If I were REALLY homeless...

Earlier this week, I had a flat tire and needed to employee the help of my co-workers.  While milling around in my trunk for the spare, one of them observed and then stated loudly, "Good grief, Angie Good!  What's with all this stuff?  Are you homeless?"

Before I go any further,
I want to list the items in my trunk...

an afghan

(this was in case my car breaks down in the winter)

 

a crate with necessary car items:  Jumper cables, oil, de-icer, etc.

 

1 sage green fleece blanket

(which is my PICNIC blanket!)

 

1 pair of cranberry high heels

(that need to have the bottom of the heel replaced)

 

1 pair of emergency flip-flops

(for the last minute, wanna-grab-a-pedicure? days)

 

1 book (this is in my trunk because one time I broke-down

in the winter and had to wait & wait for a tow truck. 

During the 60 minute wait, I thought to

myself, I wish I had a book! and then I placed one in my trunk.)

I hardly think this list qualifies me as being homeless.  Goodness.  If I was really homeless, I would have...

a mini-fridge filled with snacks

a case of bottled water - HY-DRATION!

an air mattress ~ I hate camping.  I hate sleeping on the ground.

a fluffy pillow

an expandable lawn chair for afternoons of sitting in the sun and reading

a straw hat to protect my head while I sit in said lawn chair

sunscreen

a box of yarn and knitting needles ~ I would get bored being homeless without crafting.

an inflatable pool ~ cleanliness and Godliness...hand-in-hand :)

No sewing class

Up until 4:25 tonight, my delusional-self thought I still had sewing class even though the frozen precipitation had been falling since circa 1 p.m.  It may have started before 1 p.m. however, 1 p.m. is the time I noticed it snowing...and trust me, I was checking the window often.

At the previously mentioned time (4:25 p.m.), my co-worker peeked her cute head around my cubicle wall and said the radio announced Rock Valley College was closed due to inclement weather.  I, then, checked the WTVO website and sure enough...Rock Valley was closed...also closed - the dance studio.  My friend Nancy and I joke around about the closings.  "Oh, we can't go to jazz class tonight - the dance studio is closed."  Tonight on the closings, a small theaterical presentation of Gone with The Wind was cancelled to-be-rescheduled, the website said.  I should call Nancy and let her know we won't be going.  :) 

Sooo here I am...inside my cozy, little cottage...with a bowl of warmed-up chicken tortilla soup & a few blue corn tortilla chips...my fluffy-wuffy cat...and a Tuesday night all to myself. 

Today, before class was cancelled, I kept thinking, You may perish in the snowstorm tonight...but no worries - you would perish for a crafting cause.  People will ask, "How did Angie Good die?" and Pastor B can tell them, "She perished in pursuit of learning a new craft. 

Another way I figure I might die - getting shot at the thrift.  There was for realzies ("realzies" is my fun new word...I taught the Gear kids because it's that FUN...for realzies!!!) a shooting at the Goodwill on E. State.  It was a drive-by...but it still counts as a shooting. 

One night I was with Rhonda at Target and we saw some wholagins and I told her, "We are going to get shot in the red bull's eye's parking lot."  We determined that would be ok. 

Oh - also ok, choking to death on peanut butter.  Did you know people do choke-to-death on peanut butter?  I never knew.  One day I was eating peanut butter - straight out of the jar with a spoon - and my co-worker informed me that I should be careful because choke-to-death.  Talk about a way to go -- one minute you are enjoying creamy peanut butter (because everyone knows creamy peanut butter is a gazillion-and-five times better than chunky -- can I get an "AMEN"???)...anyway, one minute you are enjoying peanut butter and the next -- talking face-to-face with Jesus.  FAB-U-LOUS!!!!!

The end.

"Red is my favorite color too." ~ Angie Good

Do you ever stumble upon a situation that you just know you were SUPPOSED to be there and be available to be a bit of encouragement for someone?  Tonight it happened to me!!!  What an exciting thing -- to be at a place where I could feel the Lord impressing on my heart to help out a friend...and I listened to that still, small voice urging me to volunteer to help.  

