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Sunday, October 28, 2012


There's a new song by Taylor Swift called "Stay, Stay, Stay".

On the way back from Auburn this morning (let's not talk about how terrible we are and how I left the game earlier than I have ever left an AU game in my life), I made my friend Mary Grace listen to it.

She said, "Well that was jolly".

The word 'jolly' made me think of a family I met at church camp a few years ago whose last name was Jolly.

And then I remembered the following short story:

I was in third grade and at camp for the first time in my life. While I was there, I met a new friend whose name was Abby, and we hung out together for the majority of the week. Near the end, Abby told me that her friend Trevor (Trevor Jolly) thought I was cute and she wanted to introduce us. And I agreed.

"Amy, this is Trevor."
"Trevor, this is Amy."

And instead of being normal, my anxiety of meeting a boy who thought I was cute turned me into the world's biggest dork. My way of saying hello to him was to raise my right hand up in the air and say "How" ... like a Native American. I looked like I was reciting the official oath to become the next Native American President of the United States.

I don't think I ever talked to that boy again. And Abby and I lost touch over the years.

But the point is ... I'm 24 years old now, and I still have have moments where I have to fight over butterflies. I don't think we ever grow out of getting anxiously excited or happily stressed out over little fun things between men and woman. Or at least I hope we don't. How boring would a marriage be if you lost your little heart flicker for your mate? The most boring. I love a good heart flicker.

Anyway, fun lazy Sunday afternoon story for you.

Monday, October 22, 2012


I’ve worked seven different jobs in my lifetime (McAlister’s Deli, Disney World, Byron’s Smokehouse, the Auburn University Department of Human Sciences, Auburn Alumni Association, the Mountain Brook Chamber of Commerce … and now … Strong).

Out of all these different organizations, I worked the longest and hardest at Disney World…the “happiest place on Earth”, which I can tell you from first-hand experience is not always necessarily true. When you combine 60+ hours a week on your feet with a spacesuit costume with upset screaming too short children with a 30 minute lunch break with minimum wage with Florida weather … the word “happy” doesn’t really come to mind. 

That being said, I had a blast regardless of the working conditions. Lots of fun stories resulted from my 5-month Disney stay that I still love to share (if my old blog still existed, we could go back and reminisce. But it’s not and that’s sad).

But I was thinking today how different things are now, and it’s so clear to me how much I’ve changed in three years …

  •      My list of qualities in a potential husband are completely different
  •      I don’t hate the University of Alabama
  •      My expertise in make-up has evolved for the better (Thanks, urban decay)
  •      I believe in the power of the iPhone (I used to be a hater)
  •      I know how to put together a media plan
  •      The idea of going to Nashville no longer scares me

                And the list could go on and on …
… but one HUGE difference is worthy of in-depth analysis. 


At Disney, I was 21 years old, would work 12 hour days and not think twice before changing clothes and heading out for the evening. Like, every single evening. I wouldn’t mind only getting four hours of sleep because I could function on it. No big. “Work hard, play hard" ... for five months.

Now, I’m 24 years old, work 9 hour days and come home completely and totally pooped. It’s embarrassing. All I wanna do is lay on the couch and watch Netflix (currently I’m going through SNL: the 2010’s) in some nice stretchy pants with my dog (#couldibeanymoresingle).

This cannot be a permanent thing. There’s no way. Just, no. It’s only my body getting used to this new schedule I’ve put it on, because I REFUSE to become boring. I mean, let’s be honest … I’m the fun one. I’m the girl whose best friend recently warned the new guy she was dating, “Okay. Now Amy is my friend who is wonderfully and beautifully insane. She’ll say whatever pops into her brain and she’s awesome. Don’t be afraid when she just starts talking to you like she’s known you all her life” … (yes, that conversation actually happened).

Here’s to hoping I’m only in the learning stage of how to live in “big-girl world. All I want to do is meet up with friends after work for drinks or dinner or maybe go shopping or get together and watch a movie! I don’t wanna stop! I wanna go-go-go-go but my little Amy body won’t have any of it right now.

I’m giving myself until the end of November to get it together. If that doesn’t happen, then we can back up and punt and reevaluate my life. Looking forward to it. 

PS I'm not complaining about working. I'm very grateful to have my job and am very blessed. VERY VERY VERY BLESSED!

Sunday, October 7, 2012

The dress

I got a job!

Last week, I started my very first big girl job at Strong ... an advertising agency here in Birmingham ... as an Account Executive Assistant.

