Is something burning? Oh, it's you.

I wonder as I begin this blog if I am overstepping my boundaries.

Is it ok to say what I am about to?

Ok, I'll say it.

It has to be said.

I can't NOT say it.

Whew, here goes.

No, really this time I'm going to say it.

...

Hey lady, tan much?

I say this out of love, honey. In fact, I've created a checklist to help. I'm really quite wonderful. If the Nobel Peace Prize committee calls, please take a message. Sainthood is so demanding. Anyhoo..

1) If you wake up one morning feeling less like P. Diddy and more like a basketball stranded in the middle of the Sahara Desert...you tan too much.

2) If you possess blindly-white teeth and eyes, take a step back and realize that you look like a freak and...you tan too much.

3) If you have ever been asked what percentage Native American you are...you tan too much.

4) If you have ever been eyed a little too long not for your beauty but for your leather-esque skin which would make a lovely pair of shoes...you tan too much.

5) If frequently catch a whiff of something odd and look around for Joan of Arc, it is you burning yourself alive because...you tan too much.

While I admit tan fat is prettier than pale fat...don't get crazy girls. Like a cookie, golden brown=good, crispy brown=icky.

Big love.

Change my name to 'Miss'...just 'Miss'

I have been a teacher now for six whole weeks, and I am only just now getting around to an update.

Most importantly, I have not injured a child...physically. I make no promises about emotionally. The way I see it counseling is dirt cheap these days, and I don't really care if I hurt their feelings. I say it all out love because, yes, they do really DUMB things.

I've learned a few things.

Number 1: Homework is a big no-no.
Take my word on this one, folks. Reason 1, they are NOT going to do it. Reason 2, if they do, I have to grade it. I'm more concerned with the latter.

Number 2: Teachers LOVE to gossip.
I have found "my people."

Number 3: If you have graduated from college and you are single/childless, you should just kill yourself.
Direct. Freaking. Quote.

Number 4: I have begum dreaming about retirement, or an on-the-job accident.
Do not judge me.

And...Number 5: Jersey Shore has infiltrated high schools.
I wish I were making this up. Alas, I am not. There are moments when I can literally smell Ed Hardy's stench, and I have Snookie's little sister in at least three of my classes. Something must be done, people. Should you like to donate to this cause, contact Focus on the Family or the 700 Club. I can feel an underground revolt brewing in their top-secret headquarters.

A birthday blog.

In honor of her birthday, this blog is about Lauren Collier.

How I have not blogged about Lauren yet is beyond me. Let me introduce you to Lauren and how epic she truly is. Oh, and how she almost got me killed by rednecks.

Lauren loves Soap Operas. We won't hold it against her. Oh wait, yes I will...all with just reason. Lauren invited me to tag along with the big kids to Soap Nation. Yep, Google it. Readers' Digest version is it's a convention for Soap Opera lovers to meet some of the actual stars. In other words, redneck Heaven (which we did not know yet). The trip down was a blast, and Lauren was introduced to my, what I have self-diagnosed, narcolepsy. It still amuses her. It should. It's bananas.

We were on a mission to get Lauren discovered. How on Earth that woman is not famous is beyond me. Moreover, Lauren could bring a lot to the soap world. She's a classy lady. And brazen like Liza Minnelli. Pause for adoring sigh. Who doesn't love Liza?

Back to my almost becoming someone's baby mama. Let me expand your mind on soap operas for a moment. Take your typical soap and take away the beauty, make-up, and money, and you have an everyday trailer park. You laugh because you know it's true. Well, this is what we encountered. Not fellow beautiful people, but hillbillies. Scary, Deliverance(ish), Texas Chainsaw Massacre(esque), rednecks. Shudder. Not only could they tell you about EVERY singe episode, but they could relate it to what happened down in Trailer-topia (an actual trailer park in Snyder). We made the mistake of standing way too close to them, too. The following is actual dialog. Reader discretion is advised.

Soap star hands Lauren autograph.
"AWWW MAAAAAA! I wanted Spinelli's autograph! That's why we came here! He's mah faaav-oooor-iiiite!"
"Shut up, Junior! Else Imma take ya outside and have ya daddy beat you!"

The above was a screaming match between a mother (with no teeth) and her son who was 30+ years old. Wicked.

All in all, the trip was...epic. I mean c'mon! You people know me. I LOVE crazy people. I thrive off of it.

So, happy birthday, Lauren. You make my days brighter. However, I will plan the next roadtrip because I have a sneaky suspicion you and my older sister are planning a vampire/werewolf hunting trip...

Females....sheesh.

I am exceedingly annoyed with people about 72.37891% of the time. I'm not proud of it. It's not a great quality of mine. In my defense, if other people had better qualities that percentage would lower drastically. I am a teacher. I give you the tools to grow.

However, I should clarify the first sentence. Of that percentage, my annoyance with my own gender is to be blamed for 3/4 of that total.

