inspiration.

everyone needs inspiration on a tuesday, which is the worst day of the week. let's be real, your adrenaline from monday is gone and you are even more tired, yet there is still no friday in sight. a terrible abyss.

do everything in dependence on Him. the desire to act independently springs from the root of pride. self-sufficiency is subtle, insinuating its way into your thoughts and actions without your realizing it. apart from Him, you can do nothing: that is, nothing of eternal value. His deepest desire for you is that you learn to depend on Him in every situation. He moves heaven and earth to accomplish this purpose, but you must collaborate with Him in this training. teaching you would be simple if He negated your free will or overwhelmed you with His presence. however, He loves you too much to withdraw the godlike privilege He has bestowed on you as His image-bearer. use your freedom wisely, by relying on Him constantly. thus you enjoy His presence and His peace.

john 15:5, ephesians 6:10, gensis 1:26-27

sorry. about. it. part 8.

recruitment is over. i can leave these four walls and be surrounded by testosterone and not 50 girls again. boom, roasted. sorry about causing withdrawals and not giving entertainment while at work/at class/laying in bed. my heart is truly breaking for you. almost. but then i remember about how i was smiling for 4 days straight. in heels. size 12 heels.

we will come back on a high note.

1) someone from MOSCOW viewed my blog. okay, sweet. i'm going international. potential predator? whatever, it's moscow. if that's wrong, i don't want to be right. they have computers there?

2) i have successfully managed to not embarrass myself these past two weeks. sorry to not come back with embarrassing stories.

3) i'm too tall for the beds and showers here at the sorority house. ugh, i hate being a yeti sasquatch troll thing. i initially squatted in the shower to wash my hair, then had sore quads for three days. i then resorted to a sort of lunge, but that doesn't work out ideally either. i'm hoping to be able to do a backbend by the end of this year.

4) i'm back. did i mention that? okay.

womp.

sorry. i have like, zero time right now. but HEY thanks for being a champ and not punching me in the mouth in my sleep for it. buuuuut i have a little time for a mediocre things to tide you over for the next week.

bad lyrics time. HOOODY HOOOOOO.

preface: had a huge dance party last night. 90's style. so, we are doing terrible 90's music. brace yourself. so stallion.

everybody - backstreet boys

am i original? yeah. am i the only one? yeah. am i sexual? yeah.

are you making me want to vomit? yeah. do i wish i was with harold pan right now? yeah.

in english, you learn about rhetorical questions and repetition for effect. if you didn't, womp. backstreet boys missed both of those attempts. still love you though, nick carter.

i'm too sexy - right said fred

i'm too sexy for my shirt, love, body, etc.

whoever likes this song has some internal issues they need to work out. right said fred creepily whispers all of the things he is too sexy for, which makes me borderline uncomfortable.

ketchup song - las ketchup

i'm banging my head on a wall right now. i forgot how terrible this song was. english or spanish. ketchup or mustard. potato or po-tat-oe.

heaven - los lonely boys

there aren't really too terrible of lyrics in this song, but it is the reasons babies cry at night.

sorry about it, part two.

sorority stuff. posting restarts in two weeks. SORRY ABOUT IT.

friday.

ugh, i hate how funny i think this is. i'm terrible.

ash sheen on teevee.

astv. a-a-a-a-a (that is for you, ags.)

how dramatic are these divas? seriously. these "problems" are really not that much of an inconvenience. an example of an inconvenience is me not being able to see harold pan daily.

my dog may be a demonseed, but i know for a fact that not every dog is going to sit there like that and have a chainsaw come at it's fingers.

bonus round: if you can tell me what accent the lady had at 1:10, you win my love.

i rest my case. ps, my kind of woman. i'd saw my dog's nose off too. no quiero pedipaws.

waahahahaha. i have a feeling that an armband that holds knifes, screwdrivers, and other murder weapons is borderline illegal in all 50 states. but, billy mays, i miss you and you were so good to me.

i know i have already shared this gem before, but i just added it for emphasis because my roommate has this and it WILL be in our room next year, if you wish to use it.

