You know the saying, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” Well for me, a picture is worth an entire week. At lead this week it is.
Happy first day of fall!
I realize I’ve been absent from here for a while. Turns out that transitioning from college life to real-world life is a little time consuming. Going to class for two hours a day in college is perfectly fine, but going to work for two hours a day is not. Needless to say, I’ve spent a lot of hours working this summer. But I love my job so that’s ok!
I figured since today is the start of a new season and now that I’m fairly adjusted to this new season in life (just look at the metaphors and analogies!) it’s time to return to my blog. There’s more to come, but for now enjoy the beautiful sights of fall in Arkansas.
Did your mom ever tell you to make sure you wore your good underwear every time you went out in case you got in a wreck and the paramedics had to cut your pants off you?
No? Neither did mine.
Actually, I don’t know why I said that just now either. That was strange. And kind of morbid. Sorry.
But I would like to add my two cents to that lovely sentiment.
You should always wear your good underwear (which I like to call A-team underwear…gives them more of the epic vibe they deserve!) when you go out because one day it will be windy in Arkansas.
You will be driving home from work and you will need to fill your car up with gas because you just slipped under the dreaded red line.
You will find the cheapest gas in town, which really isn’t cheap at all, but will have to do because inflation is taking over the world.
And on that windy day that you stop to get gas, you will also be wearing the flowiest skirt you own.
You will pay an arm and a leg at the pump and while your wallet is being sucked dry, you will decide that you’ve finally had enough of the bird poop on your windshield and that it’s time to wash it off.
The bird poop will be so stinkin’ stuck to your windshield that you will need both hands to scrub.
And all of a sudden a gust of wind will blow through and you will look like Marilyn Monroe.
Actually, you will not look like Marilyn Monroe at all because at least in that picture (y’all know which one I’m talking about) she halfway looks like she’s “trying” to hold her dress down. This will not be the case for you.
You’re free as the wind.
And in that moment, the only thing that will keep you from total humiliation… your sole piece of consolation that will save you from many sleepless nights and years of therapy…
…is the fact that you wore your A-team underwear.
Hey y’all! Sorry it’s been a while! Starting a new job keeps ya busy! Who knew, right?
I know last time I promised y’all a post about adjusting to apartment living and that’s still coming, but I have to talk about something else today. I have to get this off my chest.
TRAFFIC. is killing. my soul.
There. I feel a little bit better already.
But seriously. Rush hour might the new thing I hate most in life. Or maybe it’s still snakes. Either way, they are both awful. And I don’t really have a “Things I Hate Most in Life” list. Let it be known.
I don’t understand rush hour traffic. And I don’t mean that as a figure of speech. I mean I literally don’t understand why it happens.
Somebody explain this to me.
I mean… somewhere ten thousand miles ahead of me the line of cars begins. And at the front of that line, cars are moving forward at what I assume would be a decent speed. Let’s say 70 miles per hour. (Because that’s the speed limit on the road I take to and from work everyday.) So why in tarnation am I stuck at the back of the line going 15 miles per hour?!! Why?
Why, I ask!
I’m sorry. I’m on my soapbox now. I can’t stop.
In Kansas, there is no such thing as rush hour traffic. Heck, the closest thing we have to a traffic jam is two pickups stuck behind a tractor going down a one-lane dirt road!
Traffic jams are utterly foreign to me.
Traffic jam protocol is also foreign to me.
Like why does the guy in the lane next to me swerve over into the tiny gap I try to leave between my front bumper and the car in front me’s back bumper?
Hello?!! That was not an invitation for you to come join the party, buddy! That’s called caution and you obviously have none. And it’s not like cutting me off is going to get you from A to B any faster. We’re all stuck in rush hour, in case you hadn’t noticed.
And why does the lady trying who’s merging onto the road slow down when her merge lane runs out even though I have been giving her plenty of space to merge for the last 500 feet?
This is why people like me are required by law to have car insurance. Because people like you cause accidents. We about had a ten-car pileup today when I had to slam on my brakes to let you in.
Thankfully, I haven’t suffered any injuries from rush hour traffic. Unless you count the fact that my head explodes every day from 8 a.m. to 9 a.m. and then again from 5 p.m. to 6 p.m.
But I think I might just have to live with that.
Whelp… I’m officially a member of the real world now.
And I’m not talking about the reality show.
I’m talking about the I-got-a-job-I-got-an-apartment-now-I-have-to-pay-tons-of-money-for-everything real world.
Life is grand.
Life also changes a lot in just a week.
When I woke up on Monday, April 30, I was still a college student with no job and nowhere to live after Saturday, May 5.
And by God’s grace, everything came together before graduation. It came down to the last possible second (story of my life), but still, it all came together.
I walked across that stage on Saturday morning surrounded by friends, with a place to live and a job secured.
Here’s me and my diploma (cover)!
I start working on Monday (so excited for that!) and in the meantime I’ve been unpacking and organizing my apartment.
