Hello all,
I should currently be packing for my immanent trip to the beautiful city of Seattle: home of the recent Superbowl winners. I heard it is really live there tonight as the players are returning. You know you have done something cool when they have to shut down the airport so the 12th man can't tear the jerseys from their bodies upon their arrival.
So I should be packing since I am actually leaving in about a day. I haven't even taken my the tags off of my brand new luggage; TEAM PROCRASTINATORS UNITE!!!!! However, with the night I have had, I have decided that I needed to just sit around eating Reese Peanut Butter hearts (which by the way are about 200000 billion times better than regular Reese cups) and my beloved blog and readers. You guys are my Valentines this year and I think we deserve a night in with each other. You know, regardless of if I will be ready to fly across the country on Wednesday or not.
This year's official how-to-survive-Valentine's-day-without-getting-bitch-slapped-because-you-got-your-person-a-shitty-gift blog is slightly past due, much like my friend Tannah's gorgeous baby girl was until she finally entered the world on January 29th. Hot mamma, you and Matt did a marvelous job. I obviously need to do whatever y'all did when that time for baby making comes for me. Seriously y'all, I feel like they must have done some sort of ritual dance or drank a special cute baby concoction to make this baby so pretty. Give me your secret!
No, truth be told, I am feeling a little ill towards my favorite holiday. This will be the second one I am spending "alone" and... well, damn, bring on another bag of Reese hearts. It just isn't the same when your mom buys you a big huge teddy bear. That's not a "I love you gorgeous" teddy bear, it's a consolation teddy that says "sorry, there's always next year Sugarpants." Yeah, my mom calls me Sugarpants, be super jealous. Just go ahead and add a bottle of wine to my dinner of chocolate hearts. Hold the glass.
This ill feeling is really intensified when I walk into any given store and see at least three aisles of pink hearts, ridiculous balloons, and the animal kingdom of cheaply made stuffed animals. Seriously, they will turn any animal into a Valentine's Day animal. Nothing shouts Valentine's Day like a pink snake with heart patterned skin. What the hell sort of message is that supposed to send?! "Hey baby, I love you, so you should let me slither in later on tonight!" Actually, that's not bad!!!! Ha! I slay myself!
Also, I swear, the fella who finds me a stuffed elephant seal for Valentine's Day will be the one I marry. Hands down. Find that and you have the right to my body. Just a little side note to the man who is out there on his way to me.
Without further ado, here is my official gift guide to Valentine's Day 2014:
For the ladies:
1) Look guys, I am going to say what I said last year, we love it when you make us things. There is nothing cuter than a boy and a handmade card. Break out the macaroni, glue stick, and pink card stock and get to work. This works for you because it is cheap and is guaranteed to make your lady friend smile, even if it looks like a 3 year old did it. The point is, you put time and thought into something for her.
2) Something new to add to the list this year is a fitness class pass. I don't mean some boyish sort of exercise class, but something sexy like a pole dancing class. There is a place in Tallahassee called Art of the Catwalk, and they offer every class you could think of to bring out your girl's inner sex kitten. Trust me, every girl has one. It may be buried deep, deep down, but put her in front of a pole with Rihanna's "Rude Boy" playing and you will see the claws come out. This place had a pole class, a chair class, sexy boot camp, a number of hip hop dance classes, and (the one that I was most interested in) a Burlesque class. Aerial yoga and hot yoga are also good classes that a lot of us gals are into.
*******CAUTION CAUTION CAUTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*************
DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES MAKE THIS THE ONLY GIFT YOU GIVE YOUR GIRL IF YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE HER THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Giving a girl an exercise class for Valentine's Day could seriously backfire if you go about it wrong. Our fitness buff girls will love it and probably not question it, especially if you two work out together. However, if you have a girlfriend who is very body conscious, always putting herself down about the way she looks, or maybe has honest to goodness put on a few pounds lately, you need to utilize the extremest of caution. Get her the class and a box of chocolate to even it out. That way it doesn't say, "Damn baby I love you, but you need to shed some pounds," but rather, "Hey girl, I know you have been talking about doing this class, and I love that you love being healthy, but you are perfect the way you are and I'd tap that ass any day, so I got you some chocolate too." That way, you avoid her asking you for the next three months if you think she is fat, crying randomly and cussing at you, working out to the extreme and then eating a whole cheesecake, becoming anorexic and eventually needing some serious therapy and cheeseburgers. Point is, if you are going to go with this really unique and cool V-day gift, combine it with some sort of treat or other present so she doesn't think that you think she is fat.
