but, as they say, all good things must come to an end.  and for me, that means that the mediocre time i had figuring out the potentially sweet options of wordpress that i rarely was able to tap into is packing up camp and heading out.  actually, i’ve been unfaithful to wordpress for the last few weeks…. i’ve already started using my new blog on tumblr and am really loving it.  a lot less options, but the ease of posting is far worth it.

so, while every loyal bone in body shutters, i give you my new blog – http://gingeroutofwater.tumblr.com/

so i started playing around with the idea.  if i could make it somehow my own, then there’d be the plus of not really having a bandwagon to worry about jumping on/off.  not to mention never worrying about looking back years from now ashamed of my inability to be original in any way shape or form.  then i thought, while i know it’s being done by hundreds of others, pairing the bucket list with a blog seems fun.  make a list.  complete a strange task.  write it down and maybe even entertain a few people.  so i sat down specifically to think of clever things to add to my blog bucket list.

then, before i got a single idea out, panic hit.  lists.  requirements.  deadlines.  the lack of concrete details is everything i love about blogging.  to make a list of things to follow would be taking away all the fun, not to mention any motivation i have for actually writing a blog at all.  i let out one of those obnoxious long sighs where your shoulders rise and fall completely unnecessarily.

the hodge podge that has become my blog is something i really love.  however, i do realize that the lack of concentration or coherency between posts also makes it less of a blog and more like a spell checked and titled journal entry.  and none of us want this to become a slightly matured version of livejournal.com with better taste in music.  so, despite whatever it is in me that holds on desperately to the ease of unorganized haphazard blogging, i am giving this some definition.

i promise myself never to have deadlines, word count requirements, or to write on a topic solely because i previously alluded to the fact that i might.  i only promise that i will make outlines of potential content, and then try to channel my crazy thoughts into those.   those outlines/ideas/bucket lists/topics/categories are still up for debate.  but for now i’ll leave you with the anticipation of the semi-organization that is to come, and that i suppose comes with growing up a little anyway.  well, maybe.  unless i don’t want to.  or i think of something better.  or go awal and delete the blog.  haha.  but that won’t happen.  unless it does…

xoxo- beth ann

i’d never heard of or seen said locket, so i asked her what it looked like.  unlike my first question, this one made her actually look at me for a second and she said, “you know, grandma VanDeGujuchte’s locket that i wore at my wedding” as if i was being dense, and even worse, doing it on purpose.  i’m sure i mentioned less than politely to her that i wasn’t alive during her wedding, so no, i did not know about the locket.  then she added, “it’s the necklace everyone wears at their wedding.”

naturally, having never before been clued in on the necklace, i yelled, “what?! like who?”  as the conversation continued i heard that a handful of women in our family have worn it at their weddings, and my little sister even chimed in, asking, “how did you not know about the necklace? even i know about the necklace.”

i felt so hurt that no one told me about it!  we had a family heirloom that i was not clued in on.  finally, after the anger subsided some, i asked my mom if i could see it.  of course, she had already sent it to her friend in florida and i had to wait until she sent it back to nana’s house, where the heirloom normally resided.

honestly, after that, i forgot about the necklace.  it wasn’t until recently that i realized that i still had not seen the amazing locket that i would someday wear at my very own wedding.  watching nana unwrap the necklace was so exciting, i was actually holding my breath.  she pulled it out, and laid the locket over the back of her hand like a jeweler would.  i gazed down at our beloved treasure to see an oval locket necklace that’s base is silver with gold decoration and a gold chain.  the locket opens up with a tiny picture of my deceased great grandmother.  it’s kind of bulky, and the shape the gold makes on the front barely resembles a flower.

there is nothing cool and vintage about it.  the size isn’t big enough to be trendy, or small enough to not make someone stop and stare.  the contrast of the silver and gold does nothing but make you wonder why the designer didn’t just make up their mind and pick one.  the length of the chain leaves the pendant sitting square on your chest, and would never be covered by any sort of wedding dress that doesn’t also include sleeves and a turtle neck.  it’s just ugly.

so that’s that.  i have to wear an ugly silver but mostly gold locket on the day in my life when i’m supposed to look my best.  when nana left the room, i secretly pulled the necklace back out and put it on.  i wanted to cry.  and not in that really dramatic, over used statement kind of way.  i really was so disappointed i almost cried.  but then i started laughing.  of course.  my family wouldn’t have some eloquent piece of coveted jewelery.  we have a necklace that everyone refuses to wear except for the one day in their life when they are forced to have it on in public.

i guess this means on my list of crazy things my future husband will be forced into we can add, “deal with large ugly locket on wedding day.”  also, in case mr. right happens to ever read this, i’d really appreciate it if you didn’t stare directly at it all day.  since i’ll just have become your wife and all, i’d like you to look at me now and then too.  thanks for understanding.

