5 Photos by Deb

We had the engagement photos taken a few months ago. Of the 50 photos we took, there were 2 I really liked, 30 that were okay, and a few I HATED. When Scott and I were able to look at the pictures, the following were so horrible, we laughed until we cried. I wanted to share them with you.


Photo#1: This was the first photo we took where kissing was involved. We are shy and this photo reflects that. Actually, both of us were laughing but you can't really tell because Scott looks like he is in pain and I look awkward.

Photo 2: This one looks like Scott and I are announcing our upcoming wedding and the birth of our first child.

Photos 3 & 4: These pictures were taken by Deb in 1984. Seriously, why did I agree to do this pose when I knew it would turn out the way it did? In photo #3, if you look long enough, it actually looks like my arm really belongs to Scott.

Photo #4: I look okay in this one... kind of. Scott looks like he is in pain.

There you have it! I will be sharing the good ones soon. Stay tuned!

Confessions of a Bride to Be

Argh.

Everyday I threaten to elope.

Scott and I attend an engaged couple's class held by the Stake. It's interesting to say the least. I am the oldest in there by about 5 or 6 years. The instructors preface their advice with, "I know marriage will be your first experience out of your parent's home..." Gosh, what would that be like?

Last week we talked about finances this week we talked about sexual intimacy. As a former sex ed teacher and a current trainer of financial advisers, I was bored out of my mind. Well, that's not completely true. The instructors talked about buying some red light bulbs to "set the mood"... then I had a brilliant idea-- to register for a years supply of red light bulbs on my Target gift registry! That's not strange at all...

Speaking of registering, Scott and I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond Normal the other day to register. We met Staci who kindly greeted us with a warm valley girl-like hello. I think I was old enough to be her mom (if I had her as a teenager, of course). Anyway, she talked me into registering for china. She insisted I register for 12 china place settings and a whole bunch of other china stuff. I laughed silently, winked at Scott and then said, "uh, sure why not?" Let me ask you... where in the h-e-double-L am I going to put 12 china place settings, a gravy boat, 2 platters, 12 soup bowls, and 12 crystal glasses in my 100 sq foot apartment!? It's bad enough I have to sell my 134 pairs of shoes on EBay in order to have room for Scott in our little apartment.

By the time we registered for our 1000 piece bone china collection we had enough time to register for a few more things before the store closed. Right before we left, Staci SoCal printed out the registry we had so far. I don't know how this happened, but we had registered for 8 knife sets, 8 unmatching towels, and a shower curtain (in addition to the china). That's what I get for putting Scott in charge of holding the register thingy (what is it called?) that late in the day. He is quite the jokester and a mighty lover of expensive knife sets. Yet another reason, why I love him so.

As we left the store, we had a great laugh. We thought about having thanksgiving at our apartment next year with our fine china, set out perfectly on our plastic tablecloth, laid nicely over a cardboard box that would be covertly posing as our dining room table. And then we envisioned us after the meal putting the china away in the nice china cabinet that we would also use as our dresser.

Thanks Staci, for making my bridal dreams come true!

Confession: I hate registering.

The Proposal: September 13th

On Wednesday of last week Scott said to me, "We should go on a date this Saturday." I replied with, "A date? What's that?" I got to thinking I should probably take him seriously since we really haven't gone on a legitimate date (paired off, paid for and planned) in I don't know how long. And I had a suspicion that he might propose that day too.

Saturday rolls around. That afternoon, I asked him what the plans were for the evening. "I thought we could go to dinner and when then see what time it is and figure out what we are going to do next based off the time", he said.

"What?! I thought we were going on a date-- you didn't plan anything?!?", I said in a VERY frustrated tone of voice.


"Uh no, I didn't know what to plan. Should we just play tennis?"


"Scott, I am going to get all cute for dinner only to play tennis in 101 degree weather and sweat to death!"


"Uh okay, we don't have to play if you don't want to."


"Okay, thanks.", I say even more frustrated that he doesn't have anything planned which means he probably won't propose.


Dinner finally arrives. We eat and I am in a bad mood. We get back to my house, talk to my roommate for a few hours. He said to me, "It's 9 o'clock... we should just go play tennis... I haven't done anything active all day and I am not going to be able to sleep tonight if I don't do something." By this point I realize there isn't anything else to do so why not play tennis. I am still mad.


We play tennis. My makeup melts off but at least I beat him (for the first time ever, might I add). We end our game fifteen minutes before the court lights shut off. Everyone by this time had cleared off the tennis court. I was picking up stray tennis balls and make it back to where he is. He said to me, "Hey check out this tennis ball. It's brand new and it's already cracked."


I took a look and thought it pretty odd. Then I look closer and see that something strange is going on. The side of the tennis ball have the words, "SQUEEZE HERE" which I thought that was kinda weird. I examine the ball and squeeze where noted, lifting up the tear and exposing an engagement ring. By this point, my draw drops.


Scott drops to one knee, stares at me, and says "This is where it all started, where I fell in love with you. Anneliesa, will you marry me?"


