Contrary to popular belief, I do have more cousins than just Cate. One of them in particular, Marisa, called the other night to share her thoughts with me about the blog:

“I would like to know why you’re always cousin’ it up with Cate on the blog but never ME! You don’t even take MY phone calls, but then I go read the blog and it’s all “Cousin Cate this, Cousin Cate that.” What’s the deal here? Why have you forsaken your favorite cousin?!?”

She brings up a good point, especially since most people would probably find her even funnier than Cousin Cate (oh, I see a duel happening on the blog in the near future). Marisa, like Cate, lives here in Cleveland and basically makes me have more fun in life. You need to meet her. Like, today.

Unfortunately, the only video I have of her is one I made when I was dating someone awhile back. In the video, I actually say “I’m dating someone but can’t tell you about it” because I had decided not to blog that part of my life at the time which was, in hindsight, an excellent choice.

I decided to pull this from the cutting room floor however because, in this particular video, we actually learn several life lessons courtesy of Cousin Marisa that would be applicable to boys around the world. Observe:

1. Whenever a girl says “Oh, I’m not in the car with her!” it is probably a lie.

2. If you are a boy, it is probably best not to mention the word “marriage” to your girlfriend’s cousins, especially if you don’t plan to follow through with it.

3. Especially if those cousins happened to be named Cate and Marisa and you wish to avoid a scene later on when you admit to just throwin’ around the m-word like it means nothing. Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned, but that’s just ’cause they didn’t see Cousins Cate and Marisa get riled up the day I told ‘em there would most certainly not be an occasion for them to wear bridesmaid dresses in the near future.

Internet, meet Cousin Marisa. Your life will never, ever be the same.

There is no way — NO WAY POSSIBLE — that Cousin Cate and I put off our daily Bible study homework this week until a few hours before it’s “due.”  It’s not like we had to meet up at Panera to do five daily lessons in two hours and we definitely didn’t spend a good half hour of that time talking ’bout boys.

No ma’am.  Not us.  Also: will this be graded, ’cause if so, we might need a little more time.

Dear Cara,

As I am typing this — literally as my fingers are typing these very letters — you are pulling out your boarding pass, walking up to the gate and getting on a plane.  I am so proud of you.

I remember you telling me way back when — sophomore year of college?  junior year? — that, one day, you wanted to live in a warm country and work with motherless children in whatever orphanage would let you come.  I am so proud of you.

In four short hours, your plane will land in Ecuador, your new home for the next year of your life.  You’ll get what little belongings you were able to bring with you, climb into a unfamiliar car and be driven to your new bedroom, the one where your orphans are waiting on you.  I am so proud of you.

It is unbelievable to me that, merely six minutes ago, you called from your layover, one last chat before it’s impossible for me to just call your cell whenever I feel like it.  I’ve waited all day, knowing you would call and dreading it at the same time.  Your leaving to do this has unearthed a selfishness in me that I honestly didn’t know existed before now.  I want you here, close enough for late night phone calls, lunch at Cracker Barrel.

And yet there you go, straight towards fulfilling the one dream that has meant the most to you, straight towards holding lonely babies in your arms.

There are no words, Cara.  But if there were, I think He would join me in this.

I am so proud of you.

amy beth

Um, I have something to tell you that may make you scream in excitement, a little riddle for you.

If I was you, I would probably watch American Idol tonight. And look for a particular boy auditioning for his shot at fame. Whom you may or may not have read about on this very blog a time…

Or two.

Or, you know, three.

Even better? He’s offered to write a little blog for us to answer any questions you have about his experience on the show after you see tonight’s episode if you’ll just leave them on this post for him to read. Because he’s just dreamy like that, you know.

If you’re having a hard time thinking of a question to ask him, I’ve started our list in the comment section with a little question of my own for him.

Oh, and watch carefully for him… he’ll be in an interesting outfit.  That’s all I’m sayin’.

While I don’t talk about politics on the blog, there’s no ignoring the fact that major events happened in history yesterday. There was former President Bush’s departure from the White House… President Obama’s inauguration…

… and Aretha Franklin’s hat.

