Tag Archives: humor


After almost five years of teaching, I’ve caught my stride. I work at a great school with phenomenal students and colleagues. However, some days make me question if I woke up back in that first year of teaching with its awful-no good days.

Today was one of those days. I felt like a really terrible teacher. Like more than the 10 percent terrible that I feel on a day-to-day basis. That’s not self-deprecating; there’s at least one thing every teacher sucks at. Mine is attendance. Any administrator of mine reading this – Hi – I’m sorry – don’t hate me.

The truth is, I’m not a bad teacher. I just wasn’t “Freedom Writers” amazing today. And the second truth is that “Freedom Writers” is a bunch of crap.

There. I said it.

If you’re not a teacher and you’ve seen “Freedom Writers,” you’ve bawled your eyes out over that sweet teacher who saved all those at-risk teens. If you’re a teacher and you’ve seen that movie, you’ve bawled your eyes out when her marriage ended because it hit way too close to home.



But really part of you gets it. You truly understand why he leaves. Teaching leaves little of you for others. Because when we pull back, we are neglecting students. When we push forward, we’re workaholics. There’s no winning.

There’s never enough. Never enough time, money, materials, etc. Hell, do you know how many single teachers there are? Try explaining your work schedule to someone and see if that sets fire to their rain.

Teacher: “I mean, technically, I get off work around 3, but I have club meetings and parent conferences and the kid who sits at the back of my class and never talks is on the basketball team so I need to go watch him because maybe he’ll start talking and you know I am so behind on grading so I should really take care of that and the teacher across the hall is sick so I said I would watch the comic book club do comic book things that I don’t understand and then I really need to get my oil changed. I’ll be home around 9.”

Wouldn’t that make your womb just flutter? No. It would make you run. RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN. There should honestly be a dating site just for teachers. Can’t you picture it?


Teacher drinking wine out of her “2 teach is 2 touch lives 4ever” mug and searching “male, 30s, AP US History teacher.”


“OMG. OK. HERE GOES. Ok, well that school district is kinda sketch, but OMG HIS TEST SCORES ARE AWESOME. Ok, messaging now…”

“Hi! Meet me at Starbucks Saturday at 8. Bring your lesson plan book.”

And love is born over a chai latte and the Second World War.

I’m really not joking about this. Send me a man who knows how to make a pot of coffee and fix my broken computer monitors, and I’ll put a ring on him. Even if your date is lame, you could totally leave with some rad new lesson plans. EVERYONE WINS.

I digress. In all seriousness, that movie just depresses me. For one thing, I’m angry with her husband for not understanding her innate need to care for those children when obviously no one else was. Rather than resent her, why didn’t he help her? And I’m angry with her for not taking care of herself. Then I’m pissed at Hollywood for setting this cultural standard that the only good teachers are teachers who sacrifice everything and never take an inch for themselves. And I’m pissed at people for being so naive to hold teachers to that standard.

I know people are sick of hearing about teacher problems. Trust me, we see the passive aggressive Facebook statuses.

I wish I got a summer vacation. Must be nice to get off at 3. OMG You’re so lucky you get a long Christmas break – you’ll be so well rested now. 

That door swings two ways, cupcake. You want to know how I envy you?

I envy that when you’re sick, you can just go to the doctor. You don’t have to burn a day of your meager sick bank for a doctor’s appointment you’ve rescheduled four times because “DAMMIT NO I CAN’T JUST LEAVE – THERE’S  A PROCESS AND I MUST RETRIEVE THE MOST SILVER HAIR OF THE GOBLIN KING FIRST.” Oh, and sub plans – just gag me.

I envy that you could take Mondays or Fridays off because you aren’t concerned about a sub shortage. Yeah, a sub shortage is a thing, and it’s a drought that falls second to only that of water because water is an essential part to coffee.

I envy that parents aren’t calling you “incompetent” through emails or even sometimes in person. It’s my mistake the kid hasn’t turned in anything in three weeks. – my bad. Here’s my left kidney to pay for my mistake.