Something happened with the scheduling...and not scheduling and re-scheduling and somehow my friend was short a helper tonight.  I could see, understand, and appreciate the frazzled look on her face when she said, "I'm not sure who is supposed to be back here helping me."

The fun part about helping out with such a vast age group....3 years old up through 3rd grade...is that the 3- and 4-year olds are hysterical!!!  When I was in college, I had to do a practicum with this age group.  Ooooh my goodness, I forgot how very literal this age is.  

We had great fun tonight!!!  My favorite conversation of the evening was...

4-year old boy:  "My favorite color is red."
Me:  "Red is my favorite color too.  Why do you like red?"
Same 4-year old fellow:  "Cause it's the color of dinosaur blood!!!"
Me:  [insert pause]  "Ok."  [insert another pause]  "Well, I love it because my kitchen has cherries and cherries are red."
Same 4-year old:  "Yep.  But it's the color of dinosaur blood too."

Oh to be inside the head of 3- and 4-year olds.  :)

What I said vs. what he heard...

I understand that there has been many-a-book written about men and women and their differences…the Mars & Venus series, What Men Wish Women Knew (and vice-versa), etc.

Goodness, I work with mostly men.  I’ve had a couple of what I said vs. what he heard moments this week.

Me:  “Thank you for being in my life.”

What he heard:  “I want to bear your children.”

Me:  “You need to tell me the exact ingredients in this before I will consume it.”

What he heard:  “I’m a complete and utter food snob and I don’t trust your cooking.”

Me:  “You are really funny!”

What he heard:  “You should be a stand-up comedian because you are hysterical!!!”

And my favorite…

Me:  “I’m perfectly content being single and I don’t plan on settling for someone just to be in a relationship!”

What he heard:  “I’m going to become the crazy cat lady!”

This made me laugh outloud!

It's the truth and I know it.  I am aware that you know it too...yet (insert dramatic pause) YOU keep coming back to my blog for more.  Hmmmmmm...


Just sayin'...

Confessional Post

1. I love knitting fru-fru scarves.  It's my new obsession / addiction.


2. I love being home on Saturday evenings.  Jane Austen said, "There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort."  Jane, I feel as though we are the best of friends and you get me.


3. Is there a point when loving guacamole turns in to an I-need-an-intervention-because-I-am-obsessed-with-the-blissful-green-goodness-of-avocados?  If you are going to stage an intervention, could you stop by Woodman's and pick up a bag of gluten-free tortilla chips, pretty please.


4. I'm not diligent about wiping the bottom shelf of my fridge.  It's not gross and disgusting.  It's just not spotless white.


5. I hate speeding and being rushed.


6. My switch-the-hangers closet project is progressing nicely.  I look in my closet and see several hangers turned the "right" way and I am totally not cheating.


7. I love being a girly girl.  Today at the ladies spring banquet, I was discussing with a delightful 4 year old, Miss Rayven.  


Me:  "Your dress is lovely, Rayven."  
Rayven:  "Thank you."  
Me:  "Don't you love being a girly-girl.  It's delightful."  
Rayven:  "Yes, it is, Miss Angie."


We need to cultivate girly-girlness in little girls.  It's fun being fru-fru.  Boys aren't afforded that opportunity.  My co-worker and I were discussing this on Friday afternoon.  [I'm blessed to work with the most delightful Christian lady.  She's an encouragement!!!]  


8. This morning while reading my devotions, I consumed a 4-cup pot of coffee...and shortly there after, I made another 1/2 pot.  Here's my theory -- Mr. Coffee believes that all coffee mugs are 8 ounces.  HELLLLLLO -- I haven't bought an 8 ounce coffee mug since.........well, since my college days when I began this java journey.  Now, almost all of my coffee cups are atleast 16 ounces.  Why do coffee cup makers even make 8 ounce cups?  Are those 8 ounce cups for the faint of heart?  Come on people -- let's ban all 8 ounce coffee cups and embrace large cups!  We can do this!  Coffee lovers of the world unite!