I have a theory. Perhaps it's the college kid part of me that is stubbornly hanging on for dear life, but I have determined that most girls fit into the same categories as alcoholic beverages. If you're female, you're putting up the defense. I understand, but some women don't fit and some women are just the right kind. Why am I explaining myself?! Just follow me on this one, or quit reading.

Whiskey and Coke
This drink is used to describe THAT girl. THAT girl who starts out the night fun, sweet and feisty. It usually ends violent and with someone holding her hair back. I think that's all I need to say about her...

Beer
I really enjoy my "beer" friends. T-Money is a great example. She's chill, friendly and laid-back. Not much phases them, and they get along with everyone. Some may not like their simple taste, but everyone respects them. Also, they usually don't lead you into an ugly tomorrow. Unless you go to far...

And then... Fruity Cocktails
Fruity Cocktails always look good, but they generally aren't all they claim to be. These are girls who look fun and fresh, but don't have a whole lot going on past the perky umbrella and the fruit kabob. A little bit of them goes a long way in the end. These are usually the girls who give you the first impression of "wow, she's so nice" and then leave you with the "oh my crap, please go away." There's generally an inordinate amount of stalking in their past. Watch out, she's sticky! Wink, wink.

I could go into further depth, but I like to lump sum people. I'm not ashamed. I guess I should add the disclaimer of THIS BLOG IN NO WAY ADVOCATES THE CONSUMPTION OF ALCOHOL. Yep, that should do it.

Have a BIG day :)

Crafty much?

I can't sing.

I can't dance.

I can't play an instrument. (Unless you count my harmonica, Boudreaux, who I think just sounds good to make me feel better.)

I'm not much of an athlete. (I have a mean jump shot, though.)

I cannot lick my elbow. (You may think this sounds odd, but I have a friend who can, and I've always been deeply jealous.)

I'm significantly untalented. Unless you count my flawless ability to stick my foot in my mouth during about 83.7215% of conversations, then I'm ALMOST completely untalented. I do have good taste though. Some have even said 'impeccable'. OK, one guy said that, but he's gay so that's worth 20 people saying it. Gay men KNOW good taste. So, I'm trying to be crafty. Yep. Crafty, I'm gonna be. I'll let you know how it goes...

Who let me become a grown up?!

It's been awhile since I've flexed my blogging muscles, so bear with me. I'm a little rusty. In the previous post, I mentioned things are crazy right now. I am sufficiently overwhelmed and frustrated, and I haven't seen my friend, Positivity, in a few days. Growing up is hard. I understand why Prozac is so popular in adult social circles. Him and Whiskey seem to be besties. I've estimated that I have been an "adult" for about three weeks now, and here is what I've learned.

Adults overshare WAY too much. I'm putting females on blast for a moment here. I do not, under any circumstance, care to see your childbirth scars or hear about that experience. Furthermore, I do not care to hear about it when I'm getting a manicure. I came about one dry heave away from enlightening the pretty Asian lady of what I had for breakfast (coffee and yogurt). Guys don't talk about stuff like that! Granted they enjoy scratching in public, but I can ignore that.

No one pays attention when I whine. I'm a whiner. Always have been. My mother whines. My sisters whine. My dad rolls his eyes....and then gives us what we want. Do not say I'm spoiled because I don't particularly love how that word equates me with expired dairy, but I will allow you to say that I'm...loved. When did it become so wrong to have standards and expectations?! Apparently it's not wrong, but no one gives two hoots. I may have to revert back to my foot-stamping days. Which only ended about a month ago...

Single=unhappy,loner,scapegoat I love being single for the record. I will continue to be single until my daddy cuts me off. I will not accept the pity glances. Why yes, I would LOVE to come to your dinner party even though I am the only single girl on the list. Why? Because Jesus is my main squeeze. My Man threw the best dinner party in the history of dinner parties with nothing but one fish, one loaf, and a sip of wine. Boom! And you thought your boo was so special. Pshhhh.

Responsibility WHEN DID THIS BECOME A PART OF THE DEAL?! I would've enjoyed some fair warning on this one folks. All of you failed in preparing me for that little golden nugget of crap.

Hmmm, so that's what I've learned. Apparently I'm not as smart as I once gave myself credit for. Also, being an adult is hard. I'm not very good at it yet.

On a good, happy note. I had what I would describe as my first brush with fame yesterday. Without any introductions, a very kind and lovely woman noticed that I was 'The Blogger'. BIG holla to my new friend!

Hello, long lost friends.

Whoa. It's been awhile. Let me bring you up to speed on what's been going on.

I passed my teaching content exam. I am officially a teacher...pray.

I just returned to West Texas after spending more than two weeks in Dallas at a teacher school thingy. I could go on for hours about all that I learned, but let's get down to the fun stuff. Potential teachers should have a far more rigorous process. Like burning hoops and lion taming? I'm terrified for the students of some of those people. They would be better off learning from Snookie and The Situation...

I've taken up harmonica playing. Feel free to submit applications to be in this entourage.

Oh, and John Krasinski married that wench. It's too soon to talk about it...

I promise another blog soon.

BIG love :)

Love letters.

