Ladies and gentlemen, I would just like to mention that I've been trying this new thing called "getting ready" for the past three mornings. In this aforementioned "getting ready", I put together actual human clothes, different than those I slept in, into actual human outfits. I brush my hair. I put multiple shades of eyeshadow on my eyelids with brushes that are entirely too small for my orangutan hands and use my fingertips to blend them together. It is an age of progress, indeed. And this progress has not gone unnoticed by the powers that be, seeing as I found an exact replica of a pair of boots I've been eyeing but too stingy to purchase at DSW (I know, I know...) at Target for nine dolla. NINE DOLLA.
From now on I will be expecting my all of my good behavior to be rewarded with boots.
That is all.
Showing posts with label boots. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boots. Show all posts
09 November 2012
06 January 2012
Some Day-to-Day
If it had to be my last week in Texas, you had better believe I was going to make it count, starting with New Year's celebrations hot and fresh off of a ski trip. Celebrations that included charades, spontaneous shuffling, fire building, s'mores, leaping over open flame, never ever have I ever, a fair share of laughter, and one wicked hat. On New Year's day, you bet your boots I ate a heaping serving of black-eyed peas for good luck. Then, the jam packed week began.
Monday Gunday. Most people, when you express a longing to shoot guns, give a quick titter before briskly walking away and giving you odd glances across the room. Other people, like my grandpa, take a moment to think, then say, "Well, we'll need some guns. Give me a week." Then the next time you go to their house they have multiple firearms spread out in the guest bedroom. Then they pick you up and take you out to some property where you can shoot off multiple rounds of ammunition at targets that look like squirrels. True story. I shot a .22 rifle, a .22 pistol, a .357 magnum, a .38 special, and a 20 gauge. Variety is the spice of life, my friends. Plus, nothing says grandparent-grandchild bonding time quite like bullseyes and sporting clays.
Tuesday Two-Stepping. Not that it has anything to do with two-stepping, but on Tuesday I found my absolute, hands down, favorite pair of socks, which have been MIA for the past six months or so. They are fleece and irreplaceable. They were hiding, and I was afraid I had lost them forever. Very afraid. But the world is set right and I have my fleece socks again, so everyone can stop worrying. In the evening, though, my dad did transform the living room into a dance floor, put on the George Strait, and dusted off his figurative boogie shoes in order to teach me how to two-step. He also threw in some waltz and polka lessons pro bono.
Wednesday Unbirthday Party. Wednesday was not my birthday. But we did have a birthday party. Before the birthday party, though, I learned how to pwn Settlers of Catan. And I singlehandedly brought back the usage of pwn. My unbirthday party was at Jucy's, because I like my burgers done Jucy's style. I also like how their styrofoam cups are conducive to jabbing your entire thumb through while trying to put on the lids, which then sends Diet Dr. Pepper streaming down your front. Not that that has ever happened. Thank goodness the only people I invited to my unbirthday were related to me. They had to claim me, Diet Dr. Pepper stained socks and all.
Thursday Day Trip. The Picnic Club saddled up in Calpurnia and headed to Dallas to see Hugo. We were approached on our way into the theater by a guy who had lost his wallet, still managed to have a $50 gift card to the movie theater, needed to get to Fort Worth, so wanted to sell the card for $35 cash. Needless to say, we were all highly confused. It was one of those situations where you know you're supposed to say no, but you don't know why. So we said no. Then we said yes, verified the card did indeed have $50 on it (actually, $49), then saved $14. Holler! After the movie, we headed to the world's largest honky tonk in order to catch Wendell's line dancing lesson. We learned the mockingbird, which is, in fact, a real song, not just a scene from Dumb and Dumber. We put everyone else on the floor to shame with our linedancing and pretzeling and I-learned-this-on-YouTubing.
Friday Farewells. Lunch at Stanleys, boot shopping (and eventually buying), unbelievably amazing Christmas gift exchanging, letters to missionaries writing, ZOTZ eating, wondering why I can't just be packed in your suitcase for Spain. And now, to cap it all off, packing. By the way, ZOTZ are super gross.
