moshi moshi means hello

first off, it's memorial day.  a day to remember everyone that has fought for our country and paid the ultimate sacrifice, and a day to remember those continuing to risk everything as they defend our freedom.  you people rock.  plain and simple.  some kids might idolize superman or spiderman or batman or some other type of crossover between beast and man, but i idolize you, military men and women.

when it comes right down to it and i'm being honest, i've never been known to be selfless.  in fact i've often been known to be the exact opposite of this, but you fine folks are the epitome of selfless.  i know in my heart of hearts that i couldn't do it, but i am so very thankful there are people out there that aren't like me (for so many reasons, but especially this one).  all my love and my sincerest thanks.

now that my memorial day thanks are complete, it's time for my daily language lesson.  hooray!  having been told in high school that i had too strong a southern accent to ever be good at a foreign language (which still stings today...especially since i'm not even from the south), i am often hesitant to practice any type of language other than my own.  i can rationalize this with the fact that i often sound stupid enough on my own and i don't really need to add salt to the foreign language wound by stumbling over words, saying them incorrectly, and having more knowledgeable people laugh at me.  and trust me, i've heard it all...trying is the only way you learn, people don't mind if you stumble because they know you're practicing, practice makes perfect, blah blah blah, etc.  

whatever.  i'll just do what i did during my trip to mexico in middle school - i'll pretend i can't speak and just survive by pointing.  if i can't get it by pointing, i don't need it.

anyways, and yes this will feel like a tangent but stick with me because it's related ... i decided recently that it was time to trim the mane that sits atop my head since it had been so very long and eventually my hair really does resemble dead lettuce hanging from my scalp (something i tried to explain to friends tonight at dinner - that really is what my hair looks like when it dries naturally).  i googled salons in my area and found one called moshi moshi means hello.  i didn't know what moshi moshi was or if it really meant hello, but the reviews were golden and it thought it sounded cool.

and it turns out, moshi moshi really does mean hello (at least informally...like for a phone conversation. naturally i asked for clarification because i don't like believing lies).  and i feel like i even remember michelle tanner calling japan on a full house episode and saying moshi moshi...or maybe i'm making that up?  but either way, i think i'll start to incorporate moshi moshi into my daily vocabulary, much like i'm incorporating the 'so fetch' phrase.  if you don't know so fetch, you should (and you will once i'm done with you).  moshi moshi sounds like a great way to say hello and it's definitely a language i can speak, southern accent or not.  

so don't be alarmed if i say moshi moshi to you the next time you call.  because obviously it is so fetch.

also, for the record, moshi moshi means hello is a really wonderful salon and mary, the lady that did my hair, was definitely so fetch.  she was one of those stylists with vision.  and when dealing with a girl that usually just ties her horse mane up into a ponytail or braid, vision is something necessary if a stylist is going to succeed and make me want to come back.  moshi moshi means hello, and mary, definitely did that. if you're in the market to get your mane chopped, it's worth checking out.  

all vacuum bags are not created equal.

since the world was going to end last saturday, i didn't bother vacuuming the rest of my apartment once my vacuum bag filled up.  i found out (the hard way) that you aren't supposed to pull the crap out of the bag...you're supposed to get a new bag.  ugh.  still trying to wash the feeling of all that crap off my hands.  and you know how i am about hands.  bleh.

anyways, since i was house sitting last week, the vacuum just sat in the middle of the floor, sans a bag, waiting for me to figure out how to fix it.  i had made a quick run to the grocery store last weekend when i thought i'd have a clean apartment in case the rapture really was going down, but when i didn't find any bags immediately i decided if i was peacing out of earth saturday night, i wasn't going to waste my last precious hours sweaty and up to my elbows (literally) in vacuum bag gunk.

so here we are, a week later, and i finally made it home and decided i needed to tackle the beast that was the vacuum bag.  having never replaced it (which is gross because i've had it for years...but, umm, the last time it needed replacing i just pulled the gunk out of it because i thought that's what you did. it turns out that's not what you do...), i went to walmart because i thought the store that has everything is bound to have vacuum bags.  and have them they did.

this picture doesn't do the options justice.

roughly a million different versions of vacuum bags (luckily some options seemed to be out of stock so at least my options were limited to 999,987) taunted me as i stood clueless in the aisle praying for one of them to start glowing like things do in the movies when you're supposed to pick that option.  how was i supposed to know that it wouldn't be obvious which bag was for me?  and of course, since my vacuum has been with me since undergrad, it wasn't on the floor for me to check and see what bags went with it.  piece of crap.

