why? oh, why?

two posts in one day.

whoa.

is it the end of the world or something?

no. i'm just feeling the need to ask the cyber-world a question. that question being... wait for it.... wait for it...

WHY oh WHY do text greetings and salutations seem so much more personal when a person's full name is included? we're not just talking first names here. we're talking the whole. entire. name.

as in,
good morning peyton sawyer!
OR
hey brooke davis!
OR
sweet dreams, haley james.

i mean, those sound so much better than,
good morning peyton!
OR
hey brooke!
OR
sweet dreams haley.

(and yes, i just used OTH names. don't even judge me. but we all know those full names are ESPECIALLY good because all of their last names resulted in one of their children's names. i mean, one time it was cute, but after three...can we find another creative outlet, please. sorry for the tangent.)

and so my question for all two of my readers out there is WHY is that? or am i a cray cray because i find it so much more personal and cute? i'm hoping you don't say the latter, but if you do i would understand.

and you're welcome for the two posts in one day. i know how much you love reading this. oh wait...

p.s. sorry for not going by my whole what i learned from who theme these days. i'm kinda over it. although that makes the name of this blog kinda weird. especially since i don't have a husband. but i'm kinda over that too. (both the weird name and lack of husband. ;) ) (and yes, i just used a winky face. again, don't judge.)

hat hair.

so i nanny for this family once a week.

it is great.

but the greatest thing about it is playing catch with the littlest girl. she is 2. and whenever we play catch, she HAS to have her hat on. it's this navy baseball hat with a pink bow. most adorbs. no hat=no playing catch. it's as simple as that.

also, equally great is learning dance moves from her. probs she can bust a move.

okay, that is all.

a minor slip up (pun intended).

so i had a grad school interview on monday.

i knew about it for two weeks, and to say i was stressing is an understatement. i mean, this interview determined my future. no big deal, right?
wrong.
HUGE deal.

my biggest worry? what to wear. duh. because naturally these professionals are going to be most concerned about what i'm wearing not what i say. so i planned and prepped. i had the perfect outfit picked out. i laid it all out the night before to be extra prepared. for some reason i had this huge fear that i was going to forget my shoes and/or my slip. so i made sure those were out and ret to go.

then i went to sleep. and had a nightmare about my interview. the first question they asked me in my sleep-interview was what "TEM" stands for. um. no clue. they informed me it stood for the university of communications. UGH. HOW DID I NOT KNOW THAT?? my dream-self berated me for my stupidity. (fyi, i looked up TEM on google dot com when i woke up (so i would be prepared if/when they asked that to me because my dreams are so inspiring). obvi it doesn't stand for university of communications. in fact, it stands for some middle eastern country or something like that. they did not ask me this question in my interview (shocker, i know) but anyways...)

i woke up. laid i bed. you don't care. blahblahblah.
grabbed all my necessities and headed out the door. 2 hour drive to tucson. drivedrivedrive. oh wait, we're 20 minutes away from the school and all of a sudden it hits me. you, IDIOT, you forgot your slip. i brushed the worry aside because how could i forget one of the things i knew i was going to forget?? i couldn't. because i was prepared.
except i wasn't. i looked in the back seat for my outfit (i couldn't drive in it and get it all wrinkled, silly. presentation is everything). NO SLIP. CRAP. now the interviewers are going to be able to see through my clothes and they'll think i'm a slut and tell me to get away from their university because they don't accept such revealing people. this is the thought that ran through my mind. among others...

thank the heavens there was a kohl's nearby. (fyi, wal mart does not sell slips. went there first.) so i took a minor detour prior to my interview. and good thing i did. because they loved me! and probs that had everything to do with my outfit not being see-through. i can't really think of any other reason why they would have thought i was amazing enough to accept. yes, ACCEPT. as in, ACCEPTED to grad school.


i'm brilliant. shh...

baggage claim.

i decided the number one thing i hate about being single this week.

now, i am not one of those people who complains about being single all the days. there are actually quite a few things i love about being single. married people who say marriage is the greatest thing ever invented, don't freak out. it's not like i don't want to get married. it's just that i'm enjoying the single life.

with one exception.

called flying alone.

why do you hate flying alone, girl?
is it because you hate sitting next to strangers?
no.
is it because said strangers ask the strangest questions and can be somewhat annoying at times?
no.
is it because you're sick of the male flight attendants hitting on you?
no.
(and no, i'm not making this up. a male flight attendant DID hit on me this one time. how do i know he was flirting? let's just say he brought me a cup filled with gummy bears. who does that? a southwest flight attendant who is clearly flirting with me, that's who. and can i just say, that is the kind of flirting i am definitely not opposed to--free food.)
well if it's none of those things, what could it possibly be?

