Tuesday, May 8, 2012

So it's been a while.  I realize this.  Now that that's been said, let's get to the real deal.

I love my friends.  I am passionate about my friends.

In high school, my best friend and I were inseparable.  For real. A large factor of this was because he didn't have a car so we just rode around together everywhere listening to Fergie's "My Humps".  Our afternoons were spent on a practice field yelling at weird high schoolers to shut up during rehearsal and pretending that we hadn't snuck off right after school to buy us each a double cheeseburger and large fry from McDonald's (no onions).  At night we would study for AP History...and by study I mean we would choreograph dances to Cher's "Turn Back Time" and then watch High School Musical.  At Christmas time, we would decorate my house with Christmas lights until it looked like Clark Griswold's house on crack.  Every year on my birthday, we would go to Miyabi and eat so much food that we would have to unbutton the top button on our too-tight jeans because they were cutting off our circulation due to the 5 pound mound of rice combined with white sauce that we had eaten.  We would call each other every night at midnight and watch America's Funniest Home Videos together and laugh until we peed our pants.....but he would usually laugh and pee his pants around five seconds after I did because his cable was delayed.
When I had heart surgery, he called me every day in the hospital to check on me and make me laugh...and make sure I was still alive.  When I had awkward high school guy trouble and felt weird and out of place, he told me that I was beautiful. He was the best date to the prom that anybody could have.  He always made sure to tell me that he loved me.

My best friend is gay.  He loves men.  One gorgeous hunk of a man, in fact.  Tonight an Amendment was passed that said that he could not marry that hunk of a man that he loves.  Now let's get this straight.  I am not writing this blog to preach.  God knows that's the last thing I want to do.  I am writing this blog to simply shout out loud that I support my best friend.  I support his lifestyle.  I support his love.  And I refuse to remain silent about it.  I was fortunate enough to be raised in a family that taught love; who accepted everyone's differences: black, white, gay, straight, red, yellow, blue, green, big, little, cray cray, or normal.
I've never planned on having a flock of youngins, but I do look forward to the day when our children's generation can look back on this time and realize how far they've come.  I hope they can see that we were brave, that we  fought for our friends; not just for gay rights, but for HUMAN RIGHTS!
As I tearfully texted one of my best friends tonight who just so happens to be gay, telling him how sorry I was, he responded with such courage, "Dry those tears, girl.  This is just more motivation."  We're going to win, y'all.  It's time!

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Well friends, after a brief summer hiatus and a few requests, the blog is back in action. My summer was filled with lots of kick lines, a lot of fast food, an absurd amount of weddings (including perhaps the most epic reunion of the 15 Best Friends That Anyone Could Have), and per usual, a lot of cray crays. But as fall rolls around and people settle back into the routine of going back to school/work, I have to decided to bring back the blog with avengance. Thus, I will bring you the first story of fall.

So. I have five dogs. I could blame my mother or my sister for this excessive amount of animals, but let's be real. I contributed to this disease as much as any of us....and by disease, I mean complete and utter animal hoarding. Our oldest dog is named Daisy. She is what my boss calls "pedigree diversified". She's a mutt. She is also blind, partly deaf, and may have early onset dog alzheimers. I like to call it "dogheimers". Along with Daisy, we have Peppie (her daughter), Lola, Roxy (a psycho schnauzer who played Toto when I was Dorothy and jumped out of my arms during "Somewhere Over The Rainbow"....bad relationship), and Mae, my miniature dachshund. These dogs are crazy. They're like a gang. When they're outside, they always sneak around like they're trying to hide something....but I never really thought anything of it.

Until now.

Unbeknownst to me or the rest of my family, Mae has been digging a massive hole/tunnel in our backyard that is wedged between two stumps. When I say massive, I'm talking the same tunnel that Alice fell down when she ended up in frigging Wonderland. So how did we find this hole you ask? Well......when Dad went to let all the dogs in from the backyard on his lunch break, Daisy didn't come to the door. Daisy always comes to door. Dad got worried, thinking that somehow she got out of the fence. As Dad walked around the backyard, he noticed this large tunnel that Mae had dug.

