tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22538773176828299412024-02-07T20:00:40.469-05:00Haughty By NatureSimple Elegance. Sassy Attitude.Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.comBlogger243125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-6681437990946818022013-11-21T07:53:00.002-05:002013-11-21T07:53:36.473-05:00Hibernation 101, or Why I May Never Wear Real Pants AgainConfession: I recently scored a pair of velour leggings from TJ Maxx for $12.99.<br />
<br />
Double confession: Those, combined with my fake UGGs I recently found for $25 on ebay mean there's a high chance I may never leave the house again.<br />
<br />
For like, ever.<br />
<br />
Don't believe me? Check out the real-life text convo I had with my friend last night:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvbcMgyCs3zvFxFWRPz9N0QlbxhMmocAKpXVByk8HJ9JWsxEL4EZEkRU72J5tcd7nHhf-Li8bK8NfxTP6AsITJHb4g1LSu07eDCFHUjMe4GvumvvPeyTM4w4rr7HD961NLkni4rI2W8EZ/s1600/photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvbcMgyCs3zvFxFWRPz9N0QlbxhMmocAKpXVByk8HJ9JWsxEL4EZEkRU72J5tcd7nHhf-Li8bK8NfxTP6AsITJHb4g1LSu07eDCFHUjMe4GvumvvPeyTM4w4rr7HD961NLkni4rI2W8EZ/s320/photo.PNG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{source: my phone}</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Because while I may have found my home in North Carolina, I'm still a Florida girl when it comes to wintertime. Meaning: a big baby who thinks school should be cancelled if there's so much as a touch of frost on my car. (But seriously....I'm supposed to scrape ice off my car AND educate the underprivileged youth of America? One thing at a time, people. One. Thing. At. A. Time.)<br />
<br />
Plus, going out in the wintertime is a whole lot of effort for not a lot of fun. From what I remember, it goes a little something like this:<br />
<br />
11:00 pm: Arrive at bar. Spend 5-7 minutes taking off coat, scarf, and gloves.<br />
<br />
11:05 pm. Try to de-static your hair without being obvious. Fail miserably.<br />
<br />
11:06 pm. Realize that, despite the fact that winter seems to happen around the same time every year, bars in Charlotte refuse to have so much as a coat rack for you to hang your stuff on.<br />
<br />
11:06:30 pm: Pile your beautiful j. crew coat (that you got at a sample sale) with everyone else's on a sticky, questionable barstool.<br />
<br />
11:07 pm: Get a drink. Look back at the coat pile to make sure no one's "mistakenly" picked up your coat for theirs.<br />
<br />
11:07:05 pm: Look back at the coat pile.<br />
<br />
11:07:10 pm: Look back at the coat pile. Was that someone touching the j. crew? WAS IT?<br />
<br />
11:08 pm: Make eye contact with a cute guy. Smile.<br />
<br />
11:08:30 pm: Make eye contact with his fiance. Frown.<br />
<br />
11:09 pm: Look back at the coat pile.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And so on. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Then, after all that fun, what's there to do but wait for a cab while trying to ward off hypothermia? (But really. Does the cab population of America significantly decrease from November to March or is it just me?)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Spare me. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
You people enjoy your cab fare, frosty fingertips, and spare tire from all that egg nog. I'll be curled up in front of my fireplace, wrapped in velour and imitation sheepskin. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Oh, and as for all my real pants? They're hidden away until daylight savings ends. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
See you in the spring!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Ensleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479702789626077453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-36291621676223098432013-11-20T18:47:00.000-05:002013-11-20T18:47:24.688-05:0021 Days of Gratitude: Day 5 {Setting Goals and Letting Go}I've never been much of a goal setter.<br />
<br />
(Upon reading the previous sentence, my mother will promptly be doubled over with laughter and shouting "Now THAT'S an understatement!")<br />
<br />
But no one asked her.<br />
<br />
As an undergrad, when well-meaning people what I planned to do after college, my answer was generally along the lines of "I want to live in New York and work for a magazine." (I say "generally" because I tend to err on the side of non-committal.)<br />
<br />
And sure enough, I packed my bags and headed for the Big Apple Days after finishing my last class. I had a primo internship at Seventeen waiting for me, which I was sure would turn into a full time position faster than you can say "Was that Nina Garcia on the elevator with me?". (But seriously. I saw the back of her head once. From two stories up.)<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, that was 2009, when a teeny-tiny hiccup called the recession happened. Heard of it?<br />
<br />
Yeah. So...not only were magazines not hiring their interns, they were doing everything they could to merely keep their doors opened.<br />
<br />
Three years later, when well meaning people asked me what I planned to do after I finished Teach for America, my answer was generally along the lines of "Anything but teaching!" There may have also been a few expletives laced in there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LUgD7N62OqM2F0IwPOps9OfQa0vZgX8eng_MIPzjgWuhKnvDkEBnUyF-GjU6KwMoVJqa6_SawfPDh2sBOLvfarNptkEFj3kQDxhxtIuEA19a3k5KXG7WYvz-lRej2sjBSzOOH-f8ncoj/s1600/398035_10151342142536030_1072386478_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LUgD7N62OqM2F0IwPOps9OfQa0vZgX8eng_MIPzjgWuhKnvDkEBnUyF-GjU6KwMoVJqa6_SawfPDh2sBOLvfarNptkEFj3kQDxhxtIuEA19a3k5KXG7WYvz-lRej2sjBSzOOH-f8ncoj/s400/398035_10151342142536030_1072386478_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151342142536030&set=pb.83636976029.-2207520000.1384989318.&type=3&theater">{source}</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yet here I am, still a middle school special education teacher (albeit at a different school and back in Charlotte), and happier than ever.<br />
<br />
I understand the need to set goals. We all need to have a destination in mind, even if that destination seems very far away. But maybe setting goals is merely a stepping stone to letting go. Sure, I would have eventually gotten a job at a magazine, but it might have meant years of waitressing and interning that I simply wasn't willing to put in. When I let go of that goal, I was able to get to Charlotte, the first city (and I've lived in plenty) that's ever felt like home.<br />
<br />
Of course, Carrie always says it best:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhk-l4a7GZi5FzxaoFBFaUIiskY0d79wQ2zTG0EIO0qG_V9Qwoit2OcEQe1CAIyHGxRnQwS8i-fKT-MKWIkI8Tf_4ooZ73o33Xjpx-X9a523R9IwqCZSWAawS6iofMFZoLSEYfjlWX84P2/s1600/quote-about-maybe-out-mistakes-are-what-make-our-fate-and-shape-our-lives.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhk-l4a7GZi5FzxaoFBFaUIiskY0d79wQ2zTG0EIO0qG_V9Qwoit2OcEQe1CAIyHGxRnQwS8i-fKT-MKWIkI8Tf_4ooZ73o33Xjpx-X9a523R9IwqCZSWAawS6iofMFZoLSEYfjlWX84P2/s400/quote-about-maybe-out-mistakes-are-what-make-our-fate-and-shape-our-lives.jpg" width="328" /></a></div>
<br />
And while I have no idea what I'll be doing in five years, I hope it has something to do with writing and reading and children.<br />
<br />
The rest? I'm letting go.<br />
<br />Ensleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479702789626077453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-17949670141054311992013-11-19T06:56:00.000-05:002013-11-19T06:56:19.168-05:0021 Days of Gratitude: Day 4 {Body in Balance}Right out of college, I thought that "balance" meant the way that you divided up your free time.<br />
<br />
_____ amount of hours at work, _______ amount of hours to play. For work-life balance to be achieved, the numbers would be as close to each other as possible.<br />
<br />
Oh, younger self. (Shakes head.) Tsk tsk tsk.<br />
<br />
If only you knew.<br />
<br />
Now that I'm older and (only a tad bit) wiser, I know that "balance" is just the polite way of saying "How the @*$? am I going to get this all done today?"<br />
<br />
Seriously, though? I've taken to writing "shower" on my to-do list. And I'm more than a little ashamed that it doesn't always get checked off. (Look for this in a possible second post entitled "This Is Why I'm Single Part 4, 987.)<br />
<br />
Besides the hours I'm at work everyday, I try to accomplish a to-do list that looks something like this:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
1. Exercise</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
2. Feed/water pets</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
3. Feed/water self</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
4. Read</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
5. Shower</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
6. Write (ha!) </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
7. Clean something (doesn't matter what...just SOMETHING)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
8. Socialize with others humans (this is only on the list every few days)</div>
<br />
Most days, #1-3 get crossed off and then it's time for bed. Or I start Facebooking, which means I start defriending people who put up more than one engagement ring picture/sappy "I CAN'T WAIT TO MARRY MY BEST FRIEND" post per day. (But I'll save how I really feel for another post entitled "I'm Single and Wish You Were, Too".)<br />
<br />
Everyone's quest for the elusive "balance" is different. For me? It means saying no.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4e7-vA2S9t2JYzvqNMzuX0PLNsNoLsirVfVTBTJIFPnNOKiGmnAsTX4ZYZQl-QkT2mItSGrzXYg14J1pAOKuMNTVCnl5EdJ0RwEDNSA93SbMlNlSMukkF5Wyn4ynCOKClGIG1PKysu5Pw/s1600/art-of-saying-no-257x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4e7-vA2S9t2JYzvqNMzuX0PLNsNoLsirVfVTBTJIFPnNOKiGmnAsTX4ZYZQl-QkT2mItSGrzXYg14J1pAOKuMNTVCnl5EdJ0RwEDNSA93SbMlNlSMukkF5Wyn4ynCOKClGIG1PKysu5Pw/s400/art-of-saying-no-257x300.jpg" width="342" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://silver-crescent.com/posts/708/">{source}</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Since own personal nightmare is when I feel like I'm missing out on something fun somewhere, I tend to say "yes" to everything. Free tickets to a Panthers game? Yes. Book club? Heck yes. Another book club? Sure, why not? Drinks after the gym? Yes. Two nights in a row? Extra motivation. Babysitting after school? I'd love the extra cash. Tutoring on the weekends? More money to put towards <a href="http://www.thepreppyvegan.com/2013/10/barre-by-day-bar-by-night.html">Carolina Barre and Core</a>!<br />
<br />
Which results in a whirlwind of a week or two, at the end of which I'm up to my neck in piles of dirty laundry, my mom is calling the police to see if I'm still alive, and I can barely hold my eyes open.<br />
<br />
Despite my excitement at actually having stuff to do (unlike my two years in the sticks of North Carolina), I have to continually stop and remind myself to build in downtime to my days and weeks. And if turning down the occasional babysitting job means I don't have the extra cash for something social, then so be it.<br />
<br />
Maybe it'll even allow me to check "shower" off my list more often.<br />
<br />
Here's hoping!Ensleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479702789626077453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-46657212870563595062013-11-18T20:12:00.002-05:002013-11-18T20:12:57.429-05:0021 Days of Gratitude: Day 3 {A Driving Passion}<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3c3c3c; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><i>{Note to readers: I'm participating in a 21 Days of Gratitude Meditation Program, which you can access for free <a href="http://www.mentorschannel.com/LouieSchwartzberg/21DaysofGratitude/LandingPage2/" style="color: #003f7f; text-decoration: none;">here</a>.}</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3c3c3c; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><i><br /></i></span>
Yes, I recognize the irony that I wrote a blog on the <a href="http://www.haughtybynature.com/2013/11/21-days-of-gratitude-day-2-power-of.html">power of focus</a> and then stepped away from my computer for a week. (Like I said: those Frasier reruns don't watch themselves.)<br />
<br />
I was in a bit of a quarter-life crisis when I wrote those <a href="http://www.haughtybynature.com/2013/11/21-days-of-gratitude-day-2-power-of.html">first two blogs</a>. I was tired, cranky, and overwhelmed with the amount of work on my plate everyday. I was aggressively texting anyone who would listen that I no longer wanted to be a teacher. (When I say aggressive, I mean all-caps/depressing emojis sort of stuff. Not cool.)<br />
<br />
Then I woke up last Wednesday and read this in my meditation email:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px; line-height: 20px;">Today we look at the subject of passion. How do you know if you are following your passion?</span><br />
<ul style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px;">
<li style="margin-left: 15px;">You look forward to your work</li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;">You are incredibly happy</li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;">You feel fulfilled</li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;">You know success is imminent</li>
</ul>
<br />
I realized I needed to snap out of my self-absorbed pity party. My work <i>was</i> (and is!) incredibly fulfilling, while also being incredibly difficult.<br />
<br />
The bottom line: reading and writing are my passions. I'm lucky enough to wake up each day and have the chance to ignite that same passion into a group of rambunctious, hormonal middle schoolers. My kiddos face more challenges before breakfast than I have in my entire lifetime and yet continue to show up and give me 100% everyday. (It's not always my definition of 100%, but it'll do.)<br />
<br />
No, it's not honors English. No, we aren't debating the nuances of contemporary literature. But more often than not, we are getting absorbed into the world of language and books and storytelling. <br />
<br />
