A proposal.

I haven't been feeling particularly inspired to write lately, but this morning I received a Facebook message that changed it all...

The message came from a friend of my brother's, a guy I have seen once since middle school. While my first thought upon reading the message was, ahem, something I don't think I need to print, my second thought was, "This is hilarious. I will respond, then copy it all to my blog."

P.S. Rachel Robbins, if you read this, please know that I actually LOVE Utah and want to come visit you.

I hope you enjoy this as much as my mother and I did:

A proposal

Between You and Lee Reeves

Lee Reeves November 18 at 11:42pm

Dear Logan,

I’m writing you today with a proposal. Something that has been on my mind quite a while now. I think that you and I should date, and eventually be married. (I told you this was a proposal) Yes, I know this may come as a shock to you especially since we have not spoken in a while. However, I am very convinced this is the right decision, and hopefully by the end of this letter you will be too. I’ll start by reminding you that when you were in 7th grade we had the same chorus class. If you recall we often flirted during this class. Of course it was middle school, but one cannot deny the intense connection we shared. I know some where deep down you think about this from time to time. Obviously we’ve changed since then, but 21 is just 12 backwards only way better. For instance I no longer put gel in my hair, and if you like you could style my hair any way you want. I’ve also become a much less picky eater, and I’ll eat anything you bring home from your future culinary classes. I’ll even make you laugh while I eat it. Occasionally I make people laugh. Just imagine you’re having a hard day at school. That jerk, chef professor won’t cut you any slack, but when you get home I’ll devour that torta rustica and tell you a knock knock joke. Then, knowing you need a something fun to look forward to I’ll buy you and your girl friends Justin Nozuka tickets. I won’t even mind if you dance on stage with him as long as you agree to travel to Brazil with me in the summer. I know you love to travel, and so do I. I know what you’re thinking though, “Lee, how will you ever have the money for Nozuka tickets and Brazil?” Well Logan, I will have an excellent business degree after I graduate from Auburn. I know that money isn’t everything, but thats why I give a mean back scratch. Not to mention if you need some jewelry I have perfected the art of macaroni necklaces. I might even propose with a mac and cheese engagement ring. Then we could elope because true love shouldn’t be a show for the world, but we could shout out our love from the roof tops if we so desire. Now Logan I know you have to be thinking “Lee, this seems like the most perfect plan ever. What’s the catch?” I was afraid you would ask this, but I’m going to be honest with you. I am not actually in love with you. Recently Alex, Ryan (my roommate), and I were planning how we could hang out forever. We decided marrying each others sisters would be the perfect way to accomplish this. I understand this could be a deal breaker. Why would you want to be a with a guy who only pretends to love you? I’ll tell you why. Because eventually every guy will be pretending. When he realizes that, he might just leave, but since I’ve always known that I’m pretending I won’t leave. You will have someone who seems to care for you in a deep way forever. I promise you won’t be able to tell a difference. Think about it. I’ll always put up with the stuff that annoys me. I’ll apologize every time I’m wrong no questions asked. We can decorate the house any way you want. Basically you will have it all. Just say yes.

With (fake) love,

Lee Reeves

Logan Baker November 19 at 9:37a

Dear Lee,

While I appreciate the (fake) sentiments and the obvious thought you've put into this plan, I'm afraid I cannot accept your proposal. Instead of just blowing you off like most girls would, I will include substantial support in my argument against this idea us marrying.

In 7th grade, I was (trying) to flirt with Tyler McMullen. Megan Castleberry and I thought he was quite the "hottie," so I offer my deepest condolences for your misinterpretation of my juvenile attempts at capturing his interest.

As far as culinary school goes, I'm going for patisserie and baking, and I don't remember seeing meat-filled pastries in the curriculum; therefore, I will not be making torta rustica, and you would either have to go hungry or risk becoming diabetic after eating my sugary assignments each night. Going along with that, I think jokes are highly overrated. If you bought me tickets to see Justin Nozuka and he asked me to dance on stage with him, I'm pretty sure that would lead him to eventually propose to me, too. I would accept, and we would all have to move to Utah for that to work out. Utah is a little too cold for my taste, so I would end up leaving you pretty quickly and running away with Justin. Maybe we would even run away to Brazil, just for the sheer irony of it all.

When it comes to jewelry, I prefer turquoise. Everyone knows mac & cheese is not, nor will it ever be, turquoise. I know it's been said that if you like it you should put a ring on it, but what isn't often mentioned is that you can't put the ring on it if she doesn't like it. Make sense?