Apartment living is quite the adjustment. Especially for a country girl who’s spent most of her life in the middle of nowhere surrounded by peace and quiet.
But that’s a post for another day.
It’s been a bit of a rough week. I didn’t expect it to be the kind of week that it’s been, either, which makes everything a little more draining.
But despite my struggles, this week has also been very good.
I had my last class ever. Forever. I’ll be done with school forever on Tuesday after my final final, and by this time next Saturday, I’ll be a full-fledged college graduate.
I had a second job interview. It went well.
One of my lovely housemates turned 22 on Thursday and brought home this lovely cake.
I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in the house who’s eating this. But hey, I’m not complaining! This cake is seriously yummy.
And after the week I’ve had, I’ll take all the fattening, sugary comfort food I can get.
Keep making your days count rather than counting your days.
Apt advice for us college seniors from one of my favorite blogs.
T-minus five days of classes, two days of finals and one graduation morning until I am done FOREVER.
It’s no secret to y’all that I am a country girl through and through. And being the country girl that I am, I love me some good ol’ twangy country music.
One of my favorite songs ever, ever, ever is Craig Morgan’s, “What I Love About Sunday.”
I feel like my day today has been a “What I Love About Sunday” day.
I woke up to rain. Lots of rain. Like a torrential downpour of rain.
But I was ok with that. Torrential downpours of rain don’t really exist in Kansas. I savored the moment.
The tornado sirens went off this morning too. A tornado warning was issued and the RD of our house told us to stay inside until it expired.
Wudn’t gonna happen.
I was dressed up. I was putting on makeup. And I’ll be danged if I wasn’t going to go to church. So I left the house when I was good and ready to go. There was no wall cloud, no rotation, no nothing. It was fine.
It rained all through church.
I was distracted all through church.
But not because of the rain. Because I thought I’d accidentally locked my keys in my car. Which was completely not my fault.
Nope, not my fault. I can’t tell you the story because it would take ten years, but trust me, it wasn’t my fault.
After talking to everyone after church, I nervously approached my car and pulled on the back driver’s side door. It was locked. My heart sank. I have never locked my keys in my car before. I didn’t know what I was going to do.
So I went to the front driver’s side door. It was unlocked. Thank the Lord.
I drove back home. Went to Walmart. Made breakfast for lunch with a friend. Found out that homemade hash browns will turn out sticky and gross unless you squeeze all the liquid out of them before frying them. Took a nap on the couch as a second round of thunder and rain rolled in.
I came back to my house a quarter after four and my lovely housemates were just starting The Blindside. I curled up on the couch. Ate cookie dough dip. Laughed and enjoyed doing nothing.
This is what I love about Sunday.
Dear wonderful people at Rockfish Interactive,
I found your job posting for a Social Content Developer on your website this weekend. I read through the job description and I was instantly hooked.
I thought to myself, “This is so me.”
I showed the job post to my friends and they agreed. “That sounds like you!”
I even told one of my professors about it and he said, “Well that’s perfect.”
Bottom line… this is the job for me and I am the employee for you. Let me give you five reasons why.
1) You want a blogger. I am a blogger. And not only that but I love it. I have a unique voice that is engaging and enjoyable. Sometimes I even tell myself I’m persuasive enough to convince the world that my home state of Kansas is not the most boring place on the planet. Maybe I’m not quite there yet, but I’m working on it. The point is, I know how to get a point across and I say it in a way that doesn’t put people to sleep.
2) I’m not just a blogger. I’m a trained writer. I’m double majoring in journalism and photography at John Brown University. I’ve worked for the student newspaper, The Threefold Advocate, for three years. During my tenure, the newspaper was named first place in the state of Arkansas and I wrote an article that received second place in the state in sports writing. I can write. I can proofread and edit. I know my stuff.
3) I know social media and content management. I’ve set up and maintained various social media accounts for The Threefold Advocate and use them to promote our weekly issues and drive traffic to our website. I update and moderate all content that goes on the website and even helped design it. I’m no design aficionado, but I’ve taken enough art classes in college to hold my own.
4) Rockfish is a great company. From what I know of it, y’all don’t do anything halfway. Your dedication to your clients and to your employees is both evident and impressive. I love that Rockfish is intentional about building community within the workplace. From weekly meals together to the “Culture Connection,” I’m all about getting to know my colleagues.
5) I want this job and I know I’d be good at it. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I first found the job posting. Seriously, I can’t pay attention in class because I’m daydreaming about it, I dreamt about it in my sleep one night, I just can’t get it out of my head. I’ve never been in love before, but I imagine this is what it feels like.
Hopefully now you know a little bit more about me and my qualifications for the job. If you’d like to contact me, just click on the Contact link at the top of the page and shoot me an email. I’d very much love to hear from you. Thank you for your time and consideration.
“How did I ever live without the iPhone?”
I’m kind of embarrassed to admit how many times I’ve asked myself that since getting an iPhone last September.
