A Very Lucky Girl

How else would a southern belle start strenuous week 3 of dating multiple men but with breakfast in bed served by her mother? Maybe Shari should take notes? Chris the chameleon received date number one. I dubbed him this because of his eyes. They are very beady and lizard-like. We met the first cliche metaphor as they climbed a building to get to their rooftop dinner; obviously exactly what falling in love is like. Chris expresses his excitement for the adventure and mentions that he hopes to "maybe share a moment or a kiss." That's realistic because when I'm scaling tall buildings all I really want to do is throw a makeout sesh or two into the mix. A crowd gathers beneath the two spidermen, anxious to watch the first live death of a bachelorette. Emily notes that she is "comfortable with Chris" (probably because she remembers his name, seeing as it's so similar to her BFF's: Chris Harrison). Chris lost some points from me when he exclaimed that he

Americans will take any holiday and turn it into a drinking fest. Even ones that aren't ours. Exhibit A: Cinco de Mayo. And during the summer Memorial Day, Flag Day, The Fourth of July, Canada Day, etc become another day on the calendar to mark with a beer, a tan, and some Zac Brown Band while the stars and stripes fly subtly in the background.  I had to work from 4 to close at Jamba to celebrate the day (somehow people don't think "hell yeah Amurrikahh, let's grab a Strawberries Wild!") and was frustrated about it. But then I thought about what I was really sacrificing. Maybe some pool time, nap time, or blogging time. But that is a ludicrous comparison when contrasted to what the men and women honored on this day sacrificed. I could surely blend smoothies for 5 hours without complaint.  I entertained the idea of being in the Air Force ROTC program at Tulane or TCU during my senior year of high school. I decided on Air Force because planes are the coolest. Fl

Have I mentioned before that my math skills are sadly lacking? I am trying to take College Algebra at Oklahoma City Community College this summer. Key word being "trying." You see, when I took the math placement test at OU I only received a high enough score for remedial math. Which means that I would have to pay to take two insignificant classes that I would not receive credit for before I could attend the actual class that would count towards my degree. Incredibly frustrated, I assumed OCCC wouldn't subject me to a placement test. But since my SAT scores are so out of date (Never thought I would say that...I feel extra old), I was ushered into a torture chamber, also known as a testing room, and handed one of my least favorite technological devices: the calculator. I struggled through the questions and ended up with the same results I had at OU.  Unlike at OU, I have the opportunity to take the test again on Tuesday. So I've been trying to study. But since our Int

Books have beginnings and endings. So does summer. And school. And thankfully, so do Jamba Juice shifts (I will officially be relinquishing the title of smoothie master "big chief yoda" on May 31st. It's time to close the door on that part of my life. And lock it. And lose the key). I've worked there for over a year now and I had the time of my life! But lately, I just have too much on my plate. And since I have two other jobs (both with higher hourly rates..), Jamba had to approach the chopping block first. I've changed drastically from the person I was when I first started blending. Fresh out of ICU, walking to Jamba from my house (a distance of less than half a mile) typically winded me. Now, I sometimes don't even bother asking for a ride, preferring instead to catch a few more sun rays. Unless it's over 90 degrees. Then me and the Matrix are best friends (even though I'm just using her for her air conditioning. Shhh). Most of my coworkers woul

I felt like a mom on my first full day of summer a few weeks ago. It further urged my obstinacy against ever having kids. I was drop dead exhausted by the end of the day. 6:15 -Wake up. Scream obscenities at my alarm in my head. Go to the gym and work off the anger at the alarm. 7:15 -Take the fastest shower known to man. Skip shaving, what's one more day with fuzzy legs? 7:35 -Drop Shari off at work. 7:35-8:15 -Drive to Chick Fil A. Pick up a chicken biscuit for Megan to surprise her at work. Get lost. Depend on Google Maps. Get lost again. 8:20 -Drop off said chicken biscuit. 8:40 -Scour all of Walmart for everything on the list. Exchange Pringles for carrots (so devastating). Self-checkout (avoid human contact at all costs). 9:15 -Unload groceries. Talk to the dog because no one else is home. She wanders out of the room when I'm mid-sentence. I don't notice. 9:20 -Desperately try to remember how to make an omelet. Crack an egg. Shiver at the slimyness (so

Monday night at 8 pm I was frantically driving through the streets of Norman, searching for the designated Bachelorette viewing area where Savannah anxiously awaited my arrival. I had been hanging out with Tyler (I tried to surprise him, but that was an epic fail. He was nice enough to pretend that I succeeded) and understandably lost track of time. Before I knew it, Emily was about to go on her first date of the season and I was about to miss it! I slid into my spot on the couch mid-date, to Savannah's intense disappointment. Ryan received the first date card. Susan admitted that he reminds her of a Labrador, as in the dog. Something about his boring-ness? Personally, I think the unexcitement of his date with Emily infiltrated his personality. Not his fault! They baked cookies and went to Rickii's soccer practice (Ricki being her daughter; all I can think about when I see her name is the story "Rikki-tiki-tavi"). After she showed off her soccer mom skills they wen

