Welcome to Eggs in the Fruit Salad
Things aren’t always as perfect as a pottery barn pillow perfectly placed on an equally perfect couch. I’m here to shed light on the perfectly imperfect life most of us lead. My grandma Marking used to top and garnish her fruit salads with sliced hard-boiled eggs. A thing, as little girl and even as an adult, I find odd and let’s face it, weird. However, when all of my cousins are together reminiscing about our grandma, it’s this memory, and the time she served us green hotdogs for Christmas that always brings us the most laughter and loving thoughts about her.
At the end of the day, it’s our quirks that make us who we are and the reason we fall in love with the people around us. It is important to remember that it is our character that will be remembered.. not that perfectly placed pillow. So I share this blog not to showcase or flaunt my life as flawless or ideal (similar to the way Facebook pictures have a tendency to portray), but to tell the story of a girl who gets through life even when things turn out a little like… hard-boiled eggs. I know you will fall in love with this blog and my honesty regarding some of the ‘quirks’ that keep life interesting and I hope along the way you celebrate and embrace your own!
In that light, here is a little about me:
I have lived in Chicago for 6 years and I am moving back home to Madison, WI next month to be closer to my family~ so close in fact, I’ll be in my parent’s basement. Win.
I’m single… and have been for 28 going on 29 years. Why I’m so jacked in this area God only knows??? It has made for some horrendous and mostly comical dating stories. People laugh and I die a little inside with each telling of the tales. That was tad dramatic and not totally true- even I have to laugh at the satire that is my love life. I get lonely like most people who are chronically alone.
I am an awful speller. This is partly why I write in cursive. I write in cursive, people find this odd. Also, my comma usage , is not the greatest. ;0) If you are a stickler for this, you may have a hard time reading my blog.
I am on a mission to figure out how to have and do up long hair. Unfortunately, YouTube tutorials usually leave me with a head that’s a hot mess while the girl on the video made it look as easy as snapping her fingers. A complete Pinterest Fail. This week alone my blowdryer went up in flames in my hand. Eek! Stop. Drop. Roll.
I love my job and believe that it is my calling, whew- something right. My dream of reaching and helping women is a reality, but I have yet to reach in and pull out my full potential that I know I have. I often question if I quit or postponed my dream of being in the theater because I failed at it. I quickly solace myself knowing that I just found something better and I can come back to it. Either way at the moment I am full of pretty lame excuses.
I am a visionary person and can always see a finished project before most people can, a blessing and a curse. What I can’t see are steps 1-9 to get to 10. For this reason, I hesitated to start this blog.
I watch too much tv. I drink too little water, and probably sleep too much (my sister will hate me for the last as she can’t remember the last time she slept in after 9am).
I LOVE breakfast and I love going out to eat to get it, but I often feel guilty about going out for dinner. This probably stems from the ‘eat to live’ and not ‘live to eat’ mentality I was brought up in. Case in point: green hotdogs.
My stories, much like this post, go on a little too long.
I often start one thought and mid-sentence switch to another. Only the people closest to me have learned how to translate my thought process into making sense.
I feel like I know a lot but have a hard time regurgitating any of it which makes me feel like I don’t know anything.
I lose my keys and phone…daily.
I have truly great, lifetime long friends and an unbelievable and supportive family. I laugh hardest with my sister.
I always make people retake a double-chinned picture of me and/or I will untag it from Facebook- I’ll work on that one.
The name Messy Jessy fits me like a glove. Although I keep things clean, if you ever see a picture of my room and it’s not messy I inevitably hid all of the clothes somewhere for the quick picture- don’t be fooled.