Cate: “… okay, good. By the way, I’ve been looking at Jacob {Taylor Lautner} for the last few minutes. You know?”

Me: “What other Jacob is worth looking at?”

Cate: “I wanna go get a shirt with him on the front.”

Me: “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Cate: “Nope. They’re on sale!!!”

Me: “I cannot let you do this.”

Cate: “Fine. I’ll just order it on the internet. One day my kids will love this shirt because it will be vintage to them.”

Me: “If you wear that t-shirt, you may never get the opportunity to procreate.”

Cate: “I would wear it to sleep in and before I’m married there would be no procreating. Jacob is beautiful and I want to wear him.”

Me: “You just earned yourself a blog post.”

Lunch, earlier today –

I say something funny about Nicholas ruining my entire “Harvest Theme” decorations by breaking my decorative pumpkin last night and he gives me this look that makes me burst out laughing.

Which would be funny if I hadn’t taken a huge sip of soda a few seconds before that moment.

Three feet across the room, I spit that soda whilst he just watched and laughed.

Jerkasaurus.

I made a promise I cannot keep.

When I finished that post for you yesterday morning, I went to the bathroom to pull out my velcro rollers and realized that I had not provided ample drying time.  The result?  A semi-wet haired DISASTER.

So I promised myself that, last night, I would start the entire process over so that I could show you a good final product.  But then Nicholas came over to study and he brought British Boy along and before you knew it, it was 12:30 a.m. and we were sitting in my living room eating cereal with forks because I didn’t have any clean spoons.

I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking that I ditched you for the boys, aren’t you?  Well, if you are, let me assure you of one thing: YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT.  I totally ditched the re-do of the hair tutorial in favor of spending time with testosterone but surely you can understand.   And I promise that, come Monday morning, you will have a tutorial because I’m going to a baby shower on Sunday afternoon and everyone knows you can’t go to a baby shower without having big hair, obvs.

But back to the boys.

You already know that this whole “hanging out with boys” thing is fairly new to me, but can I just tell you that, the more comfortable we all get around each other, the more I notice how different boys are from girls?  At one point last night, I was sitting at the kitchen table when Gosling and British Boy began throwing a decorative pumpkin of mine across the room.  I protested at first, but it fell on deaf ears so I just sat back and waited for the inevitable.  Let’s just say that there’s now one less decorative pumpkin sitting on my kitchen table and a pile of fake pumpkin pieces for me to pick up when I get home tonight.

The real highlight of the evening, however, came when Nicholas asked me if I had an extra pillow he could take back to his apartment seeing as he lost his pillow a couple of weeks ago.  When I went into my laundry room to grab one for him, I happened to spot the infamous Snoogle that I fell in love with all those months ago. I grabbed it too and proceeded to convince him to lay down in the floor so I could show him how truly great the Snoogle can be.

I think the picture says it all, but just in case it doesn’t, allow me to help interpret it: HE LOVED THE SNOOGLE.

He so loved it, in fact, that he continued to bond with the Snoogle for quite a good length of time.  Being the quick thinker I am, I snuck into the kitchen to grab my camera and grabbed a little footage for you whilst he lay there unaware of a camera capturing his every move.

Sorry for posting that, Nicholas.  But there’s a former decorative pumpkin laying in a pile on my kitchen counter that needed a bit of vindication for its untimely and unneccessary death.

The funniest part of the night (morning?), though, was when the boys got ready to leave.  I was in the other room and, when I came into the kitchen to say goodbye to them, Nicholas was not only holding the regular pillow I had given him to take home, but had wrapped the Snoogle around his body so that he could take it home, too.  I ever so delicately mentioned that I didn’t, you know, offer him the Snoogle but Nicholas just gave me a blank stare and proceeded to head out towards his car, clutching the Snoogle all the way.

Gosling, all I’ve got to say is that you better be glad my twin bed doesn’t have room for me and the Snoogle, or you’d have been sleeping alone last night.

PEOPLE.

Tell me how — HOW — do you not know about the wonder that is velcro rollers? HOW, MY LITTLE DUCKLINGS, HOW?

