100th post!

   

Well, this here post is my 100th post. I've been putting off writing it because I wanted something super-special to write about, but alas, I've got nothing. The pressure to be entertaining and monumental with this milestone is too much, therefore, I'm choosing to be boring and trivial.

First off, you may have noticed a significant change to One Blonde Girl this week. Apparently, a bored blonde girl fills her time by revamping her blog. I've been dying to do this for quite some time now, but haven't had the spare time to do so. If you're wondering why the change, I had a few reasons. 

1. the old blog design had me feeling claustrophobic. I needed to spread out. 
2. the white-on-gray text thing was bugging my eyes out. Really, it was becoming painful for me to read my own blog (not because of the content, although that has been pretty drab lately, but because I'm pretty sure I'm due for an eye exam again since things have gotten pretty fuzzy recently). 
3. the old design didn't really reflect me. When I first started blogging, I was experimenting with different layouts and different elements, and somewhere along the line I ended up with a blog design that wasn't quite me.

So that's that. Feel free to let me know what you think. 

              

Second of all, despite my lament on Friday of being friendless, I had a great weekend with some good friends, and I didn't even need to go scrounge them up. They found me! My good friend, Stormey, invited me out to a field/forest fest/party/bonfire/good time on Saturday at his brother's house. That same morning, my good friend, Pooh, told me he was considering coming into town for the day. Needless to say, I felt like I had won the friend lottery on Saturday! It was great to hang with Stormey and Pooh again. The party was tons of fun with mediocre music, beer pong (I kicked butt! My partner, Stormey, not-so-much), burgers and dogs, large-scale group painting, crazy hula-hooping chickies, one kick-ass flaming hoop dancer, a bonfire, glow sticks, bongo drums and lots and lots of stress-relieving fun. Just what the doctor ordered. 

           

Sunday, for the most part, was spent recovering from the previous evening's debauchery (it wasn't so much a need to recover from the alcohol this time so much as it was a need to recover from... other things. Like, for one, getting to bed at 3am and waking up at 6am. What the hell, body?). But, it was a nice and relaxing day because... IT WAS THESIS FREE!!! (I promise to tire of saying that real soon. I think.)

Today was interesting. I stepped back into a classroom- for the first time in a year, as a substitute teacher- for the first time in three years, in a 7th grade art class- for the first time in six years. But I'll be writing about that later over at Miss Weber's Room.

Overall, I realized this past weekend that I DO have friends, even if they aren't readily available to go grab a beer at a moment's notice. 

I realized that the rules for drinking games aren't universal, they're regional. Or maybe they're generational (yes, I was the thirty year-old partying with the early twenty year-olds. BUT, I wasn't the only one. In fact, I wasn't even the oldest one. That honor went to Stormey. Poor old man).

I also realized that if I can survive a day of 7th grade art as a substitute, I'll be fine returning to the real world of work (except for that waking up early thing. I don't know if you can really get used to that), which is good to know, 'cause I've got that interview on Wednesday. I still have my teacher voice too. Which is also good to know.

Well, so much for a fabulous 100th post.

Oh! Here's some good advice, straight from me too you. If you find yourself wearing a skirt to a field/forest party, make sure you have a good buddy around to hold the contents of your pockets when you need to use the porta-potty. Unless you want to lose your favorite chapstick and $5 in the hold of a porta-potty.

(In case you're wondering, if you Google "another name for the hole in porta-potty, you'll come across this story about a stabbing suspect hiding out in a porta-potty. Gross.)