I wish I could sum up my love and devotion to each and every rude person I've met this past week in one general letter, but I cannot. Truthfully each one deserves their own few inches of Biggity Blog space.

To the Wal-Mart parking lot man:

I never knew this would be the day my life would change. What began as a normal trip to the grocery store soon became an afternoon of pure, unadulterated passion. How quickly I did judge those who lazily leave their shopping carts in the paths of vehicles capable of doing massive damage to property and people! If I would've known you were a part of such an elite group, I would've have held back such vicious words. I remember the moment of our meeting clearly. I was unloading groceries and so were you. Fate? I think yes. I pushed the random (but blessed, obviously) basket into the holder followed by my own. How lucky I am that you were so kind to leave yours for me to put away! I was frozen with bated breath. My fingers clenched tightly around the bar of the cart as you walked towards me. The wind caught your magnificent mullet and for just a moment, so precious, the clouds broke to cast a ray of sunshine to glint off your yellow and rotten teeth. My mind and heart hoped you would come and rescue your abandoned basket from me and return it. But no. You bestowed that duty upon me. Thank you, kind sir. Thank you for giving me further reasons to prove what is so beautifully wrong with America. I bid thee well.

Jerk.

To the lovely con-artist woman:

Work can be such a bore. Anyone can attest to that. How lucky I am that you would choose such a day to call ME. My heart leaped as I heard your friendly, monotone, smoker's voice crackle through my cell phone. It was such a beautiful sound really. Like unicorns weeping sugar tears into a river of chocolate with gummy bears floating on LifeSavers. Ahhhh, bliss. I love that I always have you as a friend to advance your financial situation by attempting to con me into purchasing an extended warranty on a car you know nothing about. Just like ObamaCare...pre-existing conditions? Who cares? Ahhh, YOU are a friend. As much as this is a love letter to my new-found friend, this is an apology. I apologize for being so rude when you interrupted a busy day at my sole means of earning a living. Really, I should be more concerned with making sure YOU have a great day. My snarky ways are often unnecessary. Your wit of "Damn, lady, pull the stick out of your butt" continues to make me giggle in the warmth of our friendship glow. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. You have a swell day.

B-word.

Interesting Person #4

Hello friends.

So I've searched the earth far and wide to bring you IP #4. OK, that's a lie; I haven't really looked at all. However, one did just happen to appear. I will warn you, friends, this is not a happy tale. It is not sad. It is creepy. That's right. I've decided to give you a brief insight to what a creeper magnet I truly am.

A lovely Sunday it was. The sun was shining and off to Barnes & Noble did my roomie, Katie, and I trot (drive) to study. All seemed well. We didn't have to fight any junior high students for a study table. Which brings me to a brief point. If you are one of those inconsiderate tools sitting at a study table drinking a cup of coffee/laughing at a decibel not fit for human ears while you can clearly see two young ladies lugging heavy bags with laptops and books in search for such table--MOVE! I will not apologize for giving you the stink eye or for making you the subject of a defamatory blog. Anyways, back to the subject. We found a table...with an outlet. Big deal, actually. While setting up our materials, a guy (I can't say man because I don't think he qualified, but he wasn't a boy) turns and begins small talk. We respond thinking he's just friendly. Well, friendly he is. So friendly in fact that one could assume he might have a girl shoved in his trunk! I don't know how this always happens to me! This makes twice in the past week I've had to dodge a creeper. While I'll be the first to admit that the female gender can be crazy, obsessive, dramatic, emotional...blah blah blah, all of that in no way entitles a guy to be a 'Ted Bundy'. I don't know if you've been watching The Bachelorette but that Kasey character is case and point number one. Crazy much?! And Ali didn't even flinch at the tattoo. I guess to spare his feelings, but if it had been me -- this is how that convo would've gone.

Crazy Kasey: "I got a tattoo to prove that I'm here 'to guard and protect your heart'."

Me: Security! We've got a crazy bleepity-bleep-bleep-bleep over here! Listen, Kasey, you need to check yourself into an asylum. Give me your shoelaces, Kasey. Don't fight the straitjacket."

Done, and done. Girls, don't spare their feelings. When they're creepers...call them out! You wouldn't beat around the bush with an alcoholic or a guido would you? No. Stop doing these creepers any favors and send them to a support group.

So there ya have it. IP #4 is Mr. Creepy-shove you in a trunk-dude.

Have a BIG day, and don't forget your pepper spray.

TV gradebook

When it comes to TV, there's the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. So ugly in fact that producers of said hideous shows often gather in rituals of torture. That's right, they shop for Ed Hardy and get their tips frosted. Ugh...I'll pause to let you vomit. But every once in a while, there's a true breakthrough. Like a unicorn galloping over a rainbow ridden by Santa. You can't believe your eyes, but there it is. A myth proven true that is so beautiful you can't tear away your eyes. But they usually cancel those shows after one season, so that's why you're still an unbeliever. Yes, I'm still bitter about Freaks and Geeks.