I said no.





Just joking! I said yes with sweat dripping down my face... how romantic!


And that's the story.


We are getting married on January 3rd in the Mesa Temple.


Here are some pictures:






I am sweaty:

The Story

Remember how I was in the process of creating a 10 part series entitled, "How to Find a Mate in 2008"? I only published 2 entries and the remaining 8 are written on random pieces of note book paper scattered throughout my room. Back in March, in the midst of crafting what I thought would lead thousands to their mate in '08, I had an epiphany: I should follow my own advice.


My first step was to do some serious self-evaluation. March of this year, I realized I needed to become a better person, fear nothing, and focus on what I could control. Consequently, I was working 12 hour days at work, getting pay raises, exercising daily, focusing on my calling in Church, and working zealously to be the best I could be. I thought nothing of dating and guys-- I was burned out on dates, unproductive flirting, and mindless chatter at hormone infested parties. My new goal: To be the Sheri Dew of the 30-somethings!


About this time, I picked up an obsession for playing tennis. One Friday in May I wanted to play tennis so badly I went through my phone to see who could play. Everyone was on a stinking date! Boring. Everyone except for Scott. I hesitantly called him and we played that night.



Before I go any further, let me tell you about Scott. I have known him for over a year now. We have been in the same ward, gone to the same parties, have the same mutual friends. A year ago I asked him to some lame girl ask guy Stake activity only because he was safe and my roommate wanted to get to know him without having to ask him out. Of course, I ignored him the whole time. I am dumb like that. Here's a picture of me ignoring him that night:







Months later, he became good friends with my roommate and he would spend more and more time hanging out with us.

I never paid much attention to him then either. I was still in that phase where the flirty guys captured all my attention. That was probably because I was in denial that 30 years of age was staring me in the face.


In December Scott and I ended up talking one night and I remember thinking that he was amazing... but way too pensive, deep, quiet, and serious for me. I figured he probably didn't have a thing for women with social ADD.


Okay, back to May when Scott and I played tennis for the first time. We played for weeks and weeks after that. We became tennis partners and were the undefeated champions. After playing tennis, we ended up talking for hours and hours discussing and philosophizing. I saw a different side of him every night we would talk. I appreciated his emotional maturity, his depth of character, his view on life, his love for all people and sharing the gospel. We grew up in similar circumstances and he didn't ever go to BYU (which as I have mentioned in previous entries is always a plus). I would walk away from our conversations, empowered and eager to see him again.

About this time, I was going full speed ahead with improving my life. Work and tennis were the only things that ever consumed my time. Even though I Scott and I were becoming the best of friends, I refused to let myself fall into old patterns of running away out of fear. So I decided to just enjoy my friendship. That didn't last long though. I was secretly starting to like him-- never voiced it though (which was the smartest thing I ever did). I had no idea how he felt about me and I didn't want to know either.


Out of the blue one afternoon he sent me a text which read, "You want to go to dinner tonight? It's on me... Happy friendship appreciation day!" Blah blah blah. Free dinner, yes... but disappointed I was just becoming the best friend and wasting my time spending every spare moment with a guy who viewed me as just a friend. I went on the friendship appreciation day outing that night and I couldn't convince myself to run away even though I was just a friend.


For weeks and weeks following we would play tennis and talk for hours (every time he initiated it-- I NEVER called him). I was miserable yet content. I went on vacation for Florida for a week and missed him terribly. Then he went on vacation for a week and I missed him again. He called me when he got back and I was SO excited to talk to him. ARGH! I liked him A LOT.


Then, things got interesting. He asked me on a real date shortly after his return from vacation. We were inseparable from that point on. I found out what that whole friendship appreciation text was about-- he was just testing the waters. He's a smart guy.


Eventually, he became my best friend and my boyfriend! C-U-T-E. Did I mention he's 25?

The end.

Ten Reasons Why I "Love" Co-Ed Softball

1. My games are every Friday night.

2. The team name is awesome (joking)! "Half-cocked" is the name. I doesn't get any more covertly crass than that.

3. I was recruited by a friend of a friend of a friend. When I first heard of the opportunity, I envisioned playing with single athletic men, which would allow me to expand my social circle. Nope. I am the only single one, the only Mormon one and the only one who thinks the team name should be changed.

4. Alcohol is consumed before every game by my team (except me) and the other teams. It's easy to strike out the inebriated. My ERA is pretty darn good!

5. I played my first game with contacts. Turns out the softball isn't a yellow marshmallow afterall. Now that I can actually see the ball, it's so much easier to hit the ball. With my eye sight restored, combined with the tipsy opponents, I make it on base just about everytime. Today I even hit a triple!

6. Everytime I enter the softball park, I have to pay 3 bucks and get a token for a dollar off a cup of beer. That's how they convince the other players that the 3 bucks is a bargain. Works for them but it makes me mad.

7. When I hit the triple, a drunk man from the bleachers yelled, "Hey lady, you are my favorite!" He found me after the game to congratulate me and offer to buy me a beer. I graciously declined and told him the 1980's called and wanted his mullet back by tomorrow morning. He thought that was a pickup line.

