First off, let me just say I love each and every one of you 64 beauties represented on the right side of my screen in the teensy photographs. To think that my little slice of blogger has 64 followers blows my mind right up. It blows it to smithereens. A big thanks to all of you for hanging around these parts and for reading what I have to say. Using the much overused phrase from any one of the Jersey Shore cast members, "At the end of the day", I ultimately write for myself. Writing is an outlet and it's always been that creative thing that I've loved. I don't paint, I don't dance, I don't do music, or bake, or really do anything remotely creative and artistic, but writing has always been where my interest is. It's a way for me to release my thoughts and it's a time when I feel that I'm raw, exposed, vulnerable, and honest. Writing for me is my time to release my quirky and sometimes funny (to me) side. My humor isn't always translate the best in spoken word and I can easily be misunderstood at times. I'm sarcastic in real life but that can be interpreted as rudeness. If I use some unusual language that I so often love to do, I sometimes receive some looks that let me know people think I'm bonkers. To me, that's usually a sign of success.
And all that garble was simply to say that even though I figured no one else would ever be interested in what I have to say, I sure am glad that all of you are. It tickles me and makes a girl smile. It makes a girl smile real big.
It's fitting that the following fortune was in my fortune cookie last night:
Keep your feet on the ground even though friends flatter you.
Mr. Fortune is trying to bring me down a few notches. Fret not, dear followers. I am not letting my fame get the best of me. No, no. My feet are firmly planted on the ground and my fingers are in the home key position on the keyboard.
And speaking of being misunderstood, here's one more thing. Sometimes I'm also misunderstood based on my facial expressions. I swear I'm a nice person--way deep, deep down somewhere in that little black heart of mine. If you saw me from across a room or through the lens of my Mom's camera, you might beg to differ that I don't have one smidgen of nice anywhere in my body. My Mom is always snapping pictures. Always. Because of this, there are many pictures of me caught in my 'natural' state.
A lot of the time I have a serious look about me. I've caught a glimpse of myself in my mirror before while driving and I'm usually wearing a scowl. I'm not a crotchety person, I'm just usually deep in thought. Unfortunately, my thoughts obviously make me look like I'm angry and hating life. I guess it could be worse. I'm thankful my deep thoughts don't make me look like I'm constipated.
To help illustrate this example, I'm including a sampling of pictures that my Mom snapped of me at a beach dinner while in Florida. I had no idea she was snapping away, so these are all completely natural shots of me. Doing my thing.
Picture #1
It looks like I'm pissed and miserable and bored. I'm on a beach and I look like I'm so mad I could die. Actually, it looks like I'm doing some pretty hard judging here towards someone.
Picture #2
I almost have a slight dazed/cross-eyed look beginning to form here. That's dangerous.
Picture #3
Yep. Again. With pursed lips.
Picture #4
One more. With my hater blockers. Not one crack of a smile. For miles.
Was I angry about something? Well. You can bet your bottom dollar that something was ruffling my feathers. That's usually always a given. However, I do try to let some of my radiant personality shine on through despite my angers.
I do remember that I was angry because it was so dern windy and I kept saying, "Some super hold hairspray this is". I hate the wind. Also the dinner line was pretty long. I'm sure that made me a little angry. I don't like lines. And I also remember thinking that if I heard that song "I Love the Nightlife" one more time I was going to start throwing chairs. I felt like I heard that song everywhere we went in Florida. It was like it was Sandestin's anthem. I don't want to boogie so leave me alone.
Guess I'm just crabby.
Those were unfortunate attempts at me trying to do a mean crab face. I should have just been me.
In my natural, sullen state.
So for fun I like to play the caption game. Let's pretend we're on facebook for a minute and create a caption to go with my unpleasant pictures. For example: picture #1 of my crankity face:
Picture #1 Caption: I love puppies and rainbows so much I could just start crying right now.
or it could be something like...
I hope that buffet tablecloth goes up in flames.
See. Captions are fun. Making up stories to go with pictures is extra exciting. You can play the caption game with me. Feel free to comment below and leave a caption on a Sarah picture.
