"The soul of the South is its people. We love to share food, stories, and advice- whether you ask us or not! There's no mistaking us. We're the women who can walk into any room and immediately find out everything about everybody in there, whether we know them or not. We're the men who forget a birthday yet memorize home game dates for our favorite college team. In our world, Coke is a food group and Mama rules the roost. We are a passionate people. We're the first to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance, but we can't stand bad barbecue. We love who we are and where we are. And we don't take it for granted." - Eleanor Griffin, Editor in Chief of Southern Living
It's true. What Eleanor said. I consider myself to be a southerner. I was born in New York and held onto my Yankee roots for many years. Until, one day about a year ago, I realized that I loved living in the South. I loved all things Southern. I could never live far away from my mama and I adore my daddy. I take a red cup of diet coke every where I go. Even if I'm only going ten minutes down the road. I say "y'all" and "I'm fixin' to go to the store." I appreciate a guy who opens the door for me and says "yes ma'am" ('cause what woman wants to hear no?). I do believe in God and have the utmost respect for my elders. I grew up always saying "thank you" and was taught true hospitality.
My blog is called "Sweet Tea and Grace." One would assume that I drink sweet tea. Well people, I'm here to tell you that I do not. I will not order sweet tea at a restaurant nor ask for a glass when visiting friends. It's not that I don't like it, I just prefer something else. You may be asking yourself, "Self? Why did she call her blog 'Sweet Tea and Grace' if she doesn't like sweet tea?" A logical question. Those two things? Sweet Tea and Grace? Are the epitome of the South. In my eyes.
Don't get me wrong. People in other regions are hospitable, graceful, elegant, and genuine. We're just known for it. And also? We can swear like sailors. Every last one of us. We may not do it in the fashion you're accustomed to. For instance? "Bless your heart?" Is like saying "You're an asshole/idiot/bitch/retard." We just say it a little slower and sweeter. And those of you who don't live in the south? Think we're being nice.
Living in the south? Like eating your favorite foods, watching your favorite movies, listening to your favorite music, kissing the most kissable person. It's blissful. It's amazing. It's home.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Fragile: Handle with care.
With only twenty-two years behind me, twenty-two years of knowledge, twenty-two years of observance, I've realized something. Today's children? Completely sheltered.
When did they become so fragile? When I was little? We played outside for hours without parental supervision. My brother and I grew up in a very safe neighborhood. Nothing, I mean nothing, happened there. So, it was okay for Justin and I to hop on our bikes and ride down to the park to explore. Now? Parents freak out if they can't see their children. Constantly under supervision. And, while this can be a good thing, it's crippling them.
There are so many things that you can't feed your children, can't let your children play with, can't let your children watch, can't let your children use. I mean, c'mon. It's not going to hurt your child if they eat something with high fructose corn syrup in it and it sure as hell won't kill them if they eat dirt. Heaven forbid they want to play on a swing set that was made before 2000. Don't expose them to TV after seven pm! They might see something they witness in public! Using a lawn mower? Completely out of the question. And don't even think about allowing them to use a non-green cleaning product.
A lot of older people, and some of my generation, complain about how we don't know a hard day's work. Newsflash people! If you thought we were bad, wait until your grandchildren, children, neices, and nephews grow up. They won't know how to actually have a conversation with a real, live person. And that? Way worse than not knowing a hard day's work.
Each generation is different than the next. I firmly believe that my generation was given the chance to play sports and be involved with after school programs because our parents didn't have that opportunity. They wanted to give us what they didn't have. Can you hold a job, maintain your grades, and play sports/be involved with a club? Sure. But how many parents made their children do that? I was one of the few that was involved with clubs, worked, and maintained my grades. My brother? He wasn't asked to work. He played sports. And, to give those who played sports in high school a little credit, it is time consuming. The children of the future? Probably won't be playing sports. They won't even be asked to work. And, hell, they may not even be involved with any clubs. They'll be too concerned with who's on Facebook, where so-and-so just checked in on Four Square, and the latest YouTube phenom.
They won't be allowed to venture off and explore the unknown that is the neighbor's basement. They won't be allowed to ride a mile down the road to their best friend's house. They won't be allowed to go to the beach for a weekend with their girlfriends when they're sixteen without parents/adults. They'll be too worried about getting dirty, grabbing germs from someone's house, and the possible dangers from driving outside the five mile radius their parents have set up for them.
Did I have a rough childhood. No. Hell no. But, compared to the little tots in elementary, middle, and even high school, I was roughin' it. They'd be amazed that my brother and I, only fifteen months apart, stayed at home when we were in the fourth and fifth grades by ourselves. They'd be baffled by the fact that we had to do chores when we got home from school. Empty the dishwasher? Take out the trash? Fold the laundry? Set the table? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?! No, I'm not. We had to "earn our keep." We had to set the table because we actually ate dinner at a table. Weird concept, huh?
I'm not a parent. I don't know what I will be like as a parent. But, if I start talking about the dangers that exist in allowing my children to be children, please call DSS.
When did they become so fragile? When I was little? We played outside for hours without parental supervision. My brother and I grew up in a very safe neighborhood. Nothing, I mean nothing, happened there. So, it was okay for Justin and I to hop on our bikes and ride down to the park to explore. Now? Parents freak out if they can't see their children. Constantly under supervision. And, while this can be a good thing, it's crippling them.
