Sunday, August 30, 2009

Back in Baby's Arms

I don't have tv, not because i don't like tv because i do, i just don't like to pay for tv. So instead, I frequent the local blockbuster like it was a homebound grandmother dying for my visits. Or even better i pick a tv series and I find a supplier. Someone who owns the glory, someone who shares the glory. For me it's Tiffany, a sixteen year old in my sunday school class. She owns the splendor of My Gilmore Girls. I love the Gilmore Girls like they were my best friends or my sisters. It started out as a guilty pleasure and turned into a, "Yes, I'm watching that tv, Mr. Gym man, change that channel and die, this is my favorite tv show of all time I'm watching." I've been grieving over the absence of the girls for about six weeks.  My only hope has been catching a little bit of them at the gym or watching repeats of season two, the one season I own. Just to document how low I've sunk, please enjoy the following posted by me on Tiffany's face book over the time span of three weeks. (yes, i know you can smell the pathetic)


so i am having withdrawals serious deep rooted withdrawals....i was trying to be good and smart and read books but i've reached the conclusion i'm not the smart girl, read lots of books girl i'm the lazy good for nothing sit on my couch I DESPERATELY NEED THE GILMORE GIRLS BACK GIRL!!!!!!!!! so thus begins my plea for season 5 & 6...i'll send more fan mail or write accolades...let me know what i need to do to get my fix!

tiff-annie! i am not beneath begging or bartering....bring me gilmore girls tomorrow at church and i'll give you my first born or kidney, or anything else you might so desire.

tiff-annie! i'll sing, i'll dance, i'll stand on my head seriously i am not above groveling you know of which i beg! please dear, good child, please!

so i
a. feel like your stalker
b. feel like if i don't come up with a plan b. i'm going to make your top five annoying, nagging individuals of 09 list.

so i if i am seriously pestering the beejeebies out of you and you'd rather i secure my own fix "aka gilmore girls" please let me know.

so i am weak, and needy and pathetic and am fully prepared to tell dave ramesy to shut his eyes we're buying the girls off of amazon.

so if you'll please respond i promise i'll woman up and leave you alone.

so i greatly, appreciate you being my enabler up until this point and it's totally fine if you're washing your hands of me.

so i'm rotten and haven't said hope your week is going better. i'll pray for you to get some rest

so if i keep going my chances of making that list are probably rising.

so bye.

The little angel waltzed into Sunday School today and rose to one of the highest levels of Elizabeth love and adoration possible with these 

Seasons 5, 6 & 7
If I was crafty I'd make her wings and a halo and a little throne...But since I'm not I'm just going to two step it on over to the couch and stay there all day in this glorious rainy weather and revel in my graciously bestowed bounty! My name is Elizabeth and I am a Gilmore Girloholic, how does that make me feel? Happy, it makes me happy! 

Thursday, August 27, 2009


Today, someone came into work with a Lisa Frank notebook. Hello, childhood memories. Then I read Tiffani’s post on JuJu and saw rainbow cupcakes online. And I’m cranky, and feel like whining so suddenly …

I wish I were four
Back in the days when throwing a tantrum on the floor was expected
And care bears were my friend
Back in the days I danced in a tutu
And swung on swings
And wore hair bows
Back in the days I was read to
Back in the days when life was a happy meal
And Santa was real
Back in the days I was made to take a nap
And got to sit in my Momma’s lap
Back in the days I thought being grown up meant eye shadow
And convertibles
Back in the days of Popples
And play dough
I wish I were four.....

Sunday, August 23, 2009

The Lady and the Lawn Mower

For the record, I enjoy my independence. I enjoy having to answer to no one. I enjoy not having to give an account for sleeping until 1pm on a Saturday, or for staying out till near 3ish on a Friday. Not that I frequent the 3am homecomings. I enjoy buying orange high heels and pretty red dresses with no place to wear said dress. I enjoy eating ice cream for dinner and dessert. However, there are times when a little "manny" or handy man would be just lovely. For instance when your grass needs cutting, like up around well past the ankle level hurting for a cutting. I get tired of waiting for someone to pity me and cut the grass so, today I learned how to cut grass. And I cut grass and then I killed the lawn mower. And now Seth, whom I've never met is cutting my grass. God Bless, Seth. God Bless, Seth.  

P.S. After killing the lawn mower and reporting the murder to it's owner I proceeded to put a bathing suit on and go lay in the lounge chair and read. I did however have enough good graces to bring my little sunning self in the house, lest the God send Seth fear I'd start calling him, cabana boy. 

Monday, August 17, 2009

Deep Thoughts From Dinner

Thought One:
Cucumbers with seasoning salt taste good, but mostly they taste like home, like childhood, like summer....

Thought Two:
Tuna fish, I've always ate it, but prepare it, belch, gross, someone go get a cat it looks like i'm preparing it's food. seriously talk about packaging mayhem.......

Thought Three:
Simply Orange Juice changed my life, I'll never be the same or love another as much as it.....

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

The Day My Cowboy Boots Got Rejected

Any girl who has ever heard those power house songs about boots, can’t help but covet for herself a pair of her own power walkers. My opportunity to indulge my wanna be cowboy, came one Christmas when I received a gift card to a shoe store from my sister. I bought those, “These boots were made for walking boots” and did just that, I started walking. I walked those boots till a tiny seem in the back came undone.  I packed my boots up and did what any self-preserving girl would do; I took my boots to the boot doctor. The boot doctor, being Griffin Shoe Repair and Saddlery, I will always suspect taking my high heels along to be repaired that day was code for,  “Baby girl’s cowboy boots ain’t real.”  Or perhaps it was my uncertainty as to refer to the boots in the male, cowboy or the female, cowgirl. What I do know is that nice, gruff, leathery looking man turned my boots down cold.
Our conversation went something like, “Yes, sir, I’d like these high heels re-healed and these cowboy or is it cowgirl boots repaired.” He quickly inspected my boots and proceeded to say, “Mam, there ain’t nuttin I can do for these boots they ain’t real.” Appalled I said, “What, You can’t fix them, can’t you stitch it up? ‘No Mam they ain’t real leather.’ ‘Well, ok I know they’re not real but I REAL-LY like them, isn’t there anything you can do?” He proceeded to explain in great detail how stitching would further weaken the fabric and cause greater tearing.  We went back and forth like this for some time. I tried my best to persuade him, I did. I even mentioned super glue.
I came to the slow realization that this man was not working to keep me cute. So I left my gruff, leathery, I’d prefer to be selling you horse feed, friend my high heels and took my rejected boots back home. Driving home I pondered, what’s a girl to do with rejected cowboy boots? And then it came right back to me, “These boots were made for walking and that’s just what they’ll do, ready boots start walking.” After all it was only a tiny seem.