A Very Lucky Girl

Christmas is my very favorite time of the year. I love shopping for gifts for the people in my life and decorating trees with those very same people. And this year was the mecca of tree-decorating for me. I participated in not one, not two, but FOUR tree trimmings. In my world it is perfectly acceptable to erect a tree immediately following Halloween. Fuel up on candy corn and march off to the attic to lug down the yearly accoutrement. So I texted Kirsten, one of my housemates, in the beginning of November, asking when we could decorate the tree for the little grey house. I was met with a flurry of texts about "IT'S NOT EVEN THANKSGIVING YET" and "I LOVE CHRISTMAS BUT WE MUST NOT TAINT THANKSGIVING." I personally believe that a Christmas tree only enhances the beauty of the thankful season, but I acquiesced to Kirsten's request to wait until after Thanksgiving.  Lucky for me, Leeanna also conforms to the same Christmas/Thanksgiving meshing together that

To be frank, this is weird. I haven't taken this long of a hiatus from A Very Lucky Girl since..well, ever. And I don't really remember how to write like A Very Lucky Girl. I turned in my final paper to dropbox less than an hour ago and here I am, still with phrases of Paradise Lost  swirling in my head. The last time I wrote here it was almost three or four full months ago. A lot can change in three months. They've been good changes and hard changes and just plain changes. Where do I start? How do I begin? Well, there's this boy...whom I love and adore and admire with all of my being. I did not plan for this and Tanner's presence was most unexpected, but strangely welcome. I smile to think of how far we have come in only three months and what a precious blessing he is in my life. It all started with our two friends, Megan and Marshall. I know I've mentioned Megan plenty of times in A Very Lucky Girl, but Marshall is her boyfriend, who also happens to be o

If I found out that there was a video camera in the Literacy room of the public library during my tutoring session today I would die. Today was my first official volunteering session with my student. She is a middle-aged woman from Mexico with very little knowledge of the English language. Which is where I come in. She wants to learn conversational English and I am doing my best to aid her learning process. I met her for the first time a week ago and it quickly became apparent that we would have trouble communicating. We sat and smiled at each other and laughed nervously. My Spanish vocabulary is extremely limited, I was proud of myself for saying good morning and her name correctly this morning. All week I stressed about being able to communicate a new language to someone when I couldn't even communicate with in their native language. I hated professors who taught me French when they knew little English.  I had a TEACHER book to page through and the whole time I looked through

A twelve year old said these ominous words to me yesterday. We were playing a game that involved guessing movie titles based on clues and I was sucking at it. Why? Because they were all "the latest" Disney movies. I think the last Disney movie I saw before Frozen was rewatching Mulan. I'm not up to date on Brave or How to Train Your Dragon or any of the other hot commodities in the elementary school world. And so this twelve year old mocked my knowledge with laughter and a declaration of "you don't know these because they didn't exist back in your day !" Excuse me?  Repetez s'il vous plait? When did I become old enough to have "back in your day"'s thrown at me!?  The same twelve year old went on to talk about how one of his teachers at school is 24 (aka 2 years my senior) and married. And then asked when I was getting married. I told him boys are icky, present company excluded. And then I spent my Saturday night in a hot tub with

I have been so much better in the past about keeping a regular blog schedule. At least two posts a week, like clockwork.  But here I am, on the brink of a new semester, and it has been almost a month since I last wrote for A Very Lucky Girl.  I haven't stopped writing. I still journal regularly. I have written and rewritten essays for the Fulbright application. I write emails daily. I still find myself when I arrange words into coherent sentences, art in strings of black and white. I started to blog about my Florida trip and began constructing a back to school post in my head.  But neither one seemed to grow me as a writer. I don't see the point of A Very Lucky Girl if I'm not challenging myself.  Someone asked me yesterday if I ever wrote stories. Fiction. I had to say no. I've never even touched the genre with my own words. I devour it when I read, it's my favorite type of book, aside from the travel memoir, which is rapidly escalating in my word-hungry eyes.