So even though I think your little plan is clever, I just don't think it's going to work out. It's so nice to know that no man will ever truly love me; Disney ruined that truth for me when I was little, and I guess the Bible lied to me as well. Thank you for your honesty.

And I hear our niece, Emerson, is still on the market. She's two, so you might have to work on potty-training her and teaching her not to eat her mac & cheese ring.

(Not) sincerely,

Logan Baker

P.S. you're kind of weird

The Mustache resurfaces...in an unusual way.

If you remember my blog about THE MUSTACHE (you know what I'm talking about) my friend Merridith and I spotted at Octane, you'll be thrilled to know that it has been spotted again...in a whole new fashion.

It's on the cover of the new issue of Atlanta's Creative Loafing.

For real.

Apparently the Mustache's slave-man is known for roller-blading around Atlanta while sporting a tutu. While he's not wearing a tutu in the picture, I must admire his boldness in rocking the jorts (jean shorts). He's taken them to new heights. My mind is literally going in a hundred different directions right now--I literally just found out about this--so I will leave you with a picture of the Mighty 'Stache. In case you're blind and can't guess, it's on the far right...

I'm a jerk.

A month or two ago, a friend of mine told me a story about how he was driving to a friend's house when he came upon a car that had run off the road. He, along with another car full of non-English speaking friends, helped the driver push the stranded car out of the ditch it was in and made sure the car was working. I was pretty pumped to hear this story of selflessness, especially because it involved a language of love more than it did verbal communication, and since then I've asked God to give me opportunities to show His love to others in a similar way. I asked Him to lead me outside my comfort zone and to continue to humble me.

I was driving to church last night for our college ministry's weekly shindig, and I was running a little late. It was raining, and traffic was worse than usual because the storms had blown out the lights at a major intersection on the way to church. As I turned onto a new road, I realized the lady in front of me was stopped even though there was nobody ahead of her...or so I thought.

A guy had pulled onto our side of the road (for a reason I don't know) and his car was dead. He was desperately trying to push it out of the way of the lady in front of me, but he wasn't finding much success on his own. I sat in my car for a minute, watching him and thinking, "I should really help him."

I didn't.

The lady in the car in front of me parked her car and began to help the guy push his car. They were still having trouble. Again, I thought, "I should really help," but I convinced myself that it was a bad idea because A) I was running late for church, and OBVIOUSLY God wouldn't want me to be late for church (yes, that sentence is dripping with sarcasm) and B) I was wearing a dress and heels, and I probably would've flashed dozens of innocent drivers watching the incident from the other lane.

Seriously, those were my excuses to myself.

I kept hearing the Holy Spirit tell me to go, and I kept fighting back. My flesh took over. Anyone who knows me well knows that I can be quite persuasive, but I always know better than to try to persuade myself of anything. I knew that my excuses were, pardon my French, total bull. A) Had I helped, I wouldn't have ended up sitting in traffic for as long as I did, thus actually getting me to church EARLY instead of late, and B) I knew my outfit was cute, and I didn't want to get wet or risk messing up my style for the evening. That's right, I was being totally and completely selfish, proud, and vain. Even in the midst of the whole situation, I was pretty disgusted with myself. Instead of being a Good Samaritan, I chose to be the priest. I chose to acknowledge my Father with my mouth, but to ignore Him with my actions.

The good news is that the woman and man were able to safely push the car out of the way, and we all got along with the rest of our evenings. Some more good news is that I learned more than I could imagine from this ten minute ordeal, and I know I don't ever again want to feel like I did after being such a jerk. More good news--I know God will give me (and you) other opportunities to make His glory known to our neighbors through simple acts of love and service. Love God. Love others.

Try it.

Peace and Love,

Lo B.

Maw-wage...maw-wage is what bwings us togeva today.

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I'm not overly keen on weddings. I love the concept of them, but I usually feel like they become too much of a spectacle. Most couples tend to spend more money and time planning that one day than they do investing in their relationship.

Last night, however, I was proud to be a part of a wedding that I've been eagerly awaiting for over three years.

That's right, I'm talking about Jim and Pam.

If you don't watch "The Office" you might as well stop reading right now. If you are a fan of the show, then I'm pretty sure you'll agree that Jim and Pam's wedding surpassed most any expectations held. From Jim's toast to the copy of the infamous "Forever" dance down the aisle to the elopement on the ferry, the show was absolutely brilliant. I was just glad to see that America's favorite fictional couple looked past the chaos that typically surrounds weddings and took their exchanging of vows back to a simpler, sweeter place. They did me proud.

I don't know if it's a good thing to admit, but I think I might have been more emotionally involved in this wedding than I have been in about 80% of those that I've attended in the past couple of years. Don't judge me, though...you know you feel the same way.

