good little girls make some mighty wild women

I am good. Life is well. And I love Radina's yogurt parfaits.

That's it, for now until this afternoon when I make a legit, colorful post!

leave some to the imagination, kids

Sometimes less is more.

There really is no need to wear every bracelet, bangle, necklace, and earring when you step out of your home. However, a lot of people truly believe that from the moment they leave their house that a burglar is going to come in and this said burglar is looking for ONLY accessories. Therefore, they wear every piece of jewelry. Obviously. Because that's what makes sense and tells the world that YOU, my friend, are and ACCESSORY HIGH ROLLER.

I digress.

Facebook is another venue for people to overindulge their love for their amazing significant other, random song lyrics that, golly, just hit the spot, stupid lines about Team Douche or Team WhoGivesAF***, and a million pictures of their baby (1 month old) in the SAME POSITION. Well, geez, because I didn't quite get how cute your child was on picture number 395. And I do 110% realize that this is admitting to you that I stalk picture albums on facebook. Sue me. But I bet you do the same. If not, you must not be a state employee. And your retirement is not near as good as mine. And, yes I have focused on my relationships in blogs and the positive aspects they are having in my life. However, that is not the point. Duh.The point is that "other people" are guilty of this.

We all know those people. People's whose facebook statuses' revolve around what canister to put their sugar in, how annoyed they are that their nap was interrupted by their baby "grrr"(their words, NOT mine) or how they're thinking about having their "amazing" hubby trim the branches outside their "amazing" home. And we all know what these homes look like, because they've posted about 59304 pictures of each nook and cranny of the damn casa. Speaking of being a burglar, I could break into a bunch of people's homes, just based off facebook albums and know where they keep the "good stuff" (of course their goddy jewelry comes to mind). And these are people I don't even KNOW. But they have their albums posted for EVERYONE TO SEE. And trust me, you people who think the whole world is looking at the album of your new 1998 Buick LaSabre, we ARE.

Oh, we are.

And we agree, the pink dice is just to DIE for. Oh, and you tagged your bfff in the empty front seat, because "oh my god. You are just going to be a permanent fixture in my new ride. lmao! lol!"? You're just dandy, aren't ya? "LMAO"- really? Really? Are you REALLY laughing your ass off? I find that hard to believe. I also find it hard to believe that you passed a driving test, let alone high school.

It's amazing how I start these blogs out and they go a whole different direction than I had intended. The point of this was going to state how much I love accessories and how they can add or totally destroy and outfit. And somewhere along that I was going to report that I have enough glitz in my bangles today to bring down Air Force One.

but I digress

plucking and sorority homes

I have no shame, to a certain extent. When living in the sorority house, I had no issues in walking around topless, naked, or bottomless (or maybe it's pantless). Much to the disgust of my roommates, I am sure. My schtick was that, I'm not the one looking at me, so what did I care?! That lack of modesty has carried over to the filter on my mouth.

I have none.

Luckily, working with college students, (allow me to correct myself: college students AND their parents) I am allowed a few verbal slips here and there and there again. To quote Miranda Lambert "I've got a mouth like a sailor and yours is more like a Hallmark card." My poor mother. She routinely reminds me to utilize "Harvey County language" when I'm home. No, Harvey County language is not a foreign language metric system that is similar to Arabic or German. Harvey Co. language is similar to the language you'd use around your old cranky German grandmother. Minus the shouting. I'm hoping having a bf who works in radio and can't curse on-air will help curb my lazy tongue. So far though, it's not effecting it too much. Or maybe it's "affecting" shit..

Here is to the girls who don't raise their eyebrows when a lady curses or plucks the black coarse hairs on their chins at stoplights. Yes, if you ever see a smoking hot brunette girl in a gold Honda Accord plucking hairs at a stoplight, that would be me. And you can stare all your pretty little eyes want. I ain't changing. A thing. Peace be your journey.

