Why Newbs Shouldn't Shop with Vets

(Just a note before we begin: I'm talking about newbs here as opposed to n00bs.)

You've just put away the turkey.
The kitchen's cleaned up.
You shuffle to your bedroom and pull your pj's out of the drawer and---
"LET'S GO!"
Someone in your living room is grabbing their purse and running out the door before coming back and getting a binder full of coupons.
You shrug.
Well, okay, you think. How bad can it be?

Oh my giddy aunt.

Let's just say that next year I'm going to sleep Thursday night and I'm not going to wake up until noon on Friday.

My sister is a veteran Black Friday shopper. She's crazy good at getting good deals on like, everything, and that's awesome.

The problem is that I am not. I hit a few stores and then I'm done.

Not so with the Vet.

She spent TWO FULL HOURS in a single store alone! Granted, most of that was probably the line, but still! I wouldn't know what to do with myself in a store for an hour!

I seriously don't know how she does that.

I think she's magic.

We left our house around 7:30 Thursday night and came back Friday morning at about 9.

Never. Again.

Next year, I am going to bed like a normal person on Thursday night and I'm not getting up till noon on Friday.

But, for those of you who do the whole Cyber Monday thing, Pikcal is having an awesome sale: you can get 20% off your order with the promo code "blogcard20". That's off greeting cards, calendars, photo books, you name it!

May your shopping be happier than mine was!

Confessions: I have a terrible sense of fashion.

I know, I know.

A blogger with no fashion sense.

Sad, but true.

I mean, I can do makeup and stuff, but . . . well, no, because I can't really do hair . . .

I can do makeup.

But I'm more than a little lost when it comes to mixing and matching clothes.

Now my sister's really good at that.

And she has this beautiful, long hair that does whatever she wants it to.

Except that she tries to curl it and it's fine so it doesn't hold a curl, and I used to straighten mine, but it's thick, so it doesn't really hold a straight.

Basically, she's a brunette Rapunzel:

and I'm a blonde Merida.

Anhyoo, my sister's really good at clothes.

She looks cute in just about anything, and can pull off things I never could.

And she can pull off black eye liner.

That makes me just a wee bit jealous.

But I'll gladly admit that I've stolen more than a few ideas from my sister's outfits.

. . . Not at the same time she's wearing them, because that would be a little embarrassing for her, I think, but I have.

She brought the scarf fever to our house.

And the boot fever.

And a few other fevers that haven't quite caught on yet, but give it time.

They will.

But yeah, I'm just not very good at the whole fashion thing.

I could sell you on just about any cosmetic product ever made, but let's just say I'm sorta glad my sister's better at that than me.

Because it's better to get killer deals on cute clothes than mediocre deals on mine.

Women are Funny

Women are really funny.

And not necessarily 'haha' funny - though some are really a riot - I mean funny 'weird'.

I can say this because I'm a woman.

I'm also blonde, so you really can't pin anything on me.

But yeah, women . . . we get attached to everything.

Point en case: my sister watches a ton of  HGTV.

Personally, I don't see the point in watching shows about things I can't afford (which is basically why I don't watch typical TV shows) but every now and then I catch a show or two while she watches it.

Oh. My. Gosh.

It's bloomin' hysterical.

Seems like on that show where they renovate their house and also look at new houses, the women want to stay and the men wanna move out.

Then it sorta comes out that she's emotionally attached to the house and he is totally cool with leaving.

There are a few episodes where it's the other way 'round, but this seems to be the norm.
Because to men, it's generally a house.
To women, it's a home.

The same goes for cars and other things that generally don't seem that important.
For instance: after I totaled my first car in an accident, my parents bought me another one for Christmas.
I loved that car.
But then the time came when it was highly suggested that I sell it.
I really didn't want to.
Why?
Not because it was a spectacular example of modern engineering of vehicles, but because I was emotionally attached to it.
It was a gift.
It was a second chance.
I'd also spent a lot of money on maintenance, but that wasn't the first thing to pop into my mind.
It was purely emotional.
It wasn't until I saw another car - that I could almost sort of afford - that the emotional attachment broke.
So I guess I basically cheated on my car.
But men don't tend to be like that.
I guess that's because they're normal.

 

Or not. . .

When "Short" isn't Short Enough

This is not a sponsored post.

Old Navy is not one of my favorite stores.

Or at least, it wasn't until I realized they have the best jeans for me.

They've got different jeans for different body shapes, and that's great.

I love those jeans because they fit perfectly.

Except in one way . . .

I'm 5'2".

I guess their "short" jeans are based on somebody who must be the same size, but must be like, 5'6".

There are literally about 3-4 extra inches.

On a SHORT.

*sigh*

I went there the other day with my mom and sister, and I tried on some jeans that were nearly half-price with the Labor Day sale.

She brought in the size I was about 4 months ago and they were too big! which is awesome . . .

but they were also too long.

She went back for a smaller pair, and I told her that if they had "Hobbit" lengths, that would probably work.

They didn't.

But still.

Also, as a sidenote, I'm too tall to be a Hobbit.

I'm too tall to be a Dwarf.

I'm to short to be a Human.

I'm too short to be an Elf.

Yep, you're lookin' at the cutest Orc there is.

I wonder if they carry Orc-sized jeans. . . ?

My, Oh My

It's August 15th. 

Summer is over. 

My, oh my, where'd the months go?