There are so many things that you can't feed your children, can't let your children play with, can't let your children watch, can't let your children use. I mean, c'mon. It's not going to hurt your child if they eat something with high fructose corn syrup in it and it sure as hell won't kill them if they eat dirt. Heaven forbid they want to play on a swing set that was made before 2000. Don't expose them to TV after seven pm! They might see something they witness in public! Using a lawn mower? Completely out of the question. And don't even think about allowing them to use a non-green cleaning product.
A lot of older people, and some of my generation, complain about how we don't know a hard day's work. Newsflash people! If you thought we were bad, wait until your grandchildren, children, neices, and nephews grow up. They won't know how to actually have a conversation with a real, live person. And that? Way worse than not knowing a hard day's work.
Each generation is different than the next. I firmly believe that my generation was given the chance to play sports and be involved with after school programs because our parents didn't have that opportunity. They wanted to give us what they didn't have. Can you hold a job, maintain your grades, and play sports/be involved with a club? Sure. But how many parents made their children do that? I was one of the few that was involved with clubs, worked, and maintained my grades. My brother? He wasn't asked to work. He played sports. And, to give those who played sports in high school a little credit, it is time consuming. The children of the future? Probably won't be playing sports. They won't even be asked to work. And, hell, they may not even be involved with any clubs. They'll be too concerned with who's on Facebook, where so-and-so just checked in on Four Square, and the latest YouTube phenom.
They won't be allowed to venture off and explore the unknown that is the neighbor's basement. They won't be allowed to ride a mile down the road to their best friend's house. They won't be allowed to go to the beach for a weekend with their girlfriends when they're sixteen without parents/adults. They'll be too worried about getting dirty, grabbing germs from someone's house, and the possible dangers from driving outside the five mile radius their parents have set up for them.
Did I have a rough childhood. No. Hell no. But, compared to the little tots in elementary, middle, and even high school, I was roughin' it. They'd be amazed that my brother and I, only fifteen months apart, stayed at home when we were in the fourth and fifth grades by ourselves. They'd be baffled by the fact that we had to do chores when we got home from school. Empty the dishwasher? Take out the trash? Fold the laundry? Set the table? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?! No, I'm not. We had to "earn our keep." We had to set the table because we actually ate dinner at a table. Weird concept, huh?
I'm not a parent. I don't know what I will be like as a parent. But, if I start talking about the dangers that exist in allowing my children to be children, please call DSS.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
A little Jack Nicholson, a little Morgan Freeman.
Combine the two? The Bucket List.
My sister writes a blog (and is totally better at this blogging thing than I am) and she recently posted a few of the items on her bucket list. So, because I'm an awesome big sister, I'm going to follow in her footsteps and create a bucket list of my own.
Here are my top nine:
-Renovate a home with my father. Y'all know my dad is a carpenter. And I have inherited his passion for old homes. I love them. When I was looking for a place to live, I visited old, run down homes. Why? Because they all had character. And possibly termites, mice, and roaches (my apartment doesn't have any of those...we only have a chicken). I wanted to live in a house that my dad could turn into a home. He's truly gifted.
-Visit all of the united states. Every last one. And truly visit. Not- I drove threw there once. Thus far? I've been to Florida, New York, North Carolina, Montana, Wyoming, and DC. All the other places? I've only driven through. Visiting the rest stop in VA or PA doesn't exactly count. I want to be a tourist.
-Graduate from college! Yup. So bad at the whole college thing that it went on my bucket list.
-Fall completely in love. The kind of love that cannot be explained. The kind of love that doesn't fade in and out. I want a real, Katherine Hepburn/Henry Fonda via On Golden Pond kind of love.
-I want to learn how to paint. AND, I want to create a work of art. That, obviously, will be featured in my renovated home.
-Learn how to make, bake, and design cupcakes. I love to make cupcakes. Like, LOVE to make cupcakes. Betty Crocker and I kick some ass at baking cupcakes. I'd like to ditch Betty though. She's kind of a prude. I want to start my own bake shop and create decadent, delicious, and delightful cupcakes. Alliteration totally kicks ass. Thank you elementary english.
-Go to a nude beach. Because people? I love to be naked. I could be naked all the time. When my roommate isn't home? It's naked time. I don't look like Angelina Jolie or Megan Fox but, I love the way I feel in my own skin. And, don't get me wrong. I would totally have naked time when she was home but, I'm courteous like that.
-Write my own book. I started writing a story for my creative writing class (where the people in my class? were old, unimaginative, and had horrible grammar/spelling) and haven't finished it. I might share it with y'all. Might.
-Have a crazy, passionate, intense, love making session(s) with an Spanish man. Because I've heard? The meat in Spain? Is to die for. I'm a sucker for a dark-headed, mysterious, tall man. And, all Spanish men look like that. Duh.
After coming up with the nine, I've realized something. When I was younger? I was all kinds dreamy. Now? I'm more realistic. I miss that endless dreaming. The kind that was uninhibited. I don't have that anymore. Perhaps I should add that to the bucket list.
My sister writes a blog (and is totally better at this blogging thing than I am) and she recently posted a few of the items on her bucket list. So, because I'm an awesome big sister, I'm going to follow in her footsteps and create a bucket list of my own.