Options 1, 2, 3, and 4 are available for your choosing. And you all know me. I don't get offended easily so make it funny and/or inappropriate if you wish. Make me laugh. Go.
Or if you don't want to play the caption game and you just want to leave me a comment that you love me so much, I'll take that too. Go.
I'm linking up with Carissa Explains it All to share my confessions. If you've never visited her blog, you should. She's a funny girl.
I confess...when it's summer I'm on a schedule that I love. I stay up late. Really late. Like 3 a.m. late. I do my best work at night and I'm quite productive. Like last night I organized my bathroom closet and vanity cabinets. Success.
I confess...when I was in the pool today I noticed a dead japanese beetle on the side of the pool patio. An ant was making the beetle its snack. I broke out into "Circle of Life". It just came over me. If only I'd had a lion cub to pick up and raise over my head like Rafiki does in the movie. That would have been beautiful. My dog, Daisy Mae, worked just fine as a lion cub substitute though.
I confess...sometimes I get to-go boxes from restaurants just so I can take my leftovers back to my dog. Yesterday I brought Daisy home a box full of bacon strips that I removed from my club sandwich. She loved me for it.
I confess...I never have to buy items like Ziploc bags, napkins, coffee filters, and tissues for my house. My students send in an overabundance during the school year. Enough to stock my classroom...and my house. Thanks, kids.
I confess...I currently have a jungle of weeds in my backyard landscaping bed. I mean, it's extreme. I would take a picture of it but I'm embarrassed. I have 7 foot pokeweeds growing. I just cleaned this landscape bed out in April and it's back again spreading faster than heat rash. I really should do something about the weeds in my yard but that would interfere with my pool time. So, eh. Weeds. Shmeeds. Plus it's my backyard so no one really looks back there anyway, right?...
I confess...I haven't been to the grocery store to buy food in over four weeks. How have I managed to live you ask? Simple. I eat out or mooch off my family. I'm good at that. The only thing I've purchased from the grocery recently were four 12-packs of Coke. That's really all I need to live. My liquid drug.
I confess...I came home from Florida on Thursday night and my suitcase is still in the middle of my bedroom floor. It will probably remain there for at least the next three weeks. I hate unpacking so I avoid it as long as possible.
I confess...I sat in my hairstylists chair and talked about Pink Lou Lou and her poof skills. My stylist said that she's going to take me shopping for extensions to try to work some magic on me. I'm geekily excited because I have the thinnest hair in this world. If I could have hair like my girl crush, Jessica Simpson, then I would be the fairest of them all. That will never happen.
I confess...that I sure am long-winded. I can't just write a quick confession. I have to write a novel about each one. I have major cases of word vomit.
LMN has really pulled out all the stops this weekend. They have played some of my favorite movies and right now I'm in love with their network. Do you hear me, Lifetime? I'm in love with you. More than ever. I will be your spokeswoman. Do you hear me, Lifetime? I will do it and I would be perfect for that job.
All of these great movies have really come in handy with all of my couch lounging that has been going on at my house the past two days. I got in from Florida Thursday evening and since then I've been doing as little as possible. It's been raining here so I've taken advantage and have watched as much TV as I can.
Tonight I went to dinner with a friend. I've missed my friends. Then I went to the mall. I only had about 30 minutes before closing time to get my shop on. And I did it. I bought a top, two rings, and a black floppy hat. Did I need any of it? Yes. Always. Did it make me so happy? Yes. Always. What's that? You want to know how much the hat was? A mere $5.00. I'll go ahead and answer your next question. Yes. It made me holler. In fact I only spent a grand total of $18 on my entire purchase because I had a $10 store credit. I done good. I done real good.
I need to go to rehab. Shoppers rehab. I'm serious. I wouldn't mind being on a reality show for that.
After the mall I decided I needed to go to Barnes&Noble. It's where I like to go sometimes at night to scope out men look for quality literature. Seriously though. Bookstores are great places for single ladies to see cute men. Now notice that I didn't say meet cute men and get asked out on dates. I'm still waiting on that piece of the puzzle to happen to me. But for now, I see them. Every time that I go alone I see cute men that are also there alone. Alone+alone=we should be together. Many of the men that I see there are cute because, well, they are physically attractive, but they are even more attractive because they're in a bookstore. That means they know how to read. They might even like to read. It's an attractive quality. Tonight I saw two cute men while I was there. I haven't seen two cute men in one place in like six months. Bookstores are where it's at.