Words are weird. I can sit down and type out strings of words that mean something to me in record time. I trip over my fingers because those words have been inside me for so long and I'm anxious to spill my feelings in a tangible, manageable, form. But when I notice I haven't blogged in a while and it's time for a new post I am often stumped. Not because my blog posts are meaningless (although I did write about Tinder...so you be the judge), but because I'm nervous to share all of me with all of you (John Legend reference YES). Maybe you won't like what I have to say. Maybe you will criticize it. Maybe you'll think differently of me. Writing is risky. Writing is permanent. I need only to scroll back on my own blog to find posts with words I wouldn't write now. My words are permanent outward expressions of a constantly changing person. The words I'm currently most worried about are my two essays for the Fulbright ETA funding. I need to write a personal

I love my share of the little grey house on Brooks Street. Kirsten hasn't moved in yet, but I am eagerly awaiting her arrival, desperate for the sounds of an actual full house. The empty room by the front door is a constant reminder that we are not yet complete. But Kylie and I have had a blast as roommates for the past two months! Many many laughs have been had, so much so that I've begun thinking I need to start a monthly installment of a post titled "conversations in the little grey house on Brooks Street." We've discussed pizza and breadsticks at great length. We've lamented the shoddiness of our oven and the over-alert-ness of our smoke detector. Whichever it is, whenever the oven is opened to take out food, it must be aggressively fanned to prevent the screeching of the alarm. We have learned and often warn each other when removing meals. We've spent time arranging the word magnets on our fridge into inappropriate phrases, fitting for a 22 year ol

I danced around my home yesterday morning, torn between laughing hysterically and crying of pure joy.  Why? The direction of my life was so fantastically validated.  When I first started researching the Internet for information regarding teaching English as a second language, I signed up for emails from a job listings site. Just for kicks. I felt sure I would regret the enormous influx of spam, but instead I found something wonderful.  One morning, when I was taking that damn Ancient Art of War in June, I scrolled through the options of the day in my email and found a listing for online volunteers needed for a program in Rio de Janeiro.  Considering I have high hopes and crossed fingers to get into the Fulbright program, destination Brazil, I jumped at the chance to become more involved in this pursuit.  I sent the woman my resume and a short blurb about me and why I was interested.  She responded quickly and set up a Skype chat with me for Thursday, July 10. Because it is a vol

There's been an app floating around for probably a year or two now called Tinder. If you aren't familiar, I'll try to explain the basis for how it works. All users sign up through their Facebook account and the app reveals several profile pictures, the first name and age of the user, and their interests. Everything you've liked since you first signed up for Facebook in 2008 will appear on Tinder, including "Eating" and "Mama Mia." I do thoroughly enjoy both things, but I usually don't let strangers know right off the bat. On Tinder, I didn't have a choice. The language of my phone is currently in Portuguese, so I was even more at a disadvantage with how to navigate this new app. I eventually figured out how to set my preferences, and opted for people within 10 miles of me of the ages 21 to 25. If they couldn't buy me a drink they were automatically out of the running.  I added two more pictures to my profile, each user is allowed six,

I have done one of these blogging interaction awards before , but when my friend Amber, of Clearly Alive , nominated me last week I couldn't say no to a fellow Addison's fighter. And since today, July 1, is my day of birth it is socially acceptable to make it all about me for 24 hours.  Amber is a pretty cool person from what I've garnered from our conversations on social media. I first "met" her in an Addison's Disease Support Group on Facebook. She is currently working in Malaysia and her lifestyle there is encouraging when it comes to me wanting to pursue my own career abroad.  Her 11 questions for me: 1. How did you decide on the name for your blog? This one is easy. I explained it in my inaugural post more than two years ago #timeflieswhenyourblogisfun 2. What is your funniest "brain fog" story?  That time I couldn't even remember a "brain fog" story. AKA now.  3. Cats or Dogs?   DOGS. One in particular, my sister, my boo-

I have mixed feelings about my visit to the endocrinologist on Tuesday afternoon. It was a concoction of good news and meh news. I learned I have lost weight, which I attribute to the fact that I physically cannot eat Pringles without Nat, although the mile walk to and from campus every morning may have something to do with it as well. According to the bloodwork, my thyroid levels are still doing well and though hypothyroidism or hyperthyroidism could arise at any time, now is not that time and I am thankful. I confessed some not-so-wise health decisions I made in Europe, earning a glare and a "we learned our lesson speech" from my doctor (who I LOVE by the way-she is the most thorough lady on the planet).  I have been really forgetful about taking my 2.5 mg hydrocortisone at night, pretty much since January, but I haven't been feeling any unfortunate effects from it. However, it does leave me with only 17.5 mg of hydrocortisone in my system daily, which is rather on t