I envy that you aren’t giving your lunch away to children every day because they are ALWAYS hungry. Turn off the Sarah McLachlan cassette. I’m not making a statement about underfed children. Most of the time I don’t give away my lunch; they just kind of take it. Besides, I get 30 minutes for lunch. Well, after the kids leave it’s about 20. But then I set up for my next class and that takes another 10…

And most of all, I envy that you can go pee WHENEVER YOU WANT. Don’t you ever take this for granted. The next time you pee, you think of me suffering in my classroom. You might find that creepy, but you need to know that for every bathroom break you take there is a teacher doing “the potty dance” until their lunch break. But there’s a 10 minute line, so there goes my last bit of time.

So, I wasn’t “Freedom Writers” awesome today. I didn’t wear a leather jacket and give kids candy bars in exchange for class participation because Michelle Obama would find me, and her arms are way more ripped than mine. I didn’t chain any entrances closed to keep out the bad guys, but I worked my third 11-hour day this week and tenth this semester and I cried about it in front of a kid because, guess what, I had all the emotions at once and there was no going back.

This isn’t a pity party. It’s a shameless plea for Starbucks gift cards. SEND THE SBUX. SEND IT NOW.



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Blah. Blah. Blah.

Sometimes it’s so difficult to write. Why is that? Why does my heart race at the notion and expectation of recording my thoughts, rants, celebrations, and tender heart-thoughts right here in this tiny part of the Internet I have staked claim over, and then the very second I sit to do the one thing my heart and mind both agree is good to do, an overwhelming sense of the “I don’t wannas” washes over me?

Yeah, I have no clue either. I’ve felt rather clueless lately which is infuriating for someone like me. And I have this sincere desire to not care about any thing important. Does that make me a terrible person? Like, I’m really sick of talking about healthcare. There, I said it. I’m really sick of talking in circles about things I can’t control. Does this make me more of an adult or less? I don’t really care. BRING IN THE DANCING LOBSTERS.

Three things Sam is really tired of talking about:

1) The government.

My mother told me once to never give something or someone more attention than it deserves. Personally, I don’t think Congress has earned the right to raise my blood pressure. Our words are not going to change their minds. Stop yelling at them and start talking to each other. And guess what – we hire these people. My mother also used to tell me she brought me into this world, and she could take me out of it. It seems like the same principle applies here too… kind of. STOP HIRING THESE JERKS.

2) Modesty

If you’ve ever said a female deserved some kind of sexual assault because of her wardrobe choices, you might be an asshole. STOP BLAMING THE VICTIM. A tube top is not a sex invite, ok? I am sick to death of blog posts shaming women based on the width of the straps on their shirt or bathing suit choice. It’s pious and ugly, and every time a girl reads one, you have fed the patriarchal monster who says “hey girl, your heart, mind, and character don’t matter when you wear a miniskirt.” It’s not a complex concept – WORRY ABOUT YOURSELF.

3) Miley Cyrus

I was equally scandalized by her VMA performance, but can we stop talking about her already? Miley taking racy photos or sticking her tongue out is not news. Miley is doing her thing – get over it. And once again, WORRY ABOUT YOURSELF.

One thing I’m not tired of? BuzzFeed lists. MORE LISTS ABOUT PANDAS PLEASE.


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Surviving the Terrible Two’s: Dolla Dolla Bill, ya’ll.

Today is the last post in our 20something series. I have been so honored to do this with Micaela. Her spirit and appetite for life inspires me to embrace adventure. I love that Kiwi and am quite sad to see this series come to an end.

Our last post tackles the topic of FINANCES. Money falls into that same category as politics and religion of “things you shouldn’t talk about in public.” Well, consider us rebels because we are talking about it.

Her post, which you can find HERE, is so relevant and perfectly honest. Make sure you check it out and subscribe to her blog. You won’t want to miss any of her future posts. She’s a world-changer, that one.


I live in the land of many smells. Most of them are quite unpleasant. There’s the stench of oil wells, oil refineries, and, when the wind blows just right, the smell of dairies or feedlots.

The older generations say “that’s the smell of money!” I’m sorry, but I would rather my money smell like the leather of a new Kate Spade bag (preferably this one) or Steve Madden boots (these). And it always struck me as funny that anyone would associate such a ratchet smell with money. It seems that wouldn’t do much for money’s reputation.

Not that money has a very good reputation as it is.

When preparing to write this blog, I spent a lot of time reflecting on money in my life and money in the lives of others. I found plenty of differences; obviously, some people drive Lexus, BMW, and other luxury brands and I don’t. But I found one constant – at some point we have all become frenemies with money. Whether our argument with money is because we have too much or too little, there is a point in our lives where we become dissatisfied with its existence and the strings attached to it.