Yes, sometimes the kids drive me so crazy that I literally have to bite my lip from saying something I regret. (Sometimes I still say it.) I have mounds of papers on my desk that I will throw away rather than grade and parents whose numbers are in my phone that I still haven't reached out to. Everytime I do something well, I have to acknowledge there are still about 10,000 things I could be doing better.<br />
<br />
On my best days, I laugh and high-five and hold back tears at the end of a beautiful book. And on my worst days, I go to bed knowing I'm at least attempting to make a positive difference in our world.<br />
<br />
And in the end? I don't think one can find much more passion than that.Ensleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479702789626077453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-49802120284254207122013-11-06T07:20:00.000-05:002013-11-06T07:20:40.096-05:0021 Days of Gratitude: Day 2 {The Power of Focus}<i>{Note to readers: I'm participating in a 21 Days of Gratitude Meditation Program, which you can access for free <a href="http://www.mentorschannel.com/LouieSchwartzberg/21DaysofGratitude/LandingPage2/">here</a>.}</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I'm not sure what the opposite of focused is called (blurry?) but I'm it.<br />
<br />
Case in point: On the weekends, I'll make myself a short, run-of-the-mill to-do list with a mix of chores and school work. Fold laundry. Take out trash. Read next chapter in book for Language Arts.<br />
<br />
The only problem is that my brain works something like this:<br />
<br />
Example 1:<br />
10:19 am: Fold two tank tops.<br />
10:20 am: Wonder if Target has fake UGG boots. Drop laundry and walk to computer.<br />
10:23 am: Realize Target does not, in fact, have fake UGG boots and spend an hour gettin' feisty on Google.<br />
11:30 am: Look around living room and think "WHY IS THERE STILL SO MUCH LAUNDRY TO FOLD?"<br />
<br />
Example 2:<br />
4:01 pm: Decide bathroom and office trash cans need to be taken out.<br />
4:02 pm: Walk into bathroom. Forget why you were there.<br />
4:03 pm: Decide to self-tan to eliminate pasty-white winter skin.<br />
4:10 pm: Remember you were in the bathroom to take out the trash, but now you're covered in self-tanner and the back of the bottle says not to touch anything for an hour.<br />
<br />
(Maybe my memoir should be called "The Brain of a Hummingbird: How to Stay Busy Without Actually Accomplishing Anything".)<br />
<br />
To me, the power of focus really comes down to the <b>power of saying no</b>. For instance, I told myself I wanted to spend this past weekend cooking, blogging and doing a small amount of school work. Then I decided to spend my Sunday at the Carolina Panthers football game.<br />
<br />
Fun? Yes. Worth spending the rest of the week trying to play catch-up? No.<br />
<br />
Other things I need to say no to on a regular basis: Facebook, television, randomly surfing the internet (fake Uggs or no).<br />
<br />
After two years of living in the middle of nowhere, it's also hard for me to turn down social invitations (it's just so <i>exciting</i> to have something to do!), even though they can sometimes distract from my focus.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
My two goals for the week: </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
1} Choose one task at a time, and complete it before I start another. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
2} Say no to at least one distraction each day.</div>
<br />
In short: less hummingbird, more zen.<br />
<br />
Where can you improve your focus for the week?Ensleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479702789626077453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-74884300418026947602013-11-05T07:33:00.001-05:002013-11-05T07:33:11.826-05:0021 Days of Gratitude: Day 1 {Finding Your Purpose}<i>{Note to readers: I'm participating in a 21 Days of Gratitude Meditation Program, which you can access for free <a href="http://www.mentorschannel.com/LouieSchwartzberg/21DaysofGratitude/LandingPage2/">here</a>. }</i><br />
<br />
Ah, <i>purpose.</i> The word that brings up the "why am I here/what am I doing with my life" questions. (Aka, the mantra of your 20s. )<br />
<br />
Generally, I've already asked myself these things before I've finished my first cup of coffee. (Now, I may not know much, but I'm pretty sure no one should discover their purpose before the first 80mg of caffeine hits their veins in the morning.)<br />
<br />
I've never been that person who's been on the straight and narrow path since childhood. While some people have always known they've wanted to be teachers, doctors, lawyers, stay-at-home moms, etc, I've just been hoping for my parents to reveal the fact that I have a secret trust fund and therefore will never have to work another day in my life.<br />
<br />
(Still keeping my fingers crossed for that one.)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzpQvh6XMG0NjPm2phdXo7wFcf-WdUJw7VokH6ZzpolqtX_C9Xg7803IJ0ekijZljJ2og_S5XTf8LhpN3F-uVCRO49vUh0hRqJOdbQiHln2Gx5QqfjYRYySwxK5204X0wO6y4jv7jHR_3_/s1600/live-your-life-on-purpose-BLOG1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzpQvh6XMG0NjPm2phdXo7wFcf-WdUJw7VokH6ZzpolqtX_C9Xg7803IJ0ekijZljJ2og_S5XTf8LhpN3F-uVCRO49vUh0hRqJOdbQiHln2Gx5QqfjYRYySwxK5204X0wO6y4jv7jHR_3_/s400/live-your-life-on-purpose-BLOG1.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sarahjanestudios.com/blog/2011/07/live-your-life-on-purpose-free-pdf/">{source}</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So the real question is: if I do have to show up to work everyday, what is it exactly that I want to be <i>doing</i>?<br />
<br />
In todays <a href="http://www.mentorschannel.com/LouieSchwartzberg/21DaysofGratitude/Program/">meditation</a>, Tim Kelley asks: what is something that you do that seems to make time stop? My answer: reading, writing, cooking. (Reading and writing about cooking also counts.)<br />
<br />
I feel lucky that I get to teach reading all day, since it's truly something I'm passionate about. But I also find myself watching the clock during the school day, and saying things like "only one more class to go"! Not exactly Chapter 1 in "The Purpose-Driven Life."<br />
<br />
When I was in Teach for America, I was too busy to worry about my purpose. My energy was totally devoted to getting myself out of bed and making it through the day. Now that I'm an alum and back in Charlotte, I have more time to myself and more to enjoy outside of work. And while teaching is fulfilling, it's not something I think I'll be able to do in the long term. (Because seriously? Some days I am just not.in.the.mood.)<br />
<br />
In my ideal job, I don't count down the days to Friday. I have flexibility in my day and a good mix of time to myself and interaction with others. I can mix my passions of reading, writing, and vegan food into some sort of money-making venture.<br />
<br />
Now if I only had the first clue how to do that, I'd be set.<br />
<br />
<br />Ensleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479702789626077453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-65649565234904403432013-08-08T06:00:00.000-04:002013-08-08T06:00:11.936-04:00Haute Reads: The Lions of Little RockSo cancelling my cable? <div>
<br /><div>
Best choice ever. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Last summer I wasted many a precious day wandering in and out of conciousness as the Food Network droned on in front of me. I'm not really sure where all the hours of every day went, but I can tell you where they didn't go: towards reading, writing, or any sort of social interaction. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cancelling cable was going to be my excuse to finally make a dent in the endless "to read" lists I create on GoodReads that never seem to get any smaller. Plus, now that I'm back in the big city (after a loooong two years in rural North Carolina) I also have the power of a library that is able to aquire books relatively soon after they've been published. (By "relatively soon" I mean at all.) <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gzWUyJjZvpplAZ7SoEOHPk0GZ7Jc37S9bK9st-tL9dKxTF2-AKXm0GShW9HXUAZeVfV9TRrorSOaotnRT47102w_GWGCOiL_5FlnDddxUs2zBvtfSmltmembw3n2sqNoGn7UODn0iFFl/s1600/Picture+6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3gzWUyJjZvpplAZ7SoEOHPk0GZ7Jc37S9bK9st-tL9dKxTF2-AKXm0GShW9HXUAZeVfV9TRrorSOaotnRT47102w_GWGCOiL_5FlnDddxUs2zBvtfSmltmembw3n2sqNoGn7UODn0iFFl/s400/Picture+6.png" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.parkroadbooks.com/book/9780142424353">(image)</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
One of the first books on my list: <a href="http://www.parkroadbooks.com/book/9780142424353">The Lions of Little Rock by Kristen Levine</a>. Recommended by a fellow middle school Language Arts teacher (so you know that shiz is good), it's the story of two junior high students the year after the Little Rock Nine integrated into Central High School in Arkansas. Before I read this, I really only knew the basics of what went on in Little Rock in 1957: Nine African-American students. Integration. Mass chaos. I had no idea that the very next year, high schools in Little Rock closed <i>for the entire year</i> rather than allow integration, forcing most families to send their high schoolers elsewhere to attend school. (Seriously, people?)<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But I digress. Since I wouldn't do it justice, here's the blurb from <a href="http://www.parkroadbooks.com/book/9780142424353">Park Road Books</a>:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #494949; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #494949; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">As twelve-year-old Marlee starts middle school in 1958 Little Rock, it feels like her whole world is falling apart. Until she meets Liz, the new girl at school. Liz is everything Marlee wishes she could be: she's brave, brash and always knows the right thing to say. But when Liz leaves school without even a good-bye, the rumor is that Liz was caught passing for white. Marlee decides that doesn't matter. She just wants her friend back. And to stay friends, Marlee and Liz are even willing to take on segregation and the dangers their friendship could bring to both their families.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Here's my description: freaking tear jerker. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Let me put it this way: I read. A lot. There are very few books that inspire me, much less move me. This book? Caused me to wipe away silent tears with one hand while I balanced my hardcover in the other. It was <i>that</i> good. Reading about middle schoolers not only reminds me of how I experienced the world at that age, but also how much more my students can handle than I give them credit for. Marlee and Liz are rare finds among young female characters these days: smart, rebellious, and vulnerable. They're as concerned about social justice as they are what other people think of them. (That's probably saying a lot for anyone, much less middle schoolers.) </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So I'm one book down, about five hundred to go. And I haven't missed cable once. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Find your copy at an independent bookstore like<a href="http://www.parkroadbooks.com/book/9780142424353"> Park Road Books</a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Ensleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479702789626077453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-80106121874949895242013-07-24T07:59:00.003-04:002013-07-24T07:59:49.707-04:0029/31 by Garfunkel and OatesHappy Wednesday, everyone!<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/H-gfxjAaZg0" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Ensleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479702789626077453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-71785288477656618642013-04-02T20:42:00.000-04:002013-04-02T20:42:00.857-04:00RHOC: They're Baaaaaack!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And as bitchy as ever. (Thank God.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I can't really explain why, but <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/the-real-housewives-of-orange-county">Real Housewives of Orange County</a> has always been my favorite of the franchise. (Plus there was that day that Heather Dubrow retweeted <a href="http://www.haughtybynature.com/2012/06/rhoc-did-you-just-bite-my-bow.html">this link</a> and made my life complete forever.) </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
No matter that most of them are always in some sort of financial trouble and probably have about as much money in the bank as I do (minus my BFF Dubrow, obvi), I can't get enough. Maybe I'm jealous that they're constantly drinking white wine while overlooking the Pacific. Maybe I love to see whose face can change the most from season to season. Like all of the best things in life, it's a mystery. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Speaking of face changes, my least favorite OC Housewife Vicki (oh wait, my second to least favorite...I forgot about Alexis) has gone and gotten herself a chin implant, or what I like to call a "chimplant". </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Whatever you call it, it's bad. Real bad. Just look at Gretchie-poo's face when she sees it:</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjjkwZpicfdz2BlQ8af_r15fgKSoi4ZZ_7zYsAbOvYeTT8_lKK6QkcAD147-OuY4KAo33YUz7wVVF7zPy7ibRCZN0nqM9mnEwnSJur5fRTsCjtT2pBQZz2n0mz11yiXN5bjZq2Ru7-Fgl/s1600/Picture+8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjjkwZpicfdz2BlQ8af_r15fgKSoi4ZZ_7zYsAbOvYeTT8_lKK6QkcAD147-OuY4KAo33YUz7wVVF7zPy7ibRCZN0nqM9mnEwnSJur5fRTsCjtT2pBQZz2n0mz11yiXN5bjZq2Ru7-Fgl/s400/Picture+8.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Source: <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/the-real-housewives-of-orange-county/season-8/photos/show-shots/rhoc-returns-with-vicki-as-a-grandma">Bravo</a>}</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Um...yeah. It probably didn't help that that Vicki's first scene of the season was of her make-up free and moving furniture. Ouch.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlAD13O4Nwr_4-BZHQehMmdKErHr0m9Cy7zLkJRx-LEq4YWiwpP-wwxjwCO2zz3kOK-_Xc_eOcyulpbniKAV8ADscTKFMIOGt6H81lVzpvDcUypPC_4dAJT18X1L-U7ZKqWovFtSqH_cK/s1600/Picture+7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlAD13O4Nwr_4-BZHQehMmdKErHr0m9Cy7zLkJRx-LEq4YWiwpP-wwxjwCO2zz3kOK-_Xc_eOcyulpbniKAV8ADscTKFMIOGt6H81lVzpvDcUypPC_4dAJT18X1L-U7ZKqWovFtSqH_cK/s400/Picture+7.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Source: <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/the-real-housewives-of-orange-county/season-8/photos/show-shots/rhoc-returns-with-vicki-as-a-grandma">Bravo</a>}</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Since I'm pretty sure production gave her a heads up as to when they would start filming, I have no idea why her faced hadn't "settled" (aka calmed the hell down) by the time she was appearing on the show. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thought to give her credit, she did look A LOT better that night on WWHL:<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe frameborder="0" height="240" scrolling="no" src="http://www.bravotv.com/video/embed/?/_vid2636487" width="450"></iframe><br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
