emuhlee

Self-Proclaimed Copycat

It's ok, I admit it. But as long as I give props to the insanely creative individual whom I am copying....it's alright, right? I thought so. It doesn't make me lame or totally uncreative at all, does it? I didn't think so. So, first and foremost, let me tell you that if you actually want to laugh, go to Christine's blog. It's much better than mine. She's a blogging genius. I'm just....aspiring to be like her, I suppose.

Now, if you've read hers, you've got a sneak peak as to what my post will be like. For those of you who don't do as I direct, I'm ashamed of you and don't think you even deserve to read my blog today. But, since I'm unable to control if you do or don't gracious and loving and all about you people, I suppose you can go ahead.

 

CONFESSIONS of a DIET COKE-AHOLIC:

So here we go. Things about me that maybe no one knows. Random facts about myself that range as far back as my pre-teen days. Buckle up, it's going to be a scary trip.

 

I learned the Thriller dance for my prom. You know, in honor (false) of the King of Pop himself (which I also do not believe), I have a MJ related story. Or better yet, let's call him Jacko--becuase that's a creepy name, and he basically creeps (or, creeped) me out. Anyway, you know the movie 13 Going On 30? You might not, if you're not girly and awesome like me. Well, once I saw that movie I decided I definitely wanted to learn "Thriller". Now, it's a strenuous learning process, and I don't like to do things unless there is a reason behind it. And just "learning Thriller" for the purpose of being able to say "hey, I know that!" isn't very valuable for me (Especially since now we know there won't be a remake for the video anytime soon...). But, Prom, now that's a reason to learn to do something stupid. (Now, I'm not getting into the whole prom debate---should you go, should you not. I did, obviously, but might change my mind if given the chance. But that's not important for my story.) The important part of this is, I showed up at my prom clad in some fiesta looking dress ready to bug the DJ until he played Thriller for me. And that's exactly what I did. I bugged this man so much, and he finally agreed he'd play it at the end (you know, since most people leave before that). Well, guess what? As luck would have it, our prom gets cut short. So the guy has time for "one more song". I, of course, look at him pleadingly, but he just shakes his head and puts some Usher (eww) song on. Not to be defeated by the uber-lame Prom, I push my way through to the middle of the dancefloor and bust out a slow-mo version of Thriller. Because I can. Needless to say, it was awesome. I mean, were you thinking otherwise?

 

I used to own a shirt that had the (not literal) heads of the Hanson brothers on it. It's true. It was nappy and two sizes too big and ridiculous and hideous, but it didn't matter. I LOVED HANSON. But I'll take it a step further than that and say: I used to look like a Hanson brother. This is freakishly true. I had the blonde hair...was just a year or so younger than the youngest brother, Zac (yes I still know all of their names, songs, wives and childrens names...for which I should not receive judgment.), and did I mention had a bowl cut? Yeah. That's the big one. And by "big one" I mean embarrassing one. Sometimes I tell people I had a bowl cut and their minds think "short girl hair cut"...seeing as I am, in fact, a girl. But no. My hair was so short that 1: it was shaved in the back and 2: my would-later-be best guy friend, when he first met me, thought I was a boy. True life. To make matters worse, my first "real" boyfriend--I use the term loosely in that, he was my 'first love' and all that jazz, but we were young and stupid and precious and all of those things, anyway, we had the same hair cut up until like, idk, 5th grade. Perhaps we should have been siblings, not dating.

 

I've never actually eaten a cheeseburger. Ok, so, that's not entirely true. But don't jump to meaty conclusions just yet. When I was a freshman in COLLEGE, I had a small bit of one (though that was Lion's Pride and should hardly be counted). And then I had another small bite (and I mean small, more like nibble) this past year. But I've never eaten a whole one. Or more than two bites. Now don't think I'm a freak. I like hamburgers (sort of, on a good day) and I love cheese (real cheese, like, cheddar) but, I've just never seen the appeal of a cheeseburger. Mainly because the thought of cheese and ketchup and mustard disturbs me. yuck.

 

I work with a vampire. It's TRUE!!!!! Don't start judging me, thinking I've let the Twilight series go to my head. Ok, maybe that's actually true, but hear me out!! Let me describe to you my workplace. And by work, I mean the place of my unpaid summer internship. So I sit in these little 1/2 cubicle type desk things...they're scattered about over the entirety of the newsroom. I sit facing the police scanners and TV's, and the vampire sits right behind me, facing the opposite direction. However, I turn around periodically (because, I mean, he's got that timeless humor) and I realize there's just something different about him. Perhaps it's the incredibly pale skin. Or the natural bleach-blonde hair that's slicked back in a 1920's style. On top of all of these facts, somedays he comes in and wears his sunglasses. (You know, probably because he's thirsty.) AND, sometimes I'll be sitting at my desk and all of sudden he's right there, over my shoulder, and I didn't ever hear him coming. So I'm totally being truthful when I tell you, I work with a vampire.(But, sorry ladies, it's no Cullen-esque vamp.) 

 

Alright, that's all the time I have today to confess things to you. Maybe I'll share more with you later, if Christine doesn't get mad at me. Again, let me shamelessly plug that I copied the confessional post from her. So go read hers. It's MUCH better.  