"you cut, rip, and tear." what is the first thing that comes to mind? paper? a muscle? abby's dignity? if you answered "brownies," you just lost a wad of respect in my book. it's the little things. add a snowman cookie cutter on top and we are no longer friends.

goulet.

things i'm bad at.

today, i got contacts. hey, cool, i've joined the other 79% of our population. i don't think you were as bad at putting them in as i was, though. seriously, poor lady was like, you need to grab your eye lid. can you do that? you're not doing that. what did i say before? grab. your. lid. OKAY I WAS BORN WITH TINY TROLL EYES AND KNUBBY TROLL THUMBS. I'M WORKING ON IT. i'm a rookie here, compadre. 57 minutes later, i got them in. and had to take them out. and put them back in. i think i'm blind from it. i'd also rather be set on fire than touch my eyeball. seriously, it's gross. what sucks is the fact that i have to take them out in 90 minutes. can i not just live in them? i don't know if i can get them in again. i was legitimately trying to put them in and i asked the lady "did i get it?" and she goes "you dropped it about 3 minutes ago." well, neat. thanks for testing me.

then i started thinking, what else am i terribly terrible at? since i'm semi-blinded by scratching my eyes with my troll thumbs, this is going to be short, but i know you know how terrible i am at plenty of things.

zumba.

wahahaha, AM I BAD AT ZUMBA. i shimmy in all the wrong directions, and kick at all the wrong times. it's ha-lar-i-ous. it's like i have latin tourettes or something. ole. i was also the girl in the nutcracker that was about 2 counts ahead and jerking her arms everywhere. not my thang, goulet.

snarting.

done and done.

handling slightly awkward situations.

i should get a dollar every time i made a mi$$ bo$$ reference.

handling my obsession with harold pan.

i should get a dollar for this as well. i'm having HP withdrawals. i have to constantly thing, WWHPD? the answer: southwest airlines.

brushing my teeth with my right hand.

it's physically impossible. i should looking like i have manic rabies. might be from that dog bite from when i was a child. things i would pay money to see: myself brush my teeth while at zumba class. life ain't always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride.

inspiration 5.

stop judging and evaluating yourself, for this is not your role. above all, stop comparing yourself with other people. this produces feelings of pride or inferiority; sometimes, a mixture of both. He leads each of His children along a path that is uniquely tailor-made for him or her. comparing is not only wrong; it is also meaningless.

don't look for affirmation in the wrong places: your own evaluations, or those of other people. the only source of real affirmation is His unconditional Love. many people perceive Him as a judge, angrily searching out their faults and failures. nothing could be farther from the truth. He died for your sins, so that He may clothe you in His garments of salvation. this is how He sees you: radiant in His robe of righteousness. when He disciplines you, it is never in anger or disgust; it is to prepare you for face-to-face fellowship with Him throughout all eternity. immerse yourself in His loving presence. be receptive to His affirmation, which flows continually from the throne of grace.

luke 6:37, john 3:16-17, isaiah 61:10, proverbs 3:11-12

baaaack.

well, sorry about it. i'm back from my soul/culture searching eat, pray, love trip. you are welcome. sorry to have you so deprived. but, here i am, and there you are. let's go.

today is going to be a day of reminiscing. it is a day that i will go through all of the various career paths that i wanted to take growing up. some of them, realistic. most of them, not. i will let you decide which is which. so, recap: cracked out life plans. ready, ale. (go in creole. yep. still in that phase of convincing myself that i will be bilingual.)

a dog.

this is not a drill. i wanted to be a dog for a long time. they can pee wherever they want, and sleep a lot. i'm not saying i do that now, but i'm not not saying i do that now. and if that's wrong, i don't want to be right. and i love getting rubbed and scratched. dogs have the best life ever. and they chase cats. what a beautiful thing.

limited too model.

i thought limited too was going to last forever. and that i would wear their glitter logo tshirts for forever and a day. i think i owned those purple sunglasses, and always rocked them with a bucket hat. hey, sweet.

a singer.

once upon a time, i was in a singing and preforming group called "star struck." we wore red sequined jackets (like above) and top hats and sang a song called "welcome back" and "king of new york." i was convinced i was going to be a singer, on broadway, and famous. all while wearing my purple sunglasses and bucket hat. quite a great career path, if you ask me.

stand up comedian.

i would still be totally fine doing this as a living and making no money and making people laugh their brains out by telling my embarrassing but far too true stories. and that's that.

rapper.

because everyone goes through that phase where they are a little culturally confused. just me? alright.

things are more realistic now. physical therapist, blah blah, work with kids in other countries, nurse, blah blah. granted, my life plans change every 79 seconds, but that's alright.

the faces of snookie.

i'm out of town. traveling. "gap year", if you will. i'm soul searching, culture searching, and everything in between. kidding, i'm really just in dallas for a few days seeing friends that i won't see until the world ends in 2012. so, have some totally look alikes tide you over until i return.

snookie, you look like so many mythical creatures. personally, i think your mug shot is the most flattering, but that's just an opinion.

i lol-ed ALL OVER MYSELF from this one. probably because i used to make this face whenever i'd turn around in 8th grade like the girl in scary movie 3.

jersey shore is like the gift that never quits giving.

things i hope my kids don't inherit.

as stated many times, i'm embarrassing and painfully awkward at times. i say a ton of embarrassing things or people miss my humor a little bit. and if that's wrong, i don't want to be right. although, there are quite a few things about my i pray that my kids don't inherit.

