Confessions

Every once in a while, I am blown away by just how self-destructive we humans can be. I can know something is absolutely going to end badly, and I will do it anyway. I know the mantras of wisdom - "a stitch in time saves nine," some malarkey about an early bird and a worm (which frankly disturbs me because I've never really wanted a worm myself), the correlation between anger and shame, and other things everyone is sure Ben Franklin said. We all know them, and occasionally, or even frequently, attempt to uphold them. And then it gets hard. Or we get bored. Or our basic human need to screw up takes over. Yes, I actually feel like I have a genuine need to mess up on a semi-frequent basis. It keeps things interesting. It's like the "bad boy/girl" you date, knowing that he/she is a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad person, but dear, sweet Christmas do you ever want to go there! Rebelling against common sense feels good, like picking at a scab or screaming at the top of your lungs until your throat hurts.

I have been self-destructive lately...pretty much ever since I returned from Florida (which was AMAZING).

I LOVE the beach. Maybe more than I love paper towels.
And y'all know how I feel about my Bounty.

Late nights - even when I have work the next day.

This was 3 AM - my sassy face never tires.

Countless drinks (but no drunk driving - that's never cool).

Approximately seven hundred Red Bulls.

Overspending...and this...

THIS is how I have been "keeping" my house for the last two weeks.

 

What. The. Actual. Crap?

So last night, after an INSANE weekend, I decided I'd had enough. Time to right the world again.

And the people said AMEN.

Don't worry - I'm sure it won't last. Nothing gold can stay, am I right? Plus, I have the next FOUR DAYS off work - there's plenty of damage to be done. Y'all are on notice.

Not Quite Your Momma's Miss Manners - Part 4

Hello, my lovely readers! The muse is upon me once more, encouraging me to provide a little lesson in etiquette and good breeding. Today's topic: making, breaking, and keeping plans.

Ah, plans! One of the joys of friendship, family, dating, and the like. Ah, plans! One of the pitfalls of social interaction! In today's world of Facebook events, eVites, and casual contact, we seem to forget the basic rules of social planning. Well, lucky you - I'll help you get it straight!

1) The Invitation
So, you want to hang out with a friend? Maybe go to a movie, hit the bar, walk in the park? Sounds good. Want to ask someone on a date? Lovely. Let's start with how we ask:

YES!

 

a) Friends & Family
If you are making plans with a friend or family member, do this in whatever way you feel best. Phone call, text, Facebook message - your choice.

b) People You Want To Date
If you are trying to make a date, I SUPPOSE you could text, but it's nicer to call. I've covered this before. PLEASE be specific. Do not ask "wanna hang out sometime?"

Instead, offer an actual event (dinner, coffee, etc.) and an actual date. That's why they call them "dates."

c) Group Things
If you are doing something in a group situation and want someone to come, refer to the friends & family rule. Be aware, however, that some people view Facebook invites as less meaningful than a text or call requesting that they come to your shindig.

2) The Confirmation
Alright, listen - if you really want to hang with/date someone, for the love of all things sacred, CONFIRM THE PLANS. This goes for any interaction. If you have ever asked me to hang out and I call or text you the day before to ensure that we are still hanging out, it's not my way of trying to get out of it. This is my way of ensuring nothing has come up - and that we can still party!

In an ideal world, the person who extended the invitation should be the one to confirm the plans, but if you are unsure, check them yourself. I may sound mean, but if a guy asks me out and fails to confirm the plans (unless they were very clear to begin with about when, what, where, etc.), I am really not inclined to view him as a responsible, respectful person.

The ideal time frame for plan confirmation varies, but generally, you should speak to the person at least 1-3 days in advance of the plans (unless they are same or next day plans). In the case of a formal, mailed invitation requesting an RSVP, respond as quickly as possible.

3) Keeping Plans
For the love of pete, SHOW UP ON TIME! If you know you will be late, CALL. That's all.

 

4) Breaking Plans
We've all been there - something suddenly came up, you feel like crap, etc. In the event that you must break plans with someone, do so as soon as you are aware that you cannot keep them. Also, make sure that you apologize for this and offer to reschedule. If you agreed to go to a party that would normally require gifts and you must cancel, you really should send a gift anyway. Not being able to afford a gift is not a reason to cancel (although it could be a reason to decline in the first place). If you cancel at the last minute, your friends have a right to hate you a little.