A Sister Hazel lyrical life.

In honor of two-fer Tuesday (and in honor of my drowsiness via medication) I have decided that the second of my Tuesday blog will consist of a survey. Aren't these just so fun? I know it. Anyway, I'm too doped up to come up with anything hardcore original (like all of my other amazing posts!) So here we go. Survey time. Here are the rules that every good survey gives you:

Choosing only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on to 15 people you like and include me. You can't use the band I used. Try not to repeat a song title. It's a lot harder than you think! Repost as "my life according to (band name)"

Pick Your Artist:
Sister Hazel

Are you a male or female:
Beautiful Thing.

Describe yourself:
Strange Cup of Tea

How do you feel:

In the moment.

Describe where you currently live:
The world inside my head

If you could go anywhere, where would you go:
running through the fields

Your favorite form of transportation:
Superman

Your best friend is:

another me

You and your best friends are:

dreamers

What's the weather like:
your winter

What's your favorite time?

one time

If your life were a tv show, what would it be called:

Life Got in the Way

What is life to you:
It's all about the love

Your current relationship:
this kind of love

Your fear:

starfish

What is the best advice you have to give:
let your love flow

Thought for the Day:

meet me in the memory

How I would like to die:

tear by tear

My soul's present condition:
Happy

My motto:
Just remember =)

PS: The title for my entire blog now, that I changed earlier without realizing someone would add this to facebook and I would do it...is a Sister Hazel song. And Sister Hazel also has one of my favorite quotes of all time : she reads my eyes just like her diary. Man, guys, check out sister hazel. They're basically awesome .

A whole new world...

Or some other random Disney song that I didn't sing at my graduation.

As you can see if you're here at my vox profile, things have changed. Not that I didn't like my professional looking writing layout--but, that fit when I was in Europe. Because when I was in Europe, I was doing classy things and writing about classy places and experiences (like seeing Michelangelo's David or the ruins of a place that the Apostle Paul visited.) However, as you can see with my latest posts, I've jumped off of the classy train and basically jumped on Ozzy's crazy one. So, I decided that I probably needed to change my format. I mean, you can't very well have a classy layout if you've abandoned being a classy individual. Case in point.

Anyway, now that you're here, I might as well give you a story, right? My story comes from yesterday. Because yesterday, my friends, was just another Manic Monday for me. Woah woah.

I got up (too early) and went to Dr. #1. He proceeds to ask me: "Are you sure you're not an old lady?" Among the numerous things you don't want to hear your doctor say, at 21, I think that's gonna be on the list for me. So good then. After that catastrophe of a doctor's appointment, I go to the Wal-Mart house to get my prescription of Claritin, because, surprise, I've got chronic allergies. Gooood then. When I get to the pharmacy, the lady doesn't actually believe I'm old enough to get over-the-counter drugs. I show her my license (and make her realize that I am, in fact, 21) and so I get them. But, when I am suffering from a "chronic headache" because of these "chronic allergies" I do not want to be haggled by the lady behind the counter who is not, in fact, a pharmacist...but is simply there judging people and their medications. So I leave irritated. (After a forced 'thank you' of course.)

Then I go and get gas. Always a discourging endeavor for me and my no-money summer of the internship.

I drive home and find that Sister Hazel can always lighten my mood. What does NOT lighten my mood is driving around a mountain and losing the reception of my little iTrip radio receiver, which then makes me mentally curse Stormin' Norman because he doesn't have a tape deck (though idk why they call it a deck) and I can't use one of those uninterruptable iPod thingys.

After I get home, I made lunch. That in itself is a huge deal. But then, guess what, we're missing one single incredient. One single, necessary incredient. Good then. I've gotta get back in the car, drive to the store, and be flirted with by the man behind the counter who is more than likely a pedephile because as we've seen already today, I do not look over 18.

After lunch I had to go to yet another Dr's appointment. This time it is my beloved Dr. Maddox...that has already performed 2 (yes, I'm aware I'm only 21) wrist surgeries on me. So I'm thinking the whole time I'm on my way "no surgeries, no surgeries" and, hey, no surgeries! But I find this out after waiting over an hour in his office (because he's running late in surgery). Luckily, in that hour, I got to fill out an updated insurance thing and all this other paper work. People who are in an orthopedic office (for a hand specialist) really shouldn't have to fill out so much paperwork. It just doesn't make sense. However, I take my stuff up to the lady who asks "How old are you?" in that accusatory tone I'm used to. I answer 21, and she's like..."no way! I thought you were still in high school." Of course she did. I then tell her the story of when I was at the beach and the Olive Garden host took my wine glass away before the waiter got there, but left everyone else's in my family. Because I apparently don't look 21 in the least bit. Not even a little. Not even at all. She laughed, and I just told her I purposefully don't wear make-up so I can throw people off. I've learned to make light of the situation, while making sure my obvious frustration with the exact same conversation is known. After all of that....  I don't even get to see Dr. Maddox, I get his helper (who looks freakishly like the behind the counter wal-mart pharmacy lady---making me a little irritable). She sends me to get an x-ray, and what does the technician ask? "How old are you?" Really, people? And I wasn't even wearing my polka-dot onesie today.

