friends

#GreatChristmas2013 – That’s a wrap!

‘Twas the month of December and all across the land,
there were dozens of bloggers with presents in hand.
Down the mail shoots and into the bags
went the gifts, covered in bows and tags.

Where each would end up, only one knew
a secret Santa surprise
a special gift out of the blue.

And upon its arrival there was much joy and glee,
each one opened their box, anxious to see
the gifts that were wrapped with such meticulous care.
Their long awaited surprise was finally there.

-An ode to #GreatChristmas2013

Well, my friends, The Great Christmas Exchange has come and gone and I’m already ready for it to come again! This was so much fun! Beth and Samantha did a great job of organizing and facilitating this wonderful secret gift exchange.

In case you missed my previous posts about this exchange (you can find them here and here), I’ll explain briefly. Everyone who signed up to participate in the exchange was emailed a secret partner about a month before Christmas. We received their blog and social links and a few details about their favorite things.

Then we went shopping! And crafting! And post office mailing (yep, that phrase just happened)!

I was thrilled to find out that I received the lovely Meg of Rivers and Roads as my partner. I knew of Meg from reading Beth’s blog, Oak + Oats. Turns out they’re besties! How awesome is that? It’s a small world.

So I semi-stalked Meg and learned about her life, what she enjoys, how she spends her free time, etc., etc., etc. And I wrote it all down in a notebook that I read every day. Just kidding. I’m not a real stalker. Promise. :)

Finding gifts that I thought Meg would like was fairly easy. It was wrapping them up and making them look cute that was hard. You see, I’m a terrible gift wrapper. Always have been and most likely always will be. (I apologize to my future children now. Mommy’s going to put all your presents in gift bags and cover them with tissue paper.) But after a few hours of meticulous measuring, cutting and taping, I managed to get Meg’s box to look like this!

GreatChristmas2013

All ready to meet a new friend!

I gave Meg some blank notecards because she loves snail mail, some pink Essie nail polish because every girl needs a bottle of that stuff and a soft green infinity scarf because she said she liked them and because it was Christmas and green is oh so festive.

I mailed Meg’s package then traveled to Texas and Kansas to spend Christmas with my family. I knew my gift would be waiting for me when I returned so I rushed to the mailbox first thing once I got home.

And I found a package from the UK! That’s right. My gifts came all the way from across the pond! That made me even more excited.

I opened my package to find a fun snowman card, some amazingly delicious Cadbury chocolate, a sweet bracelet made up of tiny hearts, a cute cupcake bath bomb and a yummy winter scented candle. All of them were perfect!

TheGreatChristmasExchange

Across the pond and through the woods, right to my mailbox came this wonderful package from my secret Santa!

And who was my secret Santa? She is none other than the lovely Becky Brown! After getting to know more about Becky, it turns out that we’re a lot alike. She lives in a small village and describes herself as a country girl throughout. I grew up in a small town, too, and as far as I’m concerned you can never take the country out of the girl.

Thank you again, Becky, for my gifts! it was so wonderful to meet you!

 

To wrap it all up (see what I did there?):
Like I said earlier, I loved participating in #GreatChristmas2013 and I can’t wait to do it again. In the meantime, I might just mail more gifts and notes throughout the year. I think I’m hooked!

What I Love About Sunday

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.

Good stuff.

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.

Monthly roundup

I told myself that this would never happen. I told myself I wouldn’t be one of those bloggers that fell off the face of the earth for indefinite periods of time only to resurface and say, “Oh I’m so sorry! But my life got busy and this and that and blah, blah, blah.” But it’s happened… again.

Here’s the deal.

I graduate in less than two months. And while I am ready to be done with school and homework, I am definitely nowhere near ready to leave the friends family I’ve made over these past four years. I am determined to soak up every minute I have left with the absolutely wonderful people in my life. And if my blog posts have to come less frequently in order for me to do that, then so be it.

I still love y’all. Promise. But y’all are just gonna have to hold yer horses for a while.

So, as is (somewhat) usual for me, here’s the monthly roundup of the last month of my life. It has been full of adventure!

 

My friend and I went to the historic district of a nearby town last month and explored. It was so fun! The area was beautiful and charming and there were advertisements painted on the sides of buildings. I’m a sucker for old advertisements painted on the sides of buildings. Just to let y’all know.

