Guys, deep down, I kinda wanted Jeff Goldblum to see this. I mean, I was his biggest 13-year-old crush, and that’s not creepy at all. So, I’m sharing this wacko homage for Flashback Friday in hopes some kind soul with the key to all-things-viral will make magic happen. I really need this win right now #jeffgoldblumistotallyawin.
You mean, I’m the only girl, in all of history, to have ever had a crush on Jeff Goldblum at the tender age of 13?
Ya’ll missed out. Big time.
In 1996, the original Independence Day movie came out. Like every other red-blooded American, I saw it in the theater approximately 80 times. Each new time I saw it, I grew more and more infatuated with Jeff Goldblum.
I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was those massive ears. Or, his ginormous nose? Maybe his awkward, bumbling speech. I think it was his brain, to be perfectly honest.
But,
What 13-year-old girl would be into that?
While my friends were losing their proverbial shit over Jonathan Taylor Thomas and Devon Sawa, I was privately panting over a man who was only two.years.younger.than.my.parents.
I was a really weird kid.
After drooling in my Milk Duds over him on the big screen one too many times, I set about finding other movies he did, so I could pant in private.
It is totally beyond me how I could have researched him without the internet and IMDb. I’m seriously at a loss-how did people research pop culture in the 90s? Someone, help!
Pretty quickly, I realized he was in Jurassic Park. I watched that VHS so many times, I burned up the tape.
I also somehow found out he was in a really weird movie that came out when I was three, called The Fly. The fact he was a human-sized fly didn’t matter, because he was naked in that one. I “lost” The Fly when it was time to return it to Blockbuster. I had to pay the fee, but it was so worth it.
Because I was not exactly nonchalant about my weird girl-crush-obsession with Jeff Freaking Goldblum, my mom caught on pretty quickly.
She always aimed to raise dorks, because, “Dorks go to school, hang out with their dork friends, don’t do drugs or drink, and never get in trouble.”
My mom couldn’t have been more elated that my first crush was on an intelligent and nerdy-looking man I’d never meet. She was thrilled. (Never mind the fact that he could have been my father. Nope. Not weird at all.)
For Christmas that year, my mom seemed to have a certain gleam in her eye. It was almost devious. I just figured she was pretty stoked about getting me that Discman I wanted.
When it was finally Christmas Day, my mom was practically doing the Fat Clap. Instead of making my brother, because he was small and low to the ground, pass out the presents, my mom was on the carpet, fervently throwing presents to everyone.
She handed me a lumpy, odd shaped one that was definitely not my Discman, to open first.
As I started peeling back paper, she was sitting upright, alert, face aglow.
She seemed extra excited. Was I getting my own phone? A car three years early?? OMG! What could it be?! Her excitement made my mind wander to all sorts of amazing, unrealistic gifts.
When I finally unveiled the Most Exciting Present in the World, I was utterly confused. It was an action figure.
“Mom, I think this is for Jarrett. This is an action figure-thing.”
I flung it over to my brother, who had opened all of his presents in under a minute, so the prospect of an extra gift was everything.
My mom was not discouraged at all by my utter lack of interest in a boys’ toy.
“Now, wait a minute. Jarrett, that’s your sister’s. Hand it back.”
Christmas was officially over for my brother.
When I had it back in hand, utterly confused, and quite embarrassed that my mom felt an action figure a proper gift for her 13-year-old daughter, my mom said,
“But…lookie who it is. Who is it?”
It was then that I really looked, for the first time, at the toy.
She bought me a freaking Jeff Goldblum Independence Day action figure.
“Mom!”
“But, isn’t he so cute? You can put him on your nightstand!”
And then she winked at me.
Category: Uncategorized
Camping Capers
I went camping for the 4th of July weekend. As with everything that I get myself into, it was definitely not uneventful. Oh, no.
I’m going to surprise you all by saying I’m not a real tough-cowgirl-up kind of chick.
Shocking, I know.
First, I really hate to be dirty. Especially my feet. OMG. My feet. During the summer, when flip flops and sandals are standard, I soak, scrub, pumice, and moisturize my feet to the point of obsession.
I can’t get in bed knowing my feet have God-knows-what on them, and so help me if even the tiniest speck of dry skin catches on the sheets.
Ya’ll might as well commit me now.
Next, I positively hate being hot and sweaty. If I can avoid ever being overheated during the summer, I’ll do whatever needs to be done. If that means blasting my AC and having a fan directed at me 24/7, so be it. I’ll pay an exorbitant electric bill for the sake of comfort any day.