After all of that, Dr. Mad-dog (as my step-dad refers to him....You'd have to know Bill, this is common practice for him) comes in and tells me I've got some Dumbledor kind of disease...aka, tendonitis or something. Guess what that means? (NO SURGERY!!! And...) A SHOT. Let me go ahead and tell you all right here and now that I am not a huge fan of needles. I'm not one of those people who passes out when they see one, or can't see blood, or anything like that. I'm not like that at all. I just, like most normal people, don't like being stuck with pointy objects. The lady tells me "It's gonna hurt" and I'm like, well duh, I see the needle you've got. Then she tells me "but the medicine is what really hurts." That's the same thing they told me when I got a tetnus shot. And I laughed in their faces. Because that shot didn't hurt. After my mononuclosis stint, it didn't hurt to get stuck with needles....and that pain was nothing. This lady (who had the look on her face like she was going to have to tell me I needed amputation or something) was not kidding. She sticks me--ouch-- and then the steroid stuff goes in. OOOOUCH. (Or, like the alligators at Chuck E Cheese....ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch.) I'm literally sitting there thinking "it's better than surgery, it's better than surgery" but not much. She also said it had some litacain (sp?) in it, so it would go numb soon. Aman to that. And it did. However, that didn't matter to "don't like needles, Emily". I don't pass out because I see needles, I just get extremely light headed at pain. And I'm sitting there...she's finished...and she's like..."you look really white." For the first time in my life I don't get affended because of my albino status (since I just got back from the beach), but i know what she means. And I tell her very matter of factly: "Oh, yeah I'm gonna need to lay down. I do this all the time." And so there  I am, laying down in the doctors office. She leaves, I start crying. Why? (because I'm an idiot and) I don't know, because since I don't LOOK 21 I decide not to ACT 21 and I want my mommy to be there to hold my hand 'cause this thing HURTS. I don't know about any of you...and how many shots you've had, or blood drawn or anything needle related. I've had my fair share, though. When I had mono, in one sitting I had about 8 things taken. Different veins. I've had surgery, so I've had IVs. I've had all my shots up to date. This was different. She put a needle in my WRIST. I'm used to arm, even hand, possibly hip. But WRIST?? How much meat is on a wrist? Answer: none. Thus the nausea.

Needless to say, I had a bad case of the Mondays. And, to top it all off, woke up in the middle of the night to more nausea and a bit more pain--because the numbing stuff wore off and here I am today. Good then.

I also don't tell you this so you can feel bad for me. I just tell you so that you can laugh at how young I apparently look, or how much of a pansy I am at doctor's offices, or possibly so you can pray for the poor technician I'm gonna have to see on Friday to do more bloodwork. Bless all of those and their good ministries of sticking Emily with things. They don't know what they're getting into. Amag.

Wonderful Wednesday Pt. 2---sorry for the delay.

So if you look back a week or so you'll find that one wonderful Wednesday, I started blogging. But I got so overwhelmed with the subject matter (EUROPE!) that I didn't finish. And even if I had, you probably wouldn't have finished reading it because nightfall would have come and you would have had to go to sleep. So, for you, I segmented it. But, I have not forgotten my purpose (you have a purpose? Shut it): To tell you fun-time stories about my study abroad experience. *Also, stay tuned at the end of this blog for a sneak peak into Emily's next mastermind creation thing to read to fill your extremely bored moments*

Let's pick up where we left off, shall we? You've probably forgotten where we left off, so I'll tell you. I had just finished a story about Greece---my third country to travel to in Europe. (4th if you count the Vatican. I don't. Why does the Pope get his own country? Doesn't he have an entire religion centered around him? AND, not to mention, a really fun hat?) So, here we go....the next country we'll go to is.....

SWITZERLAND!

Alright, let me give you a little insight into me: I'm afraid of heights. It's not like a phobia or anything...because that would mean I'm generally terrified of heights all the time. But I'm not. I have like, spontaneo-heighto-phobia. I'm just afraid of heights sometimes. And those moments are never predictable. So that makes life interesting, right? Sure. Anyway, as you have noticed, we're now in Switzerland. You know, with the extremely hugely high Swiss Alps. Well my lovely group decides we've got to do some kind of "high-element" something while we're in Switzerland--because it's the thing to do. We ended up all agreeing on a ropes course. (Interesting fact: my youth minister--Lonnie Jones--has his OWN ropes course. Needless to say, I've gone rock climbing in the Appalachian mountains, repelling, and on his ropes course. Did I freak out: no.) But, in Switzerland, did I? Absolutely. I'm up on the highest element--and hardest--and I'm literally on the verge of tears. I'm nearly paralyzed...clinging to the ropes and harness and every other thing I can grab, for dear life. Someone has to help me when I finally make it to the final thing: the rope swing. I CANNOT let go and swing across. I just can't. I would have more willingly given myself up to a life without Diet Coke--and that says a whole lot. Not only am I in the midst of an emotional breakdown, I'm also in a harness. Have you ever seen a harness? They are NOT CUTE. Not in the least bit. So not only is my mental side looking like a complete fool---I'm looking all kinds of ignent wearing this strappy harness. I believe I was probably pretty close to the "epitome of ridiculous." Good times. Anyway, here's Mason and Maggie sporting the sexy harnesses.