I love TV. Which probably attributes to many of my problems, but in my defense I am a much wittier and socially-conscious individual than when I used to see sunlight every single day. Silver lining, anyone?

Seeing as this is MY blog with MY thoughts, I feel like I can say what I want. So please read.

The Office- Let's begin with the obvious. The theme song is my ringtone. I have a poster, my browser is Office themed. There is a slight obsession. But lately, I fear for the integrity of my favorite show. Let's face it Jim and Pam were so much cuter when they were just that. Jim...and...Pam. Not Jam or Pim...or with a freakin' baby. I'm a fan of marriage, but let's be honest - the only person we care about finding wedded bliss is Michael. If you're female, you want to be able to fantasize about cute, adorable slacker Jim and not mortgage, boss, no-longer-look-in-the-camera Jim. Step it up, people. The Brits are winning.

The Biggest Loser- I love it. With my whole heart and soul. I love Bob Harper. I like Jillian Michaels, but not when she perches on the machine like a vulture. Too much, Jill, too much. The only slight problem I have is that it's apparent some skinny b-word thought of the title of the show. Double-edged sword. Do you REALLY want to win that award?

Glee- This is the unicorn I was referring to. However instead of mounted by Santa, this fine steed is ridden by Ms. Sue Sylvester. A vision in velour track suits, Sylvester brings back to TV what we've been lacking since the day of Roseanne. Classless, rude, biting wit. Oh how we've all missed a woman who doesn't give a damn. Oh, and the singing is quite nice too. Perhaps dim the light over Shuester's life (who cares?) and redirect to the true stars. Kurt, Mercedes, Brittany, Artie and Puck deserve some time in the limelight.

American Idol- I love you Ellen, don't you ever forget that, but I secretly hope Ryan Seacrest will fall down those stairs every night and suffer a penis injury. Though the verdict still isn't in on the existence of rumored falice.

Parenthood- Breakout hit. Bravo Lauren Graham. Can I be you when I grow up?

Jersey Shore Remember my reference to Ed Hardy and frosted tips? Here's the cess pool. Forget the recession. Why the hell is this being given media precedence over...well anything. Someone should be stabbed with Pauly D's hair, smothered by J-Woww's boobs, and have to spend an hour teaching Snooki the Pythagorean Theorem.

True Blood- Porn with a gap-toothed smile. Though all my friends love it? Maybe I'm missing something?

Bachelor/Bachelorette- Jake is engaged to canned meat (Vienna sausages). That's enough said. Too soon to tell about Ali. Though she still has that wrestler on there. Um...ewww.

Drop Dead Diva- You probably haven't heard or seen this because it's on the estrogen channel...oh excuse me, Lifetime. But there it is, amidst all the wife beaters, alcoholic psychopaths, and teen moms. Witty, smart, funny, and some really hot men? Lifetime did something right.

Teen Mom- My uterus is officially closed for business.

Alright, that about does it for right now. There might be a follow-up. If there's another TV show that strikes my fancy or causes me to question if I'm existing in some weird parallel universe.

Comment. Pass it on. BIG love.

***This is dedicated to my roommate, Katie-bug. Without whom, I would feel foolish for hip-thrusting while watching the hot shirtless men on The Bachelorette. She encourages it.

Interesting person #3

What it do, baby boo?

So it's time for Interesting Person #3. Before I introduce you to this person, I'd like to pat myself on the back for what a stroke of genius this series was. People are practically knocking down my door to become an entry. It's OK, I am completely aware of my exceptionally amazing writing skills and how it might possibly boost you to stardom. I am accepting monetary bribes, by the way. I have never once claimed that my moral compass points due North.

Anyhoo, interesting person time. My interesting person for this entry is a man. An old man. His name is Eddie. I met this cute little oldie when my friend, Jade, and I were studying for a leadership exam in Barnes & Noble. Which by the way, should be an oxymoron. Who the heck needs to study for leadership?! And how on Earth am I expected to concentrate surrounded by all of those magnificent books? Sorry, back on track. Jade and I were discussing social behaviors (this means gossiping)and what-not when I took notice of the man at the table next to us. He was alone, drinking a cup of coffee. My first instinct was he was simply waiting for his wife. An hour goes by. Wow, his wife is a shoppin' fool. Another hour. Maybe she forgot him. Another hour. Eddie has finished his coffee, but is still smiling. At this point, I can no longer study. Ok, let's be honest, I was never really studying. We began to gather our things when Eddie speaks for the first time.

"I hope you girls do well on your test."

OK, you may not know this but I'm an emotional mess. I cry over commercials on a regular basis and don't get me started on sappy stories. So, as if on cue, tears sprung to my eyes.

"Thank you, sir." I began to stall a bit not wanting to leave him all alone. How would he get home? Did he have a home? God, is this a test?!

At that moment, one of the Starbucks girls walks over to the man. "OK, Eddie. Ready to go home? I'll go bring the car around."

"She takes me home. She doesn't have to, but she does. Every day."