as i'm standing there mulling over the choices (at least i could remember the brand name), i couldn't help but think if i had been more careful pulling the gunk out of the bag and not ripped it right at the end (i was so close to having an empty bag), i wouldn't be in this situation where the choices were endless.  that's right.  i was so overwhelmed i was wishing to have vacuum gunk on my hands again.  you know it's bad when you'd rather reach into a vacuum bag that hasn't been emptied in god knows how long instead of read the back of all the packages with the tiny print and guess what vacuum your parents bought you a thousand years ago.  growing up and doing adult things like replacing vacuum bags is so overrated.  i didn't feel mature and accomplished.  i felt confused and irritated.

why can't there just be a one-size-fits-all vacuum bag?  and why is vacuum such a hard word to spell?  to this day i have to google it to figure it out.  i can quote endless lines from all kinds of crappy movies, but i can't remember how to spell vacuum without the help of the internet.  sad.  also, the more you type the word vacuum and search different spellings online, the more the word looks weird.  i don't recommend this if you don't want to second-guess yourself forever.

lucky for me, the vacuum gods were at least kind of looking down on me (even if they were still laughing at my vacuum bag incident last weekend) and the option i selected turned out to fit on my vacuum.  granted, the bag will probably catch fire or something else terrible once i vacuum tomorrow, but for now it's megan-1, vacuum-0.  pray it stays that way.

if i'm going to survive in montana, i've got to learn more about this nature thing.

sunday night marked the premiere of sharpay's fabulous adventure on disney channel and if you haven't seen it, you should.  i'm pretty sure it's showing again this upcoming weekend so mark it on your calendars.  in it sharpay convinces her father to support her plan to move to new york city so she can make it on broadway.  he gives her a month to prove herself and she's off.  naturally, i took some notes on how she went about her manipulation because sometimes a girl needs to try new tactics once the 'rents wise up to the typical routine.  the rest of the movie was cute and often comical as is typical of the high school musical type movies.  love at first watch for me.

anyways, during sharpay's presentation of the facts to her father, he expresses that he just doesn't know if she can do it (ie: survive in new york city and make it big).  she comes back at him with a quote that is something like this (i didn't catch the whole quote quick enough to write it down word for word so i'm going to paraphrase):  "daddy, i know i can do this like i know my eyes are the perfect distance apart to be a super model and like i know that purple washes me out."

yes, i know that's not verbatim and i'll fix it once i buy the movie and can write it all down, but the point remains the same.  sharpay knows she can do it - and she does it (spoiler, sorry guys).  she goes to nyc, figures it all out, meets a cute boy along the way (bonus!), and ends up stronger and wiser in the end.  maybe it's because i'm not taking classes so i have a lot of free time on my hands to daydream, but this movie only fueled my desire to pack up and star in my very own sharpay type film: megan's fabulous adventure - montana style.

nature can be so pretty!

and okay, i'll settle for somewhere else like north dakota or another state i know nothing about, but i can't stop the desire to just go and figure it all out.  chances are more than high that once i do this i'll freak out, but i know i can do it in the end.  i've been raised to give it my all and jump in with both feet (although i often stick one or two toes in first), but no matter what, with the right amount of positive energy and hard work you can make the best out of any situation.

so i know i can do it.

i know i can do it like i know that sweating is the body's way of telling you that you're working too hard.  i know i can do it like i know that the first diet coke of the day is always the best diet coke.  and i know i can do it like i know that nature is a foreign country to me.  no matter what any of the doubters say, i just know i can.

the not-knowing-much-about-nature thing is probably something i need to remedy in the next 7 months since i feel like montana and n.dakota are nature-type places.  luckily, i'm getting a brief introduction to nature this week as i take care of some flowers and other nature-like things out in the country and so far, so good.  i haven't seen the vegetable garden snake just yet (although i have looked for him - he makes me more nervous when i don't know where he's slithering) and i've been able to keep the raccoons and other nature critters  away from the blueberry bushes.

waiting for the vamps. typical.

