Vires, Artes, Mores- My Final Days at FSU

Hello all!

So, it has finally happened. No, I have not been cast on my favorite show, Game of Thrones. Alas, I am still waiting on my letter of confirmation. However, something equally as cool has happened. As of Tuesday night, when I jumped off of Space Mountain at Disney World, I officially became a college graduate from the true ivy of the South, the Hogwarts of all Colleges, the castle within the hills, the Florida State University. Okay, so I made like all of those nicknames up, but I think the Hogwarts one should stick. You know, since our school colors look like Gryffindor's colors, our buildings look castle-y, and that Suwanee room was designed after the Great Hall. Little fun fact for this blog post.


Ah, yes, the sun has set on my time here in Seminole country, and it is time for me to move on to pastures that don't have a 50 yard line or the ever so fine Osceola atop the noble Renegade circling around in the endzone. Serious talk, it is my goal in life to marry that man on Renegade's back.

Tears have been shed, yes, but not because I am sad to be leaving (even though I am mortified to move back home and leave this magical place). They are tears of triumphant happiness as I realize I will never again have to try and kill someone Hunger Games style over the last parking spot in Woodward. Tears that contain the hatred I hoard for the Osceola bus route that is about as reliable as Erol is at delivering Ron's letters. If you don't get that reference, you should punch yourself... in the ear...repeatedly. Tears of sweet release because I will never have to turn in a Chemistry lab report to an Asian Teaching Assistant who will make you feel about as dumb as the air conditioning system that runs in Fischer lecture hall. For real, can we talk about that shit for a second? It will be in the dead middle of a Tallahassee summer and the AC will be off all week. There is more sweat than ink on notes at that point. Or you will see students unpacking blankets from their shoulder bags in December because the heater is "broken." They are taking budget cuts to the extreme I guess, getting a two for one bonus. Shut the air off and save money, cook the students slowly like ribs and then serve them up in Suwanee to save money on chicken nuggets. Okay, so truth be told I only ate in Suwanee during orientation many moons ago, making it seem unfair that I pick on it, but I heard they were only giving students 2 chicken nuggets per plate during finals week. SERIOUSLY?? You have a dining hall full of students who are ready to slit their wrists/blow the school up because their professors all conspired to give their finals all on the same day within three hours of the others, and you are going to deny them their chicken in nugget form?! Let the kids eat, dammit, before they go all Bane caving in the football field while Kenny Shaw runs a kick return back for a touchdown. That guy though, holy cow! SHAW IS LAW!

You may have caught where I said "Tallahassee summer." Trust me, there is a difference in a summer in Tally than a summer anywhere else. Actually, all of the weather in Tally is distinctly different than normal places. It is utterly cataclysmic and almost schizophrenic in how it changes from one day to the next. The heat out here is enough to make the devil's balls sweat and nuns consider thong bathing suits. Word from the wise, DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING IN YOUR CAR UNTIL IT HAS IDLED FOR A GOOD HALF HOUR. For real though, there isn't a pain like accidentally hitting your elbow on that little metal piece of the seat belt.

The humidity is something of tropical proportions. Ladies, unless you have that supermodel hair that just looks fantastic all the time, you might as well not even bother with it during the months of March through November. The second you step outside you are going to look like you just fucked Pikachu.

The cold here is as fierce as the heat and bone chilling nonetheless. One night, I was in my apartment alone. Everyone had already left for Christmas break and it was basically a snowless blizzard outside. The temp outside was 18 degrees. The wind was so intense, it actually blew my window in and set my house alarm off. I was asleep and it was like 2 in the morning. I almost peed the bed as I reflexively grabbed for an ex boyfriend's baseball bat ready to make heads roll. I laugh now because it was a commemorative bat that was about a foot long. Really, what was I going to do with that had someone actually been breaking in?

Incoming students, bring two wardrobes: your winter one summer one. There will be days where you start off in a ski suit saying "winter is coming" and end up stripping it all off to jump in Wescott fountain for relief from the sweltering heat around noon. Oh, bring cough medicine too. You will pretty much stay ill from this sort of weather.

Bless you all who are sick enough to drag your snotty selves to Thagard. Well, technically it is called the Health and Wellness Center now, but to me it will always be known as Thagard: "Are you Sure you aren't Pregnant". I kid you not, I could walk in there with my arm chopped off and be like, "Excuse me, I think I need to see a doctor. You see, I am bleeding something fierce and I am feeling dizzy and nauseated from lack thereof." Their response would be, "Honey, are you sure you aren't pregnant?" as they look at me with my right upper appendage missing and blood pooling all over their squeaky white floor. You could be a male and go in complaining of the stomach flu and they will still ask, "Is there even the slightest chance you could be pregnant SIR?" Ah, Thagard, the only place where God and Biology could be wrong. I am not sure how many times I have went in for an appointment and wound up convinced that I was pregnant within the first 5 minutes of my appointment, even though Strozier on the Sunday after finals was more populated than my bed. I swear, you go to all extremes as soon as that perky little office assistant asks you when you last had sex. "Um, let's see, tomorrow is Tuesday... so that makes it last January... Well, I have been feeling sort of tired, and hungry, and pissed off at everything from my favorite TV show ending badly to my professors giving me too much homework over the weekend. And man, my boobs are killing me. Shit, um... I also want to bang everything in site because I am so madly turned on all the time....OMG I AM PREGNANT!!!!!" Suddenly, every rational reason for being a tired, pissed off, moody, horny college student holds no water and you conclude that you are now hopelessly carrying your boyfriend who-you-have-been-considering-breaking-up-with's bastard child. Great. Pregnancy tests and condoms might as well be party favors at Thagard. Walk up to any information desk to check in and you will find a candy bowl of condoms sitting there, as casual as fuck. And the ladies at the desk will give you the stink eye until you take at least two handfuls.

Okay, so I have poked a lot of fun at my beloved school. Truth be told, I really do love this place. It has an enchanting pull that made even me, a die hard gator fan, decide to stow away all the orange and blue and don the brilliant garnet and dazzling gold instead. I became a fan the first time I set foot in Doak Campbell stadium for my first Seminole football game. We played Samford, an easy win. But the first time I heard the cry of the war chant and saw every right hand raised doing the chop, my conversion seemed to be a no brainer. I love this school. The rolling hills unique to this part of Florida give students facing the Freshman 15 a fighting chance and are magnificent to look at in the sunset light. The ancient, wise trees that shade the walkways and tower next to the buildings that are just as old are whisper the secrets of the university when the wind rustles their leaves. The moss that dangles from their branches adds a tangled wildness to their silhouette. It also adds palpitations to one's heart when it falls on you when you are walking to HCB for statistics class, causing a mild heart attack before you even see the lesson your professor has concocted for the day. Landis green is spectacular and calm, with its frothing fountain in the middle of its green expanse and freshman practically making a baby on the right. No need to buy drinking glasses, Market Wednesdays will provide ones that change color with apartment complex advertisements on the front to fill your cupboards. The restricted section of Dirac Library will have you channeling your inner Hermione Granger during a Chemistry study session.

Florida State University, I thank you. Thank you for showing me how to be the woman I grew up to be within your walls. Thank you for showing me that Baker County Florida is not the only spot on the map. Thank you for opening my mind to new and exciting things that I would never have considered had I not come to you. Not like "I kissed a girl and I liked it" exciting, but like traveling the world and new languages sort of exciting. Thank you for showing me the meaning of true friendship. Nothing says best friend like being able to live with someone for three years without one of you killing the other. Thank you for shedding light on those who are not worthy enough to be in my life, and making me smart enough to realize it. Thank you for giving me confidence to do whatever the Hell I want in this life, whether it be writing a blog on all sorts of precarious topics or writing a book about a whore. Yep, you all heard it. That is coming this way, sometime in the near future. Thank you for showing me that I have options. Options in every aspect of this life. I can be a physical therapist, a teacher, a writer, a fashion merchandiser or an actress. Thank you for showing me that I do not necessarily have to choose just one. Thank you for opening doors to things that I never would have considered, or known I was good at. I never took a writing class at FSU, although I have had many Gordon rule classes. By the way, screw you Gordon, whoever you are. Whoever thought to make students write 6000 words to gain credit for the class in question is a sick son of a bitch. But through all the stress and fun experienced at FSU, I found writing to be an extraordinary outlet for my thoughts. Writing to me is sort of like the Pensive to Dumbledore, and no less of a mind saver. Thank you for showing me that there is more to life than finding a mediocre boy and marrying him. Seriously on that one, thank you. Thank you for turning me into the brilliant, open minded, thoughtful, caring, encouraged, vivacious, funny girl I am. Some may call that conceited, I call it being truthful about one's strengths.