It snowed. Once. And it melted the same afternoon it came down. That’s been the only sign of winter we’ve seen all year. And as much as I like snow, I ain’t complaining. Bring on summer! I’m ready for warmth and sunshine!

The sunsets have been beautiful! This is good for my soul. (But let it be known that sunsets in Kansas are still 4597230958 times better than they are in Arkansas.)

I’ve been learning lots of useful things in school. This is from my freshman-level art history class. It’s my favorite. Can’t ya tell?

And even though I’m totally slacking off in class (and not ashamed of it), I’m still keeping up my grades (see, Momma?). In fact, this was the highest grade I’ve ever made on a test in college. Thank you freshman-level art class that takes almost no effort to pass.

I went skeet shooting last weekend with some friends. It was a blast! I’ve shot trap before (once) but this was my first time shooting skeet. I was terrible. But it was great fun. It’s my goal in life to be a good shot someday. Then I won’t feel like such a poser. I swear, what kind of country girl can’t shoot a gun? Oh right, me. Farm girl fail.

That’s about all for now. I’ll do my best to keep y’all updated as much as possible, but like I said, I’m gonna enjoy the heck out of every last minute I have until graduation! I only have 79,719 minutes left. That’s 55 days.

That’s too soon.

Daily anti-joke: kskristy style

I set the oven mitt on fire again today.

You’d've thought I’d learned my lesson after the great muffin disaster… yeah, not so much.

Somebody send me back to kindergarten, or cooking 101, or wherever it is that they teach you how to not set kitchen accessories on fire.

Please.

The structural integrity of my house depends on it.

 

But do y’all know what’s better than setting an oven mitt on fire?

 

A beautiful sunset picture.

And that was your daily anti-joke: kskristy style.

For those of you who are completely confounded and confused, perplexed and puzzled, let me explain. An anti-joke is is a type of comedy in which the listener is set up to expect a typical joke, but the joke ends with such anticlimax that it becomes funny in its own right. The lack of punchline is the punchline.

I’m sorry. I really think anti-jokes are corny. But certain friends of mine have had a negative influence on me and fill my life with anti-jokes on a regular basis.

If you’re reading this, you know who you are.

And y’all better enjoy this one moment of glory because I will never tell an anti-joke again.

Amen.

Instead, I’m going to work on finding a 12-step program that helps people who suffer from destructive behaviors like repetitively igniting oven mitts.

Wish me luck.

Muffin disaster

So the whole photo-a-day for the next 365 days thing that I started earlier this month is now a total flop.

I think I made it seven days before I gave up.

But I knew that would happen. And I even told y’all that it would happen. So no one’s disappointed, right? Okay, good. Moving on. (My pictures now would just be of classrooms and textbooks anyway. Can you say bor-ring?)

I do have another iPhone photo for y’all though. A photo and a story involving muffins and fire.

 

This is my multitasking, multi-talented friend. As you can see, she is stirring two bowls of muffin mix at one time.

Be impressed.

She was quickly throwing together some muffins for a breakfast-for-dinner party we were going to last night. And me, being my always-ready-to-help self assisted her in putting said muffins in the oven.

So far, so good. Baking muffins is not hard.

Or so you would think.

But just leave it up to me and I will find a sure-fire way to make everything difficult. It’s a problem.

Fast-forward about ten minutes to when my friend asked me to check the muffins and pull them out of the oven. And here’s where things get messy (literally).

For some cotton-pickin’ reason the muffin tins were on the middle rack with the top rack practically sitting right on top of them. Anybody seeing a problem yet?

I grabbed a hot pad and began to pull the muffin tins out of the oven. Somewhere in the two and a half seconds it takes to pull muffins out of the oven I forgot about the inconveniently located top rack and rammed the soft and delicate muffins into multiple bars of hot, angry metal.

Boo.

I was so distressed about the muffins that I dropped the hot pad… onto the oven coil, of course, and didn’t realize that it caught on fire.

That’s right. I set the hot pad on fire.

All of a sudden the kitchen was smoky, things started smelling bad and people were yelling at me, “Hey Kristy. The hot pad’s on fire!”

Say what? Oh shoot, the hot pad’s on fire.

I’m pretty quick on the uptake. Just sayin’.

So I dropped the muffins, grabbed the fiery inferno hot pad and started beating it against the kitchen cabinet.

The fire went out. We turned on the vent. The smoke alarm didn’t go off (thank goodness) and everything was fine.