Eventually, though, I do have to venture outside and away from my comfortable 68 degrees. When this happens, swamp ass and underboob sweat is just inevitable. At some point during the summer, I just resign myself to the reality that I’m going to sweat from every crack and orifice, and I just have to deal.
Also, if I know getting to the bathroom is going to be a pain (i.e. needing to get dressed first, finding shoes in the dark, walking half a mile to the campsite toilet, etc.), I’ll have to go the bathroom precisely eight times in the night.
Lastly, I’m a germaphobe. If there isn’t running water wherever I find myself to wash my hands precisely every hour on the hour, forget it.
As I mentioned before, this past weekend we went camping. It was at a gorgeous campsite in California.
While there, the worst.possible.thing that could happen to a germaphobe happened.
My darling, one-of-kind, beloved boyfriend put the roll of toilet paper-the very roll he took into the Sani-Hut (and don’t even get me started on Porta Poops), and almost certainly set on the pee-soaked floor*- in my clothes bag.
JUST BURN IT ALL.
So, if you just ignore all of the above paranoias, I’m a real joy to be with out in the good ol’ outdoors.
Really.
I’m being serious.
Once I procure/figure out a way to wash my hands with actual soap, and if I just accept the fact that my face will be so greasy the bright sun will reflect off it all day long, I’m actually a real camping star.
I’m of the belief that if something unsavory (like cleaning toilets or setting up camp in 90-degree weather) needs to be done, it’s better to just do it right away and as quickly and efficiently as possible. I can set up a tent, cot, and camp stove in record time if it means I get to sit in the shade during the rest of the camping experience.
Also, I don’t complain too much. As long as I have s’mores and a summer beer to look forward to later, you will only hear me complain about the heat and my dirty feet a minimal amount of times.
This past weekend did not deviate from the norm. There was just a little bit of complaining, and a whole lot of loving-being-outside-of-the-city.
The part of this camping adventure I was most looking forward to was a swim in the pond, because I bought a donut floaty, and I simply couldn’t wait to flail my gorgeous bod atop it.
The float and swim was simply glorious. I’m a fat chick, but I also grew up going to a lake cabin every summer of my life. I can swim like a fucking majestic mermaid.
It wasn’t until exiting the water, that I questioned our decision to take a dip in a pretty questionable pond.
The great debate is still on going, because my boyfriend positively swears that what was all over my legs were little worm things.
No, I don’t care that he dual majored in biology and microbiology, those little effers were leeches.
After positively freaking out and making him run back over the rocks in his bare feet to inspect and remove the vile creatures that were sucking my life blood straight out of my pudgy, translucent legs, my first thought was, “Where else are they?”
Me: “Are these like ticks?”
Him: “Uh, no. These worms aren’t anything like ticks.”
Me: “No, like, would they possibly be elsewhere on my body?”
Him: “OMG. You had one worm on your leg. The other thing was a twig or some dirt!”
Me: “Are you blind?! They were all over my legs!”
Him: *rolls eyes clear back into his skull* “OK. Sure. They were all over your legs…”
Me: “OK. So, could they possibly have found their way to other parts?”
Him: “No, babe. I highly doubt it.”
Me: “Are you sure? Because if water can go through my bathing suit, maybe tiny water monsters can go through my suit, too?”
Him: “OMFG.”
So, after I was reassured that the worms (leeches) almost certainly didn’t find themselves in my more delicate regions, I felt mentally stronger and more ready for the next camping obstacle I’d likely face (this time it was being eaten alive by mosquitos and the TP incident).
The struggle is real for an outdoors-loving germaphobe freak.
*After making it clear my disgust with his dirty deed, he swore up and down that he nestled the TP roll in his underwear and that he most certainly did not put it on the poop-caked floor. I feel just a tiny bit better.
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The Cupcake Incident: Flasback Friday
For Flashback Friday, I thought I’d share one of the first posts I wrote when I first started this blog. I think it got a measly two likes. It’s pretty much terrible, but it’s so incredibly accurate when it comes to my best friend, Cupcake and I.
The back story behind this little exchange is that I was attempting to diet, and I was in the I’m-so-starving-I’d-lick-the-remnants-from-a-chocolate-wrapper-found-in-the-garbage-yeah-I’m-serious-so-fuck-you-and-your-judgy-eyes stage.