</tbody></table>
But still. (Shudders).<br />
<br />
Everyone's favorite <strike>intellectuals</strike> wannabes made a (thankfully) short appearance, but still long enough for Jim to remind us all that he controls everything that Alexis does and wears! How sweet.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9b70OODvY3afCJ-xvviaFD9pcwTOiLMTLCcvq2iGErGtW_DoSLrHL39Q-FfcKFfJF5GGUzwStnusx3bM6KFMpH1vuebU-xtx6Wb_UF9wCRStHJhedr2UFsc06mrlaQgUUR_erW41DrmuY/s1600/Picture+12.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9b70OODvY3afCJ-xvviaFD9pcwTOiLMTLCcvq2iGErGtW_DoSLrHL39Q-FfcKFfJF5GGUzwStnusx3bM6KFMpH1vuebU-xtx6Wb_UF9wCRStHJhedr2UFsc06mrlaQgUUR_erW41DrmuY/s400/Picture+12.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just laugh and back away slowly. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Honestly, it was sort of the same-old, same old, until...wait...<br />
<br />
....did somebody say FABULOUS?<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ihY6Zg5iSNOjUt_zbS92bpHKDvdgL3cyGAcRqbqCZBR57CTL58u9TsG-2NEYV_P880xylQBlrsiGj9-wnckFbiAF1n8zsrGSTvF265hkTl3sDvsPVTYIMY8n88gEmfEwBQxn0vTJWDFw/s1600/Picture+9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ihY6Zg5iSNOjUt_zbS92bpHKDvdgL3cyGAcRqbqCZBR57CTL58u9TsG-2NEYV_P880xylQBlrsiGj9-wnckFbiAF1n8zsrGSTvF265hkTl3sDvsPVTYIMY8n88gEmfEwBQxn0vTJWDFw/s400/Picture+9.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{Source: <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/the-real-housewives-of-orange-county/season-8/photos/show-shots/rhoc-returns-with-vicki-as-a-grandma">Bravo</a>}</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Mrs. Dubrow is still the most faboosh of the group, natch. Why couldn't they cut the scene of Vicki moving couches and let us see more of her party planning?<br />
<br />
Until next week, when we'll see Vicki and Tamra's confrontation at (where else?) Heather's party. Dun dun dun....<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Ensleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479702789626077453noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-58187685623767632902013-04-02T08:54:00.000-04:002013-04-02T08:54:13.390-04:00Easter in Edenton<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Confession: It's been a few years since I celebrated Easter (cue the lighting striking me down). </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
There, I said it. Like most holidays, it's just not the same to celebrate it without your family. (Plus, the pastel eggs and bunnies creep me out in a major way.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This year, my friend/neighbor Megan and her sorority sister Katie would be in town for the weekend, which gave me a good excuse to <strike>take off my sweatpants</strike> make Easter plans. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Plans which involved church, vegan pancakes, and lots and lots of champagne. #duh</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjF9EgVs3SWn4T43IgLUOxlnboaemts6JTI0cfpeoSPo4YPrp6XDrSfgRYxr6UWr_D0uPwZpuIYTjZ_vlHIBLs_00EDo1C78d_Sh0610DxdJV47u16VUiQW9COdJdoEXjUia3SxbsttrE/s1600/IMG_9177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjF9EgVs3SWn4T43IgLUOxlnboaemts6JTI0cfpeoSPo4YPrp6XDrSfgRYxr6UWr_D0uPwZpuIYTjZ_vlHIBLs_00EDo1C78d_Sh0610DxdJV47u16VUiQW9COdJdoEXjUia3SxbsttrE/s400/IMG_9177.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From top left: Megan and Katie, mimosa cheers, the sexy chefs, monogrammed wine coozies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
After talking Megs out of attending the sunrise service (child, please), we crammed into the 11 o'clock, where we were so late we sat on folding chairs with nary a prayer book or hymnal. (Oops.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Afterwards, we set about making brunch. And by "making brunch", I mean we drank buckets of mimosas while I made really terrible vegan pancakes that took about 30 minutes to cook...each. (Not joking.) When finished, they tasted a bit like rubber from the bottom of a shoe. (But we covered them with syrup and ate them anyways.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Megan and I, being the small town folk that we are, continued to squeal "This is so <i>FUN</i>!" <strike>like losers</strike> at three minute intervals while our guest looked on patiently. (We're easily entertained.) By mid-afternoon, we were sprawled on the couch, full and happy. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"So...what should we do now?" asked Katie.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Megan and I glanced at each other. Erm....ha ha, well....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is sort of it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
More champagne?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Ensleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479702789626077453noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-73816604560848158032013-03-26T08:00:00.000-04:002013-04-08T14:53:01.887-04:00A Drive-by Listen...50 Shades of Grey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Ok, I'll admit it: I'm a follower. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Never the first one to jump on the bandwagon for anything, I wait until 99% of America has read/watched/worn something before I go along with it. (Examples: Facebook. Mad Men. Skinny jeans.) </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
To hasten my downward spiral into Loserville: Fifty Shades of Grey. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As someone who rolled her eyes throughout the first two Twilight books and then gave up on reading the series altogether, my lame-o follower tendencies don't usually pertain in the book department. While I <i>need </i>people to help me navigate clothing trends, reading is pretty much the only thing I've been naturally good at since the age of 5. I'm Olympic level, really. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But seriously. I just <b>had</b> to know what all the fuss was about. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWqPlweXs9i4rgYl2cp1f5GYM6gslxWcNlfc9iQ6Y4lpbtK1AiApWNc0oyuM1f_Pn6AZwrwsL5gZ_mW7bDGilfNavcloIIvtPF_B-0zC3FMHasXiEzDk-Uu-GZAbrjeYOTG7Ag-oGtOE/s1600/220px-50ShadesofGreyCoverArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWqPlweXs9i4rgYl2cp1f5GYM6gslxWcNlfc9iQ6Y4lpbtK1AiApWNc0oyuM1f_Pn6AZwrwsL5gZ_mW7bDGilfNavcloIIvtPF_B-0zC3FMHasXiEzDk-Uu-GZAbrjeYOTG7Ag-oGtOE/s400/220px-50ShadesofGreyCoverArt.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
Since I have a 30 minute, rural-highway commute to work, I made the <u>super</u> unwise choice to download it on audio book.<br />
<br />
Huge mistake, y'all. <i>Huge.</i><br />
<br />
First of all, whoever they had read this book realllly likes to annuncia<i>te</i> the la<i>st</i> consona<i>nt</i> of ever<i>y</i> sing<i>le</i> wo<i>rd</i>. Plus, I get that the character is really Bella from Twilight, and I <i>despise</i> Bella from Twilight. This whole "I'm completely awkward and nerdy and all the boys are miraculously in love with me" thing is getting old. I've been awkward and nerdy for the past 26 years, and no sexy vampires or bajillionare CEOs are knocking down my door.<br />
<br />
Just saying.<br />
<br />
And, while some of this story might be sexy, it's a whole other ball game when you are <i>listening to someone read it.</i> (The word "gross" comes to mind.)<br />
<br />
But that obviously didn't stop me, since on a recent trip from Charlotte to Edenton I m-a-y have been listening to it when I got pulled over for a speeding ticket. A "going 60 in a 45 zone" speeding ticket.<br />
<br />
If I could have spoken through my tears, here's what I would have said:<br />
<br />
<i>My bad, officer. See, I was, uh, a teensy bit distracted. See there's this thing called a "Red Room of Pain" that Anna was going into. It's not really painful, per se, if you're into that sort of thing. Not that I'm asking if you're into that sort of thing. Anyways, they just went in there and he's making her say "Yes, sir" and "No, sir" to him like he's, well, a police officer or something. And not only is she a really annoying character, but I find this whole submissive thing very strange. I mean, what about women's lib and all that? Is this what we've been reduced to? Saying "Yes, sir" and getting smacked with riding crops? What would Susan B. Anthony say? And how the heck are they going to make this into a movie without it being rated X? I really don't get it. Anyways, needless to say I COMPLETELY missed that 45 mph sign back there, but I promise not to do it again. (Smiles.) Did I mention I'm a Special Education teacher? </i><br />
<br />
E.L. James? You owe me $218.00.<br />
<br />
And my dignity.<br />
<br />
<br />Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-25919081308868232412013-03-25T19:14:00.000-04:002013-03-25T19:14:10.715-04:00Follow Your ArrowThere's a few obvious differences between a twenty-first birthday party and a twenty-seventh birthday party, namely: <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
#1: At your twenty-seventh birthday, guests are gone by midnight, at which point you've also wiped down the counters and taken out the recycling. (Note: you are completely ok with this.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
#2: There's neither a keg or shot glass in sight, but your own parents might ask where the beer pong table is located. (Answer: not here.)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZNsqe05tFWGoo9ItjvEBUYHZ_Ez5-0khPfcffO-k96DfMMOTzjHbmXnhPk7NCHCWmFI59ZuOobDzB7xfzrKIpEhDw1axHSikUKF7xV2rCqSuT2UPI0bV1DJR8Px25ubZ414yrOqzoss/s1600/photo-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZNsqe05tFWGoo9ItjvEBUYHZ_Ez5-0khPfcffO-k96DfMMOTzjHbmXnhPk7NCHCWmFI59ZuOobDzB7xfzrKIpEhDw1axHSikUKF7xV2rCqSuT2UPI0bV1DJR8Px25ubZ414yrOqzoss/s320/photo-3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, the 'rents, and a very clever balloon #wheresthebeerpong</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
#3: Not only do the cops not show up, but you don't give them a <i>reason</i> to. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Obviously I have a few things to improve upon in the party-planning department in the next 363 days. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On the other hand, after two years of living out in the sticks, I had a <i>lot</i> more leverage when asking (more like begging) my friends to drive up from Charlotte and Charleston to come and celebrate with me.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
By "leverage", I mean I may have said something similar to this:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>I mean, I'm turning 27 and I live an hour and a half away from a Target and you guys are all married or have boyfriends and I'm probably going to die alone because all the guys out here wear camo as their everyday clothing and I have to look at people with feathered bangs on a daily basis and...</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
You get the picture. It was embarrassing. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But it worked. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kVT0WMkdKqQV0M8ri1VjA6QWh46Xp64zgTqiTr8Zq8MoNdVp3oNR6XKn5QCr6g3AI6TzwPc6rF05F19XvgC2AFU_FU7J3PcRBwGiIPJU55b8YFmfhMWqDaJq6wRrq6uoSqINuP43EJQ/s1600/209001_10103355238871221_1539145689_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kVT0WMkdKqQV0M8ri1VjA6QWh46Xp64zgTqiTr8Zq8MoNdVp3oNR6XKn5QCr6g3AI6TzwPc6rF05F19XvgC2AFU_FU7J3PcRBwGiIPJU55b8YFmfhMWqDaJq6wRrq6uoSqINuP43EJQ/s320/209001_10103355238871221_1539145689_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Devil eyes courtesy of iPhone flash #yourewelcome</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Even Royar from <a href="http://www.youngsouthernprep.com/">My Life As a Young Southern Prep</a> made an appearance...(it helps that she's my cousin)...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiASKTpizxW34BEsR0K6RyIa8XyFMuCx16D5ZJePMC6YJrOs-EeOyHDXCo7BY5jvDZQ2QR6y72h68JcBMYik3izynx4v4efrA2AToMbMmK_xUjYiQnnvraVwi9x6UTA73P88ae0bEfHWA4/s1600/Picture+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiASKTpizxW34BEsR0K6RyIa8XyFMuCx16D5ZJePMC6YJrOs-EeOyHDXCo7BY5jvDZQ2QR6y72h68JcBMYik3izynx4v4efrA2AToMbMmK_xUjYiQnnvraVwi9x6UTA73P88ae0bEfHWA4/s320/Picture+4.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In fact, with all of the out of town guests and local friends that showed up to the Castle de Haughty on Saturday night, I'd say we had nearly 1/4 of Edenton's population concentrated in one place. (Not joking.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My beautiful friend Louann threw me an amazing post-birthday brunch Sunday morning, which pretty much made me feel like a celeb and cemented her as Edenton's premier party planner. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The fact that 99% of my presents were either monogrammed or Lilly (sometimes both) only continues to prove my point that 27 equals #winning. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCMH2xrMw46737sqpfvji7bQ482nFtEpWFwK0nnMnpBGMPBiSAMaddrHOkzQkeKjUgYX30E02mXp_b8JZ_pIiqMfcfYiwYgaI0Ns-UrXT3-D2k7NM8j22eTR9fFTSP6ObQ9aVxpydidc/s1600/photo-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCMH2xrMw46737sqpfvji7bQ482nFtEpWFwK0nnMnpBGMPBiSAMaddrHOkzQkeKjUgYX30E02mXp_b8JZ_pIiqMfcfYiwYgaI0Ns-UrXT3-D2k7NM8j22eTR9fFTSP6ObQ9aVxpydidc/s320/photo-4.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you can't get married, throw a 27th birthday party. But really.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And speaking of #winning, I'll send you off with my new obsession/theme song, courtesy of Kasey Musgraves: </div>