Here are my top nine:
-Renovate a home with my father. Y'all know my dad is a carpenter. And I have inherited his passion for old homes. I love them. When I was looking for a place to live, I visited old, run down homes. Why? Because they all had character. And possibly termites, mice, and roaches (my apartment doesn't have any of those...we only have a chicken). I wanted to live in a house that my dad could turn into a home. He's truly gifted.
-Visit all of the united states. Every last one. And truly visit. Not- I drove threw there once. Thus far? I've been to Florida, New York, North Carolina, Montana, Wyoming, and DC. All the other places? I've only driven through. Visiting the rest stop in VA or PA doesn't exactly count. I want to be a tourist.
-Graduate from college! Yup. So bad at the whole college thing that it went on my bucket list.
-Fall completely in love. The kind of love that cannot be explained. The kind of love that doesn't fade in and out. I want a real, Katherine Hepburn/Henry Fonda via On Golden Pond kind of love.
-I want to learn how to paint. AND, I want to create a work of art. That, obviously, will be featured in my renovated home.
-Learn how to make, bake, and design cupcakes. I love to make cupcakes. Like, LOVE to make cupcakes. Betty Crocker and I kick some ass at baking cupcakes. I'd like to ditch Betty though. She's kind of a prude. I want to start my own bake shop and create decadent, delicious, and delightful cupcakes. Alliteration totally kicks ass. Thank you elementary english.
-Go to a nude beach. Because people? I love to be naked. I could be naked all the time. When my roommate isn't home? It's naked time. I don't look like Angelina Jolie or Megan Fox but, I love the way I feel in my own skin. And, don't get me wrong. I would totally have naked time when she was home but, I'm courteous like that.
-Write my own book. I started writing a story for my creative writing class (where the people in my class? were old, unimaginative, and had horrible grammar/spelling) and haven't finished it. I might share it with y'all. Might.
-Have a crazy, passionate, intense, love making session(s) with an Spanish man. Because I've heard? The meat in Spain? Is to die for. I'm a sucker for a dark-headed, mysterious, tall man. And, all Spanish men look like that. Duh.
After coming up with the nine, I've realized something. When I was younger? I was all kinds dreamy. Now? I'm more realistic. I miss that endless dreaming. The kind that was uninhibited. I don't have that anymore. Perhaps I should add that to the bucket list.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Take luck.
It's been a year. One whole year. And you? Are still fresh in my mind.
One would imagine that after the lying I would be completely rid of you. I'm not. Little things remind me of you: any new ford f-150, zac brown's "whatever it is", (ironically enough) he's just not that into you, ole miss, and htc phones. I wouldn't jump at the chance at getting involved with you again. I wouldn't even welcome a friendship. I just like torturing myself. Apparently.
Not only do I keep you in my memory, I also keep her. The conversation exists as if it happened yesterday. "It wasn't like he wasn't getting any at home. He was just getting more of it somewhere else." "I notice when you haven't shaved in a couple of days. Not when you've taken out the trash or emptied the dishwasher." "I can't believe he cheated on me with someone ten years younger than me! And his assistant, at that!" You and me both.
Part of me doesn't want to let him go. While I remember what happened, how I was treated, and the lies, I also remember the things he said that could make me smile. The way he could stay calm when everyone else was freaking out at work. The way his hands felt against my skin. The way his lips felt against mine. And then? I realize that she probably loved the way he stayed calm in an unnerving situation. And the way his hands felt against her skin. And the way his lips matched hers. And then? I'm pissed.
I don't feel that he's a bad guy. I think he just got caught up in something that was readily available. I provided an outlet from his mundane life as a husband and father. I am everything she is not.
Am I allowed to feel cheated on too? I was, after all, the other woman. Had I known, though? Not even. Breaking up a happy home? Not on my to-do list.
He was my first for many things. I'd never had a boyfriend prior to him. I'd never allowed anyone to get close. To really see who Amanda was. I could love with all my being, but it was extremely hard to allow someone to love me back. It was hard to accept that I was worthy of some one's love. When he said those three words to me, I melted. I felt worthy of his love. I felt he was worthy of mine. Hindsight's 20/20.
Last I heard, they were in marriage counseling. Trying to repair the damage. Trying to trust each other again. Trying to make a ten year marriage, an eleven year marriage. I wish them luck.
And, when I think of wishing luck? I think of something he said, "Don't wish for luck. Take luck."
One would imagine that after the lying I would be completely rid of you. I'm not. Little things remind me of you: any new ford f-150, zac brown's "whatever it is", (ironically enough) he's just not that into you, ole miss, and htc phones. I wouldn't jump at the chance at getting involved with you again. I wouldn't even welcome a friendship. I just like torturing myself. Apparently.
Not only do I keep you in my memory, I also keep her. The conversation exists as if it happened yesterday. "It wasn't like he wasn't getting any at home. He was just getting more of it somewhere else." "I notice when you haven't shaved in a couple of days. Not when you've taken out the trash or emptied the dishwasher." "I can't believe he cheated on me with someone ten years younger than me! And his assistant, at that!" You and me both.
Part of me doesn't want to let him go. While I remember what happened, how I was treated, and the lies, I also remember the things he said that could make me smile. The way he could stay calm when everyone else was freaking out at work. The way his hands felt against my skin. The way his lips felt against mine. And then? I realize that she probably loved the way he stayed calm in an unnerving situation. And the way his hands felt against her skin. And the way his lips matched hers. And then? I'm pissed.