Well Daisy was stuck in the frigging hole.

She had crawled so far into the hole, I think she got confused because of her dogheimers, and was completely stuck. Couldn't/wouldn't move backwards. I receive the panicked call from Dad and hurry home from work, only to see Daisy.....stuck in the hole. Naturally, Dad and I quickly jump into panic mode. "Dad, do you think she crawled in there to die?!? Oh Jesus, she's DEAD. Needless to say, things were not going well.
Transition into rescue mode.
Randy Randall with a shovel and pick, digging an alternate hole like they did for the Chilean mining crisis....sweating....
Taylor Randall laying in the dirt with a piece of cheese trying to coax a pedigree diversified dog to move backwards through an Alice In Wonderland hole.

If you have ever seen the Winnie The Pooh episode where Pooh gets stuck in the rabbit hole, I was playing the role of Rabbit....ass deep in the hole attempting to pull that stupid fat bear out.

After a little less than an hour of digging, overreacting, sweating, and foul language, we finally reached Daisy. She wasn't really moving, and I just knew she was dead and my mother was absolutely going to FLIP. As I pulled backed on her legs, Dad grabbed her head from the alternate hole and pulled her out. Oh don't worry. She was alive as she could be, shook the dirt off of her, and trotted back to the door like nothing had ever happened. In fact, I think she was taking a nap.

Needless to say, it was a trying day for us all. And as we finished covering the Wonderland hole with huge rocks, all Dad could say was, "It's just like a Lassie movie".....

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

I have a cat named Jasper.  It seems like just a few short months ago that I had just gotten him.  He was a tiny little bundle of grey fur looking up at me with his mini-kitten eyes.

We definitely weren't best friends at first.  He spent the first couple of nights under my bed, refusing to look at me and making me feel a little inadequate. This was probably because I bought him a blue collar with a stripe of silver glitter around it that had a little blue bell attached.  It was FABULOUS.  But my little sassy man didn't think so.  In fact, he would find ways to tear it off and then hide it.  That is, until I bought him a great glittery mouse toy and kitten treats.
Eventually, we became BFF. Jasper and I understood each other!  I had no problem coming home from a long day at work and asking him how his day had gone.  Subsequently, my friends called me the cat lady.  But I couldn't help it. I realized we had a few things in common.
1.  We both love to eat people food.  If you leave a bowl of food around, you can be sure that it will be eaten  by Jasper.  Take for instance, a bowl of lima beams that I once left on the kitchen table.  I walked away for ten minutes, and when I came back, it was completely empty.  WHAT CAT EATS LIMA BEANS?
2.  We both have grown to love sparkly things.  Like Jasper, I started off as a tomboy.  I wore gross t-shirts, backwards baseball hats, and sneakers....oh and I had a bowl cut.  But as we grew older, we both learned to appreciate the beauty of a sparkle.
3.  We are both very social creatures.  This cat comes when you call his name.....he sleeps with his arms around your neck....and he responds in meows when you ask him questions.  Do cats really do that?
4.  We both love musical theater.  Seriously.  If ever there is a musical movie on TV, or Glee, Jasper cozies up next to me and fixes himself on the television.  He loves it.

Well.  This morning I found Jasper drinking out of the toilet.

And suddenly, I realized that time is flying by so quickly. He is not a little boy anymore.  He is becoming a man. I mean, it seems like just yesterday that he was just a small little sassy man with a glittery collar.  He is getting so old.  And I am too, for that matter.  I mean, I feel like just last week that I was posing with my sister in our bowl cuts and osh-gosh-bigosh music note jumpers....

...and now SHE has a baby.  My little niece of a nugget is two weeks old!  I have a big girl job.  I own a car. I pay taxes.  I have a cat.  It's cray cray.   I'm old.
So at this point, I have nothing profound to say.  Mainly I wanted to blog about the fact that my cat was drinking out of the toilet this morning.