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/k0yyIeLo1hU" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
Follow your arrow, wherever it points.<br />
<br />
HbN</div>
Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-66996258289396955192012-12-13T17:56:00.001-05:002012-12-13T17:56:04.768-05:00Please Stop Staring at My...StackSo...I took a mental health day from work today. Which probably benefited the students as much as it did me, since I find myself saying things like this...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGq8hg1algk1bTtuhCd_ANQY5zlECa5IOTytjOiJwdexDH6CsyEKvEoo55VGYZ0wCoZyPTG4ThW4JQ5utqT2hCoWPVVMZlLBY-tMaeYZDenHt766lQkBFBjkeUrHk6klBUDw_4jvLOBw/s1600/Unhelpful-High-School-Teacher-on-bathroom-breaks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGq8hg1algk1bTtuhCd_ANQY5zlECa5IOTytjOiJwdexDH6CsyEKvEoo55VGYZ0wCoZyPTG4ThW4JQ5utqT2hCoWPVVMZlLBY-tMaeYZDenHt766lQkBFBjkeUrHk6klBUDw_4jvLOBw/s400/Unhelpful-High-School-Teacher-on-bathroom-breaks.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
...on a far too frequent basis. Among other things.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
First on my list? Pancakes for breakfast, pajamas until 2:00, and hours and hours of Downton Abbey. (Puh-LEASE remind me why I wasn't born with a trust fund so that I could make this a daily habit? Sigh.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Eventually, I realized that if my roommates came home and found me, they may have though I was teetering on the border of depression and despair. I needed to get dressed. I needed to get out of bed. I needed human interaction. (I also needed a drink, but I figured that wouldn't look good when the roommates got home either.) So I ran a brush through my hair, slapped on a headband and some semblance of an outfit, and decided to walk downtown. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wandered into our little local library and had just pulled "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel" off the fiction shelves when a tall, 30-something year old man in a windbreaker walked past me, did a double take, and meandered over to me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Really?</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What book you got there?" he asked nonchalantly. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Well, by the words on this here cover I'm going to say it's called "T-h-e B-e-s-t E-x-o-t-i-c M-a-r-i-g-o-l-d H-o-t-e-l". You can go away now. "</i>It's called the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel," I said, trying not to roll my eyes. Why can't Ryan Gosling look-a-likes ever have this reaction to me?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"See, I might write this title down. You say this is a good book?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Well, seeing as how I'm pulling it off the shelf in the </i>library<i>, I haven't actually </i>read<i> it. I bet it's better than standing here and talking to you though. "</i>I'm not sure. I guess I'll find out."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He (amazingly) continued: "See, what I'm going to do is write this down. 'Cuz I'm not from around here, I'm just staying with my mother while she's sick, see. So what I'm going to do is write this down, and then when I come back I'm going to check it out."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Me: Nodding. Just. Keep. Nodding. <i>Please, please, PLEASE stop talking.</i> </div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>"</i>See, my mom wants me to move here, but I'm like, there's nothing to DO around here. You gotta go to Elizabeth City to get something to EAT, you gotta go to Virginia just to have a little FUN, I'm like 'I can't move here, mom'". </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Not engaging in conversation. Not engaging in conversation.</i>"....Yeah. Well, good luck finding a book!" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Dude: "Hold up, let me go and get a pen and paper." </div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Oh. Hell. No. </i>As soon as he disappeared I shoved the book back on the shelf and bolted. Unfortunately, there's a thing you need to know about small libraries: there's not many places to bolt to, especially from weirdos who live with their mom. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'd gotten through a few aisles and managed to collect the following...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMEd_sKejNFNNq_BCzUrOUkKL6VUnZwGPUDNo4iq4XOymNxPDdPO6XVeyQnJg1XaHtK9zdwKrw7Z2nuK8QstfP8Qf1DrccXiD4kxq58JT4Ar18FliVzupK5uARDIvikZlyJYg2iy4w_Y/s1600/546821_10103002729892041_2127328759_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMEd_sKejNFNNq_BCzUrOUkKL6VUnZwGPUDNo4iq4XOymNxPDdPO6XVeyQnJg1XaHtK9zdwKrw7Z2nuK8QstfP8Qf1DrccXiD4kxq58JT4Ar18FliVzupK5uARDIvikZlyJYg2iy4w_Y/s320/546821_10103002729892041_2127328759_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's difficult being so intelligent and well read. Really.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
...when I heard the familiar swish of his windbreaker as he strolled towards me. <i>Sigh. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
He LITERALLY had a pen and paper in his hand. "What was the name of that book again?" I told him (for the third time). He gazed at my Positive Discipline book. "Why are you reading that?' he asked as he tenderly stroked the spine. (The book's, not mine.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>I am SO not having this conversation slash I do not want you to have any inkling of where I am employed. </i>This is the part where desperation took over: "I...um...I have a teenager. Yep. I'm a mom! She's twelve. My daughter. I mean thirteen. I'm a mom!" I blubbered.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Low point. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Dude (nodding his head empathetically): "Wow. You have a <i>teenager</i>? I can't believe it. Wow. Well good for you, being all positive discipline and all. I mean, the world is a tough place these days. I mean, take me for instance. I'm not here trying to hit on you, though you are definitely attractive." He chose that moment to lean in verrry close and whisper: "I like <i>black women."</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Well that settles it. I don't like freakazoids that probably have skin suits in their basements, and you don't like Caucasians. What a shame! Good thing there's plenty of fish in the <strike>library</strike> sea! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is what I get for leaving the house. #neveragain</div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-63937089298688479132012-09-03T10:01:00.001-04:002012-09-03T10:02:06.046-04:00Readin', Writin', and Relationship StatusI spent the last two weeks of August furiously preparing my classroom for new students. (Yes, T. and J. are among them.) I stapled things to bulletin boards. I organized books by content and reading level. I ordered journals and a carpet for my reading area (thanks, Donors Choose!). I planned lessons on goal setting and perseverance. And after all that, I've discovered the one thing that gets my students more excited to learn than anything else.<br />
<br />
The fact that I'm single.<br />
<br />
In my 6th grade class, I overheard a whispered "Ms. G ain't got no boyfriend? I bet she wants to be married. I KNOW womens."<br />
<br />
The first thing J. asked me when he walked in was "Ms. G, you still lonely?" (By "lonely", he meant single. So I guess the only correct answer is yes. Please excuse me while I jump off the nearest building.)<br />
<br />
My 7th graders informed me that I'm going to "have to get used to dating rednecks" if I ever wanted to find someone. This was in the middle of our goal-setting lesson, which I guess is fitting since it's my goal to never, ever date a redneck.<br />
<br />
My 8th graders asked why I'd noted in my syllabus that parents should call me before 8pm if they needed to reach me on my cell phone.<br />
<br />
<i>"SHE GOTTA TALK TO HER BOYFRIEND AT 8PM, Y'ALL!" shouted one of my girls. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Ms. G ain't got no boyfriend, fool!" replied another girl. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Oh, then why we can't call you after 8pm Ms. G?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Perhaps because (and I know this is hard to believe) I need at least an hour a day when I'm not thinking about work. Shocking, I know.<br />
<i><br /></i>
Sigh. Did I mention we've only gotten through the first week?<br />
<br />Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-49427358940839169972012-08-02T08:05:00.006-04:002012-08-02T08:05:55.201-04:00Sorry for PartyingI guess most of us don't escape adolescence without a little tarnish on our precious halos.<br />
<br />
For some, it's those teased bangs that you insisted were still in long after everyone else was buying flat irons. Or putting off breaking up with your boyfriend because you really needed a date for Semi-formal.<br />
<br />
Mine just happens to be an teensy-weensy, insignificant run-in with the law.<br />
<br />
<i>Believe it, y'all. </i><br />
<br />
It's not like I'm not some hardened criminal, but I <i>did</i> happen to take a sip of a cranberry and vodka while underage....and right in front of an undercover officer. Apparently a "My bad, yo!" when they confronted me wasn't sufficient.<br />
<br />
Plus I'm a scaredy-cat and 'fessed up quick. That didn't seem to help, either.<br />
<br />
(How embarrassing was it that I was drinking cranberry and vodka? I might as well have just tattooed UNDERAGE on my forehead. Lame.)<br />
<br />
Anyways, ever since that fateful night seven years ago, I have to check "yes" on any job or school application that asks me whether or not I've ever been charged with a misdemeanor. Then not only do I have to cough up cash for a background check, but also submit a "written explanation" of the incident to whatever institution is reviewing my application.<br />
<br />
It usually goes something like this:<br />
<i>"On the night of October 5, 2005, I took a sip of a friend's alcoholic drink while at a Homecoming event. I was promptly escorted outside by an undercover officer, where I was arrested and charged with underage drinking. I pleaded no contest, completed 8.5 hours of community service, and the charges were dropped."</i><br />
<br />
How much of a loser do I sound like?<br />
<br />
Here's what it should actually say:<br />
<i>"Well, Dear Reader, I was pretty devastated because I was on social probation from my sorority after getting caught taking tequila shots in the house. (Note to self: Shouting "TEQUILA MAKES MY CLOTHES FALL OFF!" at 9pm on a Wednesday is an easy way to attract attention to yourself. Learned that lesson the hard way!) Since I was banned from all sorority Homecoming events, I decided to hit up a fraternity function at a local bar. I happened to take a sip of a friend's cranberry and vodka when she turned her back, at which point two good looking young gentleman came and tapped me on the shoulder. I started batting my eyelashes, but realized something was amiss when they led myself and two friends out to the sidewalk, at which point they started reading me my rights, Miranda-style. It was straight out of a Law & Order episode, let me tell you! Since we were obviously dangerous criminals, they decided to handcuff us <b>to each other</b>, the reasoning for which is still unclear to me all these years later. I'm pretty sure three sobbing 19 year olds aren't going to try and make a run for it. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Since I knew my parents would make pigs fly before they paid the $125 fine for me, I opted (with my bestie) to do the 8.5 hours of community service option instead. We rolled up to the downtown courthouse circa 7am, where they loaded us into a van with some <b>very</b> intimidating looking men. We went to a middle school where we spent the day sweeping under bleachers, playing HORSE in the gym, and discovering that pretty much <b>everyone</b> else was there due to serious drug charges. We tried to make up a lie about getting in a bar fight to make us sound tough, but no one believed us and called us nicknames like Vanilla and Sprinkles. Rude.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Anyways, this was all an incredible learning experience. Since that life-altering day, I reevaluated my life choices and devoted myself to religious devotion and simplicity. (Well, not really, but I do go to church and I just gave away a bunch of clothes to Goodwill.) But seriously: my "cop-dar" has become much better and I haven't gotten caught for a single thing, minus those few speeding tickets I got while listening to the audiobook of 50 Shades of Grey. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>I hope you'll still accept my application to (company/university). Can't fault a girl for liking to have a good time, right?</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Sincerely yours, </i><br />
<i>Ensley</i><br />
<br />
The second one is waaaaay better. Plus honesty IS the best policy, right? (Right?!?!)Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-138315653899339192012-07-17T12:31:00.001-04:002012-07-17T12:31:54.382-04:00{Bachelorette} Boys Tell All?Does it feel chilly in here to you?<br />
<br />
Because I think hell has frozen over.<br />
<br />
This is due to the fact that, after last night's <strike>extremely drawn-out</strike> <a href="http://popwatch.ew.com/2012/07/17/chris-harrison-blogs-the-bachelorette-the-men-tell-all-2/">Men Tell All</a> special, I'm pretty sure I'd rather be trapped in a room with Kalon<i> and</i> Ryan together than have to listen to Chris's driveling whine and <strike>copycat</strike> statements so similar to Sean's.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8ofg5UobnKlHYVo03gpuWNTQFyFyugAXY5LQf4E87DoIwdbR-oKETwO5RERFeNW2Ki88cCZ6ZwHMdV9Yjo6c8KSfPeyS6Dk6wikmOseWqEhzR0dSWacGtj0gVMtAn1BS9nfEcfOZ3qQ/s1600/tumblr_m6loj9aadW1r1s0hbo4_1280.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8ofg5UobnKlHYVo03gpuWNTQFyFyugAXY5LQf4E87DoIwdbR-oKETwO5RERFeNW2Ki88cCZ6ZwHMdV9Yjo6c8KSfPeyS6Dk6wikmOseWqEhzR0dSWacGtj0gVMtAn1BS9nfEcfOZ3qQ/s400/tumblr_m6loj9aadW1r1s0hbo4_1280.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris Douche-kowski</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>We get it, dude.</i> You fell in love with Emily, she opened your heart to the "possibilities" in life (like being on <a href="http://insidetv.ew.com/2012/06/14/bachelor-pad-3-cast/">Bachelor Pad</a>) and you only wish her the best. (Just like Sean!)<br />