Not only did I experience great sadness when reading through your comments on yesterday’s post, but I also felt a great deal of guilt because, this entire time we’ve known each other, I somehow have not helped you in your quest towards the velcro. I have neglected my big haired responsibility towards you and, for that, I offer my sincerest apologies.

In an effort to make amends, I rose before the sun today to fix my very own head of hair in none other than velcro rollers so that I could properly document their correct usage for you. Now, before all you anti-big hair girls leave this little post, I want you to listen closely to a horror story that happened to me JUST YESTERDAY.

You will remember that, yesterday morning, I admitted to you that on every occasion of my seeing British Boy, my hair has been in a ponytail. After confessing that sin, I vowed before a great cloud of blog witnesses that I would lay down the ponytail holder so that, the next time we spent time together, I would have properly fixed big hair that would lure him in.

And then the unthinkable happened.

How was I supposed to know that, when I went to meet Nicholas for lunch yesterday, he was bringing British Boy along? THAT WAS NOT IN THE PLAN, GOSLING, THAT WAS NOT IN THE PLAN.

I was already on my way to meet Gosling when I heard that British Boy was coming, so there was no hope for my ponytail-ed hair. It was a long walk to the campus Dining Hall, one filled with great remorse over my ponytail shame. But do you know what? I NEEDED THAT WALK OF SHAME. I needed a reminder that, when I wake up each morning to the decision of whether or not I want to actually fix my hair that day, the answer should always be FIX IT BECAUSE YOU MIGHT UNEXPECTEDLY SEE BRITISH BOY TODAY.

I hope you recognize how hard it is for me to share stories like the one above with all of you. If you have ever doubted my love for each and every one of you, let the above story reassure you that I love you enough to lay my very hair reputation on the line so that you don’t have to make the same mistakes I have when it comes to fixing (or, in my case, not fixing) my hair. My chances with British Boy are probably slim to none after the repeated ponytail debacle, but let me tell you something: IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE THE SAME FOR YOU. You have the opportunity to learn from my mistakes so that you don’t reap the bitter consequences that I’m currently experiencing as I lay in bed each night wondering why I sacrificed true love with British Boy just because I didn’t feel like fixing my hair for a few days.

And now, let the repentance begin in the form of a photo tutorial.

When you begin your quest towards big hair produced by velcro rollers, you will undoubtedly face many challenges along the way. Maybe you don’t already own velcro rollers and you’ll have to actually drive to Wal-Mart to buy some? Maybe you had the misfortune of marrying a man who doesn’t want his woman to have big hair? (Side note for you single girls: this should be a question you ask all potential marriage partners within the first three weeks of dating to ensure you’re not becoming unequally yoked with someone who doesn’t properly appreciate big hair.) And, worst of all, maybe your town doesn’t sell pink velcro rollers?

Well, girls, my challenge is a bit different. And weighs 5.3 lbs.

Cuddles wants to be with me wherever I am — quite literally. And so, each morning when I go to get into the shower, he jumps in and places himself in the corner. This requires me to command him to get out of the shower, something he promptly ignores. I then have to pick him up and place him on the bathroom floor which, nine times out of ten, is a step I repeat at least three more times as he continues to jump back into the bathtub. Sometimes, if I’m in a hurry, I just turn on the water and let the full stream hit him forcing him to scamper on out of the bathtub. He does not like this but, hello, I cannot be distracted in my quest towards big hair.

The first step in achieving maximum hair height is found in your shampoo and conditioner. I am partial to Amplify, mainly because one time I heard Beth Moore say that’s what she uses and, listen, there’s no need to reinvent the wheel. It’s a bit pricy compared to shampoo from the dollar store, but I’m willing to sacrifice other items in my budget such as clothing and food if it means I can have the correct shampoo.

After you’re done in the shower, your natural reaction is to wrap your hair in a towel, isn’t it? WELL, DON’T. I need you to find an old t-shirt, such as the pink one below, and designate it as your hair-wrapping towel from this point further. The cotton in it is way softer than whatever fibers are in towels and, trust me on this girls, your hair will thank you.

I leave my hair wrapped up in a t-shirt for a good three minutes. And then, I take it down, flip my head upside down, and take a picture of my towel-dried hair to post on a blog that is read by hundreds of people I don’t actually know.

It just hit me how weird blogging really is.