I don't feel that he's a bad guy. I think he just got caught up in something that was readily available. I provided an outlet from his mundane life as a husband and father. I am everything she is not.
Am I allowed to feel cheated on too? I was, after all, the other woman. Had I known, though? Not even. Breaking up a happy home? Not on my to-do list.
He was my first for many things. I'd never had a boyfriend prior to him. I'd never allowed anyone to get close. To really see who Amanda was. I could love with all my being, but it was extremely hard to allow someone to love me back. It was hard to accept that I was worthy of some one's love. When he said those three words to me, I melted. I felt worthy of his love. I felt he was worthy of mine. Hindsight's 20/20.
Last I heard, they were in marriage counseling. Trying to repair the damage. Trying to trust each other again. Trying to make a ten year marriage, an eleven year marriage. I wish them luck.
And, when I think of wishing luck? I think of something he said, "Don't wish for luck. Take luck."
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Pregunta?
Yeah, I'm pretty much bilingual. Be jealous.
I've been seeing a lot of people from high school lately and they're all asking the same questions:
1. How have you been?
2. Did you graduate from college yet?
3. Where are you working?
4. Where do you live now?
5. Have you heard from [insert random person here]?
And because I know that EVERYONE reads my blog, I'm just going to answer those questions here so we don't have that awkward conversation.
1. I've been wonderful.
2. No. In fact, I'm currently not in college. I didn't qualify for financial aid because the government hates the middle class. I do plan on returning next year, though. I have two ideas of what I will be going for. One practical and one dreamy.
3. I work for an environmental testing firm in Huntersville. You know all that crap that happened with BP? We're one of the few labs that is certified to test their samples. I, however, do none of the testing. I just pay the bills and take payments from people.
4. I live in BFE with Genna and her son Andrew.
5. I only keep up with Nicole, Genna, and Keri. The same people I was friends with in high school.
I was talking with mama the other day about where I am in life compared to others I graduated with. Some have gotten married, started families, developed promising careers. I, on the other hand, have not. I'm twenty-two years old and do not feel grown-up. I do not have a boyfriend, and if I did, I have no idea when I would see him. I do not have a baby, and if I did, I have no idea when I would have time to take care of him/her (because, obviously, I would continue to do everything I do now, just with a child). I do not have a career, and if I did, I have no idea when I would find the time to do anything else in my life.
Truth is? I don't want a boyfriend right now. I don't want a baby right now. I don't want a career right now. Because? I'm not ready. I'm not ready to be committed to anyone nor casually date. I don't get involved half-heartedly. If I'm interested in you? You have all of me. And, right now? I'm not ready. I'm not ready to be a mother. Because, well, I'm selfish. And babies are a lot of work. Plus? I'm only twenty-two. And, for me, that's reason enough. I don't want a career because I have no idea what I want to do for the rest of my life. I mean, people? Until three months ago I didn't eat anything on my pizza. I would order the pizza with toppings and then take them off. Now, I love toppings. If I can change my mind about something I've been pretty adamant about for the last seven years, I don't trust myself to make a decision like that. Right now? I'm looking at either a business degree or an anthropology degree. Business? Practical. Anthropology? Not so much.
And while I don't feel as mature as my fellow classmates, I do feel good about where I am in life. I may not have a degree, a boyfriend, nor a career, but, what I do have? A happy life. A life that will change when I don't want it to. A life that will surprise me constantly. A life that I have to call my own.
I'll get the degree, the boyfriend, and the career I want. Eventually. Until then? I'm enjoying every minute of my degree-less, boyfriend-less, career-less life.
I've been seeing a lot of people from high school lately and they're all asking the same questions:
1. How have you been?
2. Did you graduate from college yet?
3. Where are you working?
4. Where do you live now?
5. Have you heard from [insert random person here]?
And because I know that EVERYONE reads my blog, I'm just going to answer those questions here so we don't have that awkward conversation.
1. I've been wonderful.
2. No. In fact, I'm currently not in college. I didn't qualify for financial aid because the government hates the middle class. I do plan on returning next year, though. I have two ideas of what I will be going for. One practical and one dreamy.
3. I work for an environmental testing firm in Huntersville. You know all that crap that happened with BP? We're one of the few labs that is certified to test their samples. I, however, do none of the testing. I just pay the bills and take payments from people.
4. I live in BFE with Genna and her son Andrew.
5. I only keep up with Nicole, Genna, and Keri. The same people I was friends with in high school.
I was talking with mama the other day about where I am in life compared to others I graduated with. Some have gotten married, started families, developed promising careers. I, on the other hand, have not. I'm twenty-two years old and do not feel grown-up. I do not have a boyfriend, and if I did, I have no idea when I would see him. I do not have a baby, and if I did, I have no idea when I would have time to take care of him/her (because, obviously, I would continue to do everything I do now, just with a child). I do not have a career, and if I did, I have no idea when I would find the time to do anything else in my life.
Truth is? I don't want a boyfriend right now. I don't want a baby right now. I don't want a career right now. Because? I'm not ready. I'm not ready to be committed to anyone nor casually date. I don't get involved half-heartedly. If I'm interested in you? You have all of me. And, right now? I'm not ready. I'm not ready to be a mother. Because, well, I'm selfish. And babies are a lot of work. Plus? I'm only twenty-two. And, for me, that's reason enough. I don't want a career because I have no idea what I want to do for the rest of my life. I mean, people? Until three months ago I didn't eat anything on my pizza. I would order the pizza with toppings and then take them off. Now, I love toppings. If I can change my mind about something I've been pretty adamant about for the last seven years, I don't trust myself to make a decision like that. Right now? I'm looking at either a business degree or an anthropology degree. Business? Practical. Anthropology? Not so much.
