Marketing

I went grocery shopping today (or, "marketing" as I, and everyone else in my family calls it... even though we may get made fun of from time to time...) and when I came home and started unloading all my goods, I noticed something sort of funny. Without even thinking, I started to clear out a shelf in the fridge and in the pantry to put my "Julia" stuff, just like I do at school. It's nice to be home and be able to put as much food in the fridge as I want or to disperse all of my food evenly throughout every single shelf in the freezer instead of a special section just for me. Funny how little weird things like that stick with you.

That's it. Just a funny little thought. 

PS- As much as I love this food storage freedom that comes with being home, I must say that I am now issuing a formal complaint to the other three inhabitants of my home for unlawful thievery in regards to  Oreos which do not belong to them. Whatever little mouse is stealing my double stufs is messing with the extensive Oreo eating schedule and regimen that I have perfectly crafted. BACK OFF! 

Slow Roll

People, people, people...

Here I am: Day three of Winter Break.

I suck at blogging lately. For that, I am eternally sorry.

I feel off my groove. Or off my jam. Or I'm out of jam. And the milk is old. You know what I mean?

But, I have heard from my people (Mom, Grandma Bunny and Dionna) and the people have said that blogging while off said rocker or groove or jam or whatever is far better than no blogging at all.

I've only been home for a few days, but I'm already seeing some of my favorite consistencies of my long lost Southern California come out of the woodwork and I couldn't be more jazzed about it.

Average Temperature: 68.
Food: So far ALL Mexican.
Sleep: Whenever, wherever.
Homework: Nonexistent

And on top of all that, I've clocked 1 gelato run, 2 sleepovers, 1 breakfast cupcake, a trip to the movies and like 8,000 other little things that make me the happiest clam in the entire ocean.

Eastern Standard Time

I think my body is telling me it's time to go back to Savannah. This morning, I was wide awake at at 4:30 with nothing to do but listen to the squirrel running around on the roof outside. When do you sleep, Mr. Squirrel?

This was frustrating, but on the plus side, ask me anything about the new 45 Minute Tapout workout program and I'll give you stories of thousands of viewers, just like you, sitting at home and wondering if they'd ever feel good about themselves again and ultimately having great results!

I can't really explain in words how much I love infomercials.

California Time Suck

Things that I have been doing for the past two weeks that have kept me from blogging:

Well, we already talked to you about the whole hot dog thing.

And then there was the part when I exclusively hung out with different branches of the family tree for 6 straight days. 

Finding any excuse to drive this handsome, blue heap around town. (Sorry for the empty tank, Dad.)

And there has certainly been plenty of eating going on. 

Then, of course, the Second Annual Patton Family Staycation. This included more family and more food. Two things I clearly can't get enough of. This picture of our Sunday pancake lunch is the only picture proof. Pretty much sums it up.  

I've been listening to this song way too much. 

And then (less embarrassing) this song. 

And a healthy amount of internet surfing which has led me to these gems. 

I still have a crush on Steve Martin. 

I love green. 

My sentiments exactly.

Who wants to build a clubhouse with me this year in Savannah? 

All that peppered with a bunch of friend playdates and a heavy dose of reality TV and you've got one happy girl.

But, I think it's time for this vagabond to head back to the land of lists. Savannah, here I come! 

Total Bum Morning

Oh, California. How I love you. The perma-sun, the floral and salt water smells, the completely acceptable uniform of yoga pants and flip flops all. day. long.  I just never knew the wonders of this state until I said goodbye.

But here I am. Back again. Saying hello for a bit and I could not be happier.

Since I've been back, my days have been very happily go go go, but this morning I am taking some time to just sit with the windows open and my feet on the coffee table enjoying the air of the last few weeks of summer and the speed of lazy mornings like this that fill my soul to overflowing proportions.

If this summer has convinced me of anything, it is that I am so very blessed-- a cliche that is thrown around so easily in such an insanely blessed life such as mine, but something I didn't truly understand nor take the time to understand until now.

I can get in this nasty habit of looking forward or looking backward and wasting time and wasting life. And without even knowing it was happening (or perhaps being oblivious to the signs that guided me here) I find myself in a outrageously sweet time of life where I appreciative all of these crazy transitions and stages.

Fact: I love California.

Fact: I love Georgia.

Fact: I even loved this crazy stretch of a summer in New York City.

YOU GUYS! THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE!

