tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67579143891388902822024-02-19T02:29:09.543-08:00situationsn. A pile of ridiculous, hilarious, and over the top moments in time compiled to make up my existence.Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-26602926346310994032011-06-20T20:01:00.000-07:002011-06-21T08:43:34.942-07:00Ohhh yeah, I get it now.Anybody out there? I won't blame you if you left. Not one bit. There are way more interesting things happening out there than my stagnant, dust gathering weblog (seriously, have you seen Whale Wars? Way more interesting).<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>But, I broke out the Swiffer duster, brushed off that neglected bookmark at the top of my browser, and started typing.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I mean, I had every intention of coming in a updating everything a while ago, there was just one problem. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Where to start? </div><div><br />
</div><div>You know that day after you finish your 87-day-carb-busting-blaster-diet or your no-eating-until-I-can-see-through-myself fasting? You've met your goal then take yourself to Whataburger and just buckle under the hundreds of salty and sweet options. Honey butter chicken biscuits. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Or maybe you don't relate to that. That's okay, we'll press forward. Maybe you'll be more at ease with this anecdote: A month or so ago, a friend and co-worker came to work stressed about his Twitter. He had just created an account, and wanted his first tweet to be memorable. I remember the rest of us lightheartedly teasing his about worrying and over thinking his tweet. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Sans french fries and tweets, I realized I was facing a similar struggle. It's been literally half a year since I've even logged in to this page. So now that I'm finally here, finally typing, finally using dormant brain power, what on Earth do I write about? Better question: What can I say to get my flaky self back into your, readers, good graces?</div><div><br />
</div><div>Well in all kinds of honesty, I don't really know the answer to that second question. What I do know is that nothing is going to happen if I don't start writing again, and fast. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So the main part of this post will consist of a list of things that I've learned/done/discovered over the past six months. It's been an eventful time, peeps. </div><div><br />
</div><div><ul><li>There is no such this as an "easy" 18-hour-semester. I learned that last spring. Add that to overextending my extra-curricular commitments and stir, and you get me pounding my head against the wall or hysterically yelling "I don't have time to shower!" on a nightly basis. </li>
</ul><ul><li>I'm not cool because I'm going to take Ballroom dancing for the third time next semester. Here's a rag-tag team of dancers doing what we do best. </li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8tt5K01aGZMavuDTdq-sNfT9LCqfehK7IbmgKddGTVERu8onz5-JoRw2vVNEEFxzgeqIgCwdIiVoT-6QTE7XZ4bttfFNkduUjMkntGOCLv0CqCkqw7mY3_s3my_cKjA7FPRHVQbmgbwY/s1600/IMG_3485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8tt5K01aGZMavuDTdq-sNfT9LCqfehK7IbmgKddGTVERu8onz5-JoRw2vVNEEFxzgeqIgCwdIiVoT-6QTE7XZ4bttfFNkduUjMkntGOCLv0CqCkqw7mY3_s3my_cKjA7FPRHVQbmgbwY/s400/IMG_3485.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><ul><li>I'm officially a senior in college with 28 hours left. This has led me to the realization that I have NO IDEA what to do with my life. This sometimes leads to the reactions in the first bullet. I'm sure I'll have posts about that sporadically for the next year or so. </li>
</ul><ul><li>I redecorated my room because I'm not good at keeping things the same and I have loads of this foreign concept known as spare time.</li>
</ul><ul><li>I have to write a 50,000 word novel sometime between now and the end of the semester. Ideas and suggestions are welcome. </li>
</ul><ul><li>Two weeks ago, I went grocery shopping for the first time in five months. </li>
</ul><ul><li>I was a bridesmaid in my roommate's wedding a month ago, and it was a blast. Last week, my best friend got engaged, too. Tis the season. </li>
</ul><ul><li>I took my first trip out of the country for Spring Break. It was a mission trip to the Dominican Republic, and it was fantastic. I had a blast. And this just made me realize that I have no idea where my passport is. Hmm. </li>
</ul><ul><li>In exactly three weeks, I'm moving back into the dorms as a staff member for Camp Crimson. I've talked about it as one of my favorite things. Because it is. Over the past few months I've had the chance to meet and get to know the other staff members and I absolutely cannot wait for everyone to be together, working, and impacting lives and futures. And starting dance parties. Lots of dance parties. </li>
</ul><ul><li>I FINALLY picked up another book. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bossypants-Tina-Fey/dp/0316056863">Bossypants</a> by Tina Fey. Fantastic. Hilarious. I want to write like that and be that funny forever and ever. </li>
</ul><ul><li>In related news, I've discovered that I an quite partial to nonfiction rather than genre fiction. Or maybe "real life" stories that have fake people in them. I don't know, something about masked killers or time travel or post-apocalyptic survival it very hard for me to write about. (Did I lose you? Okay good.)</li>
</ul><ul><li>More related news: the novel I have to write must be genre fiction. Fun. </li>
</ul><ul><li>I got glasses today. They make me dizzy, but now I can see the words I'm typing. Fair enough. Also, they have superpowers, but that's a post for another day. </li>
</ul></div><div><br />
</div><div>Man, for such an absence, that's not really much of a list. But I think it's one of those things like when you know exactly what you need to make dinner then forget half of it once you get to the store. Oh dear. </div><div><br />
</div><div>To bring this full circle as best I can (circles aren't my strong point), I'll conclude the twitter anecdote. My friend decided the best way to handle his first tweet was to just get it out of the way. Literally. His first tweet simply read: "Glad to get the first tweet over with." After we all laughed for ten minutes and a vulgar/hilarious joke/comparison was made, he moved on and has been tweeting stress free since. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I get it now. I get that his tweet anxiety is very similar to my blog return. I was thinking so much about what to say, when I just needed to start <s>talking</s> typing. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I'll probably add more bullets and expand on others as time goes on, but for now, I leave you with this picture of myself trying to figure out how to dodge the reflective glare on my glasses from my computer screen. Cheers. </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjdukU4GZADxtJMqMxn9h6Q6jhiZ0DDeEwRMw0hyFtkk19Aj9l6EJzVFCn4oxVqwgqcm_0ptHl2DsN4DQHiugMLMkfzB7jFXPIRSI-lGQ9kxbu8WyRJUpc-7PBIt8doarqJorq0mVa-Mk/s1600/Photo+61.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjdukU4GZADxtJMqMxn9h6Q6jhiZ0DDeEwRMw0hyFtkk19Aj9l6EJzVFCn4oxVqwgqcm_0ptHl2DsN4DQHiugMLMkfzB7jFXPIRSI-lGQ9kxbu8WyRJUpc-7PBIt8doarqJorq0mVa-Mk/s400/Photo+61.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-45553821207397638972011-01-12T23:54:00.000-08:002011-01-12T23:56:57.894-08:00Backstreet's back, alright!Did you know that <a href="http://www.backstreetboys.com/">these guys</a> are coming <a href="http://www.bokcenter.com/">here</a> on <a href="http://www.backstreetboys.com/events/page/2">this day?</a>!?!<br />
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Anyway yeah, I guess Backstreet really is back.<br />
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I'm back too.<br />
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I should be out of excuses at this point as to my extended leave of absence, but hey, after a conference like <a href="http://www.thewinterconference.com/">this</a> and a more than addictive show like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0773262/">this</a>... It <i>almost</i> makes sense that I've been out of touch with this here blog for awhile... but no more!<br />
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With the new semester beginning, I want to make a point to keep up with this blog and not let it fall to the wayside like so many do. This is not a resolution by any means (I'm personally not a fan of new year's resolutions, but that's another post for another day), just a modest effort. <br />
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But for now, I think I'll just leave you with a heads up that new and exciting things are on the horizon for 2011 and these situations I share with you. Cause I want it that way....<br />
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Take it away, BSB.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4fndeDfaWCg?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4fndeDfaWCg?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-55016625310286563442010-12-28T17:00:00.000-08:002010-12-29T10:04:01.960-08:00All these things that I've done.I need to write something. I need to write something. You all need to read something. C'mon, brain, don't fail me now.<br />
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So, I'm taking a break from gift card celebrating, facebook creeping, and people watching (hi, I'm a creeper) in E-town to present you with a jumbled, discombobulated list of things I've learned in my two weeks at home (it's the longest I've been home in about a year and a half).<br />
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I learned that I'm weirdly intimidated by some people in this town. Maybe that's the right word? Oh well. Fun fact: I believe I'm most "intimidated" by high school girls (have you ever been stared down by a 16-year-old wearing too much eyeliner and a bad attitude?). And there is no shortage of them crawling 'round these parts.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Other people that intimidate me are people that drive around with super scary window decals that threaten to jump right off the glass and gnaw off my right arm. Example:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsebN_5kqWDvpOxH0JRZSrbiIZBCK2mkqjxZrz_5_kebX7tHLmFN4nzEE3svuZMcj5aHaMSQXgtiGGQr5I0vEAK5nBVmknds2wS6LT4d7ep-hesbP0I_HDanZ8q4NX97ML-aNq9rBSAT0/s1600/IMG_4474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsebN_5kqWDvpOxH0JRZSrbiIZBCK2mkqjxZrz_5_kebX7tHLmFN4nzEE3svuZMcj5aHaMSQXgtiGGQr5I0vEAK5nBVmknds2wS6LT4d7ep-hesbP0I_HDanZ8q4NX97ML-aNq9rBSAT0/s640/IMG_4474.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Whoa! Even in photo form it makes me nervous. Don't get too close!</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Another less tacky thing I've learned is that my brother makes a very good model for my new camera. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VyVfM4_OcyMdC4n8NgHfCJ8EmSZPlUDU89RYpNu-YcYZ8U0OoHDSlK5brujhAffBhW0XAE8qYdHWbdgeIMiChVTQW0N9-Juywh6M7igIwz2nJjNCh8gTu1mX77_kDPanUBoflhTOsxY/s1600/IMG_0017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="409" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VyVfM4_OcyMdC4n8NgHfCJ8EmSZPlUDU89RYpNu-YcYZ8U0OoHDSlK5brujhAffBhW0XAE8qYdHWbdgeIMiChVTQW0N9-Juywh6M7igIwz2nJjNCh8gTu1mX77_kDPanUBoflhTOsxY/s640/IMG_0017.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">But don't worry, Whitney here has no problem still making my older, more casual camera feel loved.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiG7KKpl5T47TZfBXivO-jTaSTiYDq5pBfJRkcpjI0nLRIfG2-ACU9ADPZkrARh_H9AXzwkyETSWp2IMoZkpfkbq33y1nxc5jfTEdDViEIpBgWm5wtIkW-fiFLwg5b1cgvn2tcwmm1JWQ/s1600/IMG_4457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiG7KKpl5T47TZfBXivO-jTaSTiYDq5pBfJRkcpjI0nLRIfG2-ACU9ADPZkrARh_H9AXzwkyETSWp2IMoZkpfkbq33y1nxc5jfTEdDViEIpBgWm5wtIkW-fiFLwg5b1cgvn2tcwmm1JWQ/s640/IMG_4457.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">In case you were wondering or didn't notice, yes, they are both wearing Santa hats. I roll with cool people like that. </div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I learned that if you put your mind to it (or just have some great natural talent), you too can be immortalized forever at Drummond School. i.e. Hannah:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFR-Tbm_NfQfscBHByPPSE4OFmrM_r9BzRi8zqhI0tfGdDWi8RyTMnwCN5K0C6PozrL4jkJt-t8nlavVxPGWvYCeCJXURN0lwLXHZ6eST35WmNBGlv6DREiSYc3_e1m93qcr76NPwEti4/s1600/IMG_4454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFR-Tbm_NfQfscBHByPPSE4OFmrM_r9BzRi8zqhI0tfGdDWi8RyTMnwCN5K0C6PozrL4jkJt-t8nlavVxPGWvYCeCJXURN0lwLXHZ6eST35WmNBGlv6DREiSYc3_e1m93qcr76NPwEti4/s640/IMG_4454.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
They even laminated her name! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVVDd_GkV-EaCHqBqRR1vM5MLT9SUu3BeliaVnDxvH4eCol7MOmQHfFutLpgvorAKXb8zMVdkj4ZPXv25AJi642Y_5ByJX6wvAKriExhBWNMnigWNGMzQJdmEEzgQ-sFkoUYiWl73KkM/s1600/IMG_4454_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVVDd_GkV-EaCHqBqRR1vM5MLT9SUu3BeliaVnDxvH4eCol7MOmQHfFutLpgvorAKXb8zMVdkj4ZPXv25AJi642Y_5ByJX6wvAKriExhBWNMnigWNGMzQJdmEEzgQ-sFkoUYiWl73KkM/s640/IMG_4454_2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I also learned that having Christmas at my actual home this year is the best thing that's ever happened to me (my waistline would disagree). Why? Leftovers. I mean really, imagine having a miniature Christmas feast for 3 meals a day going on four days straight. Yes, please.<br />