So thank you Florida State, for everything. Now, not only is there garnet that flows through my veins, but now there is gold, too.

Twining

Hello all,

It has been a while, but since most of my days are filled with folding endless, sky high mountains of sweaters in a variety of colors and wiping noses of two year olds, my nights are pretty much dedicated to the most important thing in my life right now: sleep. I do not have as much time as I would like to dedicate to writing, meaning my blog and other mystery project are getting the short end of the attention stick right now. It really does sadden my soul, because this is my biggest passion in the world.

This weekend, before I went and watched my Florida State Seminoles defeat the Miami Hurricanes into something more like a nice autumn breeze, I spent my day with a pregnant woman while working on another one of my creative outlets: photography. But seriously, I cannot be more proud of my boys! They showed stamina and grace on the field even in light of a few mistakes and mishaps, and I am delighted that I had the pleasure to watch the game of the year.

Okay, back to my day with a pregnant lady whom I had only met once. My work had talked me into taking pictures for an Instagram contest (of which I was also pushed into being in charge of). My friend Sarah and I do pictures on the side, just because she is really good at it and I thought she should make a little money from it. We have a page called Little B Photography on Facebook. She is definitely the master photographer, where I am more of the idea girl. My creative outlet is always on overload, so coming up with poses and the looks for picture sessions every once in a while has got to be healthy for me.

Let me start with how I met Julia. It was at my work. My boss came up to me one day and asked me if I would be down to promote the huge baby sale we were having a few weeks ago by dressing up in a cute "baby shower-esque" outfit and standing back in the baby section. Of course I was down! I love sitting back there in the land of all things cute and cuddly. It almost makes me want a little one to stuff into the overly fluffy jackets with the animal ears. But at the same time, it makes me want to get sterilized because the adorable clothes don't look nearly as sweet on a toddler who is screaming at and kicking his mother.

Working with children has got to be the best form of birth control out there. Someone should really get on that and profit from it. Like have class a few times a month where a few girls are left with a bunch of out of control toddlers, all with loaded diapers and hangry (pissed because they are hungry). I guarantee you the next time her boyfriend crawls into bed with her and tries to turn up the magic, she stops him, makes a saran wrap pair of underwear, and builds a wall of pillows between them that his penis couldn't possibly hope to get through.

While hanging up baby booties and folding onesies, I had another job. I was to use my cellphone and take pictures of pregnant ladies and babies for the two contests we had going on. One was cutest mommy belly and the other was cutest kid. "Go up and take their pictures" they said, "You won't look like a creeper at all" they said. Well, that was totally false. I attempted to be charming by complementing the rosy cheeked tots or the beautiful glow the preggers had, but some people still looked at me like I had a pedophilic gleam in my eye and pulled their babies a bit closer to them when I asked to take their pictures on my personal cell phone. I have to admit, if some lady in a pink shirt with bows for buttons came up to me with their iphone and asked me to let me photograph their baby, I'd probably see little red flags popping up faster than zit on a thirteen year old's face, too.

I met this one lady who looked like she might pop if she brushed up against something hard enough. She was looking over at the boys clothes as I approached her trying to look not like a child snatcher. I asked her how far along she was and she blushed redder than a candy apple and said, "Don't laugh, I am only 23 weeks along. I am having twin boys, I know I look huge and ridiculous." I could tell she was feeling, I don't know, self- conscious maybe? I proceeded to tell her that she was beautiful and that I didn't think she looked bad at all. She had warm, chocolate hair with hints of natural red and had very pretty smile. The only thing big about her was her belly, and when you are carrying twin boys, how could you be anything else? I told her about our contest and she seemed rather reluctant telling me she didn't feel very up to a picture, but I told her the prize was supposed to be pretty cool, even though I didn't know all the details yet. She let me snap her picture and then we went our separate ways after a few more minutes of chatting and me trying to reassure her she was a cute mommy to be. After she left, I couldn't help but hope that she would be the one who won the contest.

A few weeks passed and I was delighted to hear that she had in fact won. My boss told me she wanted me to take a few pictures, maybe like ten, let her choose the picture and then we would print it. Well, we all know that I like things bigger and better so I wasn't about to be able to take just ten pictures. My creative flow would have turned to poison if I would have limited myself. Instead I went absolutely crazy, pinning ideas on Pinterest and scouting possible locations for our shoot.

I just have to say that my morning with Julia and Mason and Tucker (her twins) was absolutely stunning. We had fun kicking people out of filming because we wanted to take pictures in front of this really pretty door to a grief and counseling building. I told her to look super pregnant when we needed someone to move or let us borrow a space for just a few moments. She laughed and told me she liked my style. She was such a trooper getting up and down into different poses that I suggested. We told jokes and laughed over the snow cone she bought me as a treat for doing this for her. She was super excited about one of the locations being Lake Ella because the Snowball place was right there beside it. She said it was her biggest pregnancy craving and this was their last week open for the regular season. I thought it would be funny to document her craving and we took some pretty hilarious pictures in front of the sign with her holding her snowball and eating it.

One of the funniest moments of the day was when we were doing a picture that she really wanted done. She wanted the belly shot with the blocks on top spelling out the word "twins." I had just put the blocks on her belly when one of them fell off. I asked her if that was her and she giggled saying, "No, that was the boys kicking." I laughed so hard as I kept putting the block back up and watching it slide back down again. Another highlight was when we were talking about her husband's parents and how she loved them so much. I told her about the one set of parents from a boyfriend I dated that I was really fond of. I told her the mom was cool like she is and how she got younger people's banter and jokes, and told her about the time I explained to the mom how babies were born with dimples. "It's from the dad having sex with the pregnant mom, and the baby gets poked in the face and that is how the baby gets dimples." Julia's reaction to this was priceless.

She was one of the sweetest people I have ever had the pleasure of taking pictures for. She has to know I was being honest, because she wasn't charged for this. She made it fun for me by relating to me in ways most people over 30 can't anymore. Her conversation skills were on the same level as mine and we talked the whole time. At the end of the day I dubbed her the coolest pregnant woman I have ever met. If I couldn't make it to College Game Day, I am glad to say I spent my time with her. Pictures to come soon! Be sure to check out our page on Facebook.

Gasoline, Chocolate Milk, Victoria's Secret

Hello all,

I am so thrilled to tell you all that I have been getting some of male attention lately! Yep, you heard right, members of the male gender have been noticing my existence! Unfortunately, this has me involved so you all know that there is some sort of a catch.

This past week I was walking out of my apartment singing the only way I know how: terribly. I had my back facing the stairs as I locked up my fortress. Upon turning around I almost ran smack into this guy who was also making his way down the stairs. "I am so sorry!" I exclaimed. He smiled and said it was alright and continued to go on his way.... The end....





Nah, I am just kidding! That would be the saddest blog post ever if that is where it ended. This boy turned out to be my neighbor. He was pretty cute too. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned back to me and said, "Would you like help with those?" pointing to the large trash bag, purse, and package I was carrying with me. I was sort of caught of guard by this sweet gesture that this stranger. Was he really about to walk all the way back up the stairs to help me with my things? I quickly decided that I would feel bad if he did in fact trek back up the stairs so I kindly declined his offer. He still waited for me at the bottom of the stairs. We chatted about the music they are always blaring in his apartment. Usually loud music at 1 in the morning has the same effects of a crying baby on an airplane for me. I told him that I was so fond of his music choices, that the noise wasn't bothersome, giving my hair a light toss with the hand that wasn't clutching a Hefty bag.

My version of flirting>>> others' versions of flirting


My second encounter with the rare good looking man was at a concert performed by none other than the king of sexy himself: Luke Bryan. I donned my cowboy boots and hit up the concert with some friends of mine to see this country boy shake it for me like I was the only one in the audience. As much as I melted over his southern drawl and purring, my chances of having a flirtatious anything with Mr. Bryan has about as much a chance of happening as does the government sitting in a Khumbaya circle sipping hot chocolate spiked with Bailey's deciding how to end this shutdown.

It was towards the end of the concert. I had walked away from the stage with Hunter, Lew and Hunter's cousin. We had been standing for about 6 hours straight and as captivating as LB is, I refused to stand in hot breath cloud emitted by every girl in the greater Tallahassee area that hung over our prime stage center location any longer. I sat down on the grass for a little bit a little further away from the crowd, thoroughly enjoying watching Lew and Hunter trying to spit some game at these two girls. I am so proud to say that I think they were both successful, as they both danced for a while with their intended targets. I stood back up just in time to watch a drunk girl step on a water bottle and fall on her ass right in front of me.

