Are You There Blogger? It's Me, Alex...

Usually, when I don't blog for almost a year, I start the rebirth post with a sappy "Forgive me blogger for I have sinned, it has been yada yada days since my last post..." type of apology to the anonymous blogging world and, of course, an iron-clad promise that I'll do better next time.

But I decided I'm not going to do that today. Instead, I'm going to start with a silent pat on my own back and a "you're welcome" to absolutely no one in particular.

Although I'm not going to apologize, I do feel like I have to do somewhat of a recap of the last... 8 months? that I've been ignoring this blog. Plus, I just did my annual camera to computer picture upload so I've suddenly got all these memories that I have to archive.

P.S. these will not be done in chronological order because I'm not a machine.

I made one of the most platypus-like faces known to mankind. Oh, I also ran a marathon.

We watched the most epic, and last, installment of the Harry Potter movies. Stay tuned for when Jordyn Canady and I remake the whole series into movies that actually do the books justice!

I went on a honeymoon! Of which this is one of the only pictures. Since I can't fully document it I'll just say, it was beautiful, we got tan and ate a lot of beans.

Our honeymoon tour spanned from Provo to Phoenix to Mazatlan to Portland to Island Park to Provo and since Jason's mom was nice enough to load us up with a ton of house stuffs, we had a most epic Budget truck ride from Portland on. Jason is pictured because he did most of the driving.

We celebrated my third favorite holiday with a totally legit pumpkin carving fest. Thanks to some overachiever on pinterest, we even carved SANDVIK in the back of it.

We were murderers!!! Well we went to a murder mystery party anyway. My character was this awesome heiress who was also a bootleg driver who knew how to handle a Tommy-gun. Jason was a sexy gambler who ran the bootlegging business. Needless to say, our characters also had a steamy romance.

We got a Kinect and Jason got a little too competitive and completely smashed the light fixture. With his head. So we spent one of our first nights in our new house cleaning up glass off the carpet and out of Jason's flesh.

 Oh, and I got married to my favorite person.

 Which is most likely the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Holy Moly, Holy Land!

Forgive me Blogger for I have sinned. It has been four months since my last post and I come to you with a spirit of contrition, ready to repent. Because now, more than ever, I have something to blog about.

J.E.R.U.S.A.L.E.M.

Why haven't we met before? For me and Jerusalem, it was love at first sight. Like Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, Bread and Cheese--we were meant to be together! As I stepped off the plane in Tel Aviv, I felt something special about this place. Then when I watched all the old Jewish men in the arrivals gate tenderly embrace and kiss eachother's cheek with their earlocks bobbing around, I knew it was true.
I know that the religious significance of this place has caused thousands of years of war and countless lives shed, but how many people in this world are willing to die for their religion? Most people in our world go to church because it's something to do on an Easter Sunday, or because their parents did it, but they don't feel strongly enough about their convictions they'd lay their mortal lives on the line to protect it.
I'm not trying to endorse self-inflicted martyrdom, but there's something about the devotion of the people here that is so thick you can almost breathe their piety. It's like the severe reverence of the city makes it even more animated. Just walking outside I can tell my body loves this city. Whether it's smelling so deeply the incense-spice-hookah-tea filled air until you feel like you're actually using your skin to absorb the scents through osmosis, or letting the beautiful Arabic call to prayer song echo deep in your soul as it radiates throughout the city.
My spirit loves this city. I have never felt more at one with the Lord as well as the world than when I was kneeling to kiss the monument of His tomb with a creaky and old Greek Orthodox woman one on side of me, and a large and powerful Nigerian man on the other side of me. All brought together by the love of our Savior.
My only hope is that I can remember forever that what happened here changed the world, and I know it has the power to change me.

I'm in Love, I'm in Love and I Don't Care Who Knows It!

Sometimes when I've just had a grueling day of seeing priceless works of art at the National Gallery, or am forced to go to the Royal Opera House to see Swan Lake for my Humanities class I just have to sit back and take some time for myself.

That's when I go to hummingbird.

