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.

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.

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.

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!

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 :)

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.

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.