Married Christmas

The season is upon us and I am knee deep in the gift buying/planning phase of the rat race that is Christmastime. I've pinned gifts, written ideas on scraps of paper, scoured sale ads, and just about everything else that you can think of. I'm on top of the gift finding. Now, if money would magically appear in my bank account I could buy my bestie and I matching Hunter boots!

...BofA isn't showing any sudden surplus of money. It must not work that way. Well shoot.

Anyhoo, while making my annual Christmas list for Santa, it dawned on me that everyone who gets married laments the fact that they don't get as many gifts from their parents Santa. Why does this happen? What scrooge made this a rule? Does this mean that my fireside plaid skirt from J. Crew will not be under the tree? Do I not get to pick my favorite things and have them magically show up after I order them myself with someone else's card? What about my stocking? Will it be empty? Am I loved less because I'm married?

I couldn't let those questions go unanswered, so this morning when I dropped off Polly, I had a talk with Santa. It went like this.

Me:"We need to talk. Just because I'm married now and I don't live here anymore doesn't mean that Santa doesn't have to keep up his annual tradition. I figure I'm costing you less, therefore you should have more to give!"

Santa: "Well what do you want baby?"

Me: "Can I get back to you on that one? I need to check Pinterest."

Whew! Thank Bob! I will get my skirt and A will get whatever I tell Santa he needs! All is right with the world!

I write this to restore hope to married girls everywhere. Don't settle for the "Married Christmas" gifts. Tell your mom and dad Santa that you're still their his favorite little girl! Milk it ladies!

Happy Pinning and List Making!

Love,
a VERY good girl

Blogging on the G-O!

Update: This is my first mobile post! I didn't even know this was possible! Is this for real? (P.s. I'm sitting at my desk but I thought I'd pretend like I'm sitting on my couch so you could be in the moment with me.)  Anyway, last night I (and by I, I mean A) hung a curtain rod above the front windows! Progress! The scrap of fabric hanging by two bobby pins over on the right is muslin left over from my tree skirt project. Do we like cream? Bueller?

I must add that this morning when I walked into the living room I was slap giddy over that curtain rod and scrap of muslin.

Oh, and yes, that is Polly laying on a Gucci blanket. I had it to myself for all of a month before it became "her blanket." Spoiled. Rotten.

TTFN,
SM

Overexposed

I have made absolutely no bones about the fact that my new residence is a bachelor pad. I'm talking wood on the walls, wood on the floor, wooden cabinets, wooden furniture... Wood is literally everywhere you turn. Only the doors are painted. Here is a picture of my entry area so you can get a handle on what I'm sayin'.

The ever so adorable poodle is my pup Polly. She was in time out for eating Mommy's razor, a beloved sandle from Loft and mauling a bar of soap beyond recognition.

Here is a less flattering view of the living room to give you an idea of how the living areas are.

I could have helped her out and enhanced some colors, but this is straight out of my Crackberry, so we'll work with what we've got.

Spanning across the front side of the house are three windows and a door with another window to the left of the cranberry front door.

Okay, now that you get the lay of the land, I need some help picking out my window treatments. Seriously, I am in dire straits here. My neighbors have the option of watching me get dressed in the mornings.

I am exposed! Overexposed! I was watching tv in my PJ's the other day when one of my boyhusband's co-workers pulled up into the yard on his GOLFCART. Does he live in the neighborhood? No! Is he within a mile? No! He lives five minutes down the road! I sprinted to the bedroom to put on some jeans and a sweater before he made it to the front door. I thought that I'd gone unnoticed until he said, "I saw you streak across the yard like a cat caught on fire. Didn't have your pants on?"

Ugh. The joys of country living. Country folk don't mince words and they don't spare your feelings!

Also, do you see the windows by the dining room table? See those benches on the back deck? What would I do if someone was just sitting there watching me? I would just die. Absolutely die if I saw somoene sitting out there creeping. Ahh! Needless to say, something has got to go over these bad boys!

Anyway, here's where you can help me. I need to make a decision soon. I've been on the fence for far too long. I'm going to put something over these windows whether it be newspaper, aluminum foil, curtains, blinds, sheets or animal hides. But what do I do?

Do I do shutters? If I do, which color? Wood to match everything else?

Should I go the panel route? I have decided that, should I go this way, I will definitely do cream. However, do I have them just straight down with clips securing them to the rods?

These lovelies are from Restoration Hardware. I wouldn't be purchasing these,
but they would serve as an inspiration.

Or do I do something more tailored, like these beauties?

These were actually found here, at my newest favoritest blog.

Now, I know that these aren't "rustic" but I want something that will bring some feminitity into the space and make it more modern and tailored. I've come to love all of the wood, but it's time to bring some textiles to the party, baby.

The couches are on my list of things to do, but for now, they are clean and newish and they are comfortable for movie watching, so they shall remain. I've got to work with the sage-ish-ness. What do you think? Link me some ideas!

Pinteresting

Pinterest. Haven't heard of it? Good! Stop right here and pretend you never heard the name! Shh! Don't talk about it! Just go!

I discovered this little website about a month ago. It's a compilation of pictures, DIY projects, recipes, clothes and pretty much anything else that a person may be interested in. All in one website. You can organize the links much like you would a bulletin board in an office. Since the beginning of my love affair, I have pinned some 350 different projects and whatnot. Last night, however, I lost my pinginity. Get it? Pinginity? Lalalala.

This wreath was the first of many obsessions that I would have with all things burlap.

You see, my house is a cabin and burlap just fits right in. It's like peanut butter and chocolate. Cabin and burlap. See how it flows off the tongue? Anyway, in my quest to blend more creams and whites into the color scheme, I discovered this little beauty.

Isn't she lovely! I love the texture and the rawness of it. I love everything about it! I just died when I learned that I didn't have to sew a darn thing!

So, it is safe to say that I lost my Pinginity to this adorable tree skirt. Not this one, but the one that I made. This is the dirty on how it went down.

