Only 19 meals remaining...

I'm writing this post in the vain hope that avoiding the potential guilt of lying to the internet will help me persevere.

Hello, my name is Elizabeth, and I'm a vegetarian. Or at least I am until dinner on Wednesday, August 4.

Blame THE LIST and pass the broccoli.

Imagine that.

Once upon a time, in a land far far away (or about 200 miles from Charleston) lived three little princesses.

Precious:
Natalie:
And Angelina:
One day, their castle was visited by a group of 10 loud, crazy teenagers and a couple of adults. They arrived to fix the leaky roof so the little princesses wouldn't have to wear their raincoats inside anymore when it rained.

The little princesses spent the first day peering out the windows at the strange group, occasionally waving but too bashful to venture outside. But as with most princesses, their hesitation didn't last long. In the blink of an eye, the band of idiots...er...teenagers were invited inside to play.

And what do ALL good princesses do when playing inside? Well they throw a tea party, of course:

And what would a respectable tea party be without a birthday cake, complete with candle? Make a wish!

And cut the cake!

I think it was at this point that Natalie, slightly puzzled, leaned over to me and whispered 'Ewizabuff? It's not really a cake. It's a cardboard box with a wash cloth over it.'

To which I gasped dramatically and said 'No it's not! It's a delicious gourmet cake! What flavor is it? I can't remember.'

I'll never forget the look on Natalie's face when she realized we were IMAGINING! A wide smile stretched across her face and she said 'It's strawberry with chocolate icing! And sprinkles!'

So the three princesses and the two idiots...er...visitors enjoyed their cake and practiced sipping tea (with pinkies up!) and before too long, the conversation turned to all the boys outside. Would they also like to join the tea party?

The thought of 6 sweaty, smelly teenage boys putting down their shingle shovels and nail guns long enough to attend a tea party was almost too much for this idiot to bear. How would I gently break it to the little girls that the boys would probably rather fling themselves from the roof than risk a picture of themselves at a tea party finding its way to Facebook? I tried to distract, to change the subject, to discourage...but the princesses were persistent.

So I relented and suggested that we make a mud pie for the boys since everybody knows that teenage boys LOVE mud pie. We topped it with a toad:

And a snake. And bugs. Ew.

And then I went outside to begin the arduous process of persuading, begging, bribing, pleading with the boys to go to the tea party inside. But you know what? Something remarkable happened.

I didn't have to.

The sweaty, smelly teenage boys who spent much of their week trying to impress one another with all manner of fart noises, raunchy jokes, and annoying movie impressions did something amazing. They headed inside enthusiastically.



And even drank with their pinkies up.


And they all lived happily ever after.

(You better believe that every single one of these pictures mysteriously made it to Facebook, too. Weird.)

eech tyme I reed it, I c anuther misteak...

I really shouldn't do this, but I just can't resist. I tried to resist, but I can't.

I just got the following correspondence from one of my teenage friends via Facebook, regarding an upcoming youth group trip:

Subject: TRIP!!!
now i dont no if i can go because of tinnes practice but i will have to talk to my coatch and let u no!!

Oh, dear. Perhaps you should enlist the help of a spelling and grammar coatch as well.

Pet Peeve Monday

The feel of a Styrofoam cup on my lips. (I just gaged when I typed that). I'd like to claim that I hate Styrofoam because I'm green, but really I hate it because I have this fear of accidentally biting the cup while drinking from it. (I just gaged again). Just imagine the sound and sensation a bite would cause. Ew. Shivers. Gross.

I will drink from a Styrofoam cup if there's a straw involved (a la Chic-fil-a), but even then I'm constantly worried that I'll accidentally jab the end of the straw through the bottom of the cup, causing subsequent and undesired liquid-to-clothing contact.

All in all, I think it's best that Styrofoam cups be outlawed, all for the sake of my general comfort and happiness.

(I wish you could all see the expression I've been making the entire time I've been writing this post. I hope my face doesn't get stuck like this.)

Peeve, relieved.

I originally posted THIS PEEVE about the Brita water pitcher in my office back in December. Since I officially recognized it as a Peeve, it has skyrocketed to #2 on my list of all-time Peeves, right behind the whole driving-with-the-turn-signal-on thing.

So, imagine my delight when, upon my return from "vacation" last week, I spy this little gem in the copy room:

Yipee! A water cooler! A real, live water cooler! Well, not actually live, because that would just be creepy, but still! This upgrade drastically reduces my weekly peeve potential, much to the delight of, well, everyone.

Anyone care to gather 'round and spread some gossip?

Ruffleupagus

I believe it was March 2009 when I first realized I might have a problem. I remember standing in the J Crew outlet with my dear friend Brianne (hi, Bri!), begging her to not let my buy anything with ruffles. "I'm nursing a serious ruffle addiction. Please help me stop."

Fast forward to summer 2010. Allow me illustrate for you what happens when an addiction goes unchecked:

These 8 items really only scratch the surface of my ruffle-mania. I'm going to be in serious trouble when the trend goes away. What can I say? I love a good ruffle.

I also used to love a good perm.

Oh, dear.

It's ok. I'm First Aid certified.

Unexpectedly, I spent much of my week last week making the following gesture with my hands and with my face bearing the following expression:

For those of you who don't know me very well, I will now attempt to interpret that body language:

"I am one breath away from using your scrawny little 11th grade neck as my own personal stress ball. I am not amused by your ability to constantly impersonate Rasputia, the lead character from the 2007 Eddie Murphy movie Norbit, nor do I appreciate your blatant disregard for even the simplest of rules. If this week does not end soon, I will be forced to make you wish you were never born. Go ahead and roll your eyes at me one more time. It will be my pleasure to remove your eyeballs from your face. And smirk at me while I attempt to lecture you (again) about why your behavior is unacceptable and embarrassing. My face shall bear the same smirk when I am forced to account for my actions in front various members of the law enforcement community. I need a beer."

Whoever said "patience is a virtue" has obviously never watched Norbit.

Pet Peeve Monday

Please excuse my absence last week. I was on summer vacation again, chaperoning 15 youth (and at times, 1 adult...JIM) at Salkehatchie. Tons of stories to tell about last week, including the best tea party ever and the time I almost crushed the skull of an 11th grader with my bare hands. On purpose. Good times, good times.

But I digress. Today's Pet Peeve:

When at a restaurant, nearing the end of the meal, I really hate it when the wait-person offers to take my plate by saying "are you all finished here or are you still working on that?" Working on that. Working on it? I'm sorry, but am I a caveman? No, I'm not still "working on that." I'm still eating it in a civilized manner, thanks for asking, but I'm not still "working on it."

I picture a wildebeest feasting on a freshly maimed gazelle in the heat of the Sahara dessert when someone suggests that I "work" on my food.

Ew.

6th grade

Hope this picture makes you smile as much as it makes me cringe.