Gett'er done son!

I tried to help her up but she was being really prideful/drunk and didn't want any help. When she moved away I noticed a nice looking gentleman in a plaid shirt standing rather close by. He was texting very intently on his phone, probably looking for his friends. After about ten minutes, he turned and walked over to me and asked me a question.

"Has anyone told you how beautiful and sexy you are tonight?"

I stopped, looked all around me and when I saw nobody standing remotely close I said, "No, actually no."

"Well, I just wanted to let you know that you are beautiful." He also told Hunter's cousin that she was very pretty too upon noticing her. I was thinking he was drunk, but his face wasn't ruddy with the afterglow of too much booze. He extended both of his hands out to us as if he were a preacher wanting to pray. We both took them hesitantly and he twirled us around before taking off into the night. He was a country fried Zorro, and I am pretty sure that he was dead serious.

Now, we all know that when I am involved in the story, absolutely anything that can go wrong will in fact go about as bad as a neglected Easter egg on a spring lawn. This last little love story is about as "NO" as you can get.

I was getting gas earlier tonight at Murphy's right up the road from me. It has the cheapest gas and a handsome cashier who normally works the late shifts. I made my way up to the cash register clutching a small bottle of Borden's chocolate milk. I have a very soft spot in my heart for chocolate milk and Borden's is my favorite brand. I hadn't had it in a while and I figured it was worth the short wait in line for me to have it tomorrow for breakfast. I reached the register and noticed two very large beer bottles sitting close to the lottery tickets. I kind of chuckled and asked the cashier if someone underage had tried to purchase them. And this is how it went from here:

"No, actually, they are his," the cashier said pointing to a very large, very bearded upper forties Tarzan (but not in a good way) looking man.

Tarzan walked over beside me and reached his arm around in front of me to grab his bottles of booze.

"Well, damn, these have already gotten hot..." he complained about his lukewarm beer upon touching the bottle, "But not as hot as those things," He goggled looking directly down my tank top at my boobs. SERIOUSLY!?

I was so stunned that I slapped my hand over my chest and turned away flushed. I was thinking it was either slap him or slap yourself, and in light of his gargantuan stature and my not so tough/short one, I chose the latter. Like I didn't have on a low cut shirt or anything. I had on a friggin' cardigan! There was nothing sexy about how I looked in my "running" shorts (let's be honest, I do not wear these to run), slicked back pony and sweater over tank. Hell, I didn't even match!

I was so shocked. Who just throws out that line in the Murphy's gas station right in front of the cashier and Jesus?

And y'all already know I say stupid shit whenever I get nervous, or just about anytime I feel any emotion really. I looked back at Ben, the nice man ringing me up, and said, "You know, they really aren't that great. I mean, they are, but it's mostly the bra. They aren't fake or anything. Victoria's Secret just does a mighty fine job with their products."

I think Ben struggled a little with finishing ringing up my gas and chocolate milk.

Cara's Rendition of The Voice

Hello loves!

For the first time this week I am logging on to my computer to do something other than homework. Okay, maybe I looked at Wanelo and Hautelook once or twice...okay okay it was 12 times! Or more like every time I opened Blackboard. I know, I have a problem.

I have been neglecting posting this for a while because it always slips my mind, but as I am watching Abbey Lee's Ultimate Dance Competition and The Voice , and as I think and pray for the very talented Sara Beth (a beautiful, amazing, musically and acting inclined woman from my hometown who was in a terrible accident today) I am reminded that I need to post this because this girl is definitely worth listening to. I filmed her in Key West at a raw bar. Okay, that sounds really awkward. I didn't like creep up behind her and film her eating oysters or anything. But she did something so bold that I felt compelled to take out my phone and record her beautiful voice.

My mom, brother Tyler, Bryan (Tyler's friend), and I were all starving after a long day of being tourists. My mom is really picky about her restaurants and so is Tyler, so trying to find somewhere they will both eat is challenging. I didn't much care for the dinner part. My main course for that night would be "Better Than Sex." We will visit that foodgasm later so I can take you through the whole sensually erotic experience.

Hot, sweaty and tired, my mom decided on a raw bar with a name I cannot remember. It had something to do with bikers though. Oysters aren't really my thing so I sipped a water and ate a side of boiled potatoes. I know, I am so strange! But it is what I wanted.

While I was happily munching on my bland potatoes, there was a very amazing male singer with the vocals to match that of my favorite male band The Script. He was singing me into a splendid stupor as I dazed out while staring at him singing. I may or may not have been daydreaming about me being the only one there, laid out on the bar while he sang to me and only me, and him taking body shots off my collarbone between songs. I mean most of my fantasies that week had to do with tequila, some body part and a sexy Key West man. When I was on the catamaran boat, it was the chiseled chap with the Australian accent, and in the chocolate shop it was the man with the chocolate key lime pie on a stick. What can I say, if it breathes and does something cool, I am probably thinking with my sexy cap on.

I was just in the middle of this talented man with the sultry voice licking salt off my neck when my day visions were interrupted. The future Jack Johnson announced that he had to step away for a minute. The band he was opening for was running late. He came back with whatever he retrieved to sing a few more songs in the meantime. Someone had requested a song that he declared was "out of his range." Some man in the back stood up and said "Sarah can sing it!" I turned around to see who was speaking. It was a man who was pushing an excited looking young girl up to the stage. If someone had been pushing me up on stage to act, I would have been fainting. But this girl looked so eager that I became suspicious. Oh no, this is going to be like a bad American Idol tryout, I thought as she walked up onto the stage practically bouncing on her toes as she adjusted the microphone.

This girl asked if anyone had any requests. "I don't know what I should sing!" she exclaimed as she blushed.

"Sing some Miranda Lambert," I suggested. I immediately mentally took back my suggestion because I knew I would be disappointed if she did one of my idols wrong.

"Which song?" she asked excitedly.

"Hmm, how about Mama's Broken Heart?" I offered.

After a few seconds of going over the lyrics in her head, she picked up her guitar and settled it across her lap. What she unleashed was talent rawer than the oysters the people around me were sickly slurping down.

I have to say, she did Miranda very proud with that song.

Everyone was so impressed that we all begged for more. My brother who was looking at her very intently asked her to sing something that she wrote if she did in fact write. Turns out she did. This is the song I recorded of her. Please excuse the guy in the powder blue shirt who can't make up his mind as to where he is going. The background noise and everything really don't do what I heard in person justice, but the video is still really good.

Her name is Sarah Spicer. She has a Facebook (I think) and I believe she sells music on itunes or Amazon. Something like that. Look her up and give her a like if you feel inclined to do so. I told her she was worth more than a small time blogger's post, but her face little up like a Christmas tree when I told her I wanted to post her video on my blog. She was the sweetest thing, and she really does deserve more than my little blog.

Story Time with an Anonymous Donor

Hello all,

So I have the most brilliant idea ever. There have been many of times when I have had people approach me with stories about things they have done or have witnessed or have had done to them. I enjoy hearing them so much that I am always like, "Please let me put that in a blog." I am practically begging on my knees to get them to let me because the stories are just so entertaining, but alas, sometimes they are too scandalous or personal for them (and sometimes myself) to feel comfortable with me posting them. But I still feel the itch to write them as my fingers hover over the keyboard when I go to write a post. So my dilemma is, how am I to do this without exploiting anyone?

Well, I took a little leaf out of one of my favorite books, The Help. If you haven't read this book/seen the movie, it is truly a wonderful read. Basically, these black women who work as the help in white folks' homes team up with an intelligent, aspiring writer to tell the stories about how their employers treat them and about things they have witnessed going on in the house. It goes from the good all the way to the terribly ugly. But the beauty of it is, they get to say what they have to say without anyone ever knowing for sure who it is about. One could speculate, one could tell out loud, but that would then mean the person had a conscious that it was about them.

Without further ado, I give you my newest segment: Anonymous. Hmm, maybe there is a better name for that... Suggestions? Leave a comment and let me know what you think. These stories will not have the names of the people involved. I will change the names of the people they are about.

Natalie and her boyfriend have decided to take the big leap and do the do. That's right, they were going to have sex for the first time. They were both younger and naive, not really knowing what to expect. After about 10 minutes, it was over and definitely not anything like the movies portrayed it to be.... (what happens moments later is for another time, it is quite hilarious).