I went to the Walmarts yesterday after work to gather supplies to make a burlap dry erase board (which I will share with you tomorrow), and also to get the materials to make my simple little tree skirt. Of course I ran into a friend of mine, Sarah, who went on to tell me how much she loves my blog and made me blush. Then, she followed me to the fabric department where I used expressions like "how in the heck" and "sam hill" while contemplating how to go about making a template for this little tree skirt. (I still don't know how, I just decided to use an old one I had in a container in my closet.)

Two yards of muslin and burlap and a bag of glue sticks later, I was on my way to convert our clean little living room into craft central.

I had romanticized how everything would happen. It was straight out of "Leave it to Beaver"...

A-dub and I would arrive home around the same time and we would exchange hugs and kisses and say how we'd missed each other so. After dinner would be the perfect time to settle in for an episode of  Law and Order: SVU followed by Glee and begin on my project. I would simply cut the fabric into 3" wide strips and simoultaneously glue/ruffle (gluffle?) them onto an existing tree skirt that I found in my box of Christmases past. It would take me no longer than 45 minutes to complete this simple task. Then my boyfriend that I married would gaze at me adoringly, telling me how creative and wonderful I am. After that, we would sit on the couch and sip coffee, going over the happenings of the day.

I think Sinatra was playing in the background and there was candle light. Lots of it. I don't know where my mind gets these ideas.

Ha. Ha. Ha. Silly, silly gehl.

This is how it really went down.

A-bomb was late getting home from work so I beat him there. By the time he arrived, I had a hot mess strewn about in the living room. He ate leftovers while I scurried about, trying to find my glue gun and scissors. I settled down in my spot on the loveseat to commence cutting the burlap into strips.

**Word to the wise: that crap isn't straight. If you think that you're going to cut in the direction of the fabric and get a straight line, think again.

I finally just went with it and had crooked strips. I later realized that the curved strips were actually better for ruffling around the skirt and made it look more home made. Score! Once I had all of my strips, I began attaching the first row of burlap to the skirt with molten lava hot glue. 

**A word about burlap: it is wild. It will not be tamed and you will not get perfect pleats unless you get an iron after it. So naturally I just let it do its thing. Burlap and I are kindred spirits.

I worked my way from the outside in with a row of burlap ruffled, then two rows of muslin, and repeated until I got into the center. Mine got kind of wonky towards the middle so I had to improvise. It's ok though, no one will see the center once there are gifts under the tree.

Here's how mine turned out. There are some places that the red from the skirt peeks through that will get patched with muslin later. After three hours of burning myself and peeling layers of glue and skin off of my digits, I was ready to hang up the gun. Yeah, you heard me. THREE FRACKING HOURS!

The Fruit of My Labor

 All in all, it was a very successful project. Although it's not the most durable tree skirt out there, it was relatively cheap (I figure $10 by the time it was all said and done). If nothing else, I know that Polly loves it. I found her sleeping on it this morning! Although it was a beautiful sight- black standard poodle gracefully curled up on a bed of ruffled muslin and burlap- I shrieked and scared the crap out of her. I have a feeling I'm going to be one of those people with this skirt.

Like, if I could find a plastic cover for it, probably I would buy it.

Anyway, I'm off to re-apply my burn ointment onto my poor digits.

Get ready for a bombardment of DIY posts! I've got 80 glue sticks and I'm not afraid to use them!

Holler.

Swizzle

Unscented: Undetected

"I need some unscented soap, shampoo and conditioner, deodorant, and laundry stuff."-Husband

First off, does that not defeat the purpose of all of the above? I mean, if you have an allergy to fragrances I guess that it would make sense to have those products, but I know that A has none of the above. He is actually enthusiastic about new toiletries. In fact, when I stock up on shampoo when it's on sale, he puts every. single. bottle. in the shower so that he can try them out. Annoying? Yes. Charming? Sometimes.

After I mentally prepared myself to answer his question, I replied: "I can make all of those things with recipes I found on Pinterest for toiletries and even cleaning products." Then, I asked the obvious. "Why, husband, do you want all of these items unscented?

Are you ready?

"So the deer won't smell me."

So... the deer... won't smell him? The same deer that literally run out in front of my car on a regular basis?

**Side Note: This is not uncommon, I have learned. There is an entire market of these items targeted at hunters. You can buy female deer (doe) URINE to spray on your shoes so that the buck (male deer) will think that you're a female looking for love. You can buy dirt scented dryer sheets so that the deer don't smell you and detect a foreign invader in their habitat. The list goes on and on. I will post a list of my favorites at a later date, but now, back to your regularly scheduled program.

Yes, he wants these products to completely eliminate the smells associated with humans so that he can then have a "blank canvas", if you will, onto which he will spray deer smells that he has purchased from a mass producer of all things hunting related.

Obviously, I didn't sense the urgency of the need for these products, because I put them on my "to do this weekend" list. Well, my resourceful husband took matters into his own hands.

He woke up early on the weekend to return the vases he had purchased for our wedding reception, since he had no use for them now that they had served their purpose. There was absolutely NO WAY I was going to sit in that return line with him while he returned the used vases. However, they were much cleaner after we used them than they were when we purchased them. Maybe we actually did them a favor? Who knows.

Anyway, when he returned from town, he had two bags in hand and a look of sheer glee splayed across his face.

 He had spent $60 on unscented products. I literally could have made everything he wanted for $15.00 and had enough to last him for five hunting seasons.

The only thing that kept me from blasting him for how ridiculous it was for him to buy all of his stuff was the excitement on his face as he examined all of his new products. He looked like a kid at Christmas.  I've never seen the boy so happy to go take a shower. Or wash clothes! The icing on the cake was when he took his freshly washed and dried laundry and, wait for it, folded it and placed it inside of the SCENT FREE plastic bag that was so graciously included in his kit!

So, this morning when he went hunting, I smiled to myself as he showered with his special shampoo/conditioner and green bar of soap that I'm forbidden to use, extracted his clothes from the scent free bag and carefully dressed without touching anything in the room as not to pick up "human scents". And when he walked out the door, I knew that he paused underneath the deck to spray down in an additional layer of scent killer before he struck off for the woods.

It may be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of, and I may think that it is absolutely insane, but I can honestly say that it's worth it because it buys me more time to sleep in. God bless the scent blocker. Amen.

