h&m: A Tragedy.

My poor little blog has been severely neglected. Time for some love!

Let me tell you a sad (REALLY sad) story about a weekend in September.

Early in the summer I decided to buy my new little husband and I some ROCKIES TICKETS. Yes, we were/are poor newlyweds buuuut...all you need is love and Rockies Tickets, right? RIGHT.

Our very first week of school flew by and it was game day. I was so anxious to be sitting at a baseball game while the sun set. Holding hands. Screaming for players I didn't even know. Being American.

We were cruising along, rockin' out to "Can't feel my face" by the Weeknd. This terrible song is literally the only one that comes on the radio while we're in the car. Why can't he feel his face?! And why in the world did he spell 'weekend' like that? It makes no sense. Unfortunately, we know every word to it.

There we were, driving driving driving. And all of a sudden, we were no longer moving. ON THE INTERSTATE. That place where cars are going a million miles per hour. It just quit doing what a car is supposed to do. My baseball game dreams were slipping away. Oh, the tears flowed. While we sat awkwardly on the side of the road, I let my rage get the best of me and this went down in my head:

My super hero husband managed to start moving at 15 mph! Woohoo!! I checked the clock and we totally could have made it to the game, fashionably late. IT COULD BE DONE. We probably would not have made it home afterwards, but who cares?! I'm fine with living in Denver.

Instead, we crawled on over to a car fixing place because I would be going to that game. No doubt about it. The guy basically said, "I cannot help you. Just drive home." No. Car man. You do NOT understand. I paid 65, nonrefundable dollars on a baseball game that we were supposed to stuff ourselves with unhealthy treats at. We were going to make it on the big screen and awkwardly kiss in front of the world.

This wasn't the end. It couldn't be. I called my baseball loving Dad (sobbing) hoping he would tell me to power through and go to the game, no mater the risk!

He didn't.

I did not take disappointment well that day. I hardly ever do.

In an attempt to put an end to my melt down, Matt kindly took me to Chick-fil-a for a frosted lemonade.
side note: a frosted lemonade can heal a broken heart. it's that magical.

We pulled on up, and I was beginning to feel happiness once again. I was then told that their power was out and that they did not have any frosted lemonades.

really. REEEAAAALLY.
I didn't get to go to the game. And I didn't even get to enjoy my favorite frozen treat. I also lost a bunch of money. and so I cried, cried, cried all the way home.

THE END.

Since the "incident," we have purchased a cute little jeep. It has successfully taken us to Chick-fil-a several times. And for that, I adore it.