There are certain things I keep stockpiled at my apartment:
Toilet paper, because singing the "Stranded" song to my roommates is just wrong and would probably result in my being asked to leave.
Coffee, because it is nicer waking up with coffee than without.
And, most importantly, my hair supplies.
When I say supplies, I mean shampoo, conditioner, mouse, smoothing serum, and hair spray. Call me boujie, but I am from the south where hair products are like air. Don't get me wrong, I can go a day without conditioner or serum...but the women in my family keep our Freeze It mouse and hair spray stored away in bulk (probably because that's how it comes delivered to my house straight from the manufacturer because the stores are inconsistent on their restock schedule).
Here's my predisposition. It is hot and humid in Georgia. In the brisk morning walk to class, my hair can go from polished to poop simply because of the humidity...this applies in the winter months as well. Without my Freeze It, my pouf is nothing.
Yesterday, I woke up on time, showered, applied my makeup and finished up my hair. Upon deciding to pin my hair back, I teased up with crown of my head reached for my hairspray only to discover the can empty. Don't worry, I didn't immediately panic. Because I import my hairspray, I find it necessary to use the entire aerosol can- why waste goodness- and as I threw one can away I reached for my stockpile of materials underneath the sink only to find nothing. Yes, nothing. Initiate Panic. There was my shampoo, mouse, raisers, shaving cream, cleaning supplies, etc, but no hairspray. Immediately, I dashed to my sister's room and began searching through her stockpile.
Nothing. It was news to me to find out she doesn't use hairspray on a daily basis...or she's been using mine. Who knew? My mother would be ashamed, so I won't disclose her secret to the rest of the family...yet.
My other two roommates, Bless Their Hearts, sleep 'till noon some days and I didn't think I would be able to explain my lack-of-hairspray issues in my panicked state. So, I quickly loaded up my books, made my bed (a must-do before leaving the house), and gave my hair one last good tease thinking it would hold until I made my way to Kroger.
I rushed inside as to avoid the stupid humid air and darted towards the shampoo isle, where I knew I would find an oasis of hair products. I quickly scanned the shelves for my beloved gold Freeze It can, but I knew I never would. The saleswoman restocking the shelves must have noticed my panic and asked if I needed help. After explaining my situation and picking up some Suave Ultra Hold, she quickly shook her head, "That leaves white residue." Thank heavens! Another Dive to help me! She pointed me towards an aerosol can that she called "her brand" and pushed it into my hand. Anyone who identifies with their hair products by using "my" or "mine" must understand me...so thanked her graciously and sped through the checkout line.
Back in the car, I silently said a prayer thanking God it was still early morning. Otherwise more people would have saw me spraying my hair in the Kroger parking lot at 8:00am.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Purple vs. Lavender
I don't like the color purple. Not The Color Purple, but the literal hue. Purple makes me think of Barney, bright backpacks and shoes worn by seven-year-old girls who skip, not walk, through the halls of their elementary schools, and of course the Dimetapp grape medicine I've never liked. Purple resonates with fake grape and, for some reason, the word fluff. I don't like it.
Lavender, on the other hand, is sophisticated and cannot, or more should not, be grouped into the dreaded Purple category. Lavender is quiet, calm, matches most outfits, and can be appropriately worn in both the spring and fall. Let me show you the difference:
Lavender, on the other hand, is sophisticated and cannot, or more should not, be grouped into the dreaded Purple category. Lavender is quiet, calm, matches most outfits, and can be appropriately worn in both the spring and fall. Let me show you the difference:
 |
| VS. |
See the difference? Now you understand.
Today I was studying in the Student Center when I decided to take a bathroom break. If you've ever had the privilege to study with me, you'd know that I take lots of bathroom breaks. Reason A: I don't like the feel of paper and pencil residue on my hands, so I wash them a lot. Reason B: I get bored when I study...
I decide to take a little bathroom break to wash my hands. I quietly walk out of the study room that I was sharing with my at-one-time-roomie and quickly glance into the next room's window. In that one quick glance, BOOM: purple explosion. A pale lavender accent did NOT fill the small room. No, it was a purple explosion.
On the way back from the bathroom, after I thought I had sufficiently washed the purple away from my eyes, I SAW IT AGAIN. A purple NorthFace backpack, purple FUZZY laptop case, purple jacket.