And while I don't feel as mature as my fellow classmates, I do feel good about where I am in life. I may not have a degree, a boyfriend, nor a career, but, what I do have? A happy life. A life that will change when I don't want it to. A life that will surprise me constantly. A life that I have to call my own.
I'll get the degree, the boyfriend, and the career I want. Eventually. Until then? I'm enjoying every minute of my degree-less, boyfriend-less, career-less life.
Page One.
I spend wayyyyy too much money on books. Seriously. I used to be much worse than I am now but, it's an addiction. Most girls spend money on shoes, clothes, jewelry. I spend money on books, sheets, and picture frames.
Back to the books though. I purchased three books today. One was on sale so it automatically cancels out the bad-ness of the purchase. While buying books is great because you are contributing to the author, it's even better when you actually read them. And, sadly enough, I don't read them. I keep them. On my shelves. To collect dust. I buy them with the intention of reading them. I just never get around to it.
Some of you may be thinking, "why don't you just go to the library and marvel at the books that live there?" Well, my friends, the library smells. For many reasons. Reason number one: books get moldy and mildewy with age. Reason number two: it doesn't cost anything to go to the library. Therefore, those without homes can stay cool or warm without having to purchase anything. Reason number three: they are significantly understaffed so, cleanliness isn't exactly on their to-do list.
Back to the books. The books I bought today? I have every intention of reading them. And, if I don't read them? I'm donating them to the library. Or taking them back. Either, or. Depends on how well my olfactory system is working that day.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Levis, work boots, and a baseball hat.
Do y'all know those dad's that wear the white tennis shoes, khaki shorts, and a crisp polo? The one's that always have a kind word to give when you're feeling down? The dad's that will sit down with you and help you do your homework? Do y'all know that kind of dad? Cause I don't.
My father wears Levis, work boots, and a baseball cap. My father will be the first to tell you if you screwed up. My father rarely asked if we had homework. But, my father was genuine. My father has a huge heart. And, my father loves me.
When my mama found out that she was pregnant with me, daddy started buying toys and books for me. I was born on Father's Day, and I still maintain that I was the best Father's Day gift EVER. His second father's day, mama bought him a wheel barrow that he needed to assemble. There's video of me, sitting in the wheel barrow, trying to help my daddy put on the handles. He was patient and gentle with me.
My parents divorced when I was thirteen and they both remarried. My stepmother and I didn't get along for a very long time. I was daddy's little girl and she didn't know how to deal with it (we get along beautifully now). I also think she didn't like the fact that I was (and still am) a lot like my mama. During my teenage years, dad didn't know how to talk to me. We were watching A League of Their Own, and he pointed out that if he had to raise me on his own, I would end up like Marla Hooch. So, because my stepmother and I did not get along, I didn't spend much time over at dad's. In fact, I rarely talked to him. It makes me sad to think about it now but, I held a lot of anger against him because he chose to appease his wife over his daughter. I forgave him three years ago and haven't been bitter towards him since.
Over the past year, I've gotten closer to my dad. When I moved into my apartment, he came over and fixed the front door, put up Genna's curtains, fixed my bedroom door, and checked out the apartment to make sure we were good to go. He's been back since to hang my curtains, towel racks, and a couple of pictures. He built a coffee table for me and I am super proud of it! Dad takes the initiative to work on things for me. It's his way of showing that he cares because he's not good at asking about work, my friends, or school.
When this song came out, I knew it was about my daddy. A man that hasn't always gotten it right. A man that's pissed me off a time or two. A man that will forever and always be my daddy.
Happy 50th birthday daddy! I love you.
My father wears Levis, work boots, and a baseball cap. My father will be the first to tell you if you screwed up. My father rarely asked if we had homework. But, my father was genuine. My father has a huge heart. And, my father loves me.
When my mama found out that she was pregnant with me, daddy started buying toys and books for me. I was born on Father's Day, and I still maintain that I was the best Father's Day gift EVER. His second father's day, mama bought him a wheel barrow that he needed to assemble. There's video of me, sitting in the wheel barrow, trying to help my daddy put on the handles. He was patient and gentle with me.
My parents divorced when I was thirteen and they both remarried. My stepmother and I didn't get along for a very long time. I was daddy's little girl and she didn't know how to deal with it (we get along beautifully now). I also think she didn't like the fact that I was (and still am) a lot like my mama. During my teenage years, dad didn't know how to talk to me. We were watching A League of Their Own, and he pointed out that if he had to raise me on his own, I would end up like Marla Hooch. So, because my stepmother and I did not get along, I didn't spend much time over at dad's. In fact, I rarely talked to him. It makes me sad to think about it now but, I held a lot of anger against him because he chose to appease his wife over his daughter. I forgave him three years ago and haven't been bitter towards him since.