AP Photo / Ron Edmonds (source)

Now, I don’t know a lot about Aretha past the fact that all she’s looking for is a little r-e-s-p-e-c-t (and what woman in her right mind isn’t?). I think a lot of people lost a bit of fashion respect for her when she strolled out with that thing strapped to her head (you KNOW that hat didn’t stay on by itself!) but, frankly, I like it.

Normally I would think that wearing a bow that measures larger than the circumference of your head is a definite NO in the fashion world. But you know what? Aretha rocked that hat. You gotta love a girl who can wear something like that with confidence.

Unless you’re wearing a teal leotard with matching shorts to your first day of seventh grade.

Not that I know anyone who ever did that. No, can’t think of anyone.

Moving on.

Last night, I went to this reception thing-y where I felt awkward and out of place. Believe it or not, I don’t go to a lot of things like this I’m invited to because some social situations just scare the curl right out of my hair. This was definitely one of those types of events so, for most of the night, I kept my mouth shut and generally tried to keep from tripping in my high heels. At one point, however, I needed to at least make some effort in a conversation that was taking place around me so I decided to mention something I had heard about Senator Kennedy collapsing yesterday.

Unfortunately, it came out as “Senator Kidney.”

Did I get clearer, more posed pictures tonight of these six of my college girls? Of course. But I like them better this way, just being themselves. There’s nothing prettier than a girl laughing, except maybe six of ‘em lined up on top of each other.

Roll call! Front to back: Anna, Anna, Joy, Stephanie, Sarah and SarahRuth.

I was sitting at my desk earlier this afternoon, having the hardest time concentrating on the very full inbox on my screen. I’ve been anxious all day long about something that I wanted to happen in my personal life. It isn’t even that significant, I suppose, but it’s important to me and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. For a good two hours, I basically beat down heaven’s front door with a non-stop barrage of questions: Is it going to happen? It’s not going to happen, is it? If I had said more, would it have happened? Wait — I said too much, didn’t I? Can You please just give me a yes or no on this so I can get on with my day? Why isn’t this happening? It could still happen, right? Um, Jesus? You’re still listening, right?

And then finally, like the perfect gentleman He is, I got my answer:

“Amy Beth? If you want, you could hand this desire over to Me whenever you’re ready.”

He doesn’t force me to do it His way. He knows that I remember how He’s taught me to hand it over, but He’s still willing to wait, willing to let it be my choice to give it to Him to do whatever He wants with it. He didn’t give me a yes, didn’t give me a no — just gave me the option to let Him carry that desire for me, almost as if He is a schoolboy wanting to carry home the books of the girl He has a crush on.

Don’t get me wrong — there have been plenty of times when He’s had no other choice than to take from my clenched hands what I’ve been unwilling to lay at His feet. The ugly truth of it is that sometimes I just don’t want to trust Him with what feels important to me, blindly believing it’s safer in my hands than His.

But today. Today I shut my office door, turned up my iTunes and got busy with a little surrendering. I’m going to let Him carry that thing for me and believe that not only is He the one that knows me best also loves me best.

Your suggestions yesterday were, in a word, FABULOUS.  You, my bloggy loves, can rest well tonight knowing you have prevented at least 17 college girls from being subjected to burnt pasta each Sunday night for the rest of this semester.  Apparently, since 13 of you suggested it either through comments or emails to me, we shall have taco soup one night.  I DID NOT EVEN KNOW SUCH A THING EXISTED.

Also, for all of you who suggested chili: I’ve never had that, either.  No joke.

Now we must turn our bloggy attention to a related subject: my secret love of Publix grocery stores.

I would like to begin by admitting that I believe it’s fairly safe for me to assume that none of you think of me as cool.

Nice, maybe.  Sweet, even.  But cool? Allow me to assure you that I am not cool.

If I am somehow mistaken and there is a lone straggler out there who thinks I am actually cool, I’m about to end that sadly misguided view with the following video I made especially for you.