<br />
Literally. Those exact words had <i>just</i> come out of Sean's mouth. And I'm inclined to believe ol' towhead over here because even while being dumped he acted like a gentleman, and you? Did not. (FYI? Generally, yelling at someone when they are dumping you is considered a waste of energy. They already know they don't want to be anywhere near you. Stop proving them right.)<br />
<br />
It's like he's angry at the other guys for simply existing. Was he aware that he was on a dating show in which other contestants were asked to be there? It's unclear. He spent so much time rolling his eyes, shaking his head, and interrupting that even Ryan couldn't get a word in edgewise. (That's saying a lot.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pF0UUqUx7XF239VFTXdbRanmegG5Of46O-0xZ6pjvrNIFcA3PlfZT6-RQV6uNZhzI0x7B8gGIIgkjpQOjNgd0e3tXplnl22TXixoE81Y6msVfKfHLEacOxZqoGtPjZ-c-K_JYs5Duzg/s1600/Emily-Maynard2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pF0UUqUx7XF239VFTXdbRanmegG5Of46O-0xZ6pjvrNIFcA3PlfZT6-RQV6uNZhzI0x7B8gGIIgkjpQOjNgd0e3tXplnl22TXixoE81Y6msVfKfHLEacOxZqoGtPjZ-c-K_JYs5Duzg/s320/Emily-Maynard2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Of course, Emily told Kalon off about what has to be <i>the</i> most overblown comment in the history of <a href="http://abc.go.com/shows/the-bachelorette/">The Bachelorette</a>. It's not like you were at risk of ending up with him, sister. Let's all just let.it.go. I do appreciate the fact that she's never afraid to hurt someone's feelings when she unleashes the West Virginia Hood Rat in her. Get it, girl.<br />
<br />
The winner of the night was Sean, who was as gracious and sweet as can be. Despite the fact that he wears weird jeans with back pocket flaps, he is <i>such</i> a prize. Yum. I'll leave you with a little clip proving my point:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=9,0,47,0" height="315" id="flashObj" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://c.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f9?isVid=1&isUI=1" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="flashVars" value="videoId=1729330177001&linkBaseURL=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.hollywoodreporter.com%2Flive-feed%2Fbachelorette-men-tell-all-special-emily-maynard-350026&playerID=1257205077001&playerKey=AQ~~,AAAAAC3bNtw~,c0hgCOyLwy4Lde_FJ6Ombu5W_uQUkX83&domain=embed&dynamicStreaming=true" /><param name="base" value="http://admin.brightcove.com" /><param name="seamlesstabbing" value="false" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><param name="swLiveConnect" value="true" /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /><embed src="http://c.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f9?isVid=1&isUI=1" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" flashVars="videoId=1729330177001&linkBaseURL=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.hollywoodreporter.com%2Flive-feed%2Fbachelorette-men-tell-all-special-emily-maynard-350026&playerID=1257205077001&playerKey=AQ~~,AAAAAC3bNtw~,c0hgCOyLwy4Lde_FJ6Ombu5W_uQUkX83&domain=embed&dynamicStreaming=true" base="http://admin.brightcove.com" name="flashObj" width="560" height="315" seamlesstabbing="false" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowFullScreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" swLiveConnect="true" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/shockwave/download/index.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash"></embed></object><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
What did y'all think of the show last night?</div>
</div>Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-56872933106815863842012-07-16T11:29:00.000-04:002012-07-16T11:29:36.306-04:00Portlandia, Ep. 1: Thank You for Embracing My WeirdnessAh, Portland: The largest city in Oregon, my brother's home for the summer, and the place where men wear skinny jeans on a regular basis. Suh-weet.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm here for almost a week visiting my bro, which means that as soon as I got out of the car I made him do, uh, <i>exactly</i> what I wanted to do. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
First stop? Eat (veggie) sushi. They seem to have a lot of these conveyor-belt type restaurants in Portland, where you pick up plates as they whirl around you in a tantalizing fashion.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqLYEDYwOFZ9W82Cxaeg58KcocY2lPceVy869SOKl190i0VG1ZljxnCMXOAUM9E0enM3zohWvt-BWMDIbPTjXy-xQaac1inQILGmkI5p7GeDoZxfgfSkgG8P0hUwxeFzvzD_PDbFiRvis/s1600/IMG_0337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqLYEDYwOFZ9W82Cxaeg58KcocY2lPceVy869SOKl190i0VG1ZljxnCMXOAUM9E0enM3zohWvt-BWMDIbPTjXy-xQaac1inQILGmkI5p7GeDoZxfgfSkgG8P0hUwxeFzvzD_PDbFiRvis/s320/IMG_0337.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Please stop taking things off the conveyor belt and putting them back." Nope.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At these places, you can eat as soon as you sit down. This is a plus. On the other hand, this tends to result in overeating for <strike>me</strike> some people. (To the point my brother was disgusted.) This can be construed as a negative depending on who you're asking.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdv98eEHIShxDiPzZAuv6porESXfIap8dMGni4osZ5LU976z3fb4fo4-UGB4jwEfwvrkt7nmhRlW8BwAZaCHSnwpermU_jpUJtP0aqpop4tH1zdOzaI_DJpL6bjTg5GCCzJw2gNA4iEL4/s1600/IMG_0338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdv98eEHIShxDiPzZAuv6porESXfIap8dMGni4osZ5LU976z3fb4fo4-UGB4jwEfwvrkt7nmhRlW8BwAZaCHSnwpermU_jpUJtP0aqpop4tH1zdOzaI_DJpL6bjTg5GCCzJw2gNA4iEL4/s320/IMG_0338.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Round numero uno...for me. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Portland is known as an outdoorsy type o' town, evidenced by the skilled moves of this outdoor Zumba class, which, obviously I stopped and took pictures of. (It's not everyday a small town girl gets to see real life people doing <i>Zumba</i>!)<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq4dMydNHqzM36vDDq0XS9yDSGqfWKzXlo6a6ymezNOver9uLJ1OlBdwlNm-INz952C-cFqNfsuVYjytkCCUNQmJQgQGH3bboSG7_4OEse5gob9zlQTBJvgx1RjECBV4ybZzmj3Ka7PHw/s1600/IMG_0339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq4dMydNHqzM36vDDq0XS9yDSGqfWKzXlo6a6ymezNOver9uLJ1OlBdwlNm-INz952C-cFqNfsuVYjytkCCUNQmJQgQGH3bboSG7_4OEse5gob9zlQTBJvgx1RjECBV4ybZzmj3Ka7PHw/s400/IMG_0339.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They're sexy and they know it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After stuffing myself and oogling Zumba-goers, I <strike>bribed</strike> convinced my brother to see Katy Perry's Part of Me by <strike>offering to pay for his ticket</strike> telling him I had heard really great things about it. Surprise! It worked. Don't we look just like her?</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVayyx-TCmIrxYAnDb0mlspdfgui23SRIlYqMA_eSR0VL6hcfrrDWv2087MkWusdRhwRjIpWGbD_cEeK4NzrqWXZqROuOx5hem47Dz2ZV4yGDidZh-xEfbHvCDmYfDg0TpMdcNCzNgvsk/s1600/IMG_0340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVayyx-TCmIrxYAnDb0mlspdfgui23SRIlYqMA_eSR0VL6hcfrrDWv2087MkWusdRhwRjIpWGbD_cEeK4NzrqWXZqROuOx5hem47Dz2ZV4yGDidZh-xEfbHvCDmYfDg0TpMdcNCzNgvsk/s400/IMG_0340.JPG" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack, lookin' good. Me? Not so much.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not going to lie: I cried about four times. I had one foot over the "I hate Katy Perry" fence until I saw this movie, and now I'm one step away from dying my hair blue and trying to crawl onstage with her.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For starters, I'd never realized that she writes her own music or how much creative control she truly has over her image and performances. Love! It was also incredibly inspiring to hear her rough start in the music industry, when she was signed and dropped by label after label until she met a record exec who was willing to go to bat for her. (Hint: it involves stealing all the Katy Perry files from one company and shuffling them over to another. Awesome.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As record labels tried to shape her into "the next Avril Lavigne" or "the next Pink", she held her ground and insisted on being the first Katy Perry. She's proof that being your authentic, weird self coupled with not giving up WILL lead to success. I'm literally still thinking about this movie almost a week after I've seen it. GO SEE IT NOW.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'll leave you with a little clip from the genius show Portlandia. Thank me later.</div>
<div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=9,0,47,0" height="270" id="flashObj" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://c.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f9?isVid=1&isUI=1" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="flashVars" value="videoId=1440958736001&linkBaseURL=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ifc.com%2Fportlandia%2Fvideos%2Fportlandia-two-girls-two-shirts&playerID=88218671001&playerKey=AQ~~,AAAAAAAn_zM~,B6LaFUvNnt2RhwK5cjOvZ4hHQyd5XXC9&domain=embed&dynamicStreaming=true" /><param name="base" value="http://admin.brightcove.com" /><param name="seamlesstabbing" value="false" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><param name="swLiveConnect" value="true" /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /><embed src="http://c.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f9?isVid=1&isUI=1" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" flashVars="videoId=1440958736001&linkBaseURL=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ifc.com%2Fportlandia%2Fvideos%2Fportlandia-two-girls-two-shirts&playerID=88218671001&playerKey=AQ~~,AAAAAAAn_zM~,B6LaFUvNnt2RhwK5cjOvZ4hHQyd5XXC9&domain=embed&dynamicStreaming=true" base="http://admin.brightcove.com" name="flashObj" width="480" height="270" seamlesstabbing="false" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowFullScreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" swLiveConnect="true" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/shockwave/download/index.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash"></embed></object></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Don't be the "next" anybody. Be the first "you"!</div>
</div>Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-7879190906717460712012-07-03T07:28:00.000-04:002012-07-03T07:28:12.749-04:00{The Bachelorette} Hometown DatesSo usually I don't blog about the Bachelorette because by the time I've watched it on my DVR, no one cares anymore. But not this week. (Fingers crossed.)<br />
<br />
Truth: Last night may have been the first time (ever) that I was glad I'm not Emily Maynard.<br />
<br />
It's a new feeling, y'all.<br />
<br />
But seriously. Hometown dates seem:<br />
1) extremely long with lots of repeating of why you think ______________(insert man's name here) is the p-e-r-f-e-c-t guy for you, and<br />
2) more than slightly awkward when you know that you are sending that man packing in less than 72 hours.<br />
<br />
Example: Chris. Sorry, dude. But all you did was prove to Emily that she was making the right choice with your whiny little girl act. I mean seriously. It seems like you get this mad when the tiniest little thing doesn't go your way, which means we'd used up all of our sympathy on you before the rose ceremony. It's not her fault your dad told you things that she hadn't actually said.<br />
<br />
Buh-bye.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSetV2yqpF8a3J-Ss1ZvAc9MOW-cMTfGC57jN17PzDXButvr8vgWHO6JLqRTdpkNHn_eWaSiOOMO7tphJN0ZEsdDsOSZzmnmsNJfuczJgOwAv0xebKoMwQrtwUoStze3wyj5FkodCm_RE/s1600/Picture+3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSetV2yqpF8a3J-Ss1ZvAc9MOW-cMTfGC57jN17PzDXButvr8vgWHO6JLqRTdpkNHn_eWaSiOOMO7tphJN0ZEsdDsOSZzmnmsNJfuczJgOwAv0xebKoMwQrtwUoStze3wyj5FkodCm_RE/s1600/Picture+3.png" /></a></div>
<br />
Then she went to Utah to visit my personal favorite, Jef. I. Love. This. Man. Maybe it's the skinny jeans, or maybe the fact that he has more product in his hair in a day than Emily does in a week, but I adore him. He's not the typical guy you see on the Bachelorette, and I find that very refreshing. Also, I like his muscles.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc86GXSOuQ9kh1nOGHk5oEWkyWVRxXPta-dfxoswMkbjJZU6Y174zkzOGeiIAb76G4Pj5BisoreQDCVjlGKH8oaL-xcfKrcjhevbBXfBQrHL10PrTUK_9DGTYRMf0z4HqsVbQ5JqjtFoc/s1600/Picture+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc86GXSOuQ9kh1nOGHk5oEWkyWVRxXPta-dfxoswMkbjJZU6Y174zkzOGeiIAb76G4Pj5BisoreQDCVjlGKH8oaL-xcfKrcjhevbBXfBQrHL10PrTUK_9DGTYRMf0z4HqsVbQ5JqjtFoc/s320/Picture+4.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And can we talk about the most <a href="http://www.nj.com/entertainment/tv/index.ssf/2012/07/the_bachelorette_recap_after_h.html">romantic letter ever written</a>?!?!? I was dying. DYING. I'm pretty sure I would have demanded a ring right at that moment, and then just worn it to the rose ceremony and hoped the other guys got the picture. <i>"Sorry losers, while you were catching up on the latest US Weekly during your plane ride home, Jef was composing the greatest love letter ever written. Buh-bye."</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
Then we meet Arie's family, in which they talk about Emily in Dutch while she's sitting right there! Rude, rude, rude. I couldn't really recover after that. Moving on.<br />
<br />
Sean's "surprise" was about the lamest thing I've ever witnessed. I don't know about Emily, but I don't think it's cute or funny to get tricked just to witness my reaction. Not cool. And they did it to her twice! Can we also talk about the fact that he seems like a not-so-great kisser based on the fact that I felt like his tongue was all up in <i>my</i> face and I'm just a viewer? Get it together, bro.<br />
<br />
