A Very Lucky Girl

The countdown to Scotland is dangerously, single-digitly, low. This adventure comes with stacks of paperwork. I've waded through credit agreement forms, applications, and student visa visitor documents. Questions about race, education, and money continually swim in my head, but the hardest question I've answered on those forms is: where is your permanent residence? From a young age my address was ingrained into my brain, part of the trifecta of particulars every elementary school-aged child memorizes. full name: Taylor Olivia Arceneaux phone number: 790-4006 address: 1251 Buckingham Circle, Franklin, TN, 37064 Of course, I would never give this information to a stranger offering candy, but I had it ready in my arsenal if a responsible adult ever needed to know. But now I am the responsible adult and I haven't known the answer to the third question for a long time. Is it where I'm living currently? If so, that's on the road. I leave Baton Rouge, my relativel

Packing for an entire semester in Scotland is one of the hardest voyages I've ever packed for. I pride myself on being a relatively light packer...but I needed chastising for what I was trying to fit into the limitations of my one checked luggage and one carry on.  My original plan included seven pairs of shoes. One of those would have been on my feet on the plane...but that left six pairs of shoes within the confines of my baggage. I'm crazy.  I skimmed it down to five. One pair of brown riding boots (these will be on my feet), my Sperrys, black flats, black combat boots, and my Nikes tucked into my backpack. Oh, and a partridge in a pear tree.  From there I focused on what clothing essentials I NEEDED. My friend Tracy, who has done this all before, reminded me to pack what I find myself wearing most often in America. I'm not going to suddenly become a daring fashionista solely because my natural habitat has changed.  I don't need to bring every pair of underwear I

Christmas used to be my very favorite time of the year. I would start playing Christmas music in October (maybe late September), and begin my Christmas shopping as early as August. But this year is different. Christmas 2012 was the last time for "Cajun Night Before Christmas." The last time Oakes and I would watch movies together on Christmas eve and actually want to go to bed kind of early. The last time we would be antagonized about waiting to open presents and stockings. The last time for Chinese food after the candlelight Christmas eve service. The last time for holiday baking. If I had known Christmas 2012 was the last time I'd feel whole, I would have never wanted a new year.  And now Christmas just makes me sad and I kind of can't wait for it to be over. Part of what makes it so horrible is that me and my future holidays and celebrations were at the mercy of other people's decisions. I didn't choose this brokenness, I was told to think fast while it

On January 5, Juan Pablo will return to screens across America with six pack abs and an accent. I feel bad for all other ladies who have been on the Bachelor in previous seasons. They got the short end of the stick.  Also, on January 26, my close personal friends, Sean and Catherine will wed on live television. I guess my invitation was lost in the mail or I didn't make enough of an impression when we mingled in Las Vegas.  Sadly, but really not that sadly, I will be studying in Scotland during these monumentous occasions, so I am allowing you all adequate time to mourn the loss of the weekly recap. Who has time to watch Hulu when there's an unfamiliar country to explore? Not A Very Lucky Girl. I read Reality Steve's take on the season last week and have some idea of what you all should expect. I'll miss the snarky journey (just think, you'll hear that word seven billion more times from Juan Pab and his ladies. Get your shotglasses ready)!

Usually, as the semester draws to a close, I am giddy in anticipation of completing my courses.  This is mostly true for my Fall 2013 schedule, but there is one class in particular I am going to miss. It's become my favorite class, perhaps that I've ever taken.  Women and Film, taught at the University of Oklahoma by Professor Joanna Rapf, was the first film class for me. I didn't know what to expect. At first I was put off by the 90 minute long Tuesday/Thursday class times with an extra 2 hours on Tuesday nights for mandatory film viewing.  But under the direction of Joanna, I fell in love with the times I had in that third floor Gittinger classroom.  We watched movies dealing with the male gaze, female bonding, violence, lesbianism, and silence, to name just a few of our discussion topics. The patriarchy was the enemy and Joanna voiced her strong opinions, just as everyone else in the class did. Respectfully, of course. She sent her final thoughts on the course out in

Planning is both my escape and the bane of my existence. I always want to know what exactly is happening when and my philosophy on timing is: if you aren't early, then you are DEFINITELY late. With that being said, I've already started mapping out my attack on how to conquer Europe during my three week spring break in Scotland. Because if I don't do it now, then I'll be behind! And let's be perfectly honest, researching train times and castle tours is far more stimulating than writing the last final paper hanging over my head. My spring break begins on March 30th and runs at least until April 20th (depending on when my exams start) and I've made a rough sketch of where I will be traveling during those 21 days. I purchased my Eurail pass ($700 well spent I hope!) so this adventure is happening, whether I'm ready or not. I plan to travel from Dundee to Edinburgh to get to the airport after my classes. I may stay a day or so there just exploring castles and

