Monthly Archives: October 2010

25 hours in my day

Somebody give me a Nobel Prize; I have made a scientific breakthrough.

Yesterday I figured out how to add more time to my day!

I added a whole ‘nother hour! (Yes, I know ‘nother is not a word. But that’s how I said it in my head and I’m all about being real here, so y’all get to read my improper grammar. Sorry about ya.)

Yes… I had 25 hours in my day.

Or not.

Y’all know I’m just kidding.

But it did feel like I added an extra hour to my day.

Here’s why…

Let me start off by saying that I am not a morning person. Not at all.

I love the idea of mornings. I think they are beautiful and peaceful and lovely. But I cannot pull myself out of bed on most days in order to enjoy them.

It’s a problem.

Maybe it’s just a college thing.

I don’t know. Somebody explain this to me.

Considering my strong aversion to parting from my warm, comfy bed at the beginning of each day, it was not a surprise to me when I overslept my alarm clock yesterday.

I had intended to get up at 8:57 (I know that’s a weird time, but rarely do I set my alarm for clean-cut times ending in 0 or 5).

It’s also a problem.

I woke up at 10 after and wasn’t too worried. I still had time to make it to my 10:00 class, I just wouldn’t shower.

So I went about my morning routine: standing in front of my closet, wishing I had coffee and waiting for the day’s outfit to jump out at me and say “wear this.”

I put on my makeup and fixed (or tried to fix) my hair and went to class.

But there was a problem.

When I got to my classroom, there was no one there. It was dark and empty. And I was completely confused.

I looked on the door. There was no sign saying the professor was sick and class was cancelled.

I looked in the lobby area around my classroom. There were none of my classmates waiting around for an explanation of this strange occurrence.

I looked in other classrooms. There was no class going on without me.

I scanned my classroom one more time for any clues that might inform me as to what was going on, and I saw it.

The clock.

The clock said 9:00.

I didn’t believe it so I checked my cell phone.

It said 9:00.

As I walked back to my dorm room, I pondered how this mix-up happened.

I concluded that I really woke up 10 minutes after 8:00 and just hadn’t noticed the hour when I checked the time.

What a freak accident of life. I never wake up earlier than I have to.

But I did. And it was good.

I got back to my room and instead of going back to sleep like I later wished I had, I cleaned.

I know… what a great use of time. I’m not the biggest fan of cleaning. But I turned on some music and cleaned my little heart out.

And then my hour was up and I went to class.

How’s that for an anticlimactic ending?

Maybe I’ll make better use of my extra hour the next time I fit 25 hours into a day.

Hole #5

Fall break: it doesn’t have quite the out-of-control renown as spring break for most universities across America. But it is a break nonetheless.

It’s a chance for students to get away from campus, catch up on sleep and put off all the studying and papers professors like to pile on before students leave because they think an extended time away from class means extended time for homework.

Not true. Nobody wants to do homework on break.

My university went on fall break last Friday. Ok, I guess it was technically Saturday, but half the campus skipped Friday classes and went on break early. I may or may not have been part of that half. Don’t tell my mother…

I spent my break in Oklahoma City with friends until Tuesday. It was wonderful.

We did nothing.

We slept.

We dyed hair.

We took naps.

We ate cheesecake.

We bought $20 jeans.

I know, I know. It sounds so incredibly exciting. But there was one crazy highlight of the trip.

I went here.

I entered a building with this mural on the side of it.

It made me slightly nervous. I don’t like skulls. Or unhappy faces.

Maybe if the wall had been painted with a mural of a grassy meadow with warm colors and trees and birds flying happily across the sky, I might have felt more at ease.

But this is what I had to work with. Skulls and graffiti.

Now some of you may be wondering what in the heck I was doing in a place like this. Trust me, I was definitely out of my element. I don’t regularly enter buildings painted this way.

I don’t like skulls. Just in case I hadn’t told you already.

Anyway, this building was home to a body piercing business.

My friend and I had been talking earlier in the morning on Tuesday about how we should spend our afternoon because we didn’t have any plans. Several weeks ago I had mentioned to my friend that I was thinking about getting my cartilage pierced. And somehow this led to that and all of a sudden we were deciding on Tuesday morning that I would get my cartilage pierced that afternoon.

Which brings me to the skull building.

I wasn’t nervous at all until I saw it. Then I started thinking, “Holy cow, Kristy. What in tarnation did you get yourself into?”

But we went inside and I was surprised. It was very clean and not at all scary looking on the inside. Unless you count the guy behind the counter with the biggest gauges in his ears that I’ve ever seen in my life.