Well, except the muffins.

I had successfully decapitated them.

But my friend and I threw them in a Tupperware container (ok, maybe not threw. We were gentle. Those muffins had been through a lot at that point.) and went to our brinner party.

We ate, we drank and were merry. And I learned to always put muffins on the top rack. And not to drop hot pads on oven coils.

Evidently I didn’t learn those lessons the first time when I was five like a normal child.

But what about me has ever been normal?

Ombré

This weekend I decided to have one of my best friends dye my hair blonde.

I’m a fairly impulsive person and I like change. And this was one of those times when I woke up in the morning, decided I needed a change, and did it.

And because I am detail-oriented and extremely logical (not) I only bought one box of dye, not thinking about the fact that I have three times the amount of hair on my head as a normal woman (for real, my hair is thick, thick, thick. And long.) My friend started dyeing my hair around 10 p.m. (after Sally’s was closed) and about five minutes in, I said to her, “Wouldn’t it be terrible if we run out of dye because I have so much hair?”

Fast forward almost an hour. I have three sections of hair left and we have no more dye.

I died.

Not dyed. (There’s a difference.)

My hair was dyed. (Well, part of it was.)

And because my friend is awesome at dyeing hair, she figured out a way to take some of the hair dye from my underneath layers and apply it to the sections at the top of my head.

Crisis averted.

Sort of.

After washing and drying my newly colored hair, I realized that evidently it’s not that easy to make a brunette a blonde using a seven dollar box of hair dye from Sally’s.

My hair was lighter than before. But not blonde.

Because my hair had been dyed red perviously and faded to a lighter golden color, it took some of the blonde dye and that was fine. But my dark brown roots which had grown out did not take any blonde at all.

The result?

Ombré hair.

Now, let me make a disclaimer here and say that I do not keep up with pop culture at all. I didn’t even know what ombré hair was until a couple days ago, but evidently it’s popular with celebrities. (Thank you, Google, for enlightening me.)

So now I’m super trendy with my not-blonde hair and my dark brown roots.

Observe.

Maybe this is a sign that I shouldn’t go blonde.

A fall Friday afternoon

Let me take y’all back to last Friday.

It was the day before the LSAT and I had been telling myself all week that I was going to take at least one full-length practice test before Saturday. And surprise, surprise, I hadn’t done it yet. I told myself I was going to do it that afternoon. No excuses.

But something came up. An immediate pressing issue. An urgent situation. That I had to give my full attention to.

Some friends invited me to go to a pumpkin patch.

How could I say no? It was a beautiful fall afternoon and y’all know me… I’m all about ditching my responsibilities to have fun.

It’s a problem.

So I went and I had a blast and I didn’t regret not studying for even a second.

Meet my lovely friends.

Meet our pumpkins.

The albino one is mine. I loved it right when I saw it. I’d never seen an albino pumpkin before. I figured “albino pumpkin” probably wasn’t the technical term so I Googled it when I got home and I actually couldn’t find a scientific name for it. There are other nicknames out there like ghost pumpkins and snowballs. But no real name. Sad day. You let me down, Google.

Look at us being all matchy, matchy.

I was happy in the pumpkin patch. Can ya tell?

I can’t even tell you. That place was good for my soul. It was way out in the boonies of Arkansas at the end of a dirt road. The guy who owned the place had the sweetest southern drawl. The patch covered five acres of wide open land. There was dirt.

Yeah. That’s right. There was dirt.

I think that was the most exciting part for me.

It wasn’t good, rich Kansas dirt, but it was the closest thing to Kansas dirt I’ve seen in over two months.

All in all, it was such a great day. I loved spending time outdoors in God’s beautiful creation with some of my favorite people.

Ellipsis list…

I miss…

…my blog. It’s been over a month since my last post. I’m so sorry about that! I’ve missed y’all.

…Spain. I found this picture on Pinterest yesterday. (you can find the original here:)

This is Sunflower Valley in Valencia, Spain.

Holy cow beautiful.

I never knew Spain had such beautiful sunflower fields. I was only six and a half hours away from this place while I was in Málaga this summer. Why didn’t I know about this?

I love sunflowers. They remind me of Kansas.

Minus the whole cliff in the background thing. That’s not like Kansas at all.

