He got a hair cut?

Here are some updates on a man I like especially much.  Caleb Followill.

From VH1 Storytellers

1.  He’s getting married.

 Well… there goes my chance. As if i had one.  He’s marrying a model.  Whatsherface.  I don’t even think she has a name.  She’s just that chick marrying the front man of Kings of Leon.  And she was in the video for Use Somebody.  I hope she enjoys Tequila as much as he does.

2. He got a hair cut?

Evidently, he’s got a receding hair line.  I liked his long hair before.  Perhaps because of his ever-present hair whip during shows.  Willow Smith has nothing on that hair whip.  But that fluffy tuft above those direct eyes will suffice.  For now.

Hi. My name’s Liz.  And I’m a stalker.

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The Honeymoon Stage

My boyfriend said he doesn’t believe in the honeymoon stage.  Regardless if I agree with him or not, I refuse to argue with him.  In my head, that’s a pretty sweet thing to say.

Boyfriend’s beliefs aside, I took the time to decide if or when the honeymoon stage of our relationship passed.  The only evidence I have that we’ve exited the new relationship bliss is that we argue as if we’ve been dating for years.  The latest deals with that fact that he has a poker-face like no other.  I can never tell if he is kidding.  So when he jokes, I actually think he’s being mean.

“Liz, I’m obviously kidding.” “No!  It’s not obvious!

That interaction occurs daily.  I don’t think he gets the message.

Then I took into account that these arguments are about as ugly as kittens fighting.  Our paws are up, we’re batting at each other, but nothing’ really happening.  And any on-looker thinks it’s the most adorable thing ever.

Also, whenever I run out of things to say, I just meow.   Yes, you heard read me correctly.  My meows sound so authentic you’d think a calico was at your feet.

It doesn’t really help the cause at all.

I’m pretty sure we’re the cutest couple ever.  It’s disgusting.  After that picture above, he was upset for days over ruining such a nice photo of me.

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Stand By Me – California Raisins

My good friend Aviva told me she has a blog.  I explained that I have one, too.  Before I could ask to see hers, she explained that the main reason she loves it is because no one she knows can see it.

She writes on her blog about her life, what’s happening, her issues, all that.  It’s like a diary, only many strangers have the option to see it online.

It must be very cathartic.

Being a girl is a burden.  There’s so much thought–brought on by perpetually over-thinking things–in our heads that it is just impossible to keep it all in.  More people should keep blogs.

I choose blogs over diaries for the mere fact that my hand tires easily when i write things out.  Typing is the lazy way out.  And even then, I rarely get around to it. (Notice my last post was New Years)

I’m lucky enough to have a boyfriend that likes to hear me talk.  He actually gets worried when I don’t talk.  At least for the time being.  We’ve only been dating a couple months, soon his mind could change once we’ve eased out of that honeymoon stage.  (That prompts a new post idea!)

Blogs should be advertised as an anti-depressant.  A way to ward off insanity, to say the least.

Also, Aviva told me she titles her blogs posts with whatever song she’s listening to at the moment.  I thought it was pretty creative.

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So I’m a Capricorn now?

I refuse to believe this.  I like drinking water entirely too much to accept this astrological change.

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2010, we hardly knew ye

It’s 2011 already?  I remember 2010 like it was yesterday.

 

As I’ve learned from the week-long argument between my brother and his pint-sized girlfriend, not everyone feels the insatiable urge to end the year in an extravagant bash.  Like most ladies, she wanted to wear a nice dress.  He wanted to wear his bear-foot slippers and chef pants–probably not as popular.

I can say with almost complete certainty, and that is a gross exaggeration, that most people definitely do not ring in the new year with Prince karaoke.  That little treat we did all on our own.

You heard me correctly.

Purple Rain, Raspberry beret, Let’s Go Crazy, Kiss, 1999 (a necessity) and, oh yes, The Beautiful Ones.

Perhaps it was the 12 bottles of champagne.  Or the Beer.  Or maybe even the joyfulness of friends.  But the men at my house last night hit high notes that even an elf couldn’t achieve.  We left our shame and dignity in 2010.  It was truly magical.