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Hmm... I learned that my crafting habit might be considered an addiction to some. And I hoard cardstock and fabric. You know, for a rainy day, or another blog post.<br />
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I learned that my brother gains a lot of ground when he runs. It's those lanky legs.<br />
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I learned that I say inappropriate things at too loud a volume. Another post for another time.<br />
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I learned that I can't spell "inappropriate" to save my life, so spell check does for me.<br />
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I learned that telling stories can get you two slaps on the wrist, or an angry email. Looks like a fun-filled future career I'm choosing, huh?<br />
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I learned that pinky swears and promise rings are still held in high regard.<br />
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Finally, I learned that Applebee's and Starbucks are wonderful places to blow off some steam with some old friends.<br />
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I warned you: disconnected and discombobulated. But hey, I owe you an amusing post doubling as an inadvertent life update. Plus admitting a problem is the first step.<br />
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I will leave you with this, dear friends. Now, I'm off to find some dinner before everything closes and they roll up the sidewalks.Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-22350412282877693542010-12-22T14:51:00.000-08:002010-12-22T14:52:01.958-08:00Tis the Season.Hi.... Remember me? That girl that used to have a blog and post weird stories and youtube videos all the time?<br />
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Well, I'm still here. <s>Alive</s> Surviving in the town of Enid, America.<br />
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I'll catch you up on several things as we go along, but for now, how about some holiday cheer?<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">My best friend Hannah and I (along with her sister Darcy and whoever else decides to tag along) have an annual Christmas tradition: Caroling.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Here we are two whole years ago preparing for caroling (I like to rhyme).</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiOTBYTarZ3ZKQ_-lZJcMiX9dxc0KAtC_uqncY83qvYY64KIu9GL2N3wj65x8Boq3oraLIDv-DLSgGWHqXuEBEgQj5ej3khaKKmSffuTo2zP77JJqhJyX2qt37dNpk3EDG2YqWSGTtOQ/s1600/n717400560_2256062_3855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiOTBYTarZ3ZKQ_-lZJcMiX9dxc0KAtC_uqncY83qvYY64KIu9GL2N3wj65x8Boq3oraLIDv-DLSgGWHqXuEBEgQj5ej3khaKKmSffuTo2zP77JJqhJyX2qt37dNpk3EDG2YqWSGTtOQ/s400/n717400560_2256062_3855.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8UvlbiecxD6O45sop88wqbihTwnWNWEwOP7-A7ecK_WlvZN3EZtiSU8Qc1bqVdsiYxfH9FtCSy-6riKeaKx6tQAip28Utcx-eOD6s_Q2DqMSmFqxV_InAZDUU8ZT93snZTj81CoLi1M/s1600/n717400560_2256065_3859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8UvlbiecxD6O45sop88wqbihTwnWNWEwOP7-A7ecK_WlvZN3EZtiSU8Qc1bqVdsiYxfH9FtCSy-6riKeaKx6tQAip28Utcx-eOD6s_Q2DqMSmFqxV_InAZDUU8ZT93snZTj81CoLi1M/s400/n717400560_2256065_3859.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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No, we aren't those people dressed up like elves that stand in your front yard and refuse to leave, no no no. We typically bake and make platefuls of yummy snacks, then we <s>sneak attack</s> surprise the same several people over the seasons. Mainly our old teachers.<br />
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Before you get weirded out, you have to understand that I graduated from a very rural school (what up graduating class of 26 people!), so I've known many of the teachers at my school my entire life... </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And several of those teachers are just too much fun to leave alone. Like Mrs. Hughes, my old Quiz Bowl coach... It's completely normal for her to have random students from years and years ago just drop by her house to hang out on occasion (I have to say Hannah and i do that all the time). </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Or our old science teacher... One time we showed up at his house singing and he slammed the door in our faces. Then opened it again and invited us in as long as we promised we would stop singing. This guy was "that teacher" in high school that refused to decorate his classroom until Hannah and I forced Christmas on him by <s>breaking into</s> sneaking into his room and turning it into a Christmas wonderland. We did it every holiday from then on, too (even arbor day).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This festive tradition is not only a good oppotunity to give back to the teachers that gave to us, but it's also a wonderful opportunity to come together, laugh, catch up.... and other things.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So, here's a glimpse at our Christmas tradition from this year. Cue the warm fuzzy feelings:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzsdBmf1fBh4kr0wH_rF-4oSRHDJ85vCuchwSCrL7cjzTPj1DiNsFgQJy4kV7p2N3knLt7IzzdDyQRYR4DX1g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Even more warm fuzzies:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxNmKoRcg6tE_vCgBeBNL04VK8TKYxLk-XTluBIyMkvsZ7amoD3sc-eNGfQiRrohvQFByTR11s6XZ5pyRbHbg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Well, maybe they weren't what you thought, but you've gotta admit they made you giggle a little. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">So with that, have a wonderful holiday season with your family and friends that you like, and I will talk to you all later. :)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-48335489745448915222010-12-11T13:58:00.000-08:002010-12-11T13:58:27.336-08:00Friendship is a full-time job.So, as you all can tell, I have failed my challenge miserably. I have missed writing everyday and hearing from you who are brave enough to comment. But let's be real, people, we all have things to do, places to go, and people to see, and we can't just sit in front of a computer screen all day long. (that's bad for your eyes).<br />
<br />
But this weekend, the weekend before <s>the apocalypse</s> finals week officially begins, I was looking forward to just being lazy at home, catching up on laundry (which I hadn't done in about 3 weeks. I just wore the same two sweatshirts all week-- yikes), and cleaning my room which so desperately needed to be cleaned. But then my phone buzzed with a text message:<br />
<br />
"I really need someone to talk to."<br />
<br />
At first, I thought just a call or a message would suffice, but then the severity of my friend's situation became very real to me, so I postponed my room cleaning, invited them over and just listened (I still did laundry, but made sure that I wasn't being rude by doing so). We talked back and forth for some time, then my friend explained to me that they called me because this kind of thing was "a part of my job description."<br />
<br />
I met my friend in a program in which I took on the role of a "mentor," and throughout the year(s) I have been that to this friend and others.<br />
<br />
But I didn't give up my lazy Friday night alone because of any job, I did it because my friend needed me, and quite frankly, I like to feel needed. We all want to feel needed, and at some point or another, we all need as well.<br />
<br />
The night ended with us sharing in champagne (courtesy of my roommates testing for the wedding) and watching the latest episode of Glee. (click <a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/198555/glee-baby-its-cold-outside#s-p1-sr-i1">here</a> for the best duet ever).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUujQt7d1Hs3dmRINGAj3ltFwpVoZlc0Fv06bXYYQLLLMo2XJfjlAAlxVLIVzv7RMlzGzC5aQ9w6og8wy-znT6C-ucePUz-KwHGmdGq9WzWE4MfufK6qpZP8trPfojh-orCgSzxlTl2_Q/s1600/IMG_4422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUujQt7d1Hs3dmRINGAj3ltFwpVoZlc0Fv06bXYYQLLLMo2XJfjlAAlxVLIVzv7RMlzGzC5aQ9w6og8wy-znT6C-ucePUz-KwHGmdGq9WzWE4MfufK6qpZP8trPfojh-orCgSzxlTl2_Q/s400/IMG_4422.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Sometimes that's all you can do for a friend. I couldn't give my friend answers, I couldn't take their pain and sadness away, but I did clink my glass to theirs and we shared a smile as New Directions sang some campy Christmas cover. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjew9zjtY0PjachTR_OomKkz6qzcc-3x40gRH6ejAKtPLACUBVY356p7vNIGHV8Gl4eBFoGI-Q1T2rWba_RQxtBnwFTFCL-sJaHIPv-o7ue5XsJoglEVBIRi_QeLKiW5AsS2LHdBpVJ_s/s1600/Glee-A-Very-Glee-Christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjew9zjtY0PjachTR_OomKkz6qzcc-3x40gRH6ejAKtPLACUBVY356p7vNIGHV8Gl4eBFoGI-Q1T2rWba_RQxtBnwFTFCL-sJaHIPv-o7ue5XsJoglEVBIRi_QeLKiW5AsS2LHdBpVJ_s/s400/Glee-A-Very-Glee-Christmas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I've already said this but it bears repeating-- Friendship is a full-time job. There are no sick days, vacation days, and you don't get paid overtime. But you do get paid with laughter and trust, and I'll toast to that every day of the week.<br />
<br />
Cheers.Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-56061695961221005312010-12-05T20:07:00.000-08:002010-12-05T20:07:01.817-08:00Awk-ward......<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"It doesn't matter if you're home-schooled, from a public school or whatever, no one really has great social skills." </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My friend Steven inspired this post by saying that in our PW class last week. Of course, that's a little paraphrased, but you get the general idea.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Readers, this weekend I've realized just how socially awkward I am. Ugh. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm pretty sure it's a dynamic combination of a million different things. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">For one, I'm all over the place with my thoughts. Fun fact? the human brain thinks at 400 words a minute and we speak at around 180 words a minute (but I'm sure with the Oklahoma drawl it's more like 130). So, usually my words don't line up with what I really want to say. Awkward.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Also, one of my favorite things to do is make other people laugh. So in order to do that, I have to say funny things, right? Generally. Usually I'm able to get laughs out of people, but every now and then I get ahead of myself and just start babbling, and rambling, and blah blah blah... No one laughs, but that's because it's not funny! I even know it's not funny, I just keep mindlessly pouring out words EVEN THOUGH I know no one is going to laugh... It's just like.... Word vomit. Reference: </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_okTRmxiq5obb-0kz7uSyVc8_gSWJul-Kx0xvVbCyIe6qqMpI75PFhAeLofIsz-bpNvbZMZk9pN56kZJf0x9_mYxovFABCG9-nB6lKCcXdWPFZ1f4airTmA4AvgmRQnlT1N0NNdhW2M/s1600/up-mean_girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_okTRmxiq5obb-0kz7uSyVc8_gSWJul-Kx0xvVbCyIe6qqMpI75PFhAeLofIsz-bpNvbZMZk9pN56kZJf0x9_mYxovFABCG9-nB6lKCcXdWPFZ1f4airTmA4AvgmRQnlT1N0NNdhW2M/s400/up-mean_girls.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><b>Awkward. </b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Also, my attitude and personality is anchored almost too much on the people around me. For instance, if I'm in a room with people that are more reserved than me, I turn into the loudest and most outspoken in the room, and I usually make people laugh. Like camp, for example. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjniK3J9JBooNse3f-DPgs95TJmcPY5HLQ5rONsO3xARKmqkR6lEVmJ60uf_2UsKZKBi0htVyLXcBeiX5SxJgfHnksf07NAbRha29-LMlz0rSfjoI1xnsSw9PnCvtX24lUbZClmlK8ZII/s1600/IMG_3517_3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjniK3J9JBooNse3f-DPgs95TJmcPY5HLQ5rONsO3xARKmqkR6lEVmJ60uf_2UsKZKBi0htVyLXcBeiX5SxJgfHnksf07NAbRha29-LMlz0rSfjoI1xnsSw9PnCvtX24lUbZClmlK8ZII/s400/IMG_3517_3.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <b>Not [really] awkward.</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Other times (much like this weekend), I've been around people that are immediately louder and more in-your-face than I am. When in contact with people like this, something really strange happens: I try my best to maintain enthusiasm and my normal happy self, but the other person's energy sucks me dry like a dementor to my soul, and I end up being that quiet creeper in the corner. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><b>Really. Awkward. </b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I can't figure out what exactly it is about the last one, but it's definitely the one that bothers me the most. Why do I freak out and get weird around people that are, in essence, a lot like me, maybe just more?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Why do I let them suck out all of my enthusiasm? I don't get it! Is it insecurity, intimidation, fear or inadequacy? Shyness, self-consciousness, lack of confidence? I don't know!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Is there just something wrong with me? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Whatever it is, I'm really trying to find a way around it. Has this ever been you? Have you ever felt really awkward around people and you don't know why? What did you do about it? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Did I ask enough questions?</div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-75302233488592230782010-12-02T21:14:00.000-08:002010-12-02T21:14:03.780-08:00The best part, part 2.Remember <a href="http://francesannmooney.blogspot.com/2010/10/best-part-of-wakin-up.html">this post</a>?<br />