But P.S.  Speaking of time flying by, Prince William is 30?! And he's getting married.  And he's balding.  Whatever.  At least his hot ginger brother is still single.

And for now, my friends, at least I'm not this kid.
 fashion fail - Footloose Was Based On A True Story

Monday, March 21, 2011

A New Little Nugget

Well.....I'm an aunt!  On Tuesday, March 15th at 12:41 PM, Ava Wynne Castaneda was brought into the world...not by choice, may I add.  Oh no.  She would have stayed there until she was at least 15 years old, just in time to get her learner's permit.  They needed a vacuum to get her out.  But none the less, my little nugget was born and life instantly became better!

But of course, there are stories that go along with this great day.

Let's begin the night before.  We all went to Fatz for one last hoorah, where we severely overate and discussed how upset Kelley was that she wouldn't be able to eat breakfast at Chick-Fil-A the next morning because she couldn't eat before her C-Section.
Going to sleep was impossible that night because all I could think of was how cool of an aunt I would be starting Tuesday.  Even Jasper was excited.  Tylenol PM helped that.
Waking up the next morning, I mean, I was freaking out.  I won't lie to anyone.  What would she look like?  Is she going to be able to sing?  Will she have hair?  Will her head be shaped weird when she comes out?  Will she look like an alien?  It was crazy.  Naturally, the only thing that could calm me down was a Chick-Fil-A biscuit.  Mom and I found our way to the hospital, equipped with a book and a liter of Diet Coke so mom "wouldn't have to buy Diet Cokes out of the machine".   Somehow, Mom and I ended up wandering onto a back alley elevator.  How? I don't know.  We see that the maternity ward is on the second floor, and as we step off, we're in a back hallway.  I'm pretty sure we were in a surgery wing.  "Mom I think we're lost."  And she says, "Well let's start walking...we'll figure it out." We literally weave around some back alley hallways of Greenwood Hospital that I haven't seen since.  And as we approached a doctor with complete surgery attire on, he said "Ladies can I help you find something?"  Somehow, we ended up pushing through double doors that I'm pretty sure you had to have a badge to go through and, again, ended up on a back alley hallway.  And again, we met a nurse in the hallway who, somehow, knew Mom and led us to Kelley and Patrick.  So random.
We got back into the hospital room, I got lightheaded, and I gave my well wishes and left to find the family waiting room.  My bad.  But all those buzzers and beepers and white walls and hospital gowns were just too much.  I had to peace out.  Meanwhile, my father, grandparents (Bug and Buzzy), my Aunt Lutie, and my grandmother Cathy were on there way.  After sitting in a waiting room filled with people who were speaking French, I think, I get a text from Dad. "Bug, Buzzy, and I are in the family waiting room.  See you soon."  Well, that's interesting because I was in the family waiting room too and all I saw was a group of French people.  And thus begins our quest of, once again, getting lost in the hospital.  After ten minutes of phone calls to Dad that were broken up because we had no service, we finally found each other.  But only three out of five family members were present and accounted for.  My Aunt Lutie called me and wasn't even sure if she was at the right hospital.....she was lost.  And as my grandfather went to look for her, she showed up in the family waiting room after finding the OTHER family waiting rooms.  I mean, dang.  How many waiting rooms does one maternity floor need?
So four out of five were present and accounted for.  But Grandmama Cathy was still wandering around the hospital somewhere.  We decided it was better to tag-team this time so that we could put together the two paths where we had already gotten lost and perhaps learn from our mistakes.  After retracing our steps and finding the ground floor lobby, expecting to see my Grandmother, we get a call that she is already upstairs. Soooo back up we go....only to get lost AGAIN. We asked her how she found her way up there...."I have no idea" was her reply.  This was a circus.  This was like a bad game of hide and seek and nobody really knew where home base was so everybody just ran around trying to find another person.
After all were finally present and accounted for, we all patiently waited for news...ANY news.  Finally mom came in and just said that we had to wait longer.  I was antsy.  I was nervous.  And at that point, I had already eating a 3 Musketeer bar and a bag of Combos from the vending machine.  What else was I supposed to do?  After a while, Mom got up and began pacing the hall because she couldn't sit still anymore.  And around 12:50, she came running in saying that we have a 9 lb 3 oz Little Nugget of a girl!
When they were in the recovery room, they let some of us in one at a time to meet Ava Wynne.  Now let's get one thing clear.  I'm not one of those people that thinks that babies are beautiful and perfect.  I think they're a little strange mostly.  But Ava Wynne was an exception because she's the prettiest baby that has ever been born.  I walked in and saw her, literally screaming her lungs out, and it made me feel so much better because I knew at that point that she would be a singer when she grows up.  Thank God she'll be talented.
I sat and talked to her, took pictures of her, checked on my sister, and was rubbing her little head.  Her hair was so long and curly already.  And as I sat and played with her beautiful brown hair, Patrick looked at me, snickered, and said "You know that's the only part that they haven't really cleaned off yet."  After gagging and almost passing out in my sister's recovery room, I realized that it was probably best for Ava Wynne and I to get acquainted better AFTER she had a bath.
We spent that day with our family, passing Little Nugget around, texting 99872 pictures to almost everyone in our phone books, and I obnoxiously video taped every second of it.
The next morning I returned to the hospital to spend the day with the new Little Nugget.  When I miraculously found their hospital room, Kelley still couldn't get out of bed and Patrick was dead asleep....and OF COURSE, Ava Wynne needed a diaper change.  I had no idea what to do.  I'm not afraid to admit that I had never really changed a diaper.  I don't do babies.  So Ava Wynne and I had our first moment of truth.  I looked at her and said "I reeeeeally need you to work with me here."  And after carefully opening the crypt, I found that she worked with me.  No poop here!  THANK YOU LITTLE NUGGET!
Since then, I still haven't changed a poop diaper.  I know that's coming, but I feel like waiting it out is the best option for both of us.  Even so, she's so cool.  I never thought I would think that a baby is cute.  I have become one of those people that used to really get on my nerves by constantly showing me pictures of their little ones.  Now, I force people to look at pictures of her and I don't feel bad about it!  She's just so cool. And the best part about it:  when she screams, I can just give her back! It's awesome. I look forward to getting to know this new Little Nugget.  And to putting her in my baby backpack.