All I need to say is I bawled the whole way home. So there he is, Eddie. I see him almost every time I go to Barnes & Noble, and my heart sings. God bless, that sweet little Asian girl. She's definitely earned two BIGGITY-BIG-BIG thumbs up.

Sorry that this post was slightly depressing and that I didn't mock or tease anyone or any situation. Next blog will be:

"TV line-up Gradebook" Do your favorite shows make the cut? Probably not, and even if they do. I'm going to make fun of them.

Adventures in Dentist-land

I love going to the dentist. I'm not talking 'fond'; I LOVE going to the dentist. There is no greater feeling than fresh, clean teeth but leaving the dentist is like getting a whole new set. The sun shines a bit brighter and for just a moment the angels harmonize on The Office theme song. That's my Heaven, OK? Don't judge. I know there are some of you out there that 1) don't go every six months (SHAME!) or 2) hate to go with a passion. If that is you, here is what you're missing.

My alarm beeps at 8 a.m. A sound that is normally the bane of my existence, I welcome its insistent chirping on this particular morning. I leap to my feet, face my mirror, and greet myself.

"Good morning you beautiful, sexy thang. Why hello teeth! My, you sure do look rough this morning! Calm your fears. Today is all about YOU."

I brush with extra vigor this morning making sure to hit every corner and crevice. Then, comes the floss. I only floss twice a year...the morning of a dentist appointment. Why? You'll find out later.

I drive TWO hours to see my dentist. He's been my main teeth man since I was five. No one knows these beauties the way he does. It's a marriage, my teeth and Dr. Meyers. From now on, refer to my teeth as mini Mrs. Meyers.

As I stroll through the door, I am a sight to behold. The epitome of good dental care. A breeze catches my brunette locks and the sun glints of of my mouth. I can hear a sharp intake of breath from the waiting patients. She's here. But today is not about me. Today is about my teeth.

I don't wait. Carmen is waiting for me. Today, I am the princess. I stroll to the back past all familiar faces. The dental hygienists call out my name and greet me. By the way, have you ever seen an ugly DH? I think it's like a rule or something.

Fast forward an hour. My teeth are perfect. Everyone has said so. I am the 'never needed braces' kind of person. Rare, I know. They have a new polish and gleam, and I can hear them rejoicing in my mouth. Today couldn't be more perfect. No cavities here. I used to be cavity girl, but no more. My DH comments on my excellent flossing, too. Sucker. Twice a year, baby!

My dentist loves me. Seriously, if I weren't a Red Raider, he would probably adopt me. Don't be fooled by our witty, cantankerous banter. This man wishes he could see me every day. We discuss life and God. I teach him about celebrity behaviors and how all white sneakers are NOT his thing, and he teaches me some Bible scriptures. You may think he's the more holy one, but my lessons are really important too. I ask him about the whole Jessica Simpson not brushing her teeth debacle and he agrees that she's disgusting.

There you have it. See what you're missing? It's like going to a revival, you leave feeling fired up. For weeks, I will commit myself to clear liquids and proper brushing and then lose my steam. It's all good though because I am a unicorn of dental purity.

Interesting Person #2

Hiya.

Well, it's time for interesting person numero dos! Let me just begin my saying that after only one post on this series, I've already come to the conclusion that interesting people are few and far between. Then I realized...DUH!...I only think that because I'm friends with most of them. I think a lot of myself, and you can't change it. But here are a couple of new people I've met this week.

So far this week, I've met Zach. Why is he interesting? He could be Will Ferrel's younger brother, and his alcohol tolerance is intense. I feel sorry for his fiancee.

I've met Braxton. Braxton is an uber-nerd who just graduated from Pepperdine University. He's taking a year off before going to grad school. I immediately thought FREE SPIRIT! Nope. He wants to write some non-fiction book about something nerdy without any references to death, tragedy or sex. Sounds like a B-U-M-M-E-R to me.

So, interesting person 2 is...drum roll please.... ROBIN MCNEESE!



Robin and I met Fall 2009 when we suffered through PR together and goofed off during EM&C together. Robin is a sorority girl...don't hold it against her. She truly broke the mold and is NOT a sorostitute. She's obsessed with Taylor Swift and John Mayer, so you can imagine her excitement when the two collaborated on a song for T-Swizzle's album. I had the blessing to have lunch with Robin every Wednesday this past semester. Her heart for God is amazing, and her wit is quick. She's honest and never backs down from who she is. Robin may not have found a cure for cancer or climbed the tallest mountain in the world, but she changed my life. She'll always be a dear friend. One day, the whole world will know Robin's name. And yeah, I'm totally gonna be the first person to have blogged about her which pretty much secures me a spot in her entourage. Boom boom pow!

Here's the link to Robin's blog. Follow it, love it, live it.

http://robinmcneese.blogspot.com/

BIG hugs! :)

You're so vain. I bet you think this blog is about you.

I'm still waiting to meet interesting person numero dos...or have I met them? Hmmm... So that blog will be soon.