In this past month I have…

…started my senior year of college. And come down with a major case of Senioritis, which I’ve actually had for the past three years. I put off my homework and all I want to do is have fun times with fun people. Can I major in that please?

…not studied for the LSAT. And I’m taking it on Saturday. Is there a problem here? My logical reasoning skills say yes.

…got an iPhone! Actually, I did that this morning. It’s fantastic. And a time waster. But hey, I don’t care all that much about my homework anyway so we’re all good, right?

Which brings me back to… I miss…

…my Kansas phone number. I had to get an Arkansas phone number with my new iPhone and I just realized that for some reason I was really attached to my old Kansas phone number. Is that dumb? Yes? Ok, I’ll get over it.

Thanks for loving me even though I miss trivial things like phone numbers and don’t blog for a month.

Y’all are wonderful. I’ll be back soon. In less than a month, I promise!

España photos – day 12

Wow. Wow, wow, wow. Some days I still can’t believe I’m actually in Spain getting to do and see so many amazing things. That thought hit me again this weekend when I went to Granada to help shoot video footage for a project some people here at the center are working on.

I learned how to record audio, shot some great photos to accompany the video, got to tour lovely Granada and it was all in a day’s work!

I love my internship.

We left Thursday morning and it took us about two hours to travel from Málaga to Granada. Here’s a map for all you visual people (like me).

 

I absolutely loved seeing the countryside during our drive. There are mountains! Big, tall mountains. The Sierra Nevada Mountains to be exact.

I never would have guessed there would be such diverse terrain in this area. Málaga is right on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea, but drive north an hour and you’ve got beautiful hills and olive groves, drive another hour and you’ve got snow-capped peaks.

This Kansas girl is used to flat, dry land as far as the eye can see. New experiences abound everywhere in Spain.

Here are a few shots I took as we walked around the city.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s just like Holes!

And let me tell you, Granada was just about hot enough to feel like the desert in Holes. Málaga has been hot, but not compared to Granada. Málaga usually has a nice breeze blowing in off the Mediterranean which keeps it about 10-15 degrees cooler than inland cities like Granada.

 

Plants are a big deal. Obviously.

 

Plants may be big, but doors are not. This was seriously the front door to a house.

 

I just had to throw in a picture of the tapas we had. The cheese was amazing. And the wine. Not the olives. I don’t like olives. But I like olive oil.

I don’t understand myself sometimes…

 

Anyway…

 

This guy is the reason we went to Granada in the first place. He is a graffiti artist with a pretty cool testimony.

And if I knew Spanish, I would tell you about it.

But I don’t, so I won’t. Sorry.

I’ll just show you more photos.

 

 

 

 

 

So that was graffiti in Granada.

It took us all day to get our footage and photos. Half of our team went back to Málaga at 10 that night, but myself and another girl stayed behind to go to feria.

Now, I don’t exactly know what a feria is other than it’s some sort of Catholic thing and people dress up in flamenco dresses (well, women dress up, I should say) and go dancing. There’s also food and rides. Kind of like the Kansas State Fair.

Minus the Pronto Pups.

And the giant butter cow sculpture.

If any of y’all have been to the Kansas State Fair, you know what I’m talking about. If not, you need to go. It’ll change your life.

My friend scored some real flamenco dresses for us to wear to the feria and they were super fun!

I might have looked Spanish for the night, but I still felt like a guiri (pronounced similar to the English word giddy). Guiri is the slang word Spaniards use for non-Spaniards.

 

Forgive me. It was dark and I am totally, completely, 100 percent against using my built-in flash, so the lighting is horrible in the following photos.

But you get the gist.

 

You must have a flower in your hair for feria.

Real Spaniard women wear their flowers directly on top of their head, dead center.

I opted out of that. I like my flower where it is.

 

My lovely friend.

 

At feria!

 

 

Welcome to feria. There are lights everywhere.

 

 

This was cool. There were people in giant hamster balls running around on the water. If I hadn’t been in a super tight flamenco dress, I would have tried it out myself.

 

These are legit flamenco dancers. Notice the flower dead center on the top of their heads.

 

Now… story time.

We got to feria at 1:00 in the morning. We left at 3:00. We didn’t get back to our hostel until 5:00.

Why?

We took the wrong bus.

It was a disaster.

The city runs special buses during feria that are just for feria, so I guess we assumed that as long as we got on one of the feria busses, it would take us back to where we got on.

Wrong.