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AUSTRIA!

The next fun-time country on this world tour is Austria. This story should be pretty short (sighs of relief all around). So, our hostel in Austria was a bit of a ways away from the train station or anything else in Austria. So we had to walk. Well, luckily, on this fun little walk...there was a bridge. And on this fun little bridge one could sing...say...The Sound of Music...and have a fun time getting people to stare at you thinking things like "Could you be any more touristy?" (said in Chandler Bing fashion, of course). It was a great time. Here's a picture of Austria. Just because. (And please be proud of the length of this story. It's unlikely to happen again.)

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GERMANY!

I'm so excited about the next leg of these stories. Why? Because this part of my Italy trip shifted...and my best friends changed and I started hanging out with Alyssa and Shane and Brittany. Those make for some great times. =) Anyway, Germany is first. But really, we didn't even make it into Germany before all the fun began....we were simply on a train. Locked in a room (because drunk German men had been staring in our cart and saying crude things---no worries, I had a boy with me!) So we're in our little train cart, and we decide to watch a movie. And by watch a movie, I really mean, recreate our own. Alyssa, Shane, and I started singing Hairspray. Loudly. On a train, in the middle of the night, in a foreign country. We're belting out Hairspray songs...each of us with our own parts. At one point, we're in the middle of a song, and Alyssa turns around to peak out the curtain (that we most definitely have closed) and this man is just standing there staring at us. It was, well, weird and scary, but also wildly hilarious. We acted like complete and utter fools...and it was so much fun. I think that, for the most part, we acted like fools the entire time we were in Germany. We sat in the Munich train station and made funny pictures and frightened old women beside us. We sat outside of a McDonalds and they took pictures as I ate my Nutella packets and got them all over my face. Good, good times in Germany. I'll just show you, how's that? 

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That's us on the train. =)

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I wanted to stick my head in the bass statue. Right after this, some American guys did the same thing. I was incredibly sassy to them--after all, they stole my great idea. =)

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So, not only was I eating my Nutella in a very nasty fashion, I was also creepily looking at the boys at the next table over who were staring at me.

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And finally, us scaring the lady who was sitting a little further down than the camera is. =P She got a first hand look at how these pictures were going to turn out.....plus she got to experience the rolling laughter of three American teens as they looked at their pictures and roared with laugher. Gooood.

FRANCE!

The three of us (pictured above) headed to France next. And gooooooood gler. We were also quite retarded there. Let's see....we got stuck in the elevator of our hostel. Ok, I didn't. Shane and Alyssa did, though. Between floors. Because Shane is dumb. =P I licked a man's jacket inside the Eiffel Tower---because we were that close to each other. But the greatest France experience I had was with Shane....in the Louvre. Shane and I pretended to be the statues. It was a great time. We also found some other guys doing the exact same thing---no doubt Americans, too. We're all just so classy. But, they say a picture is better than the 1000 words I would write if I didn't have them, so I'll just give you a series of my fun time France time.

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Don't judge how utterly disgusting I was in Europe.

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We had lots of fun at the Louvre, as I was saying. =)

Alright, well that's all the pictures I'll share for now. I know you've been so excited to see all of these. Next time, you'll see some pictures from Belgium, Ireland, Scotland, and England. I know you're super pumped. =)

 

My Life In Pictures.

This was an interesting note I saw on facebook, and I decided I'd copy it. What you do is follow the instructions. Seems simple enough, right? =)

A picture of you with a parent or two. (My mom and I at Andrew's college graduation and me and Bill on Christmas morning 2008!)

A picture of you and a team/club you were in. (High school volleyball team-2005)

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A picture of someone you are grateful to have in your life. 

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A picture you edited to make yourself look more attractive (I think that a color change always does the trick...though it really might not help with the subject matter! =P)

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A picture of you being absolutely ridiculous. (how about a series...i just have so many to choose from.)

1: Jessie and I at our talent show doing our rendition of Ice Ice Baby.

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2: Me and Shane enjoying our Nutella in our Paris hostel (which was coincidentally the one where Taken was filmed)

3: Jeanette, Ginger, and I at a youth rally before my freshman year of college.

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Crazy hats

4: Me and AP on tacky night for Makin Music

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Ok, moving on: A picture that you don't like of yourself (Shane calls this the "chucky" face that I make. It's almost impossible to recreate, but this beautiful moment WAS capture....good then.)

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A picture of you in one of your favorite outfits. (I LOVE the brown shirt; the other has my favorite hat, favorite t-shirt, and favorite jeans.)

The youngest picture you can find of yourself in digital format. (8th grade)

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A picture you had no idea was being taken. (yes, thanks Maggie. Apparently this is my 'trying to figure out German' face.)

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A picture of a time in your life that is over, but you miss it. (The first is all of us lining up to take our final picture in Italy.The second is our soccer group!)

