land-locked

Well my theme-of-the-days were a good idea…but obviously didn’t last long. I like making plans but I’ve never been big on limits and restrictions. So this is me, breaking my own rules. Some things will never change.

You know what is not a good idea? Milk in a to-go cup that’s not ready to go. I’m perpetually running frantic in the mornings because I sleep until the very last minute, completely disregarding the notion that an extra three minutes are not, in fact, going to help me feel more rested when I rise. And unlike most non-morning people, I love breakfast. And milk. Meaning that I typically take mine in the car.  Cups with lids are great, but considering that I have a limited number of cups with lids that actually fit my cup holder (one to be exact), they don’t get washed as frequently as I need them, leaving me with lid-less cups or to-go-cups-that-aren’t-ready-to-go. I’ve spent several mornings wiping milk out of my console after a surprise pot hole encounter, but the worst to-go milk experience left my lap covered in a sticky, smelly film all day until I couldn’t take anymore and finally left work to go home and change clothes. Moral of the story: invest in lids and wet wipes if your love for milk is greater than the potential risk.

I used to believe tornadoes to be a threat only to Midwesterners- like a club which grudgingly invited land-locked states only, leaving the coast-lined states to combat hurricanes. I thought it was an either-or, never both. That is, until I moved out of the Southern Midwest into the Northern South (please don’t tell any locals that I used the word Northern as an adjective for this area—it was a directional reference only). Anyways, I can now say that from where I live, I experience hurricane weather during Isaac and tornado weather last week when Noxubee (a neighboring county) was hit. Guess that’s just one of the lovely things about growing up in a small town in the corner of a land-lock (excluding the river): you live in a bubble- a bubble that feeds and functions on local media sensationalism and agenda pushing, grocery store happenings, and high school sports. Thus, weather patterns outside my bubble were irrelevant to me. Can’t lie, I loved my bubble, but I’m learning so much more since leaving.

I finally found frames that weren’t too formal/boring to don my college diplomas. Now they’re just a cute/funky reminder of the huge debt I’ll be paying off for a while. Ask me if it was worth it…yeah, it was. “If you didn’t LOVE college, you did it wrong.”

I’ve decided to treat people like marshmallows. Just go with me for a minute….they come in all different shapes, sizes, and colors. But each one brings something new to the table. Tiny ones add fluff to hot chocolate, big ones are good for adhesion and ooze in smores, and different flavors and colors are the zest to our taste buds and eyes. Some are hard and wrinkly, but they make for great chewing. Some are turned into cream, making them great for dipping. All the marshmallows are different, but each one offers something new. Together, we never have boring marshmallow days. Remember that when you meet someone that’s not exactly like you. You may not see eye to eye, but together you’d probably garnish a sweet potato very well…or something like that.

Have you heard about the NRA 500 that’s been established in the wake of Congressional consideration for stiffer laws on firearms? Oh Texas, how I admire you sometimes. That’s all I’ll say about that…

My lineage consists of women that cook well, and women that cook well-done.  My momma jokes that she likes a lot of her food a little on the burned side because that’s how her granny fixed things. Consequently, she occasionally overcooks things on purpose. (The difference in overcooking and burning is that burning is accidental.) I burn and overcook, but I’m learning. I overcook popcorn because that’s how my granny cooks it and I prefer it that way. In the past I’ve always burned anything I attempted to fry, typically leaving little to none of the fried coating which aparently dissolves off under too high heats. Last week  I attempted to fry Alex’s trophy turkey breast and instead opted for medium heat. And guess what…I didn’t overcook or burn it! I fried some turkey, yall! And it was damn good. Breaking the curse one meal at a time…

Apparently there’s a new black market for knock off prom dresses. They’re cheaply made and fall apart easily. Kinda makes the old saying “off like a prom dress” take on a whole new meaning…watch out!

That’s all the awkwardness I can fit into this blog.

Until next time, rock on- from inside or outside of that bubble. Just take a lid if you decide to leave.

Love always,

Addie

“Some choose to accept the limitations of a small town to become part of a community- and it’s not even a hard descision.”