a spontaneous Fourth

I mentioned yesterday that we had no plans for the Fourth. We planned to just play it by ear, which in Matt-and-Erika-world generally means "hang around your own house, maybe go hang out with in-town family or trusty friends, and generally do nothing exciting enough to merit blogging about or remembering in the future." You see, a love of spontaneity is not something I we possess. I'm a planner. A detail-figure-outer. And doing things spontaneously does not allow for much planning or figuring out of details.

But lo and behold, when we awoke yesterday morning...something came over us.

It started out innocently enough, with a delicious breakfast of French toast, bacon, and cantaloupe:

We were discussing where to get our swimming fix, since that is obviously a crucial part of surviving July celebrating our country's independence. Our default is to hit up the pool at Matt's parents' house, which we do several times a week. But July 4 seemed to call for something a little more special, it seemed. 

I wish we could swim in a river, I lamented. And within 20 minutes-- I kid you not!!-- we had brainstormed, researched, and started packing for a super-fun day trip to nearby (1.5 hours away) Helen, Georgia-- a kitschy little faux-German tourist trap situated right on the Chattahoochee River...a city brimming with tube-rental places, which was our plan. RIVER TUBING!! What a perfect way to celebrate the 4th!! 

We threw on our bathing suits, grabbed some cash, and left town. JUST LIKE THAT. No packing lists. No idea where we would eat. No reservation for parking. WE JUST LEFT, trusting that the GPS on my phone would get us where we needed to go and that we could figure the rest out later. That, my friends is spontaneous. Me!! Spontaneous!! A Fourth of July miracle, to be sure.

 
Hello, teeny tiny anthill-sized Georgia mountains!! How lovely you are!

We didn't get any pictures of us actually tubing...hello, phone + water = no bueno. Just imagine the entire population of Georgia (100 zillion, appx.), each person on their own neon float, sharing one tiny, low-water-level river. Seriously. I can't imagine that there were any people left ANYWHERE ELSE IN THE STATE. Apparently our idea ("let's go tubing in Helen on the 4th of July!!!") wasn't a unique one. Eh, whatever. It was still fun.

Afterwards we satiated our ravenous appetites (sitting on a river does that to ya) with a visit to a hot dog restaurant. I went for the Chicago-style 'dog (ahem, with Cool Ranch Doritos and rootbeer. YUMMY!!!). I've never been to Chicago, but based on how much I enjoy their hotdogs, I think I'd really like the place.

We walked around Helen for just a few minutes (my foot is still a little painful, so I have to keep walking to a minimum)...but it was hot enough that we quickly decided we deserved some ice cream from (yet another) faux-German ice cream "shoppe."

 

 We also discovered a crafty little flag-painted-pallet while walking around. And took the opportunity to get yet some more pictures of ourselves. :)

We eventually made it back home and spent some time planting flowers before we fired up the grill (4th of July requirement) for dinner: bacon-wrapped steak, grilled corn with chili, garlic, and lime butter, and smashed tri-color potatoes.

All in all, the day was a spontaneous and delightful one. Sorry for the obnoxious play-by-play, but I felt the need to document it thoroughly so that in the future, when I have a panic attack at the idea of doing something not-really-planned...maybe I'll remember that spontaneity can be fun and worth giving a whirl.

Note: NOT fun and delightful? My neighbors' decision to drive to South Carolina to get the "good" fireworks (the kind that are illegal in Georgia) to shoot off all. night. long. I appreciated the heads-up at 7 that they planned to have a little 'show' at 9:30, but...wow. I alternated between being annoyed and being concerned that my house is going to blow up. Or that Lola is going to go insane.

Hope you had a great holiday and can survive the remainder of the work-week. Today was supposed to be my specialists' appointment, but...alas, I find myself at work. Not bitter at all. But after 5, I'll be free for the weekend, so I'll just focus on that...and the fact that there are a limited number of workdays left until vacation!!!!!!!! Weeeeeeeee!!!!

some things never change

Happy Fourth of July! Yay America!!

Matt and I don't have any big plans for today...celebrating on a Wednesday is just a bit strange if you ask me. But I'm sure we'll find something fun to keep ourselves occupied...and as I looked through some old pictures last night, it occurred to me that not a lot has changed in the last 27 years.

Apparently my lifestyle in July 1985 (age 2) was a pretty good indicator of what my life would be like in July 2012. Check it out:

1. Festive and Patriotic Clothing and Crafting (see: streamers and balloons on my sweet ride. If that's not crafty, I don't know what is)

 And I would be remiss to not point out that apparently baby-wearing with me was such a smashing success, they've dusted off and busted out the carrier for another go with my infant brother, Jake. Saaaweeeeet!!!! (OK, seriously, my family (minus Sarah, who was not even a thought in anyone's mind at this point...so weird...) is SO STINKIN CUTE in this picture it makes me want to squeal)

  2. Laying out

Don't judge me for my genetic predisposition to love the sun. Obviously I cannot escape it. And also, why in the past 27 years has no one bothered to improve the ubiquitous uncomfortable-but-necessary plastic lounge chair?? Someone needs to get on that.