<br />
Well... I just wanted to catch you guys up on recent youtube wonderfulness that I absolutely love.<br />
<br />
For starters: <br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/MX0D4oZwCsA?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MX0D4oZwCsA?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
Oh, and this one. Shout out to the best friend and macbook effects!!<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OM6tDCz__XQ?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OM6tDCz__XQ?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
And finally, I waltzed to this song earlier today. I loved it when I bought the CD in sixth grade and I love it now... What up old school pop music in 3/4 time?!<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UzFHCkEd8JM?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UzFHCkEd8JM?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
Goodnight my people! :)Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-29423951410095736722010-12-01T21:08:00.000-08:002010-12-01T21:09:18.946-08:00I'm makin' a list...(to the tune of the infamous carol)In you're in my family, listen up...<br />
<br />
If you aren't my family, please still read it, I know at least one of you can relate...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">How many times (fellow poor college students) have you had a conversation such as this with a family member?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><b>Grammy:</b> "What do you want for Christmas, dearie?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><b>You:</b> "I don't know Grammy, how about money?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><b>Grammy</b>: "But, money isn't a very fun gift... It's just not personal. What else do you want?" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><b>You</b>: ".... I don't know.... I really, money will be fine." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><b>Grammy:</b> "Oh how silly. I'll just find you something nice myself." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">One week later.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><b>Grammy:</b> "Well, have you figured out what you want?" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><b>You (barely able to speak out of frustration):</b> "Grandma, seriously money is the best thing for me right now.."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><b>Grammy</b>: "You are too stubborn. I guess I'll just get you coal." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">So, in response to conversations like the one above...... I have no words... just this: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Xo9mLyWqPo_hlZVp7JhviRFu2Xyy6DYAG7Z8do_RrRJ3xlWylvxLzFoRysgDA6Mt_3MrJ-CV9FwDJubnKfWxGuBu5jJFdUiItWGOIfIBCLf8xAhyMs3cMbBLoCqE-tMhHHAUErslJKs/s1600/Frustration_Relief.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Xo9mLyWqPo_hlZVp7JhviRFu2Xyy6DYAG7Z8do_RrRJ3xlWylvxLzFoRysgDA6Mt_3MrJ-CV9FwDJubnKfWxGuBu5jJFdUiItWGOIfIBCLf8xAhyMs3cMbBLoCqE-tMhHHAUErslJKs/s400/Frustration_Relief.gif" width="330" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I understand that money isn't the cutest or most personal holiday gift, but there are <i>plenty</i> of "insert money here" cards that are definitely cute enough to compensate for the impersonal green paper!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I mean... I'm in college... Money is great... Shoot, you help me pay my rent and you're my new favorite family member! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So family, if you're reading this... There will be <b>no love lost</b> if you forego stressful holiday shopping on my behalf. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I promise I'm not a grinch-- I really have some holiday spirit (but that's another post for another day)!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Happy December, everybody. </div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-85389021288020994672010-11-30T16:44:00.000-08:002010-11-30T16:44:42.525-08:00In your dreams...I don't know if it's the after effects of massive turkey intake, the change in weather, or the looming thought of finals.... Whatever it is, it's been messing with my head, more specifically my subconscious.<br />
<br />
I'm having some really strange dreams. A lot of them. And I'm remembering them, too.<br />
<br />
For the past week (at least) I've been able to remember at least one of the incredibly vivid and bizarre dreams I have each night... Is that normal?<br />
<br />
Like I said, some of these dreams are just typical nightmares (if there is such a thing), but others are kind of weird... Regardless, I'd be leading y'all on if I didn't share...<br />
<br />
A few days ago, I dreamt that I had missed a deadline on an application I've been waiting on since the beginning of the school year. When I talked to the director of the program I was applying for, he was really mean to me (not like him in real life at all) and told me to forget about it. Oh, it was bad.<br />
<br />
The next night, I dreamt that I had enrolled in some art history class, and all the teacher did was walk us students through the Union here on campus and explain the history of all of the pictures on the walls (if you've been there, you know that would take far more than a semester). She was really mean and I got yelled at for bringing my family to class with me (of course i didn't invite them, they just appeared. In dreams you never actually do what you're being accused of). She also assigned us a 40 page paper that was due during the next class. Yikes.<br />
<br />
The night before last I dreamed that two people (that shall remain nameless) formed a campus group here at OU called "We Hate Frances" and tried to get all of my facebook friends (seriously) to join. The dream ended with my friends and I fighting the club members in the parking lot of Wal Mart.<br />
<br />
Last night though, I had two that I can remember. This is the <s>normal</s> less weird one:<br />
<br />
I dreamt that I was jumping on a trampoline, and above me were a bunch of flowers and balloons, and I had to jump as high as I could to reach the flowers and balloons.<br />
<br />
This is the weird one:<br />
<br />
I dreamt I stole someone's baby (I can't make this up).. I was just sitting in the room with the kid one minute, then the next I was standing in my mom's garage holding it. I freaked out and had no idea what possessed me to steal a baby, so I ran into the house to return the kid to it's rightful owner. When they asked me why I stole the baby, I told them I didn't know. They all thought I was crazy and proceeded to lock me in a room by myself. While I was in there, I remembered where I had taken the baby:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XoWqQcN40cKwH9UmYqlaBCtQkcsF1w4hlS1Wuhf1ZpJbqdLyxtkH6-9BWc_sJL4CHbNYGaRvuhCs-utwBnoSZxfylOV7TH2RLuLTfepr4b-IqLZ1QeP47OAmbBRNx-ogNtwsResVk3M/s1600/NarniaMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XoWqQcN40cKwH9UmYqlaBCtQkcsF1w4hlS1Wuhf1ZpJbqdLyxtkH6-9BWc_sJL4CHbNYGaRvuhCs-utwBnoSZxfylOV7TH2RLuLTfepr4b-IqLZ1QeP47OAmbBRNx-ogNtwsResVk3M/s400/NarniaMap.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Narnia.</span> </div><br />
I swear. You know, the lion and the closet and the kids? Yeah. I stole a baby a took it to Narnia. Apparently Narnia needed help fighting off some evil woman and I was their only hope (and the baby had to come too). I fought the evil woman with Aslan the lion, and my weapon of choice was a rotten apple that created a forcefield around her so she was trapped. Epic nerdness.<br />
<br />
Yeah... But perhaps the weirdest thing about all of these dreams is that they all have a common element.<br />
<br />
Do you guys sometimes have scenes in your dreams that don't necessarily belong in the rest of your dream? I've had that same oddball scene appear in all of these dreams.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I'm looking though my living room toward the kitchen in my mom's house, and there, sitting in a chair, is Captain Hook. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEH6EHbfdIgioUyG0A2eaD7x4RkJ_DxFbu_eZ41Ifo0mSiaR3eNiowyMIuqSwZ_yHIzBX99kCG45aCL_zs1o8zhhDQsNXYj4VLMXtH_-7tO4TKxOLqVvY4ObcI6xZFvfzDuih7iRY_PQc/s1600/captain+hook+disney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEH6EHbfdIgioUyG0A2eaD7x4RkJ_DxFbu_eZ41Ifo0mSiaR3eNiowyMIuqSwZ_yHIzBX99kCG45aCL_zs1o8zhhDQsNXYj4VLMXtH_-7tO4TKxOLqVvY4ObcI6xZFvfzDuih7iRY_PQc/s400/captain+hook+disney.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
He looks different depending on the type of dream I'm having. If it was one of the nightmarish ones, he was really scary looking and was creepily staring at me. In the not-so-nightmarish dreams, he looked perfectly normal (you know, normal for a pirate villain), and he would be mindnig his own business or reading the paper.<br />
<br />
So for the past week, if I didn't wake up in a cold, anxious sweat, I woke up scratching my head...<br />
<br />
Curious beyond belief, I went online and looked around to find meaning to all of these dreams. Turns out a lot of these weird things that have been going on in my head mean something. Here's what I found:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>Dreaming about battles or fights (like with the evil woman or the "we hate frances" club) suggest that one is overworked or overly stressed.</li>
</ul><ul><li>Babies in dreams symbolize innocence and newness... </li>
</ul><ul><li>If you steal something in your dream, that probably means you're deprived of whatever it is your stealing... </li>
</ul><ul><li>Meeting your enemies in a dream suggests you're drealing with opposing ideals or even being in denial about something. </li>
</ul><ul><li>Jumping in dreams (like in the trampomine dream) suggests that you want to take risks and go for something big.</li>
</ul><ul><li>Flowers symbolize beauty and happiness.</li>
</ul><ul><li>Balloons represent celebrations and happiness as well, or could be a manifestation of your inner child.</li>
</ul><ul><li>Fruit in dreams (like the rotten apple) signify abundance and growth (but it was rotten... hopefully that's not bad).</li>
</ul><ul><li>Lions in dream suggest agression, leadership, and strength.</li>
</ul><ul><li>And finally, friends in dreams (not facebook friends, but actual friends) represent rejected aspects of your personality that you're beginning to accept. </li>
</ul><br />
They didn't have anything on Captain Hook or Narnia, though. Bummer.<br />
<br />
Oh well! So readers, do you think I'm going crazy? Have you seen any of these things in your dreams? Do you remember your dreams often? Let me know!Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-22239663476242478972010-11-29T19:16:00.000-08:002010-11-29T19:16:27.352-08:00Let me paint you a picture.I'm going to do my best to not ramble. I'm going to go on a itsy bitsy rant instead-- in the form of a short little story...<br />
<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This happened while I was back at home sitting in the coffee shop or course, when a young boy around 13 came up to where I was sitting, and just started staring at this <s>painting</s> copy behind me on the wall. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkP-pNyQXSqpjSqLfm5pCHGq9w2ssovByswcE4dt_QEZGkqdldXOe82dwDT0_3ph21r-wwQ7Whk-UZValKB5D32DEUrb7Zx7flntJKwx8ec_eL-b-XyaVYolrnkgM3NC8urT5EkkczH8/s1600/IMG_4404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkP-pNyQXSqpjSqLfm5pCHGq9w2ssovByswcE4dt_QEZGkqdldXOe82dwDT0_3ph21r-wwQ7Whk-UZValKB5D32DEUrb7Zx7flntJKwx8ec_eL-b-XyaVYolrnkgM3NC8urT5EkkczH8/s400/IMG_4404.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Look familiar?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He didn't seem to notice me, so I looked up from my computer and just watched him. He stared and stared at this <s>painting</s> copy on the wall, looking rather confused. He finally looked down and noticed me awkwardly gawking at him. He took a deep breath:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"D--Does that look familiar to you?" He gestured toward the huge painting. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I looked from the woman in the painting back to the kid. Ummm, duh? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I said nothing... He continues...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"I mean... I feel like I've seen it somewhere. Eh, maybe not."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Again, I said nothing. I just did one of these..</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-i3yzwsjujJrqxy_KUvtFgGYGdbptG6hl8yP0il4UTgicu_nq87K2oNc-uqJzRXw_VcgW77r7WgIYPu4iAJkSsWaoQ7SMBvUU8_YtSWbfDBLzh9D6xyy1FwY7QVKrT8C2vwTr7bDZWc/s1600/Photo+81.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-i3yzwsjujJrqxy_KUvtFgGYGdbptG6hl8yP0il4UTgicu_nq87K2oNc-uqJzRXw_VcgW77r7WgIYPu4iAJkSsWaoQ7SMBvUU8_YtSWbfDBLzh9D6xyy1FwY7QVKrT8C2vwTr7bDZWc/s400/Photo+81.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At this, the kid gave be a funny look, shrugged, and walked away. </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't blame the kid for his inability of recognize perhaps the single most famous work of art known to man... I blame his surroundings. How in the world does a kid reach the seventh grade and not have a basic knowledge or understanding of art? I wonder if he can read music, or can tell me what a ballet shoes looks like.</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Please keep arts in schools. </div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-33314034612675388742010-11-28T21:56:00.000-08:002010-11-29T06:32:29.336-08:00"God is great, beer is good, and Enid is crazy."I have a confession: I'm a little blog shy.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsatYmis43TsLsO47vdtdFp2QCEQx_XnMbDmCYYctimvYvMpjRUEGFIlvm4qSiIqIlGkMK3kOzAMu7ucbMDhWun_RmGbTjmeIUH66RlW39f8vHtLmWoHmmUZgTfRWos7RclHBsrjZidI0/s1600/Photo+80.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsatYmis43TsLsO47vdtdFp2QCEQx_XnMbDmCYYctimvYvMpjRUEGFIlvm4qSiIqIlGkMK3kOzAMu7ucbMDhWun_RmGbTjmeIUH66RlW39f8vHtLmWoHmmUZgTfRWos7RclHBsrjZidI0/s400/Photo+80.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>If you know me, you know I am a very animated storyteller (and if you don't know me personally, I guess you just learned something new today). Not only that but I have a lot of remarkably ridiculous and or hilarious stories to tell (look the tag line of my blog for goodness sakes). I just cannot get over some weird stigma that come with posting pieces of my life online for the world to see. I mean, it's not like I haven't done that already. </div><div><br />