I realize that a lot of the time I sit and ponder a truly profound blog topic. Then, I slap myself and realize what an oxymoron that statement was. It's a blog. Further than that, it's MY blog. I don't have a profound bone in my body. I just get lucky sometimes. So, I'm just going to write about what I know, and the topic right now - Facebook pictures.

Have you ever really sat and thought about the different types of Facebook pictures? Or what they say about that specific person? Well, I've noticed that a) I scrounge every picture I have or have been tagged in to find something "Facebook worthy" and then b) I edit it. Take my current picture. I'm not going to lie; I'm lookin' fierce. Do I look like this every day? Psht. Hell to the no. But if it's on Facebook, it's official. I'm a stone-cold fox.

I'm really glad Facebook decided to stop posting in your News Feed when so-and-so changed their profile picture. Know why they did that? Because of that one girl who desperately needs a new picture every...freaking...day. I refer back to my first point. I go through pains and several editing processes to get one decent enough to represent my page. You have 165 picture of just you. I'm not going to say what that says about you. Ok, yes I will. Attention whore. There I said it, and I'm not the only one thinking it.

Oh, but I can't exclude the guys! I truly love the 80 pictures of you flexing in the mirror while you practice your blue-steel face. I truly go weak in the knees....from nausea. You toolbag. No matter. You're socially awkward and talk entirely too much about blood and dirtbike wrecks. Mmmm classy.

I can't hate on the couple pictures. I like those. Except when I see your tongues in that ever so important kissy picture. I'll leave it at that.

Please. For the love of all that is holy and good in the world, cease and dissist with the "why yes I was indeed spontaneously caught in this moment where I just so happen to look fabulous". You took it yourself. I see the tell-all wrinkles in the shoulder of your shirt. Busted.

Oh Facebook. Why do you do this to me? I used to be a perfectly non-judgemental person. Hahahahahaha...ok that was a lie.

BIG love.

Interesting Person #1

Though I claimed my first post would be a substitute for interesting person of the week number 1...here's the real one. This week I had the opportunity...oh gosh, I'm getting excited about it all over again...to meet...wait for it...BLAKE MYCOSKIE.

Pause for you to scream, do a toe-touch, couple of cartwheels, Tarzan yell, and dedicate a well-earned hip thrust to me. OK, now calm yourself and bring it back.

That's right. Blake Mycoskie, founder and Chief Shoe Giver at TOMS shoes, came to speak at Tech. Of course I went. Alone, but I went. I'm not going to say he's my hero, but sometimes I imagine him wearing a red cape and leaping over tall buildings. So maybe I do see him as way more BA than Superman. Seriously, the man has started a company from the ground up with no investors and given more than half a million shoes to children in need. If he wants rub mud in my carpet, he can.


Seriously though, I aspire to change the world the way Blake has. He had an idea and he didn't wait for someone else to act it out. He's an example of what God is calling our generation to do.

So there ya go, interesting person #1. A great way to start this series if I do say so myself.

New series

OK biggie-smalls. Today begins my new series. From now until whenever I'm going to post a blog once a week about the most interesting person I've met that week. Occasionally I may throw in a blog about something else, rest assured that you will see a blog about an interesting person. I know you're on the edge of your seats at the thought of a new Samantha-series. I understand. Sometimes I wake up so excited to know me that I ask for my own autograph. Gosh, the price of fame.

Anyhoo, my first entry will be a bit different. I spent this past weekend in Austin for the Hillsong concert. I wish I could describe what an incredible experience it was, but even I am at a loss for words. While I didn't have the opportunity to meet anyone specifically and hear their life story, we met together for the Lord. I worshipped like never before and was amazed at the energy Hillsong has. The whole time I tried to wrap my mind around how rewarding it must be to lead worship. So needless to say, I'm definitely fired up. I'm stoked for this new series and about all of the new and exciting people I'm going to meet!

BIG Peace.

P.S. Joel Houston is totally dreamy. Everyone should be required to have an Australian accent.

www.hillsongunited.com

My Bucket List

Even I admit it's odd that I associate graduation with impending death, but bear with me. If I have to be a grown up then I might as well know what I want, right? It's all a small part of my plan to become a worldwide sensation. Which isn't going so well...

My Bucket List
**Please take note that none of the following are in a particular order. Because I'm not organized enough to do it all in order.

-Learn to speak another language...preferably Ebonics.
-Run a marathon.
-Be honest with myself about the likelihood of completing a marathon.
-Become a world-renowned novelist.
-Be on The Ellen Show...if you're out there, Ellen. Hire me to be a writer on your show :)
-Speak in a stadium full of people.
-Marry rich...shoot for the moon.
-Convince Bob Harper of The Biggest Loser to marry me. He'll assist with bullet two.
-Dump him after he bans doughnuts from the house.
-Travel the world...except Amsterdam. I'm still having nightmares from Hostel.
-Slap some sense into Lindsay Lohan.
-Be in a horror film.
-Adopt.
-Learn to paint my own nails.
-Have my own radio talk show.
-Personally see that someone replaces Ryan Seacrest on American Idol.
-Marry John Krasinski. Sigh....
-Get a tattoo...a wee little bitty one.
-Go to every Smithsonian museum.
-Have tea with the Queen of England.
-Make the Pope laugh.
-Live to see a cure for cancer.
-Be an inspiration to someone.
-Witness a miracle.
-Throw the first pitch at a Rangers game.
-Sit on the sidelines of a Dallas Mavericks game.
-Help Chase get in a Gap commercial. Gap has taste. He can do it.
-Go skydiving.
-Write and produce a movie with Tina Fey.
-Host SNL.
-Have a role on The Office.
-Bring sexy back...50s style.
-Be a guest host on QVC. I'll sell anything but exercise equipment. Let's be real.
-Teach a college class on something really ridiculous. Like blogging.


