Rural Florida is not much different than all of West Virginia

This is a Wordless Wednesday post.

FOOLED YOU! I knew if I put Wordless Wednesday in the title, 50% of you would move on along down your Google reader list and call it a day. You'd be like me at Sams club with the free samples: "Oh, I couldn't! Well, maybe I'll just try it. Delicious! I think I might think about thinking about buying one." And I have absolutely no intention of buying the product.

But if you skip this one, you would have missed out on three things in this particular post: CUTE BABY PICTURES; lots of actual words; and my comparison of Rural Florida and West Virginia.

I was born and raised in West Virginia. Some of my very favorite people in the world were also born and raised in West Virginia. But come on, let's be honest, it's not the most sophisticated of places, which is OK because I'm not a sophisticated person.

I moved to Florida and I'm all, HOT DIGGITY DOG, no more hillbillies! Hoooooray! And sure enough, there are no hillbillies.

Because there are no hills.

Instead, we have rednecks.

Therein lies the first difference. Secondly, there are palm trees in Florida. Thirdly, the produce stands sell much more delicious fruit AND accept food stamps as payments, so that's different.

Other than that? Pretty similar, which just goes to show that a festival is a festival no matter in what state the organizers set up the [insert questionable meat product here] on-a-stick stands and shaky rides held together by duct tape, luck and a prayer.

Now, on to the pictures!

So many strawberries you turn INTO a strawberry!

Chilling in a great big strawberry.

Delicious.

Candy, foam hats and jazz hands. This is my idea of fun these days.

Very grumpy baby in a very cute hat.

Apparently this is a "thing".

Maybe next year, my love.

Wordless Wednesday except with words: Savannah!

It's almost back-to-school time for my hubby, and when summer begins to draw to a close, we've had a tradition of taking a mini-vacay the last weekend before he heads back. I had a half day Friday and after a nice lunch and nap, we decided to go to Savannah for the weekend. We're only about 3 and a half hours from the city, so it's a nice place to go -- beautiful, good food, far enough away that it feels like you're on vacation but not so far that you feel like you're going to kill your spouse on the drive back.

As you'll recall, we don't stay in nice hotels. Like ever. Like now it's sort of our "thing". This particular Days Inn was about 10 minutes from the historic district and had all the charm of a college dorm room but with none of the booze. Oh wait, there was booze at the "Hercules Bar and Grill", a round building surrounded by windows and Christmas lights, placed in the middle of a man-made pond. And let me tell you, was the Hercules jumpin' on the daily. It's like there was literally nowhere else to go so why not head down to the Hercules for a cold 'Nati? Have at it, friends.

The room  -- oh, you guys, the room -- was judged by our normal standard of "clean" i.e. no bodily fluids visible to the naked eye. It was a square white box, decorated with generic hotel artwork and dated bedspread. We had a fridge, although it was covered with rust (but clean inside). The TV had plenty of channels. There was a couch and a toilet and a shower with a shower curtain. I mean pretty much the lap of luxury except for the Daddy Long Legs (that my husband claimed was actually a deadly, poisonous spider) crawling up the wall. So there was that, but on the other hand, it only cost us $30 per night AND had continental breakfast. So you win some, you lose some.

OH, and I almost forgot to tell you about the clock: Hubby picked it up to set it for the next day and the top pulled off, so all you could see were the clock guts, but it STILL WORKED because it was a clock from 1982 and they don't make them like they used to, huh? At any rate, there was no way to set an alarm. I really know how to pick'em.

What site am I on, TripAdvisor? She's needs to get back to the story. I'm tired of hearing about her crappy hotel. OK you guys, no need to be rude, just one more hotel related thing, and I promise you'll like it. Here's a graph:

The trip was really fun, and if you haven't been to Savannah and get the opportunity to go, please do. It's just fascinating and very lovely. Don't go in August because in addition to those things, it's also very hot and sister can't BUY a breeze in that city in the summer.

Look at that big fat preggo about to waddle down some stairs!

AMAZING frozen hot chocolate at the Paris Market.

And then the most exciting part of the trip....I got to meet Allyson from Magnolias and Mimosas! She lives in the Dirty South now, is only a hot minute from Savannah and was on her way to Charleston to meet the one and only Salt (which I'm so bummed I didn't get meet her too, but hopefully in October). Maybe we were all inspired by some people and their recent bloggy meet up.

Anyway, we ate lunch at a sweet little bakery and had the best time! Go visit her blog.

So that was my weekend. Anybody been to Savannah before? What are your favorite things to do there?

How me became we: Why are we up so early? The proposal

Hubby and I dated for over a year and a half and had talked about marriage, but he always said he wanted to be able to afford a nice ring and just wasn't able to at the time. I was like NO BIG DEAL, my life is not defined by what age I am married, I AM SECURE IN OUR RELATIONSHIP (and I truly was). When we started planning our summer vacation to St. Augustine, FL, in May 2006 it wasn't even on my radar.

