El Casamiento de la Betsy

Betsy married Jackson in Manti, Utah. Besty is my supercool friend, and mission companion. 

She made her hairpiece and helped her mom make her dress. I know! So awesome!

Freshly sealed love.

 

Betsy is an art major, and her mom found this creative guestbook. Each half page was reserved for a sketch of whatever the book prompted, plus room to sign your name, obvio. For example, since I couldn't sketch the whole periodic table, I chose to sign on a page that said "secret door" and drew an ugly door covered with vines and rocks. 

Aside from the other delicious food (pulled pork, cornbread, mountains of fruit...) and desserts, this was their charming Tres Leches Cake covered in strawberries and cacti that Betsy made herself.

There we are, standing at the reception, minding our own business when all of a sudden my mission president and his wife breeze through the door! Whoa. Not expecting that. I was shocked to find my eyes filling with tears at the sight of them because I never felt like I deeply bonded with them (unlike most missionaries). I think it was the rush of all those memories and emotions coming back all at once.

Yes, we three (me, Abi, Betsy) were in a trio for three days. It was chaos. 

Cutie Jackson!

Two and a half of Betsy's three sisters. Poor Elise got hacked. Isn't it funny how different the sisters complexions are? Margaret looks like Rapunzel. Oh and their brother Preston is a dead ringer for Prince Harry. I wish I would have gotten a picture of the fab Jini, Betsy's if-you-were-a-boy-I'd-marry-you BFF and bridesmaid. Jini was in the MTC with us, she went to Germany.

Dancing in the backyard. Betsy holding Elise's baby. Lots of crazy dance moves. The reception was at This Is The Place Park in SLC, in the Kimball house. It was cool and old. The whole reception had a rustic, slightly latin-slash-victorian feel. Does that make sense?

 My cutie husband bustin' a move.

It was entertaining to watch Clarissa dance. Here it appears she has broken her wrist.

Amiguitas. Yay Betsy Brown!

Coke Army

Today the Coke Army took over the bottom shelf, engulfing the juice.

Don't you think Danny's orange juice is the icky kind? I don't like the false tangy orange flavor that sticks to the back of your tongue. You know the kind, the one that you got at birthday parties as a kid. Whoever thought cake and orange juice went together is sick. Just sick.

And the Winner Is...

Option 2!

They were both gorgeous schemes, but I like the idea of having a soothing, deep bluish hued bedroom. Thanks for sharing your thoughts people! Now for the small task of finding (and affording) everything a good bedroom needs. I've got a long way to go--I don't even have a bedskirt! What's the deal with bedskirts anyway? Do people still use them? And we're still using those rolling Tupperware drawers as nightstands. Sexy.

Anyway, if you see anything--nightstands, lamps, pillows, etc--online that would coordinate with that scheme, por favor let me know. (And don't act like you don't google housewares and bed linens!) Although, maybe I'll regret such a dark palette in the spring. There's also a chance I'm over-thinking this.

Off to Betsy's wedding tomorrow. {Trilling voice} So exciting! I can't wait to see her in all her wedding glory with that pixie cropped hair. More next week! Chau.

Colorboards

To the complainers: I will not apologize for being blog-absent. I was traveling for work for about a week, then it was catching up, then it was laziness.

I've been thinking about how I want to decorate our bedroom lately, and here is what I've whittled it down to. Both color palettes are Danny-approved (he has to sleep there too, so no frou-frou stuff), I want to know what you guys think. Feel free to comment your thoughts!

Option 1

Option 2

I nicked these from a wedding website, so please disregard the invites and what have you in the images.

An International Affair

We stumbled upon the International Folk Festival and Street Fair this evening by accident. We were looking for the new barbecue food cart, Blister, and there we found it: smack in the middle of almond-eyed Egyptian dancers, Rexburgian Mexicans with flat tops, and ragged toddlers dodging their parents.

The pulled pork sandwich was okay, but nothing to write home about. A little dry, if you must know. We then sampled various fudges. I preferred the pinoche, but theirs was too soft so we brought home a baby brick of turtle fudge.

Meanwhile, crazy pre-teen double-dutchers were getting down to Lady Gaga in the middle of Main Street. I was a little shocked that the parents in this convent-esque town allowed their children to jump rope to such "controversial" music. Lady Gaga represents everything Rexburg abhors: Bisexuality, free love, and lookin' good.

I'm a tad ashamed to admit I saw Salt this weekend, and enjoyed it. I think I get embarrassed when I want to see something that has Angelina Jolie in it because I think of her as a tramp. I don't care how many kids she adopts or how many things she does with the UN, the woman's trampy. And weird. However. I always like a good spy/action movie. Maybe it's because I'm a total badass in my dreams. That's right, I fight and shoot guns with the best of them.