and i'm loving being able to take advantage of the beautiful backyard (something i don't have in town in an apartment) and enjoy smelling the honeysuckle, feeling the warm sun, and longing for the occasional (sometimes too occasional as the temperature soars to scorching) breeze.  and of course, it doesn't hurt that my vantage point as i sit in the backyard shows a forest and meadow-type space straight out of the baseball scene in twlight.  i can just hear edward and the gang cracking their bats during the thunderstorms, and i wouldn't be at all surprised if victoria and her freaky friends came sauntering out of the trees with their blood thirsty eyes.

that's right, i just went twi-hard on you guys.  my bad.

i hope montana is like this (for the 2 months that it's not a frozen state).  i'll have to make sure to sit outside with my pet bear (because i'm getting one once i move there) and enjoy the start of my adventure.  feel free to come visit!

holding the door goes a long way.

maybe it's because i hung out with a little stomach bug at the beginning of the week (aka i've been isolated most of the week so i'm starved for attention), or maybe it's because i'm sometimes too lazy to do it myself, but when a nice gentleman held the door for me today during my shopping spree, i couldn't help but want to reach out and give him a little hug.  nothing creepy ... more just like a quick embrace (picture the way tough guys hug -- the two pats on the back and you're out kind of thing).

don't worry though.  i realized even a brief squeeze would have been uncomfortable for him (not for me ... it takes a lot more than hugs from strangers to get me nervous, hence my occasional hugs with homeless people) and instead i just smiled and said thank you.

but was i really just so touched because the most attention i've gotten all week is from my head being inside a toilet bowl?  i don't think so.  i think i was touched because people these days don't use their manners.  ever.  they cut you off on the road (guilty as charged), they flip you rude gestures in their rearview mirrors (pleading the fifth on that one since mom reads the blog), and they shout their awkward cell phone conversations on the too-crowded bus seemingly unaware that this isn't the time or the place (i might do a lot of rude things, but i refuse to do this one.  if you ever see me doing this, you have my full blogging permission to take my phone and hide it.)

now i know some people believe that in this day and age everyone can hold their own doors, scoot in their own chairs, and wipe their own butts. (too much? sorry.)  and i agree with those people.  everyone ... men, women, monkeys, exceptionally intelligent dogs, etc. can do all of these things.  but agreeing that we can do all of these things doesn't mean that i always want to or that we should always have to.  and that has less to do with my laziness and more to do with the fact that a simple gesture (ie: holding the door for someone) shows that you're able to get out of your me-me-me centered world for five seconds, notice the existence of another human being, and think "oh...that door i'm holding open for myself?  i could keep it open 2.5 seconds longer for them."

and i just think that's decent.  could i have held my own door today?  sure.  my bags weren't that heavy and even if they were, i'm blessed with two very capable feet that can kick open a door if needed (and knock an intruder on his/her butt thanks to self defense class ... consider yourself warned).  and was it a tad awkward that the gentleman held the outward opening door from the inside of the store thus making me walk around him and slightly under his arm before i could exit the building?  yes, that was a bit strange.

but was it worth it? you bet. because it showed that he knew he wasn't the only one in that store and that it wouldn't be the end of the world for him to keep the door open for a hot second more. in fact, it was so great he gets an entire blog about his manners!

so i salute you, slightly-awkward-but-still-appreciated-inside-the-store-door-holder.  one small step for mall shoppers, one giant leap for manners everywhere.

beware of the trick carpet square.

while i'm far from the most fashion-forward person in the world, every now and then i throw all caution to the wind and wear something that i know is ridiculous and doesn't match my outfit.  i've been known to do this since i was very young and often rocked the bright orange umbro shorts, multi-colored inside-out socks, and samba soccer shoes.  what can i say?  old habits die hard.

despite the understated navy dress and white cardigan that i picked out the previous night, when i woke up this morning it was very clear to me that today was a day that called for throwing the fashion rule book out the window and going with my gut.  what did that mean?  it obviously meant that today was pink shoe day.  i was exhausted after a week away from town (funny how a week off makes you more tired) and i just knew i needed something that made me smile every time i looked at it.  the pink shoes were practically glowing from their box, essentially begging me to take them to work.  so i did.  after all, what could possibly go wrong on pink shoe day?

warning: shoes may result in falling and embarrassment.

it turns out that despite pink shoe day being overwhelmingly awesome (because let's be honest...how could it not be?), pink shoe day does not protect you from trick carpet square day.  it's a shame those two days fell on the same 24 hour period this week.

here's where pink shoe day took a wrong turn:  i was waltzing across the library with a stack of new books and thinking about how i could squeeze more books into the display area (which was full full full -- come to the library and check out some new books people!).  my waltzing was unceremoniously interrupted by my body lunging forward in what i can only assume was its failed attempt to counteract the twisting of my ankle as the trick carpet square jumped up from the floor and grabbed at my pink shoe. oh the humanity!  so many things to worry about in the world.  a girl should never have to worry about trick carpet square day. 

