Micah, Brooke, and Laura, I salute you.

I can't promise much out of this blog, mostly because I'm terrible at sticking with things. Ask my sports bras--used for intense work outs for three rigorous weeks at a time, but after that only used when I was too hungover/tired/lazy/it was a Tuesday to put on a regular bra.

However, we are in the middle of one of those three week stints now (I’m doing Insanity. Someone, please check and see if I wake up each morning) so I’m feeling hopeful about the blog. Maybe I can even tie the two together, ala Micah, and motivate myself to write and to work out.

We shall see.

I’ve never been a “Dear Diary” type, but I do have stories to tell—stories that I think are rather funny. I have just moved from Des Moines, IA to Lafayette, LA (hello, culture shock), I work in a unique field (chewing tobacco, I love you), I have a crazy (albeit adorable) dog, and a boyfriend who (like all men), either can’t or doesn’t think for about 50% of the day,

But you know this. The reason is because you, dear reader, are probably one of, like, three people:

1.       Micah, who has a wonderful knack for telling a story through written word;

2.      Brooke, who has been encouraging me to write down stories for years (though I think it’s because she likes to relive my pain and embarrassment—a common theme in most of my stories); or

3.      Laura, who already listens to me yapping for personal and now work reasons, but who will be spending an increased amount of time in hotels so she’s gotta find SOMETHING to do.

Micah, Brooke, and Laura, I salute you.