</div><div>But tonight I'm sure going to try. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I went back home for Thanksgiving break (as most of you probably did). If you've never been to Enid, there are several things you should know:</div><div><br />
</div><div>1. We boast one of the largest Wal-Mart Supercenters in the nation.</div><div><br />
</div><div>2. The giant gazebo at Government Springs park is the best place in the world to swing dance. </div><div><br />
</div><div>3. Enid is not pedestrian friendly unless you're downtown. Try finding a sidewalk, I dare you. </div><div><br />
</div><div>4. Everything, save Walmart, bars, and IHOP, closes around 9 pm. </div><div><br />
</div><div>5. Speaking of bars, there is a place very special to Enid called Scooters. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Scooters is a country/western bar that, according to my mom, houses a very diverse and interesting night crowd. I can recall plenty of two stepping adventures my mom has had at this, until recently, mysterious place. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So, Friday night my friend Leslie, boyfriend Cavner and I were sitting at a restaurant having a dandy time, when we reached a collective epiphany: it only makes sense that we go to Scooters tonight. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Duh. How did we not think of this sooner?! Imagine the endless fun and enjoyment we could get from taking a stroll over there?</div><div><br />
</div><div>Yeah. Uh huh, right. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So we piled into the car blasting the Beibz all the way (much to Cavner's dismay) to this mecca for Stetson wearin' dancin' fools. </div><div><br />
</div><div>We walked in and immediately were greeted by a warm welcome. The man checking IDs (I expected this because we didn't look like bar folk waltzing in with our t-shirts and fleeces on) greeted us and took our cover and opened the register to get our change. This upset an older pair or ladies standing next to us who had arrived before us. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"Hey!" One of them grunted in a raspy voice, "They can wait! We were here first!"</div><div><br />
</div><div>I told you, warm welcome. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So we walked through the haze of smoke. There was a bar on the wall closest to where we came in, then a large dance floor took up the center of the place. Barstools, tables, and people lined the edges of the dance floor. On the opposite side of our entrance, there was another bar, and behind that, there were rows of pool tables.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Being the bright eyed, curious explorer I was, I decided that it would be a great idea for us to venture over to the pool tables.... Not so much. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I glanced around. Nothing incredibly momentous was happening, so I made a <i>declarative statement</i> to <i>the people I was with</i>. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"Well, I don't really see anything interesting going on back here, let's walk around some more."</div><div><br />
</div><div>Harmless, right? Think again. </div><div><br />
</div><div>As the words left my mouth, some guy with a backwards hat and blonde eyebrows was standing a good six feet away from the three of us turned and looked at me like I had just dissed his girl (or <b>SOMETHING</b>). In short, he was offended. </div><div><br />
</div><div>He looked at me, threw is arms up into that stance that's a mixture of "I don't know" and "Are you talkin' to me?!" He puffed out his chest and finished up his animalistic threat with a big solid "<b><i>WHAT?!</i></b>"</div><div><br />
</div><div>I looked at him almost as confused as he was offended, and followed my retaliative instincts by flashing the guy a big smile and two big fat thumbs up. Goodness. I don't know. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Well, I immediately realized I had done something stupid, so I urged us away from the dude and his group of friends. Lucky for me, the threat of immediate danger was low due in large part to my boyfriend who could rip the guy in half. </div><div><br />
</div><div>However, the confrontation continued from a distance because the guy kept staring at me, then he began recounting the horrific incident to his cronies. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Again, the threat of imminent danger was low. Big scary boyfriend and scrappy sassy girl friend had my back. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It wasn't until I was alone for half a second that this big bad backwards-cap guy made his move. I was walking out of the bathroom, not two steps away from Leslie, and homeboy walks by me, ducks his shoulder, and gives me a good nudge. I wavered in my steps a bit, but the sheer ridiculousness of this guy shoulder ducking to get at me gave me no other choice but to laugh out of pity. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Does this give me permission to say I've been in a bar fight? Not that I want to...... I'm just..... curious.....</div><div><br />
</div><div>Of course this blonde eyebrow boy was wrong to shove me, but don't you just feel bad for him? I kind of do. But I would have really pitied him if he had done that in Cavner's line of vision. For now he can take his self-satisfying unprovoked baby tantrum home to his momma. Shoot. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So relatively unscathed, I was hoping to escape from Scooters without any more trouble, but trouble's got a thing for me that just won't quit. </div><div><br />
</div><div>As we continued this adventure through the bar, I heard Leslie yell a ways away to some friends. I walked up to the circle partially deaf from the loud music, my thoughts elsewhere (I was thinking about how in the world that dude got his eyebrows so bleach blonde). Then as luck would have it, one of the circle folk called out my name over the music. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"Frances! Oh my gosh it's been soo long! Too long!"</div><div><br />
</div><div>Intoxicated. In front of me. In the flesh. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"Whoa! Hello my first real boyfriend, better known as my first ever ex-boyfriend."</div><div><br />
</div><div>Well I didn't actually say that, I said his name.... This is more along the lines of what I was thinking while I was speaking. </div><div><br />
</div><div><b>He said</b>: "It's been so long! How are you? Who's this?"</div><div><b>I said:</b> "Yeah! Yeah it has... Yeah! I'm good. I'm really good. Uhh... Yeah!"</div><div><b>I thought:</b> "It really hasn't been too long. On the contrary, it hasn't been long enough. I'm uncomfortable. Who is this guy? Uhh.... I have to run away now."</div><div><br />
</div><div>Readers, I don't know about you, but one of my biggest fears, anxieties, awkward behavior catalysts is when my boyfriend <s>meets</s> happens to run in to my ex. Really? Really? </div><div><br />
</div><div>Well, it was weird for me, but as far as everyone else went, things were fine. I mean, exbf was in a happy place and Cavner can talk to a wall. </div><div><br />
</div><div>What seemed like ages and several awkward pauses in conversation later, the three of us <s>escaped</s> left the place <s>better people</s> laughing hysterically.. Did it make a good story? I think so, and I hope you did too. Will I go back, that's really still up in the air.</div><div><br />
</div><div>If I do, I'll let you know.</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-26531474357177159932010-11-27T21:34:00.000-08:002010-11-27T21:36:01.873-08:00I just want to say...<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="http://www.ou.edu/rufneklilsis/OUChant1.mp3">Boomer Sooner!</a></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(click the link, proudly hold your #1 in the air, and enjoy.)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio5w-XgMraapRisnFRCADIhPtxE4M8hfQ3ps_zrlHVr6ELy5xQKZiIrUo0cYBnoK_Baz6c0kZzD203yjT_fAb2ELbBnw-GsR9JzL8HUv2-fDOndmR9V35YZnbg-2FbZVhoc24yCkKW1LU/s1600/IMG_3779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio5w-XgMraapRisnFRCADIhPtxE4M8hfQ3ps_zrlHVr6ELy5xQKZiIrUo0cYBnoK_Baz6c0kZzD203yjT_fAb2ELbBnw-GsR9JzL8HUv2-fDOndmR9V35YZnbg-2FbZVhoc24yCkKW1LU/s400/IMG_3779.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't see a need to say more. Goodnight. :)</span></div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-32080749401071029612010-11-26T19:38:00.000-08:002010-11-27T13:35:42.775-08:00EVERY-BOD-AY: Shop! Shop! Shop! Shop! Shop-shop! Shop! Shop!Today, I went where <s>no</s> every <s>man</s> holiday-crazed parent and grandparent has gone before...<br />
<div><br />
</div><div><b>Black</b>. Friday. </div><div><br />
</div><div>By no means was I up at the crack of dawn (on the contrary, I walked my turkey-stuffed self to bed just after 10 o'clock-- a first since I was about fifteen and slept until around 9:30). Despite the extra few hours of sleep, mom and I knew we had a big day of some serious Christmas shopping to do.<br />
<br />
But it wasn't for us!<br />
<br />
Every year my mom's office donates money towards gifts for an Angel family, or a family that doesn't have the means to buy their children many gifts during Christmastime. And almost every year, my mom is the one that handles the task of shopping for the items on the kids' list. If you've ever shopped with her, you'd understand why. She's the queen of pinching those pennies (a trait I unfortunately didn't inherit)!<br />
<br />
It the past, we've shopped for all ages, most being around ten years old. Plus, we usually shop for three, four, or maybe five kids. Maybe.<br />
<br />
Not this year!<br />
<br />
Our Angel family this year was really special. We were shopping for a woman that is taking care of her handi-capable 21-year-old daughter and nine grandchildren.<br />
<br />
Yes. Nine. That's not a typo. NINE GRANDKIDS. Phew.<br />
<br />
She's a better woman than me, that's for sure!<br />
<br />
Oh, and what's even more fun? They're all under the age of five.<br />
<br />
5 years old, 4 years old, 3 years old, 3 years old, 2 years old, 2 years old, 17 months old, 3 months old, and 1 month old.<br />
<br />
YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW EXCITED I WAS.<br />
<br />
So we set out with a size list and tons of <s>caffeine</s> happy feelings keeping us excited. The crowds were not terrible, the number of crazy people was surprisingly low (only one woman that was screaming about the jewelry department), and a good five hours later, we knocked out almost everything on our list, staying very well under budget (thank you doorbusters)! So, we're thinking about going out again tomorrow to pick out some toys and gloves for each of them.<br />
<br />
Finally! Here are some picture of the serious swag we scored (and my rando family members):<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Mom is so excited! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT5clXE92quYZaojBhr43m-t9VM-ZiCBTSXPq-Chx4Oxrodd48yVyBnre6riVub9nGOFwYouA1DDyq9QDSUyOtPZF38Di7JBD-CLWwrgkN08TxVClQJJqlA2Uiv1sqrT8OUJmGSS4cfM0/s1600/IMG_4388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT5clXE92quYZaojBhr43m-t9VM-ZiCBTSXPq-Chx4Oxrodd48yVyBnre6riVub9nGOFwYouA1DDyq9QDSUyOtPZF38Di7JBD-CLWwrgkN08TxVClQJJqlA2Uiv1sqrT8OUJmGSS4cfM0/s400/IMG_4388.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">This is organized, promise. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhes5tRzYYOMhjdCycXY9onxNM-NuNhEjiWBNlvb-6rbNe9dREw41fwjZriDbvux4QJfnAd7kHykWIPC0GrcaEd_saUbNz20JGYJRWlytT40Q80v8pykKnb49iEFKXAjfoU635kr_sXHUU/s1600/IMG_4395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhes5tRzYYOMhjdCycXY9onxNM-NuNhEjiWBNlvb-6rbNe9dREw41fwjZriDbvux4QJfnAd7kHykWIPC0GrcaEd_saUbNz20JGYJRWlytT40Q80v8pykKnb49iEFKXAjfoU635kr_sXHUU/s400/IMG_4395.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">All boxed up!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-k5sGtVRrxAyanDqWOD3TiFYNtSP0wuKSdno6NMKo57aIUt_Y-z1l0RsGPNkh1cJLx439GG2BTitHR_ivE0S0cYrrmveCjzJfOX9kL69FUtRgLBnOyqrXvEeLrhD8sDX48x8L34ERjE/s1600/IMG_4403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-k5sGtVRrxAyanDqWOD3TiFYNtSP0wuKSdno6NMKo57aIUt_Y-z1l0RsGPNkh1cJLx439GG2BTitHR_ivE0S0cYrrmveCjzJfOX9kL69FUtRgLBnOyqrXvEeLrhD8sDX48x8L34ERjE/s400/IMG_4403.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-19581938623520689502010-11-25T18:43:00.000-08:002010-11-27T13:40:23.050-08:00Thank you, thank you, and thank you.So, after the mass amounts of food I've eaten today and the fatigue/ brain-deadness, I think I'll make this post short, sweet, and to the point. These are several things I'm thankful for:<br />