So Thankful

A number of my Facebook friends have been posting what they are thankful for each day of November.

"What a great idea!" I thought as I first saw it. "I should do that," I also thought. But, you know me, I'm lazy so  I didn't.

Today it struck me that I have so much to be grateful for. I will probably write a few of these posts when I'm feeling nostalgic, but this one is dedicated to my favorite dynamic duo.

 I didn't have a traditional two-parent upbringing and I literally had a village raise me. The chiefs being Granny and Papa, of course. Today, and every day, I am thankful for them.

Here are some, not all, of the reasons why:

-They are consistent. I always know that they're going to be at church on Sunday and when I come over in the mornings I know that they'll be having coffee in the sun room.

-They are predictable. I always know what to expect- good or bad- and that is worth more than gold.

-They love me. So much that I can't even comprehend it. They know everything about me, and they still love me.

-They tell me to be nice when I don't want to be. Sometimes I listen to them.
-They tell me to calm down when I get upset at them for telling me to be nice.

-They show me every day what it is to live for Christ and to love eachother unconditionally.

-They babysit Polly while I'm at work. I mean, who has ever heard of this nonsense?!

-They are addicted to sweets and they hide them from eachother.*Ok, so it's just Granny hiding her dumdums in her sewing room, but Papa eats ice cream straight out of the gallon container!

-They are an endless source of entertainment.

-They are always there. They've never missed an important event in my life. Ever.

-They tell me every single time that I see them how much they love me. Come on, put a price on THAT.

Anyway, I 've got snot running out of my nose and my eye make-up is wrecked. I'm such an embarrassment to myself.

What are you thankful for today? If it's a person, call them up and tell them. It just might make their day!

Over and Out,
Sunny

The Merging of the Households

As many of you may or may not know, on October 22, 2011, I married my high school sweetheart! We had a beautiful wedding on a BEAUTIFUL day in a beautiful church. The people were beautiful, the flowers were beautiful, and the ceremony was... beautiful. I was truly magical.

I figure that my first year as a married gal would be great blog material. I don't have much time to write right this moment, as blueberry muffins are in the oven and A is on his way back home with dinner. But, for the sake of blogging and trying to get back into my groove, I will journal what I did today.

I woke up to the sounds of a cat meowing outside of my bedroom. Its voice was scratching and shrill. I wanted to shoot it. When I opened my eyes, I discovered that it was none other than my beloved, waking me up. Before dawn. We have named the "cat" Sparkles, and I am currently setting out rat poison.

I pulled the covers over my head and put an arm around Polly and dozed off only to be woken by my brave hunter returning from his jaunt through the woods at an unspecified time after sunrise.

Fast forward a few hours later, and my new mother-in-law and I traveled a great distance to collect my gifts from a Pampered Chef shower that some of her girl friends were kind enough to give in my honor prior to the wedding. With five LARGE boxes in tow, we returned to the cabin in the woods that is now my home to look at the loot. Once we unwrapped all of the gadgets and whatnots, I realized that my new pretties needed somewhere to go.

Enter: A's bachelor kitchen. I had already done some organizing, but I really had to do some creative shifting today.

Anyway, I rearranged, organized and threw out until all of my things had a home in which they were best suited and most beautifully displayed. I am proud. So proud!

The point of this post really was to tell you what all he had in his cabinets. I mean, seriously. I don't understand men and their grocery shopping habits! No cereal, no drinks, no snacks! The combination is absolutely fantastic. Here we go!

6 cans of green beans
14 cans of corn
2 cans of tomato soup
2 packages of tuna helper
lots of koolaid
lots of packages of seasonings (those may or may not be my fault)
Half-eaten package of oyster crackers
6 bottles of hot sauce
4 bottles of italian dressing
4 large cans of baked beans
9 cans of tuna of unknown expiration dates
lots of old bread
2 jumbo containers of Butt Rub


...and more hot sauce.

I love him. And his weird pantry.

Good evening! Keep pestering me and maybe I'll crank out some good material in the near future. 

I'm talking to you, Erica.

Chicken Water

Pardon my hiatus, I'm trying to make a living and it's about to kill me. And all of my brain cells. Anyway, let's get straight to the story.

I'm having a bridal shower tomorrow and, in anticipation, I've been at home with Granny and Papa, bugging the snot out of her. Ok Polly is here, too, but she doesn't count. I'll tell you about Polly later.

At approximately 8 o'clock p.m. I realized that I had yet to mail my wedding invitations. Also, I had three Redbox movies in my purse that I would soon own if I didn't get up and return them. After a bit of guilt tripping and nagging, Granny agreed to ride into town with me to run my errands.

*A piece of advice- don't try to mail 219 wedding invitations through the regular letter slot. You will have to do them three at a time and it is quite time consuming.  People will line up behind you, juding your holey brown pajama pants and mustard flats. At least, that's what I hear. Sometimes that happens. To some people. Not me, though. No sir, not this girl.

Once I completed the arduous task of cramming the invites into the already full mailbox- you're welcome USPS- we scooted over to the Redbox where approximately 5 well dressed persons were waiting to return movies. I was in pajamas and my Cole Haan flats. Fancy shoes and lounge pants, how attractive. Naturally, I wasn't carrying my purse. (I was being judged, for sure. With no fancy purse to validate my slack appearance.)

I suffered through the return process. The natural progression of events, of course, was to go to Chicfila and get ice dream cones to reward ourselves for our hard work. The cones were huge and they were delicious. Good thing I'm not getting married in six weeks or I'd not be eating ice cream.

Oh, wait. Sigh.

We inhaled our ice cream cones and headed back home to check on Papa and Polly. I was itching to see What Not to Wear and I'm sure that Granny was wanting to see a Nancy Grace re-run.

The second we stepped through the door, I heard Papa yelling from the bathroom. "Hazel! Come here!"
I hear muttering and Granny emerges and stomps angrily my way. She was not amused.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked.

"I've got to call Keith and tell him to turn off the chicken water. Papa can't take a shower."

Uh. Excuse me? Chicken water? What?

I'm sure I've mentioned our fabulous collection of chickens and whatnot that live in the woods in a chicken community that is, really, the avian equivalent of a gypsy ghetto. Or maybe a slum.

