It may not seem like it since my nearly 2 month hiatus.
But I am indeed a blogger. And here's why:
I have dozens of blog drafts that I have yet to finish in my blogger account.
I am blogging right now instead of doing homework for any of the 6 classes I am taking.
I have a crazy mother who does and says crazy things that people need to know about.
I can tell people embarrassing or funny things about myself and not care.
I can type 90+ words a minute.
I sing songs about blogging to the tunes of primary children songs to motivate myself...blog said the little stream, blog oh blog, blog oh blog!
I have changed the look of my blog 4 times now.
I love the internet.
Because I say so.
From my heart to the tips of my fingers, I'm a blogger.
And I'm back.
Blog oh blog oh blog oh blog, blog oh blog away....
Thursday
Tuesday
My Love is Deep-Fried
The perfect treat is made with lots of sugar, deep fried, and then topped with more sugar. It's crispy and warm. It decorative and beautiful. It coats your heart with a sweet velvet glaze and makes all those vivid memories of dumb things your husband said while you were dating him melt away. It's called Funnel Cake. I. love. Funnel Cake. I love it so much I treat it as a proper noun and capitalize it in my spelling.
A few weeks ago we went to see the a baseball game in Colorado. We walked by concession stand and I saw there were only three things on the menu, Funnel Cakes, corn dogs, and deep fried Twinkies. I knew eventually we would fork out the $4 and buy a Funnel Cake during the game, but a deep fried Twinkie also fits the description of a perfect treat...I sat there for a moment and flirted with the idea of opting for a deep-fried Twinkie instead.
Idea: Hey baby. What's your sign?
Me: Um, I'm married...
To make a long story short Phillip wouldn't allow a deep fried Twinkie to get between us.
We walked over to a place where you could see the game and ate our Funnel Cake. There, with a powdered sugar mustache streaked with tears, I hassled Phillip about how I was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of woman and that we need to be adventurous, try new things, and buy deep fried things when they presented.
I was upset. I tried to get even more upset by harboring up all the memories I had of other times Phillip had made me upset (like when he wouldn't let me buy deep fried Oreos). But I just couldn't.
I could only love Him.
A few weeks ago we went to see the a baseball game in Colorado. We walked by concession stand and I saw there were only three things on the menu, Funnel Cakes, corn dogs, and deep fried Twinkies. I knew eventually we would fork out the $4 and buy a Funnel Cake during the game, but a deep fried Twinkie also fits the description of a perfect treat...I sat there for a moment and flirted with the idea of opting for a deep-fried Twinkie instead.
Idea: Hey baby. What's your sign?
Me: Um, I'm married...
To make a long story short Phillip wouldn't allow a deep fried Twinkie to get between us.
We walked over to a place where you could see the game and ate our Funnel Cake. There, with a powdered sugar mustache streaked with tears, I hassled Phillip about how I was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of woman and that we need to be adventurous, try new things, and buy deep fried things when they presented.
I was upset. I tried to get even more upset by harboring up all the memories I had of other times Phillip had made me upset (like when he wouldn't let me buy deep fried Oreos). But I just couldn't.
I could only love Him.
Thursday
This Post is About Hair
Friday
Close Encounters of the Motherly Kind/ Talisa Exists
I put on my favorite cotton white shirt and a peachy-pinkish summer scarf that I got in Denver last week. Before I walked out of the guest-room of my parents' house, I put on my favorite red-stud earrings. I take one quick glance at myself. Everything on my face is in order--except for that weird rash on my upper-lip that makes me look like Dr. Mario. Oh well. I'm off.
"Mom, I'm going to Talisa's."
Talisa. One of my very best friends. In high school I would go to her house every weekend without fail. When mom would ask where I was headed my answer was always,"I'm going to Talisa's." My mom would reply, cross-eyed and in a slurry voice, "Tuh-LEE-zah!"
You see, my mom didn't think that Talisa existed. Rather, she thought that I just made Talisa up as a cover for who I was really going to hang out with--boys, bad ones. She came to this assumption because she saw me shaving my legs in the sink one day before I left for Talisa's. Now she thinks I shave my legs every time I say I'm going to Talisa's (but really she knows that I am going to hang out with boys, bad ones). This interrogation and mocking from my mother continued for years.
Just so you know I shave my legs so often because my leg hair grows back freakishly fast. I'm Bolivian. It's in my blood. I'm over it. You should be too.
My mom finally got to meet the elusive Talisa at my wedding. That cleared things up and caused a really embarrassing moment between the two of them at my luncheon. More importantly, it cleared things up.
So yesterday, there I was, in my peachy-pink scarf and favorite red earrings. "Mom, I'm going to Talisa's," I say as I head for the garage.