5) The "Maybe"
Oh LAWD, for goodness' sake, if you want to, say yes. If you don't want to, say no. "Maybe" should only be used if you have another obligation and are unsure if you can make it. In this case, be honest. I once agreed to two parties in the same day and made both hosts aware of the fact that I had to split my time, so no one got their feelings hurt. That being said, be realistic in your thinking - do not commit to two things at relatively the same time that are across town from each other. Beyond being rude, that's just stupid. Additionally, do not shop around for a bunch of plans, then pick the one that sounds the best. That's REALLY rude.

 

 

Once again, this is just what I was raised to do and what I have found works. It is also what I prefer to do and have done unto me. I'm no expert, but I'm also not a flake when it comes to plans.

Y'all behave yourselves, and I'll see you soon!

What IS That Smell?

Oh, dear readers, have you ever asked this question?

You smell something that's not quite right. You light a candle, or spray some air freshener, and move on.

Then, it gets worse.

Your apartment begins to reek.

You take out the trash, de-stink your sink, change the cat litter, light a candle, and move on.

Then, IT GETS WORSE.

Now your apartment has an odor you can only liken to Dementor's breath. And you CAN'T. FIND. THE. SOURCE.

You know the call is coming from inside the house - you just can't seem to figure out where.

So, if you're me, you employ your ridiculously attuned Scooby Doo super sniffer and start searching high and low. Yes, I have sniffed every inch of my apartment.

And then you find IT....


Let me take you back to Sunday night. I am a big believer in sales, so when I found turkeys at a huge discount after Thanksgiving, I bought one and froze it. Frozen stuff really only keeps about 6 months, so since it was coming to be that time, I roasted my turkey Sunday afternoon. I carved up the meat, put it in tupperware, and put it in the fridge.

Now you're thinking, "oh, she must have dropped a piece of meat somewhere and it started to spoil and smell."

Not with a catfish-type dog around. That would be too easy.

Then, being a student of my father's frugal, "use every part" ways, I boiled the carcass to make stock, then drained off the fat, strained the broth, and froze it.

Now you're thinking, "oh, she didn't get rid of the turkey carcass. That's what smelled."

If only it were that simple.

After three days of worsening smell, I found IT.

You see, while boiling my turkey carcass, apparently the boil got a little crazy and began spilling over the sides of the pot, where it began to drain UNDER the drip pans on my stove and POOL IN PUDDLES OF NASTY beneath my cooktop.

Yes, that smell, that God-forsaken, dead fish mixed with Satan's rear end mixed with other nastiness smell, was rotting, fat-laden turkey broth.

Half a bottle of Fabuloso, 39 paper towels, 6 gags, and a little candle burning later, and the Dementor's breath smell was gone.

Only me, y'all. Only me...

The Best Friend a Girl Can Have

Five years ago today, I fell in love with a boy in a picture.

Sure, he was furry and only 8 weeks old, but I was in love.

Sure, he cost the same as a down payment on a Honda, but he was worth it.

Four weeks later, I lied to my parents (because at 19, you do that) and flew halfway across the country by myself, armed with a pink and polka-dotted dog carrier, a blue alligator leash and collar, and a heart full to bursting.

 

I never stood a chance against this face.

I have yet to find a single situation that he can't improve...

...Christmas...

...sick days...

 

...Easter...

 

 

...hikes...

 

...Halloween...

 

 

...waterfall jumping...

...Saturday errands...

...St. Patrick's Day...

...lake days...

...this little guy is everything.

 

 

And I couldn't be more grateful that he's mine.

 

 

The Time I Got Blown Over By Grace

Y'all, I am not one of those women who goes to church regularly. My grandaddy Jack was the most inspiring minister I have ever heard, and quite honestly, I can't find someone who can really get the message across better than he could. So although I occasionally attend, I usually find myself talking to Grandaddy when my heart needs to feel God.

This morning, I was overwhelmed. I don't really know why, except that I know it is related to my feeling alone. Probably 4/5 people who know me would, if asked to come up with a few words to describe me, probably use the word "independent." My mother said I turned 30 on my 3rd birthday. She's probably right.

