Posts tagged Charlotte
No sign of a choir for miles.

Sunday, I ventured to the grocery store wearing yoga pants – Starbucks in hand. Holy urban, [non-Affleck] Batman. Who am I?

I was a girl headed to yoga class with zero edible products in my kitchen, that’s who.

It’s still amusing that trips to the grocery store can be made daily. Like someone who was raised in the Great Depression, I have difficulty letting go of things from my childhood. On rural route 3, past the end of the black top we went to the grocery store purposefully. A 40 mile round trip to Wal-Mart could not be wasted picking up a forgotten item. [Note: this is still protocol at my childhood home] Now, I stop by the grocery 2-3 times per week.

Standing over the eggs – the ridiculous selection of eggs – I 100 percent laughed from the pit of my stomach. I am the girl from the movies my rural self never wanted to be. So naïve, I was.

I’m 1k miles from my rural hometown surrounded by a population that is truly 3-5 generations removed from the family farm. And, I’m happy.

Sometimes it’s difficult to allow yourself to be someone different from what you know. I’ve always wanted to share my passion about agriculture with someone other than the choir. The choir, they get it. They’ve been hittin’ those high notes their entire lives.

Here I am. I’m right where I’ve been asking to be. No sign of a choir for miles.

The unlimited supply of cinnamon dolce lattes isn’t half bad, either.

rural gone urban – gone really, really urban

I’ve grown up with this blog, it seems. When Rural Gone Urban breathed its first breath of blogger air, it was authored by two fresh-from-college girls who wanted to share their urban adventures. Then, Dallyn moved to what some will call God’s Country – NW Oklahoma. Typing. I just kept typing through a Master’s Degree, international travel, job changes, heartbreak, adventures, new friends and love. Truly, I was rural gone urban.

Looking back, it was a transition period. In life? Sure. Every weekend I’d fill up my gas-guzzling SUV and head west or north depending on my mood to fill my soul with winter wheat, dirty shops, friends and family: urban during the week, rural on the weekend. Think of it as a life mullet, the best of both worlds.

Then, life threw the most amazing curve ball. The good news – I’ve never had trouble with the curve. I was made for curve balls.

I fell in love.

I fell in love with a southern boy with blue eyes that can cut deep into your soul. From the second I turned around in that Plaza District bar, I knew I was in trouble.

As many of you know, emotions are hard for me. I knew moving a few hundred miles would be rough. I was prepared. But, I wasn’t prepared to blog about it.

What could I possibly say?

“Yo. I got lost again. I miss my friends. CHARLOTTE IS AWESOME. T makes me use coasters. I wanna go to Oklahoma. I miss cows. I found this awesome store!! I made a new friend. Whoa – I didn’t like that new friend. New church! I’m chubby – shouldn’t have stopped working out. I can see T on weekdays! Ouch – working out is hard! New friends! Bachelorette party!! Almost football season.”

Well