Aaron and I go to work at a place we now call The Pharm. He always drives us because he insists that I'm a terrible driver. We listen to doo-wop music or Russ--his selections--and sometimes he has to say "Oops, I forgot it swears, sorry." I laugh a little, dust off my ears and say "I honestly don't really care. I just think this song is annoying." But there are songs we both love, and we listen to those too.

It's summer, and I'm often freezing. Not sure why. I pile on the blankets in my new bed in my old basement bedroom. I also wear my dad's big jackets. I guess it gives me a chance to rep the Y, the Utah Jazz.

The first time I tasted ice cream from Rockwell Creamery, I was with Tori. And I thought: WOW. This is the good stuff. Why would I ever eat any other kind of ice cream again? I sampled the muddy buddy, the strawberry, a couple others. All were delicious in their own right. But. As soon as my tongue touched the Biscoff cookie ice cream, I'll tell ya, I was a goner. I was perplexed. Enchanted. Absolutely smitten. I'd just found my flavor husband and I hoped that we'd be together forever. Memories of the cinnamon sugar cone and crumbly, creamy, edible gold will remind me that life has these little moments that I should cherish. Especially when I'm with a person or people I love.