In a dentist's office right down May Avenue...the power went out. In the middle of my routine cleaning.  I had handily scheduled my dentist appointment right after my endocrinologist appointment--so adult of me!--in an effort to get all business-y things done before my imminent Scotland departure (39 days away).  I was on an endocrine high, my ACTH levels were at 99 (the most normal they've ever been since I've been diagnosed), my doctor had willingly written a note allowing me to travel with drugs, and my TSH levels were non-hypothyroid, still!  So I drove to the dentist with elevated hopes, maybe this next appointment wouldn't be so bad, maybe  she wouldn't poke my gums to the point of bleeding, maybe this time she'd believe my lies, "yes, I floss twice a day!" Okay, once. Okay, never.  And it was going better than most of my dentist appointments go! I love my hygienist, she's so sweet and always asks me questions when her hands AREN'T in

I encountered at least two angels during my trip to Los Angeles over the weekend. I was so excited to embark on this adventure as I had never been further west in America than Las Vegas. Before Saturday night, I had never dipped a toe in the Pacific Ocean. I made so many mental plans for this getaway. My friend (and first angel), Olivia, attends the University of Southern California and we talked of hiking to the Hollywood sign, going to Venice Beach, and venturing to the Hollywood Walk of Fame, among other touristy activities. Unfortunately, Addison's Disease had other, less fun plans, for my first 24 hours in Los Angeles.  I started feeling uncomfortable during my original flight to Phoenix on Friday morning. I typically do not have any sort of motion sickness on airplanes so I was surprised when a few waves of nausea overcame me on the plane ride. I attributed them to an inadequate breakfast and fueled up on my layover with a chicken Caesar salad, hoping to combat my ill fee

  As Thanksgiving rapidly approaches, I'd like to extend some public gratification for several wonderful people I've had the privilege to interact with over the past few months. They've embraced my issues and me and offered help, no matter how far away. First, so many, many thanks for the family I have in Louisiana. For cousins I can call whenever, for grandparents who are so graciously welcoming me for the holidays. For an aunt who has offered her home for the summer. Thank you, Taylor C., for listening to a life story that sounds much like your own and for buying cookies at Pickleman's to share just because. Thank you, Megan, for offering your thoughts, even when I don't agree with them, and for dropping your Halloween drink to hug me when I needed it. I'm thankful for the Cregor family and the way they have enveloped me even from afar during this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year. I'm grateful for Tyler and his willingness to help, even when

My time at Sandy Beaches is almost up and it has certainly been an adventure!  Take yesterday for instance.  A customer, I'll call her K, came into the store in tears. I had met her only once before, but I immediately leapt up from my seat, and came around the counter to hug her.  I'm no stranger to tears. And hugs usually don't hurt.  She confided in me that she had found out sad news about many of her friends recently. Her husband is also seriously ill and she feels like everyone around her is dying. She is also seriously worried about her son.  I listened as best I could as other customers came in and out of the store to tan. I had nothing profound to say. I cannot understand her struggle, but I can imagine.  I finally set her up in her tanning bed and on her way out she stopped again to talk to me.  She told me I was a blessing to her. She told me she sees caring and love in my eyes, to the point where my eyelids are white (what?). She told me I caught her when s

You know what I've learned in 2013? My "family" sucks. The people who are supposed to always be there for you and make unselfish decisions for the group have quit. Self-centeredness has prevailed. They've made it clear they don't need me. Or want me.  S/O to all parents out there: if you're going to reject your kids later in life don't even have them. Because you will ruin their lives.  It may be the "best" time of their lives, but it is my WORST. And it is never-ending.  Just when I am trying to find stability in Houston, trusting the one parent who hadn't betrayed me, I discover I can't trust him not to hurt me either.  6 weeks trumps 21 years? Oh ok. Noted.  There is no one left and no where to go. Congratulations all, your collective decisions have made me wish I had never been born. 