[side note: as one who is prone to stumbling, i'm quite skilled in not dropping library books when my balance is contested. today was no different. only a true librarian would sacrifice ankles to save books.] 

darn you trick carpet square in front of the circulation desk.  why why why must you be so inconspicuous and yet so dangerous for ankles and pink shoes everywhere?  and why why why must you be located in front of a place where there are always, always people watching and waiting for innocent pink shoes to get slaughtered by your trickery?

oh pink shoe day.  i had such high hopes for you, but i underestimated the power of trick carpet square day.  next time i'll wear my moon shoes so i can make sure to successfully clear the carpet-square-hurdle that stands between the children's display shelves and the recently returned books.

in the mean time i'll lick my wounds and blog about my clumsiness as a form of therapy.  oh clumsy life.  you never disappoint me.

my mother rocks.

it seems as though i always fall back on things that i didn't actually learn recently and instead i've known for years.  but that doesn't change the fact that my mom rocks.  i'm sure yours does too, but for me, i've got the best one and i would never in a million years want anything else.

after calling (twice) today to make sure my mom knew i was thinking of her on mother's day (i don't know that she appreciated the second call as much since she was working...), i started thinking about why my mom rocks.  it wasn't hard to crank out the top five reasons so here they are for your reading pleasure.

top five reasons my mom is awesome

(bold and italicized to help in skimming because you know there's a detailed story with each reason)

1.  she didn't let me boss her around.  i'm the queen of bossing people, but mom was one person i could never (and still can't) boss.  i see kids today calling the shots and wearing the pants in the family and it just strikes me as so wrong.  as a child i'm sure i thought i wanted to be the boss, but i never would have survived if i was in charge.  i never would have bathed, eaten anything other than blue box macaroni and cheese (the ONLY kind of macaroni in my book), or apologized when i was mean (which was often).  now i know the importance of hygiene, that there are other inferior types of macaroni but that i should treat them with respect, and that i need to apologize when i'm a crab (unless it was warranted and i'm not actually sorry because then it's fake and fake apologies are the worst).

2.  she always let me use her as an excuse.  when i was little, i was always told that if i ever needed to get out of a situation, i could say my mom wouldn't let me or i had to go home. mom obviously didn't care if my little friends thought she was cool. don't worry, i didn't do a lot of bad things, but that might be because i knew i could always fall back on the excuse of 'mom won't let me...rats!'  because i knew i had an out, i was able to stand up for myself and only do things i wanted to do.  add in the little bit of boss discussed in numero uno and you can imagine i was hard to peer pressure into anything.

3.  she let me make mistakes.  i think some parents are terrified their children will actually be human and screw up, but my mom wasn't like that (and still isn't...she's too realistic to think yours truly won't screw something up).  she didn't want or need my sister and i to be perfect.  really she just wanted me to be nice and stop pinching my sister and for my sister to stand up for herself and pinch me back.  because of this, she let me make mistakes (although she did make me practice my spelling words a billion times a day because i was atrocious at spelling).  when i went to school in alabama, she dropped me off down the road from the school and she would watch, every day, as i took my jacket off and shoved it in my backpack before i even crossed the road.  i hated wearing a jacket but in winter, even in alabama, it was "important to dress appropriately." but the thing is, i never knew she could see me take my jacket off.  apparently i thought her sight didn't extend past the end of the car.  but she let me do it because she knew which battles to pick and she knew eventually i'd get frostbite (or at least a runny nose) and then i'd figure out i needed to wear a coat.  this lesson might've taken years, but now i wear my darned coat.