One young lad really caught the attention of my eyeballs. If I had a type, which I kinda do, he was pretty close to being it. He was tall, tan, slender. He was a very snappy dresser. He had nice hair that was a little longish. Not longish as in ponytail longish. Just shaggy. I like messy shaggy hair. Delicious. Our paths first crossed in the Fiction section. In the 2nd row, to be exact. He would move to the next aisle, and then I would follow. Then I would move to the next and he would soon follow. We repeated that for a good six rows or so. In the last row we lingered. Standing and pretending to look extra hard for that special book. Or at least that's what I was doing. Because I had watched Serendipity earlier that day on LMN, I decided to do a little test of fate because it sounded like a fun thing to do. I went to a different row of books. I told myself that if he followed me, it was fate. And we would be together like Sara and Jonathan in Serendipity. Hey, my name is Sarah. Did you all just get cold chills? Maybe his name was Jonathan...
Well, I thought it was meant to be because he followed fate and destiny into my aisle. I thought about saying something to him but everything that ran through my brain was stupid. Naturally. Sadly the lad ran away. Maybe he could hear my thoughts and got scared. I don't blame him.
I'm a really bad judge in age. I would be fired if I ever got the job of being the age and weight guesser at a carnival. After I thought about this boy I realized he was probably 22. That's kinda young for me. Then I got scared and wondered if he was extra young. Like 17. He could have been.
My favorite section of a bookstore is the Humor section, by the way. This is where I am hoping my book will be someday. It will be placed there because all of the publishing companies will laugh at my attempt to get published, therefore, Humor section it is. And maybe my book will truly belong there because it would actually be a little bit funny. I hope.
Check out this beauty of a book that I stumbled upon:
This book was awesome. The pictures were definitely creepy. I wanted to take pictures of every doll in this book so that I could share them with you. I need this book.
So after my busted attempt of meeting a man at B&N, I drove to Starbucks. Yes, they have one inside the B&N, but I don't like it as much. Plus they don't take my Starbucks gift cards. Gift cards win. A fatty calorie-filled drink was sounding pretty good. I've had three Starbucks Coconut Mocha Frappuccinos since Wednesday night. They're pretty dang good. I do think the baristas in Florida did a better job of making them though.
Speaking of Starbucks baristas, why are they so dang chipper? I mean, I appreciate it. I just want to know their secret. I guess it's all that caffeine they're jacked up on. When I rolled through the drive-thru tonight, the guy working was super happy. He asked me what I was up to this evening. Uh-oh. He just opened up the flood gates and invited me to spill out my word vomit all over him. Men should know better than to ask me such a broad question. He asked, so I started in. I told him that I went to dinner with a friend and then did a little shopping. He said, "Well that's good that you did some shopping." I said, "Heck yes it was good!" And then I proceeded to tell him that I was a shopping addict. And he listened because there was no one in line behind me. Starbucks is good therapy.
And speaking of Starbucks, and because this will probably be a good way to end this post, does coffee make your pee stanky? Stanky as in making it smell straight up like the coffee you just drank? My friend and I like to laugh about it. We both have smelly pee post drinking coffee. We like to say that we just "brewed a fresh pot of coffee" in the bathroom. Ah. I love my friends.
*So I originally wrote this post at the end of May and just never published it. I felt it was selfish of me to keep these beautiful words in my secret post file, so here you go, lovers. You're welcome.
I've been angry the past couple weeks. *Updated note: I'm not angry anymore. School's out for summer! No stress! Not really angry for any particular reason. Anger is all just part of my school/life stress that I've been feeling. Do you ever have those times in life when you feel angry but don't really have a good reason? Like, really, really angry? One day I just wanted to punch everyone I encountered in the face. Regardless of the fact if they did anything to me or not. I just wanted to punch. Cause harm.