And most of all I want to be one of those super interesting persons whom people can't resist. I want to openly declare my love for Jesus every singe day. If fame is what you're looking for, come sit next to me.

BIG peace.

Growing up...sheesh.

Graduation is 45 days away. But who's counting? Oh yeah, Wells-freakin'-Fargo. I'm not even walking across the stage in what is sure to be the most boring ceremony of life, and those b-words are already sending my folks letters! They'll get their money, unless I die. Then all is null and void. I read the fine print. Speaking of my folks though, guess what I so graciously had the privledge to help them with recently. Their mother-truckin' taxes. I used to think having to shovel the hog crap was the suckiest thing ever. Nope. Not even a little bit. So, as a response to my recent bout of "Peter Pan syndrome", I've developed a list of the pros and cons of growing up.

The Cons.
Taxes - enough said.
Gravity - I've already seen what it has done to my body in just 21 years of life. I cringe at the next 60.
Girdles - Tuck it in ladies.
Your mom and dad cease to care.
People begin to give you that "poor-single-you" look.
Your boss will inevitably be a bigger a-hole than your Chemistry professor.
Debt collectors get fiesty.
Have you seen liver spots?!
I may be healthy now, but I'm sure that'll go downhill fast.
I'll have to start calling celebrities like Sean Connery hot.
Orthopedic shoes. The horror.
Your toenails get that funky yellow color.
I don't want to be that cranky...all the time.
I'll become the "older generation"...shudder....

The Pros.
No longer will I pay $200 for a book that I will never use.
No more homework, tests, projects, etc.
Not boys with jobs, men with careers.
Money.
Money.
Money.

Maybe it will all work out. If I marry John Krasinski and have lots of money. That'll work for my first marriage.

Dancing...

This is clearly a ballroom. The most beautiful room I have ever seen. The walls glisten like the surface of the ocean when the sun is highest in the sky, and the floor reflects the open night sky to appear as though I am walking on water. I fix my eyes upon the sky above me and am instantly positive that each star has been hand crafted and chosen just for me. My foot catches on something on the floor and causes me to stumble. As I recover, I see the only ugly thing in the room. On the floor are my worldly, dirty grave robes. My trembling hand reaches out to the clothing that has been my comfort zone, and the pile evaporates in front of my eyes. I stand to see that I am draped in a cloth like nothing I have ever felt in my life. The gown is pure and white like the first snow and hugs my body in a reassuring and perfect way. It lightly brushes along my finger tips sending chills down my spine. For I am, in this majestically created room, clothed in Grace. A light breeze blows through the room kissing my cheeks and shoulders with Glory and the wind carries with it an aroma so Heavenly and powerful that am weak in the knees. I become intoxicated on the scent and search for its beholder. As if He'd been there along, and He had in fact, a Man stands on the far most wall of the room. Tears fall down my cheeks as this beautiful King approaches me. His eyes dance as He reads me, for He knows me by heart. "I know the plans I have for you, but for now, let’s dance." And we do just that. He knows all the right steps and never flinches when I step on His toes. When I grow weary, He lifts me up and carries me. I am drowning in the love of my Beloved. In His presence, I am complete...

What you have just read is one of the most intimate moments I have ever had with Him. In this moment, He revealed to me exactly what He wants for me right here and right now. For months I have worried unnecessarily about my future when He has all the plans. I've worried so much that I've forgotten to dance with my King. He longs to romance me, and I have rebuffed His advances.

No longer. I want to simply be with Him, all the time. I hope that this has touched you in the exact way He has intended. I hope you'll dance with Him because He's really the very best. You don't have to bring anything but yourself...

Father, I am in love with you...

Withdrawals.

Day 6. Or perhaps I should call it Day 2. That's right, I cracked. Cracked like an egg on Sunday morning. In my defense, it was the Tech v. Texas basketball game, and I was entirely too stressed out. This girl needed a Coke, mmmkay?! Otherwise you were gonna see a big girl down on that court giving the refs a "comin-to-Jesus" meeting.

But I'm still alive, and still without that sugary goodness. Oh geez. I've noticed that I'm quite irritable these days. So did the guy I screamed out my car window at this morning. Poor guy. I truly regret insulting his momma now. I bet she's a nice lady. But I'm praying violence isn't the stage that follows. If so, I'd like to know in an advance so that my aggression can actually be used on someone worth punching in the face.