Too much-
Actually, come to think of it....If you have that much of the same color in one room, hide something under the table.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Better Late Than Never
If you've ever been to Athens, GA you'll understand when I say that parking in a nightmare. It doesn't matter if you're there on Game Day, visiting a friend on a casual Tuesday night, or simply making a day trip to the great Classic City to pick up a key like my sister and I did last week. Parking is always an issue. True story: My first visit to Athens I got a parking ticket. So maybe I am a little biased.
This is the first thing I learned when I moved to Athens. The second thing I learned was that public transportation would by my best friend for the next four years. Although public transportation and I have had a few hiccups (and what relationship hasn't) we have managed to make it through the days surprisingly stress free.
There are a few rules that I have when traveling on the buses around Athens:
1) Never sit at the back of a crowded bus if you have to get off at the next stop; pushing is not polite.
2) Avoid wet guide dogs on the bus when it is raining; they'll always shake.
3) Don't stand next to boys with cutoff shirts; chances are they are on their way back from the gym and you'll have a hairy, smelly armpit right in your face.
4) Never run for a bus.
Now, some of you might question rule number 4, but this is by far the most quintessential rule for me. Background: I don't wear practical running shoes to class. I might sport a flashy pair of sneaks every once in a while if the weather insists or if I am planning on a busy day, but for the most part it is comfortable sandals in the spring and summer and low heeled boots in the winter. I don't have those cool, but oh-so-not-cute velcro Chacos to run around in on campus (Velcro...really?). Actually, come to think of it, if you see my running on campus, I'll have a hat and some ear phones on. I won't be chasing a bus. I have heard too many stories of people falling, skinning their knee, dropping important documents, etc. while chasing after a bus. And, I have it on good authority that bus drivers enjoy watching people chase after their bus. It makes them happy!!
I could not understand this little fact until I saw the light last Friday.
Friday Kristen and I went to Athens for the day to pick up a key. She also had to get a parking permit and pick up her books. Because parking is a nightmare, I drove around dropping her off, circling around and picking her back up. Our first stop was on a part of campus that is, literally, a big loop. I dropped her at the door and told her to double time it so I only had to circle once.
As I made it through turn four, I see this young woman in Nike shorts and a Kavu purse hauling it across the parking lot. Waving, no less. I immediately decided this was not my sister and pressed on to the designated meeting spot. As I drove closer, the young woman ran faster and waved harder...it was indeed my sister waving me down like I was steering a big UGA bus. Did I mention there were other people around...
I came to a slow roll and, just to mess with her, drove up a little. She finally got a good grip on the door handle and looked at ME as if I was crazy. I simply could not figure out why she was running at me like I was going to leave her...then it hit me. This is exactly how UGA Bus Drivers must feel like when students run after them. I have seen the light.
That girl, as interesting as she is, never fails to teach me things about life. Love you Big.
This is the first thing I learned when I moved to Athens. The second thing I learned was that public transportation would by my best friend for the next four years. Although public transportation and I have had a few hiccups (and what relationship hasn't) we have managed to make it through the days surprisingly stress free.
There are a few rules that I have when traveling on the buses around Athens:
1) Never sit at the back of a crowded bus if you have to get off at the next stop; pushing is not polite.
2) Avoid wet guide dogs on the bus when it is raining; they'll always shake.
3) Don't stand next to boys with cutoff shirts; chances are they are on their way back from the gym and you'll have a hairy, smelly armpit right in your face.
4) Never run for a bus.
Now, some of you might question rule number 4, but this is by far the most quintessential rule for me. Background: I don't wear practical running shoes to class. I might sport a flashy pair of sneaks every once in a while if the weather insists or if I am planning on a busy day, but for the most part it is comfortable sandals in the spring and summer and low heeled boots in the winter. I don't have those cool, but oh-so-not-cute velcro Chacos to run around in on campus (Velcro...really?). Actually, come to think of it, if you see my running on campus, I'll have a hat and some ear phones on. I won't be chasing a bus. I have heard too many stories of people falling, skinning their knee, dropping important documents, etc. while chasing after a bus. And, I have it on good authority that bus drivers enjoy watching people chase after their bus. It makes them happy!!
I could not understand this little fact until I saw the light last Friday.
Friday Kristen and I went to Athens for the day to pick up a key. She also had to get a parking permit and pick up her books. Because parking is a nightmare, I drove around dropping her off, circling around and picking her back up. Our first stop was on a part of campus that is, literally, a big loop. I dropped her at the door and told her to double time it so I only had to circle once.