Over the past year, I've gotten closer to my dad. When I moved into my apartment, he came over and fixed the front door, put up Genna's curtains, fixed my bedroom door, and checked out the apartment to make sure we were good to go. He's been back since to hang my curtains, towel racks, and a couple of pictures. He built a coffee table for me and I am super proud of it! Dad takes the initiative to work on things for me. It's his way of showing that he cares because he's not good at asking about work, my friends, or school.
When this song came out, I knew it was about my daddy. A man that hasn't always gotten it right. A man that's pissed me off a time or two. A man that will forever and always be my daddy.
Happy 50th birthday daddy! I love you.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Migraines? Are for the fucking birds.
Warning: Talk of vomit.
I've never had a migraine before. Ever. My cousin gets them regularly and I believe she takes medicine for them. I never really thought much about them.
Last night I was having another weird dream (not about bloody pregnancies or old boyfriends). I thought it was part of the dream to wake up, roll over, and go back to bed. Until, that is, I realized I had an awful headache. A sinus headache, I assume. I've never been woken up by a headache, so this was unusual from the start. I get out of bed, take some medicine, and climb back into bed. I look at the clock. 3:18am. And then it happens. An overwhelming need to vomit.
I'm not a big fan of throwing up. Although, who, aside from bulimics, likes to throw up? So, I projectile vomit in the bathroom for about ten minutes. I clean up a bit then go back into bed. I get into my bed and I am FREEZING! I throw all my blankets on me and get the throw (let me tell you, my room does not get cold/cool. I have the ceiling fan on full blast and an oscillating fan at the foot of my bed and it still doesn't get cool. It does, however, get comfortable enough to sleep). I have duck bumps all over. Then, it hits me again.
At this point, I'm thinking it's the leftover spaghetti I ate. It'll eventually get out of my system. I'll eventually be able to go to bed. And this headache of mine? Will eventually go away. I've never been more wrong in my life.
I started vomiting at 3:18am. The last time I threw up? 5:33am. Two hours and fifteen minutes of vomit, upset stomach, and blinding pain. And, apparently, when you have a migraine? Your senses go into overdrive. The little light from my laptop? Like staring into the fucking sun. While I'm throwing up, the stench of my throw up is making me throw up even more. I did all of this in the dark, by the way.
I finally got to sleep only to be woken up by my alarm...twenty minutes later. I called my mama and had her call work to tell them I wouldn't be in. Oh, and I picked the perfect day to get a migraine. I was the only person in administrative support today (if we're not there, no one answers the phones, places orders, looks up account information, pays bills, submits payment, sends up expense reports, etc. So, basically, everyone (customers and coworkers) were up shit creek without a paddle). My counterpart and boss are both on vacation. Fuck me, right? I'll update y'all on whether or not I still have a job tomorrow.
I wake up at 10:30 feeling much better. Still a little sensitive to light but, hearing and smelling are okay. I eat breakfast, talk to my mama again, call my doctor and pharmacist about the prescriptions I'm on and if they're the cause of this night-o-terror (they totally were), and call work. I'd decided that if I could hold down breakfast and get rid of the little headache, I'd go into work. If only it were that easy. The "little headache" turns into another blinding migraine and I was in bed until 4. I am happy to report that there was no vomit this time. Yay.
It is now 8: 20 and my migraine is gone. I have an appetite (Lord knows I couldn't have gone without food). I do, however, have sore neck muscles, back muscles, and a sore throat. Oh well. At least I'm not channeling Linda Blair.
I've never had a migraine before. Ever. My cousin gets them regularly and I believe she takes medicine for them. I never really thought much about them.
Last night I was having another weird dream (not about bloody pregnancies or old boyfriends). I thought it was part of the dream to wake up, roll over, and go back to bed. Until, that is, I realized I had an awful headache. A sinus headache, I assume. I've never been woken up by a headache, so this was unusual from the start. I get out of bed, take some medicine, and climb back into bed. I look at the clock. 3:18am. And then it happens. An overwhelming need to vomit.
I'm not a big fan of throwing up. Although, who, aside from bulimics, likes to throw up? So, I projectile vomit in the bathroom for about ten minutes. I clean up a bit then go back into bed. I get into my bed and I am FREEZING! I throw all my blankets on me and get the throw (let me tell you, my room does not get cold/cool. I have the ceiling fan on full blast and an oscillating fan at the foot of my bed and it still doesn't get cool. It does, however, get comfortable enough to sleep). I have duck bumps all over. Then, it hits me again.
At this point, I'm thinking it's the leftover spaghetti I ate. It'll eventually get out of my system. I'll eventually be able to go to bed. And this headache of mine? Will eventually go away. I've never been more wrong in my life.
I started vomiting at 3:18am. The last time I threw up? 5:33am. Two hours and fifteen minutes of vomit, upset stomach, and blinding pain. And, apparently, when you have a migraine? Your senses go into overdrive. The little light from my laptop? Like staring into the fucking sun. While I'm throwing up, the stench of my throw up is making me throw up even more. I did all of this in the dark, by the way.
I finally got to sleep only to be woken up by my alarm...twenty minutes later. I called my mama and had her call work to tell them I wouldn't be in. Oh, and I picked the perfect day to get a migraine. I was the only person in administrative support today (if we're not there, no one answers the phones, places orders, looks up account information, pays bills, submits payment, sends up expense reports, etc. So, basically, everyone (customers and coworkers) were up shit creek without a paddle). My counterpart and boss are both on vacation. Fuck me, right? I'll update y'all on whether or not I still have a job tomorrow.