Things I need you to know before viewing:

1. While there are Publix grocery stores in other parts of TN, this is the first one near us.  It’s in the town next to us, Ooltewah.  And yes, I can now spell that word without looking it up.  DON’T BE JEALOUS.

2. I originally attempted to visit this store with one of my college girls, Anna.  It, however, closes at 10 p.m. and we arrived at a tardy 10:21 p.m.  So, naturally, I went back the next day.

3. Yes, I just admitted that this 24 year old girl went to a grocery store at 10:21 p.m. on a Friday night.  Don’t worry, I’m working on getting my party girl tendencies under control.

4. After I finished making this, I walked around the grocery store for quite awhile longer, just admiring it.  I love a good, clean grocery store.  Because I’m, like, 83 years old.

5. It is too bad I couldn’t get my misbehaving eyebrows under control because I think you would have really liked that day’s hairstyle experiment.

And now, let the mocking begin.

Hello, bloggy people.  Dis is Cuddles; Snuggles no bloggy because he is in twrouble.  Again. I is taking over da daily peek today because today was da most important day of my entire lyfe, even if I is just 1 yearz old.  Today, for da first tyme eva’, I gots to see SNOW.  Dat girl Amy Beff even take me outsyde to feels it!  I sticked my tounge out and catched da snowflake.  It was majical, if I do says so myself.

You be my fwriend on Faceybook?  And fwollow me on Twitter?  Yes, pleez!

Over Christmas break, while my Starlite college girls were home with their families, I spent quite a bit of time praying about this semester.  One thing I specifically asked God was for Him to show me some practical ways I could serve my girls better.  Almost immediately, one came to mind: cook dinner for them before our weekly Sunday night meetings.

This, of course, prompted the following prayer from me:

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!  ANYTHING BUT THIS!  I’LL DO ANYTHING ELSE!”

I hope each of you can learn from my example of submission and obedience to God.

The idea grew on me like a bad case of the chicken pox over the course of the break and so, earlier this week, I announced that last night’s meeting would be held at my house and that all 17 of them should come hungry since I would be fixing dinner for them. No one said anything which, frankly, didn’t come as a surprise seeing as they probably still remember what happened that time I tried to make pancakes.

I decided to start simply — spaghetti.  After all, there is no way — NO WAY — that I could mess up noodles and sauce, right?  I mean, right?

WRONG.  WRONG, WRONG, A THOUSAND TIMES WRONG.

Observe:

Here we have some delicate pasta that I bought from aisle 9 at the grocery store made from scratch.  You will notice that the pasta is burnt because YES, YES YOU CAN BURN PASTA.

Next we have some delicious brownies that basically refused to fully cook even though I left them in the over for ten additional minutes after their original cooking time.  Try to look past the blurry picture to see if you can spot some mess that looks like an undercooked pile of brownie.

All was not lost, however: I did manage to have enough ice cubes on hand for the girls to each have approximately one cube per girl.  Which went lovely in their glasses of tap water seeing as I forgot to buy drinks for the dinner.

This wasn’t a total failure, however, since the plumbing was messed up in my house preventing anyone from actually using the restroom during any point in our two hour meeting.  Don’t worry, I put a roll of toilet paper out by the bushes in the backyard.  Your girl ABB is always thinking ahead!

So, what I’m basically trying to say is that?  Last night’s dinner?  EPIC FAIL.

And that, my friends, is where you come in to save the day.

We have approximately 12 of these Sunday night dinner meetings left this semester AND YOU HAVE GOT TO HELP ME TURN THIS SHIP AROUND, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

What I meant to say was: pretty please would you oh so graciously help me (with a cherry on top, of course!) figure out what in the world I am going to fix for these girls for the next 12 weeks?  I need meal suggestions, recipes, the whole nine yards.  When you’re making your suggestions, please keep in mind that I need something that can be made for a large group, doesn’t cost a lot and could be made by someone that can’t even boil noodles without burning them.

Yep, I think that about covers it.