let me talk about myself for three quarters of the night + bought me a diet coke...and a hamburger? how odd. in all those dates, i ordered a hamburger. hamburgers are my comfort food, i s'pose.

but me? i'm straight up awful waffle. in another life, jeff is going to write a book + it will be confirmed that i am five-parts insane. i already have my suspicions. also, when that book becomes a movie, i request jennifer lawrence to play the part of me. amen and amen. one chapter of the book will be dedicated to date nights with brooke. he will write a long list of all my requirements + it will be scathingly honest. this will be an exerpt from friday, 

friday january 24th

we drove around for two hours while brooke violently 'yelped' reviews for the himalayan kitchen and spice bistro. in the end she angrily decided on the kathmandu and continually hacked the pronunciation. upon sitting down, i began to tell her a story of my week in which she told me that the couple next to us met on match.com (k guys, they really did!) and the couple behind us were set up by friends and having the most awful time. five minutes into my story, she shushed me to listen to the heart-warming story of the divorced man next to us. oh, great. 

and from saturday, 

saturday january 25th 

brooke wanted to go on a  date tonight in which i obliged. her reasoning? because saturday sounds like satur-date. when will she understand that you can do that with every other day of the week? 

hah. 

what an ill-delivered idea.

for all of you that kept scrolling, you are of the elite. fist-pumps + kisses + what possessed you to read through that fake journal entry? 

but actually, i am really not that bad. i'm not a high maintenance dater. oh, no. but i do have some requirements : fountain drinks, some form of sugar, witty banter, + a slew of iphone photos, sometimes. these are must-must-musts. added bonuses : a catchy name for the night (temple + treats, skating + spaghetti, sex + sex)(just kidding on that last one), matching, + full radio control. also we can not go bowling. i just hate bowling. 

...some day my blog posts will have more of a post. but probably not. 

while i'm here, my here are my favorite places to eat in the area : 

chanon thai :: slc (massaman curry, pad thai, + thom kha)

cubby's :: provo (beet + goat cheese salad // tri-tip salad // rosemary fries)

sodalicious :: provo (diet coke + vanilla + lemons and/or diet mango mtn. and/or the second wife + a chocolate fudge cookie. okay.)

wallaby's :: lindon (dinner rolls the size of your head + bbq)

sam hawk korean resaturant :: provo :: bulgogi? i don't even know what else i get. but it's good + filling + fun to eat. 

red iguana :: slc (chips, salsa, and mole)

and my chain restaurant favorites : 

cheesecake factory (bread + tuna salad, oh honey!)

paradise bakery (they're coconut + chocolate chip cookie)

rumbi's island grill (steak + chicken brown rice bowl, extra veggies, lots of sriacha)

the fancy wendy's on state (i don't even care. i love their salad + junior frosty, no judgement)

and, scene. 

spring cleaning of my soul.

(i'm going to use the word blog like, fifteen times in the next paragraph. so buckle up.)

yesterday around three in the p.m. i was feeling full. full of...thoughts, trail mix, and sonic water (i'm kicking my diet coke habit and am using jedi mind tricks where i still go to sonic...but get water! i know ludacris, backstroke, backstroke, stroke of a genius!). i wanted to get my brain juice out somewhere and turned to my super-top secret blog (that has two passwords!) to let it a l l out.

...and then i accidentally posted it to my old blog? (p.s. it's the junior high of my blogging career -- i truly peaked over there! i used to be so funny!)

oops. i got a few text messages from my mother and friends who were wondering if that was on purpose? or was that for my top-secret blog? is brooke actually experiencing an emotion apart from happy, hangry, slightly annoyed, or holycrapihavetopee!

it was sort of embarrassing. mostly because i ended the blog post with 'loves.' sweet mother of pete, why did i end it with 'loves'...?!

my mother, on the other hand, found it cool. she thought i did it on purpose and was like rock on, girl! way to show emotion! so raw! so cool! ...or some variation of that. so what the heck! why don't i share? though i don't plan on ending any sentiment ever again with 'loves.'