3)Girls love pictures. We may complain about pictures of ourselves, but really we love taking pictures. If you feel like it is appropriate, set up an appointment with your local photographer and surprise her with a photography session. What exactly do I mean by appropriate? I'll tell you. If you have been dating girl for over a year and you guys legitimately care about each other and can seriously see yourselves moving on into the future together, that is appropriate. What is not appropriate is if you have been dating a girl for two months and she is hinting at getting pictures made with you, TURN AROUND BRIGHT EYES AND RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN. THIS BITCH IS CRAZY!!!!!!!!!!!!
Do the cute matching thing. Or, well, I'd prefer to call it "Couple Coordinating." Unless you just want to, wearing matching pink polo shirts is a little dated and cheesy. Maybe for like one picture. Coordinating is simply her wearing a pink shirt and the guy wearing a pink tie. Or maybe he has on a red shirt and she's rocking the red Vans on her feet with a white shirt up top. Pick something that matches, but not anything that is overkill.
**BONUS POINTS ALERT**
Pick out the outfit for her. It really isn't that hard to do guys. Look in her closet, get a feel for her style, look at what colors she likes, write down the sizes and take it to someone working in the store you are shopping in. Find a girl or a gay guy working there (sorry, not trying to be stereotypical but these guys have it right) and let them help you. If you just suck at fashion, just a cute note with some money in it that says, "Pick out something as stunning as you are so I can fill that little plastic thing in my wallet the way that you have filled my heart.".... WOW! I am good! The perfect amount of cheesy without overdoing it, but just fluffy enough to guarantee you a V-day card that didn't come from Hallmark.
4) Dinner is the oldest card in the book for a perfect romantic Valentine's Day setting. It needs to be done right though. This is what I suggest this year. Stay home. Cook your girl her favorite meal (if you can), set the table with real plates and glasses, pick up a bottle of Reisling or whatever she likes, turn the lights down low and light the candles on the table. Again, we love when you make us things. Go for something Italian if she likes that type of food. I love lasagna. Homemade food is way better than restaurant food. I want it everyday of the week and twice on Sundays. If you want to go out and you know she wants to go out, go out for dessert. Make the dinner at home and go find something sweet at a little cafe. That way you get the best of both worlds.
5)Pick her up a spa sort of treatment. We love massages, pedicures, hair cuts, etc. Um... if you want something that is going to benefit you as well as her, get her a Brazilian wax from Brazil's. I have talked so many of my friends into getting them done and we all love them. I now get my legs done too, and it is so much better than shaving. Never suffer through cuddling with a prickly legged girl again. Plus, for whatever reason, every time I leave my appointment at Brazil's, I am instantaneously horny and ready to pounce. See, it is a win win. She gets to have a stubble free kitten, and you just get to have it.
6) Movies are the other leading V-day date. Again, I suggest doing it at home. Make a cute pallet with lots of blankets, pillows, throws, two glasses and a bottle of champagne, and light some candles all around. If you are feeling super romantic, sprinkle some rose petals in a path leading from the door to your cozy little setup. Rent some sort of sappy love movie, and she is guaranteed to love it. If you want to go out, I suggest finding a drive in theatre. A drive in is a little more interesting, intimate and more out of the ordinary than usual.
The last half of the last sentence is the whole key to making for a successful Valentine's Day; out of the ordinary. What ever you decide to do, make it out of the ordinary. We know that you love us, we really do. You tell us everyday and we do hear you. But Valentine's Day is the day to go all out, cut all ties loose, let your cupid flag fly and really wow your individual. Get some flowers, write a silly note from the heart, really show us on that day! After all, actions speak louder than words, so do it to it boys.