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A picture of a time in your life that is over, and you couldn't be more thankful for it. (High school. The end. And then one for good measure. Some of you will understand. =) )

The girls

Makin' music!

A picture of someone you miss.(Stupid Air Force)

A picture of you on your birthday or favorite holiday. (21st birthday, PARIS!)

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A picture when you were anything but happy, even if you were smiling and trying to hide it. (The Thursday show. Gooood day.)

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A picture of the real you. (and the real us.*this was also taken pre-dating, but this is just SO me and SO us. I'm a creeper. He thinks I'm an idiot. But we're perfectly ourselves, all the time.)

Quit now!

A picture that makes you laugh.(ok, the first isn't of me, but it cracks me up anyway. Shane and his blue hair.)

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I think it's just Shane that makes me laugh so hard. This was our "don't look at each other" but do the exact same thing moment.

Shane and I in the Louvre....imitating the statues. 

This one cracks me up just because of the context. "Can we take it again?" "No."

A picture of a time when everything was changing (didn't say it had to be good.)

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A picture of a time when you were a different person than you are now. (Italy. The entire thing changed me)

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A picture with a person you love. (=D)

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A picture of you making a goofy face. (yet again, another series. After all, most of my faces are goofy. But I'll try to spice it up for you.)

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That is one of Shane's personal favorite faces of mine. Yet another that is hard to recreate.

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This one could also go under pictures that make me laugh because, please, look at Shane's face. Oh it cracks me up so much. Are we seeing a theme, though? Shane and I make ridiculously wonderfully retarded faces together.

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I know that these are so attractive of myself. But don't judge me.

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I know what you're thinking: Wow, Emily. Sometimes you are so attractive.

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Yes. They generally involve Shane and a foreign country. This one is Greece.

OK, OK, I'll stop.

A picture of one of the best nights of your life. (This was the night that I became his girlfriend. =D)

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The most recent picture of you (this is it..the beach on my mom's birthday. licking icing out of my cini-mini's at BK)

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Hope you enjoyed!!

Wonderful World Wednesday! Pt. 1

Today, for your viewing pleasure, I will be blogging about my world travels. Sure, ok, you might not care. And, if you don't, then you don't have to read. Easy as that. But, when I get home (because I'm on my boredom death bed hard at work right now...) I will upload pictures of all the places that I talk about. So see, that will be a little photo recognition game for you. And everyone loves games....right?? Right! So, strap on your seatbelts and get ready, because we're on a mission. A world mission. 13 countries worth of memories coming your way in

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2....

1...

Holland (Amsterdam):

Day one. Or days one, should I say. After our incredibly long flight from Detroit (which, I probably should include Michigan as a foreign country too...let's be honest) we landed in the home of wooden shoe. Did I freak out? That would be affirmative. Thus the "WE'RE IN EUROPE!!" faces began. But, as extremely excited as I was....and freaking out and constantly checking my under-the-shirt pouch with all my mex in it.... I was soon welcomed to the European world.

We're having to wait to get our passports stamped and get on our connecting flight to Rome. While we're waiting (in this reallllllly long line), I, quite fortunately, got in line behind (beside, and all around) some smelly, smelly folk. Welcome to Europe. It isn't a myth, people. People in Europe smell bad. I'll venture as far as to make up a new word and say that they smell gaggy. That's right, gaggy. Literally, hold your nose without shame because these people reeeek....bad.

On a positive note for our cow milking, clogging friends: They DO have cool shirts. " I AMsterdam." ha. clever cloggers.

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ITALY:

Seeing as I spent the majority of my semester in Italy, it's hard for me to explain to you just one instance out of my 3 month journey. But, since it's my blog and I can do whatever I want to, I'll just do some highlights of great times.

• "Sexy Bimbo". During one of our soccer playing expeditions, one of the Italians (who looked exactly like Mario...minus the overalls) saw that I was about to start playing. He, with his vast English vocabulary and his thick pizza-pie accent, said "Oh, de sexy bimbo". Now, 1: I understand I'm the only blonde he's ever seen in his life. 2: I know he doesn't know the appropriate english words for super awesome amazing female diva. But really, Mario? I did not find it amusing, to say the least. All of the guys on my team, however, did. But look, IT'ZA MARIO!

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• On a train in Venice, we were in a hurry to get onto our train. We'd made the reservations and were trying to get to our seats. Unfortunately this was our very first free travel and we were all by ourselves!! What does that mean? Well, it means we don't know how to read the train car numbers nor do we understand the train system completely. We got on at one end....our car was on the other. So we're trying to pushviolently shove ease ourselves past all of these incredibly friendly, understanding Japanese tourists... and finally we make it. It took forever, but we made it. By the time we got to our seats, Jessica (the only other girl with me) and I had to pee (which, if you know me, surprise). We get up and make our way to the loo. Now, let me explain to you the bathrooms on a train. There's the place where everyone sits...a sliding door....bathrooms....sliding doors...where everyone sits on the next one. See how it makes sense? Right. Well, I walked through the vacuum-sealed automatic doors first. It's only supposed to stay open for one. Jessica decides she'll go through anyway. Good idea....false. It starts closing on her. Before you start assuming you know anything about sliding doors, you don't. We're not in America. They don't open back when they realize you're in the walkway. They close; tightly. It's literally trapping her inside the door...she's trying to push it off but she can't. I'm trying to be helpful, so I'm staring and laughing uncontrollably. It was greatness. Finally she broke through--with a few bruises. However, she got to go to the bathroom so she was happy. Happy, until we got off of one of our trains later and tried to find a bathroom----which ended up being a squatty potty. That's a story in and of itself, people. But I'll spare you the horrific, colorful images. Or maybe I won't. Below you will find the squatty potty (please notice the colors). On a lighter, much more beautiful note (the scenery, not the makeupless-ness), here's me in Venice! Yay!