...of course this begins with a selfie. only fitting. 
it's nearly spring time which means i start to get this urge to clean. it's like some weird gravitational pull on my mind that makes me notice the clutter on the coffee table and the dust on the ceiling fan and holy shoot, do i really need all these dish towels?

jeff has been bugging me to clean out my closet. oh, my closet. if you've been to our apartment, you have probably heard about or seen my closet. when jeff and i were searching for apartments, we thought we found gold with our apartment. a walk-in closet! whiy we could store everything in there! 

needless to say, the closet is stuffed positively full with all of my junk and jeff's clothes reside in a dresser by the bed. oops.

that closet is positively and absoultely ignored. jeff refuses to go into it in fear that everything will collapse on him and he will become some version of flat stanley. i tend to just throw my clothes in it and usually grab whatever is closest. it's a mess.

i feel the same way about some things in my life (a metaphor!). i feel like i have digressed spiritually and i feel it in my bones! this winter i was served with a big ol' dose of busy. i feel like i started putted things and stuff and silly obligations in front of what matters most. my scripture study slowly turned into a quick browse through on my phone which slowly turned into days and weeks without reading. i know that my normally strong and unwavering testimony is suffering from it, too.  last week we gave a lesson in sunday school and i was feeling so crummy about things i gave no solid input -- i was kind of like the kelly ripa of the regis and kelly show (...good looking and funny, of course!).

so now it's time to clean. clean out my closet, clean up my soul + spirit, and clean up all this anxiety i am feeling over the marathon (holy, 26.2 miles in two months! will anyone judge me if i switch to a half? anyone?).

a very muttered and less-enthusiastic, loves.

...and that, my friends, was some variation my top secret blog post. showing and sharing actual emotion was relatively painless...relatively. 

may 4 inches of my hair rest in peace.

here's some lessons that i've learned about hair, impulse decisions, and flighty teenage girls...

|| just because you had a fat day that lasted seventy-two hours too long, doesn't mean you should go and get a hair cut from a crappy hair school at nine at night.

|| never trust a girl who when asked so, when did you graduate from high school? answers 'twelve.' not 2012, not last year or recently but 'twelve.' perhaps she is thousands of years old and is just trying to hide it?

|| when the same girl who just might be pulling a tuck everlasting on you audibly expresses her disdain for the haircut and her worry about getting it even all around, just leave. just cut the small talk about her boyfriend who won't commit, get up, and leave...uneven hair and all.

|| the fact that no one around your hair stylist can remember her name is probably a sure-sign that she's a newbie. or just plain sucks...which she does.

|| ...in the end, just grab the instructor and whisper to her that you're feeling a little uneasy about everything and can you please just finish it up? then lie to your stylist when she comes back and tell her that this was the best hair cut ever! i loved it! and you! and there is no apparent reason why your boyfriend doesn't want to make any real commitment to you! you seem as stable as your hands were while you were cutting zig-zags in my head! 

...was i ranting there?

|| never trust a lexie.

time to foil my reputation: i don't do small talk.

the hard truth is, i have always been too lame to have rumors started about me. 

it's true! and it kind of stinks? it's like in junior high when you secretly hoped that your house would get teepeed because it meant people were thinking about you. was that just me? excuse me while i turn off my avril lavigne cd and wipe away my tears...

now, back to the point: i was. i was lame. my boobs weren't nearly perky or big enough to look fake, i was too lazy to entangle myself in girl-drama, and my parents never appeared to be apart of the mafia or anything of the like. it wasn't that i was well-liked, it's just that i was boring. 

but there is one common misconception that seems to follow me everywhere (see, the picture is me trying to run from these fallacies! it's metaphorical and stuff!). it is, that drum roll please, brooke has great social skills. 

