famous last words

I'm going to the bathroom to read.

A party! Let's have a party!

Mozart!

I'm bored with it all.

Famous last words. If you Google famous last words you'll find some of ^these^ along with many, many others. If you stalk my blog, you'll quickly learn that I am a frequent famous last word-er. Not sure if there's a support group for us FLWs, but if so A) let me know which church basement I should be going to for this problem, and B) do they serve donuts?

A little over four years ago Freddie left Atlanta for Charleston and never really looked back. Well, he looked back long enough to grab me by my left ring finger and bring me with him marry me. Whenever we were asked if we'd move back to Atlanta or Georgia one day we'd always laugh and say Probably not! Because duh, we had lived in that area our entire lives. Come on, people asking questions, get it together! We wanted to explore, to travel, to be in our own bubble. So we did. We explored, we traveled, and we started building our own little Rick n' Em bubble.

side note: I used to babysit a boy who couldn't say bubbles so naturally instead he called them boobies. It was the greatest. 

Which is why right at two years ago when Freddie got the opportunity to work in Houston we said Yee-freaking-haw! and traded in our bathing suits for cowboy boots (uh, still my most favorite rhyme ever). Freddie never really looked back after that move either, but I sure as word-that-rhymes-with-bit did. Not living in the town of Chucks was a hard pill to swallow, but once Rodeo Rick and I experienced our first taste of Texas BBQ and watched our first round of Mutton Bustin', we were hooked on all things bigger and badder in the Lone Star State. Still we'd pretty frequently get asked when we were coming home or when we were moving back to the Peach State, and still we'd give people the oh puh-lease chuckle. No. Thank. You.

And now I present you with an intermission story of 

Freddie and Emily: Through The Years Of Moving

Blurry bar pic of Freddie's last night in Atlanta circa 2013

The freckled Lowcountry Weisses circa 2014

Texas Weisses with the addition of Lupe Tortilla Weiss (and his tongue) circa 2016

Being away from family is such a strange feeling. Some days it's nice to have distance and make whatever time you do have together that much more precious, but being away slowly started to feel more like a punishment. Why couldn't we get more than just quick holiday catch-ups with our families? Why, Delta flippin' airlines, do I have to pay $600+ for a plane ticket if I want to go see my family on a trip that wasn't planned 3-4 months in advance?

I remember when Atlanta and thoughts of the potential to live there again one day started creeping back into our heads. We'd casually mention it to each other, and then as if we knew we were saying something wrong we'd take it back.

But we always said we'd never go back! 
But it's Atlanta! 
But it's where we grew up. 
But there are so many other fun places.
But but but...

**It's important to note when I use the pronoun we that 85% of the time I am talking about me/I. I could be in a corner having anxiety attacks about going back on my word while Freddie would be sprawled out across the two patio chairs, beer or cocktail in hand, already having moved on and/or completely forgotten about whatever he said that may sound crazy. Let's all be more like Freddie.

Anyways, who's still with me at this point in the story? Mom? Dad? Good because here's the point of this long butt story:

Georgia or Bust, am I right? East coast, best coast?

We are moving back home! Back to Hotlanta. It's scary, stressful, super quick, but it's oh-so exciting! I hope you inserted your proper response of ::squealing:: right about ^^there! A job opportunity for Freddie came up, and next thing you know we were out champagne toasting Freddie accepting said job opportunity and us planning a move.

Houston was a big bleeping deal for us. We didn't have much money, stability, or even much of a support system when we moved here. It felt a lot like starting from scratch, but we did it. We figured it out. We spent a lot of time just the two of us. We made the best of friends. We budgeted. We found the coolest dog ever (our biggest accomplishment in life, thanks Reddit). We lived here. Here I'm using the verb live not in the yes-we-have-a-Houston-address way, but more in the we-got-through-the-sticky-times-and-created-the-party-times-here way. Because that's what living is really all about, right? Life shouldn't be all butterflies and rainbows, but it sure should be about finding the butterflies and the rainbows even on the cold, dreary days.

Ugh, I hate myself for that analogy. My b. Eye roll. 

I will finish by quoting the great T.I. feat. Rihanna, So live your life (Hey!) Go be, go do, just go. One of my close friends recently moved back home and although her move was for different reasons than ours she shared with me a simple, yett powerful sentence from one of her friends: You will never regret going home. 

So on that note...we're gonna go to Jawjuh!
Over
and
out. 

the red wire or the blue wire?

Currently I have two Pinterest tabs opened on my computer. One so I can search makeup storage on bathroom counter, and the second so I can search office for men. 

Two life or death/super important/hardest decision ever kind of things. 

I am being the biggest baby when it comes to unpacking and decorating our new place. Ever since last June when we moved to Houston, I have been saying I want (read need) more space, and now I have it, and I'm losing my...mind. Losing my mind. If you care to insert a stronger word there then be my guest. 