And it seems to me that our fall-out with money happens at some point in our 20s.

I have had my fair share of money issues. I did not grow up in an affluent home. We had everything we needed and most of what we wanted but never in excess. I was perfectly content with life in the middle class until it came time to face college expenses. After being laughed at by those FAFSA jerks, I became displeased with “enough.” I didn’t want just “enough,” I wanted more than enough so that I could pay for college. There was even a point when I wanted less than enough just to receive grants. I was bitter toward money and I still am. When I consider grad school and the ridiculous cost of higher education, I begin to despise money all over again. I pay my loan installments on time every single month but always with a grimace and an expletive.

That doesn’t stop me from loving what money can give me though. How paradoxical.

I can’t answer financial questions. I don’t keep a specific budget. I pay my bills as soon as I get paid and hope for the best for the rest of the month honestly. So, I often turn to men and women I admire for advice on the topic.

What my Dad taught me:

  • Have a savings account. Always. Even if you only have $100 in there – it’s helpful.
  • Be generous. Always tip and tip well – regardless of service.

What my Mom and sisters taught me:

  • Buy pretty things you can afford – ask Dad for what you can’t afford. (That’s my favorite advice.)

What Lore taught me:

  • Tithing is not just writing a check. It’s a calling from God, and it doesn’t have just one face. I encourage you to read her powerful words on the topic of tithing here and here.

What America taught me:

  • Don’t live beyond your means. Credit isn’t the devil, but he often hangs out there.

What I can do better:

  • Start focusing more on what I NEED rather than what I THINK I need.
  • Give more of myself but also of my resources.
  • Stop worrying. I’m not going to wake up one morning and all of my money is gone.
  • Most of all, trust in God. He is concerned in all aspects of my life – my bank account included. I often think “Oh, He doesn’t care that I overspent this month.” But He does. I think “He is too busy to be bothered with my financial woes.” He’s never too busy. I don’t know when I will finally get that through my thick skull, but hopefully one day. My greatest wish is that I will believe in His power and sovereignty in my own life with as much faith as I have in Him in the lives of others.

I don’t think money and I will ever be good enough friends to gab over a pint of ice cream or have a “Friends” marathon, but I’d like to at least coexist in peace. Every single day is a new lesson in finance, and I hope I can apply every lesson toward creating a better tomorrow for myself and maybe a future family. Until then, I am avoiding Dave Ramsey like the plague because I’m pretty sure he won’t like what he’d see in my bank account, and he kind of scares me.

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That one time Walmart proved me wrong

One of my favorite things about life is when something you expect is terrible actually turns out quite wonderful. Like when I thought I hated guacamole, but then tried it on a dare and realized that my tastebuds are all about the guac. Same with black beans.

Well, yesterday, Walmart proved me wrong. I was under the impression that Walmart is ALWAYS the lobby to Hell, but I found that there is a time in the day when Walmart is actually quite magical.


Seriously, I know exactly what you’re thinking right now, and I understand and respect your reservations. But Walmart at 10 am on a Thursday was a completely wonderful experience. 1) I got a parking spot in the same zip code. 2) I got a brand-new, non-busted cart, and I’m not even sure when the last time that happened (if ever) was. 3) All the employees were smiling and cheerful. 4) There wasn’t anything spilled on the floor. 5) I didn’t have to witness any children getting spanked. 6) More than one register was open (!!!!!). And, finally, 7) IT WAS QUIET.

It got me to thinking. If Walmart could prove my perceptions wrong, what else could? What else have I closed myself off to because I had made up my mind that it was and was always going to be awful?

It was a scary thought. One plagued with visions of missed opportunities, unlearned lessons, and rejected blessings. In the middle of my wonderful, magical, like-seeing-a-unicorn Walmart moment, I faced a demon that I didn’t even know I struggled with. (I’ve seen a lot of demons at Walmart, by the way.)

I have let perception hold me back from living a full life.

Someone once told me that “perception is reality.” Which was excellent advice when applied to how I consider how others perceive me, but not so excellent in the reverse. All of these perceptions and expectations stored in my mind are creating a false reality. One where I can hide behind an opinion because it’s safe and easy. One where I can shut someone out because my perception of them is less than generous.

