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:

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.

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.

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.

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!

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

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'...

Sandwich line

I am still on the meal plan at UGA...eh. That's about all I feel about the meal plan. I am indifferent except to the fact that I get lots of good material from it. Today I give you the brief dialog of a sandwich line conversation that I witnessed:

Girl A: We are going to call her Sandy, because she made the sandwich. Judging a book my her cover and all, she was kinda funky, but obviously intelligent, as you shall see.
Girl B: Not so intelligent, and seemingly stuck way up. We are going Boujie for reason's you shall see.

Here goes:

Sandy: (friendly smile): Would you like it [sandwich] cut in half?
Boujie: Ummm, yeah. But, can you cut it in triangles? I know that's weird, right?     (unnecessary "right?")
Sandy: No problem. I read an study about how people who cut their sandwiches into triangles are of an elite nature and are usually really intelligent.Can you believe a whole group of scientist study people's sandwich habits?
Boujie: Oh My Gosh, Really?! Haha, thanks. (Takes her sandwich and walks away)
Sandy: Sure! (fake smile)

Brief, right.

Well, Sandy lied. How do I know? Sandy's eye roll  was issued about the time the lovely Boujie walked away...And the fact that I do that, too.

It's simple really. You can make anyone believe anything you say as long as you put in one of the following:
"I read that..."
"I saw a study on..."
"On the History Channel..."
It tends to work better if you seem trusting and you are quick, as Sandy was. Also, if you can squeeze in a date or any other relevant information on the "study" you can hook people really easily. Notice Boujie did not say, "I am going to check your source." This is the real world, and people believe anything.

It also really helps if the person is kinda...well, dumb. And egotistic.

Sunday Mornings

My family is probably not the most unconventional family you will ever meet, but we rank pretty high. Both of my parents grew up in homes that were centered around family time and the meals that coincided with these times. The Sunday morning dinner table was, and still is, a time of togetherness and love. Piles upon piles of food are served and a rather polite meal takes place in my grandparents' homes. We are a little different.

My mother still insists on piles and piles of food, and we still have a room full of love and family. But, our Sunday's are far from the conventional meals that other families have. Most of the time we have people running in and out: my dad often takes last minute trips to the store, Kristen seems to always be getting dressed, and my mom and I are usually left stirring pots and washing pans, and there is even sometimes the additional guest or two.

Last Sunday we had an early lunch. Again, my mother and I cooked while Kristen did her hair and my dad worked outside. I was getting prepared to go back to school so we were all a little rushed feeling. Kristen finally finishes her "process" and we all sit down at the table. "Get-me-this's" flew around the kitchen as Blue Plate squeezed and knives began to cut. Any conversation goes at our table and I believe Kristen was singing a stupid 80's song to herself when she reached over and grabbed some Okra off my dad's plate. Don't ask my why, but Okra is a supreme delicacy for everyone in my family...though I can't figure this out, because it is in the store all year. No matter, we had some and we fought (hard) over it.

Pause: Let me explain about my sister's not-so-lovely singing voice. A) I am not a musician/singer, but that thing is not on pitch B) It is supppper shrill...like blade cutting into your forehead. That shrill. C) She loves to sing...refer to A and B.

Play: She had been singing all morning. Now, she had not been singing songs that I could tell...more or less phrases and, well, crap. My dad had told her to cut the split-your-head-right-open singing out and eat...When she reached over and grabbed the well rationed Okra, his eyes got as wide as a Clementine. This is where it gets good. He curled in his lips (the only real way you know my dad is mad) just about the time he was getting ready to open his mouth and begin a lecture...She belts "Calm Yo-self" right up in his grill. I almost choked!

At this point she turned to me and says, "You know that song that goes 'Release yo-self"...I changed it!" Oh-my-word. My dad just looked back down at his plate and kept eating...I really don't think he could deal with her in a serious manner at this point. 

Oh, about 2 minutes later I comment on how cold I was. Kristen then takes out her invisible mic and begins her rendition of  the "Bring It On" cheer and claps off beat.
Burrrrrr, It's cold in Here
There must be some Clovers in the Atmosphere

She does not Cheer. But I think it's funny that every time she's cold, this song comes into play. So...naturally I hit the beat. DomDom-Dom-DomDom. My mom then decides she would hum along as my dad's eyes get larger and larger.

I am trying to think what my grandfather would say if  I would have started beat boxin' at his dinner table...Probably nothing. He would have just shaken his head and said a quiet prayer.  :)


Please review the  link below. Sorry about the crappy quality.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IotiNcTQ3sE&feature=related

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Bachelor Day Dream...

Monday night I missed this week's episode of The Bachelor because there was a very intense True Blood marathon happening in my room. Now, for all you critics out there, I do realize The Bachelor is stupid and insane and kinda weird in a I-date-tons-of-men/women kind of way. I get it, but I love it.