That was all going to change this past weekend. Ricky and I started a list of things we needed and things we wanted to do around the apartment. Fun fact, this list was Ricky's idea, and he even wanted to go to Target to start knocking out said list (?!), so I did what any obedient wife would do, and I followed him into Target. To knock out our to-do list. To finish living in disarray. To decorate our new place.

Example A of losing one's bleep:

I stood in the bathroom section of Target debating between a wooden bathroom countertop organizer or a glass and metal vanity tray and OH MY GOSH! Oh my gosh! Let me say it one more time, oh my gosh. It's like choosing the red wire or the blue wire to disarm a bomb, but way, way harder. Which tray do I get to put on my bathroom counter?! The three guests every four months we have are going to have to see this tray on my bathroom counter, and I want them to like it! No, I want them to love it. 

I couldn't picture either of them sitting there on the counter. I tried so hard, but my brain wasn't allowing it, so five fifteen minutes later I finally just walked away empty handed. 

New, big apartment - 1

Emily - 0

But it was okay! Bathroom may have won that round, but I was ready to conquer the floor lamps. I was armed with my Cartwheel app, and my empty-no-bathroom-counter-tray arms and we were ready to win. 

I took six steps down the floor lamp aisle, took one quick glance up at the eight to ten display lamps they had, and turned my behind right back around and left. Because...because. Floor lamps are expensive. And...there were a lot of styles. And...I can't decide what I want the feel of this new apartment to be. 

Side note: as I was leaving Hobby Lobby the other day I noticed the chair up front. You know, the one chair to rule them all? It was like the ghost chairs that are ever so popular among the blog world, but with wooden/more modern looking legs. 

That was a horrible explanation, BUT that chair is exactly how I want our new place to look. 

Cool, clear, modern, wooden...cozy? Did I already say cool?... you just have to be there to see the chair, okay?

And if all of those words up there ^^^ aren't the perfect Example B's of losing one's bleep then I don't know how much more crazy I can get for you without needing a sedative. 

On that note, I'm off to sit on the couch and admire my invisible floor lamp and invisible bathroom counter vanity trays. 

five on friday: moving mayhem

 Today's Friday Five/Five On Friday/Friday Favorites/Alliteration Annihilation is...

Surprise! We're moving! And no, it's not a fun moving post like this or this.

We're moving a mile down the street. Literally a mile. Down the same road.  The same, horribly pot-holey Houston road. 

Now raise your hand if you've ever watched Tiny Houses and had an epiphany like, Oh my gosh! I need a tiny house. Downsize is the right size! I'm here to tell you FALSE. Tiny houses/homes/apartments mean sitting on top of each other all the time. They mean that if you need to do separate work that somebody has to sit on the bed or study on the floor. Or leave and go somewhere else. They mean  that when you have a few months of some serious stomach issues and the bathroom is off the bedroom and you can hear everything that goes on in there that you're surprised when your spouse still wants to go to bed with you. But like not that I would know that particular point or anything...

I say all of this because our new place is 350 more square feet for the same price. High five self! (I never knew I could have such strong feelings for a unit of measurement, but wowza). It's got a separate dining room. The bathroom isn't right off the bedroom. It's got a small study. It's got an entire laundry room*. High fives for everyone! 

*room here means small space just big enough to fit one washer, one dryer, and one person's sucked in tummy to fit in said room.

But with these beautiful, precious, and prized square feet come all the ugly, disgusting, and horrible factors of moving. 

one // boxes 

I've never appreciated the term think outside the box more than when I started trying to fit things in boxes. Boxes are not made to fit things. Boxes are made to fit books, aaaaand that's about it. My fun "W" shaped decor does not fit in them. Our kitchen gadgets do not fit in them. Our linens do not fit in them unless we turn them all sorts of different ways. So ya know what? I'm about to start thinking and packing outside the box. And by packing outside the box I mean just carrying everything in my arms, I guess. 

two // motivation

This time around we have fifteen days to move stuff before we have to be out of our current place. That sounds great until we realize that another day has gone by, and all we've done is talked about packing, not packed, and watched Game Of Thrones. But as the ever-so-wise Scarlett O'Hara said, After all, tomorrow is another day. <<<this way of thinking will only work until June 15 when there is literally only one more tomorrow before we have to be out.  

three // crap

When we did the whole downsizing is the right (wrong) sizing thing last year we purged a lot of crap. A lot. There's also a lot currently living in my parent's garage, but we'll count that as stuff we got rid of. So in the past twelve months of living in a tiny apartment I'm not sure how we accumulated so much crap, but...

...this is the part in the post where I want to say we should never own a house because I know we'll accumulate too too too much stuff, but I refuse to say that because Freddie will come back here years from now and find it. 

