some things never change - lee is a hater

tonight's convo with lee over facebook chat.

lee: your blog is currently ranked 14, 827,040 in the world
me: wow. what is yours ranked? does that mean mine is read a lot?

lee: Mine isn't currently ranked. It's been as high as 10,000,000

me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
lee: but not currently ranked. shut up

me: HAHAHAHAHAHAH. i can't help it i am more popular than you. i was more popular in high school, went to seven proms, and now am more popular in blog world, and im more popular with mom and dad too

lee: i cant hear you
me: you're a hater.

Daddy of Deeze (like house of pie?)

This past Sunday was a big day. Not only was it Easter, but it was also my Daddy Stooge's birthday. Maybe it's because I'm almost 40 and see life passing by. Maybe it's because I feel sentimental on birthdays. But, I feel like I need to share a glimpse into the window of goodness that is my Daddy Stooge with the rest of the world.

My dad is the funniest man I have ever met. He's just so naturally funny and doesn't even have to try. He's the guy that can talk to anyone (I get my doorknob talkin' from him) and make them laugh. Growing up, I used to get so angry at him because I wanted so badly to be mad but then he would just be himself and I would have to laugh. Who am I kidding - I still get angry with him simply because I can't really be that mad at him. But he's not just funny. He's also the smartest guy. Sometimes, I don't even want to talk about real life with him because he'll outsmart me without even trying. And do you know how frustrating that is to someone like me?

I could spend hours recounting precious memories I have about my pops. I could share with you about the time he came downstairs to greet my friends in nothing but running shorts and a harness. I could tell you about the night he got kicked out of the Latin dance classes we were taking together. I could tell you about the time he taught me to drive a stick shift and all I did was cry or the time he took me rock climbing in the pouring down rain and wouldn't let me come down from the rock (and I cried again). I could share the time we cycled uphill for 9 miles just to have him fall off the trail and knock his teeth out. I could share how protective he was of me when my ex-fiance turned my world upside down. I could brag about how he slipped me an extra 20 in the Bahamas because he knew the more money I had to gamble with meant the longer he had a gambling partner. I could tell you so much about this man I am lucky enough to call my dad.

To be honest, I never really realized the importance of having a good dad until I got to college (but then again, I didn't really realize a lot of things until I got to college). It wasn't until I met so many people from so many different lives that I realized how having a dad, a good dad, was so rare. Someone once said anyone can be a father, but not just anyone can be a dad. I couldn't agree more. I lost count on my fingers and toes how many of my friends have told me they wished they could marry a guy like my dad. He's the total package: he's a Christian, he's successful, he's generous, he's funny, he's kind, and of course he's handsome (he clearly takes after his kids in so many ways). I read somewhere that the best thing a dad can do for his children is love their mother. And that he does. I've written before about my parents' relationship but every time I am with them, I am reminded of their true devotion for one another. Even this past weekend, on his birthday, he was cleaning the kitchen and doing his part as sous chef to make sure his party was a hit. I secretly blame my dad for the state of my love life. He's set the bar so high and frankly, there aren't many guys these days that are half as awesome as my dad.

So when my friends say they wish they could marry a guy like my dad, as weird as it may sound, I have to say I know what they mean. And when I say I have the best dad, everyone else says that they have to agree.

i got my bieber back bieber back bieber back ribs

I recognize several truths about myself: I am needy and require a lot of attention. Positive reinforcement if you will. I once asked Art if I was high maintenance and he said no, I was simply a different type of maintenance (I like this approach and this is precisely why he is my friend). I cheer for you when I see you because I like to be cheered for. I give you a high five because I don't like getting flipped off. At any rate, because I recognize these truths, I don't try to hide them. No matter what aspect of my life I may be involved in at the time. I told my trainer from day one that I require positive reinforcement. Basically, if he tells me how strong and lean I am, I will perform better. I don't really feel like it is my place to positively reinforce him however. Like, this isn't a trade off. I mean, despite the fact that basically everything I already say to him is borderline inappropriate, I don't feel telling him how strong and lean he is is beneficial to me. besides, it makes me feel less inappropriate when he builds me up (this takes stroking one's ego to a whole new level, I suppose).

The other day, Emily and I had both had sadly days and were feeling downtrodden. Because we are emotional eaters, we promptly went to Cook Out where we each dined on a foot long wienie, fries, and giant sweet teas (for me. she had diet coke because she is slightly healthier than I). My trainer previously shared with me that every time I eat something, I should think about him and whether or not he would be mad at me for what I was about to eat. Apparently I didn't take this seriously enough because I waited until I had already taken a bite of my wienie before sending him a picture of it and asking if he was mad. Apparently this was the wrong thing to do because tonight I did not receive positive reinforcement. After the verbal beating I received, I called Emily and told her that I did not join the military because I know I don't do well being told I am a failure at life.