4.  she helped me (and still helps me) fix my mistakes.  mom might let me make my mistakes, but she doesn't just sit there and tell me to get myself out of my own messes. that's not to say she fixes my problems herself...if i need that, i go to dad (dads just like to be heroes, you know?  gotta milk it.).  but if i want advice and help fixing some craziness i've gotten into, i know who to track down.  even if it means calling 24 times in a row.  eventually she always picks up.  and after letting me give her every single detail of the situation, in addition to the hypothetical responses i've created, she gives me advice.  and after she gives me advice, she tells me to actually do something about it because goodness knows she can't fix my messes.  while that directive still gets me all flustered and angry and i usually go melodramatic and whine that she doesn't care about my problems, it always, always makes me actually do something.  no more whining and mulling over the events/mistakes/crappiness.  i always find a way out (or realize there's no way out and just embrace it).

5.  she's my biggest fan. (b, don't tell your boyfriend, but mom's got this position locked up). and yes, she's my sister's biggest fan too.  who knew one person could be the biggest fans of two people?  it's gotta be tough.  but seriously, when i whine about following my blog, she figures out how to do it even if she doesn't want to.  and when i tell her i've met the most beautiful boy and i think we're getting married, she patiently listens as i detail our disney world ceremony.  one day maybe i'll spin some tale that breaks the mold, but i don't see that happening.  she cheers on our (meaning my sister and i) successes, delights in our excitement, hurts when we hurt, and always, always hugs us good morning when we're together (me more than my sister...fiffy's not a hugger like i am). 

obviously, my mom rocks. if you're in need of someone that will do any of the previously mentioned things, i'll share my mom with you. within days she'll be your biggest fan too.

eye doctors should not be allowed to be attractive

i know it's wrong to make blanket statements about physical appearance, but i have some strong feelings about eye doctors.  i was recently complaining (shocking, i know) about having to go to the eye doctor because my childhood eye doctors (that's right, every single one i went to regardless of the state) always had bad breath.

i assumed it was something they learned in eye doctor school.  i imagined a lesson would go something like this: "is it less blurry with one...or two?  three...or four? [now breathe your stinky breath on them so they are paying attention] five...or six?"  i have been asked more than once if i've taken advanced shushing classes in library school, so i only feel a slight twinge of guilt for poking fun.  i know they do all kinds of hard things with their numbers and nobs and eye patch thingamajigs, but life is more enjoyable when you're poking fun. so poke i will.

anyways, after a recent scare with a red eye (NOT a pink eye, just a red itchy eye) and the fact that my contacts were about a billion years old, i finally scheduled an appointment to get my eye health checked.  you know, i'm getting old and i'm sure cataracts are in my future so you can never be too cautious.  a wonderful friend of mine always stresses the importance of eye health and eye protection and she's obviously made an impression upon my eyes.

so i arrived a few minutes early to fill out the obligatory paperwork and was quickly called back. (i love it when it's my turn immediately. it's the same satisfaction i get when i get the green arrow at a stoplight.)  i went back to sit in the little room with all the gadgets that i'm always tempted to play with, and in sauntered (that's right ... sauntered) a beautiful, non-stinky-breath man.

i was immediately aware of my glasses, my lack of mascara, and the fact that i had not actually taken my hair out of the braid i had slept in the night before.  of all the days to be lazy.  thank god i had been chewing on half a piece of gum.

he was rather comical and i think new to the job based on his desire to explain every detail to me (ex: i will now put your info in the computer. my thought: that's okay dude, just do it and i'll catch on to what you're doing. i know i'm looking rough but my brain works at least a little).  despite enjoying his beauty (which was painfully obvious even when i took off my glasses), i couldn't help but think it'd be better if he was less attractive because i'd be able to concentrate on actually answering the questions he was asking me instead of just giggling.  i think i told him that i usually wear contacts and that my glasses were scratched, but i can't be sure.  i might have just said "i love eye exams giggle giggle giggle."

anyways, i guess he was the eye doctor prepping man because after he puffed some glaucoma test into my eye and saw that while my vision may be poor, my peripheral vision kicked butt (yeah i rocked that clicker test), he left and said the doctor would be in shortly.  lame dude, why can't you be the doctor?

i extended an overly eager "goodbye!" and sat waiting for the stinky breath to come my way.  interestingly enough, this doctor didn't have stinky breath either (it must be something they require for hiring).  and fortunately it wasn't a cute man.  don't worry, you read that correctly.  i said fortunately.

karen brewer and her glasses. aka me in 5th grade.
image from: http://wiki.stoneybrookite.org

/index.php?title=Karen_Brewer. 

