Six years ago, I met a girl who changed my perspective on life.
And people.
Our encounter was brief in comparison to all of the people I've met since then. Our time together nothing more than a blip on my radar.We were quite the unlikely pair, she and I.
She, dressed in black from head to toe, hid beneath the hair always
covering her face. I, dressed in whatever would cover me the most, hid
beneath the face of perfection. She lived in the world where “numb” was
the only available emotion; I lived in the world that never ran out of
tears.
We didn’t meet in the most ideal of circumstances. In fact, we were
both pretty much as far “rock bottom” as rock bottom can get.
I didn’t plan on talking to anyone there. With my face toward the
white expanse and my chair back against the room, I was pretty much
unapproachable.
She found me, nevertheless.
As she sat down at the table and turned her chair toward mine, I was
already planning an excuse to hightail it out of there. There were
“weirdos” here, and I wanted nothing to do with any of them. As I
formulated my escape plan, she started talking to me.
“What are you doing?”
I’m pretty sure I looked at her like she was an idiot at this point. I
mean, how much more obvious could staring at the wall be? Did I need to
put up a sign saying, “Staring at Wall. Do Not Disturb”? Don’t worry
though, I appeased her.
“Knitting a scarf, and-after lunch-I’ll be sewing mittens to match.”
It must have been my charm that encouraged her to keep on talking…because she did.
“Why are you here?”
“I have issues.”
She sat there for a moment and then said, “Yeah, me too.”
Wow. Shocker. All that time I had been thinking she was there on vacation.
She joined me at that table and never left. Every free moment, she
sat there, sharing her story with me. As I listened to her life, I
realized that she was not much different than me. Yes, the events were
different. Deep down, however, she and I were cut from the same cloth.
We both felt invisible in a big, scary world, and we both tried to gain
the attention we craved any way we could.
“Sometimes I would give anything for someone to notice me.”
She told me this after showing me her scars. Scars that spoke of deep
pain she couldn’t even name. Scars that cried out for attention. Scars
that wanted to be seen and touched.
Scars that would never take the pain away.
I don’t remember her name. I didn’t keep the phone number that she
stuffed in my hands before she left. I don’t even remember the school
she told me she went to.
All I remember is her story and its theme.
She comes to my mind often. I pray that she has found some source of
healthy attention, but parts of me doubt it. Statistics show that the
majority of teens who leave the institutions of the world return worse than
they came in. They have no hope. All they see is what they know, and
what they know holds no hope.
So they end up back in the arms of institutions, hospitals, and-eventually-jails.
It’s really all so sad.
Her struggle is not so foreign. We all want to be noticed. We all
want to be seen. None of us want to be invisible, so we gain the
attention any way we can. Some of us act out, holding the belief that
any attention is better than no attention at all. Some of us chase
perfection, believing that it will fill all of our needs. Some of us
cling in desperation to every person we know, terrified of that moment
they decide we are not worthy enough to be seen. Some of us create
hopeless situations that warrant the need of a savior.
And we wait and wait and wait for that savior to come…only he never
does. The human hero will never be able to save you, no matter how fancy
his hero cape.
There is hope, though. There is someone who sees you in the midst of
your pain, and He’s waiting for you to stop chasing human heros and look
to Him. He has His own scarred hands. Scars that speak of your pain.
Scars that speak of your own hopelessness. Scars that speak of the
victory He has won for you.
He bore your scars so you would have no need for your own.
The truth is, we all struggle with wanting to be seen. We all fear
becoming invisible. Some of us just go farther for attention than
others. Some of us go all the way to rock bottom, and those of us who
have been there can testify that even rock bottom will not make a
difference.
God sees you, no matter where you are.
Think of Hagar, the unseen woman who said of God, “You are the God
who sees me” (Genesis 16:13). Think of David, who again and again
thanked God for seeing him and rescuing him from the pit. Think of Paul,
who lived with absolute assurance that God saw him and knew him. Think
of Jesus, confident and secure in the knowledge that He was loved and
seen by the Most High God.
My friend, you don’t have to battle for attention here on this earth.
You don’t have to chase one image after another. All you have to do is
rest in Him, for He sees you even from the darkest place.
I don’t know where she is today, but God knows. He sees her, and He
feels her pain. Where I, as a human, could not heal her, He can. He can
go in and heal her wounds from the inside out.
And He will.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Living Life with #NoFilter
I was scrolling through my Facebook feed the other day when I saw it.
A pregnancy announcement.
Again.
Lately it seems that all of our friends and acquaintances are moving on to that "next" phase in life. The baby phase. The phase that seems to move you from the plateau of "just married" to "you've finally arrived".
Or so it seems.
The funny thing about social media is that it makes you care about things you never cared about before. Jealousy and insecurity creep in through the posts of someone else's highlight reel. Doubt lingers as you compare your life to theirs.
"Am I where I'm supposed to be?"
"Should I be doing what they're doing?"
"How do I get from here to there?"
Vacation photos become aspirations. Self portraits become thieves of confidence. Job announcements become goals to attain.
In the margins between my screen and my life, I begin to write new goals. New dreams. New aspirations... because mine just don't seem to be "enough".
Life is summarized by pictures that are perfect and words that are poised, and - if we don't look hard enough - we'll fall for the façade.
We'll believe that our lives are significantly less. We'll begin measuring our day to day lives with the posts we see on Facebook and Instagram. We'll compare our ordinary and mundane with the highlights of someone else's life.
And we'll convince ourselves that that is what life is really like.
The highlights.
Life doesn't consist of just the highlights, though. It's full of highs, sure. But it's also full of lows and in-betweens. It's messy and scary and sometimes it falls short of our expectations.
Life cannot be summarized in a Facebook post. Life cannot be represented by a picture on Instagram. Life is meant to be lived. Authentically. Truthfully. Unfiltered.
Is social media bad? Not necessarily. It keeps us connected to friends and loved ones positioned all around the world. It allows us to celebrate the highs of life and come together for the lows. It inspires us. It propels us to move forward and do good things. It helps us spread our messages of hope.
When used correctly, it can become a beautiful avenue for living life authentically.
It's all in how you use it.
The problem with social media is not with social media itself. The problem is with us and how we receive what we see and what we read. Jealousy and discontentment are not byproducts of social media; they are byproducts of ourselves. They are the overflow of our doubts and insecurities, projected onto someone else.
When we learn to accept our lives for what they are, our perspectives will change. We won't be so focused on what everyone else is doing. Our value won't be determined by the milestones of somebody else. Our worth won't be tied to where we're positioned in the rat race of life.
And in that moment, it won't matter what anyone else is doing. It won't matter that your life hasn't turned out like everyone in your age group or graduation class. It won't matter that you're married or unmarried, with kids or without kids. It won't matter that you don't own a house or take vacations twice a year.
None of that will matter because you know that you are right where you are supposed to be.
Here.
Now.
Today.
And even an Earlybird filtered photo can't change that.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Season Number What?
So this happened last night:
And it was epic.
I mean, seriously, what did we ever do without Pinterest? How did wives around the world know what to make for dinner every. single. night?
I don't know, but it's a mystery to me.
Other than managing to actually make dinner twice (gasp!) this week, our week has been fairly uneventful.
Unless you count the fact that Season 2 of Chicago Fire started this week. That was pretty eventful. Mainly for the Mr. because he started getting inundated with questions that sounded oddly like, "Has God told you of His plans to make you a firefighter yet?"
Yes, I'm sure the Mr. is super excited to have that show back in the weekly rotation.
Four months after our move, we are finally starting to get back into what some would call a "routine". People our age would probably call it succumbing to our elderly ways but hey - it is what it is. I've already accepted the fact that the Mr. and I are drastically different from our peers.
Mainly due to the fact that we prefer to go to bed at 8:30 and are severely allergic to anything with the word "fun" in it.
Just kidding. We are totally fun people.
If you're 35.
Anyway, as I was saying, the move took some adjusting but we are finally in a place that feels like home. Not necessarily because we're in Texas (although I will gladly support that theory), but mainly because for the first time in our lives together we feel like we are right where we're supposed to be. It hasn't been easy; that's for sure. We've had to give up quite a few comforts to walk this path, but it's been worth it.
We've been ready for something new for a long time.
When the Mr. and I met, we were both in uncertain places in our lives. Spiritually we teetered on the edge, unsure of how to move forward. He was burnt out on church in general, and I was struggling to balance what I knew to be true of God with my relapse into all things bad. Emotionally we were both a mess: desperate to please everyone around us and struggling with some deep-rooted insecurities and doubts. Add to that the fact that, after almost a year and a half in recovery, I walked right back into the eating disorder that I had struggled with for 6 years.
It was a chaotic time.
The thing I love about our relationship is that we've been able to grow together. Neither of us are the same person we were when we met... and that's a good thing. We've grown in our faith through the trials we've faced (both individually and jointly). We've developed better coping skills so we can actually deal with life rather than run from it. We've established better boundaries so our relationships are healthy, and we've finally come to accept ourselves for who we are rather than who we'd like to be.
And after all that growth and change, we're ready for a new chapter. Full of new growth and new change. One of our joint dreams and desires has always been that our lives would make an impact and be a catalyst for good. Before I moved to Colorado and long before I met the Mr., that's where my life was heading. I had a passion to share my story and spread the message that there is hope in this world. I started writing a book for girls who struggled with eating disorders. My mess had become my message, and I was passionate about my purpose in life.