On a final note, sister friend was getting <i>real</i> comfortable with that teasing comb at the rose ceremony. Can we say "volume"? She looked hot.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgnDYS4YT-Pzgaz-d_X8mJ-_z1hkU5W8cvR9XjV6-EOAn2zwKdmc2jaFfuUJGamTAjUBlACa9ZJrC4E3du7LEPlRF6EGw-M2qik2FrbHy-gV6r9oXHuLjWcvGvF1peu5xw8waC_EEIH8/s1600/Picture+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgnDYS4YT-Pzgaz-d_X8mJ-_z1hkU5W8cvR9XjV6-EOAn2zwKdmc2jaFfuUJGamTAjUBlACa9ZJrC4E3du7LEPlRF6EGw-M2qik2FrbHy-gV6r9oXHuLjWcvGvF1peu5xw8waC_EEIH8/s320/Picture+1.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Work it girl.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At this point, I truly have no idea who she's going to pick, which drives me a little crazy but also keeps it interesting.<br />
<br />
Who's y'all's favorite? Who do you think she's going to choose?Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-49904662706693816482012-06-27T07:32:00.000-04:002012-06-27T07:33:03.243-04:00I've Got Friends with Lake Places<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">'Cause I got friends with <strike>low</strike> lake places,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Where the whiskey drowns,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">And the beer chases my blues away,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">But I'll be okay,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Now I'm not big on social graces,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Think I'll slip on down to the oasis,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Oh I got friends,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">With <strike>low</strike> lake places.</span></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9PF82TjGCZtSAPB0f6HAgSxaFOpu4bHErSiOtHvLB_YRH__z0xcNRhS1AB_MQ5SQEGXbMVYHFMfvl6JvJl2fbg0y-CO5rvCYGdrMlhS10IfuTM3P-Otr7hR01V-t3QUR4ZOpLj0XVIA/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9PF82TjGCZtSAPB0f6HAgSxaFOpu4bHErSiOtHvLB_YRH__z0xcNRhS1AB_MQ5SQEGXbMVYHFMfvl6JvJl2fbg0y-CO5rvCYGdrMlhS10IfuTM3P-Otr7hR01V-t3QUR4ZOpLj0XVIA/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Ok, so I'm not drowning anything in whiskey, but that could also be because it's summertime and all <i>my</i> blues are currently at home with their parents until school starts back again. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But still, it's great to have friends with a lake house, <i>especially</i> when you're staying there during a week-long professional development in a windowless, florescently-lit room: </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3DvMntfzDiQF_iwsSIZEBvvpxicHj3vCpEY-90uG0A3CKrBKIKu09Ycs6HXXNubGpCTfcSqsS_1eo7N2vL-n-tHIqohaAPVMVkHwVAf1wt4LBBFp74mNTarkxY3ypt73FT18_imguwY/s1600/photo-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3DvMntfzDiQF_iwsSIZEBvvpxicHj3vCpEY-90uG0A3CKrBKIKu09Ycs6HXXNubGpCTfcSqsS_1eo7N2vL-n-tHIqohaAPVMVkHwVAf1wt4LBBFp74mNTarkxY3ypt73FT18_imguwY/s400/photo-3.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ew.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That's right people.<i> Teachers work in the summertime.</i> However, it's a new experience to go to "work" from 9-5, come home, and not have anything to do except....</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">make dinner.... </span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcooVM9eU41Rqvug0REj8vnDv2AZKHZO9qbrfMxiFFOcmypEbz0mwsKJdWXlvJUMpJyVu3TVPiUaHxYxs2MDCRamfIqT3OVUp1dhYzFRKwq5Tyjtj4gC4VXlu6uRlutsdgTvoRFjVHuK8/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcooVM9eU41Rqvug0REj8vnDv2AZKHZO9qbrfMxiFFOcmypEbz0mwsKJdWXlvJUMpJyVu3TVPiUaHxYxs2MDCRamfIqT3OVUp1dhYzFRKwq5Tyjtj4gC4VXlu6uRlutsdgTvoRFjVHuK8/s400/photo-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Find the recipe on <a href="http://www.thepreppyvegan.com/2012/06/confessions-of-salad-hater.html">The Preppy Vegan</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
....take a bubble bath....<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZ4sY3FQETZXGZoLIT8cBz8wQvT5A1c4-IPV69cV_shyphenhyphenl99pRRjXiDEcDkQw9-AtWnkkDenvZoox2Z2bafvElF2NXdC9clSik6IAyR4ec77dLNkikgz-wyP1pxKGeQill1TPiCw7p9cc/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjZ4sY3FQETZXGZoLIT8cBz8wQvT5A1c4-IPV69cV_shyphenhyphenl99pRRjXiDEcDkQw9-AtWnkkDenvZoox2Z2bafvElF2NXdC9clSik6IAyR4ec77dLNkikgz-wyP1pxKGeQill1TPiCw7p9cc/s320/photo-2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">This happened. And it? Was glorious.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
....hang out with your friends....<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFqok6K_zbbJ0ENoNmQQGPfHPvla3DHMTjFiuii0b0PxMS51Wgh0I7yB30SmKAx7YCxMHLlNmwAYTVei_7gcCXellje6lwd4_fppDSKDx4fpC0fdJ7HKm6mgqOzoXOgMr7Av57xALoMQ/s1600/471428_10100840864861973_10208749_57309743_1587555287_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFqok6K_zbbJ0ENoNmQQGPfHPvla3DHMTjFiuii0b0PxMS51Wgh0I7yB30SmKAx7YCxMHLlNmwAYTVei_7gcCXellje6lwd4_fppDSKDx4fpC0fdJ7HKm6mgqOzoXOgMr7Av57xALoMQ/s320/471428_10100840864861973_10208749_57309743_1587555287_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">This makes it look like I have one friend. I promise there are more.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
....or play with your new (free) iPad 3.....</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSq2PvB4Yxsiswm3RoIFlt7jHXA_m4443lIGFGsVMR7CR1Zk-pa8_ZNCmQSBw4-rrr87vrFOn161F6VIZzlNF2WPskgTHWVEhIwqWrHFu1rdamjoIJg6KOaqEq3Av8XnBCmMQKVk2HZZM/s1600/Photo+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSq2PvB4Yxsiswm3RoIFlt7jHXA_m4443lIGFGsVMR7CR1Zk-pa8_ZNCmQSBw4-rrr87vrFOn161F6VIZzlNF2WPskgTHWVEhIwqWrHFu1rdamjoIJg6KOaqEq3Av8XnBCmMQKVk2HZZM/s320/Photo+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were gifted iPad3's for committing to participate in the professional development program for the next 2 year. Suh-weet! And yes I already have a Lilly background.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Oh and then there's the whole sitting on the back porch and staring at the lake thing too. Super fun.<br />
<br />
There <i>is</i> a downside to being out here in nature, which is that the spotty internet caused our viewing of the Bachelorette to be, uh, slow at best. (As in: it had to buffer for 30 seconds for every 15 seconds it played. Sigh.) However, we <strike>are crazy </strike>aren't fair weather fans, so we withstood it for all of 30 minutes before we realized it was going to take us 3 hours to watch a 90 minute episode. (Rude.) Hopefully it will have buffered by like, next Monday. No guarantees.<br />
<br />
Don't forget to follow me on <a href="http://pinterest.com/thepreppyvegan/">Pinterest</a> for lots of summer goodies! (Because it's summer and I now have time for social media.)<br />
<br />
I'm off to the day job....have a fabulous Wednesday!Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-35732438376852511302012-06-22T17:15:00.003-04:002012-06-22T17:15:23.867-04:00Say Yes to the Dress Pt. 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After our <strike>traumatic</strike> long day of filming <a href="http://www.haughtybynature.com/2012/06/say-yes-to-dress-but-no-to-show.html">Say Yes to the Dress: Bridesmaids</a>, we decided to rejuvenate ourselves via margaritas and tortilla chips before heading back to Bridals by Lori so that Caroline (the bride) could try on some dresses for herself. (Semi-important for the bride to have a dress? I like to think so.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It just so happened that we also got to celebrate my boo Ashley's birthday: </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopZqk-HVU1uJcMRwnU-wv-yP_FR7Gporp69T7exohkclQvJ0_BJw-rz4Wpc8AQggDHmBWQYO-1TsmXeuZgtNksBSvVZtjjc5jDvCAX7clcxLv51PlUKTXn9CxS4cnT0NeXtMslKO7nD4/s640/blogger-image-1445278987.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopZqk-HVU1uJcMRwnU-wv-yP_FR7Gporp69T7exohkclQvJ0_BJw-rz4Wpc8AQggDHmBWQYO-1TsmXeuZgtNksBSvVZtjjc5jDvCAX7clcxLv51PlUKTXn9CxS4cnT0NeXtMslKO7nD4/s400/blogger-image-1445278987.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sombrero and beer at 3pm? Same as any other day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Despite the <strike>hope that they had gotten rid of us entirely</strike>, the consultants at Bridals by Lori were nice enough to let us come back without an appointment. (Robin was at the front desk when we walked in. Die. Die. Die.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As fate would have it, Flo herself was our consultant. Despite how cranky I was, this made me super excited. (Seriously, those hot camera lights + knowing you are going to have to go into exile once the shows airs is <i>seriously</i> draining.)</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYE-FJMrkki8gbdIiDmdj8UN90vMrNwcZovu4_wdJAnxWAvcE_kiL77Nnbo4yhlDdTHX1YyI_2mMNby6MoQlY5KjZ1JTyqqEN0bJe53V4vMUIxsB4l3vMLRxI0VHRMiVqLNu6spEsqBLQ/s640/blogger-image-1318488441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYE-FJMrkki8gbdIiDmdj8UN90vMrNwcZovu4_wdJAnxWAvcE_kiL77Nnbo4yhlDdTHX1YyI_2mMNby6MoQlY5KjZ1JTyqqEN0bJe53V4vMUIxsB4l3vMLRxI0VHRMiVqLNu6spEsqBLQ/s640/blogger-image-1318488441.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My hair says everything about my current state: tired, raggedy, and just all around bad.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit461QIl0Fj_p1MggpQCWRwcKKasRfZINqV-LVklWpLpygkoMOiE2X-oLHSDs6EFfgXS3V1Ojk_CTuZr_U67dbMh7zwudCwajMGe8Nir8Id6JnwidYdI5ruZDMnKhJ-patZ9waIi4Zdek/s640/blogger-image--65639808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit461QIl0Fj_p1MggpQCWRwcKKasRfZINqV-LVklWpLpygkoMOiE2X-oLHSDs6EFfgXS3V1Ojk_CTuZr_U67dbMh7zwudCwajMGe8Nir8Id6JnwidYdI5ruZDMnKhJ-patZ9waIi4Zdek/s400/blogger-image--65639808.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You want what now?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
She was extremely patient with us, considering we were <strike>full of tequila</strike> dead tired and a little loopy. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Case in point:</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_e4o5VIFG5j9zeyAOwT46KuqRkE_f6qRxOPDhMe1oIEwrFDk4OjoXBn8icd2UDdDlXxkUTxejA-PjPoBzyGlm4aM5aaqeRj9m-vutZ0emwH0-2jyXheV1YHPy9COP_Tht2vCZhvQJow/s640/blogger-image-1745283852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_e4o5VIFG5j9zeyAOwT46KuqRkE_f6qRxOPDhMe1oIEwrFDk4OjoXBn8icd2UDdDlXxkUTxejA-PjPoBzyGlm4aM5aaqeRj9m-vutZ0emwH0-2jyXheV1YHPy9COP_Tht2vCZhvQJow/s640/blogger-image-1745283852.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cameras are off, but she's still working it. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreBKksN8fUYVdWyIn72fKaOxCEPi6sPz8mZai-m20kSr0Bf_pZFOI7HFcKEMkbWB1HvN0LCGRJi20Vpq5hkClAhf8mu-lqs26stlCHkHmjekzaEhjhgf-5KoQ9nUNtOOGsnS8oZTmoac/s640/blogger-image--1122760924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreBKksN8fUYVdWyIn72fKaOxCEPi6sPz8mZai-m20kSr0Bf_pZFOI7HFcKEMkbWB1HvN0LCGRJi20Vpq5hkClAhf8mu-lqs26stlCHkHmjekzaEhjhgf-5KoQ9nUNtOOGsnS8oZTmoac/s640/blogger-image--1122760924.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checking out the bling-bling</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was waaaaay more fun to watch Caroline try on dresses than to:<div>
1) be compared to a pregnant person while trying on dresses of your own (oh yes...it happened), and</div>
<div>
2) stand under hot stage lights while sweat slowly beads on your upper lip</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take pictures while she tried on a lot of gorgeoussss gowns for ordering reasons. (And you <i>know</i> we ain't about to argue with Flo.) <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There was one AMAZING dress that made all of us (including mom!) tear up when she came out in it. Flo even jacked her up, resulting in more tears. Who would have thought a bunch of tulle and a beaded belt could cause that reaction? Go figure. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She didn't end up saying yes to the dress, wisely deciding that a decision like buying your wedding gown shouldn't be made after a day as long as our. (Seriously...at that point we'd been in the salon for like 10 hours.)</div>
<div>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQRH_LN1YZOIK_kLP2irNvVGBh-XhQi8rA8fp0mWP_AjXLhc5b-D2385Jl5_kLEY5sMfzphU3ubBt-QjUMBx7xWIvlmXmyJL-Mz5Ct0h6AvataiHqhWxce81qGzeMsMPXKTHERtbJp34/s640/blogger-image--1917768464.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQRH_LN1YZOIK_kLP2irNvVGBh-XhQi8rA8fp0mWP_AjXLhc5b-D2385Jl5_kLEY5sMfzphU3ubBt-QjUMBx7xWIvlmXmyJL-Mz5Ct0h6AvataiHqhWxce81qGzeMsMPXKTHERtbJp34/s640/blogger-image--1917768464.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caroline & Flo...BFFL? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Verdict? Longest day of my life, but at least I wasn't at work. Oh, and I definitely need to convince Mommy and Daddy to budget a lot for my <strike>non-existent</strike> future bridal gown so that I can buy it at Bridals by Lori. Crossover show anyone? </div>
</div>
</div>Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-51827725185474634562012-06-22T09:11:00.001-04:002012-06-22T09:11:12.507-04:00RHOC: Did You Just Bite My Bow?I dread to think what I'll have to do with my summer once <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/the-real-housewives-of-orange-county">Real Housewives of Orange County</a> ends next week, but I think it means I might need to, like, read books or go outside. <i>*shudder*</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
For serious though. I love these bia-tches and all their hair extensioned-glory. With the exception of <i>this</i> one: </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0zHB9C7YAxX-SXnGol_EycQv3p7NoMuZk0EHo1uPCv03wN2JimipuZhytcXlvXy_zBYEkvnHYkHt9JU2QVLPUvgkh6bTihPzaaKALQ90nFjOibkv33dYyDKamrVqBe2ZCZL7UG5yS3PA/s1600/Picture+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0zHB9C7YAxX-SXnGol_EycQv3p7NoMuZk0EHo1uPCv03wN2JimipuZhytcXlvXy_zBYEkvnHYkHt9JU2QVLPUvgkh6bTihPzaaKALQ90nFjOibkv33dYyDKamrVqBe2ZCZL7UG5yS3PA/s320/Picture+1.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Sarah. Oh, Sarah. "Friend of the Housewives" and desperate to be a cast member, you randomly appear whenever free booze is a-flowing and loooove to blog on <a href="http://www.bravotv.com/the-real-housewives-of-orange-county/season-7/blogs/sarah-winchester/let-loose">bravotv.com </a>about episodes in which you aren't even in. Chill out, sister. The OC only has room for one brunette, and it's <i>this</i> bitch:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHHgtzttWvWrzcjqYwW4ae0jq06-eoiYUOJj0ZW_EnMwFBiMV3k-hpzy3lL_i_juOnbfVZSmWzJcFTQy5DVhAn9KPbC2XZG2opy7lnxUfUqfnJA0thbmwdX0PHNSsVimo19Flf1hykCU/s1600/Picture+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHHgtzttWvWrzcjqYwW4ae0jq06-eoiYUOJj0ZW_EnMwFBiMV3k-hpzy3lL_i_juOnbfVZSmWzJcFTQy5DVhAn9KPbC2XZG2opy7lnxUfUqfnJA0thbmwdX0PHNSsVimo19Flf1hykCU/s320/Picture+2.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Heather Dubrow: impeccably dressed, 90 lbs soaking wet, and wrote the book about being Haughty by Nature. Seriously. <i>She.is.the.bomb.</i> I continually bow down and worship her based to the amount of champagne she can consume in that tiny little body without showing the slightest hint of inebriation. Can she just have her own show?<br />