I purchased my first new car that Spring and we were going to drive it to Florida, stopping first in Charleston, SC on the way down. We left unreasonably cold WV for Charleston after work on a Friday night. The trip to Charleston was only about 7 hours, so we were there close to midnight and checked into our ghetto fabulous hotel. Hubby was, like, a FREAK about locking my car. He did the thing he STILL does to this day, where he will lock the trunk, then push down on the trunk, then lock it again. He looked out two or three times just to make sure the car was OK, and I was all, buddy, listen, I know you're excited about my new car, but honestly, take a chill pill.

We left Sunday for St. Augustine. Once we got to the hotel and carried our luggage in he started acting weird and quiet and I only noticed that looking back on it. It was sort of late and we were tired from the drive, but he still wanted to get up for an early morning walk on the beach. I'm such a grump in the morning and I was not having it, but he insisted. I'm like whatEVER, I GUESS I can take a nap in the afternoon BLAH.

Dark o' thirty in the AM rolled around before we knew it. We put on our beach walkin' clothes and started to head out. Hubby was holding his binocular bag and I couldn't figure out why, I mean a) what did he think he would see at 6:30 am? cruise ships? dolphins?  and b) why would he need binoculars for it?

We started out and walked and walked and walked and walked, then turned around and walked, then he stopped and bent down to pick up a shell (or so I thought). I turned around in a huff because sister ain't drank her coffee yet if you're picking up what I'm laying down.

Before I had a chance to yell, he was on his knee ON THE BEACH AT SUNRISE with a diamond ring. I don't remember what he said because he truly caught me off guard. All I knew is that the answer to that question was a resounding YES.

Approximately 3 minutes after he proposed.
The person we stopped to take our picture wasn't
nearly as excited about it as we were.

It turns out he couldn't figure out how to fit the ring box into his shorts without me noticing, so he put it in the bionularless bionocular bag. And the obsessive car locking? Three months salary was in that trunk. Now how was I supposed to know that? 

We were married almost a year to the day later at our outdoor amphitheater.

 

Should I go ahead and tell the photographer story? It's such a doosey, but this is getting long and it's my third post this week....do you guys mind? Here we go.

The photographer we chose was nice and cheap. Please, please, please, for those of you getting married, do NOT, under any circumstance, allow "cheap" and "nice" to dictate your wedding photographer choice. She was a nightmare. Her behavior included:

•  Even though I told her to NOT photography my sister and I without makeup, she did.
• She messed with my sister's dress and said "Let me just tuck you in....even skinny people can have back fat." and if looks could kill, my sis's gaze could have killed her instantly with white-hot firey rage.
• She told me my smile was cheesy.
• She booked another wedding while shooting ours and BRAGGED about it.
• She jumped in line before my in-laws during the buffet. 
• Hubby likes kissing me on the forehead because I'm so short and he's so tall, right? He probably did it 40 times during the reception. Toward the end she goes, "Hmmph. I swear, he just keeps kissing you and I miss it."
• At one point she said, "Well there are some shadows here, so I'll just put it on this setting and hope things come out" THANKS FOR INSTILLING CONFIDENCE.
• She overcharged us for our prints and took 3 months to send them. Out of 500 shots, we could barely find 100 that we liked enough for our album.

Please look beyond cheap and nice. The only good thing to come out of this experience was our ability to laugh at back fat.

Everything else was perfect -- perfect weather, yummy food, surrounded by my family and best friends. It was stressful, but beautiful. Here are some pictures!

My brother-in-law is a pastor and married us.

Us posing by the fountain,
yes, there is a copyright all up on that picture
but who has two thumbs, a cheesy smile, and doesn't give a crap? *this girl!*

Official-ness is a-ok!

After the wedding, we spent a week in Mexico at an all-inclusive -- I called it Wedding Rehab 2007.

Thanks for indulging me on this little trip down memory lane! I hope you enjoyed. I love hearing love stories, proposals and wedding stories, so you guys should share yours, too!

The It's Blogworthy Award: Beware of Gas Station bathrooms because someone might tickle you

 [ Have you joined the It's Blogworthy Facebook group yet? Rumor is, it's a really cool place to be. But that's just what I heart.]

I thought I'd start a new feature on It's Blogworthy to celebrate the most blogworthy people, places and things in some arbitrarily selected categories.

The first award is for Excellence in Gas Station Bathroom Sketchiness.

My many travels around the East coast of the USA have taken me to many a sketchy gas station, and due to a combination of coffee addiction and a small bladder, I've witnessed a variety of gas station bathrooms, truly the most disgusting, germ infested places on the planet. Actually, the only thing worse than a gas station bathroom is a gas station shower. I don't want to even think of the unspeakable acts that go on in a gas station shower.