<ul><li>You. Because you read this, and you read this because you care, which makes me very happy. </li>
</ul><ul><li>My brother who is the funniest person in all the land. Wee!</li>
</ul><ul><li>Despite all odds, Cavner got to enjoy thanksgiving dinner as opposed to staying on the rig all day by himself. </li>
</ul><ul><li>My bestest friends that keep me sane while I'm home, like my bedlam best friend and those that brave Scooters with me ( I <i>have</i> to tell you all about that).</li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRQkDRS2B-IhfEMj3d95oMfzihAuQGC9fFz2A-G6C7X1TVt1mbuDuB7Ky2ZY5IgetvlVmZ5mdoyiMUcsBIw5ZxEXiMjgcml6-edSePXbtgOCHdZVMEIdofWMK7QHswDQnA4hSbvom9OZ0/s1600/n717400560_1450602_5312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRQkDRS2B-IhfEMj3d95oMfzihAuQGC9fFz2A-G6C7X1TVt1mbuDuB7Ky2ZY5IgetvlVmZ5mdoyiMUcsBIw5ZxEXiMjgcml6-edSePXbtgOCHdZVMEIdofWMK7QHswDQnA4hSbvom9OZ0/s400/n717400560_1450602_5312.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><ul><li>My ballroom dancing class because I actually like being a <a href="http://blogcritics.org/culture/article/left-right-rock-step/">sandbagger</a> and the cupid shuffle. </li>
</ul><ul><li>OU.... the greatest place in the world. </li>
</ul><ul><li>I'm a pretty big fan of thanksgiving food. sooooo much turkey..... sooooo goooooooood. </li>
</ul><ul><li>My family. They are crazy, but so much fun. I mean, what other family has lottery scratch-off cards at the dinner table? (congrats on winning 30 dollars, Mom!)</li>
</ul><ul><li>Football. it wouldn't be thanksgiving (or fall in general) without it.</li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio5w-XgMraapRisnFRCADIhPtxE4M8hfQ3ps_zrlHVr6ELy5xQKZiIrUo0cYBnoK_Baz6c0kZzD203yjT_fAb2ELbBnw-GsR9JzL8HUv2-fDOndmR9V35YZnbg-2FbZVhoc24yCkKW1LU/s1600/IMG_3779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio5w-XgMraapRisnFRCADIhPtxE4M8hfQ3ps_zrlHVr6ELy5xQKZiIrUo0cYBnoK_Baz6c0kZzD203yjT_fAb2ELbBnw-GsR9JzL8HUv2-fDOndmR9V35YZnbg-2FbZVhoc24yCkKW1LU/s400/IMG_3779.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><ul><li>All of the people that text me happy thanksgiving to me... Mass text or not, it brought a smile to my face.</li>
</ul><ul><li>I'm thankful for my awesome roommates who are totally the best roommates ever. Really. </li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI6k-4UQ_vCPC5YrSW6rtilBmqvds68FW1rnhfJSMgJa9Lq68TtH37MrZ2VX5TlsOtd3JnxeBbEgJI-VSdAIb8T_fRVXxlYoI76ICa_FpIZf8tOYtoAbHdTF0R-3HSiMqovVBn193HYYw/s1600/IMG_3766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI6k-4UQ_vCPC5YrSW6rtilBmqvds68FW1rnhfJSMgJa9Lq68TtH37MrZ2VX5TlsOtd3JnxeBbEgJI-VSdAIb8T_fRVXxlYoI76ICa_FpIZf8tOYtoAbHdTF0R-3HSiMqovVBn193HYYw/s400/IMG_3766.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><ul><li>I'm thankful for Jesus too, he made it all happen. </li>
</ul><br />
Man, readers, that's one bamboozled list.. there are so many things I am eternally grateful for. I'm just having trouble stringing sentences and thoughts together. And this here internet out in the boonies is not letting me upload any fun pictures (which will be added later) .. But I couldn't leave you out in the cold on challenge day 1!<br />
<br />
So, what are you all thankful for? Did you guys stuff yourselves as much as I did? I sure hope so!<br />
<br />
But for now friends, I think I will leave you this short list (I plan to add more later), and make my way back to the table to peruse for more pumpkin roll. Mmmmmmmm pumpkin roll.Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-68918827599571112502010-11-24T10:32:00.000-08:002010-11-24T17:53:19.232-08:00Challenge: it's on.OH MY GOSH. READERS. I HAVEN'T POSTED IN 1000000000 YEARS.<br />
<br />
Well, it's been more like 11 days, but to me it feels that long.<br />
<br />
The sad thing is that I don't really have a legitamate excuse.. I mean, I wasn't hospitalized, kidnapped, or anything like that.... I just..... didn't know what to write about...<br />
<br />
And <i>that</i> excuse is super lame for <i>this</i> reason: I had <b>plenty</b> to write about, in reality... I just.... Didn't know how, when, or where to start. Talk about some writer's block... Sheesh.<br />
<br />
BUT! There are interesting things in the works here people! Shout hallelujah!<br />
<br />
For now though, I would like to share something eventful that happened to me that is pretty, if not totally relevant to this here blog post.<br />
<br />
Does anyone know who this is??<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8rVBz0smnTyiebqiAh4xouxlPRuT4k2VB4Nbak0RDHb3c32DG00bjPrYWQKMF5apQJt2JY7WuwmGwx36lnIkXMkChrJ04MCamxbQeWaJ4hQ5ld3uHHWWwueC2JfOd03YCudDQlL2NzI/s1600/IMG_4373.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8rVBz0smnTyiebqiAh4xouxlPRuT4k2VB4Nbak0RDHb3c32DG00bjPrYWQKMF5apQJt2JY7WuwmGwx36lnIkXMkChrJ04MCamxbQeWaJ4hQ5ld3uHHWWwueC2JfOd03YCudDQlL2NzI/s400/IMG_4373.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Well, if not.... Sorry boutcha. That's Ree Drummond, better known as the <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/">Pioneer Woman</a>, and she's awesome.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*note... I get star-struck way too easily, and that goofy messy picture of me proves that. Ugh, it doesn't even look like me.... Or I look insane.. It's crazed fan syndrome. </span><br />
<br />
OKAY! Back to the point.<br />
<br />
Well, Ree came to OU to talk about herself as "self-made media.." But before she gave a presentation to hundreds of people, she sat down with my PW class of 15ish students in the auditorium (literally, she just powwowed on the stage) and we all just talked blogging. Nerd's paradise, really.<br />
<br />
So after an hour's worth of questions, answers, and a exchange of embarrassing stories, I left the auditoruim with many pieces of advice she left us... Several I put into action immediately, but others have yet to manifest themselves. But, after all of her stories and advice, one thing she said stuck out to me and has be eating at the back of my brain for days..<br />
<br />
Blog everyday. Blog everyday. Blog. Every. Day.<br />
<br />
Ugh. Yeah, I knew it was coming.... She told us in the lecture, and the same advice coupled with an explanation can be found <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/blog/2010/09/ten-important-things-ive-learned-about-blogging/">here</a>. <br />
<br />
So, I'm always looking for challenges, and I think this one will be pretty perfect, considering some challenges I take on are just stupid.<br />
<br />
Haha.<br />
<br />
High school.<br />
<br />
Moving on.<br />
<br />
So it's on! As of right now there are 23 days until the end of the semester, 31 until Christmas (wooo.) and 37 until 2011 (Gah, where did the year go?!) I want to <s>try to </s>post something everyday at least until the end of the semester, and if I'm successful I'll try until Christmas, New Years, and even beyond!<br />
<br />
In [un]related news: I'm at home right now, so I'll get a fantastic running start with zero homework, classes, or work standing in my way. Plus there's never a dull moment with people like these around:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijUq-arhiCpKPUS7EVHX5uQY_lXQ2tEJKj-aT3vDlMs_EsMnIvPodh8H1LaI5VXUJ-cSLhuUy_CQo-rnAC9d87f8unfI0epSgUZTECOxZslfraNQcj974_qe0ED8JC1AxgmfMEeGHO4gs/s1600/IMG_2183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijUq-arhiCpKPUS7EVHX5uQY_lXQ2tEJKj-aT3vDlMs_EsMnIvPodh8H1LaI5VXUJ-cSLhuUy_CQo-rnAC9d87f8unfI0epSgUZTECOxZslfraNQcj974_qe0ED8JC1AxgmfMEeGHO4gs/s400/IMG_2183.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTyT-xtKKs3sIzSTHjfWZgPrJSRmXgNDrYTakBhozypOciqI7PvzkS_mPNcNCflSJXq9tUyvAXIP0JqqTySMkekgYRo4j60W19lDtbk39G9WMf3mXf3swNx6vfNE5gcc6seQ2iu6dvOU/s1600/IMG_2513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTyT-xtKKs3sIzSTHjfWZgPrJSRmXgNDrYTakBhozypOciqI7PvzkS_mPNcNCflSJXq9tUyvAXIP0JqqTySMkekgYRo4j60W19lDtbk39G9WMf3mXf3swNx6vfNE5gcc6seQ2iu6dvOU/s400/IMG_2513.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I'm hoping it will be fun for me, but most importantly I hope YOU all enjoy what I have to say as well! I think that's all for tonight.. Check back for Challenge Day 1 TOMORROW! YAY!Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-50041765096307337192010-11-13T22:46:00.000-08:002010-11-28T22:20:38.556-08:00I put the "fan" in fanatic.Readers, I did it.<br />
<br />
An accomplishment roughly 4 years in the making, something so momentous and rare in my life yet so habitual and ordinary in the lives of so many I aspire to mimic.<br />
<br />
I read a book.<br />
<br />
Don't be dumb. I'm in college, people, I've read a fair share of books in the past 2 years and change. But many of those were read out of obligation to a syllabus or the threat of a pop quiz. Not this time, this was my idea, my doing, my fiction.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2J4zlc9Di-HJXp-LlHtvYTgn4OuOFKSbQoLL0FXk76YiI-FFzP3dUv_3GyuPRlGGqtZwMBRvhE2cmx0P0E_zaC_s7yq47tCCKs4HXIS9p4zZnApo3TUGTwIXcVAR4YxZBWlQC7JPeV0/s1600/harry-potter-and-the-deathly-hallows-20070328093850961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2J4zlc9Di-HJXp-LlHtvYTgn4OuOFKSbQoLL0FXk76YiI-FFzP3dUv_3GyuPRlGGqtZwMBRvhE2cmx0P0E_zaC_s7yq47tCCKs4HXIS9p4zZnApo3TUGTwIXcVAR4YxZBWlQC7JPeV0/s400/harry-potter-and-the-deathly-hallows-20070328093850961.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.</i> Oh yes. Here's some background:</div><br />
I have followed Harry's every move since I was in the fourth grade. I've read many of the books more than once. Oh, and if you have been living in a cave for the past decade, HP is the most enthralling and magical (duh) fiction book series to hit the US and everywhere else.<br />
<br />
Yes, better than Twilight. Suck it <a href="http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2902622720/tt1325004">Edward</a>, you were <a href="http://www.imdb.com/media/rm1547606016/ch0001018">Cedric Diggory</a> first anyway.<br />
<br />
Back to it.<br />
<br />
I went to all of the midnight premieres, midnight book releases, I even more than excitedly dressed up for the movies. Guys, I <s>loved </s>love it.<br />
<br />
But, for some reason, that affection dissapated when I finally got my hands on the Deathly Hallows. I was so unbelievably curious in what would happen next, but as I read through the first few pages, a terrifying thought hit me:<br />
<br />
This is it. After this, it's all over.<br />
<br />
At this realization, I hurriedly put the book down. I was so caught up in the lives of these characters and this world that I could, and had so often, disappeared into. So I came the the conclusion that the best thing to do was just to leave the end alone. it sounds stupid I'm sure, but the closest thing I could compare this to is that old saying "if you love them, let them go."<br />
<br />
So that's what I did. I let them go. For years..... Until about a week ago.<br />
<br />
So, you ALL have to know that HP7 part 1 is due to hit theaters in about 95 hours and 49 minutes from right now. I knew it too, and I wasn't sure what to do about it. Do I watch it without reading the book? Do I ignore it completely? To me both of these were out of the question (really if i watched the movie without reading the book, i would never forgive myself).<br />
<br />
So, i did the only thing a girl can do in this situation. I went home, curled up in bed, and started to read.<br />
<br />
Readers, I was swept away. Gone from reality, and in my own little world with the character and settings painted vividly in my imagination. I haven't felt that freedom from real life, stress, or getting older in literally years.<br />
<br />
I bet it's like drugs, or something. But way better for your vocabulary.<br />
<br />
One week. I sucked in every world on every page. I didn't have a chance to read Wednesday or Thursday, so really in five days I read every world, cover to cover.<br />
<br />
Now, this brief yet extreme obsessive behavior took a toll on my sleep for the week, but anyone would agree that it was worth it. There is one thing, however, that I learned about myself in finishing this last book..<br />
<br />
I realized at about 5:30am, after reading for 4 hours and sobbing for 2 of them, that i might be a little too attached.<br />
<br />
And it's not just Harry and his friends! My favorite shows, for example, have driven me into fits of anguish because <a href="http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2837938432/ch0146067">Kurt</a> got punched again, or that it was <a href="http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2350028800/ch0021669">George</a> that got hit by that bus (Goodness, readers, I cried for 5 days after he died)!<br />
<br />