xoxo -beth ann

on this particular day however, they weren’t in my lane at all.  in fact, my sister and i were the only two in the lane and we had an awesome swim.  i was pretty proud of myself for keeping up with my sister, who is still on the high school swim team, and i was just content in general.  then we got into the locker room.

the camp kids had also gotten out of the pool and had been in the locker room for a little bit when we came in, and i noticed our locker was ajar.  never a good sign.  all the little girls that had been loitering around the locker area had fled the scene and i knew something was not right.  i opened the locker all the way and immediately noticed, my necklace was gone.  after searching everything and asking the camp counselors i sat down, feeling defeated by those little 8 to 12 year olds as my eyes welled up with tears.

now, the necklace probably cost me $15 plus shipping.  it wasn’t expensive or nice really.  but, it was my lavaliere.  which, for those of you who don’t know sorority/fraternity lingo, means it was the letters of my sorority.  those ornery little kids probably don’t even know what a sorority is, let alone how to read the greek alphabet… so really, i guess the necklace probably will mean as much to them as the $15 does to me, which is pretty insignificant.

but it was the sentimental value that mattered to me.  and that is so cheesy to talk about, i know.  as i sat there, still in my towel, on the dirty locker room floor, i was acting no more mature than those day campers as i blinked back tears.  my little sister did the awkward half laugh where she wanted to be concerned but she was also trying to hold back giggles at my petty actions over a simple piece of jewelry.  in the moment, it was not funny to me.  but you know what?  it is now.  who sits on the floor and cries at my age anyway?  haha.  of course, i still wish i had it, but that’s the funny thing about sentimental value.  the important parts are the memories that it represents.  so, i suppose i should be glad that i got to add one more laugh to my lavaliere, even after it was gone.  and i also suppose i should invest in a padlock for my locker…

xoxo- beth ann

so, i went to chicago this weekend.  my childhood best friend is moving there next week.  we were just lying on the floor of her completely empty apartment, 33 stories up, after having painted three of her four rooms, drinking wine, looking out at lake michigan and the city lights.  it was beautiful.  we spent way too much time at ikea, and laughed at billboards and odd memories as we drove in and out of suburbs of the giant city.  it felt almost like i was one of those girls who was in her early 20s, spending everything i had to get to the big city, taking a leap of faith that somehow the hustle and bustle would be worth it in the end, and taking every step with a smile and naivety that only comes from growing up in a small city in the midwest.

it hit me.  not only did i feel kind of like that girl, i have the potential to become her.  here i sit, less tied down than i have ever been in my whole life.  and bam.  that was it.  i was going to move to chicago.  i was going to grow up in the windy city and have my favorite downtown coffee shop in some slightly sketchy building next to a pizza joint.  i’d learn to remember how to take the right exits to avoid the tollways and go to a game at wrigley field.  get an apartment that cost way too much and came with way too little for the sake of the view.  wear more scarves and less t-shirts.  eat less to save a few bucks, and always carry a book in my bag.  plus, just living in chicago would instantly make me cool.

and now i’m laughing at myself a little.  oh the things i dream up.  but it’s not just a dream.  it’s a possibility.  my bags aren’t by any means packed, nor have i thought through any detail that i would be required to consider to make this kind of thing work.  but i am out of my box.  why do i have to stay where i’ve been?  why do i have to do what i’ve always done?  i really don’t.  isn’t that funny?  it’s not a hard concept, but the application is killer.

so now i have options.  1.des moines  2.chicago  3. um… well there’s no three yet.  but just because i don’t have one doesn’t mean i can’t.  so who knows what’s next.  maybe in a year i’ll be sitting in my new favorite coffee shop in some place that isn’t here, looking back and thinking, wow.  thanks chicago.  for the enlightenment.

xoxo- beth ann

when i was little i knew that old women wished they had my hair, and that somehow i had to wear twice as much sunscreen as other kids because of it. other than that i thought nothing of it.  when i was a bit older i did not appreciate what was growing out of my head at all.  as far as i was concerned, all other red heads were awkward (i still think this sometimes…) and it was just a bad characteristic that made me stick out more than necessary.  by the time high school hit it was starting to grow on me, but i still hated the questions that came with it.    ”Oh, are you Irish?” – i always responded “yep” – even though i’m not.  because if i did say no they’d ask, “Well where did that hair come from??”  i had no clue…  my younger sister was blonde and my older sister had black hair so i felt like it didn’t really matter where we came from, it obviously made no difference.  the worst was when they’d just say, “how’d you get such gorgeous hair?”  i would always just smile and shrug.  i wanted to yell at them.  i just had hair like everyone else, and it just chose to be this color all on its own, so i had no freaking idea how.  i hated how much attention the questions drew.  i also hated not having the right answers to them.