typically i'm the first person to jump at the opportunity to stand in the overly long checkout line to have the cute man bag my purchases, (unless i'm buying tampons because then i sometimes feel weird...unless i'm grumpy and want everyone to feel uncomfortable in which case i'll do it and make small talk).  but being face to face with a regulation hottie and no makeup or contacts?  no thank you.

eye doctors should just not be allowed to be attractive.  he was fun to drool over for that short prepping time, but i would have lied and fumbled my way through the exam and ended up with binoculars for my contacts (which if we're being honest isn't that far off my prescription).

at least i got new contacts. no more karen brewer four-eyes for this girl!

nightstands identify your true self.

maybe it's not true for everyone, but the beauty of having your own blog is that you get to call the shots.  and in the world in which i'm the queen, the way to truly identify yourself is by looking at your nightstand.  i realized this as i was getting ready for bed tonight and had trouble getting my nightstand light on because of the amount of books piled up.  when i paused to look at my nightstand, i realized that pretty much everything i needed in life was right there just a lazy stretch away.

naturally i had to get up to blog about it and here's what i've decided defines me:

12:22am is an early night. just call me grandma.

1.  there's the ever important, always annoying alarm clock.  ever since i was a wee little lass i've had trouble getting up on my own.  regardless of how embarrassing this next revelation may be, i can unabashedly (or almost unabashedly) admit that my parents woke me up throughout high school.  they had to.  i am next of kin to hibernating bears i think.  the alarm clock typically does the job if i have it blasting something energizing at 10 minute intervals (ex: walkin' on sunshine, party in the u.s.a.--ugh miley, or wannabe).  if not, i have my trusty phone (not pictured because the darned cord always falls into the floor) that awakens me with the most beautiful song in the world: the best part of waking up is folgers in your cup.  i haven't met anyone that doesn't want to get up and dance after hearing that tune.  it is amazing. trust me.

2.  then there's the pile of books.  especially now that i'm just hanging out without classes to bother me, i have LOTS of time to read. and read i will. even if it means i'm perpetually stuck in the mind of a 14 year old girl.  i can't help it if adult books bore me to tears.  bring on the sarah dessen!

3.  glasses are obviously important (you know, sight is one of those underrated things that you don't appreciate if you don't have bad vision), although to be honest, these are not my real glasses.  my real glasses are lame.  these are cooler and sit on my nightstand reminding me that there are cool glasses in the world but i sure don't have them (hence why i sleep in my contacts).

4.  two words: diet coke. 

5.  a nail file is one of those things that i always find that i need when i can't find one anywhere.  to fight this perpetual frustration, i leave one on my nightstand.  apparently i break a lot of nails in the night.

6.  pink pepper spray.  you can never be too prepared and vigilant, but you don't have to get rid of color and spunk just because you're protecting yourself. thank you for teaching me this, attractive self defense teacher, and also for being so easy on the eyes.  and thank you to bass pro shop for selling pink pepper spray.

6.5.  the keys are attached to the pepper spray and i've always been told to keep them near me at night (i guess to use them against an attacker?), but let's be honest.  if someone gets close enough where using my keys (or probably even my pepper spray) will protect me, i'm probably just going to be freaking out and wetting my pants.  but at least i tried, right?

7.  in the lower left corner you can just barely make out a white piece of paper.  the always necessary list.  because life would be all kinds of disorganized without them. 

check your own nightstand.  is it you?  because mine, with the exception of figuring out how to squeeze justin bieber or andy roddick on there, is so me.
 

rigmarole!

if you don't know what that word means, join the club.  if you do know what that word means, why aren't you saying it more often?!  there are some words out there that when said you just have to stop and think, 'dang that is one great word.'  rigmarole is one of those words. 

in case you are unfamiliar with the meaning of said word, rest assured that i didn't know it until yesterday.  but you know, since i'm in the business of learning something new every day i stopped beth and asked her what it meant when she said it in conversation.  i knew i had never heard of such a splendid word, but i also knew i desperately wanted to use it as often as possible.

depending on where you get your definitions for words you don't know, you'll read different things but they pretty much mean the same thing.  i typically prefer www.urbandictionary.com because i like things that make me laugh and i also like to know what words really mean (not according to webster) so that i know when i'm sounding stupid or inappropriate.  you can check out urbandictionary's definition here (spelled rigamaro) or you can just be lazy (which is what i would choose) and read dictionary.com's definition here:

rig·ma·role

[rig-muh-rohl] -noun

1.  an elaborate or complicated procedure: to go through the rigmarole of figuring out where to park on franklin street*

2.  confused, incoherent, foolish, or meaningless talk:  this blog is full of rigmarole*

 *examples supplied by yours truly. 

so rigmarole means nonsense.  that means my life is full of rigmarole.  hot dog!  

here are six of those things:

1.  being sassed by a hardee's employee in the drive thru.  reason why it's rigmarole:  i can't possibly see in that little speaker box to know when you are ready for my order, ma'am.  that is your job to tell me.