As I made it through turn four, I see this young woman in Nike shorts and a Kavu purse hauling it across the parking lot. Waving, no less. I immediately decided this was not my sister and pressed on to the designated meeting spot. As I drove closer, the young woman ran faster and waved harder...it was indeed my sister waving me down like I was steering a big UGA bus. Did I mention there were other people around...
I came to a slow roll and, just to mess with her, drove up a little. She finally got a good grip on the door handle and looked at ME as if I was crazy. I simply could not figure out why she was running at me like I was going to leave her...then it hit me. This is exactly how UGA Bus Drivers must feel like when students run after them. I have seen the light.
That girl, as interesting as she is, never fails to teach me things about life. Love you Big.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Can't Fake Country
Here at UGA there are two kinds of Southern men here. The first kind is the stereotypical camo-wearing, beer drinking, redneck hicks that the movies only get about half right. These boys are nice to their mothers, nicer to their mawmaws, and generally good guys all the while being rough around the edges.They hunt when they can and are at a severe disadvantage because of their slow drawl. <3
The second kind of Southern man here at UGA is what I personally like to call "Daddy's Money Truck" men. These lads might appear to have all of the same qualities as Man 1 in that they drink beer and wear their camo (although its Columbia not Cabela), and of course listen to redneck music when its convenient. These boys, unlike Man 1, play dress up for date nights and to get attention, while their brand new Fords are parked at the Frat.
Now that I've gotten that out of the way... Here's my story.
Last week I was standing ever so patiently in the sandwich line when a boy in front of me asks for Honey Wheat bread. With that first drawn out "o", my heart stopped. It has always fascinated me that people sometimes have a different voice that what I imagined in my head....So with my heart slowly beating, the young man smiles out of the corner of his mouth [gingerly, almost as if he stepped out of an old cowboy film] and asked the young lady behind the counter if he could have "palmento" cheese on one side all the while making a folding motion with his hands. That's right ladies, he said "palmento" instead of pimento. Heart. Broken.
Now in my family, we call this type of sandwich a button-up. You take one piece of bread, fold it in half, and you've got yourself a half of a sandwich without having to use a knife. Magic.
So when to young man was trying to explain how he wanted his sandwich to the girl, I immediately knew what he was asking. She, on the other hand, was just baffled. Poor kid had to re-explain himself...twice.
This is not an example of "Daddy's Money Truck" men...you can't fake that kind of country...of that hot Southern accent.
The second kind of Southern man here at UGA is what I personally like to call "Daddy's Money Truck" men. These lads might appear to have all of the same qualities as Man 1 in that they drink beer and wear their camo (although its Columbia not Cabela), and of course listen to redneck music when its convenient. These boys, unlike Man 1, play dress up for date nights and to get attention, while their brand new Fords are parked at the Frat.
Now that I've gotten that out of the way... Here's my story.
Last week I was standing ever so patiently in the sandwich line when a boy in front of me asks for Honey Wheat bread. With that first drawn out "o", my heart stopped. It has always fascinated me that people sometimes have a different voice that what I imagined in my head....So with my heart slowly beating, the young man smiles out of the corner of his mouth [gingerly, almost as if he stepped out of an old cowboy film] and asked the young lady behind the counter if he could have "palmento" cheese on one side all the while making a folding motion with his hands. That's right ladies, he said "palmento" instead of pimento. Heart. Broken.
Now in my family, we call this type of sandwich a button-up. You take one piece of bread, fold it in half, and you've got yourself a half of a sandwich without having to use a knife. Magic.
So when to young man was trying to explain how he wanted his sandwich to the girl, I immediately knew what he was asking. She, on the other hand, was just baffled. Poor kid had to re-explain himself...twice.
This is not an example of "Daddy's Money Truck" men...you can't fake that kind of country...of that hot Southern accent.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Shot Down
I admit one of my greatest faults is over exaggerating my other faults...circle of life I suppose.
Anyway...I also admit that I frequently misread and/or misinterpret important documents and have acquired many lectures under my belt from my mother than I need to "pay attention". (I pay attention...just not very well.)
I have an internship lined up for this summer in ATL and am very excited about it. I am not so excited that it is a credit earned internship-simply because I have to write journals...any you all know how I am about keeping a timely account of my everyday life. Nonetheless, in order to receive this credit, I have to turn in a packet of signed documents and information that my internship adviser and I fill out. It has been a long process simply because I thought all of this was up to me...apparently I was overachieving again.