I’d asked my teacher friend and classroom neighbor to help me resist the myriad treat situations that occur constantly at our school (really, any school, anywhere).
She was also “dieting”.
Two weakling, enablers trying to help each other diet.
It was comical.
Also, she had no idea the extent of my gluttony, or that I could sniff out a cupcake from three miles away.
Without further ado: The Cupcake Incident
Sitting at desk. The whiff of cupcake starts wafting in from room next door.
Phone call is urgent, sweaty palms.
Child: “This is Ms. S’s room. How may I help you?”
Me: “Well, aren’t you just the most professional-sounding 3rd grader I’ve ever heard. May I speak with Ms. S?”
No response. Phone is dropped on table.
Ms. S: “This is Ms. S…”
Me: (whisper voice, barely audible) “Cupcake? I smell.”
Ms. Silver: “Uh, this is Ms. S. Hello?”
Me: (slightly more audible) “Birthday cupcake? Cupcake?”
Ms. S: “I don’t know who this is. I don’t have cupcakes. You are mistaken. Good day.”
Me: (yelling voice) “You know who this is, and I want CUPCAKE!”
Click
Running for the door just as a darling child delivers very roughed-up cupcake.
Cupcake nonetheless.
Drool is now escaping.
Ms. S appears at door, tries to intercept, unsuccessfully.
Cupcake frosting already entering mouth.
Ms. S (the bitch) tries to swat frosting out of mouth.
Instead of cupcake, the smell of revenge is now pungent.
Ms. S is more elderly, thus, escape successful.
Entire cupcake is lodged in mouth.
Delicious.
Exchange ends with both Ms. S and culprit crouching over frosting remnants on tray, greedily licking fingers. Animals.
*It is necessary to note that no child was injured in cupcake incident. Nor were children present during bloody exchange. They were outside getting exercise, like civilized human beings.
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Flashback Friday: Fat Clap
What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I be like normal people? Why can’t I be a calm, cool, collected individual? The anxiety, the rash decisions, the guilt. It’s all too much.
I’m useless, mental, insane, compulsively-driven at the very sight of…of cupcakes. I know. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The other day we had a staff meeting where cupcakes were present. They were brought out at the very start of the meeting. They were for a birthday, so tradition dictates that you don’t partake until ‘Happy Birthday’ is sung. Um. Why you people gotta play with me like that?
The.whole.time I sneaked peeks over at those beautiful confections of sugar goodness. It was mean, really.
They were taunting me.
How can you expect anyone, particularly one with an unhealthy relationship to cake, to actually pay attention to the matters at hand when there are cupcakes RIGHT OVER THERE?
I think I know what we discussed at the staff meeting, but really, all I was concerned with was whether or not I would have time to eat my cupcake before the school day started.
During the height of my anxiety, when I was contemplating how bad it would look if I just snatched one and ran out, I began to notice everyone else.
They were all just casually drinking their coffee and jotting down notes.
I’m having the sweats and I’m feeling like an animal in heat and these people are cool as fucking cucumbers. Really.
It’s moments like these, during staff meetings where I have to abstain, with temptation taunting me, when I wonder how I’m not 400 pounds.
The fact that a fucking cupcake can mentally control me to such a degree is embarrassing. Normal people want one, but they don’t salivate like a starving dog begging for scraps.
My many, fervent, stolen glances over at the rainbow cake bombs, did the trick and it was finally time to get one! *Fat clap*
I basically mowed everyone down to get to them first. I’m that person.
I was instantly ashamed, but my regret didn’t stop me from checking the teacher’s lounge, at lunch, to see if there were any left.
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WTF Wednesdays #17: I Wish Upon a…NOPE
Have you ever heard of Wish? If not, I can sum it up pretty plainly: It’s an online shopping mall of horrors.
Basically, you can get anything from Bluetooth headsets to refrigerator cover organizers (you didn’t think you needed one, did you?) for insanely low prices.
Now that I think of it, I have been meaning to get a pair of Geordi la Forge sunglasses.
The only catch is that 99% of what you buy ships from China, so it may or may not ever make it to you.
The positive to this is that, five months from now, when you’ve completely forgotten you’d ordered a $2 waffle/pancake/egg/cake baking mold, it’s like a mini surprise Christmas when it arrives.
That is, if what you ordered isn’t utter crap.
To be fair, out of the five or so things I’ve ordered off Wish, I recall only one thing totally sucking.
