Mickey Roos

Well, tonight was my last night working at Mickey Roos! I will admit, I was looking forward to emptying out my change cup and taking a break from waiting tables for a while, even though I’ve only been doing it for a few months. But I realized that I am going to miss it and I will look forward to working there again in March. With as much as I joke about myself working in a bar, I have come to love the people there – I loved coming in tonight and feeling so loved as people said goodbye to me and sincerely wished me luck – not only my coworkers but some of the un-creepy regulars as well. I loved that sweet Brooke and Leanna bought me a lovely little cake and wrote the sweetest good luck message on the board! I love that wonderful Christy tattooed some awesome henna designs on my hand! I loved feeling so loved!

 

Anywho, now that I’ve been all mushy, I must say that Mickey Roos has taught me some really great lessons. I learned how to work my tail off – not that I didn’t know how to before, I just had to do it on a regular basis. I learned that no matter how kind and sweet and helpful you are, there will be people that just don’t like you for unexplainable reasons – coworkers and customers alike. I learned not to judge people by their immediate appearance and/or personalities – the kind and easy going are just as likely to tip as terribly as the mean and grumpy Scrooges. I learned that just because you’re the boss doesn’t mean you don’t work just as hard as everyone else – many times I saw Mr. Mickey dashing around, working harder than the rest of us to make sure his fine establishment was running like a well-oiled machine. I learned that personalities can change in an instant, with or without the influence of alcohol, and last but not least, I learned that a sweet Southern drawl will get you just about anywhere.

I can’t wait to get on my way to New Zealand – just 2 more days until I’m outta here! But now I have added one more thing on my list of things to miss. See ya in 6 months Mickey Roos!

 

 

 

Hot Chocolate

So I decided to write about Angelina’s – the loveliest tearoom not only in Paris, but in the entire world. Perhaps even the entire universe.

On the day Jess, Mackenzie, Mrs. Walker, and I had Paris to ourselves, Mrs. Walker was bound a determined we were going to find a tearoom that she had visited once before when she had vacated Paris in the past. We walked and walked and walked, somewhat unexcited, but eager for macaroons and hot chocolate. Yet, Angelina’s eluded us. Down we walked, block after block after block. We walked from our hotel past Notre Dame, past the Louvre and past the commercial shopping district. With sorry spirits, sore feet, and empty bellies, we were ready to give up the chase, wave the white flag in favor of hot food and a minute of rest. But Mrs. Walker was persistent. She pleaded and convinced us to walk just 3 more blocks, just three, and then we could surrender. So we trudged on. And at the end of that third block, we raised our heads and saw that, merely a block away was the tearoom! We could have run through her doors!

But we remained composed. Slightly. As composed as hungry Americans can be.

After being seated, we began to run over the menu. And we found that the tearoom was very expensive indeed. But we had come this far, right? So we did it. We ordered macaroons and one order of hot chocolate. After all, that is what we came for, right?

Turns out, that’s all we needed.

This hot chocolate came in a small pitcher, which we divvied up and poured into our cups. And let me say, this hot chocolate was quite literally, hot chocolate. It was the most delicious, richest and creamiest hot chocolate I have ever tasted in my entire life. I’m pretty sure all they did was melt some bars of chocolate and add a teensy bit of milk to it for a bit of fluidity. Because this was nearly as thick as molasses. And let me tell you, I am never EVER having any other hot chocolate again. It cannot be done. I can no longer justify the watered-down powder I call hot chocolate. Imposter.

My life is forever changed.

And let me tell you, it was worth every penny.

 

 

 

 

i saw this picture and felt i should add it for good meaure.

my life.

 

 

 

 

Dear Mary Kate

Tonight, I started saying goodbye to some of my very best friends in the entire world. So I’m feeling emotionally compromised and therefore inspired to be sad and mushy and cheesy.

Sorry.

Not really.

 

(a picture to document the event is neccessary)

 

Dear Mary Kate Grant,

I hate that you went to college without me. I hate that you went before me and now I can’t just walk or drive to your house in the middle of the night just because I want to talk to you. I hate that I’m going to live all the way across the world from you.

I hope somebody in New Zealand is as excited about Taylor Swift’s new album. Or someone else knows all the words to any High School Musical song. I hope that somebody else laughs at me when I’m completely ridiculous. I hope that someone else will make the most ridiculous face accompanied by the most…er…unusual animal noises just to make me laugh in return.

But at the same time, I pray that nobody else does any of that. Because it’s gonna remind me that you are still in Nashville, TN, going to Lipscomb University with every other college student that has his or her life figured out.

So, basically, what I’m saying is, I’m gonna miss you.