(now i promise this isn't one of those times where i am pretending to put myself down but am really outright bragging. trust me, i am shameless enough to do it less subtly...like this! everyone loves my eyebrows...i wonder why? they stink. but really they rock.)

for years, i have always been placed in school-groups where i am so obviously the person that's supposed to bond everyone together to sing kumbaya. i usually get placed in odd seating arrangements and am summoned to talk to weird cousins at family reunions (other people's family reunions, mind you!). i'm the buffer.

but i stink at it. sure, i can talk to anyone...but i really can't talk about any thing.

for example: 

at the bridal store i work at, there is a lot of time for chatting. whether you are helping a bride into a gown in the dressing room or are sitting with the bride's family as they are delibirating, there is silence and it needs to be filled.

while most people would bring up the weather or...chrismas decorations?, i always find myself asking does it hurt your hoo-ha's to breastfeed? and how'd it feel to have that big thing come out of the birth canal? and ...you can be honest, is she your favorite child or no? 

just the other day i found myself telling a bride's mom that...

i want to be pregnant for fifteen straight years of my life! i want to have so many children that i don't even know half of their names. i just want them running around biting at my ankles. my poor lady parts.

she nodded and, remarkably, daughter didn't buy the dress.

i feel like i am an over-sharer, too. it just makes me feel comfortable. i almost feel like the person talking to me can just sense that peeing on airplanes thrills me or that i really don't mind drip-drying. why not just let it out? plus, you have to fill that natural pause in the conversation with something...right?

...now that i have rambled, can we talk about your biggest insecurity? or dark stories from your childhood? who's your least favorite sibling? 

the front camera was the worst thing that ever happened to me. also, i'm a narcissist i guess?

so here's the skinny: i positively hate every picture of myself. have you seen that friends episode where chandler's smile becomes completely unnatural every time any one tries to take a picture? that's me. i suck in my nose, curl under my upper lip, and get these crazy eyes that make me look like a savage woman. no, but seriously.

however, i love the front camera. love it. due to my high fiber diet and the fact that i am three-fourths allergic to everything, i spend a lot of time in the bathroom. please, please; don't feel sorry for me! i've gotten used to it! i read blogs, play games (play me in scramble with friends?), and most importantly, take selfies.

and here is my stockpile (mind you, this is just since september...):

(i was trying to cheat the celebrity face matcher and look like hermoine granger here. fail.)

(the pepsi? my running shoes? the giant apple? i have an obsession for kissing things...?)

...i know, i know! your eyes have rolled so many times they are now in orbit. is that a thing? can that be a thing? i don't actually know what my obsession is. but it's out of control. intervention, please? or not?

sweet, sweet june...

there's something about old people that just gets me. today at my first day with meals-on-wheels (look grandma reynolds! i'm doing something nice!) i think i had a handful of heart palpitations over the cuteness. i met with my trainer at the senior center this afternoon and was immediately greeted with a warm hello and the smell of perfectly portioned 600-calorie lunches (today they were serving fishsticks + potato wedges!). we hopped in her kia and started on our route.

vickie, that's her name, gave me a quick briefing of the elderly people on the route; "erma's kind of a hoarder, nellie will always try and feed you...don't accept..., kathy just got a pacemaker, and norma recently lost her husband."

oh.

when we arrived at the first house, the sweetest old lady answered and immediately told us all about the problems with her catheter. before we left, she gave us a plate of brownies and neighborhood comment and remarked how very loud my voice was...dangit...

the next old man was perfectly grumpy. he was blind in one eye and had a television bigger than my small blue camry. he explained to us that if he sat any closer to the television, he would be on the other side! 

but our last stop was my favorite. sweet, sweet june. june answered the door in a loud floral mumu and danced her way to the couch. she started telling us about her latest adventure: toaster ovens. she had picked one up at the thrift store that week and was just itching to cook something, anything, in it. 

"june, you are always so happy. why are you so happy?" vickie asked as june perched on the edge of the couch with a walker to her left. she had the biggest smile on her face.

"well, there's no other way to be, now is there? all you can really do is keeping moving, praying, and smiling. that's it." june replied.

she wished us a happy, happy thanksgiving and asked vickie to dance with her a bit before she left. june swayed side to side and laughed hysterically. 

sweet, sweet june! as vickie and i drove off we talked about getting old. 

"don't you just want to be a june?" vickie asked me.

