just call me grace

Perhaps I should have named it, my rant when I have time to rant about things that are interesting to rant about. Maybe I'll rename when I think of something more clever. Anyway. It's Sunday night....another weekend has come and gone and I find myself on the verge of yet another trip to see Grandparents. I know, Grandchild of the Year Award, right here. I guess lately I've just realized how precious time is with people you love/care for and you have to take advantage while you can. On Tuesday the Trace and I are headed down to Tampa to surprise my other Grandma for a few days. Should be magical. I won't be begging for a Benz, but I'm sure I'll bowl 9345 rounds at the world renown Spring Hill Lanes.

Hopefully I can manage to bowl without injuring myself- which seems to be a regular occurrence with me lately. Now, anyone who knew me from age 7-17 probably already knows that I am the least graceful and most accident prone person alive. (Who breaks their wrist while roller blading on one leg to prove that I could go farther than my sister? This kid). I like to think I masked it pretty well in college (with the exception of a few incidents, which also involved that pesky Jack Daniels) but recently...its been out in full force. Case in point: While waiting around at the hospital the other day I decided to check out what kinds of glorious toys the gift shop had. I saw a few handheld poker games and then spotted it, a yo-yo. I don't think I had seen or even thought about a yo-yo in years. I see the price, $1.99, what a freaking deal right? After amusing myself and the other patrons (you're welcome Kelly) in the waiting room with my walking of the dog, baby in a cradle, and numerous other nerd tricks that I somehow know how to do, I get cocky (shocking) and throw my yo-yo a little too hard and pieces of it shatter and fly across the floor. I look like a moron and have to collect the pieces and sit back down in my chair. Most people would throw the toy out at this point, let it go Jordan. Not me. I take it home with me and instead of doing something productive like finish painting the bathroom (a task started 6 months ago) I decided to practice with my new slightly broken yo-yo some more. I remembered a trick my neighbor and I used to do back in the day that involves throwing it out in front of me like a softball and catching it....oh don't worry, I caught it alright. Right above my right eye. I immediately sit down on my floor and start laughing at myself. I mean really, WHO does that? Me, apparently. After some initial swelling, a little bit of bruising, and a weee bit of red wine I'm as good as new. The yo-yo has been retired to my garbage, and I'm just waiting for the next episode of gracefulness I can get myself into.

hey princess, you're not 19 anymore

The past few weeks have brought to my attention several things.
1. Jack Daniels is not my friend, nor is he a Gentleman. I'm not sure why- but lately I've had a few episdoes that could rival pretty much (well, kinda)any weekend I ever had in college. I blame this on Jack and have decided to replace him in my life with Capri Sun. You would think that after having my childhood filled with these wonderful juice bags I'd figure out how to put the straw into the pouch without stabbing it out the other side....nope, not yet. At least I have something to strive for.

2. Getting a Mercedes out of your grandparents proves to be slightly more difficult than a camera. Let me be clear, I love my grandparents, I appreciate everything they've done for me and know that it would be absolutely absurd and ridiculous if they actually did buy me a car (or put down the downpayment). I think of it more as a game- how far can I push this? Can I wear them down? I think I have to raise the white flag on this one, even after a weekend of quality time with G-ma and G-pa they were still laughing at my attempts to get them to turn in to the Benz dealership on the way to pick up their friends the Bakers. (pronounced Bayyyyyykaaaaaaaa). Speaking of, these these two characters might be my new best friends. Felix is an Auburn grad, so we immediately became BFFs. He informed me that we'd lead the restaurant in Auburn cheers before the night was over and honestly I'm surprised it didn't happen. He asked me where the SAE house was located now-a-days and I'm trying to think of landmarks in Auburn that are close to it so I go with the obvious...Momma G's...everyone knows where that is right? Wrong...I think even my dad (a rabid TN fan) could feel the pain in my eyes when this man, Felix, told me he had no idea what Momma G's is...even when I describe in detail the wonder that is the nachos (nacho cheese doritos, pepper jack cheese and jalapenos in a steamer). Also note- this magnificent wonder can not be recreated in an oven, microwave, or any other appliance I have in my kitchen. Its a sad sad day when you realize this. But anyway- Felix and I gave up on trying to name restaurants, I'm pretty sure nothing that was there in his day was around when I was there...instead he started telling stories about hazing that I'll leave up to the imagination. At this point his wife starts in on the conversation. This woman, who tries to tell me she's from Wyoming but sounds straight out of LA (lower alabama)asks me what my sorority affilation at Auburn was...turns out we were in the same one. Small freaking world. After doing the super secret handshake it was sealed- my new best friends are over 80 years old. I remember being kind of sad when we left that night. I mean when could we hang out again? When could they come to Atlanta to visit? After my 3 Fat Tires wore off I realized the likelihood of me seeing these two characters again is pretty slim to none but it was good to know that I can still be kicking it in my 80s telling people stories about my college days like they were yesterday.
War Eagle to the "Bayykaaas".

well, this should be interesting....

leave it to me to decide to start a blog on a random monday night in march. hopefully i'll get the hang of it and make this interesting. all i know is that by the time i was 24 i probably could have written a pretty freaking amazing novel.