"Well I smoke and I fish But not near enough to satisfy an itch Aw but girl understand  I need something to do with my hands I don't work on a car And I'm as bad at pool As I am at throwing darts And golf, not a fan I need something to do with my hands So maybe I can stick 'em in your pockets Run 'em through your hair And we can get to rockin' There you are and baby here I am And I need something to do with my hands" Thomas Rhett, artist of the country hit, "Something To Do With My Hands," is at a loss. And, though he seems to think I do, this girl does NOT understand. As catchy as the tune may be, I do not accept responsibility for providing an activity for Mr. Rhett's appendages. He may not "stick 'em" in my pockets or "run 'em" through my hair.  Instead, he may do any of the following: Make me a sandwich Write a 5,000 word essay about the rape culture we live in and the harm a song like

I have not felt terribly inspired to write lately. I am starting to think I am in over my head with school and work and factoring in time for people. I did not get a single nap last week. This was devastating considering naps are one of the Great Loves of my life. They are my Tad Hamilton.  I'll just leave this here... But on Sunday afternoon, I snagged a two hour nap AND was inspired by the greatest onscreen kiss of all time. This kiss was pure poetry and gave me, the viewer, butterflies. I immediately rewound the shot to experience it again.  Tyler and I are halfway through the second season of New Girl. Because we are so far behind, I knew this moment would eventually occur based on present media, but the advanced knowledge was part of the build up to make this kiss so MAGIC. There was a season and a half of tension between these two and to finally watch it manifest itself in Nick's aggressive first move...GAH. Inspiring. Can I just do everything in my life with th

I realized lately how comfortable Tyler and I are in our relationship. It's honestly amusing. There are several conversations and phrases we say now that would have been taboo on our first date about a year and a half ago. I was feeling sick the other week and demonstrated for him how much phlegm was in my throat by making a truly heinous noise. Instead of dumping me in disgust, he laughed.  We never back away from the double chin snapchat and had a contest at lunch the other day to see who could create the most chins. He won and was proud of his victory.  We confidently yell through the bathroom door mid-pee. The first time he tried to talk to me through the bathroom door I was hesitant: "Wait, you're really doing this? Are we there?" Apparently we were and have been ever since. He found a quarter in his bed one night and asked, "where did this come from?" I promptly responded, "I poop quarters." Mistake. Whenever he needs change now, he c

"From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint, lead me to the rock that is higher than I." Psalm 61:2.  We started a new thing in our Junior Girls CRU bibly study on Monday nights. We memorize someone's favorite verse every week. Last week was Erin's. Another translation changes it to "as my heart is overwhelmed," a truly accurate phrase for what I've felt lately. I am an unapologetic Christian cynic. I know the right answers, I've been taught them since I could talk.  But the right answers seem so trite to me when I hurt. They make me mad. It's not that easy. "All things work out how God wants them to." Cool. Good for Him. But they aren't working out how I want them.  "Well, you're supposed to want God's will." But isn't He also supposed to do what is best for me? How is constant pain good for me? "Trials make you better." I've had my fair share, thanks.  The rig

Htown is the best town. Or at least one of the best. As much as I dislike Texas for their disgusting burnt orange team-BOOMER SOONER-I am falling in love with a humid city. The six hour drive is well worth it when I see the skyline appear out of nowhere in my windshield.  My fall break with my father was far too short, but we crammed all kinds of fun into two short days. He made gumbo a few days ago and I thrived on the leftovers as soon as I arrived. The next morning we set up my membership with him at the gym, settled some bank accounts, and watched "Hope Springs" with Meryl Streep after another meal of gumbo. I give it about 3 stars. Wonderful message about pushing through marriage even when it sucks, but about 8 sex scenes too many. It's Murphey's law: if you are watching a movie with a parent, it will depict uncomfortable, cringe-worthy scenes.  On Friday night we dined at Black Walnut and headed to the House of Blues for the Bosom Ball, a breast cancer awarene

To be honest, I didn't *technically* receive this blogging award since my account is a blogspot and not a wordpress. Gah, blog politics. However, Miranda assured me she tried in vain to nominate averyluckygirl-taylor, so I'm going to bask in the thought and pretend it is legitimate. This is the part in an award ceremony where they call my name and I accept the nomination with quirky gestures and a quote, becoming instantly gifable and timeless. However, since I am sadly not Jennifer Lawrence, I will merely nod, smile demurely, and write what the nomination requires! Recipients of the Liebster Award must: LIST 11 RANDOM FACTS ABOUT YOU. ANSWER THE QUESTIONS THAT WERE ASKED OF YOU (BY THE BLOGGER THAT NOMINATED YOU). NOMINATE 11 OTHER BLOGS FOR THE LIEBSTER BLOG AWARD AND LINK TO THEIR BLOGS. NOTIFY THE BLOGGERS OF THEIR AWARD. ASK THE AWARD WINNERS 11 QUESTIONS TO ANSWER ONCE THEY ACCEPT THE AWARD I've essentially answered the 11 random facts about me  here ,