So onto a new year.  It’s a big one for me.  I turn 21–in 30 days.  After that I hear it’s all down hill from there.  So perhaps it’s not the best thing that my birthday is so early in the year.  Oh well.

 

>insert cliche New Year’s resolution here<

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We Make Norman Rockwell Jealous

The holidays at my house are never exactly like those from a hallmark movie.  Although to be honest these days, whose are?  My brothers and I are all over the age of 20, so there’s no tearing apart wrapping paper fanatically for new toys.  My parents plan on moving soon, so this is the last Christmas in the house I’ve lived in for 15 years, which one would think it’d be a little more special, but really it’s not.

So what is special about our family Christmases? Quite a few things, actually.  We have one odd tradition that seems to turn heads when I try to explain.  Christmas celebrations last three days in my house.  Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, AND the day after Christmas.  The 26th of December is actually our biggest holiday gathering, my dad’s side of the family gets together.  We drink and be merry.  I have one of those families that when outsiders meet them, the phrase “Liz, I LOVE your family” is often uttered.  We’re that family.

To paint a picture, I’ll introduce some family members.

Uncle Nat.  He’s a car salesmen. That would speak for itself, but I must delve into specifics.  Every conversation is him trying to sell something.  Whether it be a car to my brother, or his idea for his new book (it’s been “in the works” for years) Simple Solutions to the World’s Problems. Use your imagination on that one.

Uncle Bob.  He comes in tow with my Aunt Bonnie–not a real aunt, because they’re not married, but still my aunt nonetheless.  What also comes in tow is their giant yellow lab, Mack.  My dad insists on always calling the dog “Matt,” which is my brother’s name.  It was funny one time, and then never again.

My grandfather.  He’s my only living grandparent.  He is the greatest man ever.  His voice reminds me of James Earl Jones.  He says what’s on his mind, regardless if it’s politically correct, racist, or impolite. He’s like Clint Eastwood, but aged a lot better.  He’s a WWII veteran from Guadalcanal and in his late 80s…the rules of society don’t apply to him anymore.   And yet he still puts up with my dad forcing him to watch Band of Brothers or The Pacific.

So long story short slightly less long, the holidays are about getting together and sharing time with close friends and family.  And that’s exactly what we do.  We talk, we laugh, we drink, we talk some more, we compare my dad and his brothers’ hair loss, and we laugh some more.  It’s not quite Normal Rockwell.  But what does Norman Rockwell know?  The people in his pictures all look like my roommate when she’s had too much to drink–completely red in the face and all too giddy for real life.  SO, I’m thinking my family would probably make Norman Rockwell jealous.

Happy Holidays!


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Semester 5 is in the books

Another semester is done and gone.  September seemed to take forever, October flew by, November gave me a break, and December–well, December is still here.  And we all know how I feel about December from prior posts.

The semester as a whole was pretty low-key.  My laziness level reached epic proportions.  I limited my chances to imbibe to tailgating for football games, and a few nights here and there–including Halloween.  Here’s some proof…

I promise we had the other two.

Who knows what happened…  Perhaps I took school a little more seriously this semester?  I had a job, forcing me to work earlier hours.  Perhaps my circadian rhythm changed from night owl to early bird.  Bummer.

Any who, grades-wise thus far, I’ve gotten two A’s.  More evidence…

I mastered the Screen Capture on my Macbook

For those of you that don’t know, that’s a RECORD for me.

Last Spring, I received my first A in Labor Relations in Professional Sports.  It was a total jock class, filled with athletes.  But still, it was a fun class.

This semester, my A’s were in two legitimate classes.  Two classes actually actually counting towards my major in Journalism.  Broadcast News Writing & Writing for Print Media.  My major GPA has jumped to 3.7.  During exams, I only had two.  I just finished my last one hours ago.  The first one I studied night and day for about three days.  I got an 81, securing me a B for the class.  My brother, Matt, will be so proud of me!

If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m pretty excited about this.

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