The explanation is really quiet simple. My uncle had left the water on to fill the water dishes for his 300 million chickens, so when my grandpa went to shower, he had no water pressure.

Does this story make sense? Nope.

Does this story make sense in the context of my life? Yep.

The moral of the story: next time your water pressure is a little puny, go make sure the chicken water is turned off- lest you burn up the water pump.

That is all. Goodnight.

A Work in Progress

Things are changing around here. I've been working non-stop so the weekends are absorbing all of the projects I meant to do during the week. And by projects I mean things I want Adam to do. They include:

1. Build a garden so I can have tomatoes and squash to my little hearts desire. I won't lie, I'm bothered by the fact that I don't know where my food comes from and the radiation catastrophe has been a big influence on my decision to make Adam become a quasi farmer.

2. Build this bed. Mine will be stained a light pecan color and distressed. I am so in love with it. Obsessed really. However, Adam says it's not happening until I sell his current bed because, seriously, who needs two beds?

I do!

I. Love.

3. Build four of these for his kitchen bar area.

So cute in distressed black!

For now, that is all that I have lined up. I feel confident that these little projects will provide for great blogging seeing as how I'm always right and he's always right.

Hey, I may not know what I'm doing but I can always tell him how to do what he's doing better and more efficiently. 

And to think, a few months ago I was eating sushi in the city.

Off to find stains and glazes!

Focus... Focus... Huh?

My mind is mush. No matter how many Mountain Dews I drank today I could not get with the program. It wasn't until I saw that I only had an hour left at work that I actually became a productive member of society. I was a number crunching machine.

Anyhoo, I've got several things to tell you about but can't formulate a cohesive blog entry so I'm reverting to my favorite story telling method: listing.

1. My uncle's dog has recently taken up opossum hunting. She trees the opossum (or, "possum" as Helper insists I say/spell it.) and he shoots it. The end.

2. He likes this because the opossums are killing his chickens. I dislike this because I dislike the menagerie that is his back yard. If I wanted to wake up at the butt crack of dawn I'd set an alarm. I don't need the stupid chickens to start my day for me.

3. The dog is cute so I can't take it personally. She runs with one of her back legs picked up off of the ground as though it is slowing her down. And she pees when I talk to her. I like her.

4. Moaner, aka Caroline, sent me a box of clothes and I'm going to wear every single article at some point this week. I've already worn 4 out of 8 and it's only Monday. I'm certain that I'd dress like a homeless troll if I didn't have her to guide me away from the yoga pants and flip flops.

5. Helper's name is Adam and he edits my blog every day. I hate it when he finds spelling errors.

6. I hate it even more when he misses my spelling errors.

7. I shop at a ridiculously expensive grocery store called the Piglet because it is near Adam's house. I once paid $45.00 for soup ingredients because I didn't pay attention to what I was doing. FORTY-FIVE BONES! I could have bought a bra and made soup with that money!

8. Granny is making a quilt and I fully intend to somehow smuggle it into my room.

9. She'd scalp me if I stole her quilt.

10. Every single tv show that I watched today made me cry. Not sobbing like hearing Tim McGraw's My Little Girl, but misty like you get when you see the ASPCA commercial.

Ok so that makes me sob, too. I cry a lot.

11. I ate a honey bun for dinner and didn't even feel bad.

12. I'm pretty sure that #11 is absolutely a bad thing.

13. I'm going to find my tennis shoes tomorrow.

14. Goodnight.

Nailed

I am uncharacteristically awake at this hour on this night.

I drank milk before I got into bed, watched non-exciting TV shows and said my prayers.

And then I just laid here. And tossed. And turned. I finally wound up on my side staring at the wall that I like to call “The Shrine of Sunny.”

The shrine isn’t my fault and I don’t particularly understand it. It is a collection of Sunny themed things that I’ve gathered over the years. Ok so it used to be just two things but now there are three of them. 

Watching over me as I sleep.

Oh, what’s that? You want to know what these things are and how they got there? And why they are there in the first place?

Item one is a charcoal portrait I had done my senior year in high school when I was lucky enough to travel to New York City with Helper’s dear mother and a friend of hers.

Aside from the 14-block trek to the Sex Museum, it was a lovely trip. A very educational trip, too.

I also commissioned an Asian man to write my name in fancy Asian letters while I was visiting Central Park.  I had instant buyers remorse, but what are you going to do with a painting that says “Sunny” in letters of birds and butterflies?

I brought both pieces of “art” back with me, fully aware that I had no intentions of hanging them up or doing anything special with them. I had simply bought them in the heat of the moment. It was NYC, after all. 

Once I returned home with said articles, I put them in my closet and didn’t think much about them.

Time out. Remember the time that Papa took all of the decorative pillows off of my bed because he said that if he were to ever want to go and lie down on my bed to take a nap, he didn’t want to have to move the pillows out of the way? In essence, the decorative pillows were blocking his potential napping spot.

You never heard that story before? Well it happened. He put all 8 of my pillows in the utility closet on the other end of the house.

We have lived in this house for five years and I have lived with them for thirteen. He has never laid his head anywhere except the sofa or his bed. Or the recliner.

Back to the shrine. Granny found the portrait and had it matted and framed. She also found a frame for the awkward name drawing/painting. An arduous task it was, but she was unrelenting in her quest. 

I shall interject here to say that Granny and Papa don’t put a lot of thought into artwork placement. If there is a nail in the general vicinity of where they want something to hang, then they stick it on that nail and call it a day.

Exhibit A: I purchased a large oil impressionist painting and hung it in my bedroom beside my bed. It took a few tries but I finally got it just right. Papa always hated it so he took it down and left a few nails in its place.

Enter, Granny. The portrait currently hangs at about 6’ and the name is directly below it, centered perfectly. Somewhere along the way another random nail entered the picture. It now holds a family portrait of Granny, Papa and I that we had done back when I was still a blonde.  It’s an interesting collage to say the least. The Moaner thinks it’s hilarious.

Exhibit B: When we first moved into our house, I had three pictures flanking each side of my bed. They were level and symmetrically spaced. Once I decided that I no longer wanted pictures of dresses in my room, I took them down but the nails remained.