There was another evening that I was out shopping with my friends. I was so angry. Not with them. I had a great time being out with them. I just had anger stress. I just wanted to start doing a crazy tribal scream and charge like a rhino and start knocking all of the nicely folded clothes off of the tables in the stores. Then I wanted to rip the arm off the mannequin and start hitting things with it. I wanted to knock over the tables and push over the clothing racks. In my mind it was the most beautiful and glorious image. Too bad I couldn't make it come to life. I really didn't want to add jail and a mental institution in with my monthly stresses.
Do you all ever get this way? No? Am I just psycho? Yes. Probably so.
In life there are things that are guaranteed to make me angry. In blog land, I see a lot of 'loves'. So many people love this and love that. Love, love, love, love. I know it's positive and uplifting to read posts about things that are lovely. I've done many of these posts myself. I'm sure I'll do many more. Sometimes we just don't feel like love though. Sometimes we feel like poop. Sometimes we feel like hate. That's right. I said it. The 'h' word. Hate. I hate stuff. Things that I hate make me angry. Here's some stuff I hate.
One thing that I hate is the term "making love". It makes me cringe. Not the thought of it, no. Just calling it that. Let's just call it what it is. I don't care if you have a clever or pet name for it. You can call it nookie, doing it, horizontal polka, bumping uglies, a little slap and tickle, sexual intercourse, a roll in the hay, bump and grind...we all know this list could go on and on and on and on. Heck, call it anything, but for the love of all that is holy, not making love. If a guy decided to ask me if I wanted to "make love" I'd just laugh in his face. Then I would form my hand into a tight ball and thrust it into the morons face while saying, "Make love to this, chump." Yep. That's how I'd do it alright.
"Bobby Ray and I just finished making love." See. It just sounds ridiculous. It's not sweet. It doesn't make it more special. It just kinda sounds creepy. You chew on that the next time you and your lover gaze longingly into each others eyes. You think about how 'Lifetime' it sounds to say "you wanna make love?". You wanna make me barf?
I hate 'LOL'. Always have. Always will.
I hate birds and I hate their nests and I hate bird mites that come with them.
I hate standing ovations. Those moments are usually awkward and annoying. Sure. Some people deserve a standing ovation, but some are just not necessary. I really don't even like clapping that much. And then we gotta pair it with standing up and clapping. It's almost too much. *Disclaimer: If all of my blog readers were in an arena (because I have so many readers that it would take an arena to contain you all) and I appeared on stage, it would be perfectly acceptable and probably expected by me that you all greet me with a standing ovation due to my literary masterpieces that have touched your life. That would be a time that I would be okay with a standing ovation. Just wanted to clear that up now. I also wouldn't mind a few posters scattered throughout the audience. Or t-shirts that say "Sarah's Blog Reader 4 Life". Or roses thrown at my feet on the stage. Or a few blasts on an air horn. Yeah. I would be just fine with all of that.
I hate people that are full of themselves. So not me. So not me at all...
I hate whitewall tires. Who ever thought these were a good idea? Just picture your car that you drive. Now picture it with whitewalls. Your car just got so much uglier, didn't it?
I hate it when people don't seem to "know" themselves. Don't be a chameleon. Be you and be true. Just keep it real. And be original. I don't do fake. With me what you see is what you get. I appreciate when people are that way with me too.
I hate breakfast foods. If breakfast is the most important meal of the day, let's make some better breakfast choices. This girl isn't down with cereal. Granola bars just get boring after you've had them for a good 15 years or so. And who really has time to whip up a down home breakfast with all the fixins? Not me. This is why I usually end up eating some type of chocolatey something and wash it down with a Coke.
I hate people that stand too close to me while waiting in line. Back off, space invader. Why is it necessary to stand so close? Are you trying to sniff my hair? I'm sure it smells delightful but get on back.
Seeing people write this crap on facebook: Texttt meh. Love youuuuuuu.
Um, what?
I hate those Laughing Cow commercials.
I hate the feel and smell of hotel towels. So white and crunchy and industrial. Gross.
I hate when people don't use basic manners. Hold the door open for a sister, okay? Say thank you. It's not that hard to practice common courtesy toward others. It goes a long way.