This place is a dream come true. I have yet to eat one that hasn't completely rocked my world and given me an out of body experience. Let me just give you a preview of some of my faves: the Pina Colada one takes frosting to the next level with a soft coconut flavor, then has a sweet and slightly citrusy cake, and when you think they've done it all, you hit the real pineapple chunks at the bottom. Another highlight is the Lemon Curd, despite the word curd, nothing is curdish about it. The lemon frosting on top tastes like how clouds look when you fly over them at sunset, and then the cake below it offsets the tart frosting with sweet and somehow salty blend that rivals even kettle corn. Oh yeah, then there's a Nutella flavor. It would be unholy for me to cheapen this with words.

It is so fabulous it even makes you throw inhibitions and societal norms to the wind. On one of our recent excursions we paid the extra 45p so we could eat in and sit on one of their cute velvet stools soaking in the posh ambience. After standing awkwardly in the small shop that was full of customers that were just as happy as we were, we managed to get a little table from a nice couple that graciously gave up their coveted seats. After we had all devoured our own little baked dreams we couldn't help but joke about how funny it would be if we ate the rest of the cake the lady before us left behind. After a few awkward smiles and some shifty eyes, we all swallowed our pride and picked our forks right back up. We started at the edge with the frosting, the side that hadn't been touched by a stranger's fork, but things quickly progressed until we had eaten every last bite. Every one. Like a homeless person.

It may not have been my proudest moment, but I don't regret it for one second.

Fleeting Fall

Fall is here! And in honor of this beautiful season I have changed my page. Again. Now hopefully it looks a little less like seventh grader's myspace page and a little more like the blog of a gentlewoman and a scholar. I don't know how classy online profiling can be though... you can't help but feel that you're doing something creepy.

The changing seasons are always enjoyable for me. Seeing the season change on a completely different continent is especially enjoyable because it is actually quite similar to little Provo. The sweet smell of half rotten leaves coupled with the crackling of dried ones under foot still make me want to wrap up in a scarf and sip some apple cider. Even if the British put corn in their tomato sauce, wear a little less deodorant, and make the quest for an ice-cold Dr. Pepper like the search for the holy grail, we still share the same small world.

Going from one season to another always reminds me of the inconstancy of life. Just as all the seasons come and go, so will everything; good and bad. Which is important for me to remember while I'm on this never-going-to-happen-again trip. When I catch myself worrying about not studying enough or eating too many magnums (if you're not familiar with these divinely inspired ice cream bars I will pray for your soul. They taste like rainbows and laughter dipped in God's special stash of chocolate then frozen and sold at your local Tesco) that my few jeans I brought here will finally give up on me, I just have to remember that Fall will be over soon and I'll be back in Provo again waiting for the next great thing to come along.

Anglos And Their Animals

Finally, a country that gets me! This is a monument dedicated to all the animals that have died along British soldiers in the past because "they had no choice". Now I don't feel quite as alone for being the only one who is more sorry for the hero's horse than the actual hero when the cannon finally falls the two. Not only do the Brits love their beasts of burden, but they are quite fond of their canine friends as well. I love running through Hyde Park in the morning, not only because it helps me justify all the delicious waffles and gelato and hob nobs and various cadbury products, but because of all the prancing beautiful dogs (even the dogs in London dress better than I do). It's like a potpourri of world-class dog breeds. I never thought anything could satisfy me more than a Saturday afternoon broadcast of a dog show, (dog shows: one of my many guilty pleasures) but this meets all those expectations and more. Not only do the English love their dogs, but they love the people that love their dogs. Americans, I think, can be a bit snooty when it comes to their furry, four-legged friends. The more we love them, the more we treat them like humans (yes, myself included) which is not good for the dog or the human (believe me, I've been ridiculed on more than one occasion for attempting a web-camming session with my puppy I left overseas). The British, on the other hand, while still loving their dogs as much as their children (or more, these dogs really are beautiful) are able to remember that they still must be treated like dogs to be happiest. Instead of dressing them up like puppy-prostitutes, they let them run wildly through the parks (leash laws are more of a guideline) chasing after the frolicking European squirrels, which are never out of sight (or sniff).