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• Roma! The origin of many things, like the shirt I'm wearing in the picture above. But more importantly, Rome is the eternal city....The city where Lizzie McGuire was filmed. That's pretty impressive, right? Well, it was to me. I watched the movie the day before I left to go to Europe because I was going to have my own European adventure, just like her. I was pumped. Needless to say, when I was actually IN Italy, I was even more excited. The entire way to Rome (otherwise known as the eternal bus ride) I was so incredibly obnoxious annoying out of control giddy!! My soon to be roommate back in the States, Maggie, knew how much I LOVED Lizzie McGuire (even though, yes, my age is 21....but it wasn't then. It was, um...20.) She knew this, because I would NOT stop telling her that "THIS IS THE PLACE! WE HAVE TO GO ALL OF THESE PLACES!!!" So Maggie gives me this condition: I can do whatever I want when I'm at the Colosseum...I can sing the song, I can dance, I can make a fool of myself and embarrass everyone....but not until then. I think she was just getting tired of my song. But that's not the point. The point is, I had to keep all of this Lizzie-ness locked up. So I did (which is really, really impressive if I must say so.) So, after walking around the Roman Forum and seeing Augustus Caesar's house, we're aimlessly walking around and then BAM (A Billy Mays tribute) we see it. There's the Colosseum, right in front of me. Immediately I freak out. And by "freak out" I mean "bust out"...in song and dance. "Hey now, Hey now...this is what dreams are made of!!" Not only am I singing a song out loud that is intended for girls about 8 years younger than me, I'm dancing and acting a fool. In public. In ROME. Luckily, this beautiful moment is caught on film by Maggie so I can enjoy it later. And you know what, despite the embarrassment I may have caused those around me, I thoroughly enjoyed my Lizzie moment. So don't judge me. Anyway, here's the pic: unfortunately Maggie was standing with her back to the Colosseum. But it's there, nonetheless. 

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• FIRENZE (aka Florence!) Ok, so, this may not actually be a funny moment, but it was a proud moment for Margaret and myself. Who is Margaret, you might be asking. Well, Margaret is one of my many personalities. But Margaret Phillips, oh precious Margo, is British. That's right. She's from Manchester, England. Totally a Man-U fan. So see, she's real. Not only is she real, but she's convincing. Mason (who is the tall red-head in the pic above) and Margaret were climbing up the Bell Tower in Florence (as seen below) and it's really, really scrunched in there. Like, it's tinnnny. So tiny that, when someone is coming the opposite direction you are, someone has to stop and scoot over and let the other person try and get by (which could be difficult if the other person is large or even a slight "big medium".) So, as I'm, err, Margaret's walking up...and people are trying to get by...she's like "soorry, soorry"---you know, Britishly. So there's this one couple (BRITISH) and they're like..."Oh, Tally Ho!" It was greatness. Anyway, that's all. Not funny. Just classifies me as mildly insane. But, here we are. In a series of Bell Tower pictures (no, not pictures for the paper at school.)

GREECE!

Ah, Greece was my favorite. I can only pick one story from Greece, though, since it wasn't my country of residence....so this will be tough. But, we're looking for humorous stories, right? Right. Hmm.

GOT IT! Ok, so we went on a Greek Cruise (sigh....I know you're all jealous, but try to get past that, ok? It's unbecoming.) On this cruise (like most cruises, though this one was so much cooler) the food was free. So, this one day, I'm eating lunch. I'd eaten lunch with Dr. Gardner....meaning it was quite a reserved lunch, full of philosophies and other greatness. And obviously, mountain climber, 13 mile runner Jim is not going to have dessert. But I love Chocolate, grand dessert appreciator Emily, is. So I go downstairs to try to find some un-classy individuals (which isn't meant to be disrespectful in the least bit, but let's be honest....any of us, compared to Dr. G...are unclassy---this story will prove that.) So I find Shane and some Faulkner people (point proven) and I tell them I'm gonna get dessert and come sit by them. So, I go grab this divine looking chocolate, whipped cream pie thing. It's bertifer. But, I get some on my face. And by some, well, I'm being generous with that. I've basically put an entire 1/2 of my pie on my face. Everyone at my table is laughing at me, and Shane says: "Keep it there the entire time you're eating and see how many people we can get to look at you." Of course I listen. Why wouldn't I? So they go get me some more, and I just eat like normal, carry on normal conversation. The only thing is, I've got this huge amount of chocolate pie on the majority of the lower portion of my face. People are staring. Pointing. Laughing. It's greatness. Actress extraordinaire Emily is keeping a straight face throughout all of this, though. Finally, we've gone through two full plates of pie and I decide, well, it's about that time. Time to wipe the face. So I do....Shane and the Faulkner kids are laughing...and then, the waiter comes up. He's this very foreign looking individual (to me, at least. I suppose I was the foreign looking individual). Anyway, he comes up--with another plate-- and says "You make mustache?" (in a fun-time accent, of course) as he puts the plate onto the table in front of me. We all laugh. I'm semi-embarrassed for the first time, but I oblige and start putting more stuff on my face. Good to know that I don't care who I'm around, or where I am....I'm still an idiot. Anyway, here's further proof I was a complete fool on the cruise.