We ended up way far away from our hostel in some really quiet part of town. We got off the wrong bus and walked for a long time until we found another bus stop. We thought it was the right bus stop.

Wrong.

We walked some more. And some more.

And some more.

And then we saw a bus. We flagged it down, hoping it would be the right bus.

Wrong.

The bus driver told us to wait at a nearby stoplight for the right bus that would be coming by there in just a few minutes.

Red flag anyone?

Why would we wait for a bus at a place that was not a bus stop?

Because the bus driver was wrong.

We waited at that stop light for over half an hour.

That same wrong bus passed by again twice, but still no right bus.

And then finally, finally!, we saw a taxi.

Hallejulah.

We ran out in the middle of the street and waved our arms and flagged that blessed taxi down.

Surely it would be able to take us to our hostel, right?

Wrong.

Or so the driver said.

He had to go switch out his car. That’s all I got out of the conversation.

And then he drove away.

I almost died.

But then my friends kept walking. They were following the taxi.

What in the world?

Turns out, the taxi driver only had to go a couple of blocks and meet up with another driver who was going to take the car for his shift.

Thank you Jesus, praise the Lord. We had a taxi.

We got back to the hostel we were staying at at 5:00 in the morning.

And the hostel is a whole ‘nother story in itself.

Let me show you.

 

This is a picture I took of a stairwell in the hostel earlier in the day. The building was 400 years old and in the middle of being renovated.

Now, as cool as it was to be staying in a building older than my home country, I saw a fiasco looking for a place to happen.

And boy did it ever.

Let me set the scene for y’all…

It’s 5:00 in the morning. I am deader than a doornail tired (so tired in fact, I’m mixing idioms) and I haven’t peed for hours.

My bladder is about to burst.

(Sorry, but it’s the truth. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I was about to pee my pants.)

I have to make it up six flights of stairs before I can get to a bathroom.

In a tight dress. That means no running.

So I waddle/skip/potty-dance up the stairs and have to fiddle around with two separate keys to unlock two separate doors.

RE-diculous.

Finally, I get the doors open and try to quietly find my way to the bathroom.

Mind you, it’s 5:00 in the morning. People are sleeping. It’s dark. I’m in a strange hostel with furniture placed in places that I don’t know it’s been placed in. I’m bumping into things, knocking things over, the whole shebang.

I really am trying to be quiet, but I gotta go… if you know what I’m saying.

So.

Finally.

I find the bathroom.

I go in, shut the door and flip the lightswitch.

It doesn’t work.

Yeah. That’s right… the lightswitch doesn’t work.

Sweet Jesus, help me.

I take 0.43 seconds to evaluate my options.

Girl’s gotta pee.

For real.

So I feel my way around the bathroom like a blind person until I find the toilet. I make sure the lid is up (gotta cover all my bases, otherwise things could have been bad-news-bears) and I shimmy the zipper down on my dress.

I’ll stop there and save y’all from being scarred for life, but let me just throw one more kink in the wrench (yes, I know that’s another mixed idiom, but it’s what I’ve always said, so it stays) by mentioning the fact that there was no toilet paper.

I’m sorry.

That’s gross.

I’m done now.

Sort of.

I’m done with horrible natural human function stories. (I’m sorry, that was gross too wasn’t it?)

Anyway…

This hostel just kept getting better and better.

After the bathroom disaster, I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep on a rock.

Wait, what?

I wanted to go to sleep on a bed.

But the bed might as well have been a rock as hard as it was.

Also…

My pillow was covered in stains and hair (not mine).

I had to shove a nightstand in front of the door to keep it closed because it kept swinging open on its own.

There was a vicious cat fight outside my window at 6:00. I’m pretty sure one of the cats died from the sound of things. I was six stories up and I had earplugs in and it still sounded awful.

And that was my hostel experience.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad it happened. I love having crazy adventures like that. Plus, I feel like everybody needs to have one or two bad hostel stories in their lifetime. Now I’ve got mine.

 

Welcome to the Ritz Carlton.

We have dirtied your pillow and carved your mattress out of cement. Compliments of the house.

Also, we will provide you with gruesome animal noises just as you are about to finally fall asleep in order to provide you with the finest luxury experience.

Thank you for staying with us, we hope to see you again soon.

I may be exaggerating just a little bit, but like I said, it wasn’t that bad all things considered. The view outside my window was even kind of pretty.