I hate hair when it's not attached to a human head. I don't even like cleaning up my own hair let alone finding a stray hair that belongs to someone else. Disgusting.
I hate being asked a question as soon as I've taken a big bite of food and then you try to hurry and chew it and swallow it down but it seems to take 20 years to do so. *Disclaimer: This only bothers me if I'm out eating with someone that I don't know that well. Like a first date or dinner with an acquaintance and the conversation is awkward and questions are shot out at random/awkward times as soon as you're taking a giant bite of your big greasy burger. If I'm out with my family and close friends I'll just answer and talk whenever. Food in mouth or not. I'm sure a lot of people hate when I do that. Oh well.
I hate seeing people brown nose. I prefer not to have someone else's poop all over my nose. I'm not good at sucking up.
I hate stepping on the floor of a spot that had a coke spilled on it and it wasn't mopped up well. Then you've got sticky all over your shoes and now you've got a squeaky mess on your hands.
I hate when people that you don't know sit right next to you when there are other seats available--like every other seat in the room available. This also goes for going in a dressing room directly beside someone or a bathroom stall. If you're the only two people there spread out a bit.
I hate "I know, right?"
I hate when people say "what's up?" instead of greeting with a typical hey, hi, hello. How do you respond to what's up?
I hate when people don't clear the microwave numbers.
I hate when public bathrooms don't have paper towels. I don't like using hand dryers. I also obviously hate the environment too.
I hate eating with picky eaters.
So do I hate everything? Some would think so. I say that's not true. I hate everything except for yours truly and probably like five other things. You're included in one of those five other things that I don't hate. What do you hate? I would hate it if you told me. *Disclaimer: For those that don't get Sarah's jokes I wouldn't really hate it if you told me. I'd really love it. Comment away, dear children. Comment away.
Also, I sure do have a lot of disclaimers in this post. I hate it.
Oh, and just for fun, here's an extra delicious treat for you to feast your eyes and ears on. Something I don't hate is Kingsley. Maybe you know him and his YouTube works. His videos make me laugh. I've watched just about all of his videos and he has a lot. I'm including his video on "Things I Hate". It just seems appropriate for my post.
*Disclaimer: If you are easily offended you may not want to watch this. He does use language that is appropriate for mature audiences only. If you're not a mature audience or if you just don't like hearing the f word, don't click 'Play'. That was my warning label so you can't get angry with me. My favorite part is when he throws his DVD cases. If you decide this is also your favorite part, we'd probably make pretty good BFFs, you and I. Enjoy.
This week's Favorite Thing Thursday with Melanie is a tricky one. My assignment this week, and I do choose to accept it, is to name my favorite scent. I would have a hard time selecting just one. You see, I am a huge smell girl. Don't misunderstand. I am not a smelly girl. No, no. I do not stink. I smell delightful. I just sniff a lot. Wait, that doesn't sound good either. I don't sniff bad things like inhalants. I'm not over here getting high. I just enjoy smelling. I think the sense of smell is my most keen of all the senses. I have a pretty good little nose and I'm very smell sensitive. I enjoy a lot of smells--some that are probably not popular among the majority of people on this planet, but we already know I'm a little off. Now as much as I love smells, there are that many that I equally hate. Smells that are bad to me work my gag reflex. I can't take bad smells. Gag.
Okay. On to listing smells that I find to be quite delicious:
Plastic. Think opening a new kids toy. Ahh.
New shoes. Mmm. Sniffing a shoe box (especially filled with a new pair of tennis shoes) is delightful. Shoes make me high.
New clothes. That store smell is to die for.
Clean linens. Clean sheets are for winners.
The smell of the car ac first coming on--this is a weird smell but I like it.
Skunks. They stink so bad that they smell good.
Rosemary Mint Shampoo. It opens up the nostrils.
Striking a match
Country air on a summer night
New car smell
Anything coconut and pineapple scented
Baby skin and hair. Not their bottoms though--those are usually stinky.
Johnson's Baby Lotion. This is my daily lotion of choice.
Gas fumes
Men. Men smell delicious. Plus I love all men's shower gel and deodorant.
Icy Hot
The inside of books
Meat. Mmm. Meaty.
