by Joey | Feb 7, 2014 | Throwback
After having several conversations with Lauren, I realize there are a few things people might consider me crazy for. Besides the whole never-had-a-peanut-butter-sandwich thing which you all learned about on Tuesday, here are some things that other people think I’m crazy for…
why not share a pic of a gorgeous sunset in last week’s snow.
I don’t like whipped cream. When you’re standing behind my skinny ass in Starbucks and hear me say “no whip” don’t roll your eyes. It’s not because I’m counting calories. I just. don’t. like. it.
Don’t cut my bangs. I’ve gone to this hair stylist a couple times since having my bangs now. And every. single. time. she looks at me like I’m nuts when I tell her not to go near my bangs. “But you don’t want a little trim?” No, lady. Back off. Put the scissors down and step away from the bangs. I am the only one around here who cuts my bangs. I’ve been scarred. Scarred badly, y’all. I have my reasons.
I can’t sleep. Someone can just think about walking down the hallway into the bedroom in the middle of the night, and I’ll wake up. This drives the night-owl husband absolutely bonkers. It doesn’t matter how quiet he is or how many sleeping pills I take, I’ll wake up.
I’ve never had apple pie. Okay, there’s another one that will probably send Lauren running for the hills or questioning my Americanism.
I won’t eat the edge of a cheeseburger. Wait, what? This is another one that makes my husband crazy. Obviously the hamburger is round. I started on an edge somewhere. It doesn’t matter. I’ll leave a ring of un-eaten cheeseburger because I won’t eat “the edge.” Yes, I’m certifiable.
Well, there you have it. Some of the many things that people think I’m crazy for. There are more. Many, many more. But that’s all for today.
Will you still be my friend?
linked: 5forfriday; h54f
by Joey | Feb 6, 2014 | Throwback
Expectations.
Judgements.
Explanations.
I was 22. I had a degree. I had a job with a fancy title in the industry I was interested in. Granted, the job wasn’t at all related to what I knew how to do, but I figured the proximity to what I loved would make me happy. It didn’t.
I had a 401K and insurance. I had flexible hours, and I could wear jeans to work. The people I worked with were nice. I didn’t fit in. Something just didn’t feel right. I tried to force it because there were all these thoughts floating through my head. How do I explain what I want to another person when I didn’t quite understand it myself.
I was living in my parents’ attic. I knew there would be questions. I knew there would be judgements. I could feel my heart pulsing in my throat when I sat in the meeting with my boss to tell her that I was leaving my big girl job to work in a tanning bed.
Yes. I went from being an Account Executive with a newspaper to wiping sweat from tanning beds by choice.
I wasn’t hired as a manager. I didn’t take the job with the expectation I’d some day become the manager. Let me make that clear. I took the job knowing that I would be no better than an 18 year old working part time in college. Except I was full time. There was no insurance. I had to trust myself that I wasn’t making a huge mistake.
I can’t explain it. I wish I could. I just trusted my gut. When I saw the listing it was just something that felt right. It felt like something I would enjoy. It felt like something I would be good at.
So I applied. I got offered the hourly position, and I quit my “big girl” job.
Within 30 days, I was the manager. And I loved my job. I loved the people I got to see daily. I loved being encouraged to be my peppy, happy self. I fit. I was satisfied. And I was tired, no exhausted, at the end of the day. And it felt so good.
Occasionally someone from my high school would come in to tan. And I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t embarrassed. They’d be wearing their fancy suits obviously on their way home from their fancy jobs, and there I was signing them into a tanning bed for 11 minutes. The worry of judgement was real for me. But at the same time–I didn’t care. I was happy.
I didn’t fit in the mold. I saw all of my friends doing the things they were supposed to be doing, and I didn’t quite understand why I was just perfectly happy to work in a tanning bed. The conversations would come up (you know the ones–when you haven’t seen someone in a long time and they ask you what you’re doing these days), and I felt this rush of fear in trying to justify why I wanted to do what I was doing. I wasn’t doing it as a part-time/in between job. It was what I wanted.
The point of this story is–I did what I wanted despite the fear of judgement and expectation. And I was happy. I paid my bills. And I even ended up with insurance when I became a manager. I know I got lucky–and I’m not saying run off and quit your job. But in the end–isn’t being happier what matters?
It was while I was at that job that I wrote my first book. I wasn’t creatively drained at the end of the day–and I wasn’t exhausted from hating my life. I was electrically charged and full of inspiration. And I was happy. And I made the time.
Isn’t that what matters? We all get so caught up in what other people will think that we forget to make ourselves happy.
disclaimer: don’t try to stalk me 😉 I no longer work for either of these companies, and I no longer live in that town.
by Joey | Feb 5, 2014 | Throwback
Oh, hi.
I had a post scheduled for today (really tomorrow–it’s Tuesday night right now), but I’ll let that run another time. Sometimes you just need a good old sit down with the blog, am I right?
So here I am: post long shower with wine in hand and headphones in. The iphone and ipad have been switched off. O-F-F.
this is real life, folks.
Today just didn’t go as planned. You know the kind–everything was just…off. Nothing horrible or tragic happened–but enough that left me feeling overwhelmed, frustrated and annoyed. Hence the wine.
Our damn washer. I just…I can’t even. I can’t even be excited that it’s a “new washer” because it’s one problem after another (one of which, by the way, had maintenance cutting a massive hole in my wall and tearing out pipes–oh goody). Today was supposed to be the day I could finally you know, wash clothes after days and days homegirl is one pair of underwear away from going comando. But nope. The washer spazzed the eff out and off the washer went. Maintenance came by again–I’d be worried they would think I’m crazy except every single time it’s a massive problem–and this time he’s stumped. Never seen a washer do what mine is doing. I mean, I’m all for individuality–but really? Step in line, washer. Step in line. I’m about to go all kung fu on your ass.