Monday Gunday. Most people, when you express a longing to shoot guns, give a quick titter before briskly walking away and giving you odd glances across the room. Other people, like my grandpa, take a moment to think, then say, "Well, we'll need some guns. Give me a week." Then the next time you go to their house they have multiple firearms spread out in the guest bedroom. Then they pick you up and take you out to some property where you can shoot off multiple rounds of ammunition at targets that look like squirrels. True story. I shot a .22 rifle, a .22 pistol, a .357 magnum, a .38 special, and a 20 gauge. Variety is the spice of life, my friends. Plus, nothing says grandparent-grandchild bonding time quite like bullseyes and sporting clays.
Tuesday Two-Stepping. Not that it has anything to do with two-stepping, but on Tuesday I found my absolute, hands down, favorite pair of socks, which have been MIA for the past six months or so. They are fleece and irreplaceable. They were hiding, and I was afraid I had lost them forever. Very afraid. But the world is set right and I have my fleece socks again, so everyone can stop worrying. In the evening, though, my dad did transform the living room into a dance floor, put on the George Strait, and dusted off his figurative boogie shoes in order to teach me how to two-step. He also threw in some waltz and polka lessons pro bono.
Wednesday Unbirthday Party. Wednesday was not my birthday. But we did have a birthday party. Before the birthday party, though, I learned how to pwn Settlers of Catan. And I singlehandedly brought back the usage of pwn. My unbirthday party was at Jucy's, because I like my burgers done Jucy's style. I also like how their styrofoam cups are conducive to jabbing your entire thumb through while trying to put on the lids, which then sends Diet Dr. Pepper streaming down your front. Not that that has ever happened. Thank goodness the only people I invited to my unbirthday were related to me. They had to claim me, Diet Dr. Pepper stained socks and all.
Thursday Day Trip. The Picnic Club saddled up in Calpurnia and headed to Dallas to see Hugo. We were approached on our way into the theater by a guy who had lost his wallet, still managed to have a $50 gift card to the movie theater, needed to get to Fort Worth, so wanted to sell the card for $35 cash. Needless to say, we were all highly confused. It was one of those situations where you know you're supposed to say no, but you don't know why. So we said no. Then we said yes, verified the card did indeed have $50 on it (actually, $49), then saved $14. Holler! After the movie, we headed to the world's largest honky tonk in order to catch Wendell's line dancing lesson. We learned the mockingbird, which is, in fact, a real song, not just a scene from Dumb and Dumber. We put everyone else on the floor to shame with our linedancing and pretzeling and I-learned-this-on-YouTubing.
Friday Farewells. Lunch at Stanleys, boot shopping (and eventually buying), unbelievably amazing Christmas gift exchanging, letters to missionaries writing, ZOTZ eating, wondering why I can't just be packed in your suitcase for Spain. And now, to cap it all off, packing. By the way, ZOTZ are super gross.
30 March 2011
Sole Searching
I am in love with shoes. It starts with boots, but it certainly doesn't end there. I firmly believe in shoe shopping as a panacea. This is why:
1. Shoes are easy to try on. Maybe I'm lazy, but there's nothing I detest more than having to find an open dressing room, change out of my street clothes, fiddle with hangers and buttons and zippers and snaps and straps and bows, venture out to the three way mirror, take it all off, turn it all rightside out, hang everything back up, lather, rinse, repeat.
2. Feet stop growing, for the most part. There's no worse feeling than discovering you've gone up a dress size - or two - even if you can blame it on the brand running small. Feet are grounded (hee hee) at a certain size, and even if you cried yourself to sleep in middle school because of your seemingly abnormally humongous feet, there's solace in the fact that they aren't getting bigger any time soon. And you can still wear those shoes you bought amidst the tears in 7th grade.
3. Liberation. When's the last time you heard someone say, "I'm really hankering for some double dark chocolate ice cream with rainbow morsels, but probably shouldn't get any. I'm trying to watch my shoe size"?
1. Shoes are easy to try on. Maybe I'm lazy, but there's nothing I detest more than having to find an open dressing room, change out of my street clothes, fiddle with hangers and buttons and zippers and snaps and straps and bows, venture out to the three way mirror, take it all off, turn it all rightside out, hang everything back up, lather, rinse, repeat.