I made a decision to end a relationship a couple weeks ago; while it was the right one, it didn't keep it from hurting. I hate hurting other people, and I certainly hate knowing I made a mistake. I am also very much a person who, deep down, needs other people. And I love to cuddle. This makes being single a very tricky business.

I fill up my days with schedules - I wake up at the same time every day, I go to work, I go work out, then I go home and love on my critters, and maybe go out with friends. I go to bed around the same time every night. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I am not one of those folks who laments "never enough time for yada yada;" I have plenty of time.

I don't lament a lack of people in my life; I am blessed by many wonderful friends.

I don't lament a poor family life/upbringing; I have been surrounded by family since my first breath whom I love upside down and inside out and who love me.

I don't lament my job; I know I am blessed beyond measure to work for a great company, especially with the unemployment rate in Georgia still hovering around 9%.

I lament a simple thing; a partner. This is hard for people like me to admit - I want to be fine. I want to be great on my own. And I know I am. It's just something my heart longs for. But I know it's not up to me. Timing is God's, and His alone. And it isn't time.

There is much work to be done.

For some reason, Grandaddy came to talk to me this morning. He whispered in my ear something he would always say to me when I was little and moving way too fast, near about ready to hurt myself or break something - "Slow down, Slopjar!"

Slow down, because you're missing it.

Slow down, because this is important.

Slow down, because you have exactly what you need right now.

Slow down, because "the LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still."

I got annoyed this morning with another driver - he/she (I never looked) was riding my bumper, swerving lanes, riding other folks' bumpers, just in a big ol' hurry. And I found myself muttering, "slow down, crazy." And here I am, not 3 hours later, needing to be told the same exact thing.

Moreover, there are only about 5 or so songs that can make me cry. Two of them played on my Pandora in the last 30 minutes; I wept silently at my desk. Someone's trying to tell me something...

The Time I Went to Work Not Matching

Readers, once again, I suck at daily blogging. So screw it, it's my blog - I post when I post, and now my posts will mean more to you because they aren't whipped together out of a made-up obligation to post, but a need, a veritable need, to share.

I am a hot mess at fashion - my sense of style is cobbled together based on a few key points:
1) Is it clean?
2) Does it (mostly) fit?
3) Am I too young/old to wear it?

...that's about where my thought process stops. Also, I am NOT a morning person, so by the fifth snooze button slam, I am running late. Every. Single. Morning. The subtlety of accessories and carefully selected outfits does not belong in a routine that involves running around saying, "oh s***, oh s***, oh f*** F*** F*** S***TY F***ITY F***!" (true story, ask the dog)

As such, my daily outfit consists of either a dress (if I bothered to spend the 5 minutes to shave my legs, which is doubtful) or pants and a top, some form of shoes, earrings (always the same boring pearl ones), and my watch (which is just an exercise in irony, since there's never a point in wearing a watch if you're late anyway). The end. Don't try to get me to add to it, cause it won't work. If I hit the snooze button six times instead of five, there goes time to wash and dry my hair, so I'll add some form of hair accessory, purely for function.

Two weeks ago, I wore black shoes with a brown dress. I changed at lunch, but the damage was done.

Today, two pieces of my outfit match. Two. (Well, four, if you count that each of my shoes matches the other - I do not)

In my stupor today, I washed my hair, forgetting that I could not dry it or I would be late. I threw on a headband:

At least my blonde is sunning nicely? Thanks, Day At The Pool.

I then threw on some pants that desperately need re-hemming - the hems are held up with safety pins. No lie.

Can anyone tell me what color this is?

It's like brown and grey had a nightmare for a baby.

Then, in my brilliance, I added a green camisole and a green striped shirt. They match each other, but not the headband or the pants.

Then I put on some of my favorite shoes, which sort of but not really match the pants....okay, fine, they don't match any f***ing thing I put on today.

If you thought the pants were actually brown, you can now see they are, in fact, NOT.

Additionally, my pearl earrings? One each from two different sets - broke one, lost the other. They are 2 millimeters different in diameter. Deal with it.

Later, I will reflect on WHY I chose to let you see my weird colored-hair-meets-natural-hair margin....

 

 

My skibbies don't even match. Those will not be pictured.


I do have a matching outfit for Zumba class, though. I guess it's the small victories?