How is it that hair cuts do that? I feel like I can take over the world now, but that doesn’t make sense. How can bangs and a trim make you feel like a million bucks? I guess I should just take what I can get and go with it, yep I should just go with it. I’m awesome. I am!

I also tried bare minerals and that was amazing. I want them, and I know you can buy the same thing from Costco, but it isn’t the same. For most things I don’t care about brand names, really! I try to be frugal and I try to remember that things won’t make me happy. I look at Mercedes with indifference and I pitty BMW’s, but then I sit in a 2012 Audi and I lust. I don’t just want, I lust. It’s a car! I have Max. I love Max. We spent three hours putting on new license plates yesterday so even if I didn’t love him I would have to now. That is how I feel about the bare minerals. I have fine make-up it gets the job done. I walk out of the house looking nice and I should be happy with that.

Yet, I didn’t just feel nice when I had the bare minerals. I felt like I was amazing! I felt like I could do anything. I felt like I could run in heels! I could run in heels and look graceful! I could run, be graceful, and be super fast! I felt powerful, I felt strong, I felt awesome!

So is that wrong? Does this mean I don’t have any real confidence? I remember those lessons in church about having real confidence and how it comes from the inside. Do I remember it wrong though? Does it only come from the inside, or can it benefit from some boosting? I mean without the make-up I’m fine. I’ll live. I don’t want to just live I want a boost! Is that so wrong?

Today was the annually emission inspection for Max. He doesn’t like to go in and neither do I, but we left work a little early and took him to see Paul.

Paul (I don’t know his last name) is probably my favorite mechanic in the whole world. He never tries to sell me anything he just fixes things and then I pay. It’s wonderful! Today Paul told me that Max failed his test. It was sad, but that isn’t what this is about.

This is about the injustice of how much cars are worth. Max is probably the greatest and most amazing car that has ever been assembled in that great heaven of automobile manufacturing.

He is zippy! He’s spunky! And even if the air conditioning doesn’t work, well that’s not so bad.

So I decided to check on Edmonds.com to see how much Max would be worth if he were traded for another car, not that I would ever trade him, or sell him, or let Sam drive him (if Sam even wanted to which he doesn’t because Max requires extra love and attention), not in a million years! But still you like to know things!

$384!!!! That is all. Saddest day of Max’s life, but we don’t like to care about external evaluations we love each other just the way we are.

Last week I applied for a job and I am always so surprised and how hard it is to get rejected after an interview. I know they say I interviewed well, and I know I have a great resume, but sometimes the thought creeps in that maybe I am just not good enough. Maybe I’m not worth much in the scheme of things. Maybe Max and I are a lot alike. Maybe you won’t pick either of us on first glance, or even after a half an hour interview, but we are still worth something to the people who really know us. So even though I’m a little disappointed, and even though it would have been more money, I can be happy knowing that I have a family that loves me, and Heavenly Father promised he’d take care of me, even if it isn’t the way I wanted.

In a bulleted list I’d like to catch you up on our year so far. Ready, my little wombats*? Good.

• FEB: My Friend came down and slept on our floor Valentine’s weekend. Now that he’s married I hope he realizes what a drag that is. Thanks Jared. (And thanks Cherie for forgiving me for letting him.)
• MAR: Does anything exciting ever happen in march?
• APR: A good part of April was spent watching Celebrity apprentice. Cyndi Lauper and I should hang out sometime. Call me, Cyn!
• MAY: The Wife and I took a weekend trip to NY. It was nice to see my family in their natural habitat. Not to mention lots of drunk and urinating college students. Next time I go home, however, I want to spend more time in Oswego than I spent on the plane.
• JUN: We threw an awesome party celebrating the adoption of the Swedish flag on June 22nd, 1906. If you didn’t come shame on you.
• JUL: I turned 23. To celebrate we went to the zoo. For the record, I love, luv, LOVE, <3, and heart zoos.
• AUG: Cherie and I celebrated our one year anniversary. But even more important the Bed Intruder Song entered our lives.
• SEP:  I rocked the GRE. The Wife and I (and friends) went to Kyoto more than we should admit. Plus I wrote a blog entry.

And there is our year in a nutshell.

*Wombat Fact of the Day: wombats are nocturnal grazers that eat grass and roots. Plus Dallin H. Oaks keeps one as a pet… if only.

Photo Credit, Timmy Toucan

I loved it.

Loved it! Especially Meryl Streep as Mrs. Child herself. I even liked Amy Adams*… even if Julie Powell was a rather pathetic individual for most of the movie.

So why do I love it? 3 reasons.

1). I love Julia Child (more to follow)

2). It was a very real movie. I believed it. Especially the scenes between the two couples. I felt like I was watching real people who were really in love. Neither story was perfect, but the imperfections didn’t feel like scripted character quirks or plot twists. The movie felt human.

3). It was a movie based on a true story that didn’t leave me sobbing in tears or asking myself what’s the point to life. (The Perfect Storm, anyone?)