Bleach. I love the smell of clean.
Riley's Bakery. This is a local bakery. I would pay them money to let me just sit and sniff their air all day. The air is a deliciousness mixture of bread, Crisco, and icing. Heaven in the air. And, well, I'd also pay them money because I would buy up a variety of their baked goods to eat as I sat in the bakery and sniffed all day. There would be no sense in sitting there sniffing and drooling. Might as well eat while I'm enjoying the aroma at length.
A brewed tea bag
Daisy Mae's paws--please read explanation below so that you're not frightened.
This is a smell that I find to be interesting. Maybe you are neat and you find it interesting too. Don't unfollow me just because I admitted to know the smell of my dogs paws. I find dog paws to smell like corn chips. Now I don't sit and just sniff Daisy's paws. I can just smell it when she's beside me wanting me to rub her. The smell travels up to my nostrils so it's unavoidable. And one day I thought, "Hey, her paws smell like something in my pantry. What could it be? Oh yes. Fritos." If you've never sniffed your dogs paws, well, shame on you. Now call your furry child over to you this instant and sniff. See. Fritos. Dogs have Frito Feet. Unless your dog just came in from outside and stepped in its own doo. Then they won't smell like corn chips. Sorry. And you'll probably need to get some wipes and clean those paws. {gag reflex kicking in}
Now that everyone thinks I'm a ginormous freak, this would probably be a good time to wrap this list up.
My wish for you on this day is that you encounter many smells that make you say, "Ahh".
I'm currently in the Sunshine State, my friends. It's glorious here. The sun sure is shining. I am shining. I'm a shiny, happy person. Right now I'm enjoying my night by sitting on the balcony feeling the warm salty breeze, hearing the crash of the waves, and listening to my favorite Pandora station (Incubus radio)...all while inhaling plumes of secondhand smoke. I'll explain the last part further down the post.
I have spent all of my time either on this balcony or on the sand directly below. It's been unfortunate.
Now, on with the vacationy randoms:
I hate riding in the car for long distances. I get really restless. I prefer sleeping the majority of the way so that I'm oblivious to the boringness of the ride. I couldn't sleep on the ride down. Luckily I brought a season of The Golden Girls to help me pass the time. Those ladies always save the day.
I'm a stupid packer. I always end up bringing way too much stuff with me. When I started to unpack my things here, I realized that I could easily stay for a month without having to go and shop for new things. Of course I would still go and shop for new things anyway because I'm on vacation and you have to shop when you're on vacation. Duh. However, if I was in a pinch and couldn't shop for whatever reason, I have enough clothing items to mix and match nearly a months worth of outfits. I packed 12 tank tops, 6 dresses, 2 tops, 5 swimming suits, 4 cover-ups, a skirt, a pair of jeans, a pair of capris, 3 pairs of shorts, and 7 pairs of shoes. I almost brought 3 additional pairs of shoes but tossed them out at the last minute when I remembered that I purchased 3 new pairs of shoes when I was down here last year. I'm going to be here for 6 nights. I seriously have 20 outfits to choose from.
I also bring way too many books. It's just so hard to choose. Do I need 5 books while at the beach? No. Will I make it through 5 books? No. I'll be lucky to even make it through one.
Why will I be lucky to even make it through one book, you ask? That's because Sarah is too busy eavesdropping while laying out on the beach. While I appear to be engrossed in my book, I'm really just using it as a cover so that I can listen to the people beside me talk about their non-stop nonsense that for some reason is really interesting to me. Yesterday I heard all about valet parking being a rip off and then heard a review of every restaurant in the gulf region including the price range of entrees and server quality. I learned a lot. Oh, and I read 10 pages in my book. I'm well on my way to finishing these 5 books I brought...
I also had a really annoying guy beside me on the beach that decided to not use ear buds like normal people when listening to the music on an iPod. He blared it out for all to hear. And it was country music of all things. And then a girl that was 3 chair groupings away (she was a classy broad that liked to pee in the sand behind her chair) came over and had the nerve to tell him to turn it up. She was "jamming to it". For the love. I was in beach hell. To make it worse the guy had to sing along to every single song. And the weird thing was that he didn't sing along to the obvious verses and chorus. No, no. He wanted to do the background vocals. The awkward oohs and yeah-yeah-yeahs. Geez, buddy. Settle down. This isn't an audition for Nashville Star.