Now, get your velcro rollers (preferably pink ones, but whatever you have will suffice) together and make sure you have little silver clipp-y thingies with them (they’re sold right beside the velcro rollers AND YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH OF THEM).

You will notice that my supply of large velcro rollers is rather low at the moment; this is because I made the mistake of leaving them in the vicinity of Snuggles y Cuddles the other day. Seven of them were destroyed in a matter of moments, and no, I don’t want to talk about the pain I felt when I discovered them hidden underneath my bed.

Now you need to take your comb (not a brush because surely you know better than to brush wet hair), and pull up a small, thin section. If you hear nothing else in this entire post, hear this: DO NOT OVERWHELM THE VELCRO ROLLERS. The less hair you put on them, the better the outcome. Put your comb at the base of your head and pull a section of hair up.

Place your first velcro roller at the base of your head and pull it up along the hair you’re still holding in the air. When you reach the top, tuck about one inch around the roller and begin rolling it down towards the crown of your head. When you reach your scalp, secure the roller with two clippies.

And then, repeat until you run out of hair or velcro rollers. In my case, I run out of velcro rollers because I have one VERY thick head of hair.

But that’s okay because I actually like to just do a crown of velcro rollers and then use my flat iron and curling iron to fix the “underneath layer.” BUT WAIT, I AM GETTING AHEAD OF MYSELF.

Now that your hair (or most of it at least) is up on velcro rollers, you will proceed to the drying process. Find a comfortable position and begin blow drying. I’m actually doing that very thing as I type these words to you, but listen, it’s just because I finally learned how to let my shoulder aid me in holding the blow dryer so I could write blog posts as I get ready in the morning. See?

You will need to try your hair for a good length of time, however long it takes for your hair to actually be completely dry. Once it is dry, you can move about your house doing various items WHILST LEAVING THE VELCRO ROLLERS IN. Remember, girls, it’s the heat that “sets” the rollers and you have GOT to let the heat do its thing. I usually do my make-up at this point, get dressed, etc. I wait as long as I can to take out the rollers, but when I do, it is a magical moment.

Which I am going to show you tomorrow because this post is way too long as it is. Plus, I don’t want to overwhelm you. It’s a lot of information to take in at once, girls, but we will be the better for it once we fully embrace the gift of velcro. Plus, we’ll never have to wonder if the reason we might have lost our chances with a boy of the British variety happened because of our hair laziness.

But not that any of us have experienced something that devastating.

You might have noticed a lovely little chocolate cake displayed in yesterday’s post.

I would like for you to know that, yes, I did bake that beast all by myself and when I say “all by myself” what I mean, of course, is that I cracked a couple of eggs into a box of cake mix and turned on a mixer.

Exactly 3.7 seconds after taking this incredibly blurry picture for you, I went to pull the beaters out of the beater-holder-thingy and accidentally turned it on. Which, naturally, resulted in chocolate cake batter covering the following surfaces: my counter, the wall, the ceiling, the floor and, perhaps most devastatingly, my hair.

I only had about an hour before everyone showed up, so I had to do some quick math: should I continue cooking seeing as I hadn’t even started the chicken yet or get in the shower and wash the chocolate out of my hair?

I chose my hair. Obviously.

Now, before you call Martha Stewart and inform her of my abandonment of hosting duties, I think you need to know the back story: as of Sunday night, British Boy and I had known each other for seven days (and I don’t think I need to mention that they had been the best seven days of my life, do I?). On each occasion of our seeing each other (five separate times, but really, it’s not like I was keeping track), he saw me WITH MY HAIR IN A PONYTAIL.

Y’all. I KNOW. It’s like I just totally abandoned the quest for big hair last week and, hello, what awful timing given the fact I was potentially stepping into my marital destiny. So I was all FORGET THE CHICKEN, GO FOR THE VELCRO ROLLERS because, really, the only secret weapon I’ve got when it comes to boys is my big hair and southern drawl.

But lest you think those two things by themselves aren’t enough to draw the boys in, I would like to direct you to the words of my pal Kenny Chesney:

“Southern girls are God’s gift to the entire male population. There is absolutely no woman finer than one raised below the Mason-Dixon line and once you go southern, may the good Lord help you — you never go back.”

That Kenny is one smart boy, no?