.................................................

isn't that just the sweetest? i just want to be a june! wear a busy mumu unapologetically and exude happiness like sweet, sweet june.

p.s.  i secretly wanted to be at the midnight showing of twilight tonight. secretly. 

p.p.s. the said-hoarder really was a hoarder! it was crazy!  apparently she has a cat too. somewhere? 

p.p.p.s. happy happy day for my cousin sean! she's engaged!

on luke (must be said in a comically deep voice, please...)

i'm entirely neutral about the harry potter series but always go see the movies in theaters. partially because of the movie popcorn and partially because one time a boy told me i looked like hermione granger? (i don't buy in to it; i gloated to my friends about it and they all immediately assured me i look nothing like her -- let me have my hermione moment, will you?)

but i always remember the scene where harry is confronted with the grand staircase. do you remember that part? ...or was it even harry? anyways, the staircase moves and shifts to get you wherever you are going. and you do think i look kind of like hermione, don't you? (i texted my jack-friend to ask him if his opinions have changed and he said not a chance. poo!)

anyways, last night i was reading in luke in the new testament. oh, luke. i've always had such a crush on that name. my mom refuses to say the name in any other way than with a comically deep bark "luke," she bellows. "it must be said luke." oh? 

luke is one of my favorite books of the new testament (thus far), especially chapters 11 + 12. when i'm reading the bible (it can be so terribly confusing! women eating their children? talking donkeys? and don't get me started on king solomon and all his wives...!), i like to just coast. you know what i mean, though? just glaze over and thank you matthew, i will leave my net and follow! and you desire foreskins, saul? how very interesting? 

...to be inside my brain...

i'm convinced that luke is like the magical grand staircase in harry potter. last night, as i was reading and sort of, kind of skimming through oprah's favorite things and deciding i want to live my life in such a way that i can spend hundreds of dollars on scented candles and teensy succullents luke told me:

"brooke, shut your can up and stop being so darn materialistic and such!"

...well, no he didn't. is that sac-religious? but he basically did. 

luke actually said: 

"layeth up treasure for [you, brooke!] in heaven, ...a treasure in heavens that faileth not, where no theif approacheth...for where your treasure is, there will be your heart also." 

oh, luke? but haven't you seen oprah's favorite things this year, luke?

and then i got to thinking, what do i truly treasure? cable knit sweaters, soap sets, and thee cutest little gourmet pigs-in-a-blanket? i mean, what treasures are waiting up in heaven for me besides a few gold stars  (sometimes i hold the door open for people?)(oh! and today i patted an inconsolable stranger on the back and asked her if she was okay! ...she wasn't. um? what's step two?)?

crap, luke. you up and ruined my christmas list...

but don't you kind of see it, though?

...yeah, me neither.

in which i admit that i love myself...

i have a confession to make. you ready to roll your eyes and call me a narcissist? okay. my confession: i love myself. 

told you you would roll your eyes! but let me start with a disclaimer: there are definite parts of myself i don't love; i don't love particular parts of my body or how i get grouchy after eating too much refined sugar (baking is basically banned over here; snacking on the dough is inevitable...and so is a meltdown) or my smile in pictures (like...what are you doing brooke?! and why is a cup always my prop of choice?!) or how everything i do is LOUD (wait, actually i don't mind that...it's kind of endearing?). 

but for the most part, i'm a big fan of myself. is this such a crime?!

(this picture is evidence that 1. i have a picture-face that's like...what? and 2. i reward myself. the target run was a reward for staying almost-the-whole-time at work...)

yesterday as i was walking out of the testing center, a girl was on the phone with her mom in utter hysterics about her score on her test. she was going on and on about how her bad score (a 73 percent!) was unacceptable and how she was never going to get in her major or have a career or get hit on while crying (just kidding, she didn't say that...but she probably won't. she wasn't the most attractive crier -- i feel you, sister!). meanwhile, i was doing a mini-celebration over FINISHING my statistics test and answering most all of the questions! i sat still for over an hour! double fist-pump!

as i walked home, i thought about the differences between me and that girl. when i got home, i admitted to jeff that i realized my unwavering love for myself has really gotten in the way of my academic success. actually, it has gotten in the way of success in general.

rarely, rarely do i push myself. 99.9% of the time i am perfectly content. and i rarely get mad or down on myself...i mean, i do. but mostly about really silly stuff like gaining weight or legitimately considering buying a pair of jeans with bedazzled pockets. and then i get over it and move on. are you feeling me? 

and now, proof:

