Truth : I'm not 'California Cool.'

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Jeff and I moved to Southern California at the end of April. He is working for his dad and I...well, I don't have a job. It's true. I only actually know how to get to three places : the beach, Sonic, and Target (...sometimes. I was hopelessly and gloriously lost today on my way back from Target and asked a lady to give me some directions who almost cried with relief that I wasn't about to mug her. Apparently following someone going 5 MPH and aggressively shouting, 'Hey! You!' is frightening?). I'm a Real Housewife of Orange County except I don't have kids. Or a house. Or perky boobs.

But I love it here. Oh, do I love it.
We are living in an apartment in his parents' house...eventually. Currently it is being occupied by his brother + cute family and so we are living in a bedroom. If you are wondering, it has really amped up our love life -- I feel like a high school bad girl, sneaking into my flame's parents' house at night to canoodle and watch ANTM marathons and other some such things. It's thrilling. And wonderful. And I am actually not kidding. Plus, his mom makes us dinner nearly every night and we get free access to their fridge (I think. Come to think of it, this really hasn't been established yet. Ha.). Live-in girlfriend, for life!

The only thing I don't love : how glaringly obvious it has become that I am far from California Cool. Yes, capitalized and yes, it's a thing. I don't know how people do it here -- they somehow manage to make everything look so easy and effortless and breezy. They are the anti-thesis of Brooke Stapleton, essentially. I take about fifteen outfit changes and a heavy mist of dry shampoo to look presentable and even then I am one gust of wind away from looking completely insane.

I feel like my lack of coolness is most exposed at the beach; I'm so vulnerable there! I can hardly walk in the sand and am hyper-sensitive to the salty water and to top it off, I'm wearing a swimsuit. Eek. It's as if I radiate 'I am not from around here' every time I step foot on T-Street with my Tommy Bahama beach chair and ungodly amount of Diet Coke in tow. Just a few days ago, I decided to try my hand at running on the beach. In my mind, I was just a bright colored pair of spandex and a medium-support sports bra away from being like the sun-kissed, gazelle-like women I see running up and down (and up and down, and up and down...) the shore all day long. Is there like a manual to that crap?! Within five minutes, the bottom half of my body was soaked and my shoes were filled with tiny bits of sand resulting in them weighing upwards of five thousand pounds. Maybe I'll just stick to lounging.

I suppose I just wasn't born with the 'cool gene.' The gene that helps you refrain from thanking people for letting you borrow a tampon by pointing to your ...girlies... and shouting, 'We are in business!' when you make eye contact outside the bathroom (...not a proud moment) and veers you away from ridiculous beach headwear. I just ain't California Cool, people. In fact, I think I am already disqualified from being 'California Cool' forever because I call it 'California Cool.'

It's fine.

I'm fine.

And I'm blogging, hey!

running pants + jeff...yep, that's about it.

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today jeff came home from school + requested that we go to the running store...for running pants, of course. i tried not to let the words, "but what about the moose knuckle!?" fall straight out of my mouth + happily obliged. we found a running store + he tried on five pairs of running pants, three pairs of shorts, + twelve pairs of shoes + walked out a runner. it's a beautiful thing. he went on an inaugural run at the gym tonight + woof, running in place never looked so good. or something. mushy gushy.

now here's a series of sports illustrated-esque photos, for your enjoyment.

jeff has annoyingly fantastic legs and you bet that say yes to the dress is playing in the background.

our first date.

my first date with jeff stapleton was to a basketball game + grocery store. in retrospect, this date screams jeff stapleton : resourceful, simple, breezy, charming. and craftily cheap, that too. i used my sports pass to get in + the ice cream cone cost a mere fifty cents. he almost made me share him with him, which was like dude. they're fifty cents? + also sharing dairy products is nasty. 

he dropped me off shockingly early + white knuckled the steering wheel as he bid me adieu. i was confused. he texted me fifteen minutes later + said it was the best date ever, exclamation point. i was more confused.

then, poof! we were married. 

an ode to golden grahams, because tuesday.

jeff brought home golden grahams a few days ago.

let it be known, 

i've never met a cereal that i don't instantly want to kiss on the face -- 

the sugar! the grains! the cold splash of milk!

but golden grahams, 

oh golden grahams,

my self-control shrivels in their presence.

they are the 'light to my bug' + fill me with 'love sprinkles'

as catherine would say (did anyone else find their vows a little too...gooey?)

this week has been a blur. i can't differentiate between the times that i stopped eating 'em + started. i feel like there hasn't been a time in the past ninety six hours that i haven't been bring a spoon full of that golden graham goodness to my mouth. may my womanly curves forever rest in peace. 

but golden grahams,

oh golden grahams! 