 

 

But it sure felt good to get back to Málaga the next day.

 

All in all, I had a great trip to Granada, and I will definitely remember it for the rest of my life.

Now… bring on more adventures!

 

Going to the chapel and we’re…

My life has consisted of the following during the past two weeks:

–finishing finals

–attending graduation (not my own. I still have one year left… thank goodness!)

–unwanted goodbyes

–getting an internship in Spain for this summer!!

–work, work, all week long, punchin’ that clock from dusk till dawn (name that song)

–good laughs with good friends

–traveling to Dallas (I’m not Texas’ biggest fan… just getting that out there now)

–celebrating the wedding of two dear friends

–dancing (aka: making a fool of myself) all night long

–etc., etc…

 

I love life. Can I just proclaim that to the whole wide world right now? I am so very blessed beyond my wildest dreams and I love soaking up every minute of this wonderful life.

Ok, mushy moment… check. Moving on.

Going to the wedding this weekend got me thinking about my future wedding. (Which will be way in the future… way, way in the future. I’ve got too much of an independent personality to be settling down anytime soon.)

But still… a girl can dream, can’t she?

I’ve never given much thought to my quote, unquote “dream wedding.”

I have friends who’ve had their colors picked out since the eighth grade, know exactly how many bows and ribbons will line the aisles and have pretty much already bought their wedding dress. And these are friends who aren’t even planning weddings for real.

Whenever I’m asked about what I want my wedding to look like, I always just kind of shrug and reply with a lame, “I don’t really know.” And then I get the incredulous look that says, “Oh my gosh. You are not seriously telling me that you have never thought about your wedding. COME. ON.”

Well, roll your eyes no more, friends. I have a few ideas.

One thing I am sure of… I am getting married in my boots. As much as I like wearing heels, I am a country girl through and through and I love my boots. I’m wearing them no matter what. The end.

Plus… look at how cute this is.

I love the idea of my bridesmaids wearing boots too!

I seriously die every time I look at this picture. This. is. so. me. The end again.

And then there’s the flowers. I love sunflowers. (Kansas is the Sunflower State.) And I think the sunflowers in the picture above are super cute, but I’m thinking more along the line of gazanias.

 

Yes, no, maybe so? I’ve never been a big flower person. Don’t get me wrong, I think they are absolutely beautiful. But I’ve never been the kind of girl who has a definitive answer whenever someone asks me what my favorite flower is.

The jury’s still out on this one.

But at least I have a few ideas and a whole lot of time before I have to make any real decisions.

 

Much love,

kskristy

Tuesday’s thoughts

Hello, hello, hello! It’s Tuesday! Unfortunately it’s not really that close to Friday, but at least it’s not Monday anymore.

Monday’s are rough. Especially yesterday. For me.

But…since it’s Tuesday, I’ll give you Tuesday’s thoughts. Maybe I should make this a weekly thing? I might need a more creative name to make it an official weekly event. Tuesday Museday? Maybe not. I’ll keep working on it.

Anyway… #1. Yesterday was rough. I was tired all day. More than normal tired. I had no energy and thought about skipping class simply because I didn’t want to go. I’m such a bad kid. (Don’t worry Mom, I promise I did go to all my classes!)

#2. I tried to give blood yesterday because the blood-mobile was here. (Does the word blood-mobile make anyone else feel like a super hero? I think I should get a Superman cape or a Zorro mask every time I give blood instead of a t-shirt. All because my blood gets to ride in a blood-mobile. Awesome.) Anyway… I wasn’t allowed to give because my iron count wasn’t high enough. My initial reaction was to blame it on the cafeteria food. Because that is the source of all my problems in life. Not really. But for real… you can’t buy protein (or iron I’m sure) in that place. My daily diet consists of fat, grease, and completely overcooked green beans on days I feel like I want to attempt eating cafeteria vegetables. But I later found out that my addiction to sweet tea might actually be to blame. Did you know that tea has something called “tannin” in it which reduce’s the body’s absorption of iron? And seeing as I’d had at least three or four glasses of sweet tea in the 48 hours prior to attempting to give blood, I guess I really had no shot at all of getting an acceptable iron count. Sad day. I just love my sweet tea too much.

