look rick I'm in an old person parade.

To kick off July 4th weekend, one of the best weekends of the year, I would like for everyone to turn their attention to the following:

The first time I saw this video- I thought it was funny. A few ha-ha's here and there, maybe some chuckles, nothing special. Now, after about the 25th time, give or take a few, I think it is hilarious. As in ROFL. Some good SNL action right here ladies and gentlemen- even without JT.



Gosh it just makes my night.

So does Mogely. Can't wait to see this face. Isn't she beauuuuutiful?!



So natural. So pure.

Happy Weekending and God bless America.

summertime.

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time. ~John Lubbock


pool days with elly and taylor


the fam


dad turns 55- much to his dismay


icehouse with em


katie bob


mavs parade


grandma shyln


houston with shan


meg's new puppy


danielle's rehearsal dinner


yummy


salado


the players

the help.

I know I am a little behind the times, but I love The Help. This is one of my favorite parts. Skeeter is 13 here and talking to her maid Constantine who she is extremely close with, more-so than her mother. This reminds me how blessed we are to have choices, and that sometimes we have to make a conscious decision to drown out the other noise and listen to the only Voice that matters.

[via weheartit]

"The first time I was ever called ugly, I was thirteen. It was a rich friend of my brother Carlton's over to shoot guns in the field.
'Why you crying, girl?' Constantine asked me in the kitchen.
I told her what the boy had called me, tears streaming down my face.
'Well? Is you?'
I blinked, paused my crying. 'Is I what?'
'Now you look a here, Egenia'-because constantien was the only one who'd occasionally follow Mama's rule. 'Ugly live up on the inside. Ugly be a hurtful, mean person. Is you one a them peoples?'
'I don't know. I don't think so,' I sobbed.
Constantine sat down next to me, at the kitchen table. I heard the cracking of her swollen joints. She pressed her thumb hard in the palm of my hand, somthing we both knew meant Listen. Listen to me.
'Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision.' Constantine was so close, I could see the blackness of her gums. 'You gone have to ask yourself, Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?'
She kept her thumb pressed hard in my hand. I nodded that I understood. I was just smart enough to realize she meant white people. And even though I still felt miserable, and knew that I was, most likely, ugly, it was the first time she ever talked to me like I was something besides my mother's white child. All my life I'd been told what to believe about politics, coloreds, being a girl. But with Constantine's thumb pressed in my hand, I realized I actually had a choice in what I could believe."

Untitled

I am not good at coming up with titles. Especially right now because I have no idea what I am going to write about. One time I thought my titles were so dumb, I went back and deleted all of them. Then I re-did them, but I think they are even worse than before. I really do not understand how people come up with titles, because how do you condense everything you want someone to perceive about your writing into a few words. So I will now take this time to name this post, "untitled." Totally brill, so indy.

Speaking of indy, my brother is home this week. Not that he is anywhere close to being indy, unless you consider wearing vineyard vines and straps around your sunglasses indy, but he did show me a funny video having to do with hipsters and people of the sort. I think these people are so funny. I still wonder if that is just the name of the group or if they are really a sailing team from Harvard?

I am currently blogging to Blink-182. My iTunes is on shuffle, but I cannot bring myself to change it. The song is called "shut up" from the album entitled "Take off your pants and jacket." Apparently these punks really know how to name songs and albums. Don't worry I won't talk about taking anything off in my next title. Nor will I tell anyone to be quiet.

Lastly, I would like to inform you that I should not be in any more weddings ever again. I wore my heels for about five minutes before complaining that they really hurt my feet. I took my shoes on and off close to 20 times. And then complained a whole lot more than that to anyone who had not heard me complain yet and then ran out of people so had to repeat. I got into bed the night of the rehearsal and thought I should go ahead and chop them off to stop the aching. During the ceremony, I had to lean on the rail when we prayed because I was afraid I would fall over. We stood up there for so long that I tried not to lock my knees and instead probably looked like I was squatting or getting ready to build a stunt. Dang shoes. At the reception, I was told by a staff member of the Petroleum Club that I needed to put my shoes back on. I slipped out during the sit down dinner to use the restroom barefoot- she judged me. As would most people.

At the rehearsal dinner, a lot of the groomsmen had given toasts and not many bridesmaids so I thought I would start the trend. Being a a terrible public speaker, I forgot to introduce myself and went on ahead to making fun of the bride. People were probably wondering why this unknown sarcastic girl was invited. Last weekend was my very first wedding, if you could not already tell, and not one made for a rookie like myself since the isle was about the length of a football field. My mom said I had a beautiful smile as I walked down, but she is my mom so she has to say things like that. I got so bored of smiling for that long that when I saw my dad in the pew about halfway up, I did a headnod. Not just a little nod, but a very visible one. If Beatrice the wedding coordinator would have seen me, she would have had a cow. But besides my shenanigans, the wedding was a blast and Danielle looked beautiful!

I tried to think of a title now that I have written this, but all I have is - hipster wedding internship goes punk.