8. On my way out of the complex, the umpire jokingly asked me what I was going to give him for being a good and fair ump. I gave him my token for a dollar off a cup of beer and introduced him to the mullet man. They became fast friends. In the end, the token turned out to be a bargain for me too.

9. The stench of nearby cow pastures made me homesick. Tonight my teammates where trying to figure out who pooped in the outfield. Some people just don't have a clue.

10. Thanks to team "Toothless Mullets" who watched our game to scope out the competition, I second-hand smoked about a pack of Marlboros tonight. I am such a hard-core rebel!

My Not So Secret Secret

Confession: I have an addiction to postsecret.com. For those of you who have never heard of that site before, it was put together by some guy back East. People from all over the world send him anonymous postcards with their secret and he chooses about 20 every week and puts them on his blog. I check that website weekly because I am fascinated with people in general and many times those secrets have a profound impact on my life. Sometimes I even shed a tear when I look at them because I am reminded of all the pain that is in the world and wish there was some way I could track the individuals down to provide encouragement.

So tonight, when I checked my email I was surprised to see that a guy in my ward sent me a link to this website which directed me to a specific post secret. Now, this guy has no idea that I check postsecret regularly (or that I know it exists). What I found most interesting is the post card he felt I should look at. Here it is:
















With that link was a short message from him that said, "many people feel your emotions".

The humorous (maybe sad?) part of it all is that if I were to send in a secret it would say,

"Every year I become more intelligent, more beautiful, and more successful... and more unlikely to find a man who will appreciate me without feeling threatened."

Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds bleak and probably a little sour. Blah blah blah. I don't feel hopeless, just a little frustrated. Why would a Mormon man want a driven 30 year old educated Mormon woman with a successful career when he could have an overly fertile 19 year old without a care in the world? Hey if I were man I would probably choose the latter too. It's much safer and requires a lot less work (or so it seems).

Lest you begin to think that this blog entry marks the beginning of countless Friday nights, alone with nothing to do but knit the shroud used to bury my dreams of finding love, know that I am neither fond of knitting or being at home. I love people. I love parties. I love flirting. I LOVE men. And I am beginning to love dating for more than just a free dinner (that's progress, right?)

I am just a little sad to find my secret isn't a secret after all.

Fermented Hormones and Broken Dreams

Tonight I attended a special fireside for members in the stake who are 30-39 years of age. I have to admit, part of me wanted to go just because attending would give me a story to tell...

I walked the door with confidence exuding from my 30 year old pores. Then, crossing the threshold from foyer to chapel, the pungent smell of fermented hormones burned my nostrils. I suppose when you get to be my age, exuding confidence is often mistaken for old, crusty hormones? I was now one of "them"... You know, one those singles who never thought they would be single in their 30's attending some fireside created to restore hope to the hopeless. I felt similar to how I did on my first day of kindergarten... really wanting to feel grown up but also longing for the comfort of preschool. I am not ready for this... Mentally, I just thought of the fireside as a short orientation to the kindergarten rather than a first day-- kind of like a "this is what you have to look forward to if you don't find a mate in 2008". In the words of Garth Brooks, "I am much too young to feel this damn old."

Looking around the room was painfully comforting. I saw beautiful people in every size and color who just wanted their Mormon dreams to come true. They announced at the beginning that in the valley there were 3,000 singles between the ages of 30-39. My cynical mind broke it down as such: Of the 3,000 people, 2,000 of are women. Of those 2,000 women, 1,499 of them are beautiful, successful educated women who are looking and waiting for the perfect guy to come along. The other 500 were home schooled which explains why they are single (joking, joking). Really, the other 500 are looking too hard for any guy to come along. And the remaining 1 would rather date men under the age of 25 (her name is Anneliesa and she needs help).

And the 1,000 guys? 500 like younger, more fertile women. 300, are bitter because LDSsingles.com didn't find them a wife and so they've stopped trying. Of the remaining 200, half have "issues" and the other 100 are wonderful guys. So the final breakdown: 100 great guys and 2,000 great girls. No wonder I can't find a spouse...

Okay, getting back to the fireside... it was amazing. The General Authority didn't give the usual, "Even a old barn looks better painted" speech. He didn't tell the story about how 36 year old Fifi McFarffin prayed for 40 days to find a spouse... and on the 40th day she met Richy Richguy. I don't need success stories... I need DOCTRINE! And so it was... he taught doctrine and I loved it. I could spend hours writing what I learned but I am saving that for posterity to read.

I tried to find a boyfriend tonight so I would have a fun story to tell. Instead I talked to the same old people (no pun intended), talking about the same old thing. For the first time this year I was happy with being 30. Every year, I become a little more educated, a little more successful, and whole lot better looking. Some may claim that with all the improvements come a decrease in the likelihood I will find a mate. That may be true... but at least I am enjoying the ride!

I am going to end with one of my favorite poems by Langston Hughes. It's deep and applicable in an abstract way.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?