For the Men:
I feel as though the men are pretty neglected on Valentine's day. Everything from the heart shaped everything down to the very colors that signify this holiday scream "Chicks not dicks." It is sort of hard to find anything for the guys. The television has been advertising KY Yours and Mine for the man's favorite gift, and that very well may be true. On second thought, I'm positive that any guy who got that would be over the moon and ready to lay you down on that movie pallet later. But I have a few ideas for our fellas that are not bottles of personal lubricants.
1) The guys may not go for homemade cards as much as we do. Sure, they might think they are sweet, but the real way to a guys heart is through his stomach. For your homemade gift to your hunk of burning man, make him his favorite treat. Get sexy and make him some chocolate covered strawberries. They really aren't difficult to make. Grab a bag of milk chocolate chocolate chips, I use Nestle chips, follow the microwave directions, and dip the berries. I put the chocolate in a coffee mug because the berries come out prettier. I think it is because you can dunk the whole berry down into the mug rather than rolling it around in a shallow bowl. White chocolate is another easy chocolate to use, and you can add a few drops of food coloring to make pink berries. Do not use semi-sweet morsels, the chocolate does not harden all the way. After you dip the berries, you can roll them around in sprinkles, chopped nuts, sugar, or do a double dose of delicious and dunk a berry that you dipped in white chocolate in milk chocolate after it has hardened. Two layers of chocolate!!!! Whatever you do, make something he likes to indulge on.
2) Okay, so I tried this a few years ago and I have to say it was a lot cuter in my head than the end product that I produced. I wanted to make this coupon book for a boyfriend. It was basically a book of "get out of jail free" cards. Basically you fill out small rectangles of paper to make them look like a coupon with things like "No bitching about my all day video game spree" or "One free blow job, no complaints" or "One beer run for Monday Night football with your gas." The idea is perfect for a guy. It's the perfect combination of naughty and sweet, meaningful and funny. Guys will love whipping them out on you. Now, the only thing I had wrong with me is that God didn't give me an artistic bone in my body to fulfill my creative ideas. My handwriting looks like my niece's and there have been multiple injuries with a glue gun that may or may not have been thrown out of my door several times. So, if you are like me and hopelessly sloppy, try creating them on the computer. WAYYYYYY EASIER and in my case way more legible.
3) Let me be totally honest about what a guy wants on Valentine's Day. He wants you. Naked. In various and many compromising positions on multiple different surfaces. SEX! He wants SEX! If you are at that stage in your relationship give it to him. THIS DOES NOT APPLY TO MY YOUNGER READERS OUT THERE. YOU CAN QUIT READING THIS POST NOW. SEX MAKES BABIES AND BABIES POOP AND CRY A LOT AND YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO BE SEXY IN A BIKINI AGAIN. DO NOT HAVE SEX! However, for my readers who are of that sort of maturity, give it to him. Fulfill his wildest fantasies. If he wants to do it on the trampoline, do it on the trampoline. Trust me, you won't be sorry on that one. If he wants you in the car while he is driving, hang on and go for a ride. I just suggest a back road for the protection of others. As with what I said about the girls earlier, he wants something out of the ordinary.
4) Tickets to a sporting event are always a good idea. Guys have a team in every sport from football to soccer to curling, so the time of year does not really matter. Since February is devoted mainly to basketball, I suggest tickets to his favorite team's game. College or pro, they might not care, but a pro game might be more exciting. Buy him a new shirt with their logo, put it on the bed with a note on it that says, "There's a twelve pack in the fridge getting cold for the pregame. Put this and your J's on, we have a game to catch." He will love you forever.
Whatever you do this Valentine's Day, do something differently than you would on an ordinary day. Go all out, show your love, let your other half feel the affection you have for him or her. Be silly, be fun, be in love.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Unpretty
Hello all from the roof of the loft,
Although it is below 40 degrees tonight in The Glen, I have found it rather appropriate to bundle up in some blankets and sit outside. Yes, even though I look like a dragon snorting smoke from my nose with every breath I breathe, and even though I will probably end up with a garden variety cold sometime in the near future, I could not stay inside. For whatever reason, God found it perfectly okay to make the clearest skies on the coldest nights. If you know me, you know that I love the stars. They are by far one of my favorite beauties in this world, the 8th wonder of the world so to speak. To gaze upon them is to forget the world around instantaneously, even if for just a moment. You can talk to them and they will blink at you in recognition; that they understand everything you care and worry about.