So, to that, do not order clothes from Wish unless you weigh precisely 80 pounds, soaking wet.
I was feeling like playing it dangerously, so I ordered this hideous gauzy, lime green monstrosity. It was similar to this:
When I finally got it, three years later, the gauzy neon look was totally out. Not to mention, the XL size wouldn’t even fit over my fat head. Had it fit, it would have made a fabulous choker necklace, as it was My Size Barbie size.
So, I wasted $7 and three years of my life waiting for something I forgot I ordered. Not a big deal in the whole scheme of things.
Wish is harmless, if you go into it knowing you can’t be in dire need of any item you deem worthy of buying, and you understand that the quality is just a notch above the Dollar Store.
Lately, I’ve been bombarded, accosted by Wish ads on Facebook. I swear, every other post is a random Wish ad.
Why this is of any interest to myself (and, hopefully, you) is the nature of what Wish is advertising.
It’s weird af.
And, unlike most ads on Facebook that are creepily accurate and timely (I’m not even ashamed to admit that I was googling “hemorrhoid cream”-it’s great for undereye puffiness-and not five minutes later an ad for Preparation H showed up in my Facebook ads), these “suggestions” are downright nope-eff-you-Wish.
The following are not things I’ve previously Googled.
I swear.
WTF?! Why? Please tell me this is a mouth trainer for when you want to make a face that expresses surprise, but your facial muscles are too weak, so this helps make them strong, and literally nothing else.
What.in.the.holy.hell is this? I have so many questions.
Is this a fake pregnancy belly? (I’m only guessing that, because the description says, “LIZ 5-7 Months…”)
Why does one need an artificial pregnancy belly? Is this for a messed up April Fool’s joke? A scam? A weird fetish? Also, why is this not $2 like everything else?
$221 for a fake blob of flesh is not a steal! I say!
OK. This thing is actually kind of cute…
EXCEPT IT’S A MINIATURE PENIS WITH EYES AND AN ASS CRACK.
Is this a pencil topper or something?
Source
Now, this next one is definitely PG-13, maybe R-rated. If you’re an innocent, dainty flower, maybe you’ve read enough. Just sayin’.
So, when I first saw this one, I legit thought it was just a regular old hammock. These were my thoughts:
What have you got now, Wish?
What is that?
Is that a hammock?
Two people in a hammock? That’s just asking for trou…
Wait.
What the hell are they doing?!
OMG.
My virgin eyes!
I think they’re…doing it in a hammock!
I had to get confirmation.
Me: “Babe! Look at this hammock for sale on Wish! They are being quite unsafe! Imagine me, just me in a hammock. I’d just be innocently trying to get into the damn thing to read or nap, and I’d probably get wrapped up, spin like an out-of-control gyro meat machine, and end up flat on my face. Who is crazy enough to attempt sex in a fucking hammock?”
Him: “Yup. That looks exactly like what they’re doing. We’d probably break the damn thing, and, with my luck, I’d get a potted plant up my ass.”
Behold, you can buy a sex swing hammock for $31 on Wish!
(Not sure I’d trust it. But, that’s just me.)
This one…
OMG.
Sorry, I was gagging on my diet root beer.
Every time I see this, I can’t even.
I’ve paid close to $50 for Spanx that are intended to do literally the opposite of what these $5 tights that wouldn’t fit an American infant are trying to do.
Why, why are we trying to make oddly placed bubbles of thigh fat fashionable? Is this a thing? Please tell me it’s not.
Wish, what the ever-loving fuck?
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Pure Gold
My mom is a great storyteller. Family stories have been passed down, retold countless times, and loved since I can remember. On Sunday, my mom told us a story I had never heard before, and how it’s even possible she never told us this doozy, I do not know.
Because it’s pure gold.
Back in the time of Mom Jeans, VHS, and Kenny Loggins cassette tapes, my mom and her brother had a battle of epic proportions.
It was Christmastime, and my uncle was visiting, as he did every year. My cousin and I were young, and likely we were the reason the whole fam bam was at the park in the middle of December.
For some insane reason, the topic of who was faster on foot between my mom and my uncle came up in conversation. My uncle swore he’d literally beat the pants off of my mom.
Well, that pretty much sealed the deal.
My mom and uncle readied themselves for a foot race that would easily rival that of Usain Bolt…if he were middle aged, out of shape, and if he considered tight Lee jeans appropriate running attire.