"rest stops" and "overactive bladder " friends

Tonight I am making dinner for one of my dear friends that I met through my graduate classes. We both have crazy busy lives (he works and lives in Jardine Apartments here on campus and being a residence life graduate student is an all-consuming duty. He seems to always be on call, etc. You'd be surprised as to the late night emergencies international students have at 11 pm). Andrew is one of those guys that I think everyone should have around. We used to hang out nightly watching season of "entourage" last fall semester, but then both of us got busy with our own lives and classes and work.

But are there hard feelings for this business spell? Absolutely not. He's the type of friend I love. I can get busy and distracted with my life, but they don't take it personal and think that I'm being a bitch or avoiding them or being rude. We can mutually check in with each other momentarily and then carry on with our lives until the next "rest stop" in our relationship. I hate those friends that want to be treated like overactive bladders. Constantly needing attention. And by attention, I mean attention on them, of course. It's their own personal shows and we're "invited" to partake. My cousins Mary (Bergkamp side) and Rebecca (Landwehr side) come to mind when I think of the happy balance. We don't talk weekly or even monthly. It takes usually one good long conversation every few months to re-connect and the random facebook message here and there. These are girls who know me incredibly well and probably a large part of it is the fact that we're family. From the same stock, as it were. Same backgrounds. I grew up with Mary and her family. My family would baby sit her and her siblings when her mom would be in the hospital having a child (and they had 8 kids.. so that's a lot of time @ the Ponderosa). Rebecca always grew up at least a state away, but as luck would have it, she moved back to the Wichita area for her career (she's one of those famous local celebs in wichita who wears ballcaps in public so she's not recognized. SHE'S A NEWS ANCHOR ON FOX NEWS @ NINE AND DOES REPORTING FOR KWCH 12). That change in coasts may have been a curse to her, but it has been a blessing for our relationship :)

So, here's to the rest stop friends in YOUR life. And forget the overactive bladders ones and God, I hate those overactive bladder commercials with full balloons. Maybe it's because I really do need to use the facilities. TMI, opps. My bad

And enjoy the picture of my sisters and Rebecca @ her wedding in KC Labor Day 2009 <3

devil went down to MHK

**All because two people fell in love. Norbert Bergkamp plus family, Christmas 2009**

Maybe I've taken my love for gutting out runs in 105 degree heat too far. I've felt touches of nausea all afternoon, but have been drinking more water than a sorority girl on Sunday morning. I'll do half the work out today after work and will wait until 6 to hit it. Is it wrong that every guy I passed around city park while running, I thought "What the fuck is this idiot doing in this heat?!" Note: there were no girls running. I guess that is good?! And how do I justify my desire to vomit Lean Cuisine? I'm a country/farm girl. I can take this heat. duh. Which is beyond ironic, because I never really did do intense work in the heat while growing up. The excuse of being a farm girl is as legit as saying I'm protected more by God because I'm Catholic.

Ah, snap. I am just kidding to my non-Catholic friends. Although, do not come crying to me when you're burning alive in hell. Ahem. Well, wait. By, that point you're already dead. So forget what I just said.

Speaking of being the chosen people because I am Catholic and participate weekly in those festivities, allow me to bring to light an issue that irritates me more than the latest Hollywood bimbo driving an SUV comparable to a military tank drunk. And Jesus, you're telling me they can't afford a taxi home?! Anyways.

I love passionate people. Hell, I am a passionate person (not crazy, passionate). However, the people in the world, especially hard-core Christians, who look down on people and judge those who do not hold their beliefs really "burn my biscuits". I've experienced the cruel judgment eye of those in my extended family in regards to the decision and mistakes I've encountered in my past. These people who are all high in their ivory tower. The were a bunch of girls in my sorority that were the same way. They thought they were the fn untouchables, because they were all good and shiz. I love my family. I love my daddy's sisters and brothers and all 40+ first cousins. Howe er, there are judgemental people amongst them. And don't read this and act as though YOUR own family doesn't have crazies like that. You do. You know it and you're thinking of them. Right.Now, aren't you?