Have you ever had a day where your entire life just made sense and you knew you were right where you were supposed to be? That was Tuesday for me. I thought I would take the time to share a bit about my terribly thrilling 8 AM class every morning this summer. Thankfully, it's a short class and the final exam is on July 3rd, just in time for me to celebrate my freedom with the rest of America on July 4th. But until then I'm stuck in Dale Hall Room 107 every weekday from 8-10:10 AM. Those last ten minutes are especially excruciating. The class is overwhelmingly male, most likely due to the subject matter: The Ancient Art of War. Our textbook is actually called "With Arrow, Sword, and Spear." Riveting, right? The majority of the points are received for attendance and group participation and I find myself asking the other 4 members of the my group (again, all male) to explain the battles over and over to me. I'm hoping they continue to find it endearing/not ann

It's been a busy few weeks. America is far more stressful than Scotland. Most likely because I didn't have classes that counted or a job in Dundee (I actually still haven't found a job so totally willing to wash someone's cat or something). Moving to Norman has dominated most of my time. I gathered my life from what seemed like all corners of the United States, from OKC to Houston, and I still have belongings coming from Louisiana in July. I'm in love with our little grey cottage situated on Brooks Street, only a mile from campus and a mile from Campus Corner bars. Could the location BE anymore perfect?!  I couldn't wait to move to Norman, but now that I'm permanently here, it is filled with memories from the last two years of my life. Places that once made me smile make me cringe as I drive past. There are certain CDs I don't listen to anymore. There were so many plans that are no longer going to come to fruition.  I fully trust that this change

I've been back in the States since May 27th and I've been to the dentist's office four times in the span of those 17ish days. In my book, that's rather excessive. The result of these appointments was a wisdom teeth extraction surgery on Tuesday morning..."oh hey welcome back to America! We'll be ripping open your gums and viciously stealing your teeth."  So that happened and I'm currently in recovery mode, which has been a roller-coaster ride of extreme pain and Netflix bliss.  I was a little nervous about going under anesthesia. The only surgery I had before was the gall bladder removal when I was about 5 days from death and mostly unconscious. I was afraid of what it would be like to be fully aware of being put to sleep.  This was also a new stressful experience to combine with Addison's Disease. I asked my trusty FB forum for their input and called my endocrinologist. I spoke with the oral surgeon about any of her previous experience operatin

I’ve been back in the States for barely three days now. It’s honestly hard to say considering all of the days run together and I’m still operating on Scotland time. Which means I can barely keep my eyes open past 9 PM (3 AM) and wake up anywhere between 5-7 AM (11AM-1PM). Which wouldn’t be a terrible schedule if I had any reason to go to bed and wake up that early (I don’t). It’s strange to be here. I feel as if at least half of my heart is   missing. I go through pictures from my time in Scotland and feel as if I’m there. I close my eyes and hear "Timber" and taste the jagerbombs at the Union. I can feel the biting wind at Broughty Ferry and see the magnificent sunsets from Zee’s kitchen window over the River Tay. The night my blanket stops smelling like Dundee is the night I will cry myself to sleep. It’s hard to be excited to be in America. I love being able to see my friends (and dog) whenever the urge strikes, but I’ve now lost that same connection with Dundee. I ge

back when we were babies 5 months ago I can't even begin to comprehend how to say goodbye to home. Dundee was my savior. My sanity in the midst of confusion. And even though it's ending, I consider Dundee my beginning.  I thought a lot about what makes me feel so connected to Dundee. I feel for this place what I feel for Raleigh, North Carolina, my favorite place I lived growing up. What made these settings special? I think the common denominator is feet.  In Raleigh I was devoted to running cross-country and track. My feet pounded the pavement around the school, around my home, around my neighborhood, and even all of over the state when we traveled to compete in meets.  I've done minimal running in Dundee, but my feet have carried me all over this city and all over the country of Scotland! I've walked to the Union and back countless times, I've trudged to Tesco for groceries and donuts, and I've gone to great lengths to skip the Old Hawkhill hill. Ta