It’s also pretty terrible advice in terms of how I approach opportunities. I’ve said it all more than once. “Ew. I’ll live anywhere but there.” “I couldn’t do that job.” “That place just seems terrible.” All perceptions based on here say or expectations, and none based on experience. Sure, so-and-so could have really hated that job, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to. Or my really good friend’s boyfriend’s sister’s mother-in-law could have hated a certain town, but that doesn’t mean I will.

When I deny myself an experience, I’m living a life full of someone else’s stories because I’ve allowed their adventures and misadventures to become sufficient enough for my reality.

I’ve had one wish for 2013 – that it will be a year full of change, growth, and new experiences. And, as we approach the fourth month of the year, I’m troubled that I’ve possibly shut the door on a few opportunities already. I want my reality and perceptions based on experiences – be they incredible or incredibly terrible. I want more moments when I find that my perception was wrong, I want to fall in love with things that I thought I hated. I want things, places, and people to change my mind. Because, truthfully, my mind could use some changing.

Truth time: I still hate Walmart. It’s still terrible, just significantly less-so at 10 a.m. on weekday mornings.

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Costumes and hiding

In my lifetime, I’ve worn a lot of costumes.

There were homemade costumes created by my cousins and I (with the help of our grandmother) for our productions of Aesop’s Fables or when we decided to rewrite “Crybaby.” On a side note, I can’t believe my parents and uncle let us watch that. It’s super inappropriate. Funny as hell, but inappropriate.

There were also Halloween costumes either bought (eh) or made by my mother from an idea born in her crazy mind (my favorite). I have spent hours upon hours in dusty costume shops searching for a turban or perfect wig for high school theatre productions, and now I am an assistant theatre director.

Costumes have consumed a great deal of my life, obviously. And I’ve pondered why that is. Truthfully, I just enjoy the escape. Letting loose of myself for a moment of time and pouring my energy into another persona was a way of “taking a break.”

What I never realized until recently was that I’ve done this my entire life – with or without a costume.

I am guarded. 

And let me admit to you that I have made a lot of jokes out of that statement. A LOT. And I’m not proud of it, but, yes, I am the girl who has rolled her eyes pretty much every time someone said that on “The Bachelor” or in a church small group.

My thought process always went something like, “What does that even mean? Guarded? You’re guarded because you think it sounds angsty and cool. Geez, that’s dumb. I’m not guarded. I don’t hide behind anything. I’M A STRONG, INDEPENDENT WOMAN.”

False. That’s just one big lie I told myself for far too many years.

In the past year, God has revealed that I hide behind too many things. Which was actually news to me. I really thought I had it all together. Honestly, I did. I knew that I had some struggles, but I was actually of the opinion that I was just fantastic. Well, I still think I’m fantastic, but you get the point. What I didn’t realize was that my relationship with Him was at a complete standstill and actually going backwards. Why? Because I was stubbornly hitting a wall planted firmly between myself and Him but still ignoring the existence of the wall. Which is just strange, you guys. If you ever see someone hit their head firmly against a wall repeatedly and then say the wall isn’t real, get them some help. Something is very wrong. And something IS very wrong with me.

  • I hide behind my family. I let them be my source of comfort when things are going wrong. Anytime I’m hurting or stressed, I run home to let them numb the pain and distract my heart and mind. Leaning on my family is not the problem. Burdening them with the responsibility of fixing my problems and putting them on an emotional pedestal that should only hold God is the problem.
  • I hide behind activities. An idle mind thinks and ponders and worries. To avoid that and, ultimately, myself, I keep myself busy. Whether it’s a full TV schedule or leaving every single weekend to go anywhere but here, I hide my heart in the art of busyness.
  • I hide behind humor. If I’m laughing, you can’t tell that I’m hurting. I thank God for my ability to laugh and be silly, but one of my favorite things is also one of my most commonly used masks. When I can’t face the hard truth that things are just plain crappy, I dive into laughter. And over-the-top laughter. I need it. I need someone to affirm that I made them laugh. I need that affirmation. NEED. But that’s not true. That’s just what I want. What I need is the Word. What I need is the presence of the Lord. What I need is to fall down before the Throne and let Him hold my heart and soul.

All I need is Him, but that requires me letting down my guard. Therein lies the paradox, friends.