Currently, on the right side of my bed there are two pictures occupying two of three nails. One is of a friend from high school and another of Papa and his favorite dog, Susie. The pictures are 5x7 and 8x10. Nowhere near large enough to hang. Did I mention that they’re hanging at about 6 foot?

On the left side there is a picture that I had framed while I was in college of a couple dancing. It is more to scale, but the color scheme doesn’t exactly “go.”

The moral of this rambling story is this: it doesn’t matter how many beautiful things I buy or how many times I move my pillows back into my bedroom. If Papa doesn’t like it, it goes. That, and if there’s a nail somewhere, Granny will hang something on it.

**Granny, please do not take down my artwork. I’ve grown to love it and would be very sad if I came home tomorrow to find the shrine gone and my picture of Papa and Susie in a drawer somewhere. I love my yard sale room!

Love,

Me

Ps. Once I decide to stop being lazy, I'll take pics so stay tuned for an update to this post!

Grammer

My obsession with correcting others' grammatical errors began in a small classroom. It was seventh grade English and I hated it. We had paper back books that served as work/text books. While most of my classmates used their books for assignments, I used mine for practicing signing my name, listing all of my friends and drawing random animals, flowers and swirlys. I was a doodler.

This particular class was terrible. It was immediately after lunch so we were all fighting off the afternoon slump and trying our best to pay attention to our teacher explain prepositional phrases and gerunds. Gerunds? I don't even know what that word means anymore.

The only thing that kept us awake was the sporadic gas episodes of a fellow classmate. He would eat bean and cheese quesadillas EVERY SINGLE DAY for lunch. While we were all doing everything we could to stay awake, he was over in the corner gassing all of us. We would break out into fits of laughter and shake violently. Half of us were beet red and the other half was doubled over. It was disgusting, but thinking back on that muggy classroom makes me chuckle every time.

We never had the heart to tell the teacher what we were laughing at because we didn't want to hurt his feelings. We suffered through it for better or worse. Oh, how I lived for pizza day. He loved pizza so we were all spared the first and third fridays of the month.

God bless Pizza Hut. Amen.

Anyway, I became addicted to correcting grammar after that point. To this day, I can her someone say "I'm doing good," or, "I ain't never seen that before" from a mile away. Call me a snob or know it all if you will, but I just can't help myself.

The other day after a particularly long day at work, I was driving home when a sign caught my attention. It was for a new store downtown advertising affordable fashions.

"Fashion with flair at prices you can bare."

Bare? Unless we're undressing the prices, I'm guessing someone didn't run that slogan through a word processor.

I do love my small town and the local dialect does come with its own unique set of grammatical allowances and quirks. The locals can keep their double negatives.

I'll just keep fighting the good fight.

Nothing's worser than bad grammer, after all.

Jelly

While I was in college, the oversized wrist watch trend hit. And hit it did. Everyone I knew had a Michael Kors watch. One friend's was gold, another's cream. Mine is tortoise shell.

There's also a black one that I accidentally bought one day when I was feeling sorry for myself. They're beautiful watches and I had to stop going to Nordstrom because two is more than enough.

I'm attaching pictures below so that you can get a good visual. That, and to help you appreciate the following story fully.

As you all do not know, I have recently begun working at an insurance agency in the smallest town I've ever frequented. It's the good kind of small town. It's got a few cute shops, a drug store/everything store, and two and a half restaurants. I say a half because most of them are closed on numerous days of the week. Except Subway. 

I wore black pants on the first day of work and the towns people looked at me like I was an alien. I wore wedges on the second day and the towns people looked at me like I was an alien. I wore jeans and sandals on the third day and the towns people smiled at me and didn't stare. It was a great relief.

On the fourth day I wore my tortoise shell watch to work. I actually wear it every day, but this day I had on 3/4 sleeves and it was easily visible.

I was talking to a particular lady who must have been in her sixties. We were almost done with our conversation when she spotted my watch. 

**Time out. Let me take this moment to say that the only mall that sells these watches is two hours away from this town. It is highly likely that she has seen my watch or even knows who Michael Kors is, juding by her elastic ankle sweat pants. I take great pride in my accessories so the following conversation metaphorically knocked the wind out of me.**

Spotting my watch, she says "Oh, I've got one of them jelly watches but it's purple. I got it at the drug store and I paid $5 for it. I hear people pay as much as $10 for them. That's just too much if you ask me." 

This is a jelly watch.

Welcome to rural Georgia. You can pick up your watch at the drug store. Just watch for price gouging. I hear they charge $10 in some parts.

Hiatus

I'm a terribly inconsistent blogger. I know this.

I also know that my brain isn't formulating coherent sentences today.

I've spent the past week studying 10 hours a day. The good news is I passed the state insurance licensing tests. The bad news is that I fried a whole bunch of synapses and I fear they're down for the count.

As a result, my brain is taking a break and I can't do nothin' about it. Maybe it'll come back to me by morning. I sure do hope so. I need it for work.

Say a prayer and cross yourselves or whatever you non-Catholics do.

(I'm a Baptist. I cross myself, too. Makes me feel like I'm adding some good juju onto my prayers.)

Good night, y'all.

Ps. I jumped into my bed after sprinting across my dark room. I have issues.

Wax On, Wax Off

The other day I was reading an article about parents who put their children in beauty pageants. One woman was forcing her 5 year old to get a spray tan and have her eyebrows waxed. To say that I think this is nonsense and that woman needs to be put in an institution would be an understatement. Bad parenting aside, it reminded me of an incident that happend a few years ago.

Back home, I've got this little Cambodian lady who does my nails. Her name is Mrs. Sarah and I have been going to her for 10+ years. To say she loves me is an understatement. She kisses me, hugs me, tells everyone within earshot how good of a girl I am and how smart I am. She blows up my ego big time.

Mrs. Sarah also does my eyebrows every now and then. She is the exception in eyebrow waxing. I never found anyone as good as her in Atlanta and I'll stick with her now that I'm back home. She does such a great job. I've referred countless friends to her and they love her as well. Never has she ever messed up my eyebrows. My face, on the other hand...