i will tell you.
it's called having to heave my hugenormous carry on suitcase above my head and into a tiny little compartment where it barely fits BY. MYSELF.

i am weak.

how can you expect me to enjoy doing that? especially in front of hundreds of strangers who judge me with their judgy eyes for not being stronger? (okay so maybe they don't have judgy eyes. but then again, maybe they do.)

it is hard. and it makes me light headed. and it is so not enjoyable. and then i see all these couple-y people where the man is like, "oh sweetie, is that bag heavy? let me just get that for you." and then he proceeds to lift the bag with one finger. because he is so masculine and strong.

i need me one of those men. forget dating or marrying him. i just want a personal male assistant to fly with me so i don't have to lift up my bag. that's all i'm asking for.

and for those of you who would tell me to just pack lighter because then it wouldn't be such a problem...
to you i say: fitting it in a carry on sized bag was difficult enough. who do you think i am? superwoman? um. no. because if i was superwoman i would be able to lift my own bag regardless of the content weight. that's all i'm saying.

automatic.

So listen. I don’t know what it is, but when I’m blog-storming (that is, brainstorming for the blog abbreviated—so clever am I), it seems there is a theme. And I do not understand this theme. Because really I am no expert on the subject. In fact, I rarely discuss the subject because I know so little about it. And yet, I have all these great blog post ideas about this particular subject.

I’m sure you’re all dying to know what it is, huh? I guess I’ll be a darling and tell you.

My blog-storming theme these days is cars.

Cars!

Seriously?? Seriously.

“Are you a man blogger?” one may ask after such a revelation.

No, I am female. And I’m assuming 99.9% of my readers are also females, if not 100%. So writing about car matters isn’t exactly appropriate for enlarging my audience, now is it? Nope. Not at all. Good thing I’m not too concerned about the size of my reading pool. Probs it’s shrinking by the minute. But whatevs. So here are my latest thoughts about cars.

I was on a date on Friday night (shocker, I know). Whilst on this first date, my date offered to teach me how to drive stick shift. Because during the course of our conversation, he discovered that I am a 21-year old failure who has never driven stick shift before. My thought on this matter: Who cares? I don’t even own a stick shift car.

But.

Every man’s thought on this matter upon discovering this travesty: Ooh, I will show off my manliness by teaching you something. Called how to drive stick shift.

I cannot count on one hand the number of men who have offered to teach me how to learn stick shift. Pretty sure there have been at least 8 offers (and considering the few dates I have been on, this is quite a lot). All offers have been made while I was on a date with the boy/man.

And yet, here I remain—without any knowledge of driving a stick shift vehicle. Wanna know why? Because, although these guys are so very gracious to offer, it seems two seconds after the offer is made, they disappear from my life. It’s a recurring theme. I’ve come to recognize it. And so whenever any man offers to teach me to drive stick shift, I say: “Sure! That would be so great.” But I’m really thinking: “That’s never in a million years gonna happen because probs I'll never see you again. Which is really too bad. Because if you did stick around and teach me something, I would give you a shout out on my blog. You missed out. See you never."

go lick someone's elbow.

did you know that if someone else licks your **elbow, you can't feel it?

it's true.

thanks to my almost-sister, i know these things. i'll admit, i was skeptical at first. but then she licked my elbow while my eyes were closed, and guess what i felt? nothing. absolutely nothing. except for tears coming out of my eyes because i was laughing so hard, because hello? someone was licking my elbow. and that is just weird.

regardless, it's true. and i thank my almost-sister for providing me with this useful random fact and source of entertainment.

try it if you don't believe me. actually, try it even if you do believe me. because it's funny. and you know you want to.


**note: it must be the very tip of the elbow.

gimp.

meet my best friend. her name is currently gimp. or peg leg. depending on who you talk to.

but this post is not really about her. (although now that i think if it, i should have a post dedicated to her greatness because she is pretty great. i'll get on that soon...). this post is really about the boot on her foot. and what i learned while she was at the doctor's office getting it. scratch that, it wasn't a doctor's office. it was an urgent care.
here's the thing i learned about urgent care, thanks to the bff jacking up her foot:

urgent care waiting rooms have the worst magazine selection of your entire human life.

not even kidding. i mean, they must have a lot of prego people come in because basically all the magazines were about parenthood or being pregnant and what you're supposed to do when you're pregnant. now, don't get me wrong. i have nothing against pregnant people. but probs they should have provided a more diverse reading selection. because when i'm sitting in a waiting room, i would much rather be reading trashy gossip about trashy people (aka those we call celebrities) than reading about pregnant people workouts and what to expect when you're expecting. because i'm not expecting. that's all i'm saying.