So I jumped in the shower and washed my hair in record time using Amplify shampoo because I DON’T PLAY AROUND WHEN IT COMES TO BIG HAIR. I got out of the shower, towel dried it and started putting it up on velcro rollers –

(Side note: PLEASE tell me y’all know how to fix your hair on velcro rollers because, if you do not, I am going to have to do a post about it because let me just tell you they will CHANGE YOUR LIFE.)

– and then took my blow dryer to the whole thing, conveniently ignoring the fact that there was still no chicken in the oven, potatoes laying on the counter, etc. Sure, dinner might be late, but that’s a small price to pay when it comes to achieving maximum hair height.

But then, approximately seven minutes into the blow drying process, I realized that I might be making a grave mistake. Here I was devoting the last few minutes before everyone arrived to my hair instead of their meal. I was torn and so I decided to make a pros and cons list to help make the decision easier. In the end, I realized that the only people benefiting from me working on my hair would be British Boy and I, yet if I continued to neglect dinner preparations, everyone would suffer.

And so… I laid the hair dryer down.

Sure, it wasn’t easy. Sure, I wanted to pick it back up and finish the blow drying process. Sure, I felt silly with wet hair wrapped in oversized pink velcro rollers atop my head.

But you know what? I was willing to take one for the team in order to ensure everyone got the mashed potatoes I had promised because I am not one to deny people their mashed potatoes even in the name of good hair.

And so I breaded that chicken and I mashed those potatoes and I did it all knowing that I was sacrificing big hair because anyone who has ever used velcro rollers knows that, if you interrupt the drying process, you might as well just give up because you are never going to be able to regain that precious pocket of time when the hot air from your blow dryer causes something magical to happen with the velcro and, before you know it, YOU’VE GOT BIG HAIR, GIRLS.

It took a bit longer to bread the chicken and mash the potatoes than I expected.  I suddenly looked at the clock and realized I only had three minutes until they were expected to arrive (remember, at this point, I didn’t know they were going to be late).  I ran to the bathroom, jerked the rollers out and found myself with a head full of wet, damp hair.  As I reached for my ponytail holder, I felt the sting of defeat in the deepest places of my soul.  I took a deep breath, looked in the mirror at my head full of wet, ponytail-ed hair and made it a promise I intend to keep: next time, my sweet head of hair, we shall conquer that boy’s heart.

We’re only one velcro roller away, I just know it.

Check out Kelly’s Korner for more dessert recipes (that are WAY better than my store-bought cake)!

I have a hard time explaining why I think it’s cute to place wee little puppies in random places, but I doubt I’ll ever get tired of it.

I don’t know about you, but I LOVE WEEKENDS.  You’ve already heard how I spent my Friday night with a worm-eating boy named Gosling, so let’s cover the rest of the weekend, shall we?

On Saturday morning, I went to a farm.  No, really.

Actually, I’m not sure if it was a farm but I think it was given the fact that there were barns and various animals walking around.  One of my friends, Perry, has decided to go on this whole organic eating kick and thus went to a Mennonite Farmer’s Market about half an hour outside of town.  Even better?  He decided to invite me to come along.

This is the point in the story where I would like to make two observations:

1. I have never spent so much time with the male species in my entire life. I mean, lately I’ve written about Nicholas and Nathan and Clay and Trey and now Perry?  I know what you’re thinking: WHAT’S GOING ON IN EAST TENNESSEE, AMY BETH?  Listen, people, I have no idea. It’s not like any of them are actual potential dating people for me (and even if they were, all joking aside, my heart is still closed to a relationship anyway) but, really, WHERE ARE THESE BOYS COMING FROM?

2. Do you know how weird it is for me to tell y’all about “hanging out” on the weekends?  Like, for the first time in years, I ACTUALLY HAVE A LIFE.  Sure, I had one before Starlite ended but it was mainly work, work, work.  Now it’s work, fun, work, fun AND WHO KNEW LIFE COULD INCLUDE FUN ON THE WEEKENDS?  I was talking to my friend Kelly on the phone this weekend and she said “Can I just tell you how strange it is to hear you say you’re “hanging out” with people?”  You’re telling me, Kelly, you’re telling me.

