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{And if I remember right, this picture was actually taken by a polygamist family who happened to be on the bridge at teh same time.}
Being married to Andrew really is the best.
But after my dad saw this picture, he e-mailed me a picture of his own:
He and my step-mom...on their honeymoon...on the same bridge...at the same time of day...in the same pose.
*awkward silence*
I know, right?
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The myriad of complicated emotions that surfaced for me then, all seemed to be synonymous with the word: uncomfortable at varying degrees.
Don't get me wrong. I like these guys...but...weird. Do I really need to explain myself any further here?
I'm doing my best not to let it taint our own golden glow.
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Lake Powell near Glen Canyon Dam. That's my 7th grade band shirt, so I'm guessing this is Junior High-ish era. 
December 1997. Seventh Grade. Gilbert, Arizona. 

Some old pictures brought me back to some good times with an old friend.
Mostly, I was remembering the spring break that Jessica took pity on my lack of plans for the week, and invited me to go home with her. Her family opened their arms to their daughter's shy, awkward roommate.
Back in our little brick house in small-town Idaho, Jess eventually found her George...er John...and moved ironically, to my home ward in Gilbert, Arizona. At about the same time, I found my George...er...Andrew...and moved back up to Rexburg. But despite our moving on, this friend has permanently changed me for the better.
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So anyway, I was just rememberin'...
Jess and her crazy, mature, playful, grown-up, alarmingly intense, youthful, focused, story-tellin', sincere, sweetheart of a self.
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I seem to remember mentioning that we name our cars. My family has since I was little, and I suspect others do the same. Here is a family photo album of the cars that have come and gone in my life.
My first car was an old 2-door Toyota Tercel. She was good to me. She was loyal, hard working, and all mine. She was my baby. I can't count the number of times I had to encourage her up a steep hill with cries of, "C'mon, Baby! You can do it, girl!" She and I went on many drives together, when I needed to escape...working that stick shift like a race car driver. I loved her like an old friend.
Sadly, this is the only picture I have of the ol' girl...which is really only a picture of me...six years ago...looking very orange.
Despite her old age, Baby let me put an insane amount of miles on her until one day, she just kind of melted from the inside out. I had to actually pay someone to take her and give her a proper burial.
Within a month, I met Andrew. He was working full-time, and living the high single life. As such, he could afford his brand-new Dodge Ram. Her name was Roxy. 
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The front of the card is too long to fit into our scanner. So, here's the other half.
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