Kyle graduates from The University of Texas this weekend. I can't be there to celebrate, but I can tell you I'm incredibly proud of him.

If you add it up, we've spent hours and hours (and pulled a handful of all-nighters) together, cramming for tests, reading until the pages got blurry and writing and re-writing papers. I still laugh about the night (shortly after we started dating) that I was plugging away at homework in the stacks... and guess who shows up with a coffee and pumpkin bread? Hard not to fall for the guy who treks across campus to keep you company in the library. If memory serves me right, I didn't get much done that night. (See below, circa 2007).

And of course, the baseball. He officially closed the book on his college career in the summer, but it's safe to say Disch Falk played third wheel during our time at UT. My Dad likes to remind me I spent more time at the field than in the classroom -- it's probably not too far from the truth. I've made roadtrips all over the state of Texas/Oklahoma/Nebraska/Florida/California & Alaska to watch him play... I wouldn't have done it for anybody else. The heart and commitment he showed across four seasons went unparalleled.

So, soak up college for one last week... and come Saturday -- Congratulations, Graduate. You did it!

Made up for taking the holiday off by (begrudgingly) putting in a 30-hour weekend at the office. Because my mind is numb with useless football statistics (unless you really want to hear about how each Heisman frontrunner performed in Week 13), I'll leave you with pretty pictures that make me happy (and might otherwise remain trapped forever on my iPhone)...

Thanksgiving

Mom's tablescape outdoing all other tablescapes. (Take that, Semi-homemade Sandra Lee).

Punkin' cheesecake pie. (My contribution to the dessert table).

On a whim, Dad brought home lights, ornaments and tinsel to decorate the magnolia tree.

And snapped the first Christmas pictures of the season with a little help from Lancer (who also tells some really hilarious stories about his Russian foreign exchange student friend, Serge)...

Austin, I still love you.

You know who else I'm enormously excited about seeing tomorrow?

(I get homesick for these furry faces too).

I'm meeting my mom's friend, Jackie, and her niece, Meagan, for dinner in a couple hours, and I have strict orders to bring "Emmer's chocolate crackers" as my plus one. For those of you who aren't Shugarts or Millers and didn't grow up in Merkel, Texas, you might be wondering, Who is Emmer? And what in the world are chocolate crackers?

Emmer (Emma) is my mom's mom, my Meme. And these are her chocolate crackers....

Talk about nostalgia. A childhood staple that went hand-in-hand with visits to Meme and Pawpaw's house, it's been at least a decade since I stood over stove, stirring 'til my little arm couldn't stir anymore, just to have a taste of these sweet & salty beauties.

Driving to the store to pick up the necessary supplies -- I don't keep Karo syrup and pet milk in stock on the regular -- a text from my mom confirmed my suspicions. A recipe for chocolate crackers doesn't really exist. My Meme doesn't believe in recipes. She wings it -- a little pinch there, a pour there, eyeball it until it looks right, bake it until is smells done. Winging it works for her (you've never had better Southern cooking in your life), but I'm more of a methodical girl. So Mom did her best at piecing together a makeshift how-to, I threw up a prayer, and (hallelujah!) twenty minutes later, I had a batch of chocolate crackers to be proud of.

The salty crunch of the cracker and the melt-in-your-mouth fudgy center.... Mmmmmm. Meme, wish you were in Charlotte to share a few with me!

Here's what's propelling me through this week....

That, and the promise of fried turkey.

Oh, and finding out that I got the vacation time I requested off in February. (Flight to Austin is already booked).

This blog update is long overdue, but with good reason.

I won't sugar-coat it... last week wasn't a great one. Shoot, it wasn't even a good one. (The low point came Sunday night while sobbing in the car waiting for my Pei Wei takeout -- like really, who can be that sad when orange chicken and spring rolls are minutes away?)

Slumped over my laptop, I began frantically writing (er, venting) several times. But if I had actually posted my delirious scrawlings fresh off a 13 hour work day, you'd have thought "homegirl is a mouse-click away from buying a one-way ticket home." (I had flight numbers and everything).

But, all bad weeks must eventually come to an end. And mine finally did. And guess what? I can joke about it now. And nobody (ahem, Dad) has to worry their little heads that I'll do something rash like quit my job.

If any good came of it, I did learn a thing or three...

1) Clearasil Instant Vanishing Treatment works like a charm. (For those who carry their stress internally, like me. Skin was rebelling like an angst-ridden teenager. Wasn't pretty).

2) Happiness might have to slap you across the face for you to get the message, but it's always there in some small way. Chew on that, Deepak.

3) Lastly and most importantly, there are times in life when driving to the 24-hour Wendy's for a vanilla frosty at 1 in the morning is totally justified.

- B.

Ok people, when does it become frowned upon/socially unacceptable to wear my beloved burnt orange on occasions that don't involve tailgates/sporting events?

(This is not a rhetorical question... this is an actual post-college dilemma. Opinions and comments are strongly encouraged. Think Regis Philbin/"Ask the Audience" style, minus the million dollar prize for correct answers).

Reason I'm asking is because recently my office mates have honed in on the fact that I "sure do wear a lot of Texas stuff." And by Texas stuff, I assume they mean burnt orange in general. (No, I'm not rocking a Vince Young mesh jersey with a giant Longhorn emblazoned across the chest). You know -- a scarf here, a crop jacket there, boots on occasion.

I mean, for a solid four years, my closet was a carefully cultivated mecca of burnt orange. Once upon a semester, prized were the shopping finds that incorporated the color. And now, in the face of subtle workplace scrutiny, I'm wondering if half my wardrobe is screaming "I'm so fresh out of college, my cap and gown are still warm!"

- B.

Quick Pic

My Halloween weekend was phenomenal for many reasons, this being the biggest... (Go ahead, roll your eyes. Mushy, I know).

It was treats (not tricks) for us.

And while discussing our all-time favorite costumes...

His? Velociraptor, complete with dino tail. Mine? See below.

(Glued the popcorn on piece-by-piece. Was mistaken for a little boy the entire night).

- B.