There were many contenders for this coveted (by no one) prize. There was the bathroom in South Carolina celebrating Christmas with an exquisite, tiny Christmas tree in the corner and garland on the door. Then there was the bathroom in North Carolina that was located on the outside of the gas station. Here's how that transaction went:

Me: Do you guys have restrooms here?
Happy Cashier: We sure do! [ grins ]
Me: Well. Can I...use it?
Happy Cashier: SURE! [ grins ]
Me: Is it....somewhere....around here or....?
Happy Cashier: [ hands me a key attached to a full-on women's room sign ] [ grins ]
Me: [ thinks twice about this whole having to pee thing ]

But this bathroom wasn't quite sketchy enough. NO, it takes a special type of creepy to receive this incredible award.

The first annual Excellence in Gas Station Bathroom Sketchiness belongs to....

THE CITGO STATION IN SPARKS, GEORGIA!

Looks normal, right? We found this little gem on our way back from West Virginia, right off I-75!

I didn't say this award was for excellence in PUMP sketchiness, did I?

Once you get to the inside of this fine establishment, it's like a wonderland of filth and negligence. The hallway to the bathrooms was dark and foreboding, with one single flashing light bulb. There weren't real doors on the bathrooms, just the old tyme-y swinging cowboy doors. The stalls had doors, though (thank God), however, the men's room door was WIDE open and some guy was in there all, "hey, just washing my hands and being hygienic" but WITH THE DOOR OPEN. I know it's just hand-washing, but where are your boundaries, dude?

The women's room door was also wide open when I walked in. And this is where I found this wondrous specimen.

Here's where you stop to get "healthy". You do see these in pretty much any run-of-the-mill truck stop, but here's what made it special:

Super gross, y'all! I'm all Prudy VonPruderson up in here, but not so much that I can't snap a few picture phone pictures. Sorry for the terrible quality; it says, "Six Different Items in Rotation to Enhance Personal Encounters". Not with a 10 foot pole, people.

Congrats, Citgo in Sparks, GA, for your award.

Display it proudly!

Country roads are taking me somewhere, but not really home

Have you missed me posting all over your blogs the past few days? Hubby and I have been in West Virginia, the place of our births the place of my birth because Hubby will never let you forget that he was born in Kentucky even though he was raised for most of his life in WV and..AND...eastern Kentucky pretty much is the same as WV, how is that even better? Anyway. That's where we were. And boy, oh boy did I get behind on my blogging.

It was great for one reason only -- sister time. Sister time is my favorite time ever. It's filled with just pure awesomeness topped with icing from the most delicious cake place called Servatiis.

This is what I imagine Sister time looks like:

 We totally demolished that cake.

We had the best time just sitting around and talking and eating and then a not so great time watching UK lose to my mortal enemies, WVU. Then we reverted back to best times by making her cats dance.

Before the trip to sister's house, Hubby and I visited my Mom and Dad, who are getting ready to sell our childhood home. Mom finds all sorts of treasures, and by treasures I mean things that she doesn't have the heart to throw away, so she gives them to us to "do with them what we will."

One of these treasures was a big, plastic Big Boy bank. Do y'all have Shoneys? Well long ago and far away, Shoney's used to be Shoney's Big Boy. I guess there are still Big Boy restaurants around, but here is the logo:

via

So I'm laughing thinking, where on God's green earth did this come from? Mom proceeds to tell me how when my sister and I were little, she wanted this Big Boy bank more than anything and Mom wouldn't buy it for her. Big sister stepped in and bought it for her as a gift. Now I know, you're wondering, how did a young child get money to buy something like this? And to that I don't' have an answer and neither did Mom. It's so appropriate, though, because my Sister has always been awesome with money and is now an accountant, so I like to think I was building her dreams even at a very young age. I'm selfless and amazing like that. You're welcome, Sissy.

I decided it would be super funny to take the Big Boy to her for it to live in it's rightful home. Hub and I brought it in and wrapped it in paper we found in Sarah's dining room, then handed it to her. She was all, "Oh! A present!" and then laughed her face off when she saw it:

Please note the Snuggie she has on. And look how the Big Boy is staring longingly at her. Her husband better watch his back, is all I'm saying.

And also during this trip, our husbands went shopping together which we both agree will NEVER happen again. Go to her blog to read about that story and to see some male modeling.

Oh! And we are both known for saying some random things because that's just how our brain spits them out. Sarah was showing me her scrapbook calendar and one page has a pic of our two cats who passed away and Sarah's new kitties. Sarah said, "These are my two dead cats and these are my two alive cats" and also "He [one of the new cats] has a skunk eye in this one because he has the herp." And those are both reasons why she's the best.

Then on the way back, Hubby and I were simultaneously bored out of our skulls and terrified for our lives. If you don't know that feeling, drive I75 through Tennessee.

We're really into huge mugs lately, like the ones that hold 72 oz of water or whatever, because we both need to drink a ton more water than we already do. So I borrowed one from Sarah and then he randomly found one at a gas station. He found another use for it when we stopped at Arby's:

I am unbelievably proud.