Those dreams were pivotal in my decision to move to Colorado and join a church plant. Looking back, I know that the journey was directed by God... even if it didn't turn out exactly as I had planned. I walked away from a lot during my 3 years in Colorado and am just now starting to understand the price I paid.
I lost my passion and didn't want to be associated with my message anymore. When I finally got my life back together, I wanted nothing to do with my past. I didn't want people to know who I was, where I came from, and the struggles that had shaped me. I wanted a new start, a new life.
What I didn't realize, though, was my past will always be a part of my present. When I discredit that part of my story, I'm discrediting everything God has done for my life thus far.
And He has done so much.
All that to say that the Mr. and I are finally at a place where we're ready to be used. All that we've been through together has brought us to where we are now - a new chapter. A new journey.
Which, if I have my way, that journey will include the important things in life.
Like cupcakes and fire trucks.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Real-Life Marriage
He has 7 more weeks of training before his "real" schedule begins, so we get to enjoy an actual 2 day weekend for 7 more weeks. We don't even know what to do with ourselves. I keep researching day trips to take, but by the time the weekend rolls around all we want to do is collapse on the couch and not move until Sunday.
Plus, we can't really go too far from home because of aforementioned high-maintenance dogs. I still haven't met someone capable of handling their extreme levels of high-maintenance.
Although they do seem to like my sister... maybe I can bribe her with Red Vines.
And books.
This year has been a growing experience, that's for sure. Not only have we moved cross-country (positive), undergone two major job changes in two months (positive-negative...can you say just plain stressful?!), but we're also coming up on our second year of marriage.
Which means that we've almost survived two years of figuring out this thing called marriage without killing each other.
Or severely damaging each other's morale. I'd say that's a win-win situation.
Seriously, though... marriage? It's hard. Not only is there no in-depth, step-by-step instruction manual for every possible scenario, but there are close to a million opinions and perspectives that can leave you scratching your head for days wondering how that was supposed to help.
And the movies? Marriage is nothing like you see in the movies. Real-life marriage is messy and raw. It's about making sure that you take the time to think about the other person in every situation and learning to not be so selfish. It's about compromise and "I'm sorry". It's about joining together two very different people (with two very different backgrounds) for the sake of one cause.
It's about dying to yourself and loving the other person even though they breathe loudly.
Not that that's an issue.
I've learned a lot about life in the past (almost) two years of marriage. I've learned that life is not always fair and sometimes you just really don't need to "win" that argument. I've learned that more often than not, the best reply is silence (not the silent treatment kind... the "I really want to tell you exactly what I'm thinking but I won't because I love you and I won't feel that way tomorrow" kind). I've learned that two people can conquer anything when they are united and don't let outside influences sway them.
And there are a lot of influences that want to sway. Some well-meaning, some not.
The most important thing I've learned about marriage is that it can only survive with a whole lot of prayer. Because even the most promising, well-meaning marriages can fall short. Even the most grounded and secure couples can give a little to outside influences and watch their marriages crumble. I've seen it, and I've felt it happen even in our short two years.
Every so often, we get comments about being married so young. We get the "why would you want to throw your life away already?" questions and the "it's not going to last" comments. We get the looks, and we get the lectures from older generations about how awful marriage really is. We get all of that, but it's not what we hold onto.
What we hold onto are the stories of people just like us. People in real-life, messy marriages. People who realize that marriage is hard but wouldn't trade it for anything. The people who look at us and remember what it was like when they were young and in love.
Those are the people we listen to. Those are the people who inspire us.
Because in the end, it's not about an age or particular milestone passed. It's not about what your family says or what society thinks. It's about love and commitment. It's about knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that your life is better because that person is in it
And it's about not getting mad when they drink too loudly...or when their dog is just a little too high maintenance.
Friday, June 28, 2013
I Blame My Parents for This One
Last night, someone (namely my husband) had the great idea to drive around Boerne and look for a neighborhood my parents had been telling us about. I only agreed because my mouth was full of frozen yogurt, and I wasn't about to complain about the gas we would be wasting driving around since apparently I am a "fun sucker".
His words, not mine. Apparently it's a mortal sin to be concerned about the price of gas now days.
So it's 8:00 at night, and we're driving around Boerne in circles looking for Champion High School (because that's the only part of the location we remembered my parents saying). The problem with finding said high school, however, is that neither our iPhones nor our GPS could locate it.
So we're driving around in circles, Josh is talking about how he knows we're just about to find it, and all I can think about is how I should have never asked for frozen yogurt in the first place. Because if there's one thing I hate more than wasting gas, it's driving around aimlessly looking for a specific location.
Eventually I busted out the Google map on my phone and found the high school. {God bless Google. It is superior in all location-finding aspects.}
We finally found the neighborhood, and as we drove in, my heart decided to stop beating. I was expecting a little run-down neighborhood full of cute, but character-filled houses because my parents said it looked like a neighborhood we could afford for our first home buying experience.
Uh, no.
My parents, apparently, have more faith in our financial situation than we do. Because this neighborhood was Alexis' house heaven (which translates into "we couldn't touch it for, like, 10 years").
I'm serious. I had found my dream neighborhood.
As we drove around looking at the new, cottage-esque houses, I tried to brainstorm ways to save thousands upon thousands of dollars for a down payment within a year. All I could come up with was selling our dogs on the Black Market, trying to figure out how to work that complicated website called Elance, writing stellar article content that would entice magazines to publish me, or winning the lottery.
They are all very far-fetched goals.
In an effort to torture ourselves even more, we kept driving around and drooling over said dream houses. Josh kept talking about how we could raise our kids here and look! There's an elementary school! You love elementary schools! {Yes, I do. If I didn't think I'd go crazy being around kids all day, I would totally be a teacher. Just so I could spend my days basking in all the goodness that is elementary schools.}
We eventually stopped our neighborhood-stalking efforts and drove home. On the way home, I declared that I was totally ok with living in an apartment for the next ten years if we could buy one of those houses as our first home. Because once I've found what I want, you know I will never settle for anything less.
Josh agreed, and I sentenced myself to ten years of apartment living. Just to torture myself even more, I went online to look at the houses and get an idea of their prices.
What I found made me so excited that I jumped up & down and did the happy dance. Because - in my little dream neighborhood - I found some houses that we could afford when it's time to buy a house.
I guess I should thank my parents for telling me about that neighborhood after all.
{If the Mr. thought I was frugal when it came to gas now, he has no idea what's about to hit him.}
His words, not mine. Apparently it's a mortal sin to be concerned about the price of gas now days.
So it's 8:00 at night, and we're driving around Boerne in circles looking for Champion High School (because that's the only part of the location we remembered my parents saying). The problem with finding said high school, however, is that neither our iPhones nor our GPS could locate it.
So we're driving around in circles, Josh is talking about how he knows we're just about to find it, and all I can think about is how I should have never asked for frozen yogurt in the first place. Because if there's one thing I hate more than wasting gas, it's driving around aimlessly looking for a specific location.
Eventually I busted out the Google map on my phone and found the high school. {God bless Google. It is superior in all location-finding aspects.}
We finally found the neighborhood, and as we drove in, my heart decided to stop beating. I was expecting a little run-down neighborhood full of cute, but character-filled houses because my parents said it looked like a neighborhood we could afford for our first home buying experience.
Uh, no.
My parents, apparently, have more faith in our financial situation than we do. Because this neighborhood was Alexis' house heaven (which translates into "we couldn't touch it for, like, 10 years").
I'm serious. I had found my dream neighborhood.
As we drove around looking at the new, cottage-esque houses, I tried to brainstorm ways to save thousands upon thousands of dollars for a down payment within a year. All I could come up with was selling our dogs on the Black Market, trying to figure out how to work that complicated website called Elance, writing stellar article content that would entice magazines to publish me, or winning the lottery.
They are all very far-fetched goals.
In an effort to torture ourselves even more, we kept driving around and drooling over said dream houses. Josh kept talking about how we could raise our kids here and look! There's an elementary school! You love elementary schools! {Yes, I do. If I didn't think I'd go crazy being around kids all day, I would totally be a teacher. Just so I could spend my days basking in all the goodness that is elementary schools.}
We eventually stopped our neighborhood-stalking efforts and drove home. On the way home, I declared that I was totally ok with living in an apartment for the next ten years if we could buy one of those houses as our first home. Because once I've found what I want, you know I will never settle for anything less.
Josh agreed, and I sentenced myself to ten years of apartment living. Just to torture myself even more, I went online to look at the houses and get an idea of their prices.
What I found made me so excited that I jumped up & down and did the happy dance. Because - in my little dream neighborhood - I found some houses that we could afford when it's time to buy a house.
I guess I should thank my parents for telling me about that neighborhood after all.
{If the Mr. thought I was frugal when it came to gas now, he has no idea what's about to hit him.}
Friday, May 31, 2013
The Andrews Cookie-Making Dilemma
It's officially Friday, and that can mean a lot of things.
This week it means that I am trying to get as much work done as possible as early as possible, so I can bake some awesome treats for the Annual Andrews Family Reunion.
I was voluntold to make them, in case you were wondering.