Alright my people, I'm going to finish the rest of this later. I had already typed a lot...when the post decided to delete itself---hence why it's Thursday and I'm just now posting Wednesdays. But don't judge me. Because, you know what, I can't come up with uber-creative posts TWICE in a row. The exact same witty, wonderful post. Anyway, more later. I mean, after all, that's only 3 countries. 10 more to go! =) Pretty exciting. 

Oh, and P.S...I'm gurr to FL tomorrow. So if I have internet, you'll have wonderful floridian posts. If not, you'll be waiting on the world (to change) posts for a week. Sorry. You'll live, though. Anyway, take care then....buh bye now. Or, in the spirit of my world-li-ness, Arrivederci!

Think you're dumb? Just wait.

I'm an idiot. No, it's true. I accept that. Ok, maybe I would like to not accept it, but I have no choice. And I'm going to share with you lucky readers the reason behind this conclusion. For once, you really should consider yourself lucky.

So I get a lunchbreak at work. Today, I was taking full advantage of that....seeing as I'd almost had an emotional breakdown and punched another intern. That, too, would have made a great story. Unfortunately for you and quite fortunate for her I don't have that story to tell. But, you can see that I needed to get away from the news room. So I escaped to the mall. The food court would do today for lunch.

But I was at the mall. So I had to shop. I mean, really...could I just go to the mall, pick up my food, and be done with it? That isn't even possible. So I shopped around. And then, I saw it. The sign that read: 2 for 12 sunglasses and sandals. I can't pass by Claires without going in, anyway. But this sold me. Why? I've been in need of some sunglasses for quite some time. So, I went in, with high hopes, that the sunglasses I'd previously picked out would still be there. And.They.Were.

So it's a glorious day up in the Claires house. I've picked up my bertifer shades, and then --as the sign proudly boasted-- I walked on over to the sandals.

Let me tell you about the sandals:

•  1: It's not a shoe store. It's Claires. So the shoes are simply (though that's quite an understatement) hanging on the wall...in that make you want to pluck your eyes out and scream slightly annoying way where the hanger is hooked around the flip flop and you can barely even unhook it to try it on. Yeah. That's how it's set up. Not frustrating at all. 
• 2: Let me reemphasize that this is Claires. So this store, that is only slightly smaller than a large walk in closet, is jam packed with little odds and ends and small trinkets and crowded walkways....and it's a disaster waiting to happen.

So I see a pair that look quite lovely. They're brown (of course) and have some blue sequins and bertiferness. They're also on the top rack (notice I did not say shelf...they're just little pegs on that walls that are hanging onto these shoes for dear life). Now, this top rack isn't too high. Obviously this store is targetted at teenie bopper girls (which shold be embarrassing enough), so it isn't too high for me. But almost. I mean, hello people....I'm no America's Next Top Model---I'm not an Amazon woman. I'm 5-foot-4. 5'4''!!!! I can reach the sandals. But only at the heel. But does that stop me from trying? No. Should it? Yes, yes it should have.

Luckily, the object of my affection is on the end. Not jam packed right in the middle of all the other sandals. Not tangled up. Just right there on the end. By.The.Hats.

Oh, did I say by the hats? 'Cause I meant, by the hat displays....that are on top of these little cardboard cutout people....on an actual shelf....looking all flimsy. That's what my sandals are by.

You can see the rest playing out beautifully in your head, can't you? I grab my sandals...I'm doing great. And then it happens. That stupid little hanger thing clips the side of Cardboard Betty up there, and she starts to topple. Oh, but Betty can't do it alone. She hits Thelma, and then Louise decides to join in just for kicks. Before I can even stop it, it's like the 12 Days of Christmas right there in Claires: three cardboard cutouts, five hats, and two sets of eyes are on me. And then on the floor.

I'm standing there horrified. Literally, horrified. If you don't know me, you don't understand how priceless this moment really is. I don't embarrass easily. Not at all. But this, this does it. The little teenage worker comes over...and I'm like...I'm really sorry. But I'm fumbling over my words. Me. Fumbling. With WORDS. That doesn't happen to me. I'd usually make some witty comment. But no. I'm basically freaking out. I keep muttering sorry and such like that. She assured me it was fine, that I wasn't the only person who'd done it. But I just stood there, staring at my mess. Handing her the cardboard cutouts once she finally got out the step ladder. Ah, the step ladder. You know, the way normal people go about getting things off of the top shelf. Shoulda thought of that. But I didn't. 