My point is that I'm wondering if it's good for me to be so invested in stuff like this, or if is this normal?? I mean, I'm an emotional disaster. If you know me, you know that. If you don't, there you go.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I don't know. I guess I'll just have to keep myself from just losing it during this.... </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></i></span></div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: auto;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhg-iwWtar_RIayw3WMPUPP7rfgrmJZIZpzhRgLO1CtuvJfASPYVcMx1KaOHokzYmly0-9puurZVvzwUg0Y0M2-mK_fdmO6tXXocvHfCQW2woJ-StfuHXYEybyjkLfXPuPy0Y03IVJaY/s1600/73149_1465254478403_1444740220_31127322_6307829_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhg-iwWtar_RIayw3WMPUPP7rfgrmJZIZpzhRgLO1CtuvJfASPYVcMx1KaOHokzYmly0-9puurZVvzwUg0Y0M2-mK_fdmO6tXXocvHfCQW2woJ-StfuHXYEybyjkLfXPuPy0Y03IVJaY/s640/73149_1465254478403_1444740220_31127322_6307829_n.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Until next time.</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></span></i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNp7UAuY5KBqbjUXl3NT7-GfI2JVo2gX5-cZLFRZ2s7ev7om7etCs2veMODC5UcUNGQfPwDTWfz67rs5MppAlF9YBltxFxsQ1YqfT157ufBRdLH_xdI5X1588RxjlOZzWFAiSwDWiFPUU/s1600/harry_potter_and_the_deathly_hallows_movie_poster.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNp7UAuY5KBqbjUXl3NT7-GfI2JVo2gX5-cZLFRZ2s7ev7om7etCs2veMODC5UcUNGQfPwDTWfz67rs5MppAlF9YBltxFxsQ1YqfT157ufBRdLH_xdI5X1588RxjlOZzWFAiSwDWiFPUU/s640/harry_potter_and_the_deathly_hallows_movie_poster.jpeg" width="433" /></a>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-54171697626543407872010-11-07T18:51:00.000-08:002010-11-07T18:54:21.327-08:00The Why GameReaders, this is Whitney.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXc4rM1gU-mI2g6YNLhWSVmfYr1dpJRERxAkk5Uot4x91sp2d8_mwPxde7MWCRJiUgmFk1hr6TAbAC-ViaI6b935WVgkzlys4T6SvxTAPib6bwd-F1EiamasCJMmJ_nrkoU5QFjlTEBNg/s1600/IMG_2346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXc4rM1gU-mI2g6YNLhWSVmfYr1dpJRERxAkk5Uot4x91sp2d8_mwPxde7MWCRJiUgmFk1hr6TAbAC-ViaI6b935WVgkzlys4T6SvxTAPib6bwd-F1EiamasCJMmJ_nrkoU5QFjlTEBNg/s320/IMG_2346.JPG" width="209" /></a><br />
If you know me at all, I've mentioned her probably about a thousand times. You might recognize her from the crafting we did the other night (read about that <a href="http://francesannmooney.blogspot.com/2010/11/im-so-close-to-alone-in-desolation-that.html">here</a>). She's nine, but I remember the day she was born. She's not related to me by blood or anything, but she's like a little sister. Today's family members can't be solely defined by paternity anyway.<br />
<br />
Everything I've learned about kids and dealing with them, I learned from this girl. And with all that experience I could open a daycare, easily. Don't believe me? Try my almost famous grilled cheese and chips and you'll whistle another tune. Diapers, tantrums, the "Why" game, I've got it down.<br />
<br />
For those of you that don't know, the "Why" game isn't really a game. It's when young kids (around 4) ask a question, receive an answer, yet persistently ask why. And, to "win" he game, a person has to come up with a sensible answer to all of the child's why's. Whitney was a pro, but I always won.<br />
<br />
The summer before I left for college, my job was to be a full-time babysitter for this girl, who was six at the time. We spent every day together. That meant a lot of fits, a obscene amounts of Hannah Montana, and even more people mistaking me for her mom. (Uhm, I was 12 when she was born. Not likely).<br />
<br />
I remember the conversations we used to have. This girl is smart. I could carry on a peer-level conversation with her since she was four. She's funny too, and those drives around town throughout the long summer days reminded me of what it was like to be a kid.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFLvjlK4ZDkHV7-tBZH2HItkjxKLfhC47IyPcwf6biSvrq04I7DjSJCaja7lpHnsj8iCrngmeWMlJVtlsFb0JnYfjzYpZwEfcxL31RsaeFb8VW-tYod1SkmIoGnjcsmOGTqKQ9SpvAIk/s1600/Photo+43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFLvjlK4ZDkHV7-tBZH2HItkjxKLfhC47IyPcwf6biSvrq04I7DjSJCaja7lpHnsj8iCrngmeWMlJVtlsFb0JnYfjzYpZwEfcxL31RsaeFb8VW-tYod1SkmIoGnjcsmOGTqKQ9SpvAIk/s320/Photo+43.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Since leaving for school, I of course don't see her near as much as I used to, and I lose sight of that kid like nature. I mean, on a campus of thousands and thousands of students the same age as me, it's easy to lose sight of any nature other than that of a college student's.<br />
<br />
But being home this weekend and spending even a minute with that girl took me back to third grade again. I picked her up yesterday afternoon, and she immediately stated to talk me ear off. She told me about school, her birthday party, and anything else she could fit into a sentence between breaths.<br />
<br />
Two things she said really stood out to me and are still making me laugh.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnR-sgkpISfRXqyIASzPACl64knoqwV6pdohdCj3OobH27VdmqTk2p6DEXNvFbYRPqBp16xIDa-5pfYjLEWjgQSyQ-P0-XvgLh953OsPTmAlVvF4rHOJihFmtg-IbDiISQBuqwwKwztrE/s1600/Photo+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnR-sgkpISfRXqyIASzPACl64knoqwV6pdohdCj3OobH27VdmqTk2p6DEXNvFbYRPqBp16xIDa-5pfYjLEWjgQSyQ-P0-XvgLh953OsPTmAlVvF4rHOJihFmtg-IbDiISQBuqwwKwztrE/s320/Photo+5.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
First, she shared a little bit of Beiber Fever with me. As a surpise birthday present from mom, Whitney made a trip to OKC to see the teen heartthrob in concert. it was her first concert ever!<br />
<br />
<i>"We got there and it was SO loud, and he sang all of the songs... It was SOOO sweet and awesome. We stayed until like TEN O'CLOCK.... AT NIGHT....... ON A SCHOOL NIGHT.... I didn't get home til midnight, but I still got up for school the next day, no problem. I woke up even earlier than normal."</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Hotshot.<br />
<br />
It still makes me laugh. The second conversation we had really stuck with me though.... And it kind of came out of nowhere. I couldn't help but just laugh as she was talking, to which she rolled her eyes and pled her case more.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4wArA4XLFN9-t0-VOPjePDP-1ah_D5_NfgFGcYkcBDR0o2d8-KjQp3kKrViJ8gkX_Owtjfsm_jZS9JXHXenLsJGC4ifKDdDpjPgRjkvcWQ3StA8kX7TVrlMWJNoGW7-iUkNplwyjk9kE/s1600/30865_402172648118_608328118_4077095_8211889_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4wArA4XLFN9-t0-VOPjePDP-1ah_D5_NfgFGcYkcBDR0o2d8-KjQp3kKrViJ8gkX_Owtjfsm_jZS9JXHXenLsJGC4ifKDdDpjPgRjkvcWQ3StA8kX7TVrlMWJNoGW7-iUkNplwyjk9kE/s320/30865_402172648118_608328118_4077095_8211889_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
"Frances, you don't even know how busy I am. Do you know?"<br />
"Sure don't, Whit."<br />
"Well, I have to get up, go to school ALL day every day. Monday's and Wednesday's I have soccer, then the other days I go with Papa to let the dogs out! And basketball is starting soon! Man!"<br />
<br />
I mean, I'm not writing this patronize the girl. She's nine. I think she is busy for being nine. But don't you miss that? Am I the only person that misses the days when the biggest decision I had to make was what flavor jelly I wanted on my sandwich? Those days were so so so so so simple. Carefree. Fun. Without consequence...... mostly.<br />
<br />
I think I'm coming down with a terrible case of growing up. With internships, bills, career fairs, rent, and resumés, it's hard to avoid.<br />
<br />
I understand that it's just another part of life. But I'm terrified. Part of me, even if it is a small part, wishes I could go back to being nine. Or heck, if I could stay 21 forever, that would be great.<br />
<br />
But the future is staring me in the face.. It's looking all of us dead in the eyes and reminding us that, no matter how hard we try, it's closer each day. I guess it's time to stand up, take a deep breath, and stare right back, remembering one very important fact:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">No matter what happens, at least I'm awesome at the "Why" game. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5M5eotv5b4JK60xq68nGuVcrB-eJsyFUSZJ-rglZnkBAHwdRQNL14rdrmZJUU9VJFqskr-IiVu18acU3Eix2eDrjkBrnWesJ7aJUbIP4nKAQsGVflSjWYc84G5kFfPXQN2C6OmKNlPWI/s1600/Photo+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5M5eotv5b4JK60xq68nGuVcrB-eJsyFUSZJ-rglZnkBAHwdRQNL14rdrmZJUU9VJFqskr-IiVu18acU3Eix2eDrjkBrnWesJ7aJUbIP4nKAQsGVflSjWYc84G5kFfPXQN2C6OmKNlPWI/s400/Photo+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-51723574058466265492010-11-06T17:58:00.000-07:002010-11-24T16:39:46.035-08:00D.I.Why not?<div style="text-align: left;">I'm so close to alone in the desolation that is <a href="http://francesannmooney.blogspot.com/2010/06/coffee-shop.html">the coffee shop</a>. It's so sad.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Moving on!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div>I've talked to you, dear readers, about how crafty [not the mean kind!] I am, or at least aspire to be... So in light of feeling extra artsy this weekend, I decided to fill you in on projects I have filled my time with on my [relaxing?] weekend back home.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div>These projects were inspired by <a href="http://www.younghouselove.com/2010/08/put-a-cork-in-it-2/">this</a>, which I follow almost religiously. Seriously, I'm obsessed. If you didn't follow the link just then, do it <a href="http://www.younghouselove.com/">now</a>, and be amazed.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div>I will share one the projects now, but the other is still in the works. Fear not, updates will come! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div>Today, we made our very own cork boards!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div>Luckily, i had these two wonderful nine year olds tag along giving me an excuse to run rampant with my love of glitter, sequins, and bright, bright, colors.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536616646283936754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXcLWGyjTXT-2FuI2mT-0bT63uEcL2Uq-fGfP4Dg6gUgSBNv7Oo2Aq9X9iqgnnxnR9XZ6k4BoRSmHLICSlidpAmxTEn_RGEx9Yh-KqeqYd4mgKm1JBHBhIbpQmwR8GpTR_NLMI5kEF-W4/s400/IMG_4338.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We started off with just plain old boards from our neighborhood craft store which you see above.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">First, we [I] ironed the girls' initials onto the fab</div><div style="text-align: center;">ric <i>before</i> gluing fabric to the boards<i> (it's important to iron both side of the letters).</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536616155041287538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1ANc_zvfKQhdj1SE0wPf7JqAho4-HwCmyStwaNDhoOh_rkPUwHh4Yi5PHkJVRp-mDR0OKWzs606YipqUhkm9P65Gew0O5W7eP85mX7adPwbGjQFS3_tjiKQ1c7hR84xcT5ThTk3STBI/s400/IMG_4341.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Then we just covered them with fabric, secured with good ol' hot glue. </div><div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536615846879690498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzs7WuHDPvK78NGYOSYlzP-1qwl_TzAd8fjAKSg26l2nIo7fKT6nCyper7bvb38xWVAP8OpMphN-CtfQEe1wrscQEFkS6yNi8yS2Eo1hifwLOzvM_CJsr4iB29q-W2XLiD6XgO0AfDfA/s400/IMG_4334.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 306px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Funny moment! When were were in the store buying the fabric, I commented on the girls' selection being remarkably colorful. To that, one responded, "Frances, we're both nine, what else do you expect?" Fair enough ladies.</div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536615071998909154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxxkE8cSRqQbrbfgcqvCWt-eseB-3xVbR3HQvCSNYvPUrFDu4wFf9kh_Va6FJUt_JuNs8fCQl-fHfJliny9P_ZumeVUKpFA-QbB_nhPrqRDZHbxnJBHPQBIbPc4HZbaSwUP7Lnw8nu8Q/s400/IMG_4340.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Next, I let the girl run wild with flowers, sequins, and ribbon. On an awesome note, the ribbon we [they] chose was reversible, so it was a two-for-one, best-of-both-worlds money saver! Woo! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536614261010995522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigZuAtPq96Avm95RGbYmWqyaJQavMipY8HF2tFrRrrAcHIE5p2vNvUfuovF4yFewwDyiC8CZ3GsNzX2bO0k2TrXPRXKlqSHhZuUm5MGTSUACmIlpEKwocDQzPBXpJfxKoN6YwPeoRBBUs/s400/IMG_4343.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So, the final products looked like these!</div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536613463028598978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8Dc0m9626IGVFaZd3pG9j4VShKdYzmPFoTq_MtwVYxD5M5It7cxxW3WatI_StKTd5MKiNlhuKcbWJyfvZ-NoMg82JbzizBh4s8aMeWdRBx74HK6vNHd_2AfR6cqBa1yN9yohZ22xJ2c/s400/IMG_4344.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 333px;" /><br />