A ton.

I already miss you.

And I’m super jealous of all the friends you’re gonna make while I’m away that you’re gonna love more than me for all eternity.

We’re growing up and doing crazy things. And I’m so excited for it, so ready for it all to happen! And we’re gonna be pen pals (for realz) and Skype buddies and forever friends! It’s just…gonna be quite strange not seeing you for six months.

Yeah, I’m gonna miss you, snuggle bud.

Be good in college. You’re awesome at French – you’re gonna blow all those juniors out of the water! And do your homework. Don’t swing three times on the ring swing thing. And remember that I am only letter/Skype call/a couple of days and a plane flight away.

I love you bunches.

hannah

(more picture to document our friendship are neccessary) (sorry) (not)

Real Life and Paper Planes

Hello friends!

So, I updated my blog! My toes were tingling and itching and I had to make some dramatic change somewhere in my life - piercings and tattoos were out of the questions since I am about to embark on my YWAM adventure in EIGHT DAYS, my poor mother would cry herself to sleep if I cut or dyed my hair, I just recently changed both my profile and cover photo on Facebook, and trying to rearrange my furniture would involved actual physical activty. So my blog suffered the consequences of my restlessness. Hope you like it!

I miss Europe so much. I love travelling. That's there is to it. Don't get me wrong, I love home, I love my wonderful bed and loving family, things I am sure I will come to appreciate and love 100 times more in the following year, but there's just something about moving. I can't even stand still when I worship. I gotta dance, or at least sway or shift my weight or something - thank goodness I was not raise Southern Baptist! And I never wake up in the same position in which I fell asleep, much less the same side of the bed! (many condolences to my future husband!)

Anyways, I'm off track.

Surprise.

Planes. That’s what I wanted to talk about.

Or type about.

You choose.

Did you know that I did not experience my first flight until I was a freshman in high school? Yessir, at the ripe old age of fifteen, I flew on my first international mission trip to Guatemala with some dear family friends of mine. And did you know that I have only flown internationally?

I wonder what exactly that says about me.

Anywho.

Our family never flew anywhere because:

1)      We love road trips complete with corn nuts, slim jims, and lemon-lime Gatorade.

2)      It’s usually cheaper.

3)      My mother is deathly afraid of flying. Odd, considering she used to want to be a flight attendant. But, alas, the few times she has flown for something or another, (most likely a business trip with Daddikins) she has unconsciously dislocated some limb on my father’s body.*

*slight exaggeration

But I LOVE flying. I love that rush I get when the plane acclerates to hundreds of miles an hour before it hits the air and takes off. I pray that I never lose the rush. #adrenalinejunkie. It means so much to me. It’s like I know that I’m about to go somewhere, experience something that’s gonna change me. And like I said earlier ^^^ I like change.

So, I'm sitting here in my room, making paper planes with my unruly, unloved, and forgotten bank statements, earnestly wishing to turn myself into a little paper person and fly somewhere far away. I just have to wait eight more days to do it in real life.

Peace out, Girl Scout.

Ma Copine

So, late at night seems to be the only time when I enjoy writing. Maybe I’ve conditioned myself through the past 4 years of high school – procrastinating until the very last moment on papers forced my mind to only operate late at night. I’ve basically screwed myself over for the rest of my life. Habits are easier to make than to break.

I decided that I’m going to address the language barrier. It’s so intimidating. So many people react so differently to your feeble attempts to communicate with them. Reactions ranged from encouragement to straight up disapproval. I would say that my best conversation was with one kind shopkeeper – she was the seller of les parapluries – umbrellas – and I, on my own (my usual lifesaver, Jessica - the person upon who I depended to carry me through French conversation was calling her parents in a nearby payphone), carried a conversation with this lovely lady who not only was patient and understanding but also encouraging and rescued my drowning lingual self from complete embarrassment. I was so proud when I walked out of that shop, firmly clutching my brand-new designer umbrella and a new confidence in a language that has always eluded me.

But, every language has its catches, for lack of a better word. And in French, if you use a possessive pronoun to describe a relationship, the relationship becomes very personal indeed. For example, if I described one of my friends as “une copine” (a girlfriend), it mean she is a good girl friend. She is a chum, someone I with whom I paint my fingernails and with whom I gawk at beautiful men and squeal when our favorite song comes on the radio. “Ma copine” (my girlfriend) literally means my girlfriend. Which is a relationship I do not have, being I am a girl that likes boys veryyyy very much. So don’t make the biggest little grammatical mistake of telling a cute French boy that your friend is “ma copine” – though it didn’t seem to deter the creep hitting on Jessica, we definitely did not intend on giving him the impression that we weren’t interested in him merely because we swung the opposite way.