I came out here tonight because I have been having an "ugh-ly day."
"Cara's Dictionary" is an unpublished literary masterpiece of the made-up, nonsensical words, terms, short sayings, and expressions that I use on a daily basis. Right under "Ugh" which is defined as the (1) the slight growling, choking noise I make in light of disgust (2) the semi-verbal expression I make when I do not wish to do something, is something I call an "ugh-ly day."
When one is having an "ugh-ly day" she looks in the mirror and sees herself as somewhat of a troll. Everything from a Gucci suit to some tattered old sweats that belonged to ole whats-his-face make you look fat and disgusting. No matter how much make up you slap on your face, you still appear to be recovering from some sort of illness, and your damn hair just will not fall the right way. You can drape yourself in scarves and deck out your neck in jewels and still feel understated and unnoticeable. You feel gross, are in a bad mood, can't seem to do anything right that day. AND NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, YOU JUST FEEL BUTT FREAKING UGLY.
Well, I was having one of those days today towards the end of the day. I felt pretty good when I woke up at noon today, my belly was looking a little bit flatter upon my newest routine of checking it out in the morning. I was actually really pleased, because I was looking and feeling healthier than I had since before I started my daily 4 mile interval walk/jog back on the 26th of December. I was noticing a difference, or at least I thought I was.
With all the confidence and gusto in the world, I went down to my Nanny and Papa's house and stepped proudly onto the scale. When I peeked down at that always unforgiving, little bitch of a digital screen, I felt a stab of regret at ever doing so. Needless to say, I was not pleased with what I saw.
Trying not to feel discouraged, actually I was feeling more inspired to work harder, I went to tackle my daily 4 miles. This time, I employed my cousin Willis to come with me to keep me company. He is training to be a firefighter, so he was about to push me to keep up with him. He was making me jog, sprint, (juggle while doing back flips) all the way down 90 with precious few minutes of walking in between. Well, they seemed short to me anyways, he was looking forward to each little jogging interval with pride. At the end of it I was exhausted. I am pretty sure I sprained something, popped some blood vessels in my eyes, and broke both of my shins, but I FREAKING DID IT! I felt so accomplished and it was awesome.
The "ugh-ly day" set in when I was putting on clothes to go to Cassie's house for the airing of our Sunday show, Downton Abbey. Side note: Watch Downton Abbey, seriously do yourself a favor and get hooked.
I just wanted to be comfortable so I threw on some of my workout leggings. My little belly roll seemed to be more noticeable than usual so I searched for a flowy shirt. But to my disdain, nothing made me feel right. I mean, I know I was just going to Cassie's house and she couldn't care less if I showed up wearing nipple pasties and strap on, but I just wanted to look decent! Really, I just wanted to feel decent, and for whatever reason, I wasn't getting to that. I wanted to be the perfect balance of carefree and amazing, but I just could not achieve such a look. For goodness sake, I wore a lavender t-shirt with a damn unicorn and rainbow on it the other day and somehow looked better and felt better than I did tonight in my mint Ralph Lauren button up.
I was starting to get frustrated and upset. Every item of clothing I put on, I kept pointing out more and more flaws on my body, face; even the atmosphere around me felt off. My hair was being weird and my face was "a whole nother" disaster. I was spiraling into a pit of ugh-ly so deep that the whole Sephora store could not have rescued me and pulled me to the surface of pretty once again.
I finally settled for my black athletic leggings, a black tank top and a charcoal cardigan- an outfit that matched my whiny emo mood.
Somehow, I managed to enjoy Downton as usual. This show sort of has that effect on me. It also makes me want to speak in my fine British accent and say things like, "I'll say goodnight." I listened to the Glee version of "I Feel Pretty/Unpretty" on the way home, along with Sex on Fire and Lay Me Down several times. But that marvelous mash-up that the producers of Glee decided to put into the show started to speak to me. Basically this is what it was whispering to my soul:
There are a lot of things in the world that are going to make you feel unpretty. Maybe you are out shopping and everything you try on looks wrong or doesn't fit. Perhaps you are getting ready to go out for the first time after a bad break up and you realize you should have curled your hair instead of straightened it just a little too late, and now you are left with a do that is a cross between Hermione Granger and Simba. You might have stepped on the scale and the numbers you saw were just too damn high. Maybe someone has done the unthinkable and actually told you that you were not sufficiently esthetically pleasing to the eye, and even though you know they are stupid and wrong, something stirs in your stomach and tells you that they are right.