It is also worth saying that I tend to overcompensate for my faults. In this particular instance, because I tend to misread paperwork...I tried to have EVERYTHING ready. I had copies of transcripts (not needed) bundled into a paperclip with registration forms (also not needed) and signed copies of forms from my intern adviser.
The person in our department I turned this internship packet in to is probably the scariest person I have ever met...and I don't get scared of people very often. I assume this person is good at their job simply because they have not been fired yet, but in the back of my mind I think this is because they are sooo scary!
When I walked in to the office I was greeted with, "Oh, you're my Brittany..." Hello to you, too. Apparently all of the material I had been working so hard to collect over the weeks had been sent to this person via snail mail...who knew. I asked if certain aspects of the paperwork were okay and if I needed to personally fill out anything else. "Well, first of all you filled this one out wrong...you're supposed to read the sentence then check the box if it applies and do this for allllllll of them. You just signed it." Oh.
At this point, I was agitated. I try VERY hard to be personable and smile at people throughout the day, especially at strangers. Apparently this is not a goal for this person...So I was agitated and I grabbed a pen off their desk and checked about 7 boxes in 2 seconds and handed the paper back. "That's better..."
"Uh, oh...another inconsistency. This form says 1 hour of credit, yours says 2." Ah ha! I won against this argument--I whipped out my copy that was supposed to be in the mail to the department and explained the situation. "Ohh, well yes, here it is....Take my trash." And copies of forms and scattered paper was literally shoved in my hand.
Oh no you did not.
At this point I was fuming, but because I over exaggerate my faults, I asked her if I had filled out the correct request form. She then proceeded to read the title of a page to me. Please. Please. Please!
I smiled, thanked her for her time, and turned and walked away.
It is now my mission to make this person a happier one. I would really rather my spirit not be killed the next time I need to turn in a form. I'll keep you guys posted!
Anyway...I also admit that I frequently misread and/or misinterpret important documents and have acquired many lectures under my belt from my mother than I need to "pay attention". (I pay attention...just not very well.)
I have an internship lined up for this summer in ATL and am very excited about it. I am not so excited that it is a credit earned internship-simply because I have to write journals...any you all know how I am about keeping a timely account of my everyday life. Nonetheless, in order to receive this credit, I have to turn in a packet of signed documents and information that my internship adviser and I fill out. It has been a long process simply because I thought all of this was up to me...apparently I was overachieving again.
It is also worth saying that I tend to overcompensate for my faults. In this particular instance, because I tend to misread paperwork...I tried to have EVERYTHING ready. I had copies of transcripts (not needed) bundled into a paperclip with registration forms (also not needed) and signed copies of forms from my intern adviser.
The person in our department I turned this internship packet in to is probably the scariest person I have ever met...and I don't get scared of people very often. I assume this person is good at their job simply because they have not been fired yet, but in the back of my mind I think this is because they are sooo scary!
When I walked in to the office I was greeted with, "Oh, you're my Brittany..." Hello to you, too. Apparently all of the material I had been working so hard to collect over the weeks had been sent to this person via snail mail...who knew. I asked if certain aspects of the paperwork were okay and if I needed to personally fill out anything else. "Well, first of all you filled this one out wrong...you're supposed to read the sentence then check the box if it applies and do this for allllllll of them. You just signed it." Oh.
At this point, I was agitated. I try VERY hard to be personable and smile at people throughout the day, especially at strangers. Apparently this is not a goal for this person...So I was agitated and I grabbed a pen off their desk and checked about 7 boxes in 2 seconds and handed the paper back. "That's better..."
"Uh, oh...another inconsistency. This form says 1 hour of credit, yours says 2." Ah ha! I won against this argument--I whipped out my copy that was supposed to be in the mail to the department and explained the situation. "Ohh, well yes, here it is....Take my trash." And copies of forms and scattered paper was literally shoved in my hand.
Oh no you did not.
At this point I was fuming, but because I over exaggerate my faults, I asked her if I had filled out the correct request form. She then proceeded to read the title of a page to me. Please. Please. Please!
I smiled, thanked her for her time, and turned and walked away.
It is now my mission to make this person a happier one. I would really rather my spirit not be killed the next time I need to turn in a form. I'll keep you guys posted!