BUT THEN.

But then I realized that the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me happened just this day at work and that the Lord knew what he was doing today when I received this special gift. You see, a few weeks ago, I was directed to this blog and I was immediately jealous. green doesn't even begin to describe the shade of my cheeks as I read this. How does a girl get this lucky! People - she KNOWS personally someone who WORKS for the BIEBS. As in CLEANS OUT HIS CLOSET. and I'm sorry but Marshall Mathers ain't got nothin' on that.

I of course, in the least stalkerish way, commented, then clicked follow, and then wished upon every star I could see in the night sky that I could be so lucky. Fast forward about a few weeks. My fave IT guy (but don't tell the others), Mason and his friend Blake show up outside my officle door and present to me MY VERY OWN BIEBER SWEATER!!!! Basically, Kim, my new blog (and best) friend wanted me to have my own sweater. I'm sure she felt sorry for me after reading my ode to him - wait, no she doesn't. She knows how it feels to be almost 30 and have the fever. I'm so glad to have found this kindred spirit because she selected a sweater from the Bieber stash and put in her fiance Blake's bag to bring to me when he came to visit Mason this week. Really, I think Blake came to NC for work, but what is work anyway? You cannot imagine my surprise and my excitement. At first I didn't believe it. Then I started getting really excited. I put on my Bieber sweater (size XS) and danced around. I exclaimed I couldn't wait to buy purple high tops and my first pair of skinny jeans. I secretly wished I didn't have this giant zit on my chin because it was taking away from the beauty of my sweater. There were a lot of haters surrounding my officle, but Blake and Kim (and Mason by default) had my back. My BIEBER BACK.

So tonight, I just want to say to all you haters who don't believe in the power of reinforcement. I don't need your reinforcement. The fact that I am wrapped up in a size XS sweater pre-owned by the most amazing hip hop artist of all time (sorry Chris Brown and Ursher) is all the reinforcement I need to know that I am awesome.

and no, I haven't tweeted the Biebs a pic of me in his sweater. I'm pretty sure I'm already on his radar but I am not sure we've reached the point where we are sharing clothes.

also, no, it does not smell like him, but I'm not surprised. I mean, I'm sure he just started wearing deo, so of course everything will smell freshly deo'ed. but, I am researching his after shave so I can douse my bieber sweater with it. that way, it WILL smell like him. and yes, the biebs shaves. so of course he wears after shave.

Himmey Buffay

All three Robertson kids had their first Jimmy Buffet experience this week. It's unusual that all three of us would be experiencing the same thing for the first time at the same time, but it's true. as disgusting as that sounds. I enjoyed delicious ritas after work on Tuesday, and tonight the craziest two are enjoying God knows what in Charlotte. While I learned pretty quickly what a sheltered life I had lived, I will say that no parrot head can usurp the ridiculousness that is my older brother and younger sister.

This morning I got a flood of emails, both at work and gmail (the profanity ridden emails went to gmail, which I found mature), from my brother telling of his misery dealing with our Eli. She had apparently woken up and decided she would buy Jimmy Buffet tickets for her and Lee. She called Lee, he told her he already had a free ticket with some friends, and after screaming like a banshee, the below convo ensued. People, this is not a lie. We always knew Eli was a bit scrappy, but apparently, she's now straight gangster. And comes with a very large posse.

After telling Lee how horrible of a person he was, she told him if he saw her tonight, he better run because her friends were going to jump him. He laughed, I'm sure, and she retorted with "well you WILL see me. I'll be the girl with 3,000 friends around me." Now, if you know anything about my brother, you know that if he thinks you are stupid (which, generally, that includes everyone in the world), he will laugh in your face. So I can just imagine his reaction to her telling him a) her friends were going to jump him and b) her friends were in the thousands. Basically, all the rum punch in the world wouldn't keep this fight from going down. The best part is that secretly, Eli really does want to jump her brother. I guess she views it as a rite of passage into adulthood. Except that other than possibly in our heads, no one in our family has ever jumped anyone. So why she thinks she needs to is beyond me. Anyway, after one hangs up on the other, they do what every Robertson child does and race to be the first to reach mom on her cell phone to tattle. Yes, at 31 yrs old, Lee still tattles on his sisters. And whomever gets to mom first gets to claim victory. Lee gets her first and mom gives Lee the best advice I've ever heard. She tells him that if he saw Eli and her 3,000 friends, he better hightail it outta there because he doesn't want to get jumped. Then she reminded him it was supposed to rain anyway.