It's been a crazy overwhelming week but I think once I get into the swing of things, I think I'm really going to love it.

One of the many things that comes along with the blessing of starting a new job is ...


Luckily, Strong has a pretty laid back environment (Half of the company is art driven so that makes sense, right?) so I don't have to wear a suit everyday or even dress pants everyday. Jeans and a sweatshirt are apparently perfectly fine ... that is, if important clients are not going to be in office that day.

I kinda love shopping for clothes. I used to hate it because I was huge and nothing fit me. The things that DID fit me were always a super high number that girls my age would laugh at. (I'm sure if I went back and found middle and high school diary entries, I could make you cry at how sad I was to be a "bigger girl").


As much as I love to shop for clothes now, I will never forget the way I felt shopping with my mom for a specific type of dress one day in May 2008. (I don't think I've ever shared this story before ... at least never written about it ... but I was going through old pictures last night, and I need to share. It's too great).

My mother (Gran Jan as she is affectionately referred to by several) married Coach Grammer in June 2008 ... pretty much at my request, if we're being honest.

Let's back up...They began dating when I was a sophomore in high school and they realized that they wanted to get married when I was a senio. I was still going through my rebellious,  "I hate my life. I hate that my parents are divorced. I'm going to cause problems for everyone because I can" phase. And I pitched a holy...I mean a HOLY fit when this wedding was first pitched to me.

I just could not believe my mother was going to make me live in the same house as my high school's soccer coach ... while I was still a student there. Everyone was going to make fun of me, and I would lose all my friends and basically, my life would be over if she made me live in such horrible conditions. I blasted her. I yelled at her. I left the house in the middle of the night hoping she would think something awful had happened to me. I made her life miserable all so she would agree to wait until I was in college so I wouldn't have to live with him.

And guess what?

She did.

And let me just stop a moment and say how much I love her for that. Not only did she put up with me treating her like scum of the earth, but she put off her wedding for an entire year ... for me. That's true love right there. I respect and adore my mom for several reasons, but this one is in the top two.


Regardless of the fact that she waited a year to marry the Coach, I still was not happy to go wedding dress shopping with her when that day came (When I say wedding dress, I mean just a dress to wear to the wedding. Not a bridesmaid dress or anything. They didn't have a big blowout wedding at all. It was in Coach Grammer's church's fellowship hall complete with takeout from Zoes, candles from Wal-Mart, and confetti from Party City. Sounds super redneck when it's described like that but ... it is what it is).

I don't know how we ended up in The Dress Barn (I had never stepped foot in the a day in my life) but I saw this really weird different looking dress that I demanded to try on. My mom laughed in my face and said it was hideous ... which really made me mad. Like ruffled my feathers, "Don't tell me what I can and cannot wear (even though it's your wedding), try to stop me from trying it on" type situation.

The dress was awful. I mean downright awful. But there was no way on this planet that I was going to reveal that she was right and I was wrong. I was SO MAD that she had laughed at it and said I had horrible taste that I demanded she buy it for me even though I hated it (I seriously needed to be on medication. Like, what in the world. Hats off to the woman for not murdering me. My goodness). And I have no idea why, but she bought me the dress. I think she did it to prove a point ... I really think she knew years down the road that all the pictures would feature me with hideous dress and it would literally be documented that she was right and I was wrong ... which is perfectly fine. I deserve it.

So behold:

Spot the hideous dress yet? If not...let me help you...

I look like a cardboard cutout wearing a table cloth. A shiny metallic wrinkled tablecloth.

And PS ... whoever told me my hair looked good brown needs to be sued. Embarrassing.

I am proud to say that I have come a long way when it comes to clothes. I actually care about what I look like, wear more than just nikes and chacos (although I still wear them), and I daydream of buying my first ever Tory Burch item. It's a nice feeling to walk around in the world and not be scared that Stacy and Clinton are going to pop out from behind a stop sign and flash your face all over TLC.

I was cleaning out my closet a few days ago, making the switch from Summer clothes to Winter clothes when the hideous dress popped out behind my high school graduation gown and I had to make a decision: donate it or keep it.

I kept it. It's still hanging in my closet. I don't think I will ever have the heart to throw that dress away.

It's a marvelous reminder of how far I've come, both in the fashion world and the emotion world.

I swear my life could be a reality show.

Oh PSS ... I'm writing all this from my bedroom which is right about mom and Coach Grammer's room ... and no hissy fit in sight.