Paul and Shari need their own show. With special guest appearance by yours truly, because I definitely add a little bit of technicolor to their exchanges. We never see Oakes so he’s not really necessary to production. Shari has said to me before that she lives in constant dire fear of what I will tweet, Facebook, or blog about next. She will say something funny or blonde and I will just happen to be typing on my phone, and the next instant she’ll shriek and exclaim, “DON’T tweet that!” Sorry Mom, it comes with the territory. For instance: I went to eat with them at Slim Chickens this past weekend. I think it was karmic retribution for making Megan be a third wheel a few weekends ago because I was president of third wheeldom on Friday night. Dinner conversation somehow meandered to my age. Dad: I wish you were 21. Taylor: Me and you both. But why do you wish this? Dad: you could come to the bar with me tomorrow night and watch this show blahblahblahblahmojomen?bl

I reside in the home of the Thunder. And I wouldn’t say that I wasn’t a fan. But I certainly wasn’t fanatical. I was happy when they won, but I could shrug off a loss like an ugly cardigan. That has changed. I went to the playoff game last Wednesday night against the Lakers. It changed my whole perspective. It gave new meaning to the random visits that Jamba gets from James Harden from time to time. Not joking. We’ve chatted. Okay, I’ll stop name dropping now. At the beginning of the game, before the refs went blind (more on that later), this video played. (before anything else I need to say that I spent significant time searching for this video. And I wanted it in actual video form, not video of video. But this is all I could find. And Miss Brittney doesn't know how to type because according to her, this city is actually our cury apparently....moving on.) I’ve mentioned before that Oklahoma isn’t my favorite place. But I’ve never felt such pride in this state

If I had to pick a favorite out of all the educational institutions I've attended, New Hope Academy in Franklin, Tennessee would take the number one spot. For two reasons: 1) I left after third grade, the drama in elementary school is fairly minimal; 2) the people. Kindergarden was my first year there. I narrowly escaped being homeschooled by Shari but Miss LaVerne (I'm 95% positive of her name) called in August, announcing that a spot had opened up. I think Shari and I were both relieved. I couldn't have asked for a better kindergarden teacher, they don't come much better than Tracy Utley. She homeschools her own boys now and I'm jealous that they get her teaching for more than one year; I would learn from her any and every day! I weirdly remember a very specific leopard print belt that she would wear sometimes, guess I was a wanna-be fashionista. Still am--a wannabe that is. Samantha Wilson became my very best friend and I started crushing hard on Nick Ingham.

This video says more than I ever could about the caliber of medical professionals, not to mention patients, that our world has. My mom is a nurse and she works in oncology. I can't imagine seeing struggling patients everyday, especially with the knowledge that those precious lives probably wouldn't make it. It takes guts to do that. She's so strong.  I never wanted to follow in her footsteps, I'm not cut out for that. But I did manage to snag several friends who can't wait to don those scrubs and do battle for health. Carra, Moriah, Emily, Rebecca, Marianne, and several more are future heroes. I can't wait to see what they accomplish. Happy late Nurses Week from A Very Lucky Girl. Here's to your health!

Any guesses as to where I was Monday night at 8:30 when Emily made her dating debut? Not in front of the TV. I got the chance to hang out with Tyler so obviously I took it! Instead I hung out with 2,000 other Thunder fans in Thunder alley, urging on the storm that devastated those Lakers. Sucks to suck. But of course I made sure that Bachelorette was set to record before I left the house. Unfortunately, that plan was not foolproof for I received this heart-attack inducing text as soon as we arrived at Thunder alley. All hell almost broke loose. Thankfully, I was able to convince Paul to record it for me, but sadly there was a glitch and neither television housed my show when I settled down to watch it on Tuesday night. Thank God for Hulu! #problemsolver Savannah and Susan treated me to some spoiler texts. What sweethearts. But I truly hoped that half were false, because as much as I dislike Emily, no one deserves the kinds of guys they were insisting starred in the show. First

So I've been trying this new thing where I make a genuine effort to be truly nice to people, just for the sake of kindness. Not because of what they can do for me.  It's out of character. I'm intensely selfish by nature. So I'm issuing myself a challenge this summer. I challenged myself last summer, but it was an entirely different kind of challenge. I like this one better. I want to demonstrate a Random Act of Kindness to someone every day (this is where you go "ohhh now I understand her title!") during these next few sweltering months. Friends, strangers, annoying customers at Jamba Juice, kindness knows no discrimination. I've been struck lately that you never really know what's happening in someone else's life. And for that reason, being hateful has the power to be doubly damaging.  I don't even want to single damage. A single kind word or action flips my days and I'd love to make other people feel the same. It takes 21 days to form

"Writers don't make any money at all. We make about a dollar. It is terrible. But then again we don't work either. We sit around in our underwear until noon then go downstairs and make coffee, fry some eggs, read the paper, read part of a book, smell the book, wonder if perhaps we ourselves should work on our book, smell the book again, throw the book across the room because we are quite jealous that any other person wrote a book, feel terribly guilty about throwing the schmuck's book across the room because we secretly wonder if God in heaven noticed our evil jealousy, or worse, our laziness. We then lie across the couch face down and mumble to God to forgive us because we are secretly afraid He is going to dry up all our words because we envied another man's stupid words. And for this, as I said before, we are paid a dollar. We are worth so much more."--Blue Like Jazz (Donald Miller) This is my life. What I love about writing is the freedom of expression.