2. Feet stop growing, for the most part. There's no worse feeling than discovering you've gone up a dress size - or two - even if you can blame it on the brand running small. Feet are grounded (hee hee) at a certain size, and even if you cried yourself to sleep in middle school because of your seemingly abnormally humongous feet, there's solace in the fact that they aren't getting bigger any time soon. And you can still wear those shoes you bought amidst the tears in 7th grade.
3. Liberation. When's the last time you heard someone say, "I'm really hankering for some double dark chocolate ice cream with rainbow morsels, but probably shouldn't get any. I'm trying to watch my shoe size"?
02 March 2011
Terquasquicentennial!
Living in Georgia has driven me a little Texas Crazy - and I'm ok with that. Actually, I'm more than ok with that.
Today is the 175th Anniversary of Texan Independence! 175 years ago to the day, the grand nation I call home was born. Cue the cowboy boots, red white and blue, and big hair. My Texas Pride is through the roof, y'all.
Texas is the bestus.
This is some of what I love about Texas:
Cowboys
History
Boots
Dairy Queen
Pride
Whataburger
Bigness
Football
Homecoming Mums
Music
Tex-Mex
Bluebonnets
Piney Woods
Pecans
The State Fair
13 February 2011
Boots are Not for Borrowing
Not to be stingy, but no matter who you are, I probably won't let you borrow my cowboy boots. Any other shoe is fine, but I've worn these boots through many a painful day in order to contour them specifically to my feet. It's like asking to borrow a toothbrush. It's too personal. You just don't do it. They're MY boots. They know the shape of my foot. They have scuff marks where I put them. They're still in the process of being broken in, even after however many years. So, it's not ideal to have requests to borrow them for your redneck themed costume. Once you sculpt your own pair of cowboy boots, you'll understand.
15 September 2010
Little Bits of Happy
Despite the multitude of badness that seemed to congregate on me today, there are always things in my dorm that make me incomparably happy. A peeling scalp sunburn that looked like abnormal amounts of dandruff, a calculus quiz that rendered a noontime meal unneccesary since it already ate my lunch, the city of Atlanta turning off the water in my building from 9:00-1:00, getting lost on the way to class*, and even biology melt away when I walk in the room and see my cowboy boots...
...which make me think of Texas. Or my collection of Granny Smith Apples, each one carefully plucked out from under the noses of the Brittain staff...
...for afternoon snacks.
*I've realized that when I'm lost, my instinctive tactic is to focus in on a random stranger and follow them wherever they go. While this sometimes leads me to the right place, more often than not I end up by the Police Department on a part of West Campus that I've never seen before.
11 September 2010
Hailing the Mighty State
I always knew that I would miss Texas. Often, I get asked if people here in Atlanta are different than people in Texas. For the record, the answer is yes. Here's why:
The word "stockyards" arises questions.
No one knows what What-A-Burger is.
I don't even know what the Georgia flag looks like. Where's the state pride?
I am yet to have any Mexican food, other than Moe's (if that even qualifies).
The puny circus horse was described as big.
Boots are not typical footwear.
No one can say what Six Flags means - it's just the name of a theme park.
No one else thought it was funny that the exit of a ride at Six Flags said, "Y'all come back. Yea hear?"
These are just some of my observations thus far. I haven't inquired as to whether or not anyone can recite the state pledge/sing the state song, but I'm pretty positive the answers would be disappointing.
The word "stockyards" arises questions.
No one knows what What-A-Burger is.
I don't even know what the Georgia flag looks like. Where's the state pride?
I am yet to have any Mexican food, other than Moe's (if that even qualifies).
The puny circus horse was described as big.
Boots are not typical footwear.
No one can say what Six Flags means - it's just the name of a theme park.
No one else thought it was funny that the exit of a ride at Six Flags said, "Y'all come back. Yea hear?"
These are just some of my observations thus far. I haven't inquired as to whether or not anyone can recite the state pledge/sing the state song, but I'm pretty positive the answers would be disappointing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)