So my nervous feeling went away, I picked out a stud for my ear and then it was the moment of truth.

It was time for the needle.

The piercer guy cleaned my ear, marked a dot where he was going to punch a hole and then he did it.

He gave me hole #5.

I had heard horror stories from friends who had gotten their cartilage pierced and swore it was the worst decision they ever made because of all the pain they felt, so I was expecting this piercing to hurt.

But it didn’t.

In fact, if I hadn’t been sitting in front of a mirror watching the guy stab my ear, I don’t think I would have known that it happened.

I didn’t feel a thing.

Good job, piercer guy.

Afterward, the guy gave me a brochure telling me how to take care of my ear, which was fine. But… on the back of the brochure, this business advertised all the places that they do piercings on the human body.

Let’s just say that I think I’ll stop at my ears.

Letters to Guatemala

Five months ago, I was taking May-term classes at my university and preparing for a trip to Guatemala as part of those classes. A couple of days before I left, some dear friends of mine took me out to dinner and a movie as kind of a good-bye-before-your-trip party.

It was wonderful. We had a delicious dinner at the nicest steakhouse in town (which in out little town isn’t saying a whole lot) and went to see “Letters to Juliet” afterward.

However, right as we were finishing supper… (yes, supper. In the country we say supper for dinner, and dinner for lunch and breakfast for breakfast. Confused?)

Anyway, right after we had finished eating supper, I got the hiccups. And they didn’t go away for another 45 minutes. It was fine while we were driving from the restaurant to the theater and honestly, I thought they would go away before the movie started because my hiccups never last too long (except for the time I got them at the orthodontist, but that’s a story for another day, although it was as equally embarrassing).

But 40 minutes into the movie and I was still hiccuping. Loudly. I tried to hold them in and keep them quiet, but the quieter I tried to be, the louder they came out.


And then I started giggling because the whole situation struck me as funny and that made me hiccup even louder.

Fail times two.

Well, my hiccups eventually went away (much to the relief of everyone else in the theater I’m sure) and my friends and I finished watching the movie. I won’t go into the entire plot, but I will tell you it involved letters and a wall.

Which brings me to Guatemala.

The class I was with traveled to La Antigua, or “Old Guatemala”,  for a couple of days during or trip. La Antigua is full of history and colors and textures. It was beautiful. I’m pretty sure I saw the entire city through my viewfinder instead of my own two eyes because I was so busy taking pictures of everything. The walls provided some of my favorite photos.

Tonight, I was reminded of a certain wall photo when I watched “Letters to Juliet” for a second time.

It’s just like Verona!

Only not really. But if you’ve ever seen the movie, you have to admit there are some similarities.

And now I have become very distracted from what I should be doing because I am looking through the 1,500 photos I took in Guatemala.

I think I might be distracted for a while.

Happy non-birthday to me!

October 14: The birthdate of thousands of people across the world.

October 14: My “Papa’s” birthday.

October 14: The date Facebook thinks is my birthday.

October 14: Not my birthday.

I was terribly confused this morning when I logged in to Facebook and was greeted by numerous wall posts, most of which said some form of “Happy Birthday! Hope it’s a great one!”

I’m pretty sure that when I went to sleep last night it was October 13.

So today should be the 14th.

My birthday isn’t until the end of November.

Something’s not adding up here.

Maybe I slept for a month and a half.

Ha! I wish.

After staring bewilderedly at my computer for a minute or two, I realized my birthdate had been changed on my Facebook page.

And right away I knew who did it.

I have a friend at college. His name is Bubba.Well, actually it’s not, but it almost was. And he kind of acts like a Bubba, so I’ve decided it’s a fitting nickname.

Bubba is still bitter about a prank I pulled on him last year when I mixed up his meticulously organized sock drawer and hid an odd number of the socks all over his dorm room. He’s OCD; it drove him crazy.

He’s been trying to get back at me ever since.

Well Bubba, I won’t lose sleep at night over this prank. In fact, I’ve actually been enjoying it.

People have even taped candy and cards to my door as a result of your little trick.

I came back from my theology class and saw this little surprise waiting for me.

I thought about letting this prank keep on going and see if I ended up with a cake or something by the end of the day, but I decided that might be a little mendacious.

So here’s the official notice. Today is not my birthday. But I expect the same wonderful love and attention in one month when it’s actually my birthday for real.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

x + y = confusion

I hate math. I’m sorry, but it’s a fact of life: Kristy and math don’t get along.

Math beats up Kristy’s brain.

Math is mean.