Let's skip ahead about 4 weeks later. Natalie is mortified and making herself sick thinking she may in fact be pregnant. She confides in her boyfriend when she can no longer keep quiet about it and says, "We have to find out, I am freaking out thinking about it. I cannot go another day without figuring this out"

Natalie is too scared to go buy a test so she demands that her boyfriend do it. "It is your fault," she whined, "you have to go get the test." The boyfriend, feeling really bad and scared to death, retreats to the store to buy the fateful and potentially problematic pregnancy test.

The boyfriend returned with a very large plastic shopping bag. Natalie was quite puzzled. Weren't those little pee sticks, well, little? She stared at her boyfriend and asked in an incredulous tone, "how many did you buy exactly?"

"Well, I figured you'd want to be really sure," he said with a note of nervousness in his voice. He was as white as a sheet as he handed the bag to Natalie.

Taking the bag in her shaking hands, she closed her eyes and dumped out the bag and spread the ridiculous amount of small cardboard boxes over his old, tattered bedspread. She picked up one of the boxes to read the directions while her boyfriend turned progressively greener over on the opposite bed corner. The box was laying with the back and directions facing her. This looks complicated, Natalie thought as she flipped through the little booklet of directions.

"Geez, it's got like a calender and stuff in here that you have to count the days and take it on an estimated day. I thought you just peed on it and it showed up?" she looked at her boyfriend puzzled. There's all sorts of smiley faces and... estimated days to get pregnant," she said slowly.

Natalie laid the directions aside and flipped the box over. What she saw sent her into fits of laughter so hard she couldn't breathe.

"What is it?!" the boyfriend asked very confused.

"You didn't... buy pregnancy... tests," she said through gasps and tears rolling down her cheeks. "You spent 50 dollars on ovulation tests!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!" Natalie rolled over and laughed solidly into one of the pillows as the boyfriend just stared blankly at her.

"What is the difference?" He asked obviously not getting what was so hilarious.

"Babe, those help people when they are trying to get pregnant, not to find out if you are pregnant!" Natalie said wiping away tears and mascara streaks.

"You have to take these back!" Natalie said still giggling.

"Absolutely not! I am not going back in there," the boyfriend said like he would rather dive in a pool of razor blades than face going back in with a huge bag of ovulation tests.

"I have to pee, I'll be right back babe," Natalie said as she walked out of the room and into the bathroom.

As soon as she pulled down her pants, she knew she was definitely not pregnant. Perfect timing mother nature.

The ovulation tests sat in the boyfriend's closet for as long as the boyfriend lived in the house.

Jokes on Monday

Hello all,

I am feeling a little bit jokey today so I am going to tell you all a joke that Cassie and I used to laugh at all the time:

There were three couples going out on a triple date together. (Here we used to insert our own names or names of people we knew). They went out to a nice restaurant and sat together in a booth. The men were all trying to be sweet to their sweethearts and thought of clever flirty things to say. One turned to his girlfriend and said, "Pass me the sugar, sugar" with a sexy wink. The other boy, not wanting to be outshone on this group date said, "Pass me the honey, honey" and leaned over to kiss his girl on the cheek. The last man looked at his girlfriend, who was expecting to be called something sweeter than sugar or honey, and said, "Pass me the bacon, pig!"

I can barely type because I am laughing so hard at myself right now. These are the kinds of men I tend to be attracted to, the insensitive ones who don't get how to be sweet and charming. Or even worse, they think this sort of thing is sweet and charming. Whew! Good times, that one never gets old!

Happy Monday y'all, stay classy:)

The Dirtaay 3's Go Shopping

Hello all,

Here we are back with another tale of the infamous Dirtaay 3's. This was actually when we were still just 2 D3s. Cassie and I had to go shopping after the freezer broke and turned into something a raccoon would have considered a feast. I had been grocery shopping before, obviously, but I normally had a list of things to get from my dad or mom. I figured we were smart and we could just wing it. When we got to the "ghetto Walmart," the Walmart just up on West Tennessee Street that always has lines back to electronics because they keep maybe half of a register open all day long to supply all us needy college students. I call it ghetto Walmart because there is always something funky going on with it and I always see the most fabulous people up there. And by fabulous I mean they need to be on What Not to Wear faster than Anna Kendrick can do the "Cups" song. I went up there one night around 2 in the morning to get something that I must not have been able to wait another 7 or 8 hours for and stood in line for the only register open for about 15 minutes. I was behind this black woman and man who couldn't have been much older than I am. The guy was being very flamboyant and animated about everything from magazine covers to what his female friend was buying. All of a sudden he looked down at the floor and squealed, "UGGHHH, EW Jasmine what is that!? Look at that creature on the ground!" He was pointing to a mole cricket that was lying lazily on the floor just doing whatever mole crickets do I guess. I am not sure how it got there, but I have learned not to question what you find/see in Walmart. A mole cricket is certainly not the weirdest thing I've seen. The guy was still talking about it trying to figure out what this "wild animal" was. I was trying not to laugh because it was very entertaining listening to him talk to his friend and the cashier about it. Finally, he seemed to have had a light click on over his head. "I know what it is," he exclaimed excitedly, pointing to the mole cricket. "It's a crawdad! Yep, I knew that's what it was. Look at that crawdad! I wonder how it got in here!? Damn animals in Walmart, what the hell?" I then actually laughed out loud very audibly. How on earth he figured that little bug was a crawdaddy is totally beyond me! If there was an actual crawdad in Walmart, that might just take things to a whole new level.

Anyways, Cassie and I were shopping in ghetto Walmart and I went in on an empty tummy. Probably not a very good idea because everything from powdered sugar to sweet gerkin pickles sounds as wonderful as a Ruth's Chris filet. At some point, I decided I wanted bacon. I wanted to make my favorite meal, breakfast for dinner, later on that night. I walked over to bacon section next to the deli meat and found myself beside this guy. He was actually rather handsome standing there minding his own business. I thought Cassie was somewhere near me and I was going to ask her what kind of bacon we should get. I was going to be cooking for her too since she can barely boil water without getting bored waiting for it. I pondered for a moment over all the different sorts of bacon. I never really realized there were so many until that moment. I said, "So, do you like it thin and crispy or thick and hearty?" thinking that Cassie was still right there. That's when I noticed the guy made some sort of distressed sound and took two steps further away from me and then walked away giving me an odd look. I turned to look over my shoulder, Cassie was no where to be seen! Oh shit, I thought, this dude probably thought I was making some sort of sexy insinuation through means of strips of bacon! I was so dumbfounded and embarrassed that I didn't even get the bacon. I had to get Cassie to go and pick it out. She refuses to let me live this story down, so might as well tell it to the world anyways.

Needless to say, my favorite kind of bacon is thick, center cut. No more need to consider each type aloud and potentially scare off other males in search of the best breakfast meat there is.

The Joker

Hello once again,

As most of you know, the majority of my posts have been about embarrassing myself. When I say embarrassing, what the event is to me and what it is to someone on the outside looking in are two totally different things. I grew up with my mother as my mom, meaning I do not get embarrassed easily. She made me immune to all that when I was younger. Nothing really gets to me to where I am ashamed of myself. I say embarrassed because this is an emotion understood by others.

In this blog post, however, I would like to talk about other people doing stupid things that I have witnessed over the past few years.

If anyone knows me, they know that I really love baseball. I may not understand all the ins and outs of it or what each of the numbers on the scoreboard mean, but I really love to watch baseball games. My friend Alexis Washington shares my love of the great American pastime so we frequently watch games together. Typically, this involves me driving out to Gainesville to watch the Gators play. I know, I know, I sound like a traitor. I go to FSU but I still watch the Gators? Yes, yes I do. I had a boyfriend my senior year who loved to go to the Gator games and frequently took me with him. In fact, our first "real" date was a Gator baseball game. So, naturally, I came to enjoy watching these fine men play the all American sport. When I say fine, I mean it literally.

Each year, I go to at least a few games with Alexis. We were at one about two years ago when what I am about to tell you about happened. As we sat on the bleachers, watching Austin Maddox take his place inside the batter's box, we noticed a bit of a commotion. Down the stairs, there was a rather large woman with wild, unruly hair. She looked pretty normal, aside from the hair. In a matter of seconds, I was proved horribly wrong. This woman proceeded to pull her pants up and run up and down the stairs at full speed screaming, "Show me your genitals, your genitals," in almost cheerleader fashion while pumping her fists in the air. She did this a few times. Alexis and I just looked at each other and died laughing. Everyone in the crowd looked shocked. Who does that?!

