Definition of 'classy': picking stubborn strawberry seeds out of your front teeth with a swiss army pocket knife while in the Mesa Arts Center restroom.
I kinda wish someone [not on staff] had walked in.
I love laughing. And people are pretty cool...sometimes. Showers at the end of the day are amazing but my hair ruins life and won't let me make a habit of it. Waking up with silky tendrils dried into a wacky, distorted mess of kinks and waves that refuse to budge even under the scorching power of the straightener is just not how I want to start all of my days. Call me bonkers.
I had my first bridal meltdown last night. Considering tomorrow will be 10 days till the wedding I say that's pretty reasonable. And for the record, I didn't go all bride-zilla or anything, I just...could not look at one more string of lace or talk about which vase gets the colored sand or what kind of soup we should test next. My sister, mom and I went to Hobby Lobby to buy some white christmas lights (with 40% off coupons! wooo!) and when we got back to the house I handed my mom my bag and [calmly] said, "I'm going to stay out here a couple minutes..." she looked at me weird and asked if I wanted my keys. I said no. They went inside.
And I sobbed for about 15 minutes straight.
I wasn't even sad about anything! Or mad, or upset even. I guess my eyeballs just needed a good rinse, or maybe my brain needed to drain.
I told you guys how I've never been one to sift through my brain and pick out my own distinct opinions. Well, being the bride in your own wedding doesn't allow for much wishy-washy, laidback, carefree behavior. You gotta PICK out all the stuff, even the stuff you didn't even know had any variety to choose from, and not only that but decide how all that stuff is gonna be used; where, how, when. So I guess that was my inner turtle having a belated panic attack temper tantrum.
Glad I'm over it.
My best friend's mother gave me these marvelous, silky soft pajamas from Target for my bachelorette party and I kinda haven't stopped wearing them since. Plus they're actually decent and cute. Unlike wearing my old, dirty sweats and Mark's t-shirt that some mid-sized puppies may as well use as a picnic blanket. Which I will still end up wearing sometimes because I like that, too. But it's nice to not look like a hobo every once in awhile. Basically what I'm saying here is I like to get fancy in my Target pajamas. Which is almost depressing when you put it that way.
I still hear voices constantly in my head...
"Dwarves are very upsetting"
"I never thought I'd be so happy!"
"Children will listen"
"In the first place! Second place?"
"YOU'RE THE ONE TO BLAME, IT'S YOUR FAULT!!"
They start arguing with each other and yelling at me and I feel like if somebody hooked my brain up to any sort of machine they'd be very afraid and lock me up good and quick.
Oh, mama. It's after 11. It's actually 11:11, what luck. I guess the good thing about running myself ragged is I get super exhausted at night and sleep really good. But my dreams are terrible. Woot apocalyptic death.
But I shall go braid my wet hair now and curl up under my new quilt in my lovely PJ's.
Good night to you.