You cannot tell me that isn't the cutest thing you have ever seen.  So friends, I admit it.  I've become a mush.  But at least I'm a cool aunt.  Right?  And until then, at least I know my niece isn't going to be like this lady.
fashion fail - I Don't Think She Can Read...

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

When I was younger, I always looked forward to Valentines day because of the party at school where you passed out your Valentines (mine were usually Alladin themed, or Snow White themed), and you got a lot of candy.  As I got older, my mother used to always buy me a pretty significant Valentine's Day gift.  And although it wasn't my favorite day of the year, it was ok because I usually got a cool piece of jewelery, or a new item of  clothing, and the most important gift of the year:
I love these things.  There is nothing about a Reese's Peanut Butter Heart that isn't perfect.  So as annoying as Valentine's Day was to me, nothing could really make it a bad day if there was a Reese's heart in the gift bag.

Until Valentine's Day of my junior year of high school...

Like I said, my mother always gave me a gift on the day, so, per usual, I woke up to a little gift bag on the kitchen table.  In the bag was a little necklace, of course, a Reese's, and a package that said "Grow A Boyfriend".  No Joke.
Really?  Now I know my mother meant all the best and was doing it as a little joke, but really?  Although the packaged growable creature was a little bit creepy, I was going to play along, so I couldn't help but be curious as to what this thing would turn out like.  I pulled it out of the package and thought it looked a little weird, but proceeded with the project.  I put it in the bowl of water and let it sit for around ten minutes.  After eating two Reese's Peanut Butter Hearts, I returned back to the bowl to see how my growable companion turned out.  I pulled out the now bigger figure and examined it. And guess what.