<br />
Speaking of inebriation:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLeDrtSq68KQFJkaeo3nKYdg2aMIp8xL89w1sbVTmreNNKX8A-xFYb156H7i_H3v0WvlbUEhDiPAYvDeyeR923s3a7McR2DCC0WU7GbKcj6rrr4sZqFD_UyOOpQSC_Agl4VCZvzdeI9g/s1600/Picture+3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcLeDrtSq68KQFJkaeo3nKYdg2aMIp8xL89w1sbVTmreNNKX8A-xFYb156H7i_H3v0WvlbUEhDiPAYvDeyeR923s3a7McR2DCC0WU7GbKcj6rrr4sZqFD_UyOOpQSC_Agl4VCZvzdeI9g/s320/Picture+3.png" width="238" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Surprise! Sarah <strike>the wannabe</strike> gets it started in the limo ride while Alexis continues to talk about....something. I think it had to do with how down to earth she is despite everyone thinking she's pretentious and fake. Hey Alexis? If people are unanimous in what they think about you, it's probably true. Juuust saying. Talking to people like Sarah who are simply warm bodies telling you what you want to hear isn't going to help.<br />
<br />
Sidenote: Why were ALL of the women wearing fur? Despite being morally against it, I thought the benefit of California weather was that you didn't have to wear fur? Ever?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnnzMJ4Ad7BadDc1GLaPAadX0jH40tD0xsr4FQG5WPyRx_G8notiP2zNxxpJ88a_Jjsch3o2r7YYj5k7GxdtyeRno9HlaMw3VP4uciEqp0aAathcn-cn8mS20naP94faLK-87vgVzhBE/s1600/Picture+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnnzMJ4Ad7BadDc1GLaPAadX0jH40tD0xsr4FQG5WPyRx_G8notiP2zNxxpJ88a_Jjsch3o2r7YYj5k7GxdtyeRno9HlaMw3VP4uciEqp0aAathcn-cn8mS20naP94faLK-87vgVzhBE/s320/Picture+4.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously....whhhhhyyy?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then the Cake Incident of 2012 happens: Sarah (who else?) plucks a bow off Heather's $500 cake and chows down on it, before the cake was being served.<br />
<br />
Scusi?<br />
<br />
Gotta love Tamra's gumption. She drags that skinny b (with a tangle of hot mess for hair) right over to the cake and asks "Did you just <i>eat the bow</i>?"<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKzsXmgVnL6HD8dg3gkfZyzQkuHT0_WnsmuH5mL-IHbyy6XdSlWfHIlZb9guJvkZNOeFR489xnBsBQGt62rPRqVCYpSpCGz8laZLjfweMMoryBGWN8JTWLEakKsyiStT6CRB0TngS-jC0/s1600/Picture+5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKzsXmgVnL6HD8dg3gkfZyzQkuHT0_WnsmuH5mL-IHbyy6XdSlWfHIlZb9guJvkZNOeFR489xnBsBQGt62rPRqVCYpSpCGz8laZLjfweMMoryBGWN8JTWLEakKsyiStT6CRB0TngS-jC0/s320/Picture+5.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh. No. You. Di'nt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Instead of just chalking it up to the fact that she was seeing two of everyone at that point, Sarah tries to claim she has a <strike>alcohol problem </strike>"sugar problem": as in, she needs sugar from $500 cakes immediately and as soon as she desires it. I've never heard of this affliction before, but it sounds dire. I mean, what if she'd been at a party where the cake didn't have a bow? Would she have...died?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1umBO8NeJ0kDZoeHfnFHtlbY2imU9BBnLnu0OXH3TTmJM85Fb-tVhCOLZy_e77J33AatE03RFMybtI2ZaNKPQcx9HqZVSOlvloGsFN3xkx5FEl0vdQL8cCUh15uEwAKZ-Raopzzk18ZA/s1600/Picture+6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1umBO8NeJ0kDZoeHfnFHtlbY2imU9BBnLnu0OXH3TTmJM85Fb-tVhCOLZy_e77J33AatE03RFMybtI2ZaNKPQcx9HqZVSOlvloGsFN3xkx5FEl0vdQL8cCUh15uEwAKZ-Raopzzk18ZA/s320/Picture+6.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Should've stuck with the balls from the kitchen, Sarah.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have to give the girl props for still being able to stand at this point, since the word-slurring was at an all time high. Was she sorry that she did it or mad that people were overreacting? Depends on the moment. She couldn't decide herself.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqTpGcq6Qgb3tiDHld_K2UqkUM3SZqI5mwAy_d17easaFo2RVYut4nBaftjSTj-YHMTOVf7u2MhytwHvhGpJ10lEtPFejva-IDrE99431HngkojUiyQ8WXwxbPXVY3fspD6zPOf2DT4NM/s1600/Picture+7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqTpGcq6Qgb3tiDHld_K2UqkUM3SZqI5mwAy_d17easaFo2RVYut4nBaftjSTj-YHMTOVf7u2MhytwHvhGpJ10lEtPFejva-IDrE99431HngkojUiyQ8WXwxbPXVY3fspD6zPOf2DT4NM/s320/Picture+7.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Poor Sarah. I would have broken the bow off too if it meant we could talk about something other than how Alexis gets bullied by all the girls on the show. After 6 + hours of the I might have just stuck my entire face in the cake while screaming "MAKE IT STOP!"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Until next week: Keep your hands off the cake and ask yourself: What Would Dubrow Do?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-50385109959234379632012-06-20T11:30:00.000-04:002012-06-20T11:30:56.650-04:00Say Yes to the (Bridesmaid's) Dress<span style="background-color: white;">Believe it: You are currently reading a blog written by the hot (haute?) new star of <a href="http://tlc.howstuffworks.com/tv/say-yes-to-the-dress-bridesmaids">Say Yes to the Dress: Bridesmaids</a>, here to give you all of the juicy behind-the-scenes scoop in a down-to-the-minute play by play. Buckle up, people! It's going to be a </span><strike style="background-color: white;">long freakin' day</strike><span style="background-color: white;"> wild ride. Here goes:</span><br />
<br />
<b>6:00 am:</b> Rise from slumber to get hair and makeup "camera ready". This turns turns out to be eerily similar to your "everyday" makeup look, just with the addition of about 10 layers of bronzer. Winning.<br />
<br />
<b>7:00 am:</b> Head down to continental breakfast, mimosa in hand. (It's to "ease the nerves", Lindsay Lohan-style.)<br />
<br />
<b>7:13 am:</b> Realize that the combination of champagne + coffee is making you lightheaded and slightly woozy, which could be the perfect recipe for must-watch reality television. (See above Lindsay Lohan reference.)<br />
<br />
<b>7:14 am - 7:54 am:</b> Continue with the alcohol and caffeine experiment since, if worse comes to worse, you'll still have it more together than anyone on the following reality shows: Teen Mom, True Life, Too Fat to Live, Hoarders, or I Didn't Know I was Pregnant.<br />
<br />
<b>8:00 am: </b>Arrive at Bridals by Lori.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAfd6-qlUcnuF22aIWCPLgp8e8L7Ui5Veeyvp0kHF4R-v5d_djAWnV9KMDjGgMPAWs3Rs9V14XJYKSmu0uYDSoaLkRHJR71uzU_8oCApdx1U6YfBwHi22cuEYQn1sn0BTWpdPI59TNow/s640/blogger-image--487010775.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAfd6-qlUcnuF22aIWCPLgp8e8L7Ui5Veeyvp0kHF4R-v5d_djAWnV9KMDjGgMPAWs3Rs9V14XJYKSmu0uYDSoaLkRHJR71uzU_8oCApdx1U6YfBwHi22cuEYQn1sn0BTWpdPI59TNow/s400/blogger-image--487010775.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, that's my thumb and yes, I was a photography major. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR019GpNndvL_n65wQLjpysBNoodIryYPLwN4z02SVmgvAEJzkjkr6h1Sb2F721toCAWk8KZ0uZPtHKx1Eaj22KY_-lQxvnyS4SeXfNFA6h3CgZDbV8SEE6lGFhynNpJvP4h9K_bjfxyg/s640/blogger-image--280262469.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR019GpNndvL_n65wQLjpysBNoodIryYPLwN4z02SVmgvAEJzkjkr6h1Sb2F721toCAWk8KZ0uZPtHKx1Eaj22KY_-lQxvnyS4SeXfNFA6h3CgZDbV8SEE6lGFhynNpJvP4h9K_bjfxyg/s400/blogger-image--280262469.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOPTsZ7ZQM_gTOIsoabFCOAvavXzhZvtX35bgTamfRZ69SRw34cjVecdndsJKZ75hI7H8OtwhBqNMpDc2khEwmKNhPy86s0Nw-mn2537tRFH-H1rxEnK77jbArhutWAdtCxOY7o0dAk8/s640/blogger-image--385714359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOPTsZ7ZQM_gTOIsoabFCOAvavXzhZvtX35bgTamfRZ69SRw34cjVecdndsJKZ75hI7H8OtwhBqNMpDc2khEwmKNhPy86s0Nw-mn2537tRFH-H1rxEnK77jbArhutWAdtCxOY7o0dAk8/s320/blogger-image--385714359.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As opposed to...putting a sign in my window saying "Unlocked and ready for burglary: precious jewels inside"?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>8:02 am: </b>Get ushered into the waiting area. Little do you know how much emphasis will be placed on w-a-i-t-i-n-g.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEccROq8LgugWK78641Rl2i5LznfD4gWEoPmsIhhBvHEFdKbWLCIA2fQ-GbxbRGHBiOXM9gTNuFUnrPW9_kvEaz_O8Yl8gkxa4M09-5B_zOgWd40iOMbEwZloYKvohHDkNeM7Mfrq8OH8/s640/blogger-image--1282370123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEccROq8LgugWK78641Rl2i5LznfD4gWEoPmsIhhBvHEFdKbWLCIA2fQ-GbxbRGHBiOXM9gTNuFUnrPW9_kvEaz_O8Yl8gkxa4M09-5B_zOgWd40iOMbEwZloYKvohHDkNeM7Mfrq8OH8/s400/blogger-image--1282370123.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for our close-up!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>8:10 am:</b> Caroline (the bride) gets pulled for an interview. Sit around and take pictures because HELLO! you are about to be on TV and these are your last moments as an anonymous nobody. Fame and fortune await you!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzZkFy3eRQVnARb5RZSGlJpNW3jhEixwiAWwJdwWbSo_gohDnCcxfuqSqki7r9t5mKvWujGu0khSWi1B_F_9WCc7exsJt1F_aBa2acJ5x_tAYzzVq4HA5Er28sYy4upifwJLfFztWlqs/s640/blogger-image--166662226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzZkFy3eRQVnARb5RZSGlJpNW3jhEixwiAWwJdwWbSo_gohDnCcxfuqSqki7r9t5mKvWujGu0khSWi1B_F_9WCc7exsJt1F_aBa2acJ5x_tAYzzVq4HA5Er28sYy4upifwJLfFztWlqs/s400/blogger-image--166662226.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>8:43 am:</b> Get miked up by the awesome PA Tiffany, who is the only one we'd allow to get this up close and personal without buying us a drink first.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2iW5CKWsCoquN4COt14HYPhHFixT_q6hdrXGCaInKQNLDnyIZ4jqZ3i9AK8s6m9PB_0CEqMaVzN_nWMMCw6xKZTelubyzlRcaHQGyLR6S8FVu3dORDAb1K-r-xWK7-QGdR26hnIRbqAA/s640/blogger-image--1825590543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2iW5CKWsCoquN4COt14HYPhHFixT_q6hdrXGCaInKQNLDnyIZ4jqZ3i9AK8s6m9PB_0CEqMaVzN_nWMMCw6xKZTelubyzlRcaHQGyLR6S8FVu3dORDAb1K-r-xWK7-QGdR26hnIRbqAA/s400/blogger-image--1825590543.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Work it, Tiff. Work.It.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>8:46 am: </b>Wait with bated breath as the producers start pulling people for individual interviews.This?<i> Is your moment. </i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfd00mCqPgJ9tJ58Pbzw_tUGwmEPJkNexAbLFew5_gBLynhFjbD_gr21-djtosrnSj4k5UjpHlePfX3Y9LT0YYrHI2HyVzNlBO40g8lUmSJnRBG_PMfH7YQ6G5zpuzFZOkScN-rQz4-Y/s640/blogger-image--548005914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfd00mCqPgJ9tJ58Pbzw_tUGwmEPJkNexAbLFew5_gBLynhFjbD_gr21-djtosrnSj4k5UjpHlePfX3Y9LT0YYrHI2HyVzNlBO40g8lUmSJnRBG_PMfH7YQ6G5zpuzFZOkScN-rQz4-Y/s400/blogger-image--548005914.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Any. Minute.Now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>8:57 am:</b> Continue as they call prettttty much every other bridesmaid except yourself. Can we say "saving the best for last"?<br />
<br />
<b>8:59 am: </b>Niki sighting! Lovvvvve her hair, hate the fact she loves the Georgia Bulldogs. Sick.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZN1PrWBpCTN_Vk6gOY5YQYTeCjMwMO4w6Gw7M5O-cuwcLdB_sLXbl9cXNCG9CmGPb4gxV4-EQP_ROpUgkPbrBIznX8yyoGx8LQp-7RQpJj4EW2Qmvtc7r7qE_ODm3WQd3TontWaMEmM/s640/blogger-image--1756724994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZN1PrWBpCTN_Vk6gOY5YQYTeCjMwMO4w6Gw7M5O-cuwcLdB_sLXbl9cXNCG9CmGPb4gxV4-EQP_ROpUgkPbrBIznX8yyoGx8LQp-7RQpJj4EW2Qmvtc7r7qE_ODm3WQd3TontWaMEmM/s400/blogger-image--1756724994.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b>9:04 am:</b> Personal pep talk gives way to impatience. Start to question your own self-worth. Are other people as interesting as you? Are they funnier? Haughtier? Prettier? WHY aren't you being chosen?<br />
<br />
<b>9:06 am:</b> Group shots outside for the producers to use later.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihclyInyS9oHGaSYHME4RxcanRtOGX9wmG1_tO_6-mNpc96-ro37DSTb8h4AthKIIWqLc77e9ok_MVZvobv8ITxxJVogvGg7J9r1dpWduw7TxpCLFBrB9ay684dShDlgPQHbUNu314hZU/s640/blogger-image-2097693570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihclyInyS9oHGaSYHME4RxcanRtOGX9wmG1_tO_6-mNpc96-ro37DSTb8h4AthKIIWqLc77e9ok_MVZvobv8ITxxJVogvGg7J9r1dpWduw7TxpCLFBrB9ay684dShDlgPQHbUNu314hZU/s400/blogger-image-2097693570.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVJjrvJwMOIEv_q4QPBlOtbXC1LsOSDe9Ru0r5BoXgit9U6K_rokLPEuL59OoBeVIYnQC_q0wBi_S1TQ6g_oXz9UIC9fIWSgtUoK9KSPb1rezanHXr9VSEeS7Hsq3gJ3lTTtgxutbpRY/s640/blogger-image-150515511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVJjrvJwMOIEv_q4QPBlOtbXC1LsOSDe9Ru0r5BoXgit9U6K_rokLPEuL59OoBeVIYnQC_q0wBi_S1TQ6g_oXz9UIC9fIWSgtUoK9KSPb1rezanHXr9VSEeS7Hsq3gJ3lTTtgxutbpRY/s400/blogger-image-150515511.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why are Ashley's legs as straight as a ruler? It's unclear. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b>9:47 am:</b> Rationalize that TLC realizes you will <i>totally</i> steal the show if given any significant amount of camera time, therefore they are keeping you on the back burner. Sigh with relief.<br />
<br />
<b>9:48 am:</b> But seriously. When is the interview?<br />
<br />
<b>9:49 am: </b>Realize that bated breath might be a waste of time. You ain't getting no interview. Begin to pout.<br />
<br />
<b>9:53 am: </b>Laurie spotting! (She asked if we'd been drinking. This woman? Really knows what's up.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwDbG5pcrSs_spOaDxOLrXHX97z63bO5OJ9k4J1rg2AVrXjvyD9U6fpVqOnUlp7rw597OFHm532kUekxPj48gBL6KRd6RzEef9TiOYyRfil8HRLw2wFwAsuRcCwtjg05odMESWa2UJtno/s640/blogger-image-1716978452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwDbG5pcrSs_spOaDxOLrXHX97z63bO5OJ9k4J1rg2AVrXjvyD9U6fpVqOnUlp7rw597OFHm532kUekxPj48gBL6KRd6RzEef9TiOYyRfil8HRLw2wFwAsuRcCwtjg05odMESWa2UJtno/s400/blogger-image-1716978452.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b>10:00 am-2:00 pm :</b> Go back into the salon for filming, the deets of which are top secret until the episode airs! All I'll say is that at least 5 of the top 10 most embarrassing moments of my life occurred in that freakin' bridal salon. Traumatized.<br />