that was all when i was just a bashful little kid though.  i grew up a little and found out that having hair like mine did make me stick out, but in a good way.  it also made people assume that i was feisty.  i never used to be quite so sassy, but i found that i really liked it when i was able to fulfill my stereotype.  sometime in college i learned to embrace my inner ginger.  and that’s when i realized it.  ginger is not a hair color, it’s a state of being.

i know you might think that’s silly, but it’s true.  i can’t quite explain it to you non-red heads, but it didn’t really hit me until 2 days ago when i did the unthinkable.  i dyed my hair….

now, don’t panic.  it’s just a rinse and will wash out in a few weeks and i’ll be back to my normal gingery self.  and while i love my new hair and the adventures of getting to change it, i know that my heart will always be a ginger.  and by my heart i really mean my witty, sassy, amazing personality. naturally.

xoxo -beth ann

music snob: A person who believes s/he has a more refined taste in music and has much more knowledge in the field of music in general. Every song and genre is unacceptable unless the snob happens to like it, then it is absolute perfection. Music snobs feel obligated to enlighten everyone with unwelcome critiques and irrelevant musical trivia.

people hate music snobs.  why wouldn’t you, right?  but, i’ve always been a little bit of one.  i love my indie bands, and it makes my eye twitch a little when they sell out.  see?  even in that last sentence i referenced things you may not understand, and i don’t want to tell you what they mean because i feel like you should just know them.  (if you don’t know them, you could always look them up on urban dictionary…)

this weekend, my music snob personality came back to bite me.  one of my close friends was telling me that even though she wasn’t as on top of music as a lot of people, she liked good music and even listened to kings of leon way before they got big.  i rolled my eyes at her and without a second thought rambled off my usual “sell out” schpeel about how i didn’t even waste my time on them in high school when weird emo kids raved about them, let alone now after they got big on top 40 radio.

the next morning was move out day for me, as i’m leaving my college town and trying to start a grown up life.  another friend of mine made me a cd for my drive and as i listened to the first song on the cd i fell in love with it, along with the rest of the cd pretty much.  when i got home i uploaded it to my itunes and looked up the song titles and artists.  i’m sure you won’t be surprised to find that the first song from the cd, my favorite song from the cd, and the one that had been stuck in my head all day was the song fans by kings of leon.

i was shell-shocked.  how could i like such a band?? so i listened to a few more of their songs on youtube to prove myself wrong.  but, i do in fact really like them.  well crap.  how did i go years denouncing a band that i actually love?  i guess it just proves that being a music snob has not given me any clout amongst music experts, but instead hurt my music listening experience.  new life lesson.  not only should you never judge a book by its cover, but i suppose you should never judge a band by its listeners.  from here on out, i will promise to be less of a music snob.  except for people who claim to like modest mouse just because float on  got big.  it’s still not acceptable.

you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here
xoxo -beth ann

1. my handwriting.  admittedly it’s always been bad.  it used to drive my mom nuts, but i never minded much.  yet, recently my handwriting has totally morphed.  the legibility may not have increased, but the style is different.  you’d think most people my age have handwriting figured out…  don’t mind beth ann, she’ll just be back in 2nd grade for a little while.  i’m sure she’ll join her fellow college graduates soon.

2. my height.  i found out almost a month ago and was in denial.  i swear i used to be 5′ 8″ because my drivers license says so!!  i’m 5′ 7.5″ now.  i know when people get older they shrink but at this rate i’ll be in the 4 foot range by the time i’m 50!  by the time i hit 90 people will think i’m just a wrinkly 10 year old .  yet another reason to not grow up.

3. my sleeping habits.  they’re just as inconsistent as before, but suddenly i’ve decided to sleep walk.  a few weeks ago my roommate sent me a stern text about locking the door at night.  oddly enough i remembered locking the door.  after some investigating i found contents from my book bag scattered in my car, and later found my gps in my laundry basket.  it was all fun and games until last night.  i don’t know what happened, but i woke up in different pajamas, and my cell phone was missing.  totally gone.  i’ve looked everywhere with no luck still.

i spent today thinking, who develops sleep walking habits at my age?  maybe if you’re 5 and start sleeping in a big-girl bed, or if you’re 13 going through growth spurts, or even as a sign of menopause.  but now?  i mean, unless sleep walking is a sign of a genius.  then i’m not surprised.  but i’m still bitter about that half inch.  i don’t care if it means i’m a genius, i want it back!

you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here
xoxo -beth ann