2.  sassing that same employee back (EVEN if it's warranted).  reason why it's rigmarole:  think spit in drink.

3.  being yelled at for not knowing the intricate details of your broccoli purchase.  (don't worry guys, the world is not ending.  i didn't actually buy broccoli...or any other vegetables for that matter, but this happened to a friend and it is COMPLETE rigmarole.  in the realest sense.  for further explanation of why this is rigmarole, see the first hardee's explanation, last sentence.)  

4.  what i wouldn't do for 100 bucks.  no details given, ever, but just know that it's rigmarole.

5.  sewing class being canceled because the teacher is old.  sad day for those of us wannabe sew people. [side note: i originally wrote sewers instead of sew people, but then i realized what that actually was and that i don't want to be a drainage system. i want to learn how to make clothes.  those are different.  apparently they could be seamstresses, but i think i'll stick with sew people]. 

6.  that high school musical 3 didn't win all the oscars in the world.  blasphemy in the realest way.   

enjoy thinking of your own examples of rigmarole in your life and make sure you use the word at least 10 times a day.  i know, i know.  that request is rigmarole, but at least i only have to use the word 9 more times today to reach my goal.  get on it!

 

weekends are beautiful.

that seems like a silly thing to learn, doesn't it?  i'm sure i actually learned this way back in the day when i would wake up early (ugh, i was stupid) to go watch cartoons, but lately it's easy to forget how wonderful the idea of a weekend is. 

the howl's cute singer (when he wears his hat and sunglasses).

having finished up my projects, i headed home to visit a friend and see my dad who also happened to be in town. that  first night i experienced the joy that is howl at the moon.  not the action of howling at the moon.  i'm not a werewolf (although i'd date taylor lautner in a heartbeat) so that would be weird.  howl at the moon happens to be one of those piano bars where the band seems to know every.stinking.song.ever.created and they are just SO good and they play whatever anyone requests and everyone is just so happy to be there (except the two older gentlemen that got into a brawl at the end of the night...they forgot how much fun the howl was). seriously, if you're ever in charlotte you have to promise me you'll check it out. over the course of the evening i became a little obsessed.  there were lots of people celebrating greeting card type occasions (you know the ones - 21st birthdays, bachelorette. etc.), but i was just celebrating life.  it was beautiful. 

and also, who doesn't want to go somewhere they can sing along to all songs at the top of their lungs regardless of the knowledge (or lack of knowledge) of the lyrics?!  it was like the mother ship calling me home.  i'm pretty sure given the chance i would be one of their bar band groupies (or their only one?).  

mirror pictures are lame, but i wanted to document the fun!

the next day dad and i hung around the house just being lazy (okay...i was incredibly lazy while he washed the porch), went out to eat (since neither of us could cook this was our only option...upon my arrival, the contents of the fridge looked like this: 3 large powerades, half gallon of chocolate milk, old cheese. awesome right?), and then took his little convertible toy car thing up to visit my grandparents.  spontaneous visits are the best, especially when you get to drive the toy car (which he only let me do for about five minutes before we had to park so he could drive again...lack of trust, obviously).  also, it should be noted that as i backed out of my grandma's driveway, dad was sitting in the passenger seat praying and making terrified faces at his mom.  let it be known that i do not appreciate that, daddy.

LOVE SVH. like seriously so much.

the rest of the weekend involved shopping (dad didn't join me because he claims to not like that stuff), reading my brand new copy of sweet valley confidential that FINALLY came in the mail from the giveaway i won on goodreads (woah that is a mouthful of a sentence), and just enjoying being home.

don't get me wrong.  i love where i currently live and i don't know that i'd ever actually want to move back towards my parents house (mainly because it is not montana which is where i fully plan on moving upon graduation), but there's just something to say about the comfort of home and the beauty of weekends.

summer vacation is already rockin'!