Bingo!

So it's 5:40 AM and I'm wide afreakingwake and have been since 3.

Remember when you were a little girl and couldn't go to sleep because you were thinking about pancakes in the morning and your dad was all, "CLOSE YOUR EYES!" from the living room, and you were like, "What do you think I'm doing in here!?" but then you realized that you actually hadn't closed your eyes and when you did, you fell right to sleep? And twenty years later, this has, for the most part, panned out. Turns out, my father and I are exactly alike and his words, while seemingly simple, were so true. Oftentimes, I find myself lying in bed, in the dark, starring at the wall, eyes wide open, not even understanding why it is I can't drift off to sleep, and then, from somewhere in the back of my memory: CLOSE YOUR EYES!

It usually works. But not tonight.

Friend Keith and I went to Bingo tonight like a couple of old biddies, didn't win anything, stuffed our faces with a whole pizza afterward, and after going to sleep at the earliest time I have probably ever gone to sleep, here I am, just like the Bingo ladies, up at nearing 6AM.

And I texted Keith so I could drag his ass down with me. Freaking Bingo.

And instead of chocolate chip pancakes covered in maple syrup that mom used to make for me, I am planning out fall outfits, because of couse, being up this early with nothing else to do, I did a little online shopping at delias.com.

Thinking about this sweater...

With these boots...

Or these...

Then I tried reading a short story by Flannery O'Connor because usually reading gets me all kinds of sleepy, but instead I just lied awake, mind racing and wanting to write something. So here we are...

Goodnight?

*This is not a fashion blog.

Went out last night...

So I've been dating this new guy (Internet Guy, Dad says) and he's alright, I guess. Tall, not so dark, handsome. Who knew I liked redheads? Not me. Anyway... roomie and I are downtown and IG meets us out and somewhere down the line in the evening, he acquires some of those long flingy glow sticks you begged your parents for at the rodeo and they never said yes. So we're slinging them around and being children and eventually they end up around our heads; me rockin' the look pretty well, IG, about as rockin' as a neon glow stick can look on a redhead. Standing in the bar, having a grand old time, when these two chicks walk up to us. One: quiet and polite; the other: not so much, and resembling Medusa, but much more loud and obnoxious.

Angry Chick: WELL HELLO, INTERNET GUY! (I don't think I have to tell you that's not what she really called him. I like to keep names secret, duh).

IG: Hello, Jessica. (or whatever Angry Chick's name really is, I kind of blocked it out for lack of care.)

AC: Oh! I'm surprised you remember my name! You remember my friend Amy!?

IG: Hello, Amy. This is Brynnan. Brynnan, this is Jessica and this is Amy.

Brynnan: Hi, nice to meet y'all.

And I continue on with my life. Back turned to AC and Quiet Friend, drinking my beer, caring less about any of this. This seems to spur on Angry Chick.

AC: Hey, Brenda? Is that right? Bryan? Oh, hey, Brenna? I really like your headband. (As she fingers my neon glow stick). Yeah, it looks super cool. Really trendy.

People, I'm a freaking peach until you say some shit like this to me. Then the country girl in Brynnan rears her ugly head. I'm this close to hauling off and putting this tiny bitch in her place. What the hell have I done to this girl anyway besides hanging out with the tall redhead? Come to find out, she wasn't even the one who had any beef with the guy, it was Quiet Friend! Who remained, as she should have, quietly standing by saying not a whole lot, and more importantly, not pissing me off.

IG: Wow, that wasn't awkward at all.

Me: You want a shot?

Nothing sets me off more than a loud bitch.

*AP at Blues on the Green.

*Beautiful Lady in Meadow with a raging cool feather band.

*Reagan and Jason (sans headband), deep in conversation at The Mean Eyed Cat.

Dovius Festivus

Dove Festival, in case you aren't familiar, is an annual celebration where Hamiltonians and Hunters from all around come back to their fine city to celebrate the opening season of the delicious bird that is the dove. Peaceful creature, yes. Good in gravy...that too.

Here's a look at Dove Fest Past:

Wonderful.

You've got all the makings of a good time during Dove Festival Weekend: old friends, family, turkey legs, funnel cake, carnival rides that may or may not have been deemed safe by...anyone, the parade, the dance, and this year: a petting zoo. While I myself did not pay three dollars to pet a miniature water buffalo, my niece did, and she seemed about as into it as the camel was.

This guy was literally passed out the entire time to what looked like the brink of death, and the baby goats kept climbing on him and jumping off his hump. I thought camels could stand the heat? And anyway, the weather was lovely, it was only about 90 degrees. Buck up, camel.

Not only is DFW about running around the Fair Grounds and bumping into people you may or may not want to see, it's also about napping and hunting. At approximately four o'clock in the afternoon on Saturday of DF Dub, the entire town disappears to A) their homes for nap time/football, or B) a tank in a pasture for dove killing time. Since I don't like to sleep my life away, especially during an eventful weekend like this, I chose B with one of my oldest and bestest. Dad let me borrow a 16 gauge and Brady and I headed out to Pottsville where we killed zero birds but we did get to witness the most spectacular musical showings of about 148 bull frogs while the sun was setting. Amazing to say the least. I wasn't even mad we didn't see many dove. And anyway, now I've got my license, so birds beware. Or not, because I'm a pretty terrible wing shot. I can certainly get a skillet shot, though. (That's Hey-Hey speak for a dove in a tree because, well, he's basically already in the skillet).

I did not go to the dance this year because I'm pretty positive that everyone I grew up with is either married, in some sort of meaningful relationship, or afraid to ask me to dance. What with the height and all... apparently I'm a force to be reckoned with for some men. Geez louise. Instead I went out with Taylor Dane and we had a grand time, chit chatting about old times, (ie: Taylor biting me until I bled), and of course catching up on the gossip that has been floating around about myself and those that I love. But that's what you get with Small Town, USA: boredom. And from that boredom, of course, comes lies. Naturally...

I wish I could have stayed another day with my friends and family, and I'm sorry there were some at the Fest who I did not get to see. Until next year...!