On things you should know:

I've never seen Star Wars. Back when the little, old community theater on ninth played Friday night movies, my parents took me to see it, but I got so bored that I started throwing popcorn in the air trying to catch it in my mouth. But then I got in trouble, so I fell asleep and have never finished it because I don't care. And while I literally don't feel any guilt about saying that, I'm sort of a little bit sorry that I mean it. That's not the point, though. The point is that if you need someone by your side to accompany you on a Star Wars binge, my brother, Ben, is embarrassingly attached.

So, there you go.


Love, love,

A person who thinks you're cool, but thinks Star Wars is laaaaame.



I've been watching obscene amounts of How I Met Your Mother. Can you tell?

i've never been good with anatomy.

to be honest, i feel you in every half butterfly in my brain... or stomach... i can't quite remember the traditional location of the thing once it has injected itself into my bones.
are the butterflies in the bones?
well, you are in mine.

and someday i'll tell you to your face.
i just have to find it first.


love, love
             the one you chose to keep.


p.s.
please have dimples, and give them to our tiny humans. 

just so you know,

for you, i'd give up sour candy all together.

i started to write that i'd give up sarcasm, but then i realized that you probably think that's silly too.
the statement alone is a tad over dramatic, and completely unrealistic. don't you agree?
i'm glad we're on the same page, love.

with a sweet pea on top,
your candy girl.

p.s.
this is a face that i make for people. but only when i think they're especially cool. consider yourself ice cold, lover.

"brooklyn doesn't scare us... it's spot conlan who makes us a little noi-vous..."

any jack kelly fans out there?
me. i am.
that is correct.
i regularly feed my childhood love for him.
love me some jack kelly.
...okay, christian bale.
so earlier today, i might have been super obsessed with him.
i blame it on his willingness to support a union as well as that uncanny new york accent.
and in my obsession,
i stumbled upon these...
which one of them is
A: drool worthy
and the other
B: leaves you thinking, wtf.

indulge in a little jack kelly every once in a while. it's good for the soul. i'm actually pretty sure he is part of my soul by now.

stupid love. [the real kind.] [kind of...]

i know that it is hard to understand.
but, you guys...
green plaid. EVERY DAY? seriously?
this kid is my soulmate.

so this one goes out to you, quad-to-library-twice-a-week-at-3:41,
[stalker stat? on the contrary. it's all love.]

who are you, and how is it that you manage to seduce me with not a word, but a plethora of plaid button ups on tuesday-thursday.

marry me. thursday. on the quad, i don't care.

and he looked so handsome.

today's colors are red and white. the plaid shirt today was red and white.
and boy did it melt my butter.

i'd like to know his name.

he smells like books, but only the good ones.

i imagine he turns in his homework on time, and is rarely late for class.
under only the most extenuating circumstances would it be acceptable.
[i.e. he got caught up reading thoureau. he's dedicated.]
his blue plaid shirt tells me everything i need to know. and i bet he's witty.
he doesn't wear toms, and the idea of high top socks and a new age woodland t-shirt pains him.
clean shaven, and almond eyes.
probably pulls this on important days. and regular ones.


tuesdays and thursdays he smiles at me as we cross the quad.
and once, he came to my table to donate blood.
he's adorable.

i think i'm in love with him.

our sanity.

to the h.t.b:

if you're going to insist on wearing silver dog tags, and flat rimmed hats, i reserve the right to paint my nails in the car, and dress our son in the color pink. please, for all of our sakes, just don't.

love, your wifey.

some things i want to say to the crazy person that one day makes me his wife:

i am out of control when i vacuum.
i scream sing to phantom planet songs with my headphones in, and explore the gift i wasn't born with.
which is dancing.
it is all a highly unnecessary ritual, but i do it anyway. 
because i condone goofballing whole-heartedly.
and also,
i probably look pretty rad doing it.


loves.

strawberry fields forever.

helllllo cute boy.
it's me.
your one day wife.

i thought of some more things you maybe should be aware of.

first.
i like the beatles.
almost in the same way that i like you.
but not.
because i like you wayyyy more.