Julia Child has been this Role Model to me for some time. Well, not quite. I wished she would be my role model. It started with her passing really, August 13^th 2004. Shortly thereafter news broke about her being a spy during WWII! (According to NPR Julia helped develop a shark repellent to keep the pesky fish away from underwater mines! How sweet is that?) A famous chef, TV star, and spy? Totally role model (and superhero) worthy.

Fast forward a few years. My Mum and I took a weekend trip together to the nation’s capitol.** What about Julia made her so important that her kitchen was placed in the Smithsonian? I had no idea… and there were enough distractions on the Mall that I didn’t look her up.

Fast forward another year (minus a couple months). The Wife and I decided to read Julia Child’s autobiography on our honeymoon. I was initially (and let’s be honest – still am) upset that the Julie and Julia promotional version of My Life in France was so much cheaper than the cooler version with photographs. But even though Meryl Streep was on the cover (Not the author and the subject of the book… just saying) the story inside was romantic, inspirational, relatable, and comforting all at the same time.

I really can’t think of any book I’d recommend over My Life in France.*** By far its my favorite.

Julia started cooking at the age of 32, and became an icon of not only the enjoyment of good food, but the enjoyment of life. Even with all the flaws that any human being has, she is lovable and inspiring. It is because of her (and an ultimatum from the Wife) that I decided that it was possible for me to cook. We own, and have cooked from, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, which to me isn’t just a cook book but an instruction manual for life. “What would Julia say?” is a mantra in the Purdy home. I love Julia Child.

I don’t want to keep gushing on, so I’ll wrap this up for you, friends. But consider yourselves forewarned, I’ll be looking for ways to add some Julia-isms into my blogging.

Here is one such gem:

“It’s fun to get together and have something good to eat at least once a day. That’s what human life is all about – enjoying things.”

~Julia Child

Bon appetite!

*Unlike in Doubt, or Enchanted, or most commercials I’ve seen her in. Though I did love her as Amelia Earhart in Night at the Museum 2. I do have suspicions however that her rendition of the pilot is not how Amelia would really have carried herself.

** One of my favorite trips ever. Thanks Mom! And you still need to send me the photos on your camera from DC. Just saying.

*** Though really, I love the Book of Mormon. You should read that, too.

You see last Saturday Sam and I babysat at his brother’s house. We decided to try out  the Wii fit. I pulled up my Mii. I was thinking “I’m fine, I haven’t let myself go since we got married, Sam has more to love now that’s all.” So I step on the balance board and that part comes where you are weighed and let me tell you it wasn’t good. I look like Santa, a girl Santa with a belly shirt. It was sad. Sam didn’t appreciate how Wii fit represented him, either. We decided we needed to do something. This takes us back to last Monday at Costco.

We left Costco without a Wii that night. And really to be fair to Sam it wasn’t his fault we left without one. I was in a bad mood and I think I killed the Wii for him. I didn’t mean to! I really didn’t, but he was in no mood to buy it that night. The next day we talked about it and I still didn’t know what I thought. Wednesday was the same so Sam said we should ask people we trusted how they made financial decisions.

On Thursday I called my Dad who is generally very logical, except when it comes to soggy pies. He told me it sounded like we could afford it and that if we both thought it was a good idea we should get it. That was good enough for me. I came home and told Sam what I thought about it and we both decided it was a good idea. So we found our gift cards for Target, and headed to Costco to get the Wii. We then went to Target and picked up the Wii Fit. That was the first of our major purchases.

The second is our Ikea couch. It’s a creamy color and is perfect for two people. It measures 36” across and I love it. I’m sitting on it right now, and believe it or not it fits in our apartment. Sam said he wanted it back before we got married, but after we got our apartment. That would have been anytime between July and August. So around six months. When he showed it to me I didn’t think there was anyway we would have space for it, but then we took our Christmas tree down I felt like we could fit anything we wanted in the front room. It felt so spacious and empty!

You know how you go into Ikea and you see those small apartments they have set up and you think they are so small no one could ever live in something that size? I remember thinking that way. Well a few days ago Sam and I measured our apartment and found out it is about 388 square feet. Well I thought we were good. I thought “Hey Ikea has those super tiny apartments. If they can fit all that stuff in there, we can fit all kinds of things in our apartment.” Well turns out the smallest ones they had were at least 50’ to 200’ square feet larger then ours. I felt as if Ikea had misrepresented itself as a space saving heaven. I was very upset, especially as we walked through the store and I would call Sam over and tell him I found the perfect layout for our front room. He would point out that our apartment was about half the size of the perfectly proportioned room I was looking at.

We got it though! We took it home, we built it and now I sit on it while Sam plays the Wii. I almost feel like we have the perfect life. Really maybe that is all it takes, a couch and a Wii. That’s really happiness.

(obscenely early class + blasphemously cold mornings) X (having to park miles away from existence) = worst life ever*

Is it so wrong to think I deserve my own parking spot? Specially reserved next to Cecil O’s? In the morning we could exchange conversations like “Hey, Cecil O! What’s it like being a General Authority?” and he’d be all “Sam, my man!** Oh, you know, its pretty great. But hey, do you know when Bones is starting up again?” and I’d be all “No! But I can’t wait until it does.”