This week the lovely Brad picked one of the girls up in a hot sports car for their one-on-one date and drove her through the city out to, what seemed like, an abandoned field. Turns out that when the young lady flipped a switch she turned on a huge carnival that was being rented out for the two love birds. Collective "awwwww".

The lovers spent a wonderful night spinning around the roller coasters, eating cotton candy, blah blah blah...
I, however, think that this is a totally unrealistic date...for several reasons.

#1- Convertible. Romantic and expensive, I know. But problem one: the hair...messed up for TV :(
                                                                                    problem two: my eyes water in the wind which leads
                                                                                                         all my hard work rolling down my face.
#2- The only carnival/fair that I think of when I hear the word "fair" is the McNair Fair. If you are from the metro Atlanta area, I am sure you have seen these either advertise or you have been to one. SCARY. To my future boyfriend/man/husband, The McNair Fair is not somewhere you want to take me. This is not because I am super stuck up, it is because the fair is crap. Broken down crap rides that are scary.

#3- This girl was told to get really dressed up for their date. She wore a really short dress with no straps. Me? Boobs would have fallen out and the dress would have flown up. Not my best moment.

#4- What if I threw up?

All of the above are significant thoughts that should cross the producers mind when he sends people on these unrealistic, Hollywood dates. They should think about girls like me...with half a brain. 

Confession(s)

1) I like to read
2) I like to read trashy romance novels...sue me
3) I read Twilight and liked it
4) I've been to the midnight showings of the movies with my bestie...and I liked it
5) I own the DVD's

The vampire uproar is interesting and like a twisted Days of Our Lives.
These, however, are not my confessions. They get much worse.

My confessions is I have caused my father to become addicted to the show Vampire Diaries.

It all started about a week and a half ago when my dad was at work function, when my mom was sick, and when my sister was scouring the internet to find cheaper school books. I was, to say the least, bored and was playing around on my laptop to pass the time before I gave my mom more meds and juice. (I am a really good nurse.) My roommate has been watching the Vampire Diaries a few times a week and she has suggested it to me. So, I looked online for the first season...everywhere! Hulu did not have it, the WB did not have it... I ended up finding the complete season on some sketchy website that probably gave me a virus or something. But shhhhh, we don't have to tell dad that!

You know on YouTube how the small video can become a whole screen...yeah well this website has obviously failed to acquire that kind of technology and it only took me about two episodes of blurry, pre-recorded, small screen-ness and a headache before I finally called it quits and went to bed. But, I was interested.

Anyone will tell you that the first episode or two has some B.A.D. acting. Like, real bad. But my bestie and I were yet again bored over this terribly long winter break and she slid by Blockbuster and rented the season.

That was a Sunday. On this said Sunday, my dad and I had some bonding time in the cold wind as we washed and cleaned out vehicles. I asked him several times if it would be okay that my friend came over and we watched the show on the big screen in the living room. "Sure, that's fine!"...and the deed was done.

I feel a little bit bad that I forgot to mention that the show had 22 episodes, but he seemed okay with it. So I let it be.

About three episodes in, and around 7:00pm, my sister, her boyfriend, and my parents all started to roam into the living room asking a ton of questions and begggggging for us to turn off the vampires. Oh would they be sorry...

We took a break. Monday we started back and my mom began watching after we caught up her on the drama...Slowly but surely the acting started to get better, too. She was hooked and even woke back up that night to come watch with us.

During the past few days we would watch and then my dad would come home from work. We (I) would pause to make dinner/clean up, he would come home, we would eat and watch. At first, my father criticized the acting, sketchy town setting, the weird make-up the actors wore during "vampire moments", but then...he started asking questions. And not questions like: "Why do we have to watch this?" or "When will y'all be finished?"

They were deep questions: "Now, who is Elaina's mother again?" and "Is the history teacher a vampire, too?" He even wanted us to pause it for him when he went to change out of  his work clothes or refill his plate.


This went on for...days. 22 episodes is a lot, and this was not the only thing we did. Nevertheless, days until finally last night we finish up with the season finale. It was juicy but kind of a crappy ending. I explained to the much involved family that they are in the middle of the second season on TV now. Everyone looked so sad. (I told you so!!)

When I wake up this morning and give my mom a call at work, she informs me that my dad asked her this morning if we could Tivo the new episodes. He told her, "I really want to find out about that guy whose fingers got cut off. I just need to know what happens."

And this, my friends, is how I got my dad hooked on a Vampire soap opera.
1) Be persistant
2) Have back-up (ie: mom, sister, friend)
3) Make sure the subject likes you enough to give you what you want. Oh yeah...best dad evaaaaaa.