This morning, this is where I wanna be.

This post is going to be short and sweet. Normally, I have to censor myself from rambling and rambling and rambling and….you get the idea. But, writing a blog has forced me to say more with less.

So this morning, this is where I want to be. And here are a couple of reasons why:

1. I have cleaned up two rounds of cute puke before 7am.
2. I need to study for my real estate exam and truthfully don’t want to.
3. The leaves will not stop gathering on my front porch and I’m tired of sweeping them up.
4. I love hopping from hotel to hotel and not worrying about cat puke, leaves or studying.

Instead, I want to be walking the ancient streets of Europe-lit by the morning light-smelling the baking croissants and sipping an espresso. I want Biceps at my side sharing the memories with me as we bounce along to our next destination.

I want to go to a local European cafe, stumble through the language barrier, order slices of cheese, loaves of bread, yogurt and a beer at 10am. (Of course, the beer is for later…)

This is where I want to be this morning. But for right now, I’m off to clean up cat puke mess #2.

Where do you want to be?

Veterans Day in 3 Pictures

Yesterday, I enjoyed the Veteran’s Day Parade in downtown Tulsa. Several people I knew were participating in the parade and my friends and I enjoyed waving our flags from the sidelines, gathering our candy (for the kids…) and honoring our heroes.

However, one participant stood out more than all the others.

The parade route was an hour long. This man walked the entire thing.

As I watched him slowly walk by, the pride on his face was evident. Tears were in my eyes and I couldn’t help myself as they fell onto my cheeks. And then he looked straight at me.

“Thank you!”, I shouted to him. I don’t know if he could hear me over the rumble of motorcycles, the shriners in tiny Mustangs and the diesel trucks pulling floats.

Thank you-Dad, Grandpa, Uncle Bill, Uncle Ron, Jacob Smith, Sam Bieber, Andrew Vasey and everyone else that have sacrificed your bodies, time with your families and yourselves in order for me to have my freedom. And so that I can stand on the sidelines of a parade and root for you. Thank you.

Spicy Chili, Spicy Night

An Italian, a cat and a chef walk into a bar. The bartender said, “What’ll it be?” The Italian said, “Red Wine, from my home country.” The cat said, “2% Milk, on the rocks.” The chef said, “Everything you’ve got. I have a party tonight and the more they drink, the better my food tastes.”

Buh-duh-schhhh….

Ok, so that was lame. Ok, so I made it up. And yes, I know telling jokes is not my forte. But now you’ve seen a glimpse of the real, lame-oid Rebekah. Tah-dah.

This is what happens to your humor if you get up at 5am to start cooking chili. It gets weird, then it gets strange, then it gets bad.

I ended up on bad.

I had a few people (hah!) over to the house this weekend and thought it would be fun to serve up a ton of chili, cornbread muffins and call it a day. I started off with a simple recipe that grew into a complicated mathematical equation in order to serve 60.

Ground Beef-check. 10 Pounds-check. Drain the fat-check.

Open up 26 cans of beans-check.

Consider buying an electric can opener-check.

Chop up 15 yellow onions-check.

Scavenge garden for peppers, chop up, seal in ziplock bags and don’t rub eyes-wish I could say “check” here.

Cook for at least an hour utilizing the capacity of your canners because none of your real pots are big enough. Don’t allow chili to burn on the bottom-again, wish I could say “check”.

Have a nervous breakdown, pour the contents of the chili out of the canners into at least 7 other smaller pots, scrape the burnt beans off of the bottom, scrub pot for at least 30 minutes, taste chili, confirm it doesn’t taste burnt, transfer back into the canners and turn down heat-check.

Make 60 cornbread muffins-check.

Cut up 2 lbs of carrots and 3 celery bunches-check.

Clean house-check.

Have a glass of wine-double check.

Wait for guests to arrive. Enjoy the night-check.

Eat the leftover chili for the next week-check.

Modeling is for those who don’t want to sit.

Last night, I did something that I’ve never done before. I modeled-on a runway, with crazy hair, makeup, nails and a recycled dress for the Ihloff Fall Collection Show. I have no idea why I was asked, other than I was available and could walk in a straight line.

This production was larger in scope than I was expecting-with close to 100 models, hair stylists and their assistants. Mayhem, attitudes and hair extensions reigned supreme.

It was a strange experience for me. I undressed willingly in front of people I had never met. I had stylists up in my business 24/7 with hands in places that would make you blush.

It started off innocently enough at 10am. Chrissie (my good friend and BSF partner) began the hair process. Nerves had not kicked in and smiles were easy to come by.

But by 2pm, I had my nails done and was now starving. My Christian witness was on the brink of collapsing.

I know most models have a “no food policy”, but this girl does not. Now I know why models always look so angry and skinny. They’re deprived of food.

By 5pm, I had soda cans in my hair and my makeup was completed. I had consumed a PB & J by this point, so things were looking up for me.

Notice the smile has returned? This gal on the right, Chrissie, is not only beautiful, sweet but extremely talented.

100 Dove Wrappers and 40 Topeca Coffee bags later, I was contact-papered into my dress. (Please ignore the toilet in the background-it kind’ve ruins the vibe).

I loved the concept and the design of the dress that I wore it home to show a certain Biceps that couldn’t make it.

With the dress applied, I could only walk at a pace half my own, could not sit down and could not go to the bathroom-mainly because I couldn’t bend over to reach my skivvies.

The dress was “applied” at 6pm and the show ended at 9. For a lady that needs a bathroom break every 15 minutes, holding “it” was the hardest part of my job.

By 8pm, I was on stage-part of the finale of the show. Chrissie finished my hair live on stage, and then ripped off my smock to reveal the recycled dress underneath-much to the crowd’s delight.

Then…I had to walk the runway-without tripping, falling, and without any part of my dress malfunctioning.

Successfully, I made it down and back the runway with my heart pounding in my chest, trying not to make eye contact with the audience and trying not to smile because models are serious. (Insert pouty face-reminder of the “no food policy” aforementioned).

I smiled anyways-the crowd was clapping and who wouldn’t smile when clapped for? Plus, I didn’t trip once. That’s worth smiling about. It was an interesting, fun, exhausting, and sticky experience-but I’m not sure I’m cut out for this business.

After all, modeling is definitely for those who don’t want to sit down.