If you don't know what voluntold means, you must not know an Andrews woman.
To give you an idea, the Mr.'s motto is that you "never cross an Andrews woman or tell them what to do". Unless you're an Andrews woman, that is.
I've trained him right.
Anywho, this whole figuring out what to bake for the Family Reunion has been stressful. So stressful, in fact, that I've even considered skipping out on it altogether because my creative baking ideas were seriously lacking.
I would have strongly considered it if it weren't for the fact that I'm pretty sure said-Andrews women would hunt me down with a pitchfork and force me out of my humble abode.
Especially since I've missed the past three years of Andrews fun.
So in the middle of trying to attend to my sick-y husband yesterday, crank out some work projects and wish I was the one laying on the couch instead of the Mr., I looked up as many dessert recipes on Pinterest as I could find.
There were a lot, by the way. Pinterest is, after all, anything if not plethoric.
{By the way, I totally just Googled "Is plethoric even a word?". It is... in case you were wondering.}
I found a lot of recipes that I wanted to try and a lot that I wanted to remake. However, the problem with me picking out recipes is that I tend to choose the most complicated recipes that are required to set for hours... or days.
Like this one:
So those were immediately tossed out of the idea bag.
After realizing that I am not Super Woman and cannot simultaneously get all dolled up, crank out work, and bake heavenly treats, I made the executive decision to just make cookies.
But not just any kind of cookies. These cookies:
I'm pretty sure I gained five pounds just looking at them.
But that's ok because I totally need to gain five pounds so I can fit into these shorts at Banana Republic:
I don't see any potential roadblocks to making these cookies. Well, unless you factor in the fact that HEB may not - in fact - carry the crucial cinnamon chips.
My grandma Susie, by the way, is convinced that HEB makes the decision to discontinue items solely based on her debit card purchases at said establishment. So if that's the case, they probably won't have said chips and my cookie making will be doomed to failure.
If that's the case, I'll just have to make these:
Because you've always got to have a good back-up plan.
This week it means that I am trying to get as much work done as possible as early as possible, so I can bake some awesome treats for the Annual Andrews Family Reunion.
I was voluntold to make them, in case you were wondering.
If you don't know what voluntold means, you must not know an Andrews woman.
To give you an idea, the Mr.'s motto is that you "never cross an Andrews woman or tell them what to do". Unless you're an Andrews woman, that is.
I've trained him right.
Anywho, this whole figuring out what to bake for the Family Reunion has been stressful. So stressful, in fact, that I've even considered skipping out on it altogether because my creative baking ideas were seriously lacking.
I would have strongly considered it if it weren't for the fact that I'm pretty sure said-Andrews women would hunt me down with a pitchfork and force me out of my humble abode.
Especially since I've missed the past three years of Andrews fun.
So in the middle of trying to attend to my sick-y husband yesterday, crank out some work projects and wish I was the one laying on the couch instead of the Mr., I looked up as many dessert recipes on Pinterest as I could find.
There were a lot, by the way. Pinterest is, after all, anything if not plethoric.
{By the way, I totally just Googled "Is plethoric even a word?". It is... in case you were wondering.}
I found a lot of recipes that I wanted to try and a lot that I wanted to remake. However, the problem with me picking out recipes is that I tend to choose the most complicated recipes that are required to set for hours... or days.
Like this one:
 |
| Source: http://www.globalgourmet.com |
So those were immediately tossed out of the idea bag.
After realizing that I am not Super Woman and cannot simultaneously get all dolled up, crank out work, and bake heavenly treats, I made the executive decision to just make cookies.
But not just any kind of cookies. These cookies:
 |
| Source: picky-palate.com |
I'm pretty sure I gained five pounds just looking at them.
But that's ok because I totally need to gain five pounds so I can fit into these shorts at Banana Republic:
 |
| Source: bananarepublic.gap.com |
I don't see any potential roadblocks to making these cookies. Well, unless you factor in the fact that HEB may not - in fact - carry the crucial cinnamon chips.
My grandma Susie, by the way, is convinced that HEB makes the decision to discontinue items solely based on her debit card purchases at said establishment. So if that's the case, they probably won't have said chips and my cookie making will be doomed to failure.
If that's the case, I'll just have to make these:
 |
| Source: http://www.doughmesstic.net |
Because you've always got to have a good back-up plan.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
A Nosebleed Kind of Life
Last Wednesday my sister and I went to the Taylor Swift concert in San Antonio, and it was epic.
Epic as in I'm trying to figure out how I can become a full-time singer and perform for thousands of LOUD and adoring fans.
I think the first requirement for this requires being able to actually sing, so I may be screwed. Although, if we were in the 90's I could totally get by with the help of a little auto-tuning and my totally awesome dance moves.
Say hellooo Britney Spears.
But I digress.
As I was saying, K-Beth and I had the awesome opportunity to experience T-Swift in real life. Well, as real life as you can get stuck in the nosebleed section. K's words...not mine.
I may have even been a little offended if it wasn't for the fact that it was true. What can I say? When you're 23, you don't have much money...or connections. It's all about the music anyway - right?
Ha.
Right.
Thankfully K-Beth is fairly easy to please. As long as we made it in time to see Ed Sheeran, she was a happy camper. She loves him so much she even bought these shorts that say "Sheeran" across the derriere.
Yeah, my mom gave me a look for that one. What can I say? I can't cramp the girl's style. If she wants to rock the word-butt shorts, more power to her.
I'm pretty sure I've been banned from ever taking her clothes shopping again, though.
Anyway, the point of this very random blog post is to say that watching Taylor Swift in concert had me questioning everything that is my life.
Particularly what I'm doing with it, and where I'm going. Because, let's face it, when you put T-Swift's accomplishments next to mine, her's come out a lot shinier and prettier.
I mean, the girl and I are the same age, and she's already accomplished more than I probably ever will in my entire lifetime.
So - in an effort to make myself feel better about my life and snap out of my mild Taylor Swift caused depression - I made a Top Ten list. A top ten list of things to do before I turn 25, specifically.
Because if I can't write songs with clever lyrics ("Casually cruel in the name of being honest"... that's a lyric that the word-girl in me has been jealous of since I heard it. Or read it. I don't remember which. All I know is that I wish I had written it.) or buy 25 houses by the age of 23, I might as well do something productive.
And interesting.
So here goes...
My Top Ten List of Things to Accomplish Before I'm 25.
{A list I'm sure T-Swift herself would be super jealous of... Just sayin'.)
Epic as in I'm trying to figure out how I can become a full-time singer and perform for thousands of LOUD and adoring fans.
I think the first requirement for this requires being able to actually sing, so I may be screwed. Although, if we were in the 90's I could totally get by with the help of a little auto-tuning and my totally awesome dance moves.
Say hellooo Britney Spears.
But I digress.
As I was saying, K-Beth and I had the awesome opportunity to experience T-Swift in real life. Well, as real life as you can get stuck in the nosebleed section. K's words...not mine.
 |
| View from the said "Nosebleed" section |
I may have even been a little offended if it wasn't for the fact that it was true. What can I say? When you're 23, you don't have much money...or connections. It's all about the music anyway - right?
Ha.
Right.
Thankfully K-Beth is fairly easy to please. As long as we made it in time to see Ed Sheeran, she was a happy camper. She loves him so much she even bought these shorts that say "Sheeran" across the derriere.
Yeah, my mom gave me a look for that one. What can I say? I can't cramp the girl's style. If she wants to rock the word-butt shorts, more power to her.
I'm pretty sure I've been banned from ever taking her clothes shopping again, though.
Anyway, the point of this very random blog post is to say that watching Taylor Swift in concert had me questioning everything that is my life.
Particularly what I'm doing with it, and where I'm going. Because, let's face it, when you put T-Swift's accomplishments next to mine, her's come out a lot shinier and prettier.
I mean, the girl and I are the same age, and she's already accomplished more than I probably ever will in my entire lifetime.
So - in an effort to make myself feel better about my life and snap out of my mild Taylor Swift caused depression - I made a Top Ten list. A top ten list of things to do before I turn 25, specifically.
Because if I can't write songs with clever lyrics ("Casually cruel in the name of being honest"... that's a lyric that the word-girl in me has been jealous of since I heard it. Or read it. I don't remember which. All I know is that I wish I had written it.) or buy 25 houses by the age of 23, I might as well do something productive.
And interesting.
So here goes...
My Top Ten List of Things to Accomplish Before I'm 25.
{A list I'm sure T-Swift herself would be super jealous of... Just sayin'.)
- Learn to drive on the highway without dying. You laugh, but it's totally true. I avoid the highway at all costs because as soon as I enter the on-ramp images of flippity flip cars and beer guzzling truck drivers enter my head. I'm not really sure why I picture truck drivers illegally drinking, but I do. So just go with it.My parents like to make fun of this little quirk of mine. They even joke that when I'm 50 I'll be calling my mom in the nursing home to drive me across town to go shopping. It would be funny if it wasn't semi-true.
The nursing home part, I mean.
Because remember, I'm conquering my fear of the on-ramp before I turn 25. Watch out truck drivers... I may just be running you off the road this time. - Conquer the art that seems to be pizza dough making.
Not to sound all conceited or anything, but I am a pretty good cook. Give me a complicated recipe to try, and it'll turn out. But give me the challenge of making homemade pizza, and I fail.