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. 

a haiku about eyelash extensions.

this picture makes it seem like i actually take myself seriously. ha! how misleading. blame the lashes. 

eyelash extensions. 

i'm a utahan now, hrmph. 

more diet coke, please. 

my tenth grade english teacher is probably squirming with delight. i am now sporting eyelash extensions for the third time because hello, i'm an official utah resident now. i still can't decide how i feel about them. i feel like they are magical yet entirely separate from my face. y'know? far too fancy + a touch too sassy...but, oh! how they flutter! i sometimes feel them tickling my eyebrows which makes me wonder : are my lashes too long or my brows too bushy? the things that keep me up at night.

the secret life of the american teenager...or thursday before lunch.

:: between lifting stuff up + putting it back down at the gym yesterday (isn't the gym such a silly place? just heavy objects to lift...and put back down...and lift again! oh, bother), i showed morgan the stream of self-indulgent pictures i took yesterday afternoon in preparation for brooke vs. the d.m.v. of utah round two. were my cheeks highlighted enough? my eyebrows filled in okay? you know, standard precautions.
morgan then told me that i should post this stream of selfies...but only on my blog, because blogs are slightly less self-indulgent than other forms of social media while still being completely self-indulgent. it's wonderful. she's a smart one, that morgan.

just being carmen san diego. you're welcome. p.s. my shirt is now on sale for $12.00 + is so comf. run! 

:: i'm debating chopping my hair off. not that i have much to chop off anyways. i have had 'make an appointment at salon' on my to-do list since last week. mind you, 'watch third episode of the bachelor' (andi so wins) + 'apply self tanner' has been on there, too. very important things to remember! hashtag the secret life of the american teenager.

:: speaking of the bachelor, i'm mildly sad that lucy the free spirit was eliminated. she was so nice! and her fascination with showing her chesticles? fascinating. but, i super like renee the bartender of the world (wouldn't she make a great one? she's so understanding), chelsie the girl who wouldn't jump and stretches metaphors (...just jump off the damn bridge, wouldya?), and, of course, andi the lawyer -- homegirl packed a one piece, has a sexified voice, and is most probably sippin' on diet coke at the pool party + during the group date? props. crossing my fingers dog lover will not get eliminated because she is a meddling hoot. 

:: if you follow me on twitter, where all good blog posts go to die, you might have read that i met chris powell from extreme weight loss on my plane from phoenix to salt lake city. i positively love that show + watched it religiously over christmas break while puking out the contents of my stomach. something about his voice soothes an upset stomach? i dunno. anyways, i thought i recognized him + began to stare. did i know him? was he from moscow? were we best friends in the past? finally, he muttered a 'hello, how you doing?' which confirmed that i had been intensely staring at him for uncomfortably long.
oops.
i began to gush about how much i loved his show + how i have watched every episode as he took his seat behind me. then i continued watching vanderpump rules + lost all credibility.
also, to add : him + his wife bee-lined it to wetzel's pretzel's after they got off the plane. props, chris powell, props.

:: finally, finally i set up my voicemail. along with best buy + movies longer than ninety minutes, voicemails give me anxiety. eek. side note : did any one ever see the straight-to-dvd movie, one missed call? it's about voicemails which proves that other people must find them horrifying, too.
anyways, amongst a few calls from my old work + the chiropractor i found on groupon (...the hour long massage involved lots of mouth breathing + deep pokes, yowza), there was a voicemail from my brother-in-law who is now on a mission wishing me a happy two years. oh, the drams! it was precious.
...wasn't there a friends episode about this?



the end.