Archive for March, 2009

No, not Twilight.  Vampire romances never bit me.  I’m talking about an awkward teen in England that goes by Georgia Nicholson.

She shaved her eyebrows, went to a party dressed as a stuffed olive, but most importantly she taught me to laugh at my own self more while comforting me that I’m not the only person in the world that confides in my cat because that’s the only one that can understand me (sometimes, at least… sometimes even the cat can be heartless… does that make sense to anyone?).  She taught me the terms “sex god,” “have the painters in,” and “how’s your father,” and ultimately helped me to feel less awkward around guys.

I rediscovered my love (not of the lesbian kind, but one similar to a “man-crush”—I have a wonderful boyfeller) for Georgia when my English professor gave us an assignment to imitate an author of our choice, as long as the chosen author didn’t write poetry or plays.  It took me a while to decide on the perfect author for me—people threw out suggestions like Fitzgerald, Hunter S. Thompson and John Updike—but then a comment from an old friend on facebook reminded me (indirectly) of Louise Rennison, who wrote the series “Confessions of Georgia Nicholson,” and the first book is titled Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging.

This character, although fictional, is probably my “twin.”  Please, just find the book and read like, the opening page.  You’ll see why I say she’s my alter-ego.  We share so many similarities, except I suppose I’m a more mature version of her.

Georgia experienced seriously awkward moments in her life while she was growing up, and God knows I’ve had my fair share of “awkwardosity.”

She may have a 3-year-old sister that peed somewhere in her room, but my roommate has a Yorkie that can’t control her bowel movements… particularly in my room, for whatever God-forsaken reason.  She’s French-savvy (to some degree), and I struggle with it somewhat.  But I’m good with coffee.  I’m devilishly good with coffee.  In fact, I’m “double cool with knobs” when it comes to coffee.  Georgia’s so-called best friend, Jas, started a rumor that Georgia is a lesbian (which isn’t true, mind you), and my roommates nicknamed me “Shitney,” because of wonderfully awkward moments, a.k.a. dumb blonde moments, that I have from time to time.  I should probably also explain here that we have our own language called “shanguage,” that replaces the first two consonants in a word with “sh-.”  My name is Brittney.  Just think about that one a second.

So, here’s to you Georgia Nicholson.  May we meet someday in another world.

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So I’ve been wanting to blog for some time now, and I recently just posted one I started working on… Wednesday I think?

Eh, anyways, I have to say that today was a good one. Fridays always are for me. I was supposed to take an oral exam in French, but unfortunately it was postponed until next week. Unfortunately, our professor has strep throat. Which sucks. Big ones.

So, instead of butchering the eloquent French language today, my other half and I spent some time in Downtown Knoxville before he had to go to work at 4. It was fun.

The first place I took him to was J’s Mega Mart (please check out the awesome blog entry on it) on Gay Street (which is NOT where a lot of homosexuals hang out, fyi).

This place, if I may say so myself, is freaking AWESOME. They have wigs. They have extensions. They have hats (see below).

They have food, toiletries and home decor. It, in every sense of the phrase, is a mega mart. It’s a Wal-Mart not on steroids. It’s amazing. In fact, today was the second time I’ve been there this week; yesterday I went for work to compose a blog. Unfortunately, I can’t post it until I get pics on there. Meh.

{meanwhile on the farm…}

Speaking of Downtown Knoxville, I’m beginning to spend some serious quality time down there. I’ve always been a fan of old bigger cities (than Wartburg—anything bigger than Wartburg is a big city to me), but Knoxville holds a special place in my heart for sure. For years of driving on the Interstate to Dollywood from my hometown we would always go through a portion of Downtown. I can remember looking out the van window (we had an awesome ’90-something blue Dodge Caravan. Word.) and wondered if the Sunsphere was a giant golden tee-ball Knoxville won for being awesome in the sport, and then I would look longingly to be amongst the old towering buildings and perhaps someday live in Sterchi Lofts.

My fingers are crossed that I might next year. With a cat. Possibly, MAYBE, a roommate, room permitting.


There’s just something about Downtown Knoxville that entrances me. I’m not quite sure what it is—the atmosphere, friendly faces, art, culture, businesses, extravagance of downtown living, old buildings, walking—but it gets me hooked every time.

I just feel grown-up down there; I feel independent and like I’m finally living my dream.. or one of them at least.

Looking back just even a few years ago on my life, my thoughts, my perspectives, I can remember an earnestness, this burning desire, to be downtown somewhere, anywhere. Granted, Knoxville is NOTHING like New York City, but it still gives that home-y downtown vibe.


That’s it! Eureka! Downtown Knoxville feels like home, keeps me there, because it DOES have a home-y-ness to it!


Dang it, if I’m not meant for urban, city living then dang… If I can’t afford it I’ll just take a cardboard box with me when my lease is over. That’ll work. My gym has showers.

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I had an epiphany looking at a dead rose today.

For Valentine’s Day, my sweetheart bought me a dozen roses. Almost a month later, I’m finally discarding of most of them, but I was thinking about saving a rose or two, so I began to compare each of them, looking for the best-looking one to keep.

I decided to keep three of them, and then I proceeded to take the petals off the blooms I decided not to keep. As I was peeling away one dried petal at a time, I noticed they kept getting smoother, sweeter smelling and brighter.

It reminded me of that phrase, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Although it looked dead on the outside, the dead petals were preserving the ones not yet harmed by the outside world; they were protecting its inner soul, keeping it as pristine as the day it blossomed.

However, not all of them turned out that pristine on the inside. One in particular looked more attractive on the outside, but on the inside it was brown and dead.

Once again, don’t judge a book by its cover.

Considering that, a comparison could be made between the dead roses and people. For instance, some individuals have a better outward appearance than an inner one. Some guys, for example, have the face of an angel but the heart of a demon.
On a better note, the opposite is true, too. When someone lacks in looks, usually their personality makes up for it.

The roses taught me that, or rather, reminded me of that conclusion I made a long time ago.

Another way of looking at it is that sometimes life and beauty can come from hard times, like dealing with death. Even the seed must die to grow into a redwood.

Sometimes before accomplishing our greatest triumphs we have to hit rock bottom to appreciate them more, to appreciate the struggle and hard work to get there.

That’s life for ya.

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