The perpetrator is on the left. He was really singing hard when I took this picture. Too bad that umbrella pole is in the way. It's blocking his mouth going "Ohhhh. Yeah, yeah, yeah."
The first night here I ended up falling asleep on the chaise lounge on the balcony of our condo. So I say "ended up" like it was accidental. That's a lie. I purposely slept outside. It sounded like a fun and smart idea and it looked like a more comfortable option than my bed. I love sleeping outside. If I could have a tree house like the Swiss Family Robinson, I would. That would be the greatest.
It would be impossible to sleep outside in KY like I did here though because we have too many dang bugs. I'd be eaten alive at home. Bug spray and a tent would be a necessity. Bugs don't seem to exist here in Florida though, so the idea was golden.
Before I drifted off to sleep in my outside balcony bedroom, the thought crossed my mind about sleepwalking. I was afraid I was going to sleepwalk for the first time in my life and climb the rail to plummet 11 stories to my death. That would have been super scary. Glad I didn't decide to sleepwalk.
Sleeping outside for the night was a bit strange. The crash of the ocean waves in real life aren't quite as soothing as they are on my nature sounds alarm clock at home. They're pretty dang noisy. And the moon is super bright when you're up in a tall high rise building because you're pretty much feeling like you're parallel with it. And then you might randomly wake up around 2 in the morning like I did and rub your eyes real hard because you swear you see two teenage kids doing a sexual act on the side of the swimming pool below. Duck and cover. I think they just looked up and saw me. My cover was blown. That wasn't the only thing that was blown...Ahem...
The people in the condo above us smoke. A lot. I've spent so much time out on our balcony that I've secondhand smoked each cigarette along with them. I bet I've inhaled at least a pack today alone. It's disgusting. I hate you and your stinky cigarettes. These people also apparently like to fry bacon on their balcony. I'm really curious about them. I'm kinda thinking all they do is smoke cigarettes and eat bacon. Really weird. I feel like they're really enjoying my music along with me right now. Maybe they'll be like the 'pee in the sand lady' and tell me to turn it up. I can only hope.
I love the ocean. It's my favorite thing about the whole beach scene. I could really do without all the sand. I like it when it's dry but not when it's wet. I don't like it sticking to my skin and it always manages to find its way into cracks and crevices. It's too bad they can't install some of that indoor/outdoor turf in place of the sand. Maybe do it half and half. A sand play place for sand castle building and then a turf area for me to set up camp with my beach garb. That's not really asking for much, is it? I don't really know who "they" is that I'm saying can install the turf to replace the sandy beaches. Maybe the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost? Can you hook that up for me, Lord?
But the ocean, I love. I wouldn't change a thing about it. Okay, maybe a little less on the seaweed and algae action because it gets inside my swimming suit and that's gross when you remove your bikini top and find that your boobs are covered with green sea substance, but otherwise the ocean is perfect. Nothing makes me happier than swimming in the ocean.
It's impossible to walk out of the ocean looking sexy. I don't even try to look sexy. My goal when walking out of the ocean is to make sure that I still have my bikini top and bottom on my body and in the correct placement. I don't want a boob popped out of the side of my top or an exposed ass cheek or heaven help something worse. I lost my top once today when a wave hit me. Luckily I recovered it quickly before it drifted out to sea.
Bo Derek I am not.
Walking in sand is a tricky thing. I feel like people that look good when walking in sand should list it as a talent. Because it truly takes talent to walk on the beach and not look intoxicated. Next time you're at the beach just stop and watch everybody. They all look drunk. Old people, teenagers, kids. Everybody's stumbling around.