I never thought I would be one of those techie people who hugged and loved their electronic devices and called them George, if you know what I mean. I don’t think I’m quite there yet, but I really love my iPhone.
One of my favorite things to do is look up new apps. I’m kind of embarrassed to admit how much time I’ve wasted browsing through the App Store.
Now y’all know (or if you don’t, you should) that I love cooking. Love it, love it, love it. Sometimes I secretly dream of going to culinary school. I guess that ain’t a secret no more, but whatever. Anyway, I’m all into the foodie apps in the App Store. I downloaded one last week that was particularly enjoyable.
But not for the reason you might think.
The app is called Allrecipes.com Dinner Spinner. One of its main features is that it lets your “spin” or shake your iPhone to get a random selection of dishes and ingredients. They target this feature to people who aren’t quite sure what they want to eat. I think they should target it to twenty-something female college students who love to cook more than they love to do homework.
Or maybe not. That advertising strategy might only work on me. Just a guess.
Still, I was thoroughly entertained the other night by the variety of combinations I got by shaking my iPhone. Some sounded good. Some were… well, interesting. See for yourself.
I can’t make fish dessert recipes in my slow cooker? Sad day! I really wanted that salmon peach cobbler.
There were also normal recipes for main dishes with fish like baked salmon and tilapia. (But still no salmon peach cobbler.)
These were the recipes that turned up for cookies with some sort of fruit ingredient. Here’s my question… what in tarnation is a hootycreek? Sounds like something we probably have in Arkansas.
Ask and ye shall receive. A hootycreek is a beautifully festive cookie in a jar recipe that makes a great gift. My life is better for knowing this.
The app has plenty of recipes for main dishes with chicken.
But none for chicken beverages.
Or chicken cookies.
I’m sad. I wanted all of those things. (I kid. I kid. It just makes the app more funny if I pretend to be hurt by its lack of ridiculous recipes. Ha.)
And on that note, I’m off to go concoct a recipe for salmon peach cobbler in the slow cooker!
Just the word makes my nose cringe and my esophagus constrict.
I hate eggs. I hate them. I have always told people that the only way I like my eggs is inside of a cake or brownies or something where I can’t taste them at all. It’s a problem.
But the even bigger problem is that I can’t accept my problem. I want to like eggs. I really, really, really do. I’m kind of desperate to like them, actually. Eggs are good for you. They’re cheap. They’ve got a lot of protein. (And I am all about protein. Just ask the girls I live with. They’ll tell ya that I don’t ever make a meal without some sort of meat. Unless, of course, I have a bowl of cereal for supper. But cereal’s “bachelor’s steak” and since I’m the female equivalent of a bachelor, that counts, right? Oh my word. Rabbit trail extreme. Sorry.)
Anyway, the point is that I have hated eggs for my whole life and it really bothers me. I mean, what kind of farm girl doesn’t like eggs? It’s like an unwritten requirement to be a legitimate country girl. You must like eggs. And meat. And fried chicken. And pie. And mashed taters.
I’m digressing again.
Despite my utter distaste for eggs (haha, distate… eggs… get it?!) I periodically force myself to eat them, hoping against all hope that maybe my taste buds died or rearranged themselves or something and I’ll magically like eggs all of a sudden.
I mean, come on. I just want an omelet. The sausage, the bacon, the onions, the peppers, the tomatoes, the cheese… they always look so delicious together. If only I could have the omelet without the egg, I would be one happy girl.
Well, while I was trying to decide what to fix myself for supper this evening, I realized I was craving a breakfast burrito. I kept rummaging in the cabinets and the fridge, hoping to find something more appealing, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about that dang breakfast burrito. I thought about making one with everything but the eggs, but then I told myself I wasn’t allowed to do that. The only way I was getting a breakfast burrito was with scrambled eggs. And I wanted a burrito.
Now, one teensy little drawback to not liking eggs is that you don’t ever learn how to cook them. I’ve never made an egg in my life. I don’t even watch people cook eggs because the smell usually makes me want to puke.
I had to Google how to scramble an egg.
It killed my cooking pride.
I chopped up onions and peppers. I browned sausage and grated cheese. I got everything ready except for the egg.
I almost chickened out. But I didn’t.
I cracked the egg into a bowl and whisked it all up and seasoned it with salt and pepper. I poured the liquified egg into the pan and freaked out.
What the heck do I do with this thing now? Do I let it set? Do I keep whisking? Is it possible to burn eggs?
I decided to keep whisking and was amazed to see how fast the eggs changed from liquid to well, normal looking eggs. I had no idea how long to let them cook, so I guessed and dumped them onto my burrito when they “looked” done.
Here’s the finished product!
It was huge. And messy. But good. For the most part.
The eggs weren’t awesome. I don’t know if that was because of my negative disposition toward them or because I cooked them wrong. Probably both.
But hey, they didn’t make me gag! It’s only taken me twenty-one years to get to this point, but I call that progress.
Maybe in another twenty-one years I will actually, genuinely like eggs.
But for now at least I satisfied my craving.