Always.
It's like a rule of the universe.
I used to blame it on the altitude in Colorado, but now that we've moved back to Texas I'm realizing that wasn't the case. I'm just really, really bad at making pizza dough. It either rises to Mars, burns on the edges, or decides not to bake in the middle.
The Mr. always says it's good, but I think he's lying. Probably because he knows if he criticizes it, I'll have a minor breakdown and refuse to cook again.
And then he'd be screwed. - Finish one of the many books I've been writing. I couldn't imagine my life without words. I have so many unfinished novels and book ideas that I don't even know where to begin. All I know is that publishing a book requires writing a book, so I better get on it sometime soon.
- Take a photography class so I can take artsy pictures that all of my followers on Instagram will be jealous of.
My camera skills are sub-par, to say the least. With the combination of my iPhone camera and my uncreative eye, my photos are boring. And plain. And practically put me to sleep. - Run a mile without passing out on the side of the road.
This is a minor accomplishment in the grand scheme of life accomplishments, but I'm convinced that if I can ever get to the point of running a full mile without stopping, I can do anything.
Granted, that would require having to actually workout and get sweaty, so we'll see how that one goes. - Go on a vacation to somewhere that isn't Texas or Colorado.
The thing about loving Texas when you aren't living in Texas is that you want to take all of your trips to Texas. Now that we live here, however, I'm getting the vacation itch.
I don't care where we go, as long as it's to somewhere we've never been before. Charleston, Savannah, Jamestown, the Florida Keys... they all sound like heaven. And if we can score a cottage on the beach, my life will be made.
Forever. - Learn how to sew.
I've been wishing that the Sewing Fairy would sweep down and grant me her skills for years now. Unfortunately, I have yet to wake up with the acquired skills.
I'm trying to convince my mom to hold a class for me and K-Beth this summer, but we'll see. Apparently she's a very busy lady with very important things to do.
Like hitting Banana Republic and J. Crew for their newest items before anybody else.
At least I know where I got it from. - Pick up the violin again.
When I was in middle school, I was forced to choose an elective class. The problem with elective classes is that if you have no exceptionally great creative talents, you're not going to want to do any of them.
So I was put in Orchestra. With the craziest lady I've ever met.
She seriously put Medusa to shame.
I quit somewhere along the way... I'm not really sure why. It probably had something to do with boys were far more interesting than music in high school.
Oh, the error of my ways. - Do something that matters.
I'm not really sure what this entails quite yet. All I know is that at the end of my life, I want to have made a difference. And by 25, I hope to make some kind of small difference in the world. - Buy a house to call home.
Ok - so it won't be me buying the house. It'll totally be Josh because he's the one that makes all of the money.
Yay him.
I've already started looking. There's something about being able to hear everything in the apartment above you to motivate you to look for a more permanent establishment where you can run the disposal at 10:00 without fear of getting a letter from your apartment agency.
Not that that's happened.
Yet.
If we do end up buying a house before we turn 25, I have a few specifications. Like that it must be this one. Because I am in love with it.
 |
| Photo from Realtor.com |
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
The Weekend I Decided I'm Never Having Children
My Memorial Day weekend was so jam-packed full of fun and exciting events that I just know you are going to be super jealous.
Because who wouldn't want to sit on the couch all holiday weekend with absolutely nothing to do?
Definitely not me... I'm all about activities that can put your brain into a minor coma.
Josh was out of town this weekend for his mom's 50th, so to say my weekend was more boring than usual is an understatement. With the exception of mooching a movie and dinner off of my parents for two nights in a row, I stayed inside the entire weekend (and Monday because Josh works for the only Chicken Coop in town that didn't close early).
So my holiday weekend consisted of catching up on some work, reading a few books, and taking care of our dogs. Which to most people would mean putting some food in a bowl and making sure they go out three times a day.
But no. We have to have two of the most high maintenance dogs in the history of the entire world.
I'm sure of it.
The fact that I did not give away one of our dogs this weekend is a testament of my love for my husband only. Because if it was just me, the Holy Terror would now be living in a home that doesn't mind waiting on a dog hand and foot (or paw and paw).
Because this weekend - of all weekends - Dunkin decided to have a major case of the D's. If you don't know what that is, use your imagination.
So between running the dog outside every 30 minutes (in the pouring rain, mind you) and giving him a bath every other time, my patience was running a little thin and my compassion meter a little low.
I may or may not have told him just exactly what I thought of the situation and demanded that he "hold it" until I felt like going outside.
In a really sweet and compassionate tone, of course.
{Just in case you were wondering, that didn't work. Reasoning with a dog is apparently just a testament to my growing insanity as a person.}
I think it was when Dunkin decided to start throwing up hydrocholoric acid in addition to everything else that I finally lost it. If he had been sick, I may have had an ounce of compassion.
But he wasn't sick. That's just normal, everyday, tempermental Dunkin for you.
Like I said, he's the most high maintenance dog in the history of the world. I've pretty much given up on the hope of ever getting to go on a vacation any time in the next ten years because there's no way I would submit anyone to his level of crazy when we (or just Josh) are gone.
Really, it's quite depressing.
Anyway, as I worked to do everything within my power not to knock on my neighbor's door and ask her if she wanted a free dog, I informed Josh that I am never, ever, ever having children if it's anything like taking care of Dunkin.
Thankfully Josh knows to just let me vent and get all my crazy ideas out there, so he said what any smart husband would say - "Ok".
Because he knows that in ten years I will totally change my mind. But until then, I will enjoy living my life child-free.
Well, as much as that is possible with the Holy Terror living under our roof.
Because who wouldn't want to sit on the couch all holiday weekend with absolutely nothing to do?
Definitely not me... I'm all about activities that can put your brain into a minor coma.
Josh was out of town this weekend for his mom's 50th, so to say my weekend was more boring than usual is an understatement. With the exception of mooching a movie and dinner off of my parents for two nights in a row, I stayed inside the entire weekend (and Monday because Josh works for the only Chicken Coop in town that didn't close early).
So my holiday weekend consisted of catching up on some work, reading a few books, and taking care of our dogs. Which to most people would mean putting some food in a bowl and making sure they go out three times a day.
But no. We have to have two of the most high maintenance dogs in the history of the entire world.
I'm sure of it.
The fact that I did not give away one of our dogs this weekend is a testament of my love for my husband only. Because if it was just me, the Holy Terror would now be living in a home that doesn't mind waiting on a dog hand and foot (or paw and paw).
Because this weekend - of all weekends - Dunkin decided to have a major case of the D's. If you don't know what that is, use your imagination.
So between running the dog outside every 30 minutes (in the pouring rain, mind you) and giving him a bath every other time, my patience was running a little thin and my compassion meter a little low.
I may or may not have told him just exactly what I thought of the situation and demanded that he "hold it" until I felt like going outside.
In a really sweet and compassionate tone, of course.
{Just in case you were wondering, that didn't work. Reasoning with a dog is apparently just a testament to my growing insanity as a person.}
I think it was when Dunkin decided to start throwing up hydrocholoric acid in addition to everything else that I finally lost it. If he had been sick, I may have had an ounce of compassion.
But he wasn't sick. That's just normal, everyday, tempermental Dunkin for you.
Like I said, he's the most high maintenance dog in the history of the world. I've pretty much given up on the hope of ever getting to go on a vacation any time in the next ten years because there's no way I would submit anyone to his level of crazy when we (or just Josh) are gone.
Really, it's quite depressing.
Anyway, as I worked to do everything within my power not to knock on my neighbor's door and ask her if she wanted a free dog, I informed Josh that I am never, ever, ever having children if it's anything like taking care of Dunkin.
Thankfully Josh knows to just let me vent and get all my crazy ideas out there, so he said what any smart husband would say - "Ok".
Because he knows that in ten years I will totally change my mind. But until then, I will enjoy living my life child-free.
Well, as much as that is possible with the Holy Terror living under our roof.
This is how he acts when Josh comes home.
Yep. I'm pretty sure he hates me.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Facing Fears...One Snake at a Time
One thing I learned about the Mr. very early on is that he is terrified (and I mean absolutely terrified) of snakes. So terrified, in fact, that during one of our first outings together he took off running up Horsetooth Mountain because he saw one heading toward the hiking trail.
Leaving me behind to wonder what the heck he was running from.
Yes, he left a real heroic impression with that move. Thankfully I am neither terrified nor freaked out by snakes so I was totally okay with fending for myself. Now moths on the other hand....
When I finally caught up to him and learned that he had seen a snake, I had to hold back my laughter. I mean, the man was obviously traumatized so I couldn't even make a joke about it.
I quickly learned that any snake sighting in our future would result in the Mr. suddenly and without warning running in the opposite direction.
Even if we're almost home, and I'm on the verge of an asthma attack.
Apparently in the situation of a snake, it's totally okay to walk your wheezing-almost-dead wife back around the entire block to avoid the snake in the creek next to the sidewalk.
Makes sense to me.
So anyway, to say that the Mr.'s snake fears are borderline insane is an understatement. Which is why I had to pray that NO ONE ELSE would fill his head with horror stories of snakes in Texas. Before we moved, he was told story after story of snakes in houses, snakes in yards, snakes in boots, snakes in planes...