I don’t understand numbers, or equations, or functions, or parabolas, or anything else that relates to math. I’ve tried. I’ve taken 12 years of math classes, but I just don’t get it.

My roommate in college is a math education major and I love her for it. Somebody has to like math enough to teach it to today’s children.

Thank goodness, it’s not me.

It basically goes without saying that I try to avoid math like the plague. And when it’s absolutely completely necessary and I can’t get out of it any other way, I use a calculator… I mean the one on my cell phone.

Nobody knows what calculators are anymore.

Well, I guess math majors do.

Anyway, today I sat down to start a reading assignment for a theology class I’m taking at my college. I was supposed to read 50 pages from a textbook for tomorrow’s class. As I opened my book, I had a thought.

“I wonder how long it’s going to take me to read all this?”

That was a bad thought in and of itself. But it got worse.

“Well, if I don’t count the time I spend procrastinating or reading the same sentence ten times over, I would guess it take about two hours.”

Two hours? Kill me.

But it got still worse.

“If I can read 50 pages in two hours, (ok, let’s be honest– it’ll probably be more like three or four… or twelve), I wonder how pages that is per hour?”

What?! Did I just ask myself a math question?

Yes. Yes, I did.

Not only did I ask myself a math question, but I actually proceeded to work it out in my head.

After 0.37 seconds, I gave up trying because my brain was beat to smithereens.

And I still don’t have a single page of reading done.

Photoshoots, photoshoots

I’ve had the privilege of doing two photoshoots in the past two days for some dear friends of mine. We ventured out into the charming downtown area of our little college town and had a great time and took lots of photos! Needless to say, I have a ton of editing to do, but I am really excited about it. Here is a sneak peek of Saturday’s photoshoot with two of my best friends.

More to come soon! Keep checking back.

Much love,


Summer come back

I’m back from my Kansas road trip… without having taken a single photo. That’s strange for me.

On Friday, I packed up my camera and an extra lens, just like I do before every trip, thinking I would shoot at least a little something over the weekend.

That’s what I do, after all. Whether it’s a couple of photos of some interesting object in a hotel room, hundreds of snapshots of an event, or even a goofy image of everybody in the car on the way to where we’re going, I always shoot something.

Not this weekend.

My camera remained in my bag the whole time I was at the horse show.

The only things I brought back from Kansas were jeans and a t-shirt smelling heavily of horses and a pair of comfy boots that were slightly more dirty than they were a week ago.

Evidently, I left the warm weather in Kansas, too.

I returned to Arkansas after midnight on Sunday morning and was greeted by low temperatures in the 30s.

I was not impressed.

Summer and I have attachment issues. I’m not very good at letting go of it.

So in memory of summer and to make it up to ya for not bringing back photos of beautiful horses, here are a couple of photos of what summer means to me.

Wheat harvest. 16-hour days in the field. Going two miles an hour in a big green combine back and forth and back and forth. Maybe it sounds boring to some, but it has defined my every summer from the time I was sleeping on the floor of the combine as a kid to driving the combine all by myself as a teenager. My summer wouldn’t be summer without wheat harvest.

The lake. The archetypal symbol of summer. My family has been going to this lake in Missouri for a week every summer since before I was even born. It’s beautiful. It’s fun. It’s one of the best weeks of my year.

And in contrast, this is winter.

Cold, freezing, sleet, snow, ice.

Beautiful in its own way. But still cold.

Just looking at this picture makes me long for summer again.

And until summer and I are reunited, I’ll be here in my room with the heater cranked, looking at pictures of happier times and dreaming of wearing flip flops.

Or maybe I’ll hibernate…

See you in May,


Heaven for my feet

I’m going to a horse show in Kansas this weekend, and I’m excited for several reasons.

A) I get to spend time with some great people I’ve been out of touch with lately.

B) Horses. Arenas. Dirt. Hay. ‘Nuff said.

C) I get to wear these babies all weekend long!

I’m not quite sure if I can put into words how much I love these boots.

I love them a lot a lot.

They’re like heaven for my feet.

And they’re pretty, too.

And they smell good. They’re still relatively new and they have some of that brand new leather boot smell left in ’em.

I have a system every time I pull them out of my closet: smell, faint, die, repeat.

It’s wonderful.

In celebration of my upcoming trip, I have been wearing these boots to my classes this morning.

And aside from the 3,142 funny looks I’ve gotten, it’s been great.

You can’t wear cowboy boots to class here. People think you’re weird.

But on the other hand, if you go to class without shoes, you’ll fit right in!

It’s a strange world out there…

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