...but oops, I did say it. 

four // packing tape

Am I the only one who can never get it to stay on the weird red part that's supposed to hold it from sticking back to the roll? 

five // unpacking

Do I really need to further explain this point? Isn't it just a universal thing that everyone hates unpacking? I'm pretty sure you can't be a human and live on Earth unless you agree that you hate unpacking. Or something. Decorating is one thing and that one thing is fun. Unpacking is another thing and that thing is sucky. 

Happy Friday!

May all your future moves be easy as pie. 

And then may you eat pie to celebrate the easy as pie move. 

Linking up with Karli and Amanda. 

a day in the life of slacking packing

I get stressed out fairly easily. When I say fairly I am using it in the most-definitely-all-the-time kind of way. It's really rather ridiculous how I can take the smallest situation and stress and overthink and ponder and wonder and worry over it until the cows coming home and get back out and come freaking home again. 

Freddie rarely gets stressed out. When I say rarely I am using it in the maybe-once-a-year kind of way. The dude is the most laid back, go with the flow, don't worry/be happy kind of dude. 

We've got a good thing going on over here.

E: OMG we are going to be late! Why did we plan better? You should call. Call. Are you calling? Ugh. Why are we late? What did we do wrong in life for this horrible late thing to happen to us.

F: ::sits there in silence::

See? A really, really good thing going on over here.

Anyways, so what was I going to talk about? Yes, packing.

Dun dun dun. The dreaded p word (t rhymes with p and that stands for pool/packing) (bloggy bonus points to whomever can name that musical). 

We are moving across the way this weekend into a newer, nicer, hardwood floored condo. Which means there is going to be a lot of rug talk going on here soon...but anyways, back to moving and packing.  We have been slowly going through stuff, throwing away stuff, and giving away more stuff. I thought we had been keeping up a pretty good packing pace. A little boxing up here, a little throwing out stuff there, and voila! The last week to pack is upon us. No big deal, right?

WRONG. SO WRONG.

Three nights ago was a Monday night which means it was an ew, gross night. Mondays are long and this one was made longer by the kind of Monday-ness that was going on this past Monday. Catch my drift? We ate some din din, hardcore finished the kitchen and the pantry, and had plans to finish the china cabinet. I was rocking out to my music, stopping for the ever-so frequent dance party when Ricky started to get stressed. I could tell he was stressed because he was laughing at me in the haha oh you're dancing? WHY ARE YOU DANCING WHEN WE SHOULD BE PACKING? kind of way. I ignored the jaded laugh because I mean, it was Monday and I wanted to dance. I also wanted to eat Freddie's leftover birthday eclair because yummy so I had plans to sit on my booty and eat that eclair as soon as we were done for the night.

My view from the couch. Err, I mean from packing stuff around the couch. 

Except we were never done for the night. Never! The work is never done! <<what Rick sounded like that night. Freddie started listing off everything we still had to pack and wanted to take me on a walking tour of the apartment so we could see his list in person, but the thing is....we didn't need to take a walking tour because I knew everything that is left and we are fine.

We are fine. 
We can sit down and eat some eclair for a break. We don't have to work until midnight. We don't have to box up all our underwear because I would like to have some to wear until the weekend. Because we will be just fine come this weekend.

And I promise not to freak out to him if we aren't fine. Because stopping to eat some eclair will have been worth it. 

And that, my friends, is the story of how Freddie and I upped and switched personalities after one year and one month of marriage. 

currently: no sleep edition

writing

This blog post, obviously. Oh, you want to know what I'm actually factually handwriting? That would be anything and everything in list form. My current lists include: groceries, outfit ideas (so cliche and girly. so what), ideas for packing (yes, we're moving to a new apartment), and other random to-do things like thank you notes and e-mails to parents. Phew. 

anticipating

Remember ^^ up there when I said we are moving into a new apartment? I'm anticipating that. And decorating said new hardwood floored apartment. I'm in love. I mean, I see an IKEA trip needing to happen in the near future. I also see us needing to win the lottery before that IKEA trip. So yes, I am anticipating winning the lottery. 

missing

Our friends, Paul and Brian (otherwise known as our wedding coordinator and videographer), were in town for Labor Day weekend and they showed us a good time. Isn't that backwards? They got us out and partying in the city. I haven't stayed up until 2am in awhile. I haven't stayed up until 2am 3 days in a row in a longer while. And if that picture of Brian partnering me in the middle of a dance club at 2am doesn't explain what fun we got into this weekend then I just don't know how to explain it. Read: lots of wine. 

wearing

Leotard and tights. Forever and always. Amen. 

craving

Jeni's ice cream. Forever and always, again. I had it Sunday night and by Monday morning at 7:30 I was ready for more. I mean, my thought is if I'm going to run and exercise 6 days a week then I am totally allowed to eat ice cream every day (<<reason #35 why I am not a nutritionist or personal trainer).

Linking up with Jenna and Anne!