cooking up a storm

After two hours in the kitchen, I have successfully boiled eggs...and made a huge mess.  How does that even happen?!  This is exactly why I don't cook.
Sidenote: I was informed of the recent egg scare today at work, and all the talk made me really want some eggs!  Is that weird?  Shouldn't I be running away from them and not toward them?!

Also, I just spent the last ten minutes crawling under my bed, throwing milkbones at (not to...I was too mad to throw them to) Layla in an attempt to get her to drop the napkin she snuck out of the trash.  I was unsuccessful.  Anyone know if it's okay for a dog to eat two paper towels?  And no, I don't mean mentally okay; I'm well aware of the fact that she is certifiably crazy.

So now, I smell like eggs, I'm covered in carpet lint, and I'm keeping a close eye on my very absorbent dog.  Be jealous!

The back o' your head is ridiculous!

Two days ago I found an iPhone on the sidewalk near my apartment complex.  It had a missed call from "Jenny Fat A--."  I'm not sure who that is, but I'm pretty sure that's not her real name.  And I'm willing to bet she doesn't know that's how she's listed in someone else's phone...otherwise, she probably wouldn't be calling.  Or would she?

One of my biggest struggles is fear of man.  Not fear of men (although that one does sneak up on me quite often) but fear of man...constantly worrying about what others think of me.  If I were listed in someone's phone as "Leslie Man Laugh" or "Leslie Talks-Too-Much," I would spend an incredible amount of time and energy trying to change that person's opinion of me.  Why?  Why would I waste my time trying to convince someone else that I am worthy of their respect when I could just stop calling?

To quote Joe from The Princess Diaries, who was quoting Eleanor Roosevelt (from real life), "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."  So all you Sally Big Noses and Roxanne Lazy Eyes, quit calling the people who can't see past that.  Don't give them the satisfaction of deciding who you are.  Rock your quirks!

on repeat

God in my hoping, there in my dreaming
God in my watching, God in my waiting
God in my laughter, there in my weeping
God in my hurting, God in my healing

Everything
Tim Hughes

just sayin'...

The pool at the W hotel is kind of awesome.  I can't tell you how I know that; I just do!

And in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight!

not this girl

In the past 12 hours, I definitely did not...

eat approximately 7 donut holes, 3 pieces of cake, and a giant chocolate chip cookie.

sport some boyfriend jeans that maybe fit a little more like jeggings now.

perform my old half-time field entrance routine in the conference room at work.

get into a heated debate about the details of the proposals in Bride Wars and He's Just Not That Into You (Dare to challenge my chick flick knowledge?!).

receive a final notice for toll violations in the amount of $128.80 (only $3.30 of which were actual toll prices).

take the first bite of someone else's lunch.

convince myself that six sit-ups is a decent workout.

go to Half Price Books in search of textbooks and leave with Catch Phrase and The Office Trivia Game.

buy a purse and consequently have no money to put in it.

send a text message to myself to remind me to do something and then legitimately get excited when my phone beeped...only to realize it was me.

help explain the ins and outs of Hannah Montana versus Miley Cyrus to a somewhat confused fan.

giggle at an old Johnson Boat commercial.

jet over to a friend's house for movie night in lieu of my evening plans to go for a run, clean house, and lesson plan.

Nope!  Not this girl!  But that girl sure does sound like fun!

I thought you said curling iron.

Have you ever caught a glance of your home as you close the door to leave for work and think to yourself, "I really hope I don't have an emergency today and people have to come in here and see this, because even in a state of comatose, I would be totally mortified!"?  Well, that has pretty much been my thought every morning for the past, oh, ten to twelve weeks.  And today, my fears came true when two hours into the school day, I realized that I had left two sets of hot rollers plugged in in the bathroom and would need back up.  I immediately imagined Layla howling for help while my apartment - with its piles of laundry and dishes and trash and unread mail - went up in flames.

I made a call to my apartment offices, which weren't open yet (Who opens at 11:00 on a Thursday?!  If you can afford to stay closed that long, then you definitely don't need the seven dollar a month increase you charged me for the next year's rent!), and I was redirected to a woman in North Carolina.  When she asked if I had an emergency, I didn't quite know how to answer.  It is difficult to explain the urgency of needing to unplug a hairstyling tool.  Also, when I think of hot rollers, I think of, "mature" women, so instead of telling her that I had hot rollers plugged in, I lied and said it was a curling iron.  You know, because that makes me less crazy.  Why I do things like that, I do not know.  Like it really matters if some woman in North Carolina, who probably already thinks I'm an idiot, knows that I use hot rollers!  Anyway, I apparently got the point across because ten minutes later, I got a call from the on site maintenance team asking if I did, in fact, have an "electrical emergency."

Do I have an electrical emergency?  Why, yes.  Yes I do.  And could you please fix it by going to my apartment, walking all balance-beam-like through the tiny path in the kitchen that is not obstructed by shoes, school craft projects, and bags of donation clothes, then proceed to play hopscotch through the laundry in the hallway until you dead end at the bathroom door, open it slowly so as not to knock over the the-end-times-are-coming-any-minute-and-we-need-to-be-prepared-sized bag of dogfood and unplug my...my...hot rollers?  What's that?  Oh, yeah, I know it says curling iron, but they're actually hot rollers (Did I just hear a laugh?).  Now, you'll have to be careful of everything balanced on the bathroom counter; one false move, and it all comes tumbling down.  Also, I have a hyperactive dog who is prone to escaping, so when you're coming and going, if you could just kind of squeeze yourself through the smallest possible opening in the doorway (that's right, just suck it all in) and use your foot to keep her inside, that would be great.

So, that was my morning.  A little embarrassing for several reasons, but not the end of the world.  My piles of laundry and dishes and trash and unread mail were still here waiting for me when I got home, as was my dog, who is currently running through said piles, grabbing at various items and tossing them up into the air.  It may be chaos over here, but my hair looks fabulous, if I do say so myself!

8 words or less

long day, good run, angry knees, happy girl