tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85277544181046215542024-08-29T22:54:05.451-04:00Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8527754418104621554.post-56736435953007980532012-05-17T21:02:00.000-04:002012-05-17T21:02:04.992-04:00

I'm moving the contents of this blog to courtingabandon.wordpress.com. 

Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8527754418104621554.post-20946784345626446732011-10-18T19:50:00.000-04:002011-10-18T19:50:15.551-04:00

Pharmacy school's recent additions to my life:  Rotten asparagus  About a month ago I was preparing for block exams on a Thursday night. Having conceded to eating frozen pizza for dinner, I turned our oven on. Minutes later, the kitchen smelled peculiar. Not smokey, really, and oddly enough, not a foul odor. Just peculiar. I opened the oven to find a cookie sheet scatted with

Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8527754418104621554.post-56306452991221897342011-05-25T15:36:00.003-04:002011-10-18T15:28:28.809-04:00

I'm a cheapskate, and I recently decided that the $0.49 I was paying for pizza crust mix at Save-a-Lot was outrageous. I figured if I could make a cheesecake by myself, I could make my own pizza crusts. And with ingredients that cost next to nothing in bulk, I figured I could do it for pennies. And I did. I stole my crust recipe from this pizza recipe at Eat Better America. I made one with

Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8527754418104621554.post-4877389584262330652011-05-09T22:51:00.003-04:002011-06-15T16:03:15.258-04:00

My mother was a kindergarten teacher, so two things were especially true about my childhood: Every moment was a teachable one, and everything we bought was on sale. Consequently, I learned the color red as a toddler when my mother made me help her find clearance racks in Goody's. If I ever got lost, my mom knew where to find me: under a red rack. Incidentally, I learned peach next, since it

Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8527754418104621554.post-70069039260700500042011-05-02T12:48:00.003-04:002012-02-26T15:36:56.913-05:00

"The issue is not how much a person makes. Big industry and big salaries are a fact of our time, and they are not necessarily evil. The evil is being deceived into thinking a six-digit salary must be accompanied by a six-digit lifestyle. God has made us to be conduits of His grace. The danger is in thinking the conduit should be lined with gold. It shouldn't. Copper will do." -John Piper

Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8527754418104621554.post-50333490572186631782011-04-21T22:22:00.006-04:002011-10-18T15:29:55.127-04:00

If you are in the market for a personal trainer, you might consider my spunky Dachshund-Beagle mix Tonks. 1. If you're sitting on the couch and you so much as whisper the words "walk" or "run," this flips a switch in her brain. I do hope to get a video of Tonks' reaction, but for now, watch these dogs I don't know. Pretty much the same. Tonks' reaction is much akin to the dog that screeches.

Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8527754418104621554.post-40522745073578616812011-04-09T23:17:00.011-04:002011-06-15T16:04:46.714-04:00

I should preface this story with one important truth: I have an excellent husband. He watches the Golden Girls with me on a nightly basis, washes more dishes than I do and is incredibly patient with what he calls the soundtrack of my life. (Track one: "I lost my keys!" Track two: "Where's my phone?" And so on.) He is also letting me tell the following story, and I'm grateful. On Friday night,

Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8527754418104621554.post-42557514359029529382011-03-30T21:06:00.019-04:002011-06-15T16:05:11.915-04:00

Let's start here, with a photo of the Eiffel Tower: What if I stood in front of the Eiffel Tower and explained my theory that this structure had, in fact, risen spontaneously from pieces of scrap metal in the streets of Paris? "It's simple," I tell them. "Every single one of the required pieces was strewn about in exactly the right position. A tornado ripped through the city, snapping all of

Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8527754418104621554.post-83432661273209777202010-11-07T22:23:00.019-05:002011-06-15T16:06:01.812-04:00

When I first saw this commercial, I squealed the entire time: I really, really love Dachshunds. Trouble, my family's dog of more than 15 years, was a miniature Dachshund. He was there for my last day of elementary school, for my senior prom, for my college graduation and even for my wedding day. I'm assuming this is why I make an idiot of myself when I see a Dachshund in public. Apparently,

Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8527754418104621554.post-52346088193140836692010-11-03T17:13:00.012-04:002011-06-15T16:06:28.461-04:00

My husband will be the first person to mock my sports knowledge. He likes to quiz me when we're watching ESPN, which I find ridiculous. I thought the T and C on the Minnesota Twins' hats stood for Cincinnati and Toronto. And he asks me questions along the lines of, "Hey, do you know which second baseman made sixty-seven triple plays in one season, all while juggling batons lit on fire?"

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com