But back to the Farmer’s Market.  Perry was stocking up on various stuff straight from the Mennonites themselves and there I stood in the midst of various organic fruits and vegetables being sold by men with very unique bowl-shaped haircuts when I decided that HEY, MAYBE I SHOULD BUY SOME STUFF.  AND COOK IT.  FROM SCRATCH.

Listen, I have no idea what in the world would make me think I was capable of cooking something from scratch but hope?  Well, it tends to spring eternal when it comes to me and cooking.

Fast forward to Sunday night, also known as Family Night at my house.  The whole crew was coming over: Gosling, British Boy, Clay (who was joining us late) and Cate and, by goodness, I WAS GONNA HAVE SOME FRESH VEGETABLES ON THE TABLE.

That, my loves, is what fresh green beans (and my darling pink bowl) look like.

And yes, I had to call my grandmother Josie twice in order to get proper instructions for how to cook them.  And yes, upon hearing that I was attempting to cook a full meal for all those people, she ever so gently suggested that I might want to go by my local Kentucky Fried Chicken and just pick up some chicken and sides.

Well, Josie, I hope you’re reading the blog today because your granddaughter is about to MAKE YOU PROUD.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call SUNDAY DINNER.  AND I AM SO PROUD OF THAT PICTURE THAT I MAY JUST HAVE TO TYPE THE REST OF THIS POST IN ALL CAPS.  MAINLY BECAUSE IT’S UNLIKELY WE’LL EVER SEE A PHOTO LIKE THIS ON MY BLOG AGAIN.

Okay, I let go of the caps key.  BUT, REALLY, DID YOU SEE THAT PICTURE JUST NOW?

What you’ve got there is some chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans and bread ALL MADE SOLELY BY YOUR VERY OWN AMY BETH AND I CAN’T HELP IT, THE CAPS JUST WANT TO COME OUT FOR THAT DECLARATION.

Now, dinner wasn’t a total success seeing as Gosling and British Boy showed up 37 minutes late therefore causing the food to be cold which caused us to eat it cold because, hey, I haven’t gotten around to buying a microwave yet.  But they ate it anyway and, dare I say it, actually declared it to be good.

After dinner, we engaged in a few recreational activities and by recreational activities I mean Gosling laid down on my kitchen floor and began rolling around with Snuggles y Cuddles.

And Clay and the puppies? Listen, it’s just an absolute love story between those three.  I swear those puppies like Clay better than they like me and I am LIVID about it.

Even Cate gets in on the act when she’s at my house.  Do you know that, for her birthday, I asked her mama if I could buy her a couple of puppies because she loves mine so much?

Her mama said no so, for now, she gets to pretend like mine belong to her when she’s at my house.  And anyway, they love her almost as much as they love Clay and definitely more than they love me which reminds me: ATTENTION SNUGGLES Y CUDDLES, HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHO FEEDS YOU EVERY MORNING AND PUTS YOU IN BED AT NIGHT?

Ahem.  We had dessert, too.

That’s right: I have pink knives. And pink bowls.  And a pink pizza slicer.  And pink measuring cups.  And a pink spatula.

But somehow I get the feeling you’re not surprised given the border of the blog you’re currently reading at this very moment, no?

Some of my former college girls came over to my house tonight.  One of them, Anna, was wearing a shirt whose message made me think all night — “Where were you in 2007?”

Well, where was I back then?

I took a picture of her shirt before she left, thinking it would make a good Daily Peek if I could look back in my diary and see if I had an entry from that exact day two years ago.  I had no idea if I had written on that particular day since I don’t write in my personal journal every day, but I was happy to see that I had written on this day exactly two years ago.  As I read through the entry, I immediately thought “There’s no way I can post this knowing who all read my blog or look at my Daily Peek entries on Facebook.”

But then I started thinking about how, exactly two years ago, I was looking at my own computer screen when I typed the very words you’re about to read.  I wonder if I would have felt differently that night if I had read truth from someone else, if I had of not been afraid to tell someone what I was feeling.

And that’s when I realized that, while there was no way I could post this knowing who all read my blog or look at my entries on Facebook, there was also no way I could not post it, either.

woke up at 4:15 a.m. this morning after having only fallen asleep for just a little bit of time.

it was raining.

it reminded me of You.