9. Clearly.  This is why I don't blog late at night.  Goodnight.

Clean desk, Yoda's godmother, and babies

At 7:55 this morning, I entered my cubicle and sighed a huge sigh of relief.  You see -- the mounds (and I literally mean MOUNDS) of papers and things to do have been recently completed.  Yesterday I, even went so far as to remove all the objects from my desk, wiped clean my tabletop and the counter top where my office equipment resides. 

It was absolutely delightful walking into an uncluttered and clean workspace this morning.  I stood in the doorway of my cubicle and sighed a huge sigh of relief.  That whole clutter-business / sea of sticky notes was enough to send me to the moon and back.  Well, maybe not the moon...I would settle for the craziness to send me to Seattle and back.  Or even Ireland and back.  Wouldn't that be grand?  I could call in to work, "Yeah, I won't be in today.  The crazy pace I've been working has rocketed me to Dublin, Ireland for a couple days...so I will see you guys on Monday."  Hey -- it's worth a try, right?  I mean -- can't a girl dream.  (Sigh)

Speaking of Seattle...after working on some random projects, I received the following text at 2:20...

"Aftr my convincing Seth not to name his son Anikin...he now claims Yoda for the name of his first born and you will be the little tykes godmother."

I am going to be honest -- I think naming your son Yoda would be fabulous.  First kid ever with that name -- how cool would that be?  And who doesn't love writing a cursive "Y"?  That's one of my most favorite penmanship lessons.  Cursive "Y" is all over the place...upstairs, downstairs, and the basement.  (If you've ever taught Abeka penmanship, you are totally getting this post!!!!  And I love it that you get me!!!!)  Plus the name Yoda only contains 4 letters.  Sim-ple!  :) 

So there you have it...my Wednesday. 

I will conclude this post by informing you that my spider plant is having babies!  She's having about a dozen.  Can you imagine giving birth to a dozen babies?  I'm thinking that all the talking to myself and releasing carbon dioxide has made her very happy.  I say "her" because she's planted in a super-cute IKEA red pot.  Who doesn't love RED?  I mean...seriously...who doesn't love red?  I'd actually like to know so I can convince them of red's awesomeness.  Sooo do tell.  I will go to them and share all the benefits of embracing red.

Tootles. :)

Our eyes met...

I first noticed him on Saturday afternoon. 
I'm not sure how long he has been waiting for me.  He claims "all of my life"...

Where did he come from?  I like to think that maybe he was going about his normal day-to-day dealings and a ray of sunlight burst through the clouds (you know, like in the movies!!!) and he realized Oh my goodness, I do love the girl with curly hair!  She's the one!!! 

He immediately got in his motor vehicle (I could do without the red viper on the hood -- just an FYI!), put on his sunglasses, stopped at the flower shop & purchased a bouquet of tulips (pink tulips because he has sense enough to remember that those are her favorite) and drove straight (somewhat Dukes of Hazard-ish) to the cottage.  He maneuvered up the driveway like a man on a mission.  Navigating the steps wasn't a challenge at all.  He was on his way to win the affection of the girl with curly hair.  He parked his vehicle and waited...and waited...and waited...

This guy has patience and endurance.  He is thoughtful, too (the pink daisies).

When the girl with curly hair exited the cottage, their eyes met.  The music slowed to a crawl.  The girl with curly hair smiled.  He smiled.  She took a step closer...he took a step closer...when they were merely inches apart, he turned into a toy.  A tear glistened on her cheek as she smiled and bent down and picked up the vehicle.  She made eye contact with the plastic man and with a slight smile, she remarked, "You're just too late!" 

The curly haired girl, our fair damsel, does however live happily ever after just not married to the viper dude.

Viper dude...he will spend his days wishing he would've gotten to the fair damsel's cottage sooner...oh, and maybe, he will wish that he wasn't plastic and fake. 

The End!