Some good has come out of my withdrawals though. Last night I laid awake for a good while (like 10 minutes) and pondered how different my life would've been without Jesus. I don't have to go into the details to tell you that the thought was scary. I'm really happy to have Him. And that may seem like a lackluster way of showing how much I love Him, but He knows my heart. I'm also really thankful He loves me despite my lack-of-caffeine induced road rage.

Peace Biggies.

40 days...really?

I'm not Catholic. Though I kind of wish I was because those people are F-U-N. Catholic or not, I am observing Lent this year. I've tried in the past and failed miserably. I think it might be because I inevitably wipe someone's ashes off their forehead thinking that I'm being an excellent person. I don't usually tell people they have something in their teeth though because, well, that's funny.

Anyways, back to the point. I've decided that I am going to make it this year! No Cokes for 40 days! I'm on day 2! And I feel...like death. Seriously, I just shook like a recovering crack addict. I might actually turn to crack when this is all said and done. Is it normal to wake up and want to volunteer a vital organ in exchange for 20 oz. of sweet, sticky goodness? I think not, but if anyone's looking for a kidney....

Jesus went 40 days. I'm no Jesus, though. I'm not good with carpentry. Or well, I haven't walked on water lately either. So I guess this is a fast or sorts. Honestly, I heard no Cokes makes your face slimmer and I've got a portrait session coming up soon. 40 days later...goodbye Rush Limbaugh, hello Jennifer Aniston.

Have a BIG day.

Football Pansies.

I hate football in a BIG way. I don't understand it for one thing. But the true source of my deep hatred is due to the way that adults become bickering children because of it. Seriously?! It's a game. I'm joking when I say your cheerleaders look like men and your team's playing reminds me of my niece's ballet recital. Can't you tell I'm joking?! Oh wait, I guess not since you just started stomping your feet and screaming in a high-pitched tone that sounds as though your testicles haven't fully descended. Bummer, move along baby cakes.

I was told tonight that I'm not a true Texan if I choose to support the opposing team? For those of you who know me, I don't put much thought or feeling into what I say or do. I don't give two hoots for Alabama, but I don't give two hoots for UT either. I'm a Red Raider, we inherently hate the Longhorns. Also, we had to sign a contract to never cheer for them but shhhhh.

Football is not some conspiracy. Nor is it worth fighting about. Nor should it determine your mood for the next 3 days. Gosh, I wish people put this much attention into politics or foreign affairs or maybe even to the fact that your 13-year-old is smoking crack. Whatev...get that touchdown! All I'm saying is liiiiiighten up, people! Can't we all insult each other's teams in humor and then go get some chicken wings?!

Wreck 'Em BIG, Tech.

Geezers and Facebook.

When did Facebook become so appealing to geezers? I miss the days where it was considered nonsense to anyone nearing or above the age of menopause. Guess things have changed, huh? For instance, both of my parents and my nearly 70-year-old grandmother have and operate Facebook. But they're not even my complaint. My complaint is how adults from my past have now chosen to utilize this social media outlet as a tool to critique my thoughts, opinions, and what-not to tailor to what they feel I should think or do. Bite me. My mom and dad see what I post daily and say nothing. I'm not profane, thought I would love to be to you, Miss Get a Grown-Up Life.

I recently removed my relationship status and political views just to shut some old women up.

"Oh, Sam. I see your single. You just hold out, honey. In the mean time, would you like to come knitting. I can show you how to fix you hair into something much more becoming." Witch.

And let's not even get started on what you might have to say about my political views when you have no clue how ignorant you really sound.

You know, I've been socializing just fine my entire life without the interference of adults. I didn't see any of you coming to play on the jungle gym with us, so stay off Facebook. I don't curse or post pictures slandering my reputation. I really do intend on getting a job one day, ya know.

So, I have created a list of DON'Ts for today's old farts.
1) If you must use Facebook, don't add someone younger than you unless you're as hip as them. Don't know if you are, then you aren't.

2) Don't ask us who we're texting. If we wanted you to know, we'd call them. Texting was invented to assist you in minding your own damn business.

3) Don't talk about your sex life. It's gross and we will hate you for it.

4) Don't reprimand us for saying something you don't understand. Case and point, I called something "ballin'" yesterday, and my mother scolded me assuming I was comparing that something to the male scrotum.

5) Don't wear low-rise jeans unless you are in-fact not altered by childbirth and still able to pull it off. Most likely, you're not.

6) Don't talk about our habits in front of total strangers.

7) Don't scream at us just because you can.

8) Don't assume we're stupid; it makes you sound stupid.

9) Don't talk about how you had to hike through the snow to get to school. Lies.

10) And last, but not least, don't comment on our Facebooks in an attempt to "correct our ways". Oh wait, there's a block button. Hello block button.

And a word of advice, one day this generation you're treating like crap and invading on their personal space is going to be feeding you and wiping your butt. Remember that or we may just forget to pay your electric bill that month. Whoops.

Go to MySpace, oldies.