<div><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536612781726524242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiS3gv8Ebmv-NFsVRNnrywCDmt3N3biBmUuM01NspfXNJ_CeVQAJp5r5m4vnGIBjC7CMLj368x_JJKF-RGj8UIdESFjF8syGd8PgW6v4dOWcpJ_Ti5NJ9v7HFy-D7tAMMAHNjeYtsEqTY/s400/IMG_4346.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I mean, if you were nine, you would be crazy jealous. I kind of am, and I'm 21. Oh well.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Readers, I think that's all for now. I'm going to continue my wonderful Saturday night with some old-school chick flicks, a nice book and some warm blankets. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Bonne nuit mes amis! </div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-30032622870624334692010-11-02T20:31:00.000-07:002010-11-02T21:38:53.258-07:00Seeing Red<div style="text-align: left;">If you like being ignorant, stop reading now. If not, please continue.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am not a political expert by any means, nor am I really well-versed in platforms, reforms, or any other kinds of forms. On the contrary, I hate talking about politics. Hardly anything boils my blood more. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But I'm going to say this anyway because I have a blog and that's what bloggers do. </div><div><br /></div><div>If there is one thing I believe in when I comes to voting and politics, it's that people should vote competently. </div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing infuriates me more than ignorant voting. Like if someone plans to vote red because that's what it mean to be 'MERICAN!, or because they stand for 'MERICA! It goes both ways, if your voting blue just because you live in the reddest state in the union and want to fight "the Man", stay home.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As for me, I'm a modern-day Irving character. No, I didn't sleep through an American revolution or anything, but I do tend to let other trivial things get in the way of issues, people, and things that matter, especially in politcs. I have a lot of opinions, I'm just lazy I guess. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mid-term elections were held today, and I didn't vote. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I knew who the gubernatorial candidates were, I knew which party they identified with, and I can loosely tell you the ideologies of each political party represented. But as far as platforms, state questions, and congressional candidates, I was less than versed in those matters, so I stayed home. </div><div><br /></div><div>But that's not the worst of it.. The worst is that I'm at the point now where I feel like my vote wouldn't have mattered. </div><div><div><br /></div><div>Take 2008 for example. I was so excited to cast my ballot for the first time in that election, but just as I dropped my ballot in the box, I overheard a young girl my age say to her friend "I'm voting Republican because my dad told me to."</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, my vote just got cancelled out. Just like that. Boo. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I lean liberal, and I am very outnumbered in this "land of the red people" (best pun ever, i hope you take time to appreciate that). I believe Oklahoma DESPERATELY needs to pay more attention to our education system, I believe in equal rights for all citizens, and I am environmentally conscious (my roommates and I recycle!) These are all social issues, yes, but right now, as a 21-year-old college student, these things are important to me. And yes, my ideologies line up left. Sue me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Now hold on, I'm not saying that only liberals can be environmentally aware, nor am I saying liberals have to care about these issues. I just know that I agree with much of what they stand for. </div><div><br /></div><div>I also believe that it is okay to be conservative. I believe that if your values and ideologies line up conservatively, go for it. Shoot, if I was a mega entrepreneur I would be all for laissez-faire and free market too. ka-ching.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>All I'm asking, people is that you VOTE SMART!!!!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE learn what you stand for. Learn who you're voting for, and get a grip!</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh and one last thing, I still love you, Jari. Mom or not you would have been wonderful!</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 304px; height: 392px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitlBfGEayHMSh7ZRCg97MnOXDh1IZ0r4Qpteb_-VUUvnLQ6l6YOtKDGr0SUpA1FPCIdO8erQFAsDMXBmVW-bYr-KcODoWNXzNXoDmdcbPQ_izFaM-uaWBBewQXkIiOFGiYMgoIZ8FSC4U/s400/n717400560_1084655_561.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535176485931647410" /></div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-51533611691857518132010-10-26T21:14:00.000-07:002010-10-26T22:03:26.579-07:00Costumin' and Carvin'<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15.8333px; ">I love Halloween. Call it pagan, call it "fall festival," call it whatever you want. I love it.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>AND IT'S ONLY FIVE DAYS AWAY!</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>What other day out of all 365 days in a year can you dress however you want and get away with it? Eat inexcusable amounts of candy and be commended on a job well done? Ring the doorbell at complete stranger's home and ask them to smell your feet? It's all fantastic. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Really people, I held on to the chance for trick-or-treating as long as I could. Who says seniors in high school are too old for that?! Not this girl! </div><div><br /></div><div>However, despite my love for sweets and sugar-induced comas, the candy isn't my favorite part of Halloween. I'm split between two other holiday traditions.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Costume hunting and pumpkin carving.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I love dressing up for Halloween. Some years, I start thinking about my next costume as soon as the current Halloween is over. I also love making costumes. I can't remember the last time I bought a costume-in-a-bag. In my opinion that's just taking the easy way out, plus I need WAY more material to cover my trunk junk than any store bought french maid costume could offer me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Also, like I've said before, I'm crafty, so this is just another way I can be somewhat creative. I also love the thrill of piecing a costume together. I'll find something here, something else there... To me finding the perfect finishing touch to an original costume is like winning a marathon. (Maybe that's a bad comparison. I can't run. Oh well.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I'm thinking about costume ideas right now, and I think I'm stuck between two. Looks like you'll have to stay tuned and see what I choose later! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>My other favorite thing to do around this time of year is carve pumpkins, and I got to do that with my roommates this past weekend.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We all bought kits and stencils, and picked out the perfect pumpkins, and were ready to go. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We made a gutting station out of kitchen floor, and after cleaning out five decently huge pumpkins, our entire apartment reeked of it. We didn't mind though, it's one of those things you get used to. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdo1KmiO4O_D9xukoYy1CoROFHTASTAuBKIdgsKAhJjvhDQ7vor48MDTCYeO1lplyu6sa26jp3sz3UT4u9SIx-9ev7GjmI86u5x3MQiGvGaWyEQ4TxNdN_Mdp9W0WGcM1RqFH5SRb2zg/s400/IMG_4268.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532585977198751570" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So, the pumpkins were gutted and the stencils taped and marked, so we all went to work. Carving and cutting, punching out eye holes and nose holes, cleaning up crooked lines.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Finally, they all came together. For fun's sake, here's a before and after.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SDlHY363zLQs8D-hDt-dNy1MRrl35UgRdxfu4R_8rADU9VsMznVDY_rsKB8Az7L2NV3IwPxUuC5ItCjXuuOY-ccatoBj2vY0d7PZ-YjH8wreeIGRC2OvlACkD8m6_Or_QW6eHciyjyg/s400/IMG_4269.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532585814579031010" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmbJ6mcGV2-SjUpjQZIPXUjg6HZHU4rCxoUkSMkTAtk3kxm3t5BDoVdEzTBkYoOzRPtu4pm9vCaBHOFMxzCqiynV5Hy6c_V6GOGkdKawZQWMcsxKdvJmE6gryaCbUODQdSMTJsQdCA18/s400/IMG_4283.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532585639687091922" /><div style="text-align: center;">Really when you think about it, these traditions of costumes and carving aren't that different. Sure, one of them i<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">s a big orange fruit, but it happens. B</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">ut, look at the difference between all of the pumpkins!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvkTHb2m8YvHi-nHP4uhUM2QVUOEBP25CDKro_lCPGTCWJr2hXkBNX_Kjlr3kTCyAtwn0OPCl8bxR5V0jZYzW9OlLFB6Jt9MUYqLibst2SiMBgZy2bWY5SR3TeXeTqZY_M2sJI-8zoFI/s400/IMG_4285.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532585137546295986" /></div><div>They are all round and orange at first, but with a little work, they beome scences or terror, faces of happiness, or even chilling creatures of the night. It's just like us when we dress up in costume. I could be a brain-munching zombie prom queen, or I could be a disco ball, but in the end i'm still me, just like that jack-o-lantern is still a pumpkin. </div><div><br /></div><div>That's what Halloween is. It's imagination. It's creativity. It's waking up one day and saying, "You know what, I'm going to put on fake purple eyelashes, color my hair blue, and wear a bright yellow suit today," and be totally confident in your ridiculousness. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>It's the chance to be anything you want to be, or to make your jack-o-lantern smile any way you want it to. </div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Haunting!</div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-55487435927630219582010-10-19T11:41:00.000-07:002010-10-19T12:27:56.022-07:00pressing flowers<div style="text-align: left;">Readers, I have been gone for what seems life forever, and i've missed writing so much. School consumes my life, and what little spare time I've been given over the last week and a half, I have used to sleep.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>But isn't that the way it goes? Time is money, so don't waste it. Everything is done right here, right now. Do this, do that, as fast as you can. RSVP ASAP. No late work. Up-to-the-minute reporting. Timeliness. NO! SLEEP! TIL BROOKLYN! (reference <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07Y0cy-nvAg">here</a>) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Everything we do must be done quickly and as efficiently as possible. Now, I'm not knocking timeliness and productivity for the sake of adequate and needed progress both in school and in everyday life. But... </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Every now and then, we need to slow down. We should stop and smell the roses. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you don't already know, I consider myself a crafty person. Not in a manipulative or sneaky sense, but in a much more literal one. I love arts and crafts. Hobby Lobby is one of my favorite stores, and I jump in excitement over a DIY project.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>My roommate shares in this love of creativity, so we are always showing each other fun little projects we've taken on. I make collages, she paints, and so on.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Last week, we were in our kitchen admiring a bouquet of gerber daises (my favorite) that Cavner gave me for our anniversary. They were starting to wilt, so my roommate suggests a crafty alternative to just throwing the bright cheery flowers away. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"You really should press those."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOddMr67z-iIn3qK1oHG29EEZ45VHuyjMFRIMRFbiLDx1E2EmuCJrP9UOOo7vVD6lIFv8LJ-Yzh1B_d96Pu79adQgDnUiG3yh1L-uBLn9VaNjdmbuiFC9LqM6UXVehJM9HCiynGao4RM/s400/IMG_4061.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529837566212274914" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I've heard of pressing flowers before, and like any crafty person, I was all for it. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>So my roommate walked me through the process. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>First, we cut the stems completely off. </b></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlYH0WY9NJgHpd_mr-XUZb1y0hGpkgN4h4LGgDQ0y2dO4mQxuMtGxXWxpEf_ybwugcNP5aF05UVR62SMqF0x9uNfOhxj1OAQe_Ph8JgPMmL5MQmFcpAYSc8kFly1nAz8MRvqXLCt1xQA/s400/IMG_4065.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529837124305513282" /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Then we placed them between two sheets of tissue paper. </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5VFKRkZO3RNHqtHwstdznQT6jUByOgDJRX5F0wnG3lWytVZ5anBeeY52_xeDpT8xT7OWMzD8MKR8vhf4H-MCL9MnzQql0jP0vkO35orMcFlAZEU6iNL6Af5HXJs_bcei7RhBFgGRNQY/s400/IMG_4066.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529836679006081730" /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Finally, we closed the flowers into the largest book we could find in the apartment.</b> After that, we stacked object after object on top of the book, making sure to pancake the heck out of these flowers. The end result of our efforts created a rather comical display of shelves, paint cans, and other heavy things stacked one on tp of the next in our living room.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODD4cp03YB2rTDxGSrQmBVz4ePvwbRtROMJ7P9G_Qvgkb_V-FVCXz62yLeLenZH1O99zLmGyEI4PlA0g14vlWhXB17l01D8LB1HeDoUf2ODDK8GnGSdH-2LYhLGR1SDyd2P_Np6LKgac/s400/IMG_4067.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529836020470996162" /><div><br /></div><div>After we balanced the paint can on top of the shelves on top of the book, I asked my roommate when they would be totally pressed. </div><div><br /></div><div>"I'd give them about a month."