It was a crisp fall day and I had just left work and decided to get my eyebrows done on my way home.  Mrs. Sarah had a salon full of older women who were getting their lips, chins, cheeks, and any other hairy facial feature they had waxed. I think she even waxed someone's nose. We were all chatting and laughing and I waited my turn patiently.

When I sat in the chair Mrs. Sarah said "Ooohh guhhh... You need eyebrow! You wait long time come see me. I do for you!"

I told her I was sorry and told her to fix me up good. She then pointed toward my temple and told me that to get a really good shape she'd wax all the way out there to clean it up. I didn't know my eyebrows grew out there, but hey, I'm not the expert! I told her to do what she had to do. She waxed my eyebrows and after she stripped the last cloth off, I gripped the chair arms to pull myself up to take a look. But, before I could do it, I felt her put wax on my CHEEK! My cheek? My cheeks aren't hairy!

"Mrs. Sarah! What are you doing!"
-"It will make it smooth... beautiful like model!"
"Mrs. Sarah I don't need that."
-"It's ok. I won't charge. Just let me do other cheek."

Let me break the story to explain one thing: waxing virgin skin leads to pimpling and redness and all sorts of bad things. By the time I walked out of there, she'd waxed 3/4 of my face.
My make-up wouldn't stick to my face because she'd removed the top layer of skin so I only had makeup on my forehead, nose and chin areas. Two days later, it broke out into the worst acne of my life. I stayed inside for as long as I could and when I did go into public I caked on so much make-up I looked like one of "those girls" from middle school.

Let this be a lesson to you girls. If you feel your esthetician moving toward any unanticpated areas, act fast! Grab their wrist if you have to!

I will say that Mrs. Sarah does do the best eyebrows and gives one mean pedicure. Here is the information incase you want to go see her. I highly recommend that you do! Just don't let her wax your face.

Who am I?

As you can tell from my posts, I have a wealth of stories from my childhood with which I like to entertain my audience. Some of you may know me very well and others not at all. Who am I really? Well, I'm glad you asked.

1. I am from a small town in Georgia. Not one red-light small but not big enough to have a Macy's, either.

2. I like to fry my food and then smother it in gravy. I've got the sneaking suspicion that my jeans are going to start forming a militia.

"Step AWAY from the Crisco," they'll demand.

Until then, I fry.

3. I live with Granny and Papa. Granny likes doing laundry. She's the perfect roommate. Papa reads my mail, burns my trash (another story for another time), and snoops around my room when I'm not home. He's not the perfect roommate.

4. I'm terrified that someone is going to be hiding under my bed waiting to slit my Achilles tendons so I get a running start and jump onto my bed. This only applies to beds that don't have bed skirts (i.e. beds that I can see under), though. I don't understand the rationale behind that but it is what it is.

This fear is the consequence of reading a flyer that circulated around area churches when I was approximately 14 years old. "Gangsters" were hiding under the cars of young girls and slitting their ankles so that they could take them off and murder them. Another of these "circulations" warned against taking change out of a payphone (ha, payphone) because needles containing HIV were lurking, waiting to stab you and infect you. My favorite was the one warning against movie theater seats that contained these needles.  To this day, I check my seat for HIV needles before I plop my butt down to watch a flick.

Today, we would call this nonsense SPAM and delete it from our inboxes but 11 years ago preachers were reading it as though it were news from the CDC. Lawd.

5. I've got two chicken pox scars between my eyes. I told granny that I fell and they came off but I really picked them off myself. What was I thinking!

6. I am a back seat driver. I can't help it.

7. I am a back seat everything. I may not know what you're doing but I can offer up at least 10 ways to improve and streamline the process.

8. I like to peel things. Tape, paint, sunburnt skin... No peeling surface is safe when I'm around.

9. I was so traumatized by school lunch room mashed potatoes that I didn't touch them again until I was 16 or so.

10. I have since made up for the lack of mashed potatoes in my earlier years. I need to step AWAY from the mashed potatoes.

11. I will not step away from the mashed potatoes.

12. I am supposed to be studying right now. I am a procrastinator.

That's all for today! See y'all tomorrow!

P.s. I am happy to report that Granny's cell phone is still working.

Impaired

I love my Granny. She is a woman of many talents. She can cook like nobody's business. She can bake a caramel cake that will make you cry. She irons her pillow cases and top sheets. Her hardwood floors are spotless at all times. And she's beautiful, too.

However, there is one arena that escapes her: Technology.

The woman is impaired. She can't for the life of her get past the mental hurdle that is figuring out computers, remote controls, and cell phones.

It's not uncommon for me to hear a knock on my door around midnight. 

"Hello? Granny is that you?"

I hear a giggle followed by, "We rolled on the remote again and the screen is in another language."

Don't even get me started on her working the computer. I'm sure you all can relate. 

Well, this morning took the cake. 

Granny came into my room informing me that her cell phone is broken. It won't work. Yesterday it died for the first time ever and and even though she charged it over night it's still dead and won't work. She brought it in to me and I looked at it. It was off, so I turned it on. 

"Granny, did you even turn it on?"

"Yes. I turned it on and it died again and it's not working and Liz couldn't get in touch with me and I have GOT to have my phone."

She was getting really frustrated with me because she thought I was insinuating that she didn't know what she was talking about. (She doesn't know what she's talking about.) I figured she needed a new battery so I sent her on her way.

She leaves to go pay the insurance man and I go about my business. Thirty minutes later she calls me exclaming that her phone is now fully operational. 

"It didn't die again?"

"No! Kim just called me and it worked!"

"Granny, did you even turn your phone on yesterday after it finished charging?"

*Crickets*

"You know that you have to turn it "On" after it has died to be able to use the phone don't you?"

"Uhhhh... You do?"

I'll never win.

"I hope your commitment to blogging isn't any representation of your commitment to marriage."

I'm back! And I'm sorry! The past few weeks have been busy. And when I say busy I actually mean I've been doing a lot of visiting and busy bodying all around my hometown. You know, I had to get reacquainted and remind my old friends that I'm still alive and well!