Today I caught myself smiling/laughing to myself at a little boy that was terrified of the ocean. His dad was luring him out in the water and the boy was hating every minute of it. He started crying and then semi-screaming. Why did I delight in his panic? This makes me sound like I have real issues. Really I just found it humorous because I don't understand when people don't like the ocean. How can you not love it? It's a magical and mystical place. Like Disney World. So much to explore. And you can splash around and pretend like you're being your favorite sea creature or a mermaid. You're out there playing so hard like you're 8 but really you're 28 but no one has to know because it just appears to others as though you're swimming normally (well, hopefully it appears that way). Inside your head you're Ariel and you're looking for Flounder and Sebastian. And Prince Eric. I'm always searching for a Prince Eric.
While in the ocean I've seen a lot of extreme high-fiving going on. This group of three guys that were floating near me sure wanted to high five for everything they accomplished. I just threw a football. High five! I just finished a beer. High five! I just saw a fish. High five! Here comes a wave. High five!
And they all had on their hats backward. And they all kept looking at their arm muscles and flexing. And they all referred to each other as "Man" or "Dude". Draw your own conclusions and call them what you may, but there was a major case of douchebaggery out in the ocean waters with me.
The aforementioned douchelords are probably laughing about me right now as they chug their beers and smash their empty cans into their foreheads thinking about the 28 year old that was out in the ocean splashing around while playing "mermaid". Yeah, well at least I'm not a douchelord.
I miss my dog so much when I'm away from home. I've already found myself calling out for her a couple of times. Tonight I even threw a pretzel on the floor because it's habit for me to share my snacks with her. It was just an automatic reflex and then I felt like a moron because I'm sure I looked crazy launching a pretzel across the room. Momma's coming home to you soon, Daisy Mae. I will fill your belly with delicious food in just a few more days.
And now I must sign off. My mom just came out and asked if I happened to bring any nail polish remover. The answer is no. She looked scared. She then proceeded to tell me that she dropped a bottle of nail polish and it splattered all over the tile floor in the living room of the condo. I went in to look at it and I feel like I need to go get some yellow caution tape. It looks like a murder has been committed inside. Red nail polish everywhere. On the floor. On the baseboards. Even on the wall. Yeesh. Cleaning time. This is just a typical thing that my family would do. As my Mom said, "{Sigh} It's always somethin'. I swear." That statement was then followed by, "So much for this night. I can't have nothin'." Hilarious.
I had to do this Favorite Things Thursday post because it's about SHOES. The topic is to choose my favorite pair of shoes that are in my closet. Oh Lord. If you all saw all of the shoes in my closet you would know this isn't an easy thing. I have tons of shoes (like most girls do) and I love each pair with all of my sole. Get it. Sole. I like lame jokes. This topic actually came at the perfect time because I just bought a new pair of shoes Wednesday night. Since it's my newest pair, it's also my new favorite.
Feast your eyeballs on these wedges of beauty and perfection:
These nuggets were handcrafted up in heaven by J.C. himself. True masters work. Yes, those are sparkly sequins that you see atop the shoes. I'll give you a moment to take it all in. This picture is grainy and stupid but even if I had the most awesome camera in the world it wouldn't capture the beauty of these wedges. You have to see them live and in the flesh, well, on my flesh.
After I got home from buying them I wore them around my house for awhile. I had on a t-shirt, my underwear, and these. And I was so happy. More like giddy. You couldn't tell me nothin'. Smiling and singing and strutin' around.
And you know what makes me love these shoes even more? I'll tell you. I've been lusting over them for a couple of months now. I've kept a close and careful watch on them when I've walked through Macy's. They had been on sale but the sale wasn't as delightful as I would have liked. I love to buy shoes, but I love to buy them so much more when I get them for a good price. I had my lucky day on Wednesday. They were 50% off and the nice sales chap gave me an additional 15% off because he probably liked me. Kidding. Regardless, it was a score. Major score. Yep. Can't tell me nothin'.
I have a hardcore love for wedges. They are my favoritest of all the shoes in shoe land.
Some other close contenders in the favorite shoe from my closet contest would have to be my boots:
Don't they just make you want to giddy-up? I love them. We've had a couple of really awesome tail-busting moments together. Sometimes I fall. For some reason I like to fall while wearing these boots.
I also have a very near and dear place in my heart for my black Chucks.
Well. There you have it. Shoes are sensational and so are you.