sometimes i say the 's' word, and then i don't even feel sorry about it.
actually, if i'm being honest, i do lots of things i don't feel sorry about.
like throwing gum on the sidewalk, and sometimes running stop signs.
i'm pretty risky business if you couldn't tell.
and when i'm sad, i feel like i deserve to not wear pants. so then i don't.
and i just decided to designate saturdays at our house as no pants day.
nobody needs to go out on saturdays.
therefore, nobody needs to wear pants.
it's incentive to push through the week. go with it.
i insist on raiding your closet, stealing your zip ups, and abducting your shaving cream.
but i give top notch tickle back turns, so it all evens out.
i don't like karaoke, and i will never make you watch moulin rouge. because i hate it as much as you do.
however, i refuse to share a glass of milk with you, and can make no promises of staying awake during football games on t.v.
you win some, you lose some i guess.
also,
sometimes, even after i'm pantless and still sad, i think of europe.
it's my happy place.
and we're going to live there one day. in ireland. i don't care what it takes.
but i've done my homework, and it is happening.
white washed walls, and a thatched roof on the cliffs of moher.
i'm sure that it is somewhere in the cards for us, even if it's buried deep.

but more importantly, you're in the cards for me, and we will cross this ireland bridge when we come to it.

sound like a plan, one day love?

because things like this always happen to me.

today i learned that there are fifteen dollars and thirty three cents in my bank account.

and it provoked me to do the following things:
--boycott a real bra, instead toasting to my friend, the sports bra.
--stand idly in the shower. for a longggg time...
--refusing to volunteer in class. {okay that one's not real. i don't do that anyway.}
--eat plain noodles for lunch for lack of a better meal. 

poking mama bear right now would be a very bad idea.

first of all, eaves dropping. that's fine. i'm not opposed by any means. however, when you're participating in such an activity, especially when strangers are involved, it would be beneficial to remember that you are not actually in on that conversation, nor do you know those conversing. so probably don't nod your head in response when they discuss the latest leo dicap movie. they don't know you. and they'll give you looks. and apparently, i'll blog about you. keeping yourself aware of the situation, could have saved you the humiliation. if you would have caught me on any other day, i could have looked past your inability to steer clear of the creep train, but not today. you're proudly riding now.

also, an absurd number of my peers are actually acknowledging me today... this is not normal. i've gotten smiles, waves, quiz partner invitations, laughs, the works. i'm the girl that avoids the front row, preferring to sit last row, last chair as to avoid such confrontation. the one day i don't wear a real bra. cool, you guys.

aaand last. i just want to inform you that i have a small stalker inside of me. she creeps, she quietly follows; she does not nod, but she still has a stalker stat. which is currently peaking. that was just a tid bit of knowledge that you, my blog friends, are now privileged with. allll twenty of you.

stalker stat of the day:
once there was a shuttle named campus loop. gary was the driver, and he picked me up after class to take me back to my dorm abode. which was nice of him. {but don't think i get special treatment; he picks everyone up.}
so here i am. sitting quietly, like always. no one of particular interest surrounding me. and then. standing on the sidewalk, that one boy is waiting patiently for gary to pick him up and take him home. naturally my hands start shaking for no apparent reason. other than complete obsession. at this point, the butterflies in my stomach are birthing more butterflies. {awkward}. i nonchalantly removed the newspaper that held the seat next to me bound like it was nbd, and placed it in my lap. this person, this great person, climbed onto campus loop, walked to me, prepared a backpack removal, and uttered a, "hey courtney!" from that tragically handsome smile of his, only to bypass me before i could mumble back anything audible. i could almost feel myself reaching out to touch his backpack or something. that was when the hypnosis subsided, and i turned back into a pumpkin. the moral of the story is, i got stuck with a spanish exchange student, and a three day old statesmen.

we think fruit's a bully.