Anyway… I think it would be a nice gesture on the part of the University. But instead I’m part of the ranks of students who drive around the Y-lots*** until the last possible moment, desperately hanging on to the hope of a parking spot from which you can see campus. Often I end up having to part several more blocks away and making a mad dash to class. I might be more embarrassed by repeatedly being 3 minutes late to my 9:00 Psych 304 lab section,**** if I wasn’t always wheezing and angry from the run up the south side of Rape Hill to campus.

Today was the worst of all though. I slept in a couple minutes too late and showered for a couple minutes too long, but not to shabby for a break-of-dawn wake up.***** Gingerly walking to my care I realized two things simultaneously:

1) My car was covered in frost.

2) I cleaned out the car last week (you’re welcome Mom!) and I left the ice scrapper in the middle of our Living Room/Entry Way/Dinning Room/Kitchen floor (sorry Cherie!).

Instead of going back for the scrapper I used my coat sleeve to rub a hole I could see through (sorta) in the frost, and rolled down the windows some so I could see (still sorta). Plug this into the above mentioned scenario and I was frozen by the time I found a parking spot (which was a long way from both a Y-lot and Cecil O’s personal parking space). (Plus I had to parallel park! Gross.) So I take off towards class, climbing up Rape Hill, when I think. “I can’t eat in that class, I better cram this pop tart down my throat as quickly as possible even though I’m not hungry and I feel like my lungs are about to explode.” What was I thinking?

Fast forward three minutes and there I am. At the top of the hill. Ready to throw up that perfectly mediocre strawberry pop tart that I just had to eat right then. And you know whose fault it all was? BYU.

*Unless you ask my wife. Then the math would be something like (blah blah blah, who cares) + (you have me, don’t you?) = best life ever

**Though I hate it when people use this particular phrase. So maybe if Cecil O. Started out like this he wouldn’t be my peep anymore.

*** That’s were students can park. At BYU if you ever want to do something substandard and expect the student body to like it just slap a “Y” or a “Cougar” on it. Like the Cougareat. Or Route Y. You get the idea.

****Not that I’m really embarrassed. It’s not even like the professor is there for these classes.

***** 8:40 AM to be precise.

Photo Credit, cecilismyhomeboy.com

A tiny bit of background for all y’all* is that I’m not a chef. Not that I don’t love food (as my Mii in Wii Fit will attest), but I’ve suffered from a near phobia of cooking. My few hesitant tries in the past have mostly ended with me eating a not-very-good bowl of something-or-other that no one else will try.

But I’m married now.** And married people should bake Christmas Cookies. And not just for their own enjoyment. Those cookies become a valuable commodity to be traded with neighbors in exchange for respect and the implied promise they will lend you their tools someday in the future.

But for reasons that don’t need to be addressed here*** it was only last week that we made our Christmas Cookies together, despite having bought (most of, I did have to make a trip to Smith’s for Baking Powder mid-mixing) the ingredients weeks before.

So last Friday was the day! Cherie made the mistake of asking me what I wanted to do for the evening, and the answer came flying from my lips “We should make Christmas Cookies.” (She then replied something like “Is that really what you want to do?” in that way that implies that it was the wrong answer. But I held out. Score: Sam 1, Cherie about a billion.)

I showed Cherie the recipe, but instead of cries of “this is perfect” and “wonderful choice” her eyes narrowed (and I swear there were flames in the pupils!) as she read “Melissa D’Arabian.” This is the part where her head snaps up and she makes deadly eye contact. “You know I hate Melissa D’Arabian. I can’t bake her cookies.” What do you do in these situations?! The wrong answer is apparently making a joke about how she can’t cook three step chicken either – which is both untrue, and incredibly insensitive, and Cherie is amazing, and beautiful, and perfect. Do you forgive me yet, Sweetie? Please? Curse that three step chicken!

It was only a by extreme groveling and apologizing that the wife agreed to still bake with me/talk to me/stay married to me. But within minutes Bridgette the KitchenAid was churning away, Cherie was figuring out the oven temperature,**** and I’m zesting to my heart content. By the end of the night we had about two dozen amazingly delicious Citrus Trio Butter Dipping Cookies (even though the recipe said we should be able to make 60 from the batch. I guess we had giant Butter Cookies). We even used food coloring to coordinate with the flavors (lime=green lemon=yellow and orange=Orange Sunset).

The cookies were never shared with our neighbors (Sorry!) but we did given some to my brother and his friends, and our friend Lori and her roommates. All in all I’d declare it a remarkable success in the Purdy household.

And in case any of you would like to make your own Citrus Trio Butter Dipping Cookies, click there. Just remember to save me some.

* Despite my occasional use of “all y’all” (which, FYI, is the correct plural form of y’all) I really do not like southern accents.

** August 21^st, 2009 to my adorable and charming wife, Mrs. Cherie Purdy

*** Though if you really want to know, the reason is that Cherie doesn’t really care about Christmas, Santa, Holidays, Neighbors, or My Happiness. Either that or we got too busy. It’s hard to remember which.

**** I bought the wife an oven thermometer for Christmas. Our oven runs about 100 degrees hotter than it’s supposed to. Is that flippin’ ridiculous or what?

Photo Credit, ginnerobot