I’ve had some pretty significant pain in my abdomen the last several days. I know it’s because I’ve been over doing it. I really only spent 2 days in bed post surgery and then it was right back to trying to save the world. I planned to take things relatively easy this week–but then I went and beat up the washer–so well, all that rest I got on Monday was all for nothing.
I figured I’d paint my nails because what else would Joey do to calm herself down? Well, I screwed my thumb nail up. So I repainted it. Then messed it up again. Then repainted it. THEN SCREWED IT UP AGAIN–so now it’s naked. No polish for you, thumb. You’re grounded.
Thankfully I had a hair appointment scheduled. My long locks were nice but maaaaaan were the ends pretty ratty. I was in a bad mood (don’t you EVER go and get your haircut when you’re in a bad mood–I do not recommend it) and chopped way more off than I originally planned. Okay, this is me being dramatic–it’s not like I have a bob now or anything, but it was just one more thing that left me kicking myself today. Hair grows. Life goes on.
I really don’t mean to sit here and complain. Okay, maybe I do. But sometimes we all need to, right? We’ve all had those kinds of days. There’s a laundry (ugh, poor choice of words Jo when your washer’s on the fritz) list of things that went a hair awry when I got home, but I won’t bore you which I’m sure you already are and have stopped reading, I don’t blame you.
Dang, this two dollar wine is good.
I’m feeling better already.
**Oh, and because this post will show up in the future–happy national signing day to my dear, sweet hard working husband.
by Joey | Feb 4, 2014 | Throwback
*learn to spell French Macaron
I’m 27. I’ll be 28 this year. How the heck did that happen? It makes me think of that quote from Grey’s Anatomy:
We’re adults.
When did that happen?
And how do we make it stop?
I hate to admit it, but I’ve spent a good chunk of my adult life thus far waiting. I was waiting for a proposal. I was waiting for our wedding. I was waiting until we could move out of GA. I was waiting for the right time to pursue my writing dream (FYI-there’s never a right time for that kind of thing). I don’t know what it was about 2013, but all of a sudden I realized that we were for real grown ups. I know that sounds silly-but we handled some pretty big (and real) things last year. And I just remember standing in the kitchen asking J when our daily conversations became about the electric bill and medical crap.
If I’m being honest, what started this whole list thing was when
Lauren found out I’d never had a peanut butter & jelly sandwich. I know the fact that I haven’t had a PB&J is crazy (and silly), but it just made me think of all the little things I haven’t done yet that I’d hate to never do.
I know my list isn’t very lavish–but I wanted to keep it attainable. I’d love to put all these different vacations on there, but I know the likelihood of us having the expendable income for that kind of stuff while I’m still chasing the whole writing dream is pretty slim. Now if we end up GETTING to do those types of things, awesome. But I wanted to write down a list of things that with the type of lifestyle we’re living right now would still be attainable.
The point is to add a little more “life” in our days–not spend a ton of money.
So tell me, what’s on your 30 before 30 list?
by Joey | Feb 3, 2014 | Throwback
We have lived in our quaint, little house on Campbell’s campus for about 10 months now.
Sometime last week, our washing machine started freaking out. Now, we rent. So I knew we’d have to let maintenance know that the washer was going–but I’ve rented long enough to know that putting in a maintenance request pretty much means you’ll see help ooohhh, in about 3 months. So I decided to dive into the washer, take it apart, and see if I could fix it myself.
I got it working. Are you proud? But it still made this god awful sound just after it would agitate, so I knew eventually it would go out completely. So an email was sent to maintenance at about 10PM.
The next morning (we’re talking before I even had real clothes on), maintenance was at the door, toolbox in hand. He pressed a couple buttons and backed away. “Nope. Not even going to waste my time. That’s your motor. The washer will need to be replaced.”
This was the day we were anticipating snow. I was sure these people had more important things to do than taking care of my washer (oh, you know–like salting sidewalks and making sure people’s heat was working). So I didn’t give it a second thought.
Later that afternoon the husband calls me. “Are you still at the store? They’re at our house with the new washer–they need you to come get the dog.”
Are you serious? Wow. Props to Campbell on that!
Anyway–so while the guys were installing the new washer (yay!), they needed the plumber for something. So they radio over to him, and when he asked where they were the guy replies:
The house on Dr. Mckoy where all that excitement was a few years ago.
I’m sorry, what?
Our sweet little house on move-in day
November, 2011.
The tenants of this house were three male college students. One of whom was an Iraqi war vet who worked part time at a gun store.
Well, that young man apparently stole several weapons from the store. When police came to talk to him about it, he was arrested. But he slipped out of the handcuffs (uh…seriously)? He then barricaded himself inside his bedroom in this house, with the weapons.
The school was put on lockdown and there was a three hour STANDOFF in my yard.
OUR HOUSE!
I know you’re thinking what I was thinking.
“So uhm. How did the story end” I asked timidly. “Please don’t tell me he shot himself in here.”
Luckily, the story had a peaceful ending. The guy surrendered and no one got hurt, thank goodness.
If you’re interested, you can find the news story
here. If you click on the second video on the left hand side labeled “campbell students were stunned by standoff” you’ll get to see my lovely little house make it’s primetime debut!
Such a crazy story. Especially for a sleepy little town.
But my number one question is how had no one told us this yet? I mean, I know nothing actually happened–but no one felt the need to say “oh, so you live in the house where the swat team was hanging out a couple years ago?” Really?