Monday, March 21, 2011
Test Anxiety
As of late, my test anxiety has been getting increasingly worse. Especially since I am required to take macro Econ this semester. In the words of Deena, "It is not a good time." The main reason I do so poorly on these tests is the simple fact that they are timed. Giving me a time limit is like asking the US government to not overspend...it sounds nice, but never really works out.
(You like that Econ simile? [internal thought: please, please let that be an appropriate simile...])
Here's how tests to me begin...in my brain...
" Name: B-r-i-t-t-a-n-y L-o-f-t-o-n. Did you bubble those in all the way? Man I remember in elementary school when the counselor came to every classroom to make sure we did not leave empty white space in our bubbles...those were the days. Bubble lectures and nap time...ohhhhh nap time. Man I could really go for a nap right about now. STOP-Question 1: Suppose Congress passes the Producer Protection Act of 2012 which puts a binding price floor on all interest rates. In the market for loanable funds, this act would cause a, b, c, or d... Suppose- what a strange word. Does he mean that Congress is going to pass the Producer Protection Act of 2010...wait is that real? Maybe I should look that up. Why would he put something on test that's not real unless he is trying to trick us? Well, maybe this is one of those give-a-way questions that he puts at the end, but it's number one. Would he do that...what's the question again? a, b, c, or d...yes, the answer is c...no, d. I am sure...
And t This is is why timing me never works in my favor. My brain is scattered with useless information and thoughts and generally disgusting rap lyrics that I hear on the bus. Professors simply don't understand that I have a whole lot more going on in my head than what's written down black and white. In elementary school they called me "gifted" and told me to express myself through thought. Look where that's gotten me.
Question
Question
Quest
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
A parked car
The other night, my roommate and I ventured out to the local movie theater to see The King's Speech. As reviews go, it was clever and funny, but it was a bit long. B+. While waiting for the movie to start, I had a few quick giggles at the older man behind us. When the screen got stuck on one shot during the previews, he asked aloud "I wonder if someone got shot in the projector room?" After his wife probably threw a strange look his way, he explained "Inglorious Bastards." Giggle Giggle.
The night was great...laughter, carefree-ness, blah, blah. The last few minutes of our adventure out was probably the best/most embarrassing night I have encountered in quite a while, though. Our dorm is right next to Sanford Stadium and I literally wake up every morning to Georgia Football :). After tons of construction, they have finally removed some parking space blockers and there are several spaces where you can literally drive into the stadium. This happened to be one of the spaces we parked in on Monday. I got super excited and to appease me, my roomie pulled her Honda through the space and into the stadium. Gleeeeee. It was pure PG fun. I made wild hand motions to signify this excitement as she backed up and parked in the space.
About this time I look to my right and notice there is a car FULL of my peers. Oh the embarrassment. My roommate then starts to dance (badly) and wave as I explode with laughter. I politely wave and quickly get out of the car. We scurry (literally) off and my roommate beeps her horn. The horn double beeps signaling that a door is open. MINE. Actually, the door is not only open, but resting ever so softly of the neighboring car. The car full of people. Oh No.
I run back, shut the door, apologize, and proceed to pet the car's door. "It did not hurt it. Sorry!" Another wave. Another scurry.
Does this count as a hit and run? I gave the car some lovin'...
The night was great...laughter, carefree-ness, blah, blah. The last few minutes of our adventure out was probably the best/most embarrassing night I have encountered in quite a while, though. Our dorm is right next to Sanford Stadium and I literally wake up every morning to Georgia Football :). After tons of construction, they have finally removed some parking space blockers and there are several spaces where you can literally drive into the stadium. This happened to be one of the spaces we parked in on Monday. I got super excited and to appease me, my roomie pulled her Honda through the space and into the stadium. Gleeeeee. It was pure PG fun. I made wild hand motions to signify this excitement as she backed up and parked in the space.
About this time I look to my right and notice there is a car FULL of my peers. Oh the embarrassment. My roommate then starts to dance (badly) and wave as I explode with laughter. I politely wave and quickly get out of the car. We scurry (literally) off and my roommate beeps her horn. The horn double beeps signaling that a door is open. MINE. Actually, the door is not only open, but resting ever so softly of the neighboring car. The car full of people. Oh No.
I run back, shut the door, apologize, and proceed to pet the car's door. "It did not hurt it. Sorry!" Another wave. Another scurry.
Does this count as a hit and run? I gave the car some lovin'...
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