narf

If one has left their childhood too far behind them, "narf" is a quote from Pinky. 

When you don't know what to say....narf it.

Now it's story time!!  Also I apologize for those to whom I've already told these stories.

Story Of My Valentine's Day Cookies

So, Valentine's Day was this week, and I was having just a great day, so I decided to make some Valentine's cookies for some people in my ward.  I was feeling ambitious but only semi-ambitious, so I got slice and bake sugar cookies and chocolate chip cookies.

It was the first time I used our oven here at the dorms, and I'm very very spoiled with a convection back oven at home.  First mistake: I put 16 sugar cookies on a sheet that was obviously meant for 12.  Like, I KNEW that only 12 were supposed to go on it, but I figured that the cookies would have pity on my laziness and just not spread very much.  Second mistake: I put the first pan of chocolate chip cookies on the lowest shelf.  Seven minutes in, I smell a burning...a peek in the oven reveals chocolate chip cookies charcoal black on bottom and liquid on top.  Also, the 16 sugar cookies had turned into...one cookie.

Here is the mixture of feelings and thoughts that I experienced:

"OH NOOOO!"

"Awww, this WOULD happen to me."

"HAHAHAHAHHAA."

"Ugggggh."

"hahahahahaahahahahahhahahahahahahaha."

"I can't give the burnt ones to anyone for Valentine's Day, that's be saying "I hate you"...."

"MY FUTURE FAMILY WILL STARVE."

The human brain is amazing in the way it can think so many thoughts in a matter of three milliseconds.  The last thought really was the most important--I literally started imagining dinner times when all of my kids would just start crying and complaining about the food I cook, my kind husband just staring dejectedly at his burnt macaroni and cheese.

Nevertheless, I made the best of it and did not burn the next pan of chocolate chip cookies, and Lisa told me that even though they weren't pretty, the cookies were still delicious.  And that's what counts.


Story of Trying to Do Squats and Carine Being a Bad Spotter
Carine and I went to the gym together last night, and we decided to do free weights.  Carine, in case you hadn't heard, is a big deal.  She was champion in deadlifts in high school, so she knew what to do and she was helping weak and naive lil' me.  We did squats first, and I was on my last set.  Carine was behind me, spotting--or so I thought.  


I was struggling and shaking as I was going through my set, and finally my back just gave out and I went down.  TO THE GROUND.  Luckily there were bars to catch the bar, but they were a foot of the ground. Which left me curled up, squished in that foot of space between the bar and the ground.  (Aside: the gym is fairly crowded.)  Carine just cries out, "MEG!"

FAIL

No, she had not been watching.  When we switched to bench press two minutes later, a guy asked me if I needed help knowing what to do.  And I don't think he was flirting...