I feel just like a Child.

Julia, that is.

Actually, I feel more like Duff Goldman of "Ace of Cakes" fame, but "I feel just like a Goldman" didn't have the right ring to it.

In my previous post I mentioned that I went to Emerson's rockin' birthday party yesterday. What I didn't mention was what I was doing from 1:30 A.M. until 6:30 A.M. the morning of her party...I was making a birthday cake for Nimsy that was pretty flipping sweet (literally).

Now I'm sure you're wondering why I didn't start making the cake until 1:30 the morning of the party, and I have a very good excuse for my procrastination. I wanted the cake to be fresh, but I was busy all day Friday. I would have made it Friday night, but I was at The Dead Weather's concert. The Dead Weather is Jack White's new band, and they are pretty amazing; not only are they all incredibly talented musicians, they are also ridiculously witty. Check it out. The show ended around 10:30, but my brother and I hung around because we wanted to meet Jack. We did, he high-fived us, and I swear my fingertips tingled and he transferred a little bit of talent into my E.T. hands (if you don't understand that reference, just look at my hands. Really, my fingers are ridiculously long). That being said, I didn't get home until just after 1:00 A.M.

And I commenced to baking. And cooling. And carving. And icing. And cooling some more. And rolling. And covering the cakes with fondant.

You would think I would be tired at this point, but I had chugged a big energy drink (which I normally despise) after the concert, and that sucker worked its magic on my body. By the time I finally went to bed for a two-hour cat nap, my parents were already done drinking their morning cups of coffee. As crazy as my night was, it was totally worth it to surprise my favorite little buddy for her birthday. She loved the cake, and, more importantly, little Ms. Manners said, "Tankt too. Iii uvv you...sooo much, Lolie." (Translation: "Thank you. I love you...so much, Lolie.") She's just so precious.

So here it is:

The cake

Me and the birthday girl doing her "1, 2, 3, Cheese" pose (note the icing all over her face)

Peace and love,

Lo B.

Let them eat cake.

It is the week for birthdays in the Baker family. Yesterday we celebrated Emerson's 2nd birthday (which isn't really until the 9th) with the craziest party ever to go down in the ATL. We ate, we chilled with her posse--whose collective age is still younger than mine--and their entourage (also known as parents), and we played on a moon bounce. I know you're jealous, but don't hate.

Today is Shelby's 15th birthday. If you don't know Shelby, A) you should...she's awesome, and B) she's my golden retriever. I think I can speak on behalf of everyone in my family when I say that we aren't really surprised that ol' Shelby has made it to the ripe age of 15 or, for those of you that are mathematically challenged, 105 in dog years. The dog is invincible. Really. In her life, she has survived almost anything that would normally kill a dog. Shelby has been quite obese for most of her life, she's had hip dysplasia for as long as I can remember, she was attacked by our neighbor's dog, she was run over by the newspaper boy, she almost chewed off her own tail, she has/had more tumors than I can count, and she's half blind and mostly deaf. The vet told us five years ago around this time of the year that Shelby was going to go to doggy heaven soon.

5 years ago. The running joke in our family has become, "Say goodbye to Shelby...it's her last Christmas," since my mom said that to us after the doctor gave her the ill-fated news of our poor dog. While I love my little energizer bunny--I mean, she's been my constant buddy since I was 5--I do believe that this will be her last Christmas. She's had a good run, and I am grateful that God has kept her around for so long. Here's a little something for the road...

Peace and love,

Lo B.

I mustache you a question.

I'm sitting at Octane, a local coffeehouse, with my friend Merridith, and we have just fallen in love.

With a mustache.

The man that goes along with the mustache...eh...not so much. But the 'stache itself is a work of art. Think Yosemite Sam but black as a raven and a bit curlier. The mustache is singing right now. We are enthralled by its glorious sound.

If we could take a picture of this misplaced eyebrow, we would. Alas, there is no way to do so discreetly. You'll just have to envision this piece of beauty with that clever little imagination of yours.

The only reason we are writing this right now is because we wanted to make a Missed Connection on Craigslist, but we were too scared to enter such a public forum; the mustache is so worthy of recognition, though, that we couldn't allow it to go completely unacknowledged, so we figured my under-the-radar blog would be a perfect place to rave about the powers of the upper lip plumage. Just to give you an idea of how commanding this 'stache is, our eyes have barely even noticed the pink octopus shirt the 'stache's slave (man) is wearing.

We will never be the same thanks to this experience. May the 'stache be with you.

Peace and love,

Merr T. and Lo B.