• i rewarded myself for going to class everyday last week by skipping two classes this week? 
• because i have done tony horton's (I LOVE HIM!)(mini-brag...) p90x program for three weeks straight, i took a whole week off. and digressed. 
• the 8-week challenge has gone down the tube because 'i like myself too much.' 
• ...however, i did reward myself with frozen yogurt for actually sticking to it for two weeks.
• every time i sleep in past my alarm, i justify it to jeff with "my body just really needed it."
• ...i've cried over a test score maybe once? and that was probably because i got a paper-cut while turning it in.
• if it pertains to math, science, arm workouts, crafting, or sprinting...i'm happy with 'just finishing.'
• most all of the time i don't look at my test scores in fear of getting mad at myself for not getting mad at myself. did i make sense?
• i always set new years resolutions that i know i can complete so that i'll feel good about myself. 'don't kill anyone' and 'no tattoos' were apart of last years.
• ...i do the same thing with 'to-do' lists. i just write a bunch of stuff down that i've already done! the thrill of crossing stuff off instantly! 

oh heavens. i know, i know-- if i truly loved myself i would push myself, tony horton. i get it. but it's like...oops?

maybe i'll turn a new leaf this week and set some goals that really push myself. but probably not. 

in the mean time i'll just eat one big sandwich of mediocrity while happily staring at myself in the mirror.

9/11.

 original image: via

i remember the television was on. the television was never on in the mornings at my house; my older brother clay ruined that for us when he fell into  a deep, crusty-eyed trance watching cartoons and was late for school. but the television was on and my parents were frozen. my mother waved my siblings off to school and i walked over to my neighbors house; this was routine. this was normal.

when i banged on the front door, no one answered. i let myself in and found them in the back, gathered on their parents' bed staring at the television. i remember feeling so young and so confused -- i wanted to feel sad! but why? what was going on?

i remember walking into school and feeling it again -- the sudden halting of life. i knew that something was going on that was bigger than me, bigger than the silly morning announcements over the intercom or the attendance that needed to be taken. but i didn't know what was happening or why it was happening -- i just knew it was big.

my teacher tried to explain everything to us but it all seemed unreal. it didn't seem like it was applicable to me and my small-town family at all; when was this going to end? when was life going to leave this moment and move on?

now -- eleven years later -- i understand the impact that it had on my town, thousands of miles away, and all the lives that were sacrificed and effected. i still remember it; the brief freezing of time and of life for those few hours that morning. i am now able to understand the events of 9/11, but still struggle with the 'why' of the whole situation. i am so grateful for this country of ours and that i am able to be here to remember today.

on things metaphorical.

yesterday after church i hurriedly made my way to the cafeteria (after gasping and inwardly cursing over  a $150 parking ticket with lily…gasp! curse!) and in a few quick moments with hungry-brain, had piled plate after plate of various foods (large salad, omelette, potatoes, steamed carrots, shredded steak, cookie, grapes…) and inhaled all of it. food-guilt and indigestion set in and i decided it was time for a sunday afternoon walk.

as i was walking, i took in the utah scenery–it really is a pretty place, you know? the snow topped mountains and tall, green trees; the rows and rows of cute little houses and culdesacs that scream family-friendly; the snow…and the snow…and the slushy make-you-fall-on-your-face-outside-the-matt-costa-concert snow.

joyous day.

i had my headphones in and was bumping. the playlist seemed to match my surroundings; calm, tranquil, soft, peaceful (…and the synonyms for ‘calm’ stop now…).

the glorious provo temple was just up the hill and as i made my way towards it, i prepared myself for a real deep and spiritual experience. i braced myself for some personal revelation about…anything? something? what my major should be? if i should trim my hair or not? is scout a suitable name for my hypothetical child? the closer i got to the temple, the more excited i was! i was going to have a real and raw moment here, guys!

then the song changed and temptation filled my ears. justin moore’s song that reminds me of my father and various high school friends (…this song; i love it, but do not condone it!)…oy! i couldn’t resist! but i couldn’t have a real, raw moment listening to tunes like THAT (with cuss words in the chorus! gasp!). thus, i had a decision to make: a. real, raw moment or b. justin moore’s scandily song.