A lot has changed since my last post, and a lot has stayed the same too. To avoid ten pages of nonsense, I'll be concise and let you know what I've been up to, what I haven't been up to, and what I'm straight avoiding:

1. My room is basically the same. I've still got things that need to be put away but there's so much of it that it depresses me to look at it so I just ignore it and hope that it will go away on its own. This is actually working out quite nicely. I came home the other day and Papa had shoved all of my miscellaneous junk around the perimeter in my room so that he could walk in and look around (read: he's nosey.) and see what all I've got.

2. I have made amends with my neglected (brace yourself) camouflage mud boots and we've become good friends. It's been raining cats and dogs around these parts and the only thing saving my Cole Haan flats is those boots.

3. I did some hunting stuff with my Helper and I wore my boots. And a camouflage jacket. I don't really like killing stuff but I like being outside, I like dressing the part, and I like him, too. I'm thinking of a new name for him, but he's been extra helpful lately so I'll stick to Helper.

4. Cooking. I've been cooking A LOT of stuff. I'm a frequent visitor of The Pioneer Woman, and I love her recipes so I'm always looking for ways to implement them into my repertoire.

5. You already know that I spent last weekend celebrating the birthdays of these two:

5. I mentioned that I've been cooking a lot more, but I failed to mention the reason why I have been cooking more frequently. It just so happens that all there is to do around here is cook and invite people over. So, that's what I've been doing. A couple of weeks ago my favorite boy and I had invited a few friends over to his house and I cooked for them. I'll post the recipe next. It's super easy and a sure-fire crowd pleaser.

6. I've spent a lot of time looking at stuffed animals.

7. I'm trying to come up with a new name for my blog so shoot me a message if you have any good ideas!

So, that's what I've been doing as of late. I'll be back to my regular posts by tomorrow. Bob willing.

Bye Y'all!

My Baby

Today is my baby's first birthday. Ok, so she's actually my baby brother's baby, but I call her mine because I want her for myself and maybe, one day, if I say enough then it will be true. 

I was on a 12' ladder painting my bedroom when my mom called me in August of 2009 to tell me the news. I was going to be an Aunt. Again. I almost fell off the ladder. 

Months passed and many Ralph Lauren and Gap outfits I did buy. My heart filled with excitement and my bank account drained like a gas tank with a bullet hole. I was so excited for March. I couldn't wait to meet her!

At roughly 10:08 p.m. on February 8, 2010 (3 hours after Sam had Natalee) my mom texted me to ask me if I was sitting down. And I'm glad I was. My sister-in-law, Rachael, had gone in to pre-term labor. She wasn't due until March but had begun having contractions. The baby wasn't in the right position so they really needed to get her contractions under control. She and my brother had gone to the hospital to do just that.

At 12:00 a.m. on February 9, 2010 my baby brother called me to tell me that I needed to leave Athens and come home. They were going to do a C-Section and the baby was going to be here soon. I jumped in my car and headed back home immediately. I was crying and smiling and laughing and crying the whole way.

I was stopped about half way through my drive because apparently I was driving rather rapidly through a small town. The Sheriff didn't know whad to do with my blubbering self so he let me go with a warning. "Go on and see that baby niece, Sunny. Congratulations! And slow down sweetheart! The next guy down the road may not be so nice!"

When I finally got to the hospital, she was already here.

My brother greeted me outside of the room and informed me that Madi was on oxygen since she had been born early.  After I had a panic attack and lost all of the color in my face, he assured me that she was fine and that it was just a precaution.

 This was taken right after I'd arrived and before I'd seen her.

She was so tiny when she was born...

...but that changed FAST! Check out the cheeks!

I smile and tear up at the mention of her name. I could go on and on about how much I love her, but for now I'll let the pictures do the talking. There's plenty more time to gush about her later.

Four Months

Five Months

Six Months. Check out the hams!

Seven Months

Nine Months

Ten Months

Eleven Months

1 Year.

I honestly don't know what I did with all of the love in my heart before she was born. Where did I put it all?  She is one special little girl and we are all incredibly blessed to have her with us.

So, you see, today is very important! It's my sweet angel's birthday!

Happy Birthday Madi! 

Do You Know How Important Today Is?

I'm feeling nostalgic today. I am going to ramble a bit, so please bear with me. This is a very special day!

One year ago today, I was still in college. It was my last Spring at The University of Georgia and I'd just returned to The Classic City from a short weekend trip home. My sister-in-law was expecting a baby girl in March and I had attended her baby shower. I was sitting on my sofa picking at my fingernails in avoidance of studying for a Women Writers exam when my mom texted me "She's finally here!"

"She" was my cousin Sam's first baby.

If you've read my blog, you have already met Sam. We were born a mere 5 months apart and she is the closest thing I have to a sister. When my mom was pregnant with me, she would lay Sam across her belly and I'd kick at her and they would talk to me. We learned to walk together, played in the mud together, ran away from home together at the ripe young age of 7 and we fought. Lord have mercy how we fought.

I remember one summer day we had really gotten into it about something. Probably one of us had tattled on the other one. Probably it was her telling on me because I was always doing stuff I didn't need to be doing. My mom and grandparents were hanging wallpaper in the living room and I remember my mom getting onto us. Instead of the standard punishment (a spanking and toungue lashing), my mom made us sit on that stupid green leather couch and hold hands. HOLD HANDS! I remember so much anger filling my little body that I wanted to kick and punch everyone in that room. Now that I'm older and have a different perspective, I can't wait to make my kids hold hands on the couch. It's way better than a spanking and I won't feel the least big guilty for it.

Back to Sam, though. When we graduated high school, we both moved off to go to college. On October 29, 2007 she shocked the you know what out of me by getting married. Married! While she was changing her last name, I was shopping for frozen dinners at Publix.

Have you ever seen two people get married who were both rebels in their youth and say, "Boy, those two are going to get it when they have kids"? That's Sam and Freddie.

One year ago today, they had their first baby. Natalee finally made her way into this world and she's had our attention and hearts ever since. She was wide eyed and beautiful when she got here and that hasn't changed a bit!

It is amazing to watch babies grow. You can almost see the changes happening before your eyes but not quite. I have enjoyed watching this little one over the past year. She has such a personality. She can stare you down in one moment and make you laugh until you cry in the next. She is really something, y'all.

