Dani's Dirt

Okay deep breath.

Breathe in…

and now out…

That was mainly for my own benefit, but if any of my faithful readers are in need, I’m happy to oblige.

I’m having one of those days, one where “Hot Southern Mess” should be stamped in red across my forehead. I think yesterday morning was the prelude to what Tuesday had waiting for me. You see yesterday I went to my closet to get ready for work and realized my “dressy” jeans were in the dryer… at my parents house… in my Water-Tower-Town, Oklahoma.

So instead I was faced with wearing my “work jeans” to work. Not “work” as in jeans for an Editor at an Agriculture newspaper, but “work” as in fit for a ranch hand. They even came complete with bleach stains from my waitressing days and a slash on the inner thigh from climbing over too many barbed wire fences.

Well yesterday’s preview went full-blown, when this morning I was awoken by overcast sunlight peeking through the blinds of my Middle-of-Corn, Kansas hacienda. Searching my cozy bed to retrieve my cell phone I stared at the screen in disbelief as I read 8:00 a.m.

Wondering why my alarms didn’t go off I saw I had slept through the 5 a.m. workout alarm (I have it in my head to start working out twice a day. I’ve got the evening workouts down, the whole morning thing has yet to happen though.) and then saw my 6:30 alarm had the words p.m. instead of a.m. next to it.

Reality threw a brick at my face snapping me out of my confused state and into “Oh *four lettered word* it’s 8! I have to be at work at 8!”

I lunged out of bed, text a co-worker to let them know what had happened, hurriedly dressed, Bobbi Pinned my hair, threw on mascara, and jumped in my Pontiac, grapefruit in hand.

At 8:17 I showed up in the Farm Talk parking lot slinging gravel, and apologized my way through the front door and all the way to my office. My apologies were received with giggling and “it happens” “you’re not even that late.”

Naturally, Southern Hot Mess mode didn’t stop there. I sloshed grapefruit juice all over my keyboard, dripped coffee on my jeans, lost all my business cards, scheduled a meeting for the wrong day, and cut into my own lunch hour because I forgot part of the steps to updating the website.

Very flustered, I was happy to go home for lunch. To which I was welcomed to a sink full of dishes, a burnt out refrigerator light, as well as undergarments and cowboy boots strung down my hallway from my tornado version of getting ready for work. Oh and to top it off, I forgot to take the trash to the road this morning, which I have forgotten every Tuesday for the past month and a half. It’s officially past needing to be done.

*Sigh*

Deciding I would deal with it all later, I grabbed a pair of heels and a bucket of shotgun shells and headed to my front porch to work on a photo project. As soon as I got everything set up, I hear my phone ringing in the house, barreling through the front door, and through the living room, I slide into my dining room table and miss the call. (Apparently “gracefulness” is not part of a “Hot Southern Mess” day.) Returning the call, I’m relieved when Yoda answers the phone, laughs at my horrible–no good–very bad day, and responds in a thick Kentucky accent, “First World Problems.”

A phone call from a friend can turn things around, because so far I’ve made it three hours past lunch and the only “Hot Southern Mess” moment I’ve had was deleting the first draft of this original blog post. *sigh*

Or maybe I transferred my bad luck…

Okay, so maybe I’m contagious.

On the positive side, my lunch time photo project turned out how I wanted. Here’s a sneak peek! Look for the real deal to be appearing soon. High Heels & Shotgun Shells is officially under design construction. Camo hard hats are required for your viewer safety during this time. 😉

Jessica Simpson heels and a 5 gallon bucket of shotgun shells on a front porch in Kansas… It makes this Backwoods Barbie’s heart smile.