That's right.  My growable frigging boyfriend had long hair, a dress, and boobs.  I don't understand how these things happen to me.  I mean, I guess it was packaged wrong, but really?   How does this happen to me?  Why was I the unlucky one in America that the packaging lady thought it would be funny to play a mean joke on?  I mean, dang.  Not only was I single on Valentine's Day, but the only companion that I had given to me turned out to be growable...... and a girl.  

I'd like to pretend that I'm mature enough to not be bitter and irritable on Valentine's Day, but I'm definitely not.  How could you not be after an experience like that?  Plus I'm always asked to sing for some kind of Valentine's Program every year.  Now don't get me wrong, I love singing any chance that I can get, and I am even happy to sing for a big group of couples, but Valentine's Day? Gross.  I really do try not to be unpleasant, and this year I even bought heart shaped BoBerry Biscuits (mainly because they were two for 99 cents).  But I'll be honest, I'm just not all about it.  I mean, why make one day of the year the day that you do great things for the ones you love?

Here's my deal.  I'm going to try show my love every day of the year....365 days of big ole loving from yours truly.  This does not include love for Josh Groban, Taylor Swift, or Justin Bieber.  They will never receive my love because they're terrible.  But, my friends, let's all show a lot of love to each other every day of the year instead of this one lame day, right?  Hug somebody really tight.  Or sing a little ditty to someone (even if it's off key, like Taylor Swift). I mean, you can't buy love on EBay right?  (Although I am really looking for a nice, new camera, so if you would like to be especially loved by me, you can buy me one).

And for now, friends, at least I'm not this guy.  Happy day.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

So.  I know it's been a while since I've blogged.  I'm not sure how many of you read this thing.  But to those of you who do, I'm sorry I have been a negligent mother to my blog.  Since my last update, my cat Jasper has gotten huge.  My pregnant sister has gotten REALLY pregnant.  I experienced one of the quickest rehearsal processes that I've ever been in and ended up with a finished product--"MY WAY", which was a musical tribute to Frank Sinatra.  I woke up every morning with a new song in my head.....and if I sang "That's Life" one more time, I thought I was going to intentionally break a leg just to stop the showtunes JUST for a while.  But we pulled it off.  And I have temporarily moved in with some new roommates.  I fondly call them--"my parents".  It's safe to say I'm in a big transition period in my life. I'm looking forward to hopefully going to grad school...or possibly getting hired by a theater company....but right now....it's just hanging out with Mom and Pop....and my very pregnant sister (who looks fabulous, btw).  Some people think this may suck....but let's face it.  Things could be a lot worse, right?  I mean, dang.  I got food.  My family's really cool.  And I have a super cool cat.  So...things could definitely be worse.  In fact, I'll tell you a story to prove my point.