My younger sister started her dual enrollment at the local technical college this morning. My younger brother starts his freshman year at the Citadel this weekend. I start my senior year next week. 

My, oh my, where'd the years go? 

I guess all we can do is honor God with our hours, and trust Him in the moments, because He sees the years behind us and the years before us. 

Those years are made of months, weeks, days, hours, and moments. 

Live them well.

Growing Up Too Fast

Something happened the other day that really made me think. I'll get to what happened later on, so bear with me: what does "growing up too fast" really mean?

(And bear with me; it took me over a week to write this, and some parts really still don't feel quite right, but I'm posting it anyways.)

"Growing up too fast" used to mean that a child had to shoulder responsibilities and had to entertain concepts that would force them to leave childish things behind before most would have them do that. For instance, in the past, children were working full time around the age of fifteen, either because their parents had died, they were needed to help support the family, or they were considered old enough to take on that responsibility. Advancements in namely medical science and technology of all flavors enabled children to have more of an actual childhood.

But what did that bring?

For the purpose of this . . . "article", it brought free time.

Children were able to stay children until they were physically, mentally, and emotionally ready to take on the responsibilities of an adult. They could grow into it gradually, they could be trained, they could be taught, they could consider ideas and grasp the weight of the consequences to every action . . . they could be ready for an adult life.

Then there was too much free time.

Ungratefulness.

Envy.

Always wanting what was just beyond their grasp.

What do we have now?

We have children growing up too fast, but not in the way of the generations before them.

They have too much free time and a care-free (and care-less) attitude.

And although I can't quite put my finger on it, that's what's driving kids today to act the way they do.

What do I mean by that?

Whilst shopping with my mom and my sister, I saw this girl in Rue 21. Don't get me wrong - I love that store. It's one of the few places I actually enjoy clothes shopping. This really doesn't have anything to do with the store really. That's just where I was. But this girl . . . she had to have been younger than my sister, so maybe fourteen years old. But she looked like a . . . well . . . like a prostitute. I'm sorry to say it, but it's true. Her clothes, the way she wore them, the way her makeup was done - and for the record, I have a personal thing about girls that young wearing makeup - the way her hair was done . . . that's what she looked like. If she was on the street at night, I would have thought she was one.

But I remember looking at her and thinking, "Wow. She's grown up too fast."

Then it hit me: society tries to keep us busy, entertained . . . it tries to keep us children.

But in spite of that, we grow up. . . And not always in the best way.

So yeah. I just felt like I should post that.

I mean, innocence is an awesome thing.

Not naivete, that's not necessarily the same thing.

But innocence, purity . . . That's a lost treasure in this society.

Why you shouldn't dye blonde hair blonde

I naturally have blonde hair.
It was nearly white when I was a toddler, and when I was about seven, I started getting these dark streaks underneath.
A lot of people complemented me on it, and I guess I sort of liked it. I really can't remember.
About three years ago, it started getting really dark.
I look like a brunette.
Nothing against brunettes: my mom's a brunette and my sister is a brunette.
I just like the excuse being blonde provides don't like it on me.
I got highlights two or three times, but they were really expensive.
After that, I figured dying my whole head for $7 is better than dying half of it for $100.
Nope.
The first time it turned out orangey and brassy.
Lasted for a while, then I asked my friend to help me dye my hair.
That one turned out less brassy, but still wasn't the blonde I was looking for.
Fast forward to now, about two months later.
I took a shower and thought the water looked funny. I thought it was just the water; we've been having storms lately, and sometimes that affects it.
Got out, and didn't think anything of it.
Come back a few hours later . . .
ORANGE. RESIDUE. EVERYWHERE.
I honestly cannot remember what brand or what it was, but I know it foamed.
I'm not saying this is a typical result either, because I wasn't using special shampoo or anything.
All I know is that I washed my hair and my white bathtub turned orange.
This is also why you ought not dye blonde hair blonde: it's nearly impossible to nail the color yourself, and unless you want to look like a pumpkin head for about two months, I'd just stay out of the hair color aisle all together.

Surviving at Night

>Insert dark, creepy, horror music here.<

No, seriously.

Given the fact that night-time is basically 0.5 of a typical Earth day, and the second fact that humans like me live on Earth, surviving at night is very serious business.

I - for one - have major issues with surviving at night. These issues include, but are not limited to:

1) Shadows

2) Sudden bursts of creativity and / or genius that temporarily stunt the sleep process

3) Shadows

4) Boredom

5) Shadows

6) Stress about upcoming tests, exams, etc. 

7) Shadows.

I'm sure you've gathered by now that the shadows are out to get me, I swear. 

So, I have done something that I encourage all of you to do: make a list of things that you need close by every night such that the imperative sleep process is not impeded. 

Here's mine. It's quite simple, really.

Things I must have to survive at night: 

1) My sister in the room

Why?

ANTI-BOREDOM! She talks in her sleep. Very entertaining. And besides, if she's there, there's a 50/50 chance the shadows will get her instead, and that's something they'll never think of doing twice. She's one tough, but sweet, cookie.

2) A notepad 

Why?

To go along with #3!

3) A small reading light and / or glow in the dark pens 

Why?

Because these things allow my eyes to see item #2!

So, yes, this is what I need to survive at night, which, as I stated earlier, is pretty darn nifty in the grand scheme of things.

. . . No lie. 

(By the way, just before I published this, one of my friends told me quote: "I actually sleep at night." Hm. Fascinating concept. Oh, yes, you can see her creative genius here.)