How do you handle these horrid "ugh-ly days"? Surely there has to be some sort of combative technique you can break out and kick this thing in the ass! Well, I am pleased to tell you that there are certain things you might be able to do to beat these unsightly blues away. Some are sort of silly, but this is how I do it.
1) Go for a walk on a sidewalk that runs through a nice part of town- Seriously, nothing says confidence booster like a redneck in a jacked up truck honking his horn at you. Wear some sunglasses and don't really look into the vehicle to see who it is. 9 times out of 11 it probably is some redneck with a fat dip in his lip making the cat call, but if you just smile and keep walking you can pretend it was James Franco in a sleek, black convertible.
2) Play dress up- It doesn't matter if you are going to the gas station or to dinner at the Taj Mahal, you put an outfit on that makes you feel like a supermodel and rock it to the fullest. Let the neck line plunge deeper than the Mariana Trench, let your hair down in sex kitten curls, and let the heels be tall so you can tower over all of the people who make you feel small. Put on those red lips and pearls like you are a headliner in a Burlesque show. Wear black, or whatever color makes you feel like a total bad ass. But never forget what that adorable redheaded orphan told us, you are never fully dressed without a smile:)
3) Take yourself on a date- Yep, you and that sexy outfit go out to lunch somewhere fabulous. It doesn't have to be a five star restaurant, more like the quaint little cafe that you adore so much. The one with the amazing dessert bar with that piece of cake that you would eat every day if your calorie count would allow it. Order you a coffee and a slice of something sweet and just savor the moment. Sit there and smile so big that people look at you and wonder what secret you are guarding that makes you so happy. Sometimes, we just need something a little sweet to make us feel like a new person. After all, a spoonful of sugar makes the ugh-ly go away. Or something like that anyways!
4) Take a drive- Second to a good long walk, is a drive in your car with the windows down and your favorite playlist blaring through the speakers. I have a playlist on my Iphone that is specific for this sort of ride. It is titled perfectly: FBGM. Translation: Fuck Boys, Get Money. This playlist is full of Beyonce and Reba McEntire and it really speaks to my soul on these sorts of days. Any song about being a sexy lady is great! Make you a playlist full of your favorite run-the-world songs, put all of the windows down letting your hair blow around your face, pull those Jackie-O RayBans down over your eyes, turn the heater on your feet and just jam out like Ozzie Osbourn.
**Fellas, I am sorry to be sort of leaving you out in this post. But hey, you can do this too!Maybe not so much on the letting your hair down in sex kitten curls, but maybe getting cleaned up at the barber instead. There is such thing as a male version of an ugh-ly day: I call it a mugh-ly day. These mugh-ly days are typically brought on by whiny girlfriends, a crappy day at work, spilling your protein shake on your new Sperry's, etc. SO, if you are having a mugh-ly day, go to the that favorite hole in the wall bar with your mates and have a few cold ones. On the way there, turn your favorite playlist on. My brother's phone has several things titled Fuck Bitches, Get Money so I know you can do this! I suggest "99 Problems" to be number one on your playlist. I know we ladies can be a pain, but if yours has become an actual problem and is causing you to have multiple mugh-ly days every week, tell that beeotch to get to stepping. For those of you who have wonderful girlfriends who are not the root of your mugh-ly day, remember, sex is probably the best cure to any sort of day you are having, including a mugh-ly one. Put on that crisp Ralph Lauren button up and take her out on a just dessert date. (Hint- bring some of that chocolate fondue home;) ) We love dates, especially cute ones. Believe it or not, you will feel better just by seeing us happy and surprised.
(I know this sounds like some sort of trick, a girl telling you to take your girl out on a date to make yourself feel better, but I promise this is something I have heard from several men. They are happier when they are having a good time with their girl. Plus, any man who takes his gal out for chocolate fondue is definitely getting laid, thus ending the mugh-ly day instantaneously, Chocolate and sex= a win for you).