 

pray for me.

let's pretend there's this fruit that only comes around every once in a while. and then let's pretend that this fruit is a watermelon.

so i guess there's this watermelon...

k now let's add that you've never tried watermelon before. but you think it's great already. you don't really need to taste it to know how great it looks in a zip up sweatshirt. and you cerrrrtainly don't need to have a real conversation with it to understand why there's no better fruit on the market. and maybe this watermelon makes you nervous, and you just want to die a lot when it comes in... season? and it knows that.
smart fruit.
so it takes full advantage of watching you fumble through words any chance it gets. it also takes pleasure in asking you to repeat phrases that have somehow escaped your mouth in the most juvenile of ways. because it's a fruit. and we think fruit is a bully.

k then the last thing that makes you want to be allergic is those watermelon eyes. you heard me.

it's obviously time to stay away from watermelon for a while.

ilikeyoualotandotherstuff.

this goes out to you, one day pal.

i'm reeeally good at cleaning. i pride myself in knowing that i am my mother's daughter when it comes to scrubbing, washing, and sudsing a kitchen counter. and also, i have a short temper, but you'd never know. it's a secret that i keep hidden very well; i keep it quiet. i just think it's only fair to tell you that i think some pretty sassy thoughts in my head whenever my temper elastic has snapped. speaking of sassy, i'm probably the definition. sorry in advance.

also...

not a fan of loud people, big crowds, or chips and salsa. but if you asked me to be, i'd try really hard. except the last one. that's a deal-breaker. my two favorite movies end with sad protagonists, and raspberry sherbet with gummy bears is a weakness of mine. i spend my free time on the basement floor of the library, reading artist biographies, studying art books that i won't be tested on. and one day, i plan on being a big time gardener.

love love love,
the stranger that's already yours.

chinese food makes me sick.

to whom it may concern,
to that one person that thinks my germophobia is cute,
to you, h.t.b. ...

-i will not buy one single girly mag ever again, if you promise me that you will never wear black tennis shoes.
-i beg of you... don't become one of those body builder dads. you know the type. spandex tight shirts, socks that run half-way up the calf. i know you know them. the ones that refuse to eat cinnabons at the airport because they're concerned about the calorie count. just. please. don't put me through it. or our children for that matter...
-i don't mind cooking dinner every night. i also don't promise to be good at it.
-i want to be a minivan mom. if it's not too much to ask...
-i order lemon chicken at fancy restaurants. every time.
-zip up jackets with hoods are my weakness. i'll probably get you one every birthday. just a warning.
-what normal people call jeans, i call levis. i don't know why.

love,
that girl that thinks you're pretty cool.

hey j-rad. if you're reading this,

please make me your wife.
oh. and i love you.

it's chocolate. and it crunches. ew.

to my husband...whoever you may be:

the following statements are allowed for you to know because you're really handsome probably.


little do you know, i'm a germaphobe; i am constantly washing my hands.
and i hate magic shell on my ice cream.


that's all.

xo,
wifey.

little love letters.

i just think this is charming.

i don't know about you... but i have a book dedicated to little letters much the same as these. because again. i think they're charming.
and you don't have to if you don't want. but just let me keep on thinking that they're wonderful.
okay?

i just thought i'd share this little lovely with you.

{happy sabbath.}

and in my dreams, i'm christmasing with you.

i apologize profusely for the faults that i am about to lay out for you.
but here goes.

it's like, almost-husband:

i could eat pumpkin chocolate chip bread all day long if you'd let me. kind of like how i could also watch the kardashian-jenner family just exist, ALL day long. i love them. i'm serious.

and if you'd let me one day, i could stay all day in our house forever. doing nothing. with the high class wardrobe of rosebud pajamas and my favorite b&b robe. it's the truth. i could stare at blinking tree lights and shimmering tinsel on our tree until my eyes fell out.

which reminds me...

i have never wanted to spend christmas on the beach. i, being the traditionalist that i am, prefer to spend it under the trees. lost in the trees actually. and i mean lost.
you know. cozy in a cabin. high above the rest of the world, but at the same time. lost in the trees.

and speaking of christmas.

i like tinsel. and lots of it. and playing find the candy cane in the christmas tree where that is precisely what is done. i'm a fan of too many decorations, and holiday socks. and it's not december the 25th until there is snow falling as well as fallen. and twinkle lights. promise me that we will never forget the twinkle lights.

so when i meet you, when we're in love, i apologize for my opinions. i can't wait to hear all about yours. :)
but for the meantime,

merry christmas, darling.