#3. Summer is coming up and I still don’t know if I’ll be in Spain, in Arkansas, in Kansas. I have no clue. I’m still waiting to hear back on an internship. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Not knowing. Not planning. Not worrying. (That last one was a joke for those of you who don’t quite understand my sarcastic sense of humor. I’m sure the internet doesn’t help with the translation from my brain to your brain either. Sorry about that.)

#4. I wrenched my back out of place yesterday. Want to know how? It was so dumb, I’m almost to embarrassed to tell y’all. I did it picking up a sock. Yeah… a teeny-tiny little sock. I was doing laundry and bent down to grab the sock I’d dropped and while I was stooped over I felt something in my lower back move, pinch, explode, whatever… excuse me for not knowing the exact scientific term. All I know is that whatever happened, it wasn’t right and now I feel old and pregnant… let me clarify. I now walk like a crotchety, lopsided old man because my left leg refuses to move the way it’s supposed to and whenever I bend over for something, I have to lean back like a pregnant woman sitting in a chair. Awesome. And to top it all off, I ended up losing a sock somewhere between the washer, the dryer and my laundry basket. How the heck does that happen? I checked everywhere for it and I could not find that daggum sock. This would happen to me.

#5. I want to make this.

Fourteen layer cake. I think it looks like fourteen layer heaven on a platter just for me! For real, I don’t think I can live much longer without baking and eating this in the very near future. I’ll let you know how it goes.

#6. I’m excited because I’m about to go get coffee with a great friend in about 30 minutes. There’s a new coffee shop in town that we both love. They’re kind of coffee snobs though and I always feel completely intimidated whenever I go in there because their menu overwhelms me. “Yes, I’ll have the caffe-mocha-brave-creamed-frappuccino with half a shot of caramel and extra foam.” That is sooo not me! Give me some black Folgers any day and I’m one happy girl. That’s not to say that I don’t like to try those fancy coffee drinks. I do. I just don’t know how to order them. So I go in to this place and tell the barista to surprise me and they make me whatever they want. It works out well. The best thing I’ve had so far is some sort of coffee in a huge mug over a scoop of vanilla ice cream with chocolate and caramel drizzled over the top of it all. It was delish. Probably very bad for me. But very delish.

And that is the end of Tuesday’s thoughts. I’m ending on a quote, unquote “uneven” number. Sorry if that bother’s y’all.

Have a great week!

kskristy

Praying naked

Faith is my life. I’d be nothing without the Big Man Upstairs and every essence of my being is rooted in him.

So, naturally I talk to him.

And I do it… NAKED. (There we go. Now I’ve got your attention!)

But for real, all of the above statements are true.

Two of my favorite places to pray are in my car while driving and in the shower.

I know most people sing in the shower, but I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, so I talk to God instead. It’s a pretty good trade.

And now because I am a blogger and bloggers like pictures and step-by-step processes, I’ll take you through the praying naked procedure.

Disclaimer: there will be no nudity in the following photos. Kskristy is family friendly!

Welcome to my bathroom.

Please ignore the girl with the bad posture. Crouching under a shower head made for people 5’5” and under for the past year has turned her into Quasimodo.

It’s a problem.

Welcome to my shower.

Normally, I put my towel on the shelf, strip and just hop right in without noticing any of the minutiae in the surrounding area. Which is why it surprised me to find this after I had been in the shower for almost a minute.

Paper?

In the shower?

What the heck?

Is this a joke?

April Fool’s is tomorrow…

Who would put paper in the shower as an April Fool’s joke?

That’s lame.

Says the girl who’s never pulled and April Fool’s prank in her life.

That’s lame.

Wait… why is there paper in my shower?

After cycling through my thought process as detailed above, I reached out and touched the paper. I was confused as to why it hadn’t disintegrated yet.

It was laminated.

Laminated paper?

In the shower?

What the heck?

Is this a joke?

April. Fool’s is tomorrow…

Just kidding!

I’m not that dense.

I read the notes on the paper and was surprised to see our hall’s spiritual enrichment activity for the month.

Praying naked.

My RA came up with a schedule to pray for one girl on our hall each day while we’re in the shower.

I like it.

And now I’m not the only one who prays in the shower!

I wonder if I could write a book about this? “The Sisterhood of the Naked Prayers”? or “BFFs (Butts, Friends and Faith) Forever”?

I think these could be big hits. Forget about college, I just need a publishing company.

Kidding, kidding.

Happy weekend y’all!

kskristy

1 2  Scroll to top