After what seems like a small eternity, everything is back in place. She's coming off the step ladder, I'm backing out of her way. Backing right into one of those crowded walkways, right into an earring rack...slightly bumping little trinkets and things with my purse. Smooth. No one saw that one though, right?  Right.

Of course, after all of this, the witty comments start coming. But I'm still cowering in shame behind the 50% off bin. Oh, and the sandals don't even fit. So I have to go back over to that death trap and put the sandals up. But don't forget I had my sunglasses. So I had to go to the counter and face this girl again. I put my sunglasses up there and was like "Don't worry, I didn't destroy the sunglass display...but I tried." She laughed. It was a good comment, good attempt at saving some pride. But she didn't fool me for a second. She was laughing at me. And she had good reason.

I'm an idiot.    

Time...does....tell...

Today on the way to work I had a flashback. Not like, I thought of the movie "It Takes Two" and recalled how much I used to like the Olsen Twins and all of their movies and songs. No no, a real flashback.

Normally, every morning that I get in my car and come to work (at least for the last few weeks) Gavin has been in my CD player. His melodic voice soothes me on my way to work, as well as helps me rock out a little as necessary to jolt me to life...not that I'm not a morning person. Psh. Anyway, this morning was different. Ok, it ended up different, at least. I turned on my car and Gavin's voice boomed out at me (mainly because I'm an idiot and always forget that I've been listening to my CD player 14 decibles too loud and I always deafen myself) Well, I've been listening to the same CD over and over and over (not that Gavin ever gets old to me...seriously) and I decided it was time for a change. I was just telling Robert yesterday that I get annoyed with my iPod if I'm just making my 20 minute trip to work, so I settle for the 1990s retro CD player flashback. Whatev.

Now, I have a ton of CDs. They're all in this big case that could probably kill me if it hit me in a wreck--but that's not important. What is important is how much of a bother than thing is. I mean, now that I have two bad wrists...it's basically impossible to pick up with any ease. So, I have a little CD holder above my head and I have a few CDs up there. The same CDs that are always up there. So, I go through them one by one in my head. I've listened to my Praiselist countless times...and no doubt will tonight when I'm with Robert on our Jacksonville (Alabama, unfortunately) adventure. So that one was out. Kate Voegele....ehhh, I always listen to her too. Random mixes; I wasn't in the mood to deal with changing songs. I needed something that I liked every single song on the CD. Psh, I'm not high maintenence about my CDs....skipping songs isn't that difficult. Oh wait, j-k! In Stormin Norman it is...he has decided that the "up" button---that scans the radio dials, changes tracks....does anything that's actually essential---it stopped working. Unless I had Edward Cullen strength and could push the button hard enough. However, I am no vampire. Thus, it doesn't work. So, ok, let's not mess with CDs that have songs I don't want to listen to. Slowly but surely my number of options is dwindling down. And then it hits me.

Ok, perhaps I shouldn't use the words "then it hits me" when I'm telling a story about me in the car. Bad judgment call. I saw the CD at that moment in time--even though my eyes were firmly focused on the road. Now the flashback begins.

I pop the CD in and the whining, high pitched teenage boy, slightly synthesized sounding voice blasts out at me. "Please just don't play with me, my paper heart will bleed..."  All-American Rejects, baby.

Immediately I was thrust back into high school. I was a sophomore, still had my braces on...no doubt sporting a shirt that boasted "I LOVE MULLETS" and a loose ponytail. From the second I started singing...tapping my thumb lightly on the steering wheel...I was right back. Perhaps it's me reading all these Twilight books that makes it so easy to tap into high school memories, but no matter the reasoning, I was there.

I didn't have any cares. My best friend was my sister, and a boy I hadn't started dating yet. Life was less complicated. I spent my summer nights at Sonic or watching movies in my basement with my 21 year old sister and her friends--that I had crushes on, no doubt. Every Sunday or Wednesday night was consumed with youth group time...we were all friends, and there were like 50 of us. I went to 6 Flags, concerts, youth rallies. I was busy, but I was happy. It was the best summer of my life.

I didn't have to worry about actual problems. I had three more years to enjoy high school before I had to make decisions. Not like now. Now I'm approaching my senior year of college. I've got a career, a real life to look ahead to. I've got bills and marriage and graduating on time to think about. It's pretty overwhelming sometimes.

And so I pop in All-American Rejects. And suddenly, their poppy voices take me back 6 years. SIX years. Carefree and unafraid. It was nice to go back, even if it was only 15 minutes. So now, here's my challenge to all of you. Listen to something, or do something, that takes you back. Go back to a worry-free time in your life. Enjoy just a few minutes out of your hectic day and take a little time to reflect on a simpler life. It's well worth it. 

But now I'm back to the real world. Sitting in my little desk at my internship, watching the minutes tick away too slowly as they approach three o'clock...my leaving time. My time to get away for the day. (AMAN) Luckily, today won't be one of those "uhg I'm back in my real life" moments. I'm heading to hear Robert preach. =) My life has come a pretty long way in six years, and I wouldn't go back. I basically love it now. =)