5)Call your mom- like I don't even have to really go into detail about this one. Call your mom, your Nanny, your favorite auntie, whoever has the best confidence in you and will shower you with compliments to the point to where you have to tell them to shut up because it becomes almost annoying. Dads don't really get this sort of thing, and you might freak them out crying about being ugly and how you are never going to get a boyfriend because nothing fits and you'll have to live with him and nine cats and a bird name Patty for the rest of your life because you are unfit to be seen by the world. I mean, dads are great to talk to, I talk to mine all the time, but maybe save him the confusion of you crying on the phone for 15 minutes about how your boobs just don't sit right. He will thank you for it.
6) Watch the stars- Kind of cliche, I know, but it is one of my favorite things to do. I said earlier that they just sort of understand you and seem to wink at you to let you know that your worries and cares are being heard and handled. That's because the Big Man Himself is up there listening to everything in your heart, even the things you don't say. I like to go sit on this green tin roof and just look at the stars. I think that they are the most beautiful thing that He ever made. I don't think He makes ugly things, bad things, hurtful things. That is the world and it's hateful ways that make you hurt and just feel unpretty. So, then, when I think about it, I must be pretty simply because He made me, too. That's the game ender on an ugh-ly day.
There are going to be days where your clothes just don't look right, your hair isn't falling the right way, and your face is a totally different disaster. There are going to be days that your whole spirit is just dampened. Ugh-ly days aren't just about looking bad, it could be anything to make you feel down. It is going to happen, but when they come, just remind yourself that you are amazing while you sip on that white chocolate latte, with the windows down and the heater on your feet, and Fancy blaring up through the sunroof up into the stars. Remember y'all, never, never ever let anyone make you feel unpretty. And if there is someone in your life making you feel that way, tell them like Beyonce and step to the left out of your life and that you can find a better them in a minute.
Although it is below 40 degrees tonight in The Glen, I have found it rather appropriate to bundle up in some blankets and sit outside. Yes, even though I look like a dragon snorting smoke from my nose with every breath I breathe, and even though I will probably end up with a garden variety cold sometime in the near future, I could not stay inside. For whatever reason, God found it perfectly okay to make the clearest skies on the coldest nights. If you know me, you know that I love the stars. They are by far one of my favorite beauties in this world, the 8th wonder of the world so to speak. To gaze upon them is to forget the world around instantaneously, even if for just a moment. You can talk to them and they will blink at you in recognition; that they understand everything you care and worry about.
I came out here tonight because I have been having an "ugh-ly day."
"Cara's Dictionary" is an unpublished literary masterpiece of the made-up, nonsensical words, terms, short sayings, and expressions that I use on a daily basis. Right under "Ugh" which is defined as the (1) the slight growling, choking noise I make in light of disgust (2) the semi-verbal expression I make when I do not wish to do something, is something I call an "ugh-ly day."
When one is having an "ugh-ly day" she looks in the mirror and sees herself as somewhat of a troll. Everything from a Gucci suit to some tattered old sweats that belonged to ole whats-his-face make you look fat and disgusting. No matter how much make up you slap on your face, you still appear to be recovering from some sort of illness, and your damn hair just will not fall the right way. You can drape yourself in scarves and deck out your neck in jewels and still feel understated and unnoticeable. You feel gross, are in a bad mood, can't seem to do anything right that day. AND NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO, YOU JUST FEEL BUTT FREAKING UGLY.
Well, I was having one of those days today towards the end of the day. I felt pretty good when I woke up at noon today, my belly was looking a little bit flatter upon my newest routine of checking it out in the morning. I was actually really pleased, because I was looking and feeling healthier than I had since before I started my daily 4 mile interval walk/jog back on the 26th of December. I was noticing a difference, or at least I thought I was.
With all the confidence and gusto in the world, I went down to my Nanny and Papa's house and stepped proudly onto the scale. When I peeked down at that always unforgiving, little bitch of a digital screen, I felt a stab of regret at ever doing so. Needless to say, I was not pleased with what I saw.
