#Driving Fears

Two months ago, Austin joked about how it would be so great if I could get my driver's license before we got married. 

Yeah. I know. I was 25 and I didn't know how to drive. I had always been afraid of the road and there had always been a boy(friend) with a car. 

In the heat of over-optimism and an eagerness to be the perfect fiance, I signed up for a driving class. The online one. 

Sometimes when I was staring at the computer screen, trying to memorize how many feet of distance you're supposed to leave when parking away from the fire hydrant (15!), I felt my heart beating down on my ribs, demanding to be let out. 

What if I remembered all the facts and passed my online test? 

Then I would actually be on the road. 

The big day came. Austin randomly pulled into a church parking lot after errands one day and waved the keys in my face with a large grin. Your turn, babe. 

I swallowed and managed my sweetest smile. Why don't we do something else? Like catch a movie? Go grab drive through? Make out? No go. I dragged my feet over to the left side of the car. Austin explained the mechanics of the stick shift in way too logical terms while I anxiously scanned the parking lot for stray dogs. Ok go. 

Clutch. Gas. Clutch. Desperate brake. I cried the first four times I was behind the wheel. Story of our drives.

Anyhow, Austin kept asking me what I was so scared of. So I finally made him a list:

Random dead body in my trunk. 

It happens.

Proving the Asian female stereotype true.

I asked my driving instructor whether this was true or not -

his hilarious answer is for the next blog post. 

Oh dear. There's a deer so near.

The stick snaps.

Run out of gas in the middle of the desert.

And water.

Broken brakes.

During a classic car chase scene.

Jack falls on me when changing tires.

After all, Jack did fall down the hill. 

And he dragged Jill with him.

The text that got me in an accident was a lame one.

Sometime like "hey sorry. Can't text. Driving now"

My fiance would reconsider us when he sees me drive.

Others warned us not to risk our relationship on 

having Austin teach me how to drive.

We should have listened. 

Ultimately, I am just afraid that I will hit somebody and kill them. On a Christmas eve. When his wife is giving birth in the hospital .... yeah. Too complicated for a sticky note.

At the end of the day, I am learning. Not very well, but I'm making progress. And we're still getting married. Miraculously (#6 days!). 

Repentant Dater

When the bishop gives me an assignment to read church talks about the joys of marriage every single night,

I'm like:

And then, after the 85th talk about how "those who are single should desire a temple marriage and exert priority efforts to obtain it," I'm like

Fine, fine! Being single isn't that much fun.

Please forgive me, for I know not I have sinned.

I will repent . . . and smile at the next Young Single Adult church activity.

Ms. Beef Noodles

If I was back in kindergarten and we were comparing sisters, then this would be my winning pitch:

My sister is better than your sister because she looks freaking gorgeous while eating a bowl of instant noodles.

Introducing Exhibit A: An ad for Sunrider beef noodles

p.s. I ripped this off an email that my BIL sent to my sister. I couldn't help but noticing that it was addressed to "Chelsea 'Your Love' Messick Chen." Ultimate cheese. Even worse than when they first got married.

A Temple Marriage

In the temple today, an old lady with rich burgundy lipstick and flowy white robes pushed a cart full of wet temple clothing. An old man with silver hair and a kind smile stood down the hall greeting all the young people who passed by.

All of a sudden, she lost control of her cart and swerved into him. His eyes opened wide and his arms propped up in a defensive position. With perfect timing, she pulled her cart around again. And then smirked.

She had faked him out.

An old couple. Temple. And . . . flirting?

Hwanhi + Nate

Hwanhi and Nate are seriously one of my favorite couples.

There are few couples who are so supportive of and loving with each other. I'm so happy that after over a year and a half of togetherness, they have finally tied the knot.

I had my five cakes and ate them too. I feel sick now.

 

 You leave behind your thumb print and your love as a guest sign in. 

Ingenious huh? That way, we'll know if somebody kidnaps the princess bride.

The happy couple!

Love them.

Cannibalism and other subtle messages

The Donner Party was a group of pioneers (not the Mormon ones) who attempted to cross the freezing plains to reach California in 1846-7. They had a lot of women and children and even hired helpers. But because they were misled by a greedy store keeper who wanted to sell them more supplies, they started on a supposed shortcut and were snowed in for months.

The group was so desperate for food that they ate the oxhide in their bows. And their makeshift roofs. And each other.

Apparently they even tried to practice cannibalism in true democratic style when somebody suggested a vote to pick their human sacrifices.

Ultimately, they were rescued. But only 48 of the 87 people made it into California.

For our 328 assignment, we had to run probit and logit models to calculate the characteristics that contributed to higher survival rates.

Younger and older people were vulnerable. Being a hired help is not bad. Being male is advantageous. Being in a family is even more so. So if you're a married male adult, you've hit the survival jackpot.

And if you're a single female, you're shafted. Or just eaten.

I think I just found another incentive to get married.

p.s. It's nearly 2 a.m. and I'm still sitting in the TA office working. School sleepover party? It's starting to look that way.

A Convenient Man

One of the few times when I wish I was married is when I'm playing Phase 10 with my family.

After all, with a husband, you have an automatic ally who sneaks you the cards you need and who never skips you in case you threaten not to kiss him that night.

I think I finally understand the concept of a marriage of convenience.

Hey babe

It seems that when you get married - at least for girls - not only do you have to change your last name, but you lose your first one as well.

After my sister got married, she's known simply as "Honey". Coincidentally, that's her husband's name too. There's something sickly sweet about it when the two-syllable word is dragged out for an extended period of time - that's when you know they're either extra lovey dovey or one is trying to convince the other to do something (i.e. get more dessert).

Then there's "Babe". I have never called a baby a babe. But somehow it's oddly complimentary when somebody calls me one - although why it is flattering to be called a baby-like creature slash famous pig I do not know. I've heard variations of this one too: AngelBabe, Baby face, Baby girl, Baby doll. Sadly, baby boys don't seem to make the list. I guess they just don't do the job when it comes to condensing your unconditional love into catchy monikers.

"Sweetheart" makes me think of wrinkly hands, construction paper, pill-looking candy and hospitals.

I guess at the end of the day, calling your loved one something else is an insurance policy. I have once introduced a date to a huge group of people without realizing that I've been saying the wrong name the whole time. He took me home early that night.

Romeo once asked Juliet, "What's in a name?" Well I guess when it comes to lovers, the answer to that is babies, sweet tasting stickiness, and a whole ton of store-bought candy.

In awe.

She's my idol.

Girl clad in black stiletto-heeled leather boots over her designer jeans.

Walking precariously on the slippery black ice.

While pushing a baby pram.

Presumably with a baby inside, scared for his/her life.

She's pregnant too.

Worse, she's headed for a downhill slope.

I guess that's what married women do for kicks.