This one goes out to Cassie. We were at my Nanny's house celebrating Cassie's birthday. She had just started dating this boy named Ryan literally two weeks before, so they were still in the awkward stage where they were both trying to be awesome. Not that she isn't already awesome :). Anyways, I bought her exactly what she wanted, a child movie called Monster House. Weirdo. We sat out on my "back porch" and watched it with our boyfriends. When the night ended, I walked both of them out of the house so I could lock my door. Funny how our nights went from ending at 9 pm to not ending at all. We have a pool that is dangerously close to our door. Cassie was walking around the edge of the pool when she took the corner just a little too sharp and walked right into the pool! Somehow, half of her body went into the freezing water while the other half stayed up on the concrete. She was straddling the ledge with one leg still dry and the remainder of her body completely soaked. She looked kind of like Spider-Man post up on a building. Poor thing! Ryan helped her up but I could tell she was embarrassed and probably hurting. Mind you, her birthday is in November so the water was like ice. She had to ride home in Ryan's car drenched. I guess that is one way to break through the awkward phase of a relationship.

Just this week, Destiny texted me to tell me that she had really done it. She was leaving her place of employment to go home for the evening. While on the way out, she spotted an attractive fella in an elevator. She tried to stop the elevator in an attempt to stare at him. She put her arm in the way of the door, but it was too late. The sensor did not catch her and the elevator door shut on her arm! At that point the doors opened and she proceeded to squeeze her way into the cramped elevator. She said she was dying of embarrassment and that her arm really hurt. Oh, the things we women will do to stand next to a handsome fella.

If you can't tell already, I am posting this way way later on than when I started writing it, but I found it today and thought I should proceed in posting it.

That's Why we Stopped Being Good Girls

Hello everyone on my least favorite day of the week,

Okay so this isn't really a long story post like I would normally post, but I came across this video today and I am just so in love with it.

First before I even get to the part where I show this video, I would like to make it known, that I love love love men! They are seriously the good Lord's gift to women everywhere. Even some of my lesbian friends can appreciate a good man from time to time, that is how awesome men are.

No matter how sexy, chiseled, sensitive, funny, intelligent, wonderful, out and out HAWT men are, I do have an issue with the men in our world. It is as though they always expect us gals to be dressed to the nines, hair perfect, make-up on like we just left Sephora, as perfect a 10 could be while they don't understand how them wearing something that says "I just left the gym... two days ago" would bother us. What happened to that Tim Mcgraw song where he was getting all dressed up to pick her up and openin' up windows, sweeping floors, and cleaning his truck just to pick her up to watch tv? When has the dress code and all around how we look/behave in front of our partners become a double standard? If we have to have faces like a super model and bodies built just like a coke bottle and have to give them what they want their way like we are a Burger King, why don't they?

My friend Destiny sent me a picture a long time ago of something on Twitter that I found very very amusing. It says:

"Why the hell do guys expect so much from us like they want us to have a flat stomach, big ass, big boobs, pretty face, and a perfect personality while some of these guys look like fucking apes bye."

I seriously could not have put it better myself. Guys have ridiculous expectations of women. They want us to be gorgeous all the time but natural. Their version of natural is what takes me 30 minutes to get into. Like come on man, my lips are not naturally tempting red and my hair does not smell like salon after sleeping for 9 hours. Don't even get me started on the intimate stuff. They want you to be stripped down, spread eagle on the bed before they even walk through the door. Come on y'all, haven't you heard the 3 date (at least) rule?! I don't think they appreciate the effort. Or the whole "Well, I took you on a date so.." SO!? Does a mildly inexpensive dinner at a chain steak house mean you are now entitled to the password to the mysterious speakeasy under our dresses? NO!

So, this video is a parody to Robin Thicke's song "Blurred Lines." Apparently the original Blurred Lines video is raunchy and sexist. I just watched it, and read the lyrics and although it is an enjoyable song in a catchy sort of way it is, well, sexist. It basically says "we men don't need to have any ties to you or owe you anything to get what we want out of you." It also insinuates that that is what women really want anyways but we are "good girls" and pretend otherwise. So?! Of course we all want to have an Anastasia Steel and Christian Grey thing, maybe even right from the moment you walk through the door. But how would a guy see a girl who let's him pass go and head straight to her vagina jail like a game of Monopoly? Yep, checkmate darlin', you won't be getting those Valentine's day flowers this year for sure. You are now his hit it and quit it and hit it again when he feels like it because you let him.

Side note- When a guy suggests hanging out with me, it is supposed to mean actually hanging out. Sometimes their version of hanging out and mine are totally different. I don't mean come over and expect me to step out of the outfit I just carefully organized so we can "hang out" your way with your wang out. I can't stand that! Just a little something else I got from this video.

I say kudos to you Auckland law students. Your video gave me quite a good laugh about a double standard my friends and I ponder on often. If we have to jump through hoops to be perfect, why don't they?

Before I end this, I want to say I know that all guys aren't like this. And it is okay for a man to expect his woman to be the sexy siren he started dating most of the time, but we want you to be the fine hunk of man we met that first day too.

Stay classy my friends, it's the new black.

Here's the link!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tC1XtnLRLPM

The Teller and Upside Down Cards

Hello all,

This dark house that I don't know very well and the fact that everyone has gone to bed has me a bit jumpy. I am a scary movie buff and these back windows kind of remind me of the scariest movie I have ever seen "The Strangers." Seriously, if you haven't seen it, I probably wouldn't watch it at night or maybe not at all if you plan on sleeping the next few weeks. My brother Tyler, aka Mr. Badass nothing-scares-me, wouldn't stay in my mom's living room for months past a certain time because the windows out by the pool are very similar to the ones in the movie that the creepy-make-you-pee-your-pants people with the horrifying masks would stare at the innocent honeymooners through. Yeah, I am now currently moving further away from the big windows that look out on the now eery looking garden that looks so enchanted beneath the sunlight.

Just recently, I saw "The Conjuring" which is by far the best horror flick I have seen since "The Strangers." My body hurt so bad from staying so seized up and tight while watching it because it was that chilling. It is like you didn't get the typical break between scary scenes like other movies. I have never been so cold or had chills for an entire movie like I did for this one. This movie sort of got me thinking about the spirit world. I like to indulge in this curiosity every once in a while about this subject every once in a while. I constantly look up the meanings of strange dreams that I have. It could be because Sarah has tried to convince me to do one of those spirit board things with her, or that the movie just had profound effects on me. But while I was in Key West, I had the perfect opportunity to give into my ever curious mind about the supernatural world and its maybe/maybe not existence.

Every night in Key West at a place called Mallory Square, the locals and tourists celebrate the end of the day with something called the Sunset Festival. I've never seen such a sunset quite as grand and blazing as the one here. The way it reflects its golden rays off the water makes it shine like diamonds of a higher quality than Cartier. It is truly something to behold at least once in your life. If you live in Florida, you really have no excuse to not visit Key West. Is it a tourist trap? Duh! But it is an adventure worth going on down there. That blog post is coming soon, I promise. My feeble memory is hurting lately, and I am having to write down all of my ideas instead of them just coming to me later.

So how do scary movies and superstitions intertwine with my Southernmost Point vacation? At this sunset festival, there are a lot of street performers. Most of them look like they sleep in a box every night, but that is okay, they are still very entertaining and funny. People will do some crazy things for a dollar. Some man climbed up on a twelve foot tall unicycle and juggled flaming bats. I give this lot of misfits props, they are doing something about not having a "job- job" to still earn money for themselves.

Out of all the misfit performers, someone stood out to me. In the middle of the square, there sat a man underneath the shade of a large black umbrella. He stood out because in a sea of tattered t-shirts and old fedoras and bowlers, this man had on a crisp white collared shirt and of all things, a Burberry tie. He looked as though he belonged in a business office rather than on performers' row. He sat at a table draped in a velvety red covering, and atop that red covering sat a crystal ball. This man was a fortune teller and he was looking at me as though he had been waiting for me all day.

Now, I do not actually really believe that there is an order of elite folks who can tell you what is going to happen tomorrow. I don't really know what I believe about stuff like this, but I don't think all of it is a load of bull. Was this man in the Burberry tie a chosen elite who could shed light on my future by pulling back the celestial curtains? Probably not. But there was something compelling in the way his eyes, as if they were beckoning me to sit with him for a while. So I did.

I plopped down in his chair, happy to take refuge from the sun underneath the shadow his umbrella cast on me. He started shuffling a deck of cards and asked me what I wanted to do today. Palmistry? Nah. Crystal ball? Nope. He already seemed to know the answer, as he was handing me the deck of cards instead of continuing down the list of other services he offered. In fact, that was the first thing he touched when I approached the table. Hmm....