Quite handy for the two marathon runners was that the particular park where we were had parallel bridges, not too far away from each other. My grandmother, humoring her two always-picked-last-for-sports-children said she’d call “ready or not”.
I guess now is a good time to paint the scene.
My good ol’ Uncle Gary, or, My Own Personal John Candy was one of the best parts of my childhood. If my mom was a good storyteller, it’s only because she learned the craft from the king of all storytellers-her older brother.
He was round, and, just like Santa, when he laughed, his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly. (And he laughed a lot, because he always had a new, mildly inappropriate joke up his sleeve.)
In essence, he was pleasantly, perfectly plump (he wouldn’t have been Uncle Gary had he been any different).
As for my mom, it was she who I inherited my overly curvaceous bod, cellulite, and body hair from, so…
I think the picture is fairly clear.
They were 100% the kids who cheated on running the mile in PE class (or walked the entirety, coming in with a record time of 12 minutes).
Basically, we had a pair of real marathon winners.
I don’t think my mom even took the race seriously. She probably figured she’d have to embarrass him by beating the pants off him in front of God and everybody, or that he had a cheat or a trick ready and waiting.
This was why she was far more concerned with what he was doing at the starting line, instead of readying herself for moving more quickly than she had in years.
She was staring him down, incredulity and an ounce of fear growing, as his Rocky-esque stance proved he was ready and actually serious.
Suddenly, Grandma called, “Go!” and it was all just a blur of color block windbreaker and handlebar mustache.
My mom was glued to her spot. Stunned.
Pretty quickly, she couldn’t contain her laughter and broke down in hysterics.
She said, “At the starting gate, I collapsed in laughter. I saw him there, this 300 pound man, with his 32 year-old shoes flapping, going like the wind.”
As my mom was dissolving into a puddle of tear-soaked Jordache, Grandma was yelling, “Go, Judy! Just go a little bit, Judy!”
After listening to this story, it was only natural that I dared my brother to our own relay race.
I was fairly certain I’d beat the crap out of him. I’d only been an aerial yogaist for five weeks straight, and all of my walks to 7-11 had to make me more capable of movement than him.
The last time I was witness to him doing anything that resembled physical exertion was when we went on a family picnic five years ago, and I dragged him on a “hike” up to a lookout, barely half a mile away. It was not his favorite.
I figured I’d finish and have time to bake a cake before he came across the finish line.
As he confidently, unwaveringly got into his runner’s stance, I began to doubt myself as a shoe-in for first place.
Maybe he runs during his time off? Had I somehow completely missed that aspect of his life?
I said to my mom, “I think I’m kinda scared!”
She replied, “Maybe you should be. Sometimes fat people surprise you and they run like the wind!”
Spoiler Alert: I lost miserably.
Not only did I lose, I came incredibly close to eating asphalt.
You know when you are trying to go faster than your body can catch up and your head has literally a head start? Well, that was me the entire 20 or so feet we ran.
Not only did he beat me by running a hell of a lot faster than me, he did so with bare feet.
When my dad yelled, “Go!” (BTW, my dad was excited enough to watch this spectacle, that he actually paused the golf he was watching, and said, “Now, I gotta see this.” as he practically ran outside), I thought my body would be moving quicker than it did. It was like I was in slo-mo, shlepping through molasses. Before I could even start actually moving, he had propelled his body through the finish line with his Fred Flinstone feet.
It wasn’t even a competition.
Moral of the story: Don’t underestimate people carrying around some extra weight, because they can move. With the exception of this fat chick. I can’t move quickly for anything.
Also, family stories are better when you don’t try to reenact them. Don’t let history repeat itself, people!
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WTF Wednesdays #16
I have at least three posts sitting in my drafts folder just waiting to be finished. My excuse for not having a polished piece this week is that I’m a teacher and it’s the last week of school.
I’m just feeling lucky that my brain hasn’t melted.
Yesterday was spent out in the sun all day for Field Day. I could barely even.
I silently mouth or say outright, “WTF?!” at least 20 times a day in response to a wide assortment of inconveniences, ridiculous happenstances, strange personal choices, and annoyances.
It’s basically my go-to response, because I’m a lady like that.
So, for this week’s installment of #WTFW, I am sharing some WTFs with you. Ready or not, here they come!