I wake up at 10:30 feeling much better. Still a little sensitive to light but, hearing and smelling are okay. I eat breakfast, talk to my mama again, call my doctor and pharmacist about the prescriptions I'm on and if they're the cause of this night-o-terror (they totally were), and call work. I'd decided that if I could hold down breakfast and get rid of the little headache, I'd go into work. If only it were that easy. The "little headache" turns into another blinding migraine and I was in bed until 4. I am happy to report that there was no vomit this time. Yay.
It is now 8: 20 and my migraine is gone. I have an appetite (Lord knows I couldn't have gone without food). I do, however, have sore neck muscles, back muscles, and a sore throat. Oh well. At least I'm not channeling Linda Blair.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Diets, Chicken, and Triathlons.
Today is a day full of posts. Mainly because I actually have time to get on my turtle speed computer and because I feel like writing.
I've been going to the gym. Well, the last time I went was a week ago. But, prior to that, I was going nearly every day. For two weeks. I loved the way I felt after going to the gym. Refreshed, sexy, slim. So, you may be asking yourself, "Self, why did she stop going?" That's a damn good question. And, it has nothing to do with the gym.
My roommate is training for a triathlon. So, along with a rigorous exercise routine, she also has a rigorous menu. Chicken, veggies, and potatoes Monday through Wednesday and fish, veggies, and potatoes Thursday through Saturday (there's more than that but, I only eat dinner with her and this is what we eat). For the past three weeks I've pretty much consumed chicken, veggies, and potatoes (not a big fish fan). That's it. Oh, I have had salads, fruit/yogurt, and, of course, my special k red berries. I virtually gave up Coke Zero and Diet Coke. And then it happened. The thing that happens with every diet. I got sick of it. Literally. If I had to eat another chicken breast, I was going to kill someone. So, instead of getting lean meat and still trying to stay healthy, I ate myself out of house and home. So, the whole two pounds I lost in my three weeks of diet and exercise? Have possibly quadrupled during the course of a week. Because, this just in, if you eat crap food, you feel like crap. Gym wasn't in my vocabulary.
I hate diets. And chicken. And stupid triathlons.
So, I've decided that I am not going to be following her "menu" any longer. I am going to eat healthy, but with variety. I'm not going to have a "cheat" day because I won't need one. AND, I'm going back to the gym tomorrow after work.
I'm determined to be healthier. I want to be a granolaandyogurt/yoga/gym/freshveggiesoverfriedfood kind of person. I want to wear my size 8s again, damn it!
So, here's to a healthier, happier, size 8 start. Wish me luck!
I've been going to the gym. Well, the last time I went was a week ago. But, prior to that, I was going nearly every day. For two weeks. I loved the way I felt after going to the gym. Refreshed, sexy, slim. So, you may be asking yourself, "Self, why did she stop going?" That's a damn good question. And, it has nothing to do with the gym.
My roommate is training for a triathlon. So, along with a rigorous exercise routine, she also has a rigorous menu. Chicken, veggies, and potatoes Monday through Wednesday and fish, veggies, and potatoes Thursday through Saturday (there's more than that but, I only eat dinner with her and this is what we eat). For the past three weeks I've pretty much consumed chicken, veggies, and potatoes (not a big fish fan). That's it. Oh, I have had salads, fruit/yogurt, and, of course, my special k red berries. I virtually gave up Coke Zero and Diet Coke. And then it happened. The thing that happens with every diet. I got sick of it. Literally. If I had to eat another chicken breast, I was going to kill someone. So, instead of getting lean meat and still trying to stay healthy, I ate myself out of house and home. So, the whole two pounds I lost in my three weeks of diet and exercise? Have possibly quadrupled during the course of a week. Because, this just in, if you eat crap food, you feel like crap. Gym wasn't in my vocabulary.
I hate diets. And chicken. And stupid triathlons.
So, I've decided that I am not going to be following her "menu" any longer. I am going to eat healthy, but with variety. I'm not going to have a "cheat" day because I won't need one. AND, I'm going back to the gym tomorrow after work.
I'm determined to be healthier. I want to be a granolaandyogurt/yoga/gym/freshveggiesoverfriedfood kind of person. I want to wear my size 8s again, damn it!
So, here's to a healthier, happier, size 8 start. Wish me luck!
Sleeping to dream.
I've never had a dream in which I was preggo. Until two nights ago. It was creepy.
A family member is currently pregnant and she and her husband chose not to find out the sex of the baby. In my dream? She had a boy. And I had a baby that I do not remember giving birth to.
I remember bleeding. A lot. The doctor didn't seem alarmed. I kept telling people I couldn't sit down because I would get blood all over their chairs. It was normal. I remember watching a father with his two boys who kept getting into everything. Then, said family member's mother came to inform me that she had the baby. I remember that I didn't look like I was pregnant and I never saw my baby. The dream just ended.
Last night, I had a dream about a friend from high school. I haven't talked to him in over a year. In that last conversation I had with him, he told me he was thinking about going into the Air Force. He's one of those people who is extremely intelligent but never applied himself. Like, ever. I envied his intelligence. We were quite close for several years and I never figured out why he didn't just try.