However, there are limitations to what I personally consider guiding someone to your faith and beliefs and forcing it down their throats with arsenic while clamping their mouth open, ya know? Luckily, when it comes to a family member doing the forcing, we can hope and pray that their heart is in the right place. We may not see it at that moment, when we feel "this tall" under their stank eye raised. But, we have to hold on to the belief that their love for us is what is causing the insane ruler of perfection, that only they are the judge of. Family isn't always a Cosby Show, or Little House on the Prairie if you were a freak (like the Bergkamp girls) growing up. The one thing about family is that we have no choice, but to stand by them and support. Maybe that's why their harsh criticisms hurt more than someone who isn't family. We know there is no getting away from them. And when we're alone by ourselves in our rooms, we really would rather have it that way. That sort of guarantee is comforting, even if we hate or are too proud to admit.

Hell, I'll take my family. I'll take Uncle Tommy calling Daddy at 6 am every morning to chew the cud (even on a Saturday morning and for some reason, Daddy feels as though when people call on a cell phone, that means he has TO TALK REALLY LOUD). Bring on Bergkamp gatherings at Grandpa Bergkamps in a home that raised 8 kids with 3 bedrooms and no showers in the house. Throw in the 40+ first cousins between the ages of 4-30 years old, with significant others+their kids. I lived for Rebeccas wedding with Miss Natalie Ketter with the adorable maturity of a young woman. Forget the fact that she's been prodded with needles the size of knives. But, damn. That girl has the heart of a lion. No, a lioness.

As far as the stank eye, I'll take that, too. Because I know the only judgement that matters doesn't come from someone with a last name. It comes from the person with no last name.

I still feel nausea, though. Ah, the perks of being human.......

high school proms and 45 minute waits

**The reason why my Daddy is awesome. And you wonder where I get my sarcastic sense?**

Ah, the weekend was just what the doctor ordered for ajl and I. We had a perfect Friday night with dinner at Arroy Thai, then killed time driving around MHK during our 9.45 "Dinner for Schmucks" movie. It was a beautiful time; I think all relationships need that "your" time, where it is just you and him or you and her. Even taking it back to old school dinner-date style. We spent some time at the Farmers Market Saturday morning, before I sweated out two pints of sweat, before going to Bluestem for breakfast and heading out to KC for the Royals game. I was so proud of all the work ajl put into the event ("Manhattan Day at the K") and he was rewarded with a signed baseball and time on the jumbotron, waving like a giddy high school boy @ prom. Yup. That's my boyfriend. He's off to DC for Delta Tau Delta's international convention this week. Sigh. However, this will be like harvest, only he HAS decent cell phone service this time. Unlike Holly, CO.

Speaking of the giddy high school boy @ prom, there is an amazing picture of him out there when he was a sophomore at prom. With a great hairline. Those who know him, know what I am referring to. I am now the giddy girl @ prom, because we are finally saying the "l" word <3 Love it.

Literally.

With anyone else that I dated, I cannot tell you the moment we said the "l" word. Probably because it wasn't that big of a deal to me, because I really didn't love them. Or, to be honest, I was probably hammered. I took it for granted. I thought I knew what it was or what it meant or felt like. I didn't. I knew I was falling for him, when on our second date the wait for 45 minutes and I was so excited, because that meant I got 45 minutes to talk with him and spend with him. I love our car trips, because I know that is time we get to spend together and I can be with him. I love cooking for him, because I know it's something I normally don't like to do. But for him, I love it. It took me going through "that" (the past) to get to this point in my life, where I am looking forward to long waits at restaurants and new recipes (even though they are kraft.com, so nothing at the "Top Chef" level). I am not puppy dog in love, where I can ignore the negative things in our relationship. I pick up when he goes into radio voice explaining things to me or when we're in public and he's recognized and he's no longer "my boyfriend", but the voice inside their radio.

OK, sorry to all the heartbroken people out there who are currently downing tubs of hydrogen peroxide, because that sounds better than reading about two kids in l-o-v-e.

Return to your lives. It's time for me to hit the pavement and get a run in before the devil returns to claim his spot in the 111 degree heat.