1. How is it that one minute I’m watching a video on how to make strawberry cheesecake macarons, and then, somehow, it’s three hours later and I’m in deep, searching through a rando’s Facebook pictures of their dog? Or, why is it I spend an ungodly amount of time scrolling the comment section of a video on how to fold a shirt? Why do I waste my time like this? I think I need therapy.
2. When, after walking precisely 20 miles round trip to the work room, staff lounge, admin’s office, back to the work room for the tape I forgot, and back to my classroom, I realize my Fitbit is still charging on my computer. None of those steps counted. Might as well just go home and go to bed. The day is a wash. FML.
3. When one second I am peacefully, albeit horribly, singing to my latest favorite tune in the car, and the next, I am screaming obscenities, that would make a sailor blush, at the idiot who is driving 30 miles an hour on the FUCKING FREEWAY.
Check out this video on YouTube:
source
This is 1,000% me.
4. Sometimes I start my makeup on the opposite side of my face that I always start with, and I wonder if I’ve somehow entered a parallel universe. Or, I worry I’m losing my mind, because what kind of routine-driven person does that kind of thing?
5. Sometimes (always) I ask my boyfriend really ridiculous, inane questions that, most likely, make him question his undying love for me and are, 100%, why he has more gray hairs and some new wrinkles. I’ve personally aged the poor man. Some examples would be:
“Did you wash your hands?”
“Do you think it’s safe to eat this salami I left in my bag all day?”
“Did you lock the doors (for the 8,563rd time)?”
“Can you smell my breath from over there?”
“Do you think anyone at Panda Express will notice I’m not wearing a bra?”
“What do you think it means when someone’s pee is green? Asking for a friend.”
And, his absolute favorite: “Can you hold my purse while I use the restroom?”
I don’t know why I’m crazy, I just am.
6. When I buy my Friday Treat Donut at Starbucks (for $2, might I add) and there are freaking free donuts in the staff lounge. Fatty don’t play. WTF!
7. This:
So, tell me: What makes you go “WTF”? I need some humor to get me through this last week, people!
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Ain't It Purty?
Happy Monday! Yesterday, I spent ages customizing a new theme for my blog page. I felt my page needed some updating and a fresh new look. Mostly, I want my blog to be easy to navigate and fun to look at.
I would love feedback about the new look. Specifically, is my fat gob too much right there, front and center? I feel like it is a little shocking, especially for those who visit my blog upon just waking up.
Since customizing this new theme, my “about” and “home” links have disappeared. My “about” page still exists, but I don’t know how to get to it!
(I know it still exists, because I followed the link provided on the Bloggers Bash post.)
This is no bueno! Since Wordpress support has been so expeditious in their replies as of late, I am likely not going to get the help I need from them this year.
Anyone have any idea why this might have happened?
Let me know what you think about my new theme and layout, along with why I might have a missing menu!
Many thanks!
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WTF Wednesdays: Travel Tag Edition
The lovely An Historian About Town nominated me for the travel tag. I was so excited to be nominated, because I love to travel and I love An Historian. Not only are her posts well-written, interesting, and positively filled with gorgeous photos of beautiful places and things, the girl behind it all is just fabulous. Go check out her blog-you’ll love it!
Now, without further ado, my responses to some fun travel-themed questions:
What is your favorite place that you have visited?
Hands down, the U.K. and Ireland. My trip was seven freaking years ago, but I still think about it everyday, and I have tried to get back to the U.K. on several different occasions.
I also loved NYC and have always dreamed of living it up a la every.single.chick.flick in all creation, as a Big Apple girl.
(All of my NYC pics are stored away on my external hard drive. Sad face.)
Large cities, with tons of energy and culture, are definitely my favorite places to visit, but I loved being in the middle of nowhere, amidst rolling green hills in England. I also adored driving through the otherworldly terrain of the Scottish Highlands, and even though the road to Dingle, Ireland is crap-your-pants scary, the beauty of the Dingle Peninsula is unmatched.
If you could visit anywhere tomorrow where would you go?
100% the U.K.! But, I mean, if someone wanted to take me to Japan or Italy or Brazil, I’d not argue one bit. *spastic winking*
Would you rather go on a city holiday or a beach holiday?
I’m such a city girl-the energy, the eclectic culture, the myriad languages, the food, the history… Also, I’m not a huge fan of sunburnt fat that turns into one big, ugly rash, because too much of my skin was exposed and rubbing together. Give me chilly weather, layered clothing, a coffee, and a walking trip around an historic city ANY DAY.
