boy bands

what can make a group of six 24-year-old girls hold hands and squeal in anticipation? yeah, that's right, NKOTBSB. let's be honest, while people laugh when I tell them what I did this weekend, that laughter is masking one thing: jealousy. who doesn't want to hear the greatest hits that formed their younger years? (or see Donnie Wahlberg rip off his shirt?) I'm not afraid to say it: most.fun.concert.ever. or at least that I've been to.

I can only hope that this once-in-a-lifetime reunion tour is more than once-in-a-lifetime. cause I'm ready for round two.

casual

do you ever remember what you think are random things? my guess is, though, that if we remember them, they are not random - they shaped us somehow.

I have this memory of sitting on a hill at church camp in 7th grade. we had just played 'romans and christians' and discussed its implications in our own lives (heavy stuff for 7th graders), and started singing a camp song that I can't seem to get out of my head. I can't remember any of the lyrics except this, the chorus...I don't want to be, I don't want to be a casual Christian. I don't want to live, I don't want to live a lukewarm life. 'Cause I wanna light up the night with an everlasting light...I don't want to live a casual Christian life.

maybe there's a reason I can't get that out of my head. maybe my little 7th grade mind, with all of it's naivete' about the world, still knew that I didn't want to live a casual Christian life. that I wanted to be on fire, not lukewarm. maybe that was the cry of my heart and my prayer to my Lord. and maybe it still is...which is why it keeps playing on repeat in my heart.

we're gonna be 40 someday

my senior year of college was characterized by a lot of crying (I mean...what can you expect? it's hard to accept that you're not going be just a 5-minute walk from your closest friends everyday). it was also marked by a lot of trips to waffle house at midnight, late night walks around campus and other random activities that took the place of should-be-studying time. whenever I would start to waiver on whether I should take part in said random activity (wine and high school musical 3 anyone?), my dearest friend would look at me and say "really? we're gonna be 40 someday!" which automatically trumped any excuse I might have conjured.

so lately I have been partaking in random activities that require me to stay up into all hours of the morning rather than going to bed at 10 p.m., which my inner 85-yr old says is an ideal bedtime. see the last harry potter movie at 12:30 a.m.? sign me up! go see a fan-freaking-tastic band on a sunday night in a city 1.5 hours away? yes please! I may grumble a bit when that alarm goes off, but I'm pretty sure the memories of these evenings will remain while the tired eyes will not. after all...we're gonna be 40 someday.

and on that note, it's bedtime.

miss skeeter

I have started reading The Help by Kathryn Stockett. I really shouldn't start reading any book, as I should be studying, but I had the urge to get caught up in a story and whisked away. I've also heard many good things about this book. I am only about to start chapter 6 and I am thoroughly enjoying it so far. maybe that's because of a character named Miss Skeeter.

as a 6 foot tall female, I absolutely love the internal dialogue of this 5-foot-eleven Southern Belle. growing up, all I'd ever hear from other women was "ohh but you're model height" or "I wish I had your legs" blah blah. now don't get me wrong, I am in no way complaining about my God-given-gams, but I am just glad to read something a little more realistic and truthful about females my height.

"By sixteen I wasn't just not pretty, I was painfully tall. The kind of tall that puts a girl in the back row of class pictures with the boys. The kind of tall where your mother spends her nights taking down hems, yanking at sweater sleeves, flattening your hair for dances you hadn't been asked to, finally pressing the top of your head as if she could shrink you back to the years when she had to remind you to stand up straight.....

Mrs. Charlotte Phelan's Guide to Husband-Hunting, Rule Number One: a pretty, petite girl should accentuate with makeup and good posture. A tall plain one, with a trust fund." (Kathryn Stockett, The Help)

this is going to be a great read, I can tell.

flying and fatigue

it's almost friday. this makes me happy. I like short weeks. especially when I'm in a funk, which I feel I have been this week.

signs you are looking good:

-multiple co-workers ask you if you are ok
-co-worker states: "you look tired" (my favorite unintentional diss)
-co-worker mentions: "you look frazzled" (I can't tell you the last time I have heard the word "frazzled" before today)
-co-worker comments over the phone: "you sound tired"

you know you're in trouble when you SOUND tired. good grief. TGIF is all I can say.

one more thought before I pass out (because, after all, I look and sound tired, so I must be tired)....

WHO decided it would be a good idea to try to mix liquids on a plane to form some sort of explosive device? really??? way to ruin flying for the rest of us. I'm highly considering just checking a bag just so I don't have to ration out my contact solution, face wash, shampoo, conditioner and all the other girly things I need for a weekend at the lake. grumble grumble.

but then I remember why I'm flying, and I can't be grumpy. I'm lucky to have such amazing people to fly to.

over and out.

nutrition

is it ironic that the classes I take to learn about becoming more healthy make me want to eat less healthy? not because of the actual information (which, by the way, has at one point made me want to eat nothing but organic fruit and veggies for the rest of my life- has anyone watched Food, Inc.???), but because after talking about all the bones and structures in my upper body, I want to drown my sorrows in taco bell. lucky for me, my desire to put on stretchy pants and sit on my couch sooner rather than later won out tonight, so I passed up the opportunity for cheesy fiesta potatoes. however, I maintain that if those potatoes would've magically fallen in my lap on the way home, I would have devoured them faster than you can say superior articular process. truth.

weekend exhaustion

this weekend was lovely. there's something so wonderful about being around people who know your past, where you've been. something that makes you feel like home and as though the years prior to where you are now actually matter. sometimes I forget this, having moved away from all who knew me my first 22 years of life. I love remembering. I love those friends. I love laughing til I cry.

from the weekend I picked up a few tidbits of advice, for future reference, to self:

-driving on the Friday of 4th of July weekend is a poor life choice.
-remember that GPSs are great, but they can't predict a wreck and/or traffic jam.
-never sit on any type of greenery/plant while wearing white shorts.
-your body isn't college-age anymore. don't try to treat it as such.