Here are a few pics I stole from Sam's albums to show you why we all love her so much!

This is her car seat face!

This is her sleepy dreaming face.

This is a happy face!

This is her "I'm tired of taking pictures" face.

 The "You talkin to ME?" face.

This is the face her Papa can't say no to.

And this is the "Touch this computer before I finish looking
at my News Feed and we're going to have problems" face.

Happy Birthday to little Natalee. Look out for her, she's going places!

Day 11: Quitter

I became a quitter when I was in pre-school. I remember what I was wearing, where I was, and what I was doing when I decided to quit.

I've talked about my cousin Sam before, but for those of you who don't know her, she's my cousin. We were born 5 months apart and most of the world thought we were twins when we were younger because Granny dressed us alike. She was my only friend until we started school, and even after that we were attached at the hip.

Sam and I went to a pre-school that was conveniently located in the ghetto. Kids tried to drown eachother in the swimming pool in the summer and boys peed onto the pole attached to the swing-set on the playground. This place had a skating rink inside which I found to be awesome when I was a kid. Except when I fell and people skated over me.

A few times a week, Sam and I went to dance classes down the street. Our teachers would dress us in our cute little outfits and cart us there in the pre-school van. There, we'd dance and stretch and run around like children who were raised in a barn. I'll post the recital picture when I can find it. We were too stinkin' cute.

One day in the van on the way home, Sam told me that she was quitting dance because she'd broken her leg.

Now, she wasn't wearing a cast or walking with a limp. She had no medical proof to back up this claim but I believed her because she always told the truth. (In my eyes anyway... Now I'm beginning to question a few things.)

Back to the broken leg. The adult in me says, yeah right, kid. The kid in me thought, "Oh my gosh! I don't want to break my leg, too!" Visions of blood and bone poking through flesh flooded my mind and it was then and there in that Children's Friend van, dressed in my sparkly purple leotard, that I decided to quit.

My Granny let me quit dance with no protest and that was the end of that. Looking back, I probably should have asked a few more questions. Like, "I don't see a cast," or, "Well how did you make it through dance class with no problems?"

Ahh, the innocence of a child. I wish that I could say that I am no longer gullible enough to believe outrageous claims and such, but I can not tell you that. I'll believe just about anything if you tell it to me with enough conviction and a straight face. Dang it.

Day 10: The Doctor

I used to love going to the doctor. Correction: I used to love getting presents after I went to the doctor.

Growing up, my Granny was usually the one who took me to the doctor when I fell ill. "Fell ill" included anything and everything that made her even think that her baby might be getting even a little bit sick. She also dressed me up like I was going to church. She would rather go hungry than have someone think that she let us run around in dirty clothes.

My pediatrician was Dr. Kavuri. Dr. Kavuri was a small-statured Indian doctor with a very strong Indian accent. He smelled like curry. His wife, who was always dressed in traditional Indian women's garb, also worked with him. She was always very, very sweet. She also always had this look of sympathy in her eyes. The "You're such a sweet little girl. I'm sorry my husband is about to come in here with his prehistoric method of pricking your finger and make you cry. If it's any consolation, I'll give you a sticker when you walk back out of our germ infested waiting room" look. Like clockwork, Dr. Kavuri would prick my finger with his razor blade and I'd be on my way in a matter of minutes.

Afterwards, Granny would take me to Walmart and let me pick out a toy. Or to Belk and I'd get an outfit. Whatever I wanted, I was rewarded with for being on my best behavior. This is why I always liked to go to the doctor. Bribery: what a useful tool of manipulation.

This pattern of behavior has continued until present day. When Granny isn't around to buy me something, I go on a shopping trip by myelf and reward myself for being "brave" and not crying when I have my blood drawn and things of the like.

Recently, I had to go into the hospital for an Out-Patient procedure. My reward? A Kitchen Aid like Granny's.

She's ruined me for life. The End.

Days 6, 7, 8, and 9!

This past weekend wore me OUT. I moved from the Big City to the Tiny Town and attempted to fit four years worth of accumulated clothing, tchotchkes, miscellanous wires and lots and lots of loose change into a U-Haul trailer and move it all into a single bedroom of Granny and Papa's house back home. Boy, are they excited to have me back. I think they've forgotten what it's like to live with me. Stay tuned for the post titled "Homeless," that is sure to come once Granny figures out that it is I who steals her hairspray and socks.

I hadn't intended to pack up my apartment until Friday/Saturday morning-ish, but the discovery of half of an adderall in my old backpack from the days of all nighter's at the library changed my tune. (Note: the fact that I waited until Thursday to even intend to pack speaks volumes of my procastination problem. I was home all week because of the ice/sno storm! I'm so pathetic/ lazy/ pathetic.)

I had 99.9% of my stuff packed in about five hours. I was so proud of myself that I called everyone in my contact list and told them about it (the Adderall makes me even chattier than usual). It was really only ten people though since half didn't answer and my phone is new and the old contacts didn't get transferred.

Friday was the only day of the week that I actually made it into work. The parking lot in my apartment complex was still icey, but I managed not to break anything or anyone and made it safely into work at 10 a.m. and was able to leave a little early. God bless bosses who don't want their already impaired drivers endangering others when the roads refroze that night.

Saturday was a BEAST. The trailer looked big until I got my mattresses and nightstand in. It was then that my helper and I realized that we (read: He. I didn't put a single thing in that blessed trailer.) would have to do some strategic packing. By the end of the day, he was tired, I was tired from watching him, and our cars were both packed to the gills with things that I could kick myself for buying. Except for my Kitchen Aid. I love my Kitchen Aid.

Sunday was the day of worship and job interviews. Wait? What? Job interview? Yes.

I had a job interview Sunday after church at Ruby Tuesday's. Everyone up here in the City laughed when I told them when and where, but I rather enjoyed stuffing my face and talking business. I'll keep you posted on the job status. I kind of need to find one!

I spent Monday with my favorite munchkin (my 11 month old niece Madi) and visited with my Aunt, Uncle, and little cousin who is only 1 month younger than Madi. It was a nice, stress free day. Now Tuesday...