</div><div><br /></div><div>A month?! An entire month??!!! For flowers, no less! Why in the world would I wait that long for flowers? Why would I wait that long for anything?? </div><div><br /></div><div>Another thing about me is that I am a huge fan of instant gratification. If I want it, I don't really want to wait on it. But with these flowers, I'm understanding that some things are worth waiting for. Some things take time, and sometimes, those are the we remember most. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know how my flowers will turn out yet. They still have to sit under those shelves for another three weeks or so. But every now and then I catch myself thinking about what next project i can use them in once they are ready. It's kind of thrilling, this waiting. </div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-45582364402908435752010-10-09T16:52:00.000-07:002010-10-09T17:36:37.727-07:00pressure cooker.<div style="text-align: left;">The day after I moved into the dorms my freshman year, I was required to attend a seminar about "everything you need to know to prepare for college."</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, if you are or ever were a college student, you know that "everything you need to know about college" will never simply fit into a two hour presentation. Or any presentation for that matter.</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjui8bf_SGk30vyYmQ6sB_aN0BTh_L_K1nJD-HwuhGQp0i0PSkOoBOhO6nbKAx8Npkzshd8EQ8JkR8Ss8iscxZOtWhHYCqKcnrMCYLYvfQ9NJaWeMG03V5wly2eEn8KXRnFJMEhzdfNIeY/s400/100_2071.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526199495725416978" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This is me merely hours after moving into my dorm. (Long sigh)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div>However I did learn one very important thing about myself that holds true at this very minute. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am not a procrastinator. I am a "pressure cooker." </div><div><br /></div><div>In one section of this seminar, the presenter spoke about study habits, and how all people work differently. </div><div><br /></div><div>He talked about how some people prefer to start large assignments early, or complete things far before a deadline arrives. These people are known as "planners." </div><div><br /></div><div>On the other side of things, he talked about those that wait until the absolute last minute to complete things. He divided this group into two subsets: the "procrastinators" and the "pressure cookers."</div><div><br /></div><div>He defined procrastinators as people that wait until the last minute to prepare any assignment, large or small, but turn in poorly executed homework, papers, or the like. Procrastinators are sloppy, apathetic, and a little flighty. </div><div><br /></div><div>Contre-là, he defined pressure cookers as students that wait until the eleventh hour to complete something. But unlike procrastinators, the people turn in quality work that receives good grades. Pressure cookers work well, if not better when a deadline looms near. He even went as far as to say that pressure cookers "thrive on the drama."</div><div><br /></div><div>Just when I thought I was going to die of boredom, I heard these word come out of that man's mouth, and my entire perspective of studying changed. I always thought of myself as a procrastinator, and felt like my habits of waiting needed to be changed. However, this "pressure cooker" concept shed positive light on waiting til the last minute. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">*(Note, the pressure cooker study system is not for everyone. It requires long nights and little sleep. Or, if you've gone your life thinking you were a procrastinator and in reality you aren't, now you know where you fit.)</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>And now that I'm actually caught in the thick of college work, it's evident now more than ever. </div><div><br /></div><div>See, I've been at home, in the library, and all around Norman today trying to focus of a paper I wish to get done. The paper isn't due until Thursday, but getting it done would free up a lot of needed study time for the two tests I have this week. </div><div><br /></div><div>But can I write it? Of course not. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've tried everything. Outlines, Red Bull (which usually works miracles), taking breaks, coming to the library (which is always foolproof), but nothing is working! I have revised my thesis statement several times, and just can't get it right. It's just not working... </div><div><br /></div><div>I know why.. That little voice is reminding me that i have plenty of time to get this thing done... Later..... Wednesday night at midnight...... that would be a GREAT time to start.... </div><div><br /></div><div>Stupid pressure cooker. Whatever... Lit Paper, we'll meet again Wednesday. </div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-91994453051342357782010-10-05T12:32:00.001-07:002010-10-05T14:46:06.669-07:00The best part of wakin' up...<div style="text-align: left;">So I have this best friend. She is absolutely awesome, and I'll probably write more about her later.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Anyway, we have been going back and forth on Facebook, sending each other YouTube videos, songs, or just little bits of funny information. Each time I get something from her or her from me, we both hypothetically add it to our "morning routine."</div><div><br /></div><div>So bestie, if you're reading this, I have a confession. I don't actually watch these in sequence OR in the morning.... I don't know if you have been doing this either, but I'm just letting you know. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, I really feel like I should start. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>They are all great, happy, feel good, motivating things that always manage to brighten my day, so why in the world wouldn't I start my day with happy things?! It just doesn't make sense! </div><div>I mean, look at this coffee!!! If you don't smile at this, you have a problem! </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPFdNCEO1tBtiZMYiDb97UTWhCYfpYuLfrPsW2a0NISccLcUzgaRj0w5717DxZ1QDL0mCPmhFYqtpNyOXodYmcihDTfT4KNmiiT8FQlIG63r2n6o8BpnUee7IlQfb5N2WEILTooh-6myw/s400/coffeesmile.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524680752922417346" /></div><div>Okay getting back on track... I'm making a goal out of this morning routine... To actually do it...</div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">But wait, dear readers! Yet, again, I would LOVE your help! I am open to suggestions! </span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>If you have any videos, photos (taken by you or otherwise), songs, or any other things that really brighten your day, make you smile, or make you thankful for today, PLEASE send them along! I would love to have them! </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">But for now, I will leave you with my current playlist... <b>Just click </b></span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qR3rK0kZFkg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>here</b></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>, </b></span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fORAPkfVV_A"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>here</b></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>, and </b></span><a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/180339/the-office-the-office-cold-open"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>here</b></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>. </b></span></div><div><br /></div><div>:)</div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-32033446197767134672010-09-30T22:38:00.000-07:002010-09-30T23:45:50.541-07:00This is gonna kill me..<div style="text-align: center;">The word: Curiosity.</div><div><br /></div><div>This one is for my PW teacher.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>When we walk into my intro to PW class every other morning, there are always two things we can guarantee we'll here before those two hours are over. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>1. "How can you make your writing make you a dollar?"</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>2. "Why are you people not asking questions?! You've got to be CURIOUS."</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Well, thanks a lot, Mel. I am now. And it's driving me bonkers. </div><div><br /></div><div>See, there is a particular situation that is placed conveniently in front of me every day that, quite frankly, is none of my business. However, my new found curious nature is fogging up the common sense section of my brain. I want so many answers, but I might just have to settle with just asking myself...</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUw-GhjRMlaAgXSw5NUcWm-Gx_iAqwyTI1OPIpDmCB7f1p1xQH_w7UnJqo9b5cb1sh3V5sWdBCidZVtYJbJSqIDgU80bS2wzCQP8cQrrG597YSnY96_NK2U5fzsGfYUanXbYJvsllhY_U/s400/2730257498_68837d293f.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522962052409878706" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, I definitely think that is best.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>Well now on to my main point!</b></span></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm toying around with a new direction I could take with this blog. I find that writing about myself can become rather mundane, and I only imagine that reading about me all the time could be just the same. There's just one problem..</div><div><br /></div><div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAmwa0udYv4xjqh4Qkt6skLjXeGUu2DApf6sQFcJOUGUL39vJtPfhQJniO9OW_HzWxh6_lmteDXBCuThtWBgGDgu8M0FUQtI9FeZAmTypy7j3hOAkGVlNKTab1QLdrHu8TJf1CzhRBEUI/s400/Photo+74.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522956357445773298" /></div><div><br /></div></div><div>For the project I hope to embark on, I will need help from people. You people. People not afraid to take a chance. If that is you, please find me... Talk to me... Work with me.... We'll have a good thing going. </div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6757914389138890282.post-9651808937317802032010-09-26T12:18:00.000-07:002010-09-26T18:38:06.128-07:00Go fly a kite.<div style="text-align: left;"><b>An insult? Not to the people of Enid.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Over the past couple of years, a few wonderfully motivated people have challenged the rest of E-town's residents to participate in Kites Over Enid, a probably annual event with a few purposes.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>1. Raise money for an <a href="http://www.enidspca.org/">awesome cause</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. Get families to spend time outside together.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Outdo school children from the Gaza Strip.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeqiXttxlp2RS7uLcqitN18m7Dj_CemleRwA2wBjZI6PG3w_gHPDTx1rbynbmzvJpZWXY05qCMd_4dNNGKbYdibwsbUBuYUv7wz7D5IoLB5VmEOMvmwxcom2RuEPuAj3u4SpSE6jWtn8/s400/IMG_3931.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521314255702615970" /></div><div>Yes, you heard me. Kites Over Enid has been attempting to break the world record for the number of kites flown in an area at the same time. So who, you ask, are the current record holders? School children from the Gaza Strip set the most recent record of some 3,700 kites in the air simultaneously. Seriously. Can't make that up.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Now, breaking a world record where wind is a major component of success is definitely no easy feat when you live "where the wind comes sweepin' down the plains."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3Dnpf6Y6CsXw2jeBMU_7MP-NeEVIuPlHtoNzo_kfWk8h5eRfh98QqxTgWsW95aCeTOqpNKb0UNRIkLEDPTMApLEHOoOrPkN5Ele2SnWaMxgXytcn9O5c4p5b14M8v_YW1HA4psFzn80/s400/IMG_3936.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521314239057434354" /></div><div>Luckily, mother nature smiled down on us kite flyers, and gave us perfect weather. It was so satisfying to see people from Enid actually coming together for a common cause, even if it is to stomp out a Gaza Strip record. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was also an amazingly fun time to spend with my mom.. We had some great laughs, and I learned that she is wayyyy better at kite flying than I am... Oh well..</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I don't say this often, so pay attention. Enid, I'm proud of you. In total, we flew 2,439 kites at the same time yesterday. Not the world record, but definitely nothing to spit at.</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwUylleMlvONCZk76d5zer5YluZwAthV7aeDpI5olNrHfzWHvuDn5TDGAMLcNlBdeloO1vZXbkl8-uO67ltCWSvaq8XEVNAJrt7JXLD26fSoJOOWVqPOZZUkZRpUKk8Hm5wyRVaZlDn8/s400/IMG_3924.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521314234000907362" /></div><div>Hey, give us another couple of years and some more publicity, and those kids in the Gaza Strip will be shakin' in their boots, as we Okies say. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, next year, if you have an interest in anything... Animals, BBQ, kites, quality time, live music, taking pictures, or breathing... Go fly a kite. It's a good time. </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Frances Mooneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05455021137125094131noreply@blogger.com1