I told him I had never had a card reading before and he explained that I simply had to shuffle the deck until I felt content, cut the deck into a few separate piles of any size, and take a card from each of the piles (I think it was directly from the top)pick up the decks from right to left and hand all the cards back to him. I shuffled the deck for what felt like forever. I was secretly hoping to ditch a shitty fortune in the midst of the cards, like if I shuffled them enough, the misfortune would somehow evade my hand. After a few rounds I felt like I had probably shuffled enough and the fates were probably getting tired of me taking more than my time. Cutting the cards into separate piles was another thing. I didn't know if I should do them all of equal piles or if I should do random sizes or line them up from biggest to smallest. There is a lot of pressure on a girl when she is trying to hear what her future may hold! Finally, I was satisfied with my piles and the arrangement of them and laid them out on the table to pick up in the strategic right to left fashion.

My fortune teller began to do some crazy slide of hand movements with the piles of cards, moving them all around in front of my eyes. I couldn't really keep up with it, but soon he was flipping cards with people face up in front of me every which way. Some were facing me, some were backwards, some were sideways. I saw a beautiful woman who was cloaked in white and seemed to be glowing and radiant in her chair with vines growing all around her, I saw a woman wrapped in something that made her look bound like a mummy with the bands around her eyes with many swords stabbed in the ground surrounding her, there was a man working on something with a line of eight stars in circles facing me, a man in a chair with a set of scales looking thing was flipped upside down from my view, there was a handsome man riding a white stallion brandishing a long sword that was also turned upside down, a heart with three swords stabbed into it was upside down, a queenly looking woman called the High Priestess, another looking queenly woman doting a sword of her own while kicked back in a beautiful throne (this was my kind of card I thought), a hand holding a sword that was poked through a crown, and lastly a man in a short dress looking thing with a long staff.

My fortune teller proceeded to explain to me that I had: The Eight of Swords, The High Priestess, The Three of Swords, The Empress, The Eight of Pentacles, The Queen of Swords, The Ace of Swords, Justice, The Knight of Swords, and the Page of Wands.

He said, let's start with the near past. He motioned to the girl who was bound and surrounded by swords. I am totally about to cheat because I can't remember word for word what this guy said about this card. When in doubt, Google it. This is what Google had to say about The Eight of Swords:

This card usually indicates a time of powerlessness and restriction, and more often than not this restriction is self-imposed. You may be holding yourself back because you fear moving into the future, or because you are wary of getting hurt by a new situation, or maybe for no reason at all. In rare instances you will find that another person's action - or inaction - is what keeps you from moving forward, but most of the time the blame falls on you alone. You cannot be held back unless part of you wants to be held back. The trick is finding a way to overcome that, and free yourself from the bonds of fear and doubt.

Basically he was saying that in my not too far past I had felt trapped by something or that I was holding myself back from something for fear of the unknown. Well, he was right. But I am always fearful of the future and afraid to step off the road of the past that is somehow clearer once you have already walked it into the dim visibility of the unknown future. I am thinking it may have had something to do with the fact that after I broke up with my ex, I kind of pulled back from the world of dating and boyfriends. Trapped by myself I suppose. At least I am cool to be trapped with.

The next card was The High Priestess. She is the "Inner Voice" and is a direct link to the unconscious mind. He basically told me I was very intuitive to the world around me, especially people. He said that I can relate to people on a level that is unparalleled to the way others relate to each other. Nailed it!

My heart dropped a little as he hesitated from touching the heart with the three swords stabbed deeply through its chambers. It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson on the scene to figure out this one meant some sort of heart break. He was still on my past so I was thinking he was probably going to talk about me and my ex. But that didn't really make sense to me because that break up didn't really break my heart. I knew it was coming and I was over it by the next day. To my surprise, he said that I had actually felt some heart ache around the "dawn of the new year." Meaning I had experienced pain of the heart around January. I have to say, it wasn't heart ache, just dull disappointment. But nevertheless, he was still right. My heart was sad for a fool who hadn't changed the slightest in more than the insignificant sense of love. There was no love there, not even a like, but I had hoped just for a moment that everything had changed.

We moved into the here and now with The Eight of Pentacles, the little man working on something was next. He told me that I had been working hard on something lately and that if I was to continue to put forth a doubled effort, it was going to make me very successful and happy. Hmm... wonder what that could be? I think I have an idea of what it could be. We shall see I suppose.

My fortune teller wanted to proceed into the very near future with The Empress. He explained to me that this beautiful woman was the face of creation and grace in everything she made. The Empress, he said, sees and takes significant joy in everything that she makes. My mind went immediately to my blog. This is my baby and I have never made something that I enjoy more. He said the love The Empress embodies is both her greatest strength and her most daunting weakness, being as though even though she loves so much, sometimes that love is not reciprocated with the same magnitude.

Then something happened that I hadn't expected. His ears turned a little pink and his cheeks went flush as he told me The Empress represented something else. His eyes flashed from mine to my mother's who was standing behind hanging onto every word probably more so than I was. Mr. Crystal ball said that The Empress represents fertility and the chance of having a baby. "Since The Empress came to us in this position, I would say it is very likely that you will become pregnant in the fall of this year. If you do not wish to become a mother right now, I would recommend extreme caution because she is very willful in this for you this year." WHAT IN THE HELL!? I felt my mouth fall open and I just couldn't even speak. I felt my neck getting hot and I am pretty sure the setting sun had nothing to do with the sweat that began to bead on my skin. WHAT?! The only thing I could do was think, "Absolutely not having sex with anyone. I am so glad I don't have a boyfriend. I cannot take a baby in the Baby Bjorn to Physics in the spring. Might as well wrap my lower half in crime scene tape because there is nobody going between the space where my jeans meet my skin. Nope, no babies. Absolutely freaking not. Kinley is enough baby for me right now, and she is one that I can give back to her Momma when I can't please her with Doggies (aka 101 Dalmatians) and chocolate milk.

I was too stunned to pay too much attention to the Queen of Swords and the Ace of Swords because I was just thinking of how I needed to padlock myself in a tower and guard myself with a dragon to insure a little prince or princess didn't happen to me. Then he got to Justice. Justice, he explained, often dealt with things of legal means. The scales represent the balance between fair and unfair. He cautioned me that the position of this card meant that something very unjust was going to happen to me around coming up March-May. Perfect, that's just what I need is for my life to turn into an episode of Judge Judy.

The handsome faced man on his noble steed was the Knight of Swords. Surely, this was good news. Surely it was saying some beautiful man was going to come riding into my life and whisk me away to live out our fairytale. Surely, something in these cards would show my love life turning around. How very wrong I was. My fashionable fortune teller proceeded to tell me with a heavy sigh that the placement of this card represented a man fleeing from my life quickly. He said not to fear death more so than a love interest leaving and disappearing suddenly. Great.

The last, the Page of Wands was my last hope for some sort of happiness out of being pregnant, defeated legally and being lonely. He said with sweet splendor that the Page of Wands is to represent passion for something and childlike wonder and interest in something, and also total fearlessness in whatever I am currently pursuing or will pursue. He said it could come in the form of something that sparks my interest and that the Page will lend me his creative notion to make whatever it is grand. Once this Page enters, your life will never be the same. He said it could be in the form of a person who is so carefree and wonderful who could come into my life. I thought inwardly that it probably won't be a man since I just saw him galloping away with my broken heart and crushed dreams. This person brings you a childlike happiness that is hard to keep contained. Perhaps it is my sweet little niece who brings me so much joy and happiness just to be around her who is the Page of Wands in my life. Or maybe it is a man, who is creative and ambitious and fun and looks at the world in awe. Just the thing I am looking for in a man.

How interesting it was listen to a man in a nice tie tell me what my future is to hold and the options that each card brings. Even in my moment of despair as I thought, "Cool, I will be pregnant, I'll have to go to court over custody/ child support and lose in an unjust fashion, and then this man is going to runaway and leave us high and dry all alone. Perfect, might as well just jump from the harness when I go parasailing tomorrow since this future is looking oh so enjoyable" I thought how cool to "know." It is neat to hear that things could go one way or another just depending on how I "saw things." I don't know if y'all have noticed, but I am very indecisive and unpredictable. Even though this might be a bunch of bologna, even though this could just be a man who pulled me in with his fancy card tricks, it was nice to "see" into the crystal ball and have half an idea of what could possibly happen. Cross your fingers that there is no baby or fleeing man or legal issue that favors the other person in an unjust fashion. But even still, the possibilities are amazing, and the chance of knowing what is to come is just thrilling.