3. Engaging in frequent Flower Walks...while properly accessorized, of course.

OMG. Could I BE any cuter?? Seriously now. Also, more evidence that I am a clone of my mother (or at least her interests): laying out...growing beautiful flowers...dressing my family in coordinated outfits...LOVE MY MOM. 

 

Ahem. Well...about this last picture. Let's hope I have actually evolved a little through the years and am more appreciative slash less terrified of soldiers. After all they go through, fighting for our country...and then some punk kid's gonna make horrid faces and pitch a fit for them? That's just disrespectful, and I want to apologize, seeing as I was that kid and all.

Actually that's my uncle, not that that's a good excuse for acting a fool. But I'm guessing no one was offended, since there are like 25 pictures of basically this same shot...and that's saying something back in 1985, when you actually had to pay money to buy film AND to have it developed to see a picture. Multiple shots are a rarity...so this must have been fun times for everyone (except me & Raggedy, obvs)!

Anyway, Happy Fourth! Hope your day is filled with all of the above (minus the tears), plus food, fireworks, and at least 10 emotional renditions of God Bless the USA.

sad bird

 For the record, I hate birds.

Always have, always will. It's not the time or place to go delving deep into my psyche, trying to figure out how or where or when this deep-seated phobia started...I actually don't care much the reason for it, all I know is that birds scare the living daylights out of me and I want to spend as little presence in their time as humanly possible. So deep is my hatred/fear, I cannot even subscribe to the put a bird on it mentality, or even bring myself to like all of the cutesy owl things that dominate society and Pinterest of late. Turning a hated thing into a cutely-colored cartoon thing does not make it acceptable. For instance, would you adorn your child's nursery with orange and turquoise cartoon roaches?

Didn't think so.

Anyway. I hate birds. Almost as much as I'm scared of them. This does not mean, however, that I want to watch them die. Which brings me to Sunday night.

Sunday night I was watering the gardens. As I went to walk across the front yard to stretch the hose to another flower bed, I almost had a heart attack (and definitely shrieked at the top of my lungs, dropped the hose, and ran 100 yards like I was competing in the Olympic trials) when I nearly stepped on this little guy:

Hey, little guy. What are you doing in my front yard? Since the dude did not so much as flinch after all the commotion I made (other than to cock his head to examine me at a better angle), I quickly concluded that something must be wrong, because "normal" birds (if such a thing exists) would have flown away from the hose-throwing, shrieking, 300 times-their-size girl. Just to make sure he was completely stationary, I grabbed my hose and squirted the ground right next to him. He made an almost-endearing attempt to stretch his little wings and hopped a bit, but there was definitely no movement...which is why I decided to run inside and grab my camera. How often will I have the chance to try to photograph a baby blue jay? The answer is: probably never, because I generally stay far away from the family of blue jays that just seem to loooooooove my roof and my trees and my yard. Sheesh.

So I ran inside, changed lenses on the camera (because no way am I actually getting CLOSE to that thing-- it could LEARN to fly any minute now, and I'd be SOL), and dashed back out. I spent a few minutes taking really horrible pictures (sorry, these are the best I actually got...apparently bird photography at dusk isn't my calling) before the fullness of his (our? Because at this point I'm feeling a little sorry for poor baby bird) plight settled on me. This photo shoot is loads of fun and all, but I'm suddenly feeling a little nervous when Aidan cruises over.

Remember Aidan? The world's most curious and obnoxious outdoor cat? Oooooh...right. Aidan. He's really going to love this visitor in our yard.

See, I really do not like birds. But I don't want to watch them be killed right in front of my very eyes, by my own cat. Especially baby birds, that probably haven't even traumatized or pecked people yet.

I quickly assessed my options, as Aidan crept over to inspect the blue blob in the yard. I grabbed that hose and SPRAYED THE HECK OUT OF MY CAT, which caused him to flee, just as I'd hoped. But it also caused the bird to make really pathetic little bird noises, which only served to draw Aidan right back out of the bushes where he'd fled to. OH GREAT. I sprayed Aidan again, and this time did a little chasing as well, to make sure he ran further away than just the front bushes. And then I ran like the wind to the backyard, where Matt was riding the lawnmower. I ran in front of him, jumping and screaming and waving my arms like the world was ending, and he sprinted after me to the front yard as I explained our plight.

"We have to save the bird!!!!!" were the words I never thought I'd hear myself saying, but were surely enough coming out of my mouth.

After a quick consultation, we decided to pick the birdie up with a shovel (using another, smaller hand-shovel to scoot him onto the larger one) and transport him to the tree in the backyard where the blue jays seem to live/hang out. Strangely enough, the "mom" jay (or SOME frantic-sounding blue jay) was circling above us this whole time. So we were hoping she would follow us and see where we were re-locating her kid...and hopefully get him up into a nest in a timely fashion, before Aidan beat her to it.