When I was 16 years old, I had heart surgery. Don't freak out.  This isn't a sob story.  The surgery was scheduled to be down in Charleston....gooooood ole Chucktown.  So, Kelley, Mom, Pop, and I packed up the car and headed down the interstate.  When we hit Columbia, I'm pretty positive that the leftovers of friggin  Hurricane Hugo hit us.  I mean, you couldn't see anything.  Randy tried to stay calm and collected, but you could tell he was starting to sweat...and naturally Kelley and I were semi-hyperventilating whilst covering our faces with pillows.  We finally get to Chucktown and park in the parking garage from MUSC.  Well good news.  It's flooded.  And I'm not talking a little water in the gutter.  I mean the entire Randall clan rolled up our pants, took off our shoes, and waded across the red freaking sea into the hospital where we were greeted by a man who said "Do yall folks need an umbrella?"  Thank you sir.  Thank you.
We head up to the pre-op consultation room where we wait for an hour.  During this hour, we literally heard nothing but a child screaming bloody murder. I think we all know how I feel about screaming children. The anesthesiologist asked if I thought I would need a little medicine to relax me before the surgery the following day.  My response was that if the kid who was still screaming was in the hospital the next day, absolutely.
The next morning was the big day. This wasn't open heart surgery, but it involved scary things like lasers and stuff.  So let's be honest.  I was terrified.  And all I wanted was a chicken biscuit from Chick-Fil-A....but you can't eat the day of your surgery.  I walked into the pediatric cardiology unit and suited up with Kim and Rands standing beside me.  On the ceiling was a painted light house that was by the beach with a big sunshine.  The anesthesiologist and nurses came in and gave me my "calming medicine".  Just when I thought the medicine wasn't working, the waves around the painted lighthouse started moving and the light in the top of it started flashing.  I felt fine.  Aaaaaand that's all I remember.  Apparently the nurse said to my parents that often times the medicine they gave me made most teenage girls cry.  I, however, began hysterically laughing and starting making a beeping noise as they began to back me up.  Reeeeeeally cool, Taylor.
The next thing I knew, it was 8 hours later and I was laying flat on my back in my hospital room.  Two nurses who weighed about 2 pounds each came in to my room to transfer me from the rolling bed to my actual hospital bed.  Now let's remember this was the pediatric cardiology unit.  This girls were used to moving around babies.  So when they got ready to move big girl to her bed, you could see the worry in their eyes.  They counted to three and literally heaved me onto the bed.  You could hear them strain.  Awesome.  My nurse's name was Cari.  She was from Indiana.  She also weighed 2 pounds.
The night crept on and I was slowly making progress, but I was ordered to stay flat on my back for at least 5 hours in order for my incisions to heal.  Kelley and Mom were both in room with me all night, but since I was doing a lot better, Mom decided to go downstairs to make a couple of phone calls.  So there we were, just Kelley and I.  Kelley had stayed in the same spot all night because she was terrified of all the germs in the hospital.  Well.... I sat there laying still on my back....and suddenly I started feeling a little queezy.  I turned to Kelley who was, again, in the corner.  "Kelley, I'm not feeling so good."  Kelley turned white.  I mean, WHITE.  She jumped out of her chair and starting fanning me with her Sudoku book that she had been working on all day, saying "No you don't, you feel great.  You feel awesome! See how good this feels?"  She was panicking.  And sweating.  I looked at her again, and calmly said,  "Kelley, really.  I don't feel so good."  "NO TAYLOR YOU FEEL FINE! YOU FEEL PERFECT!"  One last time, I said "Listen Kelley.  This is it.  I'm gonna hurl.  You either help me or you don't."  So Kelley hands me a bedpan.  I was still supposed to be lying flat on my back, but according to Kelley, she was scared I was going to choke.  So she quickly raised my hospital bed up, but then panicked and quickly lowered it down. She repeated this up and down and up and down and up and down process several times while I continued to hurl into my bedpan.  It was like a bad episode of "I Love Lucy".  Kelley then darts down the hallway crying and screaming "NUUUUUURSE NUUUUURSE MY SISTER IS DYING!" Cari, the 2 pound nurse whom I later fainted on, rushed into the room and saw the situation. She helped me out, took care of me, and then looked at Kelley saying "Miss, next time there's an emergency, you can just push the red button on her bed.  No running is necessary."

See.  Things could ALWAYS be worse.  You could be yakking in a bed pan....or you could have a bowl cut......or you could be Josh Groban. Just saying.

And for now, at least I'm not this guy.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Last year, I rang in 2010 at the Philadelphia airport. I was supposed to be in Athens, Georgia with three of my best friends, lighting up the town, wearing something incredibly sparkly, and drinking champagne. Instead, I was sitting beside a lady reading a Paula Dean cookbook, wearing a dirty PC t-shirt, and drinking Diet Dr. Pepper with a side of Dramamine, hoping my plane would decide to finally take off after a 12 hour delay.
Well folks, this year we had some making up to do.  And making up we did.   "The 15 Best Friends That Anybody Could Have" gathered once again to A. Celebrate the 973 engagements that have happened this year (I mean, damn.) and B.  To Celebrate the best year of our lives, aka 2010.  Thus, this blog is going to be a celebration of 2010.  Here's to "The 15 Best Friends That Anybody Could Have".  We did it, my friends.