Trying not to feel discouraged, actually I was feeling more inspired to work harder, I went to tackle my daily 4 miles. This time, I employed my cousin Willis to come with me to keep me company. He is training to be a firefighter, so he was about to push me to keep up with him. He was making me jog, sprint, (juggle while doing back flips) all the way down 90 with precious few minutes of walking in between. Well, they seemed short to me anyways, he was looking forward to each little jogging interval with pride. At the end of it I was exhausted. I am pretty sure I sprained something, popped some blood vessels in my eyes, and broke both of my shins, but I FREAKING DID IT! I felt so accomplished and it was awesome.
The "ugh-ly day" set in when I was putting on clothes to go to Cassie's house for the airing of our Sunday show, Downton Abbey. Side note: Watch Downton Abbey, seriously do yourself a favor and get hooked.
I just wanted to be comfortable so I threw on some of my workout leggings. My little belly roll seemed to be more noticeable than usual so I searched for a flowy shirt. But to my disdain, nothing made me feel right. I mean, I know I was just going to Cassie's house and she couldn't care less if I showed up wearing nipple pasties and strap on, but I just wanted to look decent! Really, I just wanted to feel decent, and for whatever reason, I wasn't getting to that. I wanted to be the perfect balance of carefree and amazing, but I just could not achieve such a look. For goodness sake, I wore a lavender t-shirt with a damn unicorn and rainbow on it the other day and somehow looked better and felt better than I did tonight in my mint Ralph Lauren button up.
I was starting to get frustrated and upset. Every item of clothing I put on, I kept pointing out more and more flaws on my body, face; even the atmosphere around me felt off. My hair was being weird and my face was "a whole nother" disaster. I was spiraling into a pit of ugh-ly so deep that the whole Sephora store could not have rescued me and pulled me to the surface of pretty once again.
I finally settled for my black athletic leggings, a black tank top and a charcoal cardigan- an outfit that matched my whiny emo mood.
Somehow, I managed to enjoy Downton as usual. This show sort of has that effect on me. It also makes me want to speak in my fine British accent and say things like, "I'll say goodnight." I listened to the Glee version of "I Feel Pretty/Unpretty" on the way home, along with Sex on Fire and Lay Me Down several times. But that marvelous mash-up that the producers of Glee decided to put into the show started to speak to me. Basically this is what it was whispering to my soul:
There are a lot of things in the world that are going to make you feel unpretty. Maybe you are out shopping and everything you try on looks wrong or doesn't fit. Perhaps you are getting ready to go out for the first time after a bad break up and you realize you should have curled your hair instead of straightened it just a little too late, and now you are left with a do that is a cross between Hermione Granger and Simba. You might have stepped on the scale and the numbers you saw were just too damn high. Maybe someone has done the unthinkable and actually told you that you were not sufficiently esthetically pleasing to the eye, and even though you know they are stupid and wrong, something stirs in your stomach and tells you that they are right.
How do you handle these horrid "ugh-ly days"? Surely there has to be some sort of combative technique you can break out and kick this thing in the ass! Well, I am pleased to tell you that there are certain things you might be able to do to beat these unsightly blues away. Some are sort of silly, but this is how I do it.
1) Go for a walk on a sidewalk that runs through a nice part of town- Seriously, nothing says confidence booster like a redneck in a jacked up truck honking his horn at you. Wear some sunglasses and don't really look into the vehicle to see who it is. 9 times out of 11 it probably is some redneck with a fat dip in his lip making the cat call, but if you just smile and keep walking you can pretend it was James Franco in a sleek, black convertible.
2) Play dress up- It doesn't matter if you are going to the gas station or to dinner at the Taj Mahal, you put an outfit on that makes you feel like a supermodel and rock it to the fullest. Let the neck line plunge deeper than the Mariana Trench, let your hair down in sex kitten curls, and let the heels be tall so you can tower over all of the people who make you feel small. Put on those red lips and pearls like you are a headliner in a Burlesque show. Wear black, or whatever color makes you feel like a total bad ass. But never forget what that adorable redheaded orphan told us, you are never fully dressed without a smile:)
3) Take yourself on a date- Yep, you and that sexy outfit go out to lunch somewhere fabulous. It doesn't have to be a five star restaurant, more like the quaint little cafe that you adore so much. The one with the amazing dessert bar with that piece of cake that you would eat every day if your calorie count would allow it. Order you a coffee and a slice of something sweet and just savor the moment. Sit there and smile so big that people look at you and wonder what secret you are guarding that makes you so happy. Sometimes, we just need something a little sweet to make us feel like a new person. After all, a spoonful of sugar makes the ugh-ly go away. Or something like that anyways!