I think the whole art of this fortune telling thing is to give people options. They say it could be this, but it could also be this if you aren't happy with the answer I have given you. I think the whole point is to say, you have a choice in this life, in this future. The message, I think, is to choose wisely if you are presented with the choice. So I am not wanting to create a baby, even though The Empress means fertility and creation, I have the option to look at this as maybe my creation will be my blog and its many posts, or maybe something in writing other than a blog. Who knows? The only way to know for sure is to just live and let it happen.

The Beginning of the Dirtay Three's

Hello all from beautiful Federal Way Washington,

Last week I stood at the Southernmost point of the continental U.S. in Key West and now I am all the way up on the West Coast visiting my other set of Grandparents and Aunt Melanie. It is actually kind of chilly here tonight, which I am totally loving after Mildred the Mazda aka my car informed me that it was 106 degrees outside in Jacksonville the other day. You know you live in Florida when your legs stick to your cloth seats like they would leather. You know you live in Florida when you buy Baby Lips chapstick multiple times a month because if you leave yours in the car for 2.5 minutes, it has melted like the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz.

Enough of the crappy "You know you are in Florida when..." sayings though. I want to go back to a time three summers ago on a hot day, like the other day in my car, when Cassie and I moved into the notorious apartment 13311 in Tallahassee to begin the college chapter of our lives. It was just 2 weeks ago that I put my electronic key into the garnet painted door to lock it for the last time and bid 13311 a bittersweet goodbye. I must say, I got progressively sadder as Cassie and I painted the cheetah print walls that Taytum's Mom and Nana had so craftily painted back to the industrial white over this past summer to get it move in ready for the next pack of roommates. It was like we were painting over memories and stories that the walls would tell if only they could talk. At this moment, I am glad walls aren't able to tattle on the things they have been privy to since we started living there. The tales range from amazing to crazy to good to ugly to sexy to you-better-not-tell-anyone-or-I'll-hacksaw-you-in-half to best moments of my life.

Cassie and I had just gotten through our last day of orientation when my Nanny and Momma Ruby (Cassie's mom) decided to inform us that the apartment we had picked out online was not adequate for our taste in real life and that they had canceled the lease. How that happened I have no idea. Most places won't let you do it without some epic legal battle. I suppose Momma Ruby worked her wicked black magic. Seriously, I have never met someone who can pull strings and do whatever she wants like Ruby does. Also, she wins everything. Any kind of raffle, radio show give away, pick the lucky duck in the pond, etc. If it can be won, Ruby will win it. She won the same radio contest twice before. She's definitely a wizard.

Well, the dilemma then came, where were we to live? We only had a few weeks to find a place and most places were filling up or full. We should have known that they had already conspired and fixed this problem for us. We drove to a place called Boardwalk at Appleyard apartments. Upon pulling up we could tell it was nice. We were met upon arrival by a tan skinned man with slicked back black hair. He had a Rico Suave vibe about him with a slick voice to match. He led us into the model apartment and we instantly fell in love. It was spacious, pretty, the rooms had queen beds and we would each have a bathroom to ourselves. I distinctly remember trying to find something wrong with the place and I made the comment, "the bathrooms are small," but there was a little voice inside me saying where do we sign up?

Nanny and Ruby had already taken care of that too. We were already signed up and just needed to put our John Hancock on a few papers.

A few weeks latter, laden down with boxes, bedspreads and baseball bats (my boyfriend at the time gave me one to "protect myself" with), we pulled around to the apartment we were supposed to move into. Rico Suave aka Francis told us we would be moving into a newly cleaned all ready to go apartment. With the little buzzing sound the electronic key made and a swing of a door, we knew all too well that the apartment hadn't been cleaned in months, if ever. There was stuff everywhere and a family of roaches had made Gaylord Resort out of this apartment. They were everywhere! If Nanny had been about to faint because of the stains on the runner boards, she was practically on the floor from the roaches. Ruby stormed up to the front and demanded we be moved immediately. The poor soul up at the front desk apologized frantically saying there had been a mistake and handed us a new set of keys to apartment 13311. It was all the way in the back, but I saw the silver lining. At least it wasn't next to the creepy woods. Cassie liked the fact that the bus stop was right outside our door as well so things were looking up.

We thought, second time must be a charm. With a silent prayer I slid my key into the spaceage lock and opened the door to find something more peculiar than the roaches and a dirty apartment.

From our post in the door frame, we could see a large, dark figure on the couch. And it was breathing! Well snoring actually. You see, we had interrupted the sleep of a very large black man. He was about as big as Hagrid from Harry Potter and was as startled to see us as we were to see him in lounging form. His name has slipped my mind now, but he was a security guard for Boardwalk and he had been living there. He moved rapidly around the apartment grabbing Gatorade bottles and clothes while apologizing frantically. Stunned and shocked, we proceeded to move in after he left swiftly out the door.

Now, with moving into a new place that other people have lived in before, I knew we would probably hit a few snags with whatever problems they had left behind. My bed was one of them. I am not sure what was done on this bed to make it feel and sound the way it did, but it sounded like it had been put in a very large washing machine on the deep wash cycle. It was probably just an old mattress that needed to be replaced. Every time I simply turned over in the bed, it sounded like I was making a dirty movie with how much it squeaked and squealed. My next door neighbors probably thought I was either a slut or just very very lucky.

My very favorite malady this apartment brought with it was the refrigerator. My Nanny, Mom, and Momma Ruby had all went to Sam's to stock Cassie and I up on Ramen Noodles, Eggo Waffles, and all sorts of other college cuisine type foods. They spent a lot of money on bulk freezer items to last us for a while. One night upon coming home starving for some salad with grilled chicken on top, I called Cassie to see if she wanted me to make enough for her. Of course she did, girl can barely boil water without burning the house down. I was chatting with her on the phone to help pass the time until she got there. I proceeded to grab the chicken breast out of the freezer so I could put it on our little grill when something made me swear and scream. Something very warm and wet hit my feet.

For about two seconds, I had no idea what was going on. I had a moment of terror thinking that my water had just broken like I was pregnant or something. Cassie and I went through an obsessive phase with a show called "I Didn't Know I was Pregnant" and there were all sorts of horrific recounts of women who had no idea they were pregnant and randomly had babies on boats and in toilets. After a moment of rational, I figured out that the semi thick pale pink liquid was from the bag of chicken I had just pulled from the freezer. I was confused. How on earth could it have been all watery if it was in the freezer? I pulled the freezer door back open only to realize that it was obviously broken. There was water all in the freezer from everything melting. My favorite was a tub of strawberry ice cream that had gotten frothy from the heat and foamed up out of the carton to fill the freezer with a pink, sticky, foamy mess. It looked like Barbie threw up in there! I was literally gagging as I mopped up the goopy chicken disgustingness off my feet and off my floor. Needless to say, we ate out that night and I had completely lost my appetite for grilled chicken salad.

As I am writing this blog, I have decided to do a segment called "The Dirtay Threes." It will be all about the misadventures in apartment 13311 with all the roommates I came to love or leave behind in life. Get ready y'all, it is going to be a fun ride in the Dirtay Three posts.

Classy Girls Don't Kiss in Bars

Hello all,

It has been a minute since I last posted, but I have been out in the world trying to do blog worthy things. I am not a fan of uninteresting writing so I try not not write if I feel it may bore my readers to tears and slitting their wrists. Since my last, I have been on a vacation, attended a truly wild 21st birthday party, almost gotten fired, moved out of the infamous 13311 (my apartment in Tallahassee) and started drinking Plexus. Yep, all totally blog worthy.

So since most of my friends were born in or around 1991/92, 2013 has not only been the year of the snake, but for me it has been the year of the 21st birthday waltz. Seriously, I have never partied so much in my life. I'm just not much of a party person. Literally, the first time I ever got drunk was at my apartment in Tallahassee with Ashley and Cassie. Since I had never been drunk we decided to just take shots all night until we couldn't anymore. These two dorks ended up sleeping under our coffee table with Mulan playing in the background. I was remixing the cute innocent Disney songs in my mind whilst trying to get these girls into their beds. Instead of "we must be swift as a coursing river" I was all like "we must be swift as a shot of vodka." Cassie refused to move and said, "She's warm" and snuggled closer to Ashley. I was the only one who crawled into bed that night, Cassie smacked her head on the table in the wee hours of the morning thinking she was in her bed and not under a coffee table. The audible thud made me giggle under my sheets in my own squeaky sorry excuse for a bed. My poor neighbors probably got tired of the spring loaded sounds produced by sexy nature and thought I was working for an escort service with how much noise my bed made. Little did they know I was simply rolling over, not roll playing a scene from Fifty Shades of Grey.

