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I’m A Sucker For Festivals and Champagne

August 28, 2012

By:

Erin Schrader

Oh hi friends.
It feel’s good to be back…giveaways are exciting and all for readers but pssssssssh….I hate not being able to say much on blog posts. Which is why I am going to write a 801,000 word novel starting now.
That was a joke.
I don’t even know 801,000 words.
I also don’t know why a friend of ours is in our kitchen eating a ghost pepper {legit the hottest pepper in the world up until 2007. Google that shaz} right now but that is neither here nor there. I just keep hearing 
“Do you guys have any tums?!” followed up with spits in our sink. 
You would think I am kidding but no. Here is he in all of his “GIVE ME WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO DRINK OR DIE!!!!” glory. Awwww everybody say “Hi Brett”
We like to kill our friends when they come over apparently. My husband works with Indians.
Hence having a ghost pepper in our house. Not that you needed to know that but now you do. 
You also don’t need to know that one day a month I wish I would’ve gotten knocked up so I wouldn’t have to experience cramps but you do now. That day being today. 
Don’t worry, those thoughts have now passed and I am rejoicing in the “no baby in my stomach” Gods.
I should really get back to the point of this post. 
Ironically enough I wasn’t planning on writing a whole post about us killing our friends and how I secretly wish I would’ve been knocked up for a few hours out of the day.
We (I) try to keep those things a secret.
Okay back on topic.
Festivals. I’m obsessed. In fact I like to say that I live for them.
Give me a pretty garden, live music, a glass of wine, artists, and food and well….
You get this. 
This picture reminds me, have I ever told you I have a dent in my leg?
I have a dent in my leg. Look on my upper thigh. You’ll see it. Fricken childbirth. 
I must have been like a sling shot coming out and happened to hit a tree limb or something along the way. 
I don’t know what else possibly could have caused a giant dent in my leg? 
I am off topic again.
Although honestly, I need to address something quickly. This is important. 
I keep reading all of these blog posts (okay two) in the last couple of weeks that go into detail about every step of their birthing experience. Each time I have to read about an epidural and how their body is suddenly washed with a numbness. People, don’t you understand that hypochondriacs read this stuff?! 
After two blog posts now my body has gone completely numb which makes it real awkward when I have to get up from the computer and walk somewhere. Danggit, I am numb again. Fricken epidurals. 
Anyhow, like I was going to say before I went numb, my husband kept telling me to stop dancing at said festival. Something about the hundreds of people around (none of which were dancing) I don’t know.
My life motto is if you aren’t embarrassing yourself you aren’t having fun. 
Write that one down and use it kids. 
Here are some “I am not dancing but my husband is eating a bear” pictures from the festival this weekend. 
And he thinks that is normal..
Shirt: Aerie//Shorts: Kohls
I wish I could live at one big giant festival 24/7. 
You know what else I wish I could do 24/7?
Pop champagne bottles.
No but seriously, I think it is the most empowering thing one can do.
Who needs to climb to the top of Mount Everest when you can pop bottles?
That’s another life motto. Write that one down too.
Needless to say, I made sure that our weekend included poppin’ bottles.
Thankfully our friends gave us a reason to celebrate so celebrate we did.
Let’s look at the faces of Erin during the course of the bottle popping festivities shall we?
I start off normal. Excited, but normal. From there I suddenly think this is the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life. Like ever. So then I start to scrunch my nose and scream thinking it looks cute until I see the pictures and realize I look more like I am saying “I AM GOING TO EAT YOUR FACE”
Shirt: Miss Chic//Jeans: Gap//Wedges: Target

I then resume to a semi-normal state. But then, well, I get tired. So I take a big yawn and think “get this show on the road!” so my friend listens and eeeeeeeeeeeeeeek that’s when I get scared. My neck turns into a dinosaur and POP. The cork comes off. Probably around the same time that I hatch out of my egg.
The end.

And that my friends is my weekend in a nutshell.
Or a 801,000 word novel.

ps. Our friend is now positioned on our kitchen floor saying “I don’t think I can move my tongue…”

If you see any photos on Instagram from a funeral over the next couple of days, now you know why.
I hope the pepper was worth it. I also hope he lived by my life mottos. Just sayin.

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