I am happy with it all! There is no comparison with these places because I am happy for my amazing friends and family that have known me for years and that I am getting to spend such precious time with now. I am happy for my crazy awesome roommates/family in Savannah that I can't wait to reunite with in a few weeks. And I am even happy with the challenges and the aches of both places that I currently call home.

And I'm scared. Holy Toledo, am I scared of what the future holds for me and this creatively driven, but directionally challenged life but I am just so satisfied with what God has going on today. Today. Just today. That's all I have control of anyway. What a lesson to learn. What a hard lesson to remember.

Now, I'm going to ride my bike down the street and eat a burrito bigger than the size of my face. I mean, that right there is reason enough to love California.

Let me explain.

Wait. I'm at work on Friday complaining about how I can't be at my dad's party. Then I'm talking about my dad's party. And there are crazy long wrap up posts being posted about the joys of conflicting emotions. And there is Dallas airport. And ice cream. And there is New York City. And Super Shuttle pick-ups at 4:00 in the morning. WHAT IS HAPPENING!?!

Hold up, Chief. Hold up.

Let me give you the run down.

I was in New York.

This summer.

FYI.

It was pretty cool.


Hi. This is my blog. My name's Julia. Welcome.

And some people (mainly my Dad) thought that I wasn't returning to this fair state until the 25th. JOKE'S ON HIM! I'M HERE! AND THERE'S NO GETTING RID OF ME FOR TWO MORE WEEKS! MWAHAHA.

So, when I was having blogger's block last week and was silent for a few days, I was actually just forcing myself not to blog because I could not think of anything to write about besides how freaking excited I was to come home.

And when I was supposed to be at work last Thursday and Friday, I was actually packing up my room, going on long, wandering walks and soaking up the last moments of this crazy adventure of a summer in the city.

And when I left a message on my house phone that I had just gotten back from a walk in Central Park and was about to go to lunch with a friend, I was really sitting at my cousin's house in Costa Mesa trying on my hot dog costume.

So sensibly, the most logical way of revealing that I was actually home and not in across the country for another week was to dress up as a hot dog and surprise him at his own birthday party. The birthday party that I pretended to be sad about missing all those time. Makes sense, right? Yeah. Totally.

So, yes. I am in California for a few more weeks until I get my booty back on over to Savannah for another banner year in the East Coast. But, if you're here in the Sunshine State too right now, I would absolutely love to see as many of you lovelies as possible! I hate to say it, but I am actually already very busy so text/call me asap because I WANTSTASEEYA!


PS- he'll deny it, but he totally cried when he saw me.

Home

Do you know where I live?

Something funny happened earlier today that on some other day may have upset me but, on this day, it simply made me laugh.

I am currently in the process of trying to figure out how in the world to get about one whole extra suitcase worth of Marc clothes that I didn't start summer with from NYC to Savannah in a few weeks when I go home. (I know, I know-- such a pesky problem to have.)

Anyway, when I was researching all the ways of getting things from point A to point B, I found myself on the UPS website entering in some shipping info like the weight of the boxes and the timeline recquired for the job to get done.

Then the website asked me to enter my address. And for about .8 seconds, I had to think about where I lived. Then, it hit me. Duh. I live at 1**7 Port Carlow! And I proceeded to fill in the rest of the registration with my address.

And when a message popped up that said that the shipping info didn't match the billing info, I felt like a doof. Right. No. I haven't lived their since probably... 5th grade. Nice one, Julia.

Let's try that again: 1**1 Port Carlow.

Again. NOPE. It's been a solid 6 years since we moved from that one.

So then, when that slight mind lapse ended, I started to type in my real address, 3** Pirate Road.

Except...wait... I haven't lived there in 3 years.

(What's scary is that this story is by not even 1% an exaggeration.)

Then, totally perplexed by my own life, I had to literally close my eyes, and sit for about 5 seconds to recall the address that I currently call home. The irony in this, of course, is that in the past year and a half that my parents have lived at that house, I have spent maybe about 4 months there in total. And by this time next year, they won't even be living there either!

By the way, the home that I was starting to develop in Savannah since last September also doesn't count anymore because I moved out of that sucker too. Ha!

So, even though I am technically living in 3 different homes in 3 different states in 3 different corners of the country, I still have to think for a second when I have to write down my own address.

What does this mean?

And how much therapy am I going to need in 15 years because of it?

Oh, geez.

Too much to think about right now.

Nothing a little pie can't fix.