And all I wanted was for people to keep their big mouths shut because 1.) we were moving to Texas and no one was stopping us...not even the King Cobra and 2.) I had maybe seen one snake in my entire life living in Texas and found these stories absolutely ridiculous.
So, after reassuring the Mr. of the fact that we would be living in a developed area where snakes would not abound, we arrived in San Antonio.
We're sitting at the kitchen table on that first afternoon in Texas, minding our own business, when my sister walks in and calmly says, "I almost stepped on a snake."
As she proceeds to walk upstairs like nothing at all happened.
So we all rush out the front door (the Mr. was more like cowering by the front door) and sure enough there is a huge snake slithering through the front yard and wrapping itself around a tree.
While Mom and the Mr. are standing there trying to figure out what to do and discussing how freaked out they are, I'm silenting lamenting over leaving Texas so soon.
Because I know the Mr. is about to pack up all of our stuff and get back on the road.
Which would be a problem because he'd have to drag me kicking and screaming all the way back to the mountains.
The snake stayed around for a couple days, lifting it's head from the hole in the tree to say hello and slithering around the yard occasionally looking for food.
Food in the form of a little white dog.
Named Princess.
Which also freaked out the Mr.
I think he was seriously entertaining the idea of putting her in a diaper and not letting her outside until the snake was dead. Fortunately, Miss Priss did not have to tolerate the trappings of the old. I took her out as usual and determined that if she did - in fact - get eaten by the snake, at least she went down with a bang.
Or a really big swallow.
We haven't seen the snake for at least a week, so it's safe to say that it's moved on to terrorize some other poor unfortunate soul. In the meantime, I'm praying that our apartment (that is only a couple of blocks over from my parents') is snake-less.
Because in that case, we're either moving back to Colorado or getting a very big gun.
Leaving me behind to wonder what the heck he was running from.
Yes, he left a real heroic impression with that move. Thankfully I am neither terrified nor freaked out by snakes so I was totally okay with fending for myself. Now moths on the other hand....
When I finally caught up to him and learned that he had seen a snake, I had to hold back my laughter. I mean, the man was obviously traumatized so I couldn't even make a joke about it.
I quickly learned that any snake sighting in our future would result in the Mr. suddenly and without warning running in the opposite direction.
Even if we're almost home, and I'm on the verge of an asthma attack.
Apparently in the situation of a snake, it's totally okay to walk your wheezing-almost-dead wife back around the entire block to avoid the snake in the creek next to the sidewalk.
Makes sense to me.
So anyway, to say that the Mr.'s snake fears are borderline insane is an understatement. Which is why I had to pray that NO ONE ELSE would fill his head with horror stories of snakes in Texas. Before we moved, he was told story after story of snakes in houses, snakes in yards, snakes in boots, snakes in planes...
And all I wanted was for people to keep their big mouths shut because 1.) we were moving to Texas and no one was stopping us...not even the King Cobra and 2.) I had maybe seen one snake in my entire life living in Texas and found these stories absolutely ridiculous.
So, after reassuring the Mr. of the fact that we would be living in a developed area where snakes would not abound, we arrived in San Antonio.
We're sitting at the kitchen table on that first afternoon in Texas, minding our own business, when my sister walks in and calmly says, "I almost stepped on a snake."
As she proceeds to walk upstairs like nothing at all happened.
So we all rush out the front door (the Mr. was more like cowering by the front door) and sure enough there is a huge snake slithering through the front yard and wrapping itself around a tree.
While Mom and the Mr. are standing there trying to figure out what to do and discussing how freaked out they are, I'm silenting lamenting over leaving Texas so soon.
Because I know the Mr. is about to pack up all of our stuff and get back on the road.
Which would be a problem because he'd have to drag me kicking and screaming all the way back to the mountains.
The snake stayed around for a couple days, lifting it's head from the hole in the tree to say hello and slithering around the yard occasionally looking for food.
Food in the form of a little white dog.
Named Princess.
Which also freaked out the Mr.
I think he was seriously entertaining the idea of putting her in a diaper and not letting her outside until the snake was dead. Fortunately, Miss Priss did not have to tolerate the trappings of the old. I took her out as usual and determined that if she did - in fact - get eaten by the snake, at least she went down with a bang.
Or a really big swallow.
We haven't seen the snake for at least a week, so it's safe to say that it's moved on to terrorize some other poor unfortunate soul. In the meantime, I'm praying that our apartment (that is only a couple of blocks over from my parents') is snake-less.
Because in that case, we're either moving back to Colorado or getting a very big gun.
Sir Snake in the Yard
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Can We All Just Go Back to Kindergarten?
I think I've decided that I'm going back to elementary school.
For life.
I seriously envy the day when my only problems and concerns involved trying to wrap my head around the 15 different kinds of blue in the Crayola box and remembering not to pick my boogers in public.
Because the latter will cause lots of teasing and basically be the end to your elementary school life.
Not that I know this from personal experience. I was just a witness to this very phenomenon and heard the kid ended up somewhere in Alaska. Apparently that's where they send the booger pickers.
For real, though. Life was easy back then. Our only jobs were to go to school, do our homework, and be nice to the curly headed annoyance that sat next to you all year.
Piece of cake.
What they failed to tell us was this:
If I had known this little fact, I would have intentionally failed every grade.
Like, five times.
The truth is, sometimes being a grown up stinks. Sometimes there are problems too big to wrap my head around. Sometimes there are situations that are completely out of my control and no matter how hard I try to manipulate them, they remain out of my control. Sometimes life takes its course and you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Because you can't go back. You can only go forward. Step by step by step.
Moving has been like that. Along the way, we've run through some wide open doors of opportunity and faced a few scary beasts of adversity. We've worried about our finances. We've had everything that could break or cost us money do just that. We've faced our fears about the unknown and stepped into the water with trepidation.
There are still uncertainties. There are still moments when we both think, "Should we have done this?... Did we just make the biggest mistake of our lives?"
What I've learned through this move (and what I'm still learning as we continue to make this transition) is that things don't always go as planned. Things break. Situations don't work out like we thought they would. Challenges arise that demand our time and attention. Doubt creeps in and attempts to set up permanent residence in our minds.
Life isn't perfect. It's messy and complicated and you can't write the script to it. You can't manipulate it into your expectations. You just have to live it - one day at a time - and trust that God is walking with you even through the yucky stuff.
Because sometimes you have to go there before you can get to the good stuff.
{I like to think of it as God testing our Herculean strength. Although He may have forgotten that muscles tend to deteriorate when they are living a life of comfort. So right now, we're probably peaking at the strength of a 90 year old.}
I've doubted a lot through this process. I've thought about going back more times than I can count. And now that we're here, that hasn't changed. Life was good. Life was comfortable. Life was easy. It wasn't drenched in uncertainty. It wasn't walking the tight rope of "what if". It wasn't depending on anything but our own strength.
Which is probably why we needed to move. It was time to step out of the box and lean on something other than ourselves.
I look at my youngest brother (also known as Little Josh...since we have like 5,000 Josh-es running around here) and think about how easy his life is right now. I think about how his biggest problem (at the moment) is figuring out how to build a cardboard car so he can ride it down the driveway on his skateboard.
Racing Jack (my other brother), might I add. Who has a real car. Which Josh wants to race. Down the driveway.
{Actually, when I think about it, this could be a potentially very BIG problem.}
When I think about it though, I wouldn't trade my life with Little J's. Not in a heartbeat.
Because the struggle of "growing up" is what shapes us. I am not who I was yesterday because of what I'm going through today.
And that makes it worth it.
Despite the allure of eating paste in the classroom and living with my parents for the rest of my life.
{Which, when I think about it, is probably the reason I wanted to grow up in the first place.}
For life.
I seriously envy the day when my only problems and concerns involved trying to wrap my head around the 15 different kinds of blue in the Crayola box and remembering not to pick my boogers in public.
Because the latter will cause lots of teasing and basically be the end to your elementary school life.
Not that I know this from personal experience. I was just a witness to this very phenomenon and heard the kid ended up somewhere in Alaska. Apparently that's where they send the booger pickers.
For real, though. Life was easy back then. Our only jobs were to go to school, do our homework, and be nice to the curly headed annoyance that sat next to you all year.
Piece of cake.
What they failed to tell us was this:
If I had known this little fact, I would have intentionally failed every grade.
Like, five times.
The truth is, sometimes being a grown up stinks. Sometimes there are problems too big to wrap my head around. Sometimes there are situations that are completely out of my control and no matter how hard I try to manipulate them, they remain out of my control. Sometimes life takes its course and you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Because you can't go back. You can only go forward. Step by step by step.
Moving has been like that. Along the way, we've run through some wide open doors of opportunity and faced a few scary beasts of adversity. We've worried about our finances. We've had everything that could break or cost us money do just that. We've faced our fears about the unknown and stepped into the water with trepidation.
There are still uncertainties. There are still moments when we both think, "Should we have done this?... Did we just make the biggest mistake of our lives?"
What I've learned through this move (and what I'm still learning as we continue to make this transition) is that things don't always go as planned. Things break. Situations don't work out like we thought they would. Challenges arise that demand our time and attention. Doubt creeps in and attempts to set up permanent residence in our minds.