Of course, there have been reports in to mother that they have been in contact with each other at the concert. Lee has not been jumped yet. But then again, I guess the night is still young.

hide yo kids
hide yo wife
hide yo self (if your name is Lee)

words (son) of a preacher man

My favorite preacher of all time, Steven Furtick, said something during one of his recent sermons that has really stuck with me over the past few days. My mom had called and said she had been watching him on tv (when did he become a tv preacher?!) and he said something along the lines of: wherever you set your foot, God has touched it and has a plan. I sort of blew it off. later that evening, I was listening to one of his sermons online and it just so happened to be the same sermon. After hearing this for a second time, I started reflecting. and I haven't stopped mulling over this since.

I've been back in Raleigh for a little over two months now. And I'd be lying if I said I was completely content with my move. I've had several breakdowns the past few months and said multiple times that I made the wrong decision. I feel like a failure in so many ways. I'm very angry with God for where I am in my life. I feel like I've been through enough and frankly, I don't feel like I deserve a lot of the crap that comes my way. Yes, I'm being completely self centered here. I am well aware of the tragedy, the real tragedy, in life that surrounds me. In the big picture, I don't have any problems. In the grand scheme of things, I've had nothing but goodness compared to what some people experience in their lives. But that doesn't mean I don't still ache over things that have happened or long for things that haven't. I know I'm being a whiney baby. I've questioned my expectations. I thought I had evaluated them before I moved but apparently, I didn't. Did I expect things to be the same when I moved back? Yes. I think I did. Did I expect I'd be closer to my NC friends when I lived far away? No. But I feel like I was. Did I expect this adjustment to be hard? Not at all. I'm Carolina born and Carolina bred. It was so easy for me to pick up and move to FL and not look back. This time though, I've picked up and moved home and yet, I keep looking back. My time in FL was ... absolutely wonderful. I miss so very much about it.

At the end of the day, I'm a believer and perhaps Steven's message was exactly what I needed to hear when I heard it. Actually, that's what I have always said about his church. Every Sunday, I would get smacked in the face with exactly what I needed to hear. Same is true for his blogs. And apparently his sermons while cleaning my house. I know I WILL eventually snap out of this sadly funk I've been in for the past few months. But, until then, I will (and you should) remember these thoughts from the preacher man:

1. wherever you set your foot, God has touched it and has a plan.
2. the goal in life isn't to make it to a point where we can breathe easy. It's to get to Heaven breathless.
3. God is doing more in you and through you in your mountains and your valleys than you can possibly imagine.
4. it's the scenes that we all want to skip that produce the endings we all want to experience.
5. just because God takes you on a detour, it doesn’t mean He’s changed His mind about your destination.

my dreams come true.

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

this is what i get for being a heif

this is what you look like after you go on a wild goose chase for ice cream.

today was free cone day at ben and jerry's (please hold tight for a forthcoming post about my misery that involves something else of one ben and one jerry). Art called at 9p to tell me Ben and Jerry's was open till 11 and he was coming to pick me up. I was so excited! I mean, I literally jumped out of the bathtub, put on my boots and waited with bated breath for the call that he was here. we drove to Ben and Jerry's up the road only to find out they were closed. At 9p on free cone day. Though the website said 10 for this location, they closed at 9. No worries we said, we'll go to the other store, next to the colleges, because the website says they close at 11. Only, they closed at 9 too. As we drove away, middle fingers in the air (because let's face it. no matter how old you get, sometimes flippin' the bird as you peel outta the parking lot just feels.so.good), we remembered that NC State has its own ice cream shop - THE CREAMERY!!!!! The ice cream is made from the cows at the vet school. I'm talking this is the best freakin' ice cream known to man. It's the only reason I go to the North Carolina State Fair (ok that's a false truth. everyone knows I go to look at the carnies too). The Creamery is in the library, but that isn't a problem if you're not an NC State student because they have a walk up window! I literally skipped to the window I was so excited. Only, the window closed at 10 and if we wanted to participate between 10p-1a, we had to walk around and enter through the library's main doors. As we walked around, I confided in Art that I was getting that feeling in the pit of my stomach...you know, the one you get when you try to use your 10 yr old student id at the movies. the one you get when you just know that somehow, on this random tuesday night, you're going to get caught doing something you shouldn't be doing. Art told me I needed to calm down. We looked like college kids. I told him it had been awhile since I'd been kicked out of NC State's library and the last time I got kicked out, well, I just knew this wasn't going to turn out well. We waited and we watched. Learning to blend in is an easy task. And we were saddened when we saw we needed an id to get into the library. We tried to sweet talk the security guard but he wouldn't budge. I even told him I had an id but had left it at home. No bueno. All we freakin' wanted to do was walk through the metal detectors and right into the ice cream shop. Not even 50 feet away. It was so close I could hear the cows mooing! Denied. No ice cream for us. Downtrodden, we drove to Cook Out. Cook Out is open for like 24 hours a day or something ridiculous like that. We pulled up to Cook Out only to have literally 36 people in line in front of us. I said it was time to just go kill ourselves. As we tried to leave, we learned the only way out of the parking lot was through the drive thru line. WE WERE FORCED TO ORDER A MILKSHAKE. After 1.5 hours of wild goose chasing, we were forced to go through the drive thru and we didn't even get what we had originally set out to get. i told art this was something that would happen to my brother.

then i told art that when i was in middle school, i had a key chain that said "it's hard to be me. but someone's got to do it."

i should have held onto it because damn it, if that weren't the freaking truth on this tuesday night in april, 2011.

the girl with the cat part deuce

my brother found it funny to blog a conversation i had with him. so much for confiding in my siblings. just remember, my blog is so much better than his.