<br />
<b>2:00 pm :</b> Cameras are off and we're shuffled back to the (sigh) waiting area while people do their final interviews. At this point you are so hungry/tired you may either chew your own arm off or fall asleep in an upright position. Both sound equally appealing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyMoo95J8z5oYBQ5WJDtgig6p48Sx6SGRaS3pdnspCLlT6bYsVM9uJ6bOxDPszGW54BnIIa0rCxfnYDJbhOkYCRakfwnBGyzXOiYpLXrQ1li02YHd0GNl7oxtlJg9E0ZS1C0yn69hpFJ0/s640/blogger-image--258449846.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyMoo95J8z5oYBQ5WJDtgig6p48Sx6SGRaS3pdnspCLlT6bYsVM9uJ6bOxDPszGW54BnIIa0rCxfnYDJbhOkYCRakfwnBGyzXOiYpLXrQ1li02YHd0GNl7oxtlJg9E0ZS1C0yn69hpFJ0/s400/blogger-image--258449846.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAzgAPxpEAhQR1on-bx-aFJaE0VHz3IPXKSmzowOsk5T0VBcPfy6YE9gHntAgBa9G824NBcoNEG22wVktnQ1Y2MNUQWnnmBv-pm1tUM_FGPnONOYtQP0iVUsPzmFQXjmYSumS_BSvvS0/s640/blogger-image--1822455116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAzgAPxpEAhQR1on-bx-aFJaE0VHz3IPXKSmzowOsk5T0VBcPfy6YE9gHntAgBa9G824NBcoNEG22wVktnQ1Y2MNUQWnnmBv-pm1tUM_FGPnONOYtQP0iVUsPzmFQXjmYSumS_BSvvS0/s400/blogger-image--1822455116.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite the 10 hour day, Ashley is STILL ready for her close up. Impressed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>2:04 pm: </b>Wait anxiously as the director starts asking all of the bridesmaids who hadn't interviewed this morning to come to the back with her. You are the last one left. You ARE about to be picked.<br />
<br />
<b>2:06 pm:</b> Brandon sighting!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXZS6mrxC7FNL4JK_qgtdRdP2MLRlrQrdn4-x_QYhazXTtJ8RPbeegZdBBeyFy8NaWUbN4V3Pi-X_RJ3qXAewHPROD1BdNdl7JLggCOeBnAth8nV2f1FdCBPoWXwdZoE96eNslSWWsSs/s640/blogger-image--2105462423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXZS6mrxC7FNL4JK_qgtdRdP2MLRlrQrdn4-x_QYhazXTtJ8RPbeegZdBBeyFy8NaWUbN4V3Pi-X_RJ3qXAewHPROD1BdNdl7JLggCOeBnAth8nV2f1FdCBPoWXwdZoE96eNslSWWsSs/s400/blogger-image--2105462423.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heeeey Brandon, we know you just walked in the door but <i>canyoutakeapicturewithuspleaseweloveyou</i>!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>2:37 pm:</b> The director brings the other girls back and announces we are done for the day. Everyone can go home! <span style="background-color: white;">Wonk wonk wonk. </span><br />
<br />
<b>2:38 pm: </b> Leave Bridals by Lori and head to lunch with the girls. Destination: anywhere that serves strooong margaritas.<br />
<br />
A few things I learned about myself in that bridal salon:<br />
<br />
1. While I am haughty, a television personality I am not. Writing is much more up my alley.<br />
2. I really should curl my hair if I'm going to be on camera.<br />
3. Those Jillian Michaels videos don't work unless you actually do them.<br />
<br />
Woof.<br />
<br />
On the bright side, the crew and consultants were amazing and couldn't have been more laid back or patient with us. (We may have, uh, chanted their names every.single.time. they walked by.) Bridals by Lori rocks!<br />
<br />
As soon as I know when the episode will air, I'll make sure to post it so you can see if we said yes to a bridesmaid's dress!<br />
<br />
And until then? No autographs, please.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-43658061677003129232012-06-15T20:07:00.001-04:002012-06-15T20:14:04.117-04:00You, Me, and a little TLCDrum roll, please.<br />
<br />
Thanks to my darling friend Caroline secretly applying for all of her bridesmaid to appear on the show, I'm headed to Atlanta this weekend to film.....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl7BYCC7fwo-K1jWsrlw6jNCrgoF_35M0W7L1mXR5e4MC8j3AeCRfS_U3d9XlbvHechEXF-dPJHmhJcSZvJxnyd9CYGaStINEHs_e-fUVXSJfWrQK0Sed5wb0yik2_ZwLFMDfW9NsZWVs/s1600/Picture+26.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="71" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl7BYCC7fwo-K1jWsrlw6jNCrgoF_35M0W7L1mXR5e4MC8j3AeCRfS_U3d9XlbvHechEXF-dPJHmhJcSZvJxnyd9CYGaStINEHs_e-fUVXSJfWrQK0Sed5wb0yik2_ZwLFMDfW9NsZWVs/s320/Picture+26.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF0gO6GHBsEBqypxoSRB-4N564n11sL1stxTJVdvPVr4t5wLtICQkcvuVke3PviQy-SVvX2zj4_yLgHR_W6hV4S0SpHUREJnL4j0eezyxjBvNvyJ2d8WsEZtyXvVsvK5BqnS4a8GSPwWM/s1600/Picture+27.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF0gO6GHBsEBqypxoSRB-4N564n11sL1stxTJVdvPVr4t5wLtICQkcvuVke3PviQy-SVvX2zj4_yLgHR_W6hV4S0SpHUREJnL4j0eezyxjBvNvyJ2d8WsEZtyXvVsvK5BqnS4a8GSPwWM/s320/Picture+27.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBpPYVktcpMFH93BvK5YMq-W9GgDPEDbHF5G0bSRvuLph4Iod36LxgnyGO3PcFKF36d4YYGI43hHpENE5y7454FjBhNf4d3hwv8q_Pftya2f1rjBAbG9J4dSR-tc1yk9x6OcW3lXbCJqU/s1600/Picture+28.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBpPYVktcpMFH93BvK5YMq-W9GgDPEDbHF5G0bSRvuLph4Iod36LxgnyGO3PcFKF36d4YYGI43hHpENE5y7454FjBhNf4d3hwv8q_Pftya2f1rjBAbG9J4dSR-tc1yk9x6OcW3lXbCJqU/s320/Picture+28.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Fo real.<br />
<br />
This Monday the 18th, I'll join Caroline and her ten (yes, <i>ten</i>) other bridesmaids at 8am, hair and makeup ready for the cameras. (Hopefully they'll have some sort of coffee IV I can inject directly into my veins. Hopefully.) I'm pretty sure I'll be one of the 'maids trying on dresses, especially since that pretty much guarantees some face time on TV. (I mean, if I'm making the 9+ hr drive, it needs to be worth it, right? Right?!?!)<br />
<br />
Get your autographs now, people. I'm seeing this going straight to my head.Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-15925397576772846142012-06-15T19:47:00.001-04:002012-06-15T19:47:46.017-04:00Hot Time, Summer in the...Country181 looooooong days after I started praying for it's arrival, it finally arrived. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Summer. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8laXDFCAnfL0OZu9o-n-HO5pVOTbvvvUz_Yrhz48xDV6fcXMMy1uyjUo2XRRatkHSZPx4wtMUx6HSMvKaWEohlMC-PGvViGFpFJ8rhLRNj6BW1ILJTj9ZgqvOqKh0mgDOe9UhSTZXj6c/s1600/IMG_0176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8laXDFCAnfL0OZu9o-n-HO5pVOTbvvvUz_Yrhz48xDV6fcXMMy1uyjUo2XRRatkHSZPx4wtMUx6HSMvKaWEohlMC-PGvViGFpFJ8rhLRNj6BW1ILJTj9ZgqvOqKh0mgDOe9UhSTZXj6c/s320/IMG_0176.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, I was actually invited to this pool in Edenton. Yes, you should be jealous.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Sweet, sweet summer. No students. No job. No problem. (Hey, Kenny Chesney? I literally just handed you a new song title. Boom.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While my other teaching friends are getting internships (or, uh, married) I'm spending my summer pretending that my 12 month paychecks are actually coming from my secret trust fund and allowing me to live the <s>lazy</s> life I've always dreamed of. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And so far? It's glorious. Absolutely glorious. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Instead of shouting at and corralling kids, I'm playing on <a href="http://pinterest.com/ensleyg/">Pinterest</a> and Googling life-altering things like "Emily Maynard haircut". It wasn't even noon before I'd worked out, cleaned up, and sipped coffee on my back porch. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And despite it's <s>soul-crushing</s> faults, small town life has some perks in the summertime. Case in point: today I paid a visit to the hair salon, library, and service station without leaving a one-block radius. Can we say "efficiency"?<br />
<br />
Since I have a <s>sick obsession</s> fascination with Emily Maynard, I thought it would be a good idea to take this pic into the salon with me today:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnTCSYEq7SiS1m4sbobKMsNOC8BqUjTAGlFLhTO8a0cCfUZ9ZkC818Dw2b8MmwBMVRAuCGp4gU6W5t3MOKasCI3c0Yzosxembjc1Rgk4COCHyMY2zujxK2ZTzmfkZwi1IGA4wg1uIBFQ/s1600/emily-maynard-300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnTCSYEq7SiS1m4sbobKMsNOC8BqUjTAGlFLhTO8a0cCfUZ9ZkC818Dw2b8MmwBMVRAuCGp4gU6W5t3MOKasCI3c0Yzosxembjc1Rgk4COCHyMY2zujxK2ZTzmfkZwi1IGA4wg1uIBFQ/s320/emily-maynard-300.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Work them roses, girrrrrl.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So all of the Googling wasn't for naught. While my hair cut looks surprisingly similar, the salon unfortunately didn't provide me with veneers or a boob job, so the rest of me looks the same. Luckily, I now have endless hours to allow Jillian Micheals to whip me into Emily-like shape.<br />
<br />
Enjoy the rat race people. I have a terribly busy day of painting my nails and tearing through magazines in front of me.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2253877317682829941.post-64690710561900429712012-05-29T07:46:00.003-04:002012-05-29T07:46:49.974-04:00Wagon Wheel, Minus Half the LyricsAh...summer. I can't wait to meet you 10 days from now. <div>
</div>
<div>
Love, Ensley. <div>
<br class="webkit-block-placeholder" /></div>
<div>
Sigh. Just in case this turns into the longest 10 days of my life, I packed up my bathing suits and one of my roommates and headed down to visit my friend Lindsay in Ocean Isle and Wilmington this weekend. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdbXhN7xtzNonGiNnP7SnnzHXGI3eBa8oLLstu4qZLkttwKgUxDWK_RmoAQSSRUqrTC79184rrHcPduED9PLbDrgC9dBQ4BmnJ6S1A_c3UsaRSlESMB5CMlV-QrP99Ps9eo1QrM66bzsA/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdbXhN7xtzNonGiNnP7SnnzHXGI3eBa8oLLstu4qZLkttwKgUxDWK_RmoAQSSRUqrTC79184rrHcPduED9PLbDrgC9dBQ4BmnJ6S1A_c3UsaRSlESMB5CMlV-QrP99Ps9eo1QrM66bzsA/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ecstatic to have escaped the sticks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We sipped coffee while gazing at a golf course, churned through beach reads, and took frequent naps in the sunshine. At night we headed to Pelican's Landing before getting up the next morning and starting it all over again. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSAFOJz4ccnR1tuTlrg23c19-vGV70IuOIEtU_DIR5FMMbFKys3p8hNvjBcm_yeSmQqG08oh6PANcWBlTmvkaXyO2KLOi_C3lwCzuCuW1a_tWpLN0FF7J59R1vdzbRj6zdYayUtfam6E/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSAFOJz4ccnR1tuTlrg23c19-vGV70IuOIEtU_DIR5FMMbFKys3p8hNvjBcm_yeSmQqG08oh6PANcWBlTmvkaXyO2KLOi_C3lwCzuCuW1a_tWpLN0FF7J59R1vdzbRj6zdYayUtfam6E/s320/photo-1.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little pre-bar yoga. Good for the mind and liver. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Heaven. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br class="webkit-block-placeholder" /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Sunday we drove about an hour north to watch Lindsay's brother play in a volleyball tournament. Drinking beer while watching half naked men glisten with sweat? This is MY kind of sporting event. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br class="webkit-block-placeholder" /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Unfortunately for Liza, either the beach bar was abnormally high or she's too young to be drinking:</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_irt2jil2iwSgdxsV2-itL4Lhb4Q4-KRwouMyUsQK-NUcSSfqrkIifF4EKUkjLk2rX_9kA_PcoFgCYZ4Xq-BAxzilaMbB6wfM6dJclZMHjQALwL7_vt2lNrA6Uqo1KB1poFxXV3cIs8/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_irt2jil2iwSgdxsV2-itL4Lhb4Q4-KRwouMyUsQK-NUcSSfqrkIifF4EKUkjLk2rX_9kA_PcoFgCYZ4Xq-BAxzilaMbB6wfM6dJclZMHjQALwL7_vt2lNrA6Uqo1KB1poFxXV3cIs8/s320/photo-2.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excuse me? Sir? Another beer down here?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In one of our first bad judgement calls of the weekend, we let the boys we were with decide which bar we were going to. All I need to say to describe it is this: the band that was playing was so beyond wasted that they flubbed the lyrics to Wagon Wheel. Yes. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Wagon Wheel.</span> That's practically the North Carolina state song. Rude. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-NDe3Z67ixpW-HG9G7DY5zC9iVKwt3BZTYSMVtaY6l3qltFjPbofI6JYwOK1tMBtAog1jSQ5IMpd1u7wftZAy9XvnPtP-Uu1LTpcY6nltOtv-_f8epDb2jDi6vAFXBRSb5lS2JIKmjeQ/s1600/photo-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-NDe3Z67ixpW-HG9G7DY5zC9iVKwt3BZTYSMVtaY6l3qltFjPbofI6JYwOK1tMBtAog1jSQ5IMpd1u7wftZAy9XvnPtP-Uu1LTpcY6nltOtv-_f8epDb2jDi6vAFXBRSb5lS2JIKmjeQ/s320/photo-3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously? Who forgets the lyrics to Wagon Wheel?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Luckily, I am easily distracted by good looking men who buy me beer:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPfc6172lVFm7gkn1ymzk4e4bH64iLXbWz-Ewvwe9y3IZfkq3a723J5x7RxLfk2ruq71GMgWhwRgmRRxIHKwVMm-vwk7BfSvLvevVa-fC_5FivAGNUlRVj4DTRtI8fPNm6E-L9JHEX_M/s1600/photo-5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPfc6172lVFm7gkn1ymzk4e4bH64iLXbWz-Ewvwe9y3IZfkq3a723J5x7RxLfk2ruq71GMgWhwRgmRRxIHKwVMm-vwk7BfSvLvevVa-fC_5FivAGNUlRVj4DTRtI8fPNm6E-L9JHEX_M/s320/photo-5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey there friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Or boy BFFs with Burt Reynolds-like chest hair.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfU4PsJrRisoEABlxhkhS8eG4s68YIbBw5IAxF3EO7Qs-QfcIApQe5JVDF4sgQsJ1S_OaPb6WbBs-ofFbiEJYAkD7SAQz8awD78wu4Hxh7z0KhzCMjaOET3Kh5umMSusI2l4I9Bj2RICE/s1600/photo-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfU4PsJrRisoEABlxhkhS8eG4s68YIbBw5IAxF3EO7Qs-QfcIApQe5JVDF4sgQsJ1S_OaPb6WbBs-ofFbiEJYAkD7SAQz8awD78wu4Hxh7z0KhzCMjaOET3Kh5umMSusI2l4I9Bj2RICE/s320/photo-4.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Could. Not. Resist. (And yes, I knew this guy before I gave him a chest rub.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's back to reality this morning, tired but tan. If the next ten days of school go by as fast as the weekend did, I'll be one happy teacher. </div>
</div>Haughty by Naturehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09455426214501772349noreply@blogger.com3