– — –

i heard Your voice early this morning, while the rain fell and the sky cried out.

You said “wait for Me.”

in my heart, i knew what You meant.

You were addressing my desire to give up, weren’t You?

“wait for Me.”

oh, Jesus.

i hope i can.

– — –

i laid here for so long this morning, wishing i could go back to sleep.  it wasn’t that i didn’t want to be with You.  it was just that i was tired.

and i like being asleep.

because i don’t have to think about them when i’m asleep.

– — –

are they in my dreams?  sometimes.

but at least for part of the time i’m asleep, i don’t have to think about them.

i don’t have to feel alone.

i don’t have to wonder why no one wants me.

i don’t have to hurt.

sleep is so appealing to me these days.

– — –

such a strong desire to just take pills each night until i fall asleep… making sure that i will not wake up to being alone in the night.

not a good thing for me to do.

sigh.

all day today, i kept thinking one thing:

“when you get home tonight, you can take some of that medicine from when you were sick and it’ll put you right to sleep.”

and, of course, only a few minutes after getting here tonight, i headed straight for that amber-colored bottle.

and now, the calm is pouring over me.

i’ll fall asleep soon.  it’s hard to keep my eyes open right now.

i like this feeling.  i like knowing that i’m about to fall asleep and there’s nothing i can do to fight it.

i think this could be a bad thing, could end up being a pit that i’m choosing to jump into.

i can already feel it slipping into an addiction.

i’m probably being too honest right now, aren’t i?

oh well.

– — –

i think it’s time to go to sleep now.

The next morning I walked into a counseling office and told them I needed to speak to someone that very day.  When I came home that night, I poured the medicine out.  All of it.  I walked away from something that I’m confident would have destroyed me.  You can walk away, too.

And you can do it tonight, if you want.

Now that you’ve had a weekend to recover from the numerous stories from last week about Nicholas and British Boy, let’s talk about something fresh and new.

Oh, I kid. Let’s just talk about how I had dinner at Cracker Barrel the other night with Nicholas and British Boy.

First of all, it wasn’t pre-planned mainly because I would have never been smart enough to plan something that spectacular. Nicholas, one of our friends and I were supposed to be going to a coffee shop downtown to do some studying but then we got hungry and, before you knew it, British Boy was waiting for us to pick him up for a nice family dinner at the Barrel.

Now anyone who has been reading this blog for awhile knows that I have an unabashed love for Cracker Barrel, though I recently put my love on hold when someone in higher management made the unfortunate decision to exclude their infamous Chicken Tortilla Soup from the summertime menu. It was an unprecedented decision on their part and, now that they’ve had time to look at their revenue from the summer months, I’m sure they realized their oversight and will ensure that said tortilla soup makes quite the comeback in summer ’10.

But bad menu choices aside, I cannot completely dismiss my love for Cracker Barrel and this is why:

Surely, surely you remember Trey? I mean, how could you forget the first time I introduced his darling curls to you? Or the time he became concerned that my petals might wilt? Of course, we then had to deal with the tragic loss of Trey moving away to law school but, thankfully, he finally saw the light and came back home to me.

As fate would have it, Trey happened to be our waiter that night and by happened to be our waiter I mean I totally requested for us to sit in his section. So there I was, British Boy sitting beside me, Trey as my waiter and about to dine at the South’s greatest restaurant. It was like all my dreams were coming true, and frankly, it was a wee bit overwhelming. I was quiet for a lot of the meal but managed to get myself together enough to ask Trey for some grape jelly for my biscuit.

Because, really, boys will come and go but biscuits are here to stay.

I have had a lot of unique Friday nights in my life, but none quite like tonight.  I’m at Nicholas’ apartment right now, sitting on the couch working on my blog email inbox (down to 299!) while he reads a book.  His roommate, a 23 year old male from Spain, is sitting across from me whistling a Britney Spears song AND NO, I COULD NOT MAKE THIS UP IF I TRIED.

So, I’m sitting here minding my own business a mere two minutes ago when Nicholas looks at me and says “I ate a worm today.”  I lay down my laptop, look at him and said “No you didn’t.”  He informs me that he did and proceeds to describe the experience for me, including telling me how he felt the worm wiggling around in his mouth.

I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.