Life isn't perfect. It's messy and complicated and you can't write the script to it. You can't manipulate it into your expectations. You just have to live it - one day at a time - and trust that God is walking with you even through the yucky stuff.
Because sometimes you have to go there before you can get to the good stuff.
{I like to think of it as God testing our Herculean strength. Although He may have forgotten that muscles tend to deteriorate when they are living a life of comfort. So right now, we're probably peaking at the strength of a 90 year old.}
I've doubted a lot through this process. I've thought about going back more times than I can count. And now that we're here, that hasn't changed. Life was good. Life was comfortable. Life was easy. It wasn't drenched in uncertainty. It wasn't walking the tight rope of "what if". It wasn't depending on anything but our own strength.
Which is probably why we needed to move. It was time to step out of the box and lean on something other than ourselves.
I look at my youngest brother (also known as Little Josh...since we have like 5,000 Josh-es running around here) and think about how easy his life is right now. I think about how his biggest problem (at the moment) is figuring out how to build a cardboard car so he can ride it down the driveway on his skateboard.
Racing Jack (my other brother), might I add. Who has a real car. Which Josh wants to race. Down the driveway.
{Actually, when I think about it, this could be a potentially very BIG problem.}
When I think about it though, I wouldn't trade my life with Little J's. Not in a heartbeat.
Because the struggle of "growing up" is what shapes us. I am not who I was yesterday because of what I'm going through today.
And that makes it worth it.
Despite the allure of eating paste in the classroom and living with my parents for the rest of my life.
{Which, when I think about it, is probably the reason I wanted to grow up in the first place.}
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Clear Blue Skies and Alabis
Well, we're here.
In the grand ole state of Texas. Full of lots of clear blue skies (at the moment), heat, humidity, and snakes (more on this later).
After being on the road for two days, we were SO ready to see "civilization" again (as Josh calls it).
For real, though. There is absolutely nothing between Colorado Springs and San Antonio.
Unless you count cattle, farm land, and pick-up trucks... because there are a lot of those along the way.
The drive wasn't really that bad, despite the lack of Chick-Fil-A's and acceptable bathrooms. In fact, it was pretty enjoyable. The first day Josh and I switched off driving; the second day I decided to not even pretend to be the nice, considerate wife. I just let him drive the whole way.
If you think about though, it really was a pretty considerate move since he probably didn't want to be lost in the middle of nowhere-land, Texas. Even with a GPS, I'm no good at directions.
We passed the time doing intelligent things, like playing Mad Libs...
And listening to this kind of music....
While dancing like this...
Luckily there was no one on the road to point and laugh at us. I have an image to uphold, after all. One that is slightly less crazy and more sane.
Ha. Yeah right.
The only part of the trip that I was apprehensive about was our hotel. Since I'm blind at night and Josh will fall asleep at the wheel, we decided to break up the drive into two days. Meaning we'd have to stay at a hotel one night.
In west Texas (as in the direction...not the place).
That may mean nothing to you, so let me explain. The last time we stayed in Amarillo, our hotel room (which in normal cities is a nice hotel... just sayin') had mermaid wallpaper.
Mermaid.
Yep.
Amarillo has officially lost my respect.
So suffice it to say that my mission on this trip was to book an Alexis Approved Hotel room. Which was a hard task in and of itself...but throwing in a dog? It's pretty hard.
Do you know what kind of hotels allow dogs? You really don't want to know. They're the kind of hotels that would make me choose going camping over staying in them.
And I really, really do not like camping.
We found one, though, in the middle of Nowhere, Texas (or Canyon if you want to be specific). I had my doubts before we arrived, but it ended up being Alexis Approved after all.
Thank the Good Lord and princess' life because if it wasn't, we'd be minus one dog today.
I really love Princess, but I have to say I love clean hotel rooms more.
In the grand ole state of Texas. Full of lots of clear blue skies (at the moment), heat, humidity, and snakes (more on this later).
After being on the road for two days, we were SO ready to see "civilization" again (as Josh calls it).
For real, though. There is absolutely nothing between Colorado Springs and San Antonio.
Unless you count cattle, farm land, and pick-up trucks... because there are a lot of those along the way.
The drive wasn't really that bad, despite the lack of Chick-Fil-A's and acceptable bathrooms. In fact, it was pretty enjoyable. The first day Josh and I switched off driving; the second day I decided to not even pretend to be the nice, considerate wife. I just let him drive the whole way.
If you think about though, it really was a pretty considerate move since he probably didn't want to be lost in the middle of nowhere-land, Texas. Even with a GPS, I'm no good at directions.
We passed the time doing intelligent things, like playing Mad Libs...
And listening to this kind of music....
While dancing like this...
Luckily there was no one on the road to point and laugh at us. I have an image to uphold, after all. One that is slightly less crazy and more sane.
Ha. Yeah right.
The only part of the trip that I was apprehensive about was our hotel. Since I'm blind at night and Josh will fall asleep at the wheel, we decided to break up the drive into two days. Meaning we'd have to stay at a hotel one night.
In west Texas (as in the direction...not the place).
That may mean nothing to you, so let me explain. The last time we stayed in Amarillo, our hotel room (which in normal cities is a nice hotel... just sayin') had mermaid wallpaper.
Mermaid.
Yep.
Amarillo has officially lost my respect.
So suffice it to say that my mission on this trip was to book an Alexis Approved Hotel room. Which was a hard task in and of itself...but throwing in a dog? It's pretty hard.
Do you know what kind of hotels allow dogs? You really don't want to know. They're the kind of hotels that would make me choose going camping over staying in them.
And I really, really do not like camping.
We found one, though, in the middle of Nowhere, Texas (or Canyon if you want to be specific). I had my doubts before we arrived, but it ended up being Alexis Approved after all.
Thank the Good Lord and princess' life because if it wasn't, we'd be minus one dog today.
I really love Princess, but I have to say I love clean hotel rooms more.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Because George Strait Lives There
Ever since we started telling people that we're moving to Texas (and before when we were telling people that we wanted to move to Texas), we've gotten all sorts of comments.
Comments like, "Why on EARTH would you want to live there?"
or
"Why would you want to leave the most beautiful place on Earth for THAT?"
or
"I heard that the crime rates in Texas are horrendous."
or
"The property taxes there are astronomical."
or
"Only uneducated people live in Texas."
or
"I heard that everyone in Texas is rich and stuck up."
or my favorite
"Why did you get married so young? You have your whole life ahead of you!"
(Well, except for that last comment... That's just the most frequently asked question of the year... I tell them I did it solely for the tax break. Works like a charm.)
The Mr. is a lot more patient with these people. He explains how I'm from Texas, how he loves Texas, and how he recently got a job there. Then he tells them his life story in between...because he's wordy like that.
I just look at them with a smile and say "Bless your heart".
Just kidding...I don't say that.
It's really not nice.
Seriously, though. After about the tenth time, I started to get annoyed by people's comments. I really didn't want to hear them. I just wanted them to utter a vague "Oh, that's nice" and walk away.
But people, unfortunately, never do what I want them to do.
They just keep talking and talking and talking about everything they assume they know about Texas.
And the heat. The horrendous, "you're going to hate it", "worse than living in Hell" heat.
(Too bad they don't know that's exactly how I describe winter in Colorado.)
So, in an effort to save my sanity (and Josh's), I've decided to come up with a response to all of those well-meaning Coloradoans that won't offend them or make them argue their point to the ground. Next time someone asks me why I could possibly want to move back to Texas, I'll just tell them this:
Because George Strait lives there.
After all, no one could possibly argue with George.
Comments like, "Why on EARTH would you want to live there?"
or
"Why would you want to leave the most beautiful place on Earth for THAT?"
or
"I heard that the crime rates in Texas are horrendous."
or
"The property taxes there are astronomical."
or
"Only uneducated people live in Texas."
or
"I heard that everyone in Texas is rich and stuck up."
or my favorite
"Why did you get married so young? You have your whole life ahead of you!"
(Well, except for that last comment... That's just the most frequently asked question of the year... I tell them I did it solely for the tax break. Works like a charm.)
The Mr. is a lot more patient with these people. He explains how I'm from Texas, how he loves Texas, and how he recently got a job there. Then he tells them his life story in between...because he's wordy like that.
I just look at them with a smile and say "Bless your heart".
Just kidding...I don't say that.
It's really not nice.
Seriously, though. After about the tenth time, I started to get annoyed by people's comments. I really didn't want to hear them. I just wanted them to utter a vague "Oh, that's nice" and walk away.
But people, unfortunately, never do what I want them to do.
They just keep talking and talking and talking about everything they assume they know about Texas.
And the heat. The horrendous, "you're going to hate it", "worse than living in Hell" heat.
(Too bad they don't know that's exactly how I describe winter in Colorado.)
So, in an effort to save my sanity (and Josh's), I've decided to come up with a response to all of those well-meaning Coloradoans that won't offend them or make them argue their point to the ground. Next time someone asks me why I could possibly want to move back to Texas, I'll just tell them this:
Because George Strait lives there.
After all, no one could possibly argue with George.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
4 Reasons Moving is More Stressful than Taxes
Tax day is in T-4 days.
Around here that means I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to send two estimated quarterly tax payments with only one check left.
First world problems... I know.
Typically, tax season is exciting for me. I get a rush every time I push the "Next" button in Turbo Tax and get really giddy when it tells me that I've won a brand new car.