2010 began with an incredible evening of dance at ADPi Christmas party.   Everyone always knew where I was because the sequins on my dress all fell off by the end of the night.  I was like Hansel and Gretl, sequin style.
One night, and appropriately, during the 2010 Winter Olympics, it snowed....a lot.  Smurch, B, and I decided it would be a great idea to "body sled" down a hill beside the gym and to eat the fresh snow.                 
February 2010:  RIDICULOUS production of "Vagina Monologues".  My ladies were balling.  

And then a little thing called "Hall Crawl" happened.  This night will be forever immortalized as the night the senior apartments went to Ireland, Canada, New Zealand, Cuba, Mexico, France, and America in 2 hours.  Many of us will count this as the best and worse night of our lives!  But it will forever be remembered.
"Throw Down for your hometown" was a night of representing our people back home:  a country mom, Miss Granite City, a pregnant devil, Greenwood--the widest street in the world, and a Hose, respectfully.
This evening was also filled with big hair, lots of rap music, and a variety of dance moves that most aren't blessed with.  It's ok to be jealous.
And then we had our first big kid wedding shower with "The 15 Best Friends That Anybody Could Have", filled with greasy finger foods, sitting around in a circle awkwardly like grown ups, and presents!  No  big deal.  

And what would a year at PC be like without me and Brice in party shades, a band party, and me stealing the microphone?

Or a Thursday night T-Shirt night at Theta Chi?

Near the end of the semester, we had a senior night. This particular evening was filled with magic marker and lot of dragon love.

And then a little thing called Beach Week happened.  If you needed a fried egg, you could have easily cooked it anywhere on my body. 

But even I'll admit that it was very much worth it.

And then we graduated.  What a terrible idea.  Don't ever graduate.  EVER.  But we did get some cool pictures--
like this:

And this:

And we bedazzled our graduation caps.  We thought tons of people would do it....they didn't.  We were the only ones.  Score.  


Not only did this night include dancing and a major love fest, it included our first fight over a bouquet.

First post-grad reunion in July.  Which included:
and prom poses, naturally.
In August, we found out that Kelley was PREGGLES!  And I realized I have never technically held a baby....oh God.

And one time, PC played Clemson.  I mean....at least we had good tailgate food.  Right?

The fall was spent reuniting with a lot of people....and trying to pretend like we were still in college.  Most of these attempts were unsuccessful....but A for effort.

The month of October was spent freaking out at the fact that ANOTHER one was engaged!  Laurie and Craig added the total numbers of weddings that I am singing at in 2011 to six.  I mean, dang.  
I also spent 5 months in CharTown with roomies Patricia and Schaeffer.....and JASPER!

Before I knew it....I had become the cat lady and it was Christmas.....

....and Erin had added the number of weddings I'm singing at in 2011 to seven.  Whoa.

And then I rang in the New Year with my best friends:  an evening filled with  BL Lime, lots of sequins, lots of loving, hot dog stands, and deflated air mattresses.  

Most people try to make New Years Resolutions.  I used to try to say that every year I would start working out at the YMCA more....but when I would go at the beginning of the year, I found the whole town in the workout room as well because they had all made the same resolution.    So bump it.  This year, my resolution is to stay happy. I couldn't have had a better 2010.  I'm going to value my family and my friends and my cat as much as I can!  And who knows....maybe there will be a lot less high wasted pants-wearing women, more sushi, less debt, and more reunions in 2011.  So, my friends, enjoy this year.  Heyohhhhhh.

And until 2012, at least I'm not this guy.
  fashion fail - That Mullet Gives Him Hound Dog Ears