But back to the 21st birthday party I just attended a few weeks ago. It feels so weird for me to say weeks, I have truly missed my blog. It is like my baby and I feel as though I have abandoned it. But she is as tough as I am, a little time apart never hurt nobody. Mrs. Norman would likely point out my double negative here. How I made it through her class just baffles me.

Everyone remembers Sarah right? I have talked about her in a few posts before. Well, since about September of last year we have gotten really close. It is kind of creepy how alike we are in some aspects. It may also be creepy that her brother is so freaking hot to me. Sarah likes my brother Tyler too, so naturally I suggested a trade.

Like most of my other friends this year, Sarah turned 21 in July. Having been through my own birthday waltz, I refused to let her celebrate with just any old party. I was determined that she would celebrate with a waltz with the sign, rules, no memories, etc. She of course, was totally down for it. I could tell she was getting progressively more excited about it as the month of June inched closer into July. My sweet little niece doesn't give her many nights out as she must have her chocolate milk and back scratched at a precise time. Meaning, whenever she starts screaming for milk and says, "No, that's not right. Scratch under the shirt (insert whoever she has deemed her slave for the day's name)." She really is so deserving of the princess treatment though, those baby blues just melt Caraboo's heart and she gets whatever she wants. And she says the most intelligent things I have ever heard from a 2 year old. She has enlightened me that big people cannot fit through little doors, and that hearts are behind titties. How priceless! Needless to say, Sarah was in need for the first night out she had had in as long as I had started hanging out with her again.

Since everyone who was attending the party was 21 or over, Sarah decided that we would go to the beaches in Jacksonville, rent a hotel room, and hit all of the bars down there for two days straight. By the way, don't try to go into one of those bars down there with a fake ID. Those bouncers have Superman powers and see right through you and your illegal piece of plastic. I was selfishly excited to go to the beaches since I'd never been on that party scene. I knew that it was going to be Cassie's birthday party for me all over again, with one major modification: I would not be puking pink like a pepto-bismol volcano all over the pub floor. So when we took our first shots with our friends Destiny, Jessica, Amy, and Ashley, we toasted to having as much fun as possible without getting sick. As that disgusting shot of whatever horrible liquor that was slid down my throat, burning all the way, my inner Cara rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah right, might as well put a pillow by the toilet tonight." I pleasantly punched her in the arm in my mind and told her to shut up and that I could handle this. I should come up with another name for my conscious, any suggestions? Leave a comment and let me know.

We started out the night with dinner at a place called the Blue Water Grill. There are two levels to this place and our reservations were upstairs. One of the girls with us had on a very skimpy dress that didn't leave anything to the imagination. This included her panty line, so she left those at home. As we walked up the stairs, a man downstairs literally looked right up her barely there hemline. Like I know it was practically serving itself on an invisible platter, but avert your eyes asshole.

Our waitress had just started working at this place the night before. Poor girl, she probably handed in her resignation and 2 weeks notice as soon as we walked out. It was Sarah, Ashley, Amy, Jessica, Destiny, Nabila, Sarah's mom and stepdad, me, and I feel like I am leaving others out.... But there was a large number of us all demanding hurricanes and tsunamis and any other natural disaster that could be poured into a pretty glass. The girl looked as though she might quit and run crying by the end of the night. Part of me felt bad, the other part was buzzing on some sort of cataclysmic event of nature.

Everything was going very well. We had good food, frozen mudslides, floods, tornadoes, and great conversation. At some point, this boy who one of the girls wanted to see that night showed up looking more country than a cowlick in his boots and cut off sleeve shirt. I guess he didn't get the memo that the waltz theme was Models and Bottles.

Now, for those of you who don't know me, I like to talk about my ex boyfriends when I have had a few. And, if I am being honest, maybe also the "other girl" who the boyfriend dragged into our love line and made it a retarded triangle. Yeah, I can say some nasty things about these cats. Like I will tell a light switch about it if there is nobody else in the room. It is weird for me because normally I am just so peace, love and chicken wings, but after a few Bud Lite Limes or whatever, I just rant so hard about the exes and the stupid girls who let themselves get involved. I can go from, "Well, it really wasn't her fault," to "Bitch wears soooooooo much eye makeup, she looks like a raccoon," quicker than you want to bite into a lime after a shot of Patron.

Needless to say, I kind of just start getting bitter about males in general. So when this Luke Bryan wannabe walked up to our table with a fat dip in his lip, I was a bit perturbed. It reminded me of an ex who dipped after like every meal and it drove me crazy. And this guy was doing it right at the table. I was so angry about it in fact that I stopped mid conversation with Amy and Destiny to say to this stranger, "Excuse me good sir? Yeah while you are at this dinner table in front of all of us beautiful women, I am going to need you to spit that nasty dip out." I can quote this word for word because Amy found it incredibly funny and has repeated it to me several times since. He didn't. What an ass!

Party time wise, things escalated pretty quickly from there. There were rounds of frozen alcoholic drinks and the food was served. I was so excited about my sweet potato fries (probably a little more excited than usual thanks to my hurricanes). My delight was totally ruined when this guy who I didn't know, who wasn't with our party at all, just strolled up and stuck his hand into my fries and started to eat them...... WAIT, HOLD THE FREAKING PHONE!!!?!?!?!?!? ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?!?! I looked at him, and freaked out and was like, "Are you going to pay for those b(*&$#?" Like who just comes up and starts eating some stranger girl's sweet potato fries?! Serious party foul. His girlfriend came up and pushed him along and apologized to me and took care of that part of the bill and bought the whole table a round of shots. If only everyone could apologize like this girl did!

There was another party going on right next to our table. It was for a guy's birthday. He didn't exactly look like he was enjoying the drinking, but his friends were pushing him with more and more. Eventually we got the idea that he would be the perfect victim for one of Sarah's waltz things to do which was to take a body shot off of a stranger. His whole table was totally down for it and literally picked him up and laid him across a makeshift platform made of chairs. One girl in his group snatched his shirt up to reveal a grizzly bear hairy tummy. He was quite cute though so in my mind, it wasn't too bad trade off. Sarah's mom aka Ma-P, started shrieking "Sarah DON'T DO IT!!!!" but we were all forcing her over there, nose first towards his belly button full of booze. She did me proud and licked it all up. Ma P looked like she was about to faint.

Everyone in both parties thought it would only be fair if the boy took a body shot off of Sarah. Seeing as she couldn't just lift up her dress, the guy's party declared a titty shot. The same girl who forced the man to pull his shirt up slammed Sarah down in a chair and shoved a shot glass between her breasts. The guy was so nervous looking, but succumbed to the pressure of his peers and of our table all screaming "TITTY SHOT!" loud enough for the whole strip to hear. He got down on his knees and expertly lifted the shot glass via mouth and turned his head up draining the liquid out of it. He was all, "Look Ma, no hands!"

After quite an eventful dinner, we hit up a most of the bars. At one that I do not recall the name of, I decided to dance. For those of you who know me, you know I dance badly. For those of you who haven't had the distinctly interesting pleasure yet, just youtube bad mascot dances and you will probably get the picture. I don't dance. But tonight I made an exception and did. And some guy decided to dance with me, which is about as rare of an occurrence as a unicorn crossing highway 90. And I decided that I didn't care that he was dancing with me. And I decided to kiss him. Or maybe it was he who decided that. But we did. Multiple times.... Oh my stars, I never ever do stuff like that! This girl doesn't make out with strangers at a bar! What in the actual heck? I felt so mad because that Classy Girls song by The Lumineers declares that classy girls don't kiss in bars. That was definitely a first, and probably a last since I hear you don't meet your sweetheart by smooching next to the bar stools. I am proud to say I at least asked his name, it was Carl. I shouted several times that that is my stepdad's name and eventually decided that I should get away from Carl. My flight of fight senses must have been tingling or something, even though I do not recall him looking like a creep. I am told he was good looking. Amen and Praise the Lord that he didn't have a fever blister.

I wasn't the only one knocking boots on the dance floor. The birthday girl found some guy that she works with (I think) and said she needed to get 21 birthday kisses. Normally people just do a quick peck on the cheek to fulfill this waltz obligation. But not Sarah. She ran the distance of the whole make-out mile! I've got the pictures to prove it.

Never forget that your friends are always there to gather blackmail on you. It is just more unfortunate for the blackmailee if that friend has a blog that a few people read like I just so happen to have. It is okay though, I sometimes normally do or maybe not ask her about what I can and cannot post on here. This may or may not be one of those times.

We were done with that night at some point. I laid down thinking not much of anything, but what I did think was, we achieved our goal, nobody was sick. But that was just day one.