Buuuut, I won’t say ‘no’ to a beach holiday!
My top three travel essentials are:
- Obviously, my phone/camera is my number one travel must have. The best souvenirs I’ve ever gotten on a trip are the insane amount of pictures of every noteworthy (and, not so noteworthy-I have been known to photograph a random bench or ugly pigeon, because it’s a foreign bench and a foreign pigeon) sight and experience.
- Hand sanitizer, wet wipes, and a travel-size hand soap are essential. I’ve never traveled somewhere exotic enough to encounter squatty potties or lack of running water, but you just never know what kind of facilities or amenities a restroom will have. Also, the very first hostel I ever stayed at did not provide hand soap or even paper towels. You just never know what horrors you’ll encounter. You.never.know.
- A versatile scarf and a pair of Wayfarers. I know these sound like lame “essentials”, but when I’m feeling ugly as hell on the 6th day of crap hair, because my flat iron refuses to work with the expensive adapter I bought, a scarf makes me feel a little more put together.
Can you even tell my hair is greasy and I’m wearing zero makeup? See what I mean?
Are you an over packer or an under packer?
Literally, I used to bring three full suitcases for a weekend trip back home when I lived in Elko. The pressure that exists when you have to decide what you want to wear before the day(s) in question is just too much. I can’t even. Also, sometimes my favorite piece of clothing looks hideous on me for various reasons. You just never know.
Before the trip I took to the U.K., I obsessively researched light packing tips and practiced packing the one bag I took. It was a real trial, and it took a huge leap of faith to know I’d survive if I wore the same jeans two days in a row.
So, I lied. I took three bags…
What is your favorite thing about going on vacations?
When I’m on vacation, I feel whole. It’s an indescribable feeling of just being. When you’re on vacation, you get to live a life that would exist if daily stressors, like bills and other lame adult responsibilities didn’t exist.
Would you rather go on vacation with family or friends?
Yeesh.
Either choice has its share of positives and negatives. Traveling with family means that there’s a pretty good chance your mom might pay for some of the travel expenses. There’s also a fairly good chance she might forget you’re a grown adult and remind you to thank “the nice travel guide”. Or, she might feel the need to chastise you about your frivolous waste of money on name brand deodorant.
Traveling with friends has its benefits in that your friends are usually more in tune with your level of fun. That might mean an adventurous competition to see how many museums at the Smithsonian you can visit in one day.
This was the day after our Smithsonian challenge. Someone had a museum hangover #8thgradeugly.
Or, maybe, that means buying every kind of foreign candy in the convenience store and then going back to your hotel room to see who can get diabetes first.
Whether traveling with a friend or family member, just drink. Their mouth breathing won’t matter near as much.
Either way, memories are made and that’s all that matters. Right?
What is the most adventurous dish you have ever tried from another country?
Abso-freaking-lutely that would be haggis with ‘neeps and ‘tatties that my friend and her Scottish husband made for us while we stayed with them in Edinburgh.
It was actually amazingly delicious. No shit, I crave that dish on the regular.
My amazing Scottish friends!
I’d like to nominate the following bloggers (please don’t feel obligated to participate):
The Wandering Flamingo
This girl is an amazing photographer, writer and blogger friend. She also lives in my favorite country, so I always feel I get to live vicariously through her photos and posts. Also, she is an avid traveler, so I’d love to know more about her envy-worthy travels. Please go check out her blog and beautiful photography-you won’t be disappointed!
A Walk and a Lark
Here’s another blogger bud who lives in one of my favorite cities-London! She’s become an amazing blogging supporter and friend, and I simply adore reading her blog! She is well-traveled, so I’d love the inside scoop on some of her favorite places! Check out Josy’s blog! I promise you’ll love it and her!
All Thoughts Work
This chick cracks me up. Every time I get a comment from her, I know I’ll end up practically peeing myself from laughter. I’ve gleaned that she’s an avid outdoors-woman and talented writer, but that’s all I know. I need to know more! Head on over to the funny lady’s blog-you won’t regret it!
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Time Is Ticking – Votes Need Casting!
Happy Monday, beautiful people! I wanted to share Ritu’s post about the Annual Bloggers Bash in case you weren’t already aware of this amazing event. The voting has already begun and closes June 2nd. I was completely floored to find out I was nominated for Funniest Blogger. What an incredible honor! There are some incredible blogs and people nominated! So, please, take some time to check them out and vote!