Can hardly contain the excitement Four score and 18 years ago (minus the four score), Shari brought forth a ginger, wrapped him in my hand-me-down blanket, and laid him in my old crib. Little baby brother Oakes had arrived and was stealing my spotlight. 18 years later and he's still cooler than me.  typical From the moment he was born he rained on my parade. Literally. I had the misfortune to stand at the end of the changing table during diaper switchout one time. I never made that mistake again. I've heard my exact words were, "he squirts!" Thank you little baby Taylor for being awkward from day one.  There is also several minutes of video footage of me crowding his baby seat, enthralled at his baby noises. "He squeaks!" I had that subject-verb sentence structure down.  I die. Too cute. the most precious fans they've ever had And I continue to be enthralled as I've watched him grow. From squeaky baby, toothless six-year

I've attended LifeChurch the past two Sundays (with a really cool guy, might I add--I'm a definite fan) and loved every minute of it. I've had an up and down relationship with the institution of church throughout my life, especially recently. It was never an option when I was growing up (still isn't when I'm at home) and for that reason my natural obstinacy would kick in. If you're going to make me do something I automatically lose all motivation...not the best character trait I have. A lot of churchgoers I have interacted with have turned out to be some of the most judgemental people (myself included). And that is why I have problems with a message like the one I heard this most recent Sunday. The basic idea was that we are tortured beings. We are tortured by our past mistakes and by the lies that perpetuate their existence that we believe. To be free from the burden of a tortured soul we confess to God (1 John 1:9) and (this is where I waver in my agreement)

Have you ever noticed that nothing seems impossible after a certain time? When the clock strikes 11 or 12, when the sun is long past down, dreams seem even more attainable than usual.  Maybe that's why most dumb actions happen under the cover of night. Those dim stars inflict a false sense of invincibility and all risk evaporates. When I'm laying in bed at night trying to turn my mind off, chasing those elusive sheep, I become suddenly daring. I promise myself that I'll speak my mind to the rude girl down the hall or tackle that overpowering assignment or even bungee jump sometime (oh that's just me? Cool). What's the worst that could happen? Because I'm safely tucked under the covers with extra pillows barring against all extraneous danger, nothing. But when the sun comes up all of my bravado disappears.  One day I'll grow a pair and be the same person I am at night in the cocoon of my bed (that sounded way more scandalous than originally intended) tha

Real quick, I have SUCH a bone to pick with some members of the male population. One of my dearest friends in the world got screwed over recently. Stereotypical story. Girl meets boy. Boy gets girl's number. Boy and girl spend the majority of the next few weekends together. Girl starts falling for him because, who wouldn't? When is he attentive, he is perfect. When he kisses her, she sees them together, at least for a while. But then, boy fools around on the side. Girl confronts him, just wanting answers, only wanting the games to stop. And boy doesn't have a response of any kind. Real classy. Real cute. What a gentleman.  And now girl is understandably hurt. But her anger is so misplaced. She called me, ranting at herself, wishing she'd have been smarter with her time and investment. I told her over and over again, "this is NOT your fault", but she only countered with "I should have known better, I mean, they all do that." No. Just because t

On Saturday I turned the last page of "Sun Stand Still", written by Steven Furtick, pastor of Elevation Church in North Carolina (one of my favorite places in the world). The basic premise is a call to demand the impossible from a God that is capable of anything. Which is so much easier said than done. My impossible right now? I'm desperately trying to earn a B in Geology. Is it selfish to ask for divine intervention? Because it looks like I can't do it on my own rock trivia alone.  Furtick challenges readers to have the audacity to ask God to reveal his glory, no matter what.  "he's ready to act if we will be bold enough to ask, not just for a good day or a better life, but for the impossible"-Steven Furtick I remember during my elementary school years, and even into middle school, praying in the carpool line with Shari and Oakes before school. Shari kept her eyes open of course, safety first!, but I would scrunch my eyes closed tight and clasp my

One of the best feelings is being conscious of sun rays on my back as I lay outside soaking up every golden beam. Until my body is wracked by a series of violent sneezes. I am allergic to spring.  I managed to hold out on medicine until 2 weeks ago. I sat outside Gittinger (mistake number one) waiting for my English class to start, alternatively sneezing and sniffling and dripping. I was miserable and desperately texted Shari, hoping for a miracle remedy. She recommended Claritin so on that Sunday morning I wrangled a ride from Megan in her Jeep Wrangler (not ashamed of my word choice) to Walgreens. Strolling the aisles, I bypassed Claritin immediately. That is some expensive $&!#. Instead, I shelled out about eleven dollars for twenty tiny white tablets and crossed my fingers that janky drugs would do the trick.  It worked really well! For about a day. Sunday night I had some incredibly strange dreams, but that's not really unusual. But Monday night, the second my head