…needless to say, i took a hard right and strolled down a random street with obscenities streaming into my brainium (do you like what i did there?). temptation at it’s finest! and i gave in! (…why am i telling this story again? is it to feel more accountable? hold me accountable, justin moore!)

and then i got hit by a bus! just flatted out! karma came in the form of a big, yellow, angry vehicle and laid me out in the middle of the road with the song still playing in the background.

holy smokes!

i called my mom and told her about the situation. we figured there was a metaphor in there, or a simile? or something symbolic? that life is like an ipod, and we get to choose what we listen to and what fills our brains and…oh, curses! we had a great metaphor in there but i don’t quite remember it…maybe it was that life is like a road and sometimes there are obstacles in life and temptations (like cuss wordy songs or caffeinated drinks or fast food places that are open on sundays?) and you have to make a decision! at the crossroads! like i did! hard right! (except it was wrong…anti-metaphor!) bus to the body!

…and now you know.

p.s. i went in for a fancy job interview on thursday and we spent 75% of the interview talking about once upon a time and how much i hated puberty. wait, what? ha.

p.p.s. also, just kidding(!!!) about the big yellow bus part. it was actually a prius. just kidding again! i didn’t get hit by anything. but when i am retelling this story and using it as a learning point in some deep, spiritual talk i am giving, i am going to say i got hit. for the sake of bringing the metaphor (or simile?) full-circle. and you aren’t going to say anything about it!

self-exploration.

let’s just cut to the point, here: on saturday i played a little game of self-exploration and tested how my body would react to a heavy dose of too much fiber.

it died. like, sitting on the bathroom floor of rubio’s trying to heed to sydney’s advice of ‘just relax! let ‘em fly!’ type dying.

i don’t really know how it started? perhaps it was just out of pure laziness and unwillingness to make real food? or perhaps it was just out of boredom-eating and accessibility? no matter. in any case, on saturday i ate three fiber one bars and a large bowl of raisin bran (…and dip n’ dots…and 5 oz. of FREE yogurtland!) you do the math. 

right?

in any case, while i was sitting on the ground of rubio’s, i had a good and heavy think. good and heavy thinks are beneficial to the body, especially when paired with large dosages of fiber. but anyways, as i was sitting there i got all metaphorical and thought about how this situation was like a metaphor. or a simile, rather.

like, maybe fiber was like all things good and happy in the world, like little kitty cats and long sunday naps, and if you had to much of those all the time, it would eventually kill me? or maybe fiber was like christmas? like, one of them is fine but if christmas was every day, you would all end up on the floor rolling around with stomach aches from too much shopping and too much christmas candy and too much christmas music?

or maybe it’s a metaphor about life. that if you just cram everything that’s important into one part of your life then you are going to be paying later? or something?

or maybe you just should never eat that much fiber. ever.

the end.

i'm weak

I am so, incredibly weak when it comes to self-control. Well, rephrase: I am so, incredibly, embarrassingly weak when it comes to self-control WITH food. And television series. And beardy men. And Marshall Mathers. But back to food: More than a billion times I tell myself that I am going to ‘begin a-new’ and begin to eat healthy. I brainstorm all the steps that are going to help me become ‘healthy’ including: refusing the bread basket, no more Nutella…well at least less of it, water instead of Diet Pepsi, and eat less bacon. And I begin! I go for two, three, four hours of giving the hand(or finger) to all bread baskets that come my way, NOT cracking open at D.Pepsi at 7 in the A.M., and bettering my bread:Nutella ratio. But it’s at those very moments, that I am TRYING to be healthy, that my mother will make something ridiculous. Like Butterfinger cookies, homemade donuts, or bacon-wrapped Butterfinger flavored homemade donuts. Served by a beardy man. It’s as if the world doesn’t WANT me to eat healthy. Today, I told myself that I was turning a new leaf and leaving behind my plate-licking ways. As I reached for a yogurt(sick!) in the fridge, I saw that there was a huge, welcoming bowl of cookie dough with just enough chocolate chips. Needless to say: cookie dough for breakfast. And some Hershey kisses. And a banana dipped in Nutella. And a Diet Pepsi.