4) Take a drive- Second to a good long walk, is a drive in your car with the windows down and your favorite playlist blaring through the speakers. I have a playlist on my Iphone that is specific for this sort of ride. It is titled perfectly: FBGM. Translation: Fuck Boys, Get Money. This playlist is full of Beyonce and Reba McEntire and it really speaks to my soul on these sorts of days. Any song about being a sexy lady is great! Make you a playlist full of your favorite run-the-world songs, put all of the windows down letting your hair blow around your face, pull those Jackie-O RayBans down over your eyes, turn the heater on your feet and just jam out like Ozzie Osbourn.
**Fellas, I am sorry to be sort of leaving you out in this post. But hey, you can do this too!Maybe not so much on the letting your hair down in sex kitten curls, but maybe getting cleaned up at the barber instead. There is such thing as a male version of an ugh-ly day: I call it a mugh-ly day. These mugh-ly days are typically brought on by whiny girlfriends, a crappy day at work, spilling your protein shake on your new Sperry's, etc. SO, if you are having a mugh-ly day, go to the that favorite hole in the wall bar with your mates and have a few cold ones. On the way there, turn your favorite playlist on. My brother's phone has several things titled Fuck Bitches, Get Money so I know you can do this! I suggest "99 Problems" to be number one on your playlist. I know we ladies can be a pain, but if yours has become an actual problem and is causing you to have multiple mugh-ly days every week, tell that beeotch to get to stepping. For those of you who have wonderful girlfriends who are not the root of your mugh-ly day, remember, sex is probably the best cure to any sort of day you are having, including a mugh-ly one. Put on that crisp Ralph Lauren button up and take her out on a just dessert date. (Hint- bring some of that chocolate fondue home;) ) We love dates, especially cute ones. Believe it or not, you will feel better just by seeing us happy and surprised.
(I know this sounds like some sort of trick, a girl telling you to take your girl out on a date to make yourself feel better, but I promise this is something I have heard from several men. They are happier when they are having a good time with their girl. Plus, any man who takes his gal out for chocolate fondue is definitely getting laid, thus ending the mugh-ly day instantaneously, Chocolate and sex= a win for you).
5)Call your mom- like I don't even have to really go into detail about this one. Call your mom, your Nanny, your favorite auntie, whoever has the best confidence in you and will shower you with compliments to the point to where you have to tell them to shut up because it becomes almost annoying. Dads don't really get this sort of thing, and you might freak them out crying about being ugly and how you are never going to get a boyfriend because nothing fits and you'll have to live with him and nine cats and a bird name Patty for the rest of your life because you are unfit to be seen by the world. I mean, dads are great to talk to, I talk to mine all the time, but maybe save him the confusion of you crying on the phone for 15 minutes about how your boobs just don't sit right. He will thank you for it.
6) Watch the stars- Kind of cliche, I know, but it is one of my favorite things to do. I said earlier that they just sort of understand you and seem to wink at you to let you know that your worries and cares are being heard and handled. That's because the Big Man Himself is up there listening to everything in your heart, even the things you don't say. I like to go sit on this green tin roof and just look at the stars. I think that they are the most beautiful thing that He ever made. I don't think He makes ugly things, bad things, hurtful things. That is the world and it's hateful ways that make you hurt and just feel unpretty. So, then, when I think about it, I must be pretty simply because He made me, too. That's the game ender on an ugh-ly day.
There are going to be days where your clothes just don't look right, your hair isn't falling the right way, and your face is a totally different disaster. There are going to be days that your whole spirit is just dampened. Ugh-ly days aren't just about looking bad, it could be anything to make you feel down. It is going to happen, but when they come, just remind yourself that you are amazing while you sip on that white chocolate latte, with the windows down and the heater on your feet, and Fancy blaring up through the sunroof up into the stars. Remember y'all, never, never ever let anyone make you feel unpretty. And if there is someone in your life making you feel that way, tell them like Beyonce and step to the left out of your life and that you can find a better them in a minute.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
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.
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.
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