But the first step is recognizing the problem and admitting it. That sounded like the beginning to a sobriety speech, but I guess in a way I am getting sober. Instead of alcohol or drugs, I’m working on giving up the thing I’ve depended on for so long – my comfort zone.

God has called me to turn in my masks and costumes in favor of having a more fulfilling, complete relationship with Him. And it will not be comfortable. Obviously, comfort is what got me into this mess – comfort and a crippling fear of being raw and vulnerable in front of the world.

Feelings are messy. And my insides feel very much like what happened in Matthew 21:12. Jesus is all up in my life flipping tables and stirring up all that doesn’t honor and further His Kingdom, and it’s because He loves me and values me that much. Super cool dude. I’m a fan.

There is no space in my life for the metaphorical costumes and masks in my life, but I’m keeping my badass Native American headdress and Hedwig costume. Those I ain’t givin’ up.

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Friday Favorites 1/11/13

I would make a really excited comment about this being the FIRST FRIDAY FAVORITES OF THE YEAR, but it’s only my second one ever. So, yeah.

Regardless, I’m excited to kick this year off talking about my favorites – some old, some new.

Favorite blog post: Ok, just favorite BLOG this week. I’m totally obsessed with Kelsey’s blog Lion-Haired Girl. She’s super witty, effortlessly cool, and I honestly envy her life. Homegirl is living in Nashville. Which is also tied for my second favorite city. AND she loves Dolly Parton. I mean, clearly, her blog is worth reading.

Favorite tweet: “My daughter just took a huge Creed’s Greatest Hits in her diaper.” – @prodigalsam If you’re not following this guy, do so immediately.

Favorite purchase: As a late Christmas/early Valentine/I’m an adult and can do what I want present to myself, I bought a new Kate Spade bag! I have been coveting this bag for at least a month now, and now it’s mine! And just in time for my trip to Austin next weekend. Where I’m going to flirt with Olympic swimmers. And by flirt “I mean stare at from a distance and smile awkwardly because I’m too chicken to actually speak to someone with an 8-pack.”


Favorite song: “Black Sheep” by Gin Wigmore. I cannot quit listening to this song. It makes me want to wear my combat boots every single day and flip my hair constantly because that’s what I imagine those really cool girls do. Because OBVIOUSLY they don’t let girls who watch “Pride and Prejudice” twice/week and giggle over the One Direction album in that club. Them’s the breaks, kids.

Favorite photo: This is the year that I will be who I want and do the things that make my heart go pitter patter. I’m not doing things “my ” way per say, but things “HIS” way. He knows my hopes and dreams, and always has my best interests at heart. Why would I want to follow the ways of the world and be and so what they want?


Favorite Verse: My heart can be an ugly place sometimes. I’ve talked before about my struggle with selfishness and bitterness. I used to think that as long as I kept those ugly seeds buried deep within, no one would ever know. But I never understood why I couldn’t control my mouth?

Because Luke 6:45 tells us that “A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.”

If my heart is full of ugliness, then my mouth will spew with that. I’ve been really chewing on this and realizing that true transformations starts on the inside.

Eleven days into the new year, and I’m already positive that this will be my favorite and BIGGEST year yet.


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Friday Favorites: 11/30

I totally stole this blog idea from my sweet, fabulous Twitter-soulsister, Elena (@ellpell_). She loves Fridays as much as I do and features her favorite things from the week each Friday. Plus, she’s super awesome and I wanna be like her, ya know?

I really loved this because it encourages me to really enjoy every moment of the week. I am definitely one to spend the week so eagerly anticipating the weekend that I forget to see the beauty in every day. And that’s lame.

So here goes.

Favorite blog post: “My Body, My Choice” by another lovely Twitter friend, Micaela (@MicaelaRose). Her vulnerability about her struggle with self-image was so poignant and relevant to where I’m at right now. Her heart and soul are so pretty. Check her out, fa sho.

Favorite tweet: “If you feel disappointed or angry at someone you respect for having an opinion you disagree with, you had them on a pedestal.” – @laurendubinsky (Lauren is also the founder of Good Women Project which is so good for my soul. If you have lady parts, check it out. If you don’t have lady parts, check it out anyway.)

Favorite song: “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift. I can’t get enough of this song. She’s straight shaming Jake Gyllenhall publicly and it is DELICIOUS. “You call me up again just to break me like a promise. So casually cruel in the name of being honest.” DAMN.