But yall. That poor bird. Although I never got closer than 8 feet from him, I could still hear his sad little chirps and see his frantic wing-flapping as he tried to figure the whole situation out. He looked so SAD on that shovel as we graciously transported him to the backyard. He didn't seem to care that I was using my sweetest voice (normally reserved for puppies or tiny babies) to reassure him it's okay, birdie!!! Mommy will find you!! We aren't going to hurt you! You're going to be okay! And then we set him carefully under the big tree in the back, safely underneath the low-lying branches, and made some big motions to the mom blue jay, still flying overhead. Here he is!! Come save him!!

And that is my story of how I, Erika the Sworn Enemy and Hater of the Birds, rescued a bird. Or at least I hope I did. We looked under the tree a little while later to see if he was still there, but it was too dark to tell. I saw Mom Jay out there this afternoon, looking like her normal self (not wearing black in mourning or anything, which is what I assume birds would do if their young were attacked by cats), so I am telling myself that the rescue was a success and that the baby jay will grow up to be a much nicer bird than the rest, avoiding humans and not pooping on their cars. And somewhere, somehow, hopefully I have racked up some Bird Points that will protect me from future bird encounters. 

The End.

PS. I make an exception to my bird-hating for penguins. Penguins are adorable and precious and are exempt from my hatred/fear because a) they can't fly, b) they don't have claws (that I know of), and c) OMG what kind of soul-less person could hate a penguin??!?!

PPS. I myself became a rather sad bird on Monday afternoon when the specialist's office called me unexpectedly and rescheduled my appointment that was supposed to be this Thursday. The doctor is going to be on "first call" or something and won't be able to see me, so now I'm not going to be seen until Friday, July 13th (ironic, no?). Naturally this led to another depressing episode of Crying at Work, Hating Life, and general negativity. It's not like I've been waiting a MONTH ALREADY or anything, or that I am really really really anxious to get the surgery scheduled because my life is on hold until then and now this is going to delay scheduling surgery even LONGER and I will probably die (or have further extremely painful cyst complications) in the meantime...nope, whatever, just CANCEL MY APPOINTMENT, haters. GAHHHHHH.

bangin'

 Warning: I cannot be held responsible for writing and sharing this post. I blame the extremely ridiculously obnoxiously hot weather. Your eyes are not going to be able to un-see what they're about to witness, and for that I apologize. Proceed with caution.

I've been wearing bangs for a good bit of my life. I had them from birth (or whenever I first grew hair, I suppose) until the summer before 8th grade, then took the long-hair-no-bangs route for about the next ten or twelve years, and now have had bangs for another five-ish years (got them again shortly after we got married). Like all other forms of fashion, bangs go through seasons of popularity- and even within those seasons, the styles evolve.

"Style" being a subjective term.

 During my early and formative fashion years, the "style" (or at least my style) was the big feathered bangs. Anyone remember these? I tried to find some (already scanned, cause no way in HADES am I going into my oven attic to dig out better ones) pictures showcasing the Big Bangs of the 90s:

As you can tell from that second picture, I was frequently rocking a perm as well...no doubt the reason I was sooooo popular and had sooooo many boyfriends. HAHAHAHA. Bless my heart. (Also, I was about 9 feet tall in 5th grade. That wasn't awkward at all. And by 9 feet tall, I mean 5'7...the same as I am now...only I was in ELEMENTARY SCHOOL.)

Current day bangs. Probably need a trim, but basically look like this.

Anyways, luckily, in more recent years my bangs have been much more socially acceptable (at least by today's standards, but who knows what I'll think about them looking back in 20 years!)...but for some reason, over the last week or so, I've had a recurring thought pass through my mind (blame the heat): I wonder if I could still get my bangs to do that?

Why I would want them to look like that? No idea. It looked bad then, it's probably gonna look bad now. But it's just been weighing heavy on my mind. EMBRACE THE 90s AGAIN, ERIKA!!!! At least this time around I already have the boy, so there's one less burden on my mind, right?

So yesterday it was about one zillion degrees outside (okay, actually it was only 108...not that you can tell the difference) and upon running out of things to do indoors, I decided to make all my dreams come true and bring back my 90s bangs. It was crazy how all the steps just came back to me, like I'd never stopped teasing them in the first place. And I made a tutorial for you, in case you find yourself wanting to do the same...because I think the results speak for themselves.

Step 1: Split your bangs into two halves- top and bottom.

Step 2: Curl the top section backwards. Give it a spritz of hairspray (Aquanet if you have it, which I didn't, but that would be highly preferred by Southern girls of the 90s)-- these bangs will need some help to stay high and proud!

  
Step 3: Curl bottom section down; spray.

Step 4: Use fingers and comb and more hairspray to tease to desired height. 

 Step 5: Laugh your face off when unsuspecting husband comes into bathroom and looks at you with horror, saying "Are they REAL??" Remind him that all good Southern women live by the mantra the higher the hair, the closer to God, and you're just doing your part to remain close to God.

Step 6: Continue laughing, posing, and snapping pictures of yourself until you lose interest and spray down bangs with water to resume Normal 2012 Bangs.

Step 7: Post pictures on the internet to make a fool out of yourself.

Done and done. 

What awesome fashion trend from the past should I re-visit next?? A perm? An open flannel shirt over every outfit? Purchasing all future t-shirts in a XXL? So many choices, so little time...