Just kidding.
I gave it back after they told me how much the taxes would be.
For real, though. Tax season can make you want to pull your hair out. This year I figured out what it really means to be self-employed. Like that you have to pay income tax in addition to self-employment tax on your income.
That one should've been obvious.
Then again, common sense isn't that common in my life.
Thank God for Turbo Tax.
Tax season is stressful, but I'm pretty sure moving cross-country takes the cake.
(Is Colorado to Texas even considered to be a cross-country move?)
(As far as I can tell, they are completely different planets...so I'm gonna go with yes.)
For argument's sake, I've developed a list of the biggest reasons moving is more stressful than the taxes you may or may not be waiting until the last minute to pay.
Yep - I called you on it.
1. Breaking a lease. My husband seemed to have the idea that this would be the easy part. Don't worry - I totally knew better. I had already planned on giving them my firstborn.
Let me just say that it is not easy. Or cheap.
Not. At. All.
Apparently we decided to move at the time no one (and I mean no one) is looking for an apartment. Snow seems to be quite the deterrent. Who'd a-thought?
We finally just went over and paid them WAY more money than I'd like just to be done with it. Because I'm tired of crying about it. And fighting about it. And checking the website everyday to see if it's still available. And trying to convince everyone I meet into leasing it.
I have to admit, though, that I am a little sad no one wanted to lease it before our time was up.
(Well, unless you count the felons that didn't get approved. Or as the Mr. likes to call them, the convicts.)
I took it personally for awhile. I mean - come on - we are awesome renters! How could you not walk in and want to move in immediately? Princess didn't even pee under the bed this time!
Although Dunkin did throw up on the carpet quite a bit. And broke the blinds. But we replaced those.
I swear, he's like having a child that I can't even claim as a dependent.
We're done with it though and with that comes the end of the apartment stress.
And rent. I really like not paying rent.
2. Packing, packing...and more packing. I love moving. I really do. I love the experience of discovering something new, getting out of the routine, and just seeing where life takes you.
I like new things, but I'd prefer for someone else to get me to the new things.
Like, if we could hire movers to pack and move our stuff, I would be happier than Dunkin looking out the window through the broken blinds.
And that's pretty happy.
The Mr. and I are go-getters. If we make a decision, we figure out how to get it done as quickly as possible. We don't like waiting.
Delayed gratification is so not our thing.
So when we found out on March 14th that if we moved out early (by the 20th) we'd have a better chance of not having to pay as much, we jumped.
Actually, more like dove off of the cliff into the waters of the crazy and insane.
I started packing that day. And the next day. And the next.
We were out by the 17th. Which is crazy, even for us.
Josh had to work, so it was just me, Dunkin and Princess (those two were not any help, in case you were wondering). To top it off, Josh got sick.
I think he packed a total of 3 boxes.
But I'm not bitter. Not at all.
In a matter three days, our belongings were all packed and ready to be moved into the Mr.'s parent's garage. And between moving and cleaning up Dunkin's puke every 5 minutes, I was about to have a nervous breakdown.
Thankfully, Josh came home early that day with Chick-Fil-A.
Chick-Fil-A always makes me happy. It's totally the reason I married him.
3. Being homeless. I've decided that whenever we buy a house, our apartment move out date and house move in date will coincide perfectly. Because I really just can't deal with being homeless for very long.
Not that we're homeless, per say. We just don't have our home with our stuff.
Well, we do have our stuff but since it's out in the garage sealed with tape a nuclear explosion couldn't even break, I'd have to say that's a moot point.
We are so blessed to be able to have somewhere to live while we are in limbo, but it's still hard.
And stressful.
Because I can't go thermo-nuclear with three other people in the house. I mean, we've only been married a year and a half. I don't want to scare anyone away with my crazy just yet.
Josh keeps saying that we'll just be more appreciative of our apartment and our time together when we do finally get to move in.
I keep saying that I was more than appreciative, and he must have been the problem.
God is obviously refining him at my expense.
4. Not being in control. I am a self-admitted control freak. I am fully aware of my tendencies and will totally fess up to them.
Here's the thing about moving - there's not much you have control over. At least, not in our situation.
We planned on moving in September; we're moving in May. We planned on moving out of our apartment, driving the truck down, and moving into our apartment in one cohesive timeframe. Instead, we moved out of our apartment, moved into the Mr.'s parents' house, are driving one car down on the 28th, moving in with my parents for a week, having Josh's parents drive the U-haul, the holy terror (Dunkin) and the last car down, and moving into our new apartment a week later.
So not my plan.
But apparently God had other plans. Ones that involve me having very little control and lots of heavy-duty breakdowns.
It's a gift. What can I say?
Around here that means I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to send two estimated quarterly tax payments with only one check left.
First world problems... I know.
Typically, tax season is exciting for me. I get a rush every time I push the "Next" button in Turbo Tax and get really giddy when it tells me that I've won a brand new car.
Just kidding.
I gave it back after they told me how much the taxes would be.
For real, though. Tax season can make you want to pull your hair out. This year I figured out what it really means to be self-employed. Like that you have to pay income tax in addition to self-employment tax on your income.
That one should've been obvious.
Then again, common sense isn't that common in my life.
Thank God for Turbo Tax.
Tax season is stressful, but I'm pretty sure moving cross-country takes the cake.
(Is Colorado to Texas even considered to be a cross-country move?)
(As far as I can tell, they are completely different planets...so I'm gonna go with yes.)
For argument's sake, I've developed a list of the biggest reasons moving is more stressful than the taxes you may or may not be waiting until the last minute to pay.
Yep - I called you on it.
1. Breaking a lease. My husband seemed to have the idea that this would be the easy part. Don't worry - I totally knew better. I had already planned on giving them my firstborn.
Let me just say that it is not easy. Or cheap.
Not. At. All.
Apparently we decided to move at the time no one (and I mean no one) is looking for an apartment. Snow seems to be quite the deterrent. Who'd a-thought?
We finally just went over and paid them WAY more money than I'd like just to be done with it. Because I'm tired of crying about it. And fighting about it. And checking the website everyday to see if it's still available. And trying to convince everyone I meet into leasing it.
I have to admit, though, that I am a little sad no one wanted to lease it before our time was up.
(Well, unless you count the felons that didn't get approved. Or as the Mr. likes to call them, the convicts.)
I took it personally for awhile. I mean - come on - we are awesome renters! How could you not walk in and want to move in immediately? Princess didn't even pee under the bed this time!
Although Dunkin did throw up on the carpet quite a bit. And broke the blinds. But we replaced those.
I swear, he's like having a child that I can't even claim as a dependent.
We're done with it though and with that comes the end of the apartment stress.
And rent. I really like not paying rent.
2. Packing, packing...and more packing. I love moving. I really do. I love the experience of discovering something new, getting out of the routine, and just seeing where life takes you.
I like new things, but I'd prefer for someone else to get me to the new things.
Like, if we could hire movers to pack and move our stuff, I would be happier than Dunkin looking out the window through the broken blinds.
And that's pretty happy.
The Mr. and I are go-getters. If we make a decision, we figure out how to get it done as quickly as possible. We don't like waiting.
Delayed gratification is so not our thing.
So when we found out on March 14th that if we moved out early (by the 20th) we'd have a better chance of not having to pay as much, we jumped.
Actually, more like dove off of the cliff into the waters of the crazy and insane.
I started packing that day. And the next day. And the next.
We were out by the 17th. Which is crazy, even for us.
Josh had to work, so it was just me, Dunkin and Princess (those two were not any help, in case you were wondering). To top it off, Josh got sick.
I think he packed a total of 3 boxes.
But I'm not bitter. Not at all.
In a matter three days, our belongings were all packed and ready to be moved into the Mr.'s parent's garage. And between moving and cleaning up Dunkin's puke every 5 minutes, I was about to have a nervous breakdown.
Thankfully, Josh came home early that day with Chick-Fil-A.
Chick-Fil-A always makes me happy. It's totally the reason I married him.
3. Being homeless. I've decided that whenever we buy a house, our apartment move out date and house move in date will coincide perfectly. Because I really just can't deal with being homeless for very long.
Not that we're homeless, per say. We just don't have our home with our stuff.
Well, we do have our stuff but since it's out in the garage sealed with tape a nuclear explosion couldn't even break, I'd have to say that's a moot point.
We are so blessed to be able to have somewhere to live while we are in limbo, but it's still hard.
And stressful.
Because I can't go thermo-nuclear with three other people in the house. I mean, we've only been married a year and a half. I don't want to scare anyone away with my crazy just yet.
Josh keeps saying that we'll just be more appreciative of our apartment and our time together when we do finally get to move in.
I keep saying that I was more than appreciative, and he must have been the problem.
God is obviously refining him at my expense.
4. Not being in control. I am a self-admitted control freak. I am fully aware of my tendencies and will totally fess up to them.
Here's the thing about moving - there's not much you have control over. At least, not in our situation.
We planned on moving in September; we're moving in May. We planned on moving out of our apartment, driving the truck down, and moving into our apartment in one cohesive timeframe. Instead, we moved out of our apartment, moved into the Mr.'s parents' house, are driving one car down on the 28th, moving in with my parents for a week, having Josh's parents drive the U-haul, the holy terror (Dunkin) and the last car down, and moving into our new apartment a week later.