Anyhoo, in my dream, he had just finished Air Force "school" and was back in town. I was walking down a street and saw him. I stopped and hugged him and we talked for a while. His girlfriend, in dream and real life, came up and spoke to me as well. There's always been tension between the two of us. Ultimately, though, she won his heart. Back to the dream- he and I spent the afternoon talking. He pulled out a ring and told me that I would love it. The engagement ring he planned on giving his girlfriend.
I don't know if y'all have seen My Best Friend's Wedding, but I was Julia Roberts in my dream. What's even better? His dream/real girlfriend looks similar to Cameron Diaz. He, however, doesn't look a thing like Dermot Mulroney.
She went on a ride with us and somehow we ended up driving through a hospital parking lot. The last image that I have of my dream is of us three driving down a wet road. I was in the front seat, she was in the back, and he was driving.
Those are my weird, odd, slightly disgusting dreams. Please don't google what they might mean. I know I'm a little weird. I just don't need to know how weird.
Sweet Dreams Y'all :)
A family member is currently pregnant and she and her husband chose not to find out the sex of the baby. In my dream? She had a boy. And I had a baby that I do not remember giving birth to.
I remember bleeding. A lot. The doctor didn't seem alarmed. I kept telling people I couldn't sit down because I would get blood all over their chairs. It was normal. I remember watching a father with his two boys who kept getting into everything. Then, said family member's mother came to inform me that she had the baby. I remember that I didn't look like I was pregnant and I never saw my baby. The dream just ended.
Last night, I had a dream about a friend from high school. I haven't talked to him in over a year. In that last conversation I had with him, he told me he was thinking about going into the Air Force. He's one of those people who is extremely intelligent but never applied himself. Like, ever. I envied his intelligence. We were quite close for several years and I never figured out why he didn't just try.
Anyhoo, in my dream, he had just finished Air Force "school" and was back in town. I was walking down a street and saw him. I stopped and hugged him and we talked for a while. His girlfriend, in dream and real life, came up and spoke to me as well. There's always been tension between the two of us. Ultimately, though, she won his heart. Back to the dream- he and I spent the afternoon talking. He pulled out a ring and told me that I would love it. The engagement ring he planned on giving his girlfriend.
I don't know if y'all have seen My Best Friend's Wedding, but I was Julia Roberts in my dream. What's even better? His dream/real girlfriend looks similar to Cameron Diaz. He, however, doesn't look a thing like Dermot Mulroney.
She went on a ride with us and somehow we ended up driving through a hospital parking lot. The last image that I have of my dream is of us three driving down a wet road. I was in the front seat, she was in the back, and he was driving.
Those are my weird, odd, slightly disgusting dreams. Please don't google what they might mean. I know I'm a little weird. I just don't need to know how weird.
Sweet Dreams Y'all :)
Victoria's secret is out.
Is it just me or do you feel sexier with a matching bra and panty set? 'Cause I feel like Megan Fox when I slip on that black lace. I even feel a bit naughty knowing that my bra and panties are really, really sexy.
My body shape does not change (well, with a good bra it does slightly change). I do not have an insta-tan. I do not have bikini worthy abs. What I do have, however, is a confidence, a sense of power, that can only be found in my unmentionables drawer.
My body shape does not change (well, with a good bra it does slightly change). I do not have an insta-tan. I do not have bikini worthy abs. What I do have, however, is a confidence, a sense of power, that can only be found in my unmentionables drawer.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Let me tell you 'bout my beeeest friend: The Nicole Edition.
Name: Nicole Marie
Age: 22
Best friends since: 1997
Favorite memory: We went to Myrtle Beach one summer and, while taking her bathing suit coverup off, she accidentally untied her bottoms and flashed a good amount of people. I did not help her. I was laughing too hard.
When I think about my thirteen year friendship with Nicole, I begin to get teary eyed. I am extremely lucky. When I tell people how long she and I have been friends, they're amazed. I generally think, why? Then I realize, not many people are lucky enough to have a best friend for thirteen years.
Nicole and I have had our fair share of arguments. We have completely different political views and we sometimes differ in opinion when it comes to religion. We were raised differently. Our differences even boil down to our dress. She prefers brown and I love my black. She wears flow-y, colorful prints. I prefer jeans and a plain tee.
We've been through two divorces, four remarriages, new friends, new loves, lost friendships, lost loves, deaths, births, success, failure, hopes, dreams, weight gain, weight loss, and first apartments.
I know her like the back of my hand. And she knows me like hers. Last night, for instance, she left and told me to lock the door. I was busy reading another blog and didn't bother to get up. She sends me a text: Get off your ass and lock the door. She knows me. When she gets upset or frustrated, she begins to hum "Amazing Grace." I know her.
There is never a dull moment when she and I get together. She's one of the few people I can be myself around. I can tell her anything and not feel silly. She's always supportive of me. She may not agree with what I'm doing but, she supports me. We don't bullshit each other. If she asks, "Does this look good on me?" and it doesn't, I'll tell her. When looking at pictures from two years ago, I said, "Why didn't anyone tell me I was fat? Why didn't someone just say, put the cheeseburger down?" Her response? "I called you fatgirl. Fat. Girl. What part of that didn't you get?" That's Nicole. That's my best friend.
When I think of what my life would be like without her, a sadness begins to grow in my heart. She's a wonderful person. She'd do just about anything for anyone. She's sacrificed a lot throughout her life and never once wished she hadn't. She's a patient, caring, and thoughtful person. I am honored to know her. I am blessed to call her my best friend.
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