Favorite food: I love Lindt chocolate truffles. LOVE. Unfortunately, I can rarely justify spending $7 on a package of candy and, thus, eat it very rarely. But last night I broke down, and it was AMAZING.

Favorite verse: Philippians 2:1-4 I am a selfish person. It’s not a good quality, and I don’t admit it to “fish for a compliment.” I am selfish. This verse is so encouraging to me that a higher calling as been place upon my life to be an encourager and helper.

Favorite purchase: I found this super site called Prinstagram which will turn your Instagram photos into all kinds of fun things. I ordered the 48 mini-prints and can’t wait to turn them into something fun for my bedroom!

What are your Friday Favorites?

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Thankful list. Not so thankful list.

Hi, y’all. I’m happy to admit that I didn’t have an awkward encounter with Ryan Gosling.

So lucky, right? I mean, who wants to run into their ex-celeb crush whom they’ve loved intensely since his role as a seductive, teen murderer in “Murder by Numbers?” Certainly not me. That’s just crazy.

So, I lucked out there. And it’s Thanksgiving week!

Now, I’m not a huge fan of Thanksgiving because at some point in the history of our fair land it was decided (by men, obviously) that Thanksgiving was a synonym for hours spent watching football. I do, however, greatly enjoy the Black Friday, Small-Business Saturday, and Cyber Monday Deals.

But, despite my apathetic attitude toward football, I’m still thankful.

I’m thankful for God, my family, and friends. I’m thankful to be a Texan, employed, and free.

Shallow things I’m thankful for:

1) Online shopping. I love people, but I’m easily annoyed and a borderline misanthrope. Thus, I’m not a huge fan of crowds. Online shopping sustains my addiction while maintaining my sanity.

2) Steve Madden. Love you, boo.

3) Twitter. Obviously.

4) Harry Potter. I don’t label myself as a nerd. I don’t do Comic-Con. I don’t play video games. But I LOVE HARRY POTTER. Like an intense, unfailing love. I’m not sorry.

5) The US Men’s Olympic Swim Team. Le sigh.

Things I’m not thankful for and should cease to exist:

1) Westboro Baptist Church. I am a Christian and was raised Baptist. So I know both of these things. You people are neither. Stop being hateful freaks. (It should be noted that none of the following even compare to how much I despise this one.)

2) Nickleback. I’m sure you’re lovely people, but you make terrible music. Do us all a favor and break-up. And Chad, I’m glad you finally cut your hair. And you have nice teeth. But you have no musical ability.

3) JNCO pants. WTF. Seriously? Why do these even exist? And stop trying to bring them back. They’re dead. Leave them that way.

4) Toll roads. I know this one is kind of ridiculous, but I’m always late paying my toll bill and then have to pay an obscene amount in late fees. It’s a problem, and if they didn’t exist, I wouldn’t have the problem. See how that works?

5) Extremists. Just calm down, ok? There’s passion and then there’s crazy. You’re crazy. And taking it all too far. This goes for extremists about everything. Except maybe cake extremists. I don’t see how that could really hurt anyone.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

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Ryan Gosling comes for a visit.

You know when you think obsessively about something impossible happening and then you stop being a freak and get over it?


Like when I spent a solid year of my life thinking that Ryan Gosling would come to West Texas? And then gave up that dream after we broke up because I fell in love with an Olympic swimmer. And then RyGos came to West Texas?

Now that I’ve blown your mind, let’s back up.

Friday was a normal day. I wore a cute new shirt that caused a ton of static and annoyed me. Normal, right? Nope. Apparently there were things happening 30 miles away from me that one could only dream of.

While I was slinging some knowledge on the minds of our country’s future (ugh, I’m seriously so perfect for him), he was busy on an oil rig researching a role. Let me point out that my dad works in the oilfield, and it’s in my blood. Hello? Perfect couple? I think so.

I know. You’re freaking out. Welcome to 12 hours of my life spent hyperventilating into a paper bag.

I’m starting to wonder why we broke up? Oh yeah, because I was tired of sharing him with Eva Mendes.

Ry… I’ll always love you best.

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So, this happened…


Because I really want to meet Ellen. Really everything I do in life is because I want to meet Ellen.

Thanks to Mindy for doing all the editing.



…Guys, I just put my face on the Internet.

Oh dear.


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