"Okay," was her answer.
Then I turn to the door. What is this? She didn't have any smart remarks about my assumed promiscuity? It's a miracle. Then I hear it.
"Don't forget to shave your legs!!!" Loud and proud, like any loving mother would yell at her own married daughter.
"Oh, and eStephanie, your ears are bleeding."
They weren't bleeding. It was just my earrings. Just so you know, I have Bolivian leg hair, and a Bolivian mother. I'm over it.
"Mom, I'm going to Talisa's."
Talisa. One of my very best friends. In high school I would go to her house every weekend without fail. When mom would ask where I was headed my answer was always,"I'm going to Talisa's." My mom would reply, cross-eyed and in a slurry voice, "Tuh-LEE-zah!"
You see, my mom didn't think that Talisa existed. Rather, she thought that I just made Talisa up as a cover for who I was really going to hang out with--boys, bad ones. She came to this assumption because she saw me shaving my legs in the sink one day before I left for Talisa's. Now she thinks I shave my legs every time I say I'm going to Talisa's (but really she knows that I am going to hang out with boys, bad ones). This interrogation and mocking from my mother continued for years.
Just so you know I shave my legs so often because my leg hair grows back freakishly fast. I'm Bolivian. It's in my blood. I'm over it. You should be too.
My mom finally got to meet the elusive Talisa at my wedding. That cleared things up and caused a really embarrassing moment between the two of them at my luncheon. More importantly, it cleared things up.
So yesterday, there I was, in my peachy-pink scarf and favorite red earrings. "Mom, I'm going to Talisa's," I say as I head for the garage.
"Okay," was her answer.
Then I turn to the door. What is this? She didn't have any smart remarks about my assumed promiscuity? It's a miracle. Then I hear it.
"Don't forget to shave your legs!!!" Loud and proud, like any loving mother would yell at her own married daughter.
"Oh, and eStephanie, your ears are bleeding."
They weren't bleeding. It was just my earrings. Just so you know, I have Bolivian leg hair, and a Bolivian mother. I'm over it.
Monday
Blessed Week
This is my experience with finals illustrated through a Search Story.
Thanks Kacy. I really could do this all day.
Oh, and make your own and post a link to your blog in the comments section cause I want to see it.
Thanks Kacy. I really could do this all day.
Oh, and make your own and post a link to your blog in the comments section cause I want to see it.
Thursday
Someday You Will Be Gone
Hey kitty kitty,I never understood why your owners have been so desperate to get rid of you until I had to spend the week with you. Stepping in a mound of your warm throw-up barefoot in the dark also helped clear some things up for me. I know the majority of your life has been spent being a good cat, but waking me up before 6am every morning by pawing on the blinds above my bed isn't a very classy way to end "things". You know? Anyway, your days are numbered and I just wanted to share some stuff.
Through your life you have had so much going for you--the pound lady, dogs, all animals larger than you. I am really impressed with your consistent standard of living. 6am. Every morning. I know you are probably worried that you won't be able to finish the novel that you have been inscribing on the side of Krisitne's favorite couch. But you're a hard worker. And you get what you want. Remember all those times you came meowing at me because you wanted me to pour food in your bowl but there was already a lot of food in your dish and you just wanted me to shake the food pellets around so that you could hear the metallic clinging of the food pellets on the side of your cat dish just to make sure you know food was really in there? Do you?! Fun times.
I know you won't be around for much longer. This is why I am being so nice to you.
Sunday
I don't have to go running because I can just watch 30 Rock
I don't have to go running because I can just watch 30 Rock.
Not sure how it happened. Yesterday I wanted to go running outside because it was warm and sunny. Instead of exercising I just laid on my bed and watched episodes of 30 Rock THAT I HAD ALREADY SEEN for about 40 minutes. After, I felt just as refreshed and skinny as if I had gone running for 3 miles.
Side note. I noticed Tina Fey's character wearing Dansko's. This solidifies my need/want for them. If she can wear them and be cool and funny, so can I. Also, we are naming one of our girls after Tina Fey. Tina-Fey Manwaring. Yep. I just dibbsed that name.
Not sure how it happened. Yesterday I wanted to go running outside because it was warm and sunny. Instead of exercising I just laid on my bed and watched episodes of 30 Rock THAT I HAD ALREADY SEEN for about 40 minutes. After, I felt just as refreshed and skinny as if I had gone running for 3 miles.
Side note. I noticed Tina Fey's character wearing Dansko's. This solidifies my need/want for them. If she can wear them and be cool and funny, so can I. Also, we are naming one of our girls after Tina Fey. Tina-Fey Manwaring. Yep. I just dibbsed that name.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)