Whoops.

So, my lesson of the day could be one of two things.

1)      Learn the language entirely before you visit a foreign country so you don’t accidentally tell a native that you are visiting with your lesbian girlfriend.

2)      Or just give up entirely on language because, after you turn 12 (depending on different psychological sources), you cannot achieve true fluency in another language and you will never be able to communicate perfectly with those of another tongue. Be That American.

It’s basically a lose-lose situation. What I learned is that you have to throw yourself out there. Try to communicate well, and if that ship goes down in flames, the worst that can happen is you walk away from a situation either entirely oblivious of what just went down or just plain embarrassed. But what’s life without embarrassing moments?

Peace out, girl scout.

Underground

Let me tell you about public transportation. It’s basically incredible. I wish Nashville was big enough for a legit Subway system, alas, it is not. If it was, I would be on the subway ALL THE TIME.

It’s so easy. You buy a ticket, and find the rail you need and the direction you need to go. You wait a little while, and BAM, you’re super close to your destination. It’s cheap, it’s easy, and there’s something just so comforting about the lull of the rail.

 

Cons:

Pickpockets have easy jobs on Subways, with it being such a cramped environment.

That lull I was talking about? Yeah, if you’re tired, stand up, or else you’ll fall asleep.

If you catch the wrong rail going the wrong way, you’re screwed. It could take up to an hour for you to get to your destination for turning around and jumping rails.

If you’re not too distracted, unlike my flighty self, these cons shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Jessica, Mackenzie, Mrs. Walker, and myself had a day to ourselves in the great city of Paris, and we mastered the metro (or the Tube – as the British call it) all by ourselves! We were so proud! We rewarded ourselves with hot chocolate, but that’s yet another story.

Ramblings

So it's been a while since I've posted. Much too long. Over a month, I believe. I can roll on with the excuses:

• I have a bazillion jobs to try and raise money for YWAM
• fundraising for YWAM - ie donation letters, events, etc
• My remaing time is spent catching all my friends for one last time before we all leave on our adventures that will lead us into the rest of our lives

I may or may not make more posts about Europe. But since I'm facing so much change, I've got a lot of bigger and better things on my mind which I would prefer to write about.
Three weeks. Three weeks until I'm boarding a plane that is OFFICIALLY BOOKED on the way to New Zealand, with layovers in New York, LAX, and Brisbane. And while I watch all my best friends pack up their lives up and move to college, I have barely even begun to try and comprehend how I am going to fit my life in a single suitcase this upcoming year. It's all overwhelming but still so exciting and contenting, if you know what I mean. I am so ready to leave this chapter of my life behind, so ready to open the one God has waiting for me on the other side of the world! I'm just itching to get out and finally do something worthwhile! But I'm still so sad to leave some of my most beloved human beings - my family, my friends, my lovely old pup, Dakota, and my new kitten, Ginny. And now I'm just rambling.
Meep.
Anywho.
Sometimes, I forget that there's always more room in my heart and more space in the world for kindred spirits. In the past month, I've found yet two more gals that have made my life just a little more fabulous.
Bri - my dear "new girl"
I loved having someone at Mickey Roos that lived and breathed the same way I do. Not that I've felt unloved or unwelcome by anyone - I have my favorite girls there that make work just that much more enjoyable and whose encouraging smile make a stressful shift just a little bit easier. But to have another "new girl" who was just as green as me, someone else who tried to find a Jager among the "y's" in the alcohol section, someone else who missed going to church and loved music just as I did - well you, my dear, made work fun and I loved singing terrible country music with you. I hope Belmont treats you right.

My dear Elissa. Yet another kindred spirit who has been hiding under my nose for my entire high school career. But, alas, God has a funny way of bringing people together at the perfect time for all the right reasons. And our choice to complete YWAM this year finally made us the best of friends, and I am so soooo sad I missed so much time before now. I love your beautiful heart, your crazy antics, and your capacity to love. I love having someone who knows exactly how I feel about the looming future - all the excitement and the nervousness, every little stressful detail and triumphant success. You will be the closest person in the world to me from good ole 'Murica, with Australia being only a few hours from the great islands of New Zealand - which, oddly enough, is a small comfort. I can't wait to learn about all of your incredible adventures and see what God does through you. I'm so proud of you, how much you've grown, and I love you so much darling! Let's keep chasing that darn moon!

What's the point of this entry? Well, I'm not really sure anymore either. I tried to keep it short. Tried. I told you what's on my mind. Mostly.
Peace out girl scout.