1) my ability to word vomit everywhere.

mi$$ bo$$. okay. if that doesn't give you a good idea, bless your heart. i hope that my kids have the ability to split a soap dispenser over two sinks. or just handle a person with terrifying tattoos. or just have a conversation in general. i'll teach them that while they are still in the womb. it is on the priority list.

2) my ability to burp on command.

it's nasty. and is a reason i'm still single, most likely. plus the dog bites, but that is neither here nor there.

3) my coordination.

i'm convinced that my few years of being left handed and then changing totally messed with my cerebellum. add a size twelve foot and throw me in a dark room and i'll have the power to knock over absolutely everything within 5 minutes.

4) my inability to stay home alone.

i hope they don't inherit this for my sake.

5) my inability to control my bladder.

i seriously still do not have this together. i also have no problem in saying that if you make me laugh hard enough, i will piddle myself just a little. it's like being pregnant and sneezing, it just happens. what are the most inconvenient places this has happened? oh, you know, just in the customs line at the airport, at a movie theater (this one was terrible. my friend's mom had to bring me shorts and i changed in a photo booth. i was 16. ugh.), in class, anywhere that is a public establishment, it goes on.

6) my obsession with harold pan.

it's really not healthy.

well, i hope my kids don't inherit this. and i hope you aren't judging too much. vulnerability + interweb = bold statement. simple math. then again, i should find a man first. i'm ahead of myself. well, shoot.

diznef.

that's nineteen in creole. because that's what i am today. i've finally caught up to everyone else on the planet. and thank you for your happy birthdays! you are all such blessings.

sentimental things aside, let's get some sass up in here.

nineteen years of life, nineteen embarrassing things that happened roughly around each age. this also shows why i am who i am today. deep and emotional. goulet.

age: 1 = i was born. awkwardness was procreated. i was naked 80% of the time. i pooped my pants. (this does not only happen at age one, for the record. brace yourself.) i drooled incessantly.

age: 2 = i started walking. walking is crucial for any clumsy moment i've had for the past 19 years.

age: 3 = i was bitten in the face by a dog while i was pretending to eat it's food. this is still my safety reason as to why i am still single.

age: 4 = i was enrolled in school. i cried every second for my mother to come pick me up. clearly, i am an i-n-d-e-p-e-n-d-e-n-t individual. i also wet my pants at least once a week. you think i would have had this together by now. at least i was a cute son of a gun. minus the dog bite on my face. and bowl cut.

age: 5 = repeat age 4. stir well.

age: 6 = i was bitten by the same dog. again. in the lip. now i have a busted cheek and had the appearance of a cleft lip. luckily this was fixed. why am i single again? can't quite put my finger on it.

7, 8, 9, really don't matter. because 7 ate 9. ha.

age: 10 = i cut my own bangs. some people go through the haircutting age at 3 years old, but i'm a late bloomer. i had constant trendalls hanging around my forehead. faaancy.

age: 11 = i went to middle school. and fit right in with all of the other awkwardness.

age: 12 = i have literally forgotten this year. all i remember is where my locker was.

age: 13 = i was the self-proclaimed middle school bad a. i ran the school, honestly. i also wore a bridesmaid's dress to the 8th grade formal. hey, cooooool. it went up to my collar bone. and was periwinkle.

age: 14 = i survived my first year of high school. i played varsity basketball, and then exploded in softball. life of a champion. i also swallowed my ring in geography class and my teacher continued to ask me every single day if i got it back. pardon, not my teacher, for she was "not a teacher, but a geographer." last time i checked you were sitting in a high school classroom, but pardon if i'm confused.

age: 15 = driver's permit. life came close to ending far too many times for my driver's education teachers.

age: 16 = i figured out what a hair straightener was and said farewell to the afro. and got a car.

age: 17 = senior year. life. was. good. i did as little as possible. i harrassed mr. cooms (honeycooms, tecoomseh, kelli evans) until the second i left the classroom and learned absolutely nothing.

age: 18 = i went to college. survived school. pledged pi phi. completely wiped out in the chapter room. went to haiti. had my life changed.

age: 19 = nothing embarrassing yet. it's only been a few hours. did i mention how much i hate the number 19 because of my ocd? okay, neat.

the life of abby white. glad you're a part of it.

ps - describing my physical malling made me out to look like quasimoto. i'm normal. promise. ish.