So not my plan.
But apparently God had other plans. Ones that involve me having very little control and lots of heavy-duty breakdowns.
It's a gift. What can I say?
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
To the Land Where the Grass is Green and the Girls are Pretty
It's snowing outside right now.
I've really tried to like the snow. Really, I have. But to someone who used to sit outside at the skate park every workday with a plug-in heater and seven layers of blankets in 60 degree weather, snow is not a friend. It's an enemy.
Because it's cold. And wet. And really quite impossible to drive in, if you ask me.
So it's with great enthusiasm that I can say I will soon be leaving the snow behind for far more favorable things.
Like armpit sweat.
To be honest, it's a bittersweet experience. Moving, that is. Not armpit sweat.
While Texas will be my forever home, Colorado still has half of my heart. Or a quarter. Or maybe an eighth. Let's not get technical.
It's the place God called me to three years ago. It's the place where I've experienced many moments of failure, life-changing moments of victory, and all the spectrum of emotions in between. It's the place I met my soul-mate, the place I married my soul-mate, the place I found the perfect job, and the place I will forever be grateful for.
We're leaving behind a lot of good things: family, friends, comfort, security, and good ole Serious Texas B-B-Q.
It's true. My favorite Texas barbecue is located in Colorado, not Texas. Yes, the irony is not lost on me. Don't worry though - I'm planning on stocking up on plenty of Cherry Chipotle Salsa. If you don't know what that is, you need to go here and buy it right this minute.
It's life changing. Seriously.
All in all, it'll be hard to leave Colorado but we're excited for this new adventure. I honestly thought I'd be back in Texas a LONG time ago, but then I had to go and meet the Mr. and put my all of my grand plans on hold.
Men... always stirring up some kind of trouble.
We hit the road in 19 days, and I'm just praying that the snow doesn't decide to make one last appearance on the 28th. I'm pretty sure Josh doesn't want to sit up front all alone while I sit in the back seat and bawl.
Because that's what I do when we drive in the snow.
Really, it's quite mature.
So if you think about it, lift up a prayer that the Abominable Snowman will stay away from the Colorado-New Mexico-Texas line that last week in April.
Josh would really appreciate it.
P.S. Ten bucks says that you started singing the song as soon as you saw the title to this post.
You're welcome.
I've really tried to like the snow. Really, I have. But to someone who used to sit outside at the skate park every workday with a plug-in heater and seven layers of blankets in 60 degree weather, snow is not a friend. It's an enemy.
Because it's cold. And wet. And really quite impossible to drive in, if you ask me.
So it's with great enthusiasm that I can say I will soon be leaving the snow behind for far more favorable things.
Like armpit sweat.
To be honest, it's a bittersweet experience. Moving, that is. Not armpit sweat.
While Texas will be my forever home, Colorado still has half of my heart. Or a quarter. Or maybe an eighth. Let's not get technical.
It's the place God called me to three years ago. It's the place where I've experienced many moments of failure, life-changing moments of victory, and all the spectrum of emotions in between. It's the place I met my soul-mate, the place I married my soul-mate, the place I found the perfect job, and the place I will forever be grateful for.
We're leaving behind a lot of good things: family, friends, comfort, security, and good ole Serious Texas B-B-Q.
It's true. My favorite Texas barbecue is located in Colorado, not Texas. Yes, the irony is not lost on me. Don't worry though - I'm planning on stocking up on plenty of Cherry Chipotle Salsa. If you don't know what that is, you need to go here and buy it right this minute.
It's life changing. Seriously.
All in all, it'll be hard to leave Colorado but we're excited for this new adventure. I honestly thought I'd be back in Texas a LONG time ago, but then I had to go and meet the Mr. and put my all of my grand plans on hold.
Men... always stirring up some kind of trouble.
We hit the road in 19 days, and I'm just praying that the snow doesn't decide to make one last appearance on the 28th. I'm pretty sure Josh doesn't want to sit up front all alone while I sit in the back seat and bawl.
Because that's what I do when we drive in the snow.
Really, it's quite mature.
So if you think about it, lift up a prayer that the Abominable Snowman will stay away from the Colorado-New Mexico-Texas line that last week in April.
Josh would really appreciate it.
P.S. Ten bucks says that you started singing the song as soon as you saw the title to this post.
You're welcome.
Just Google It
Last Sunday, Google saved my life.
And my marriage.
And quite possibly my relationship with Jesus.
Unlike most Sundays, this Sunday actually began on the right foot. My outfit was chosen the night before, saving Josh from having to re-hang my entire closet after I've declared it all "no good". I woke up with hours to spare, meaning I could dilly-dally to my heart's content and still make it to church on time. I was refreshed, energized, and ready to face the day.
It was, after all, Easter. The day we celebrate new life, freedom, and joy. The day we remember what exactly our Savior gave up for us. The day we focus outward instead of inward.
The day we shouldn't throw fits 45 minutes before church.
My make-up was done, my hair was big, and my spankin' new heels were already starting to form blisters on my "she-lives-in-flats-only" feet. My top was ironed out, the sweater fixed just-so, and my accessories were planned to the T.
And then I turned around.
There - right under my rear - was a crease. Not just one - but four. Like big giant fat rolls. With fabric.
Bright pink fabric.
I tried not to freak out. I really did. But when you're used to loose and flowy, tight pink rolls kind of freak you out.
So I did what any other girl would do; I threw a big, fat hissy fit.
Yeah... not my best moment ever.
Here we are getting ready to leave for church on Easter, and I'm stomping my feet because my pants aren't fitting like I think they should.
Josh - bless his heart - tried to intervene. He tried to redirect my attention to the things that matter. He tried to convince me that the pants were just made that way. He tried to remind me that it didn't really matter what I was wearing (because it didn't).
Lord knows he tried, but I wasn't having any of it.
After I compared the pants to something Mary Magdalene (if she were alive today) would wear, Josh just walked out. Apparently he'd had too much crazy for one Easter Sunday morning.
Much grumbling and complaining later (after I realized he wasn't coming back to relieve me of The Great Pants Debacle), I decided to take matters into my own hands. Pulling up the Safari browser on my phone, I went straight to Google and typed in the only logical search term that applied to my situation:
"Kate Middleton's Butt in Pants".
Yes, I know. I entered a whole new level of crazy with that search.
But y'all... I was desperate. And who better to guide me through the murky waters of fashion do's and don'ts other than THE most fashionable lady on the planet?
It took a lot of scrolling (after all, she is a classy lady), but I finally found what I was searching for. And it turns out - Kate Middleton's pants do that funky crease thing too.
So my pants were ok.
Life was good.
It was time to go to church...and celebrate Jesus.
Who, I'm pretty sure if you asked him, would have been totally concerned about The Great Pants Debacle of Easter 2013.
And my marriage.
And quite possibly my relationship with Jesus.
Unlike most Sundays, this Sunday actually began on the right foot. My outfit was chosen the night before, saving Josh from having to re-hang my entire closet after I've declared it all "no good". I woke up with hours to spare, meaning I could dilly-dally to my heart's content and still make it to church on time. I was refreshed, energized, and ready to face the day.
It was, after all, Easter. The day we celebrate new life, freedom, and joy. The day we remember what exactly our Savior gave up for us. The day we focus outward instead of inward.
The day we shouldn't throw fits 45 minutes before church.
My make-up was done, my hair was big, and my spankin' new heels were already starting to form blisters on my "she-lives-in-flats-only" feet. My top was ironed out, the sweater fixed just-so, and my accessories were planned to the T.
And then I turned around.
There - right under my rear - was a crease. Not just one - but four. Like big giant fat rolls. With fabric.
Bright pink fabric.
I tried not to freak out. I really did. But when you're used to loose and flowy, tight pink rolls kind of freak you out.
So I did what any other girl would do; I threw a big, fat hissy fit.
Yeah... not my best moment ever.
Here we are getting ready to leave for church on Easter, and I'm stomping my feet because my pants aren't fitting like I think they should.
Josh - bless his heart - tried to intervene. He tried to redirect my attention to the things that matter. He tried to convince me that the pants were just made that way. He tried to remind me that it didn't really matter what I was wearing (because it didn't).
Lord knows he tried, but I wasn't having any of it.
After I compared the pants to something Mary Magdalene (if she were alive today) would wear, Josh just walked out. Apparently he'd had too much crazy for one Easter Sunday morning.
Much grumbling and complaining later (after I realized he wasn't coming back to relieve me of The Great Pants Debacle), I decided to take matters into my own hands. Pulling up the Safari browser on my phone, I went straight to Google and typed in the only logical search term that applied to my situation:
"Kate Middleton's Butt in Pants".
Yes, I know. I entered a whole new level of crazy with that search.
But y'all... I was desperate. And who better to guide me through the murky waters of fashion do's and don'ts other than THE most fashionable lady on the planet?
It took a lot of scrolling (after all, she is a classy lady), but I finally found what I was searching for. And it turns out - Kate Middleton's pants do that funky crease thing too.
So my pants were ok.
Life was good.
It was time to go to church...and celebrate Jesus.
Who, I'm pretty sure if you asked him, would have been totally concerned about The Great Pants Debacle of Easter 2013.
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