Monday, April 11, 2011

"I'm going to go home and see my little boy. And comb his hair and take him outside for a while."

--My sister, on the phone today.

She was talking about her cat. HER CAT.

She's well on her way to crazy town.

southern shitshow.

so, tonight was interesting for me at the gym. thanks to our tough economic state (believe it or not, I am not going to directly relate this to Obama, though I'm happy to blame him for what happened tonight), i'm sharing my 77 (hereinafter double 7) inches of pure sex with another girl. now, don't get me wrong. i've yet to get down and dirty with the trainer anywhere other than in my head, so this is not a competition. it's just more a...well, let me just explain (and we are talking so much more than the awkward comments I find myself making repeatedly, which deserve their own distant future post).

Double 7 makes us warm up before our workout and we all know I don't mind getting loose and limber for some physical activity. Tonight, my co-trainee tells me she knows she is going to burn up in her shirt. Her shirt, mind you, was a sweater. a thick, long underwear sweater. Even an eskimo would sweat in this sweater. So of COURSE she was going to get hot. I mean, who works out in a sweater? A smart girl, that's who. A sneaky b, if you will. While warming up her sweater, we have the following convo:

Sneaky B Sweater (her): so, what did you do this weekend?
Calm, Cool and Collected (me): co-hosted a baby shower in Charlotte. what about you?
Sneaky B Sweater: oh my gosh! I have to go to a wedding in Charlotte later this month!
Calm, Cool and Collected: oh fun! where is it going to be?
Sneaky B Sweater: who knows. but it's going to be a southern shit show.
Calm, Cool and Collected and proudly Southern: and just what is a southern shit show?
Sneaky B Sweater: oh you know. just a shit show.

soooo, since that clearly makes sense, we'll get to our workout. Double 7 was really kicking our arses tonight and the sweat factor was turned up. which I suspect is exactly what sweater had intended. After having him wrap her hands just so to box (she just didn't know how to do it! honest!), we got our groove on. Only, while I'm over there lying in a heap on the floor, moaning in pain, she whips out a baseball hat. precisely one red sox hat. not gonna lie, she looked cute in her ball cap. but, i don't know where it came from. it's not like her spandex pants had a pocket to hold her ball cap in. But there it was, big as day atop her head. how ironic that double 7 used to play for the red sox franchise! i mean, let's be honest here. if i were this sneaky, i would have at LEAST worn a yankees jersey and hat to get a rise out of him. however, i'm clearly not as smart or as sneaky (or as professional) as this chick because she knew she didn't need to wear a jersey. she just wore a sweater so she could remove it during our workout. She was at least considerate enough to ask if people wore just sports bras at this gym. i just looked at her, then looked around, and after spotting exactly no one in just a sports bra, told her i didn't know before falling again in a sweaty mess on the floor. I felt like I was Meshach, Shadrach and Abednego in the fiery furnace I was so hot. and then there was this sneaky b, in her Red Sox hot and sports bra, not sweating and not being obvious at all. where had I gone wrong?

Clearly my thong leotard and leg warmers just aren't going to cut it anymore. Good thing I've got Carmen Electra's strip tease workout videos on my side. Sweaty girls at the gym are out. Stripper girls in sweaters are in. If it weren't for Carmen, I might not know how to sexily remove my jacket. Once I figure out how to turn this sexy move into a sweater removal, you can bet I'm breaking this out at the gym. heck, i might even do a somersault at the same time. yeah. that's what i'll do. they'll both be squatting for me in no time.

side note about my graphic for the night. i googled "fiery furnace red sox" and this image came up. i found it appropriate.

congratulations to myself.

I went to the doctor today for my yearly checkup. Iron is great (finger prick is sore and it's on my middle finger. maybe i will show you). Blood pressure is great. My lungs are in excellent condition. It is clear I am either a runner or a swimmer. My scars look really good. The fact that I am 28 and nothing has been abnormal ever is practically unheard of. I am quite a healthy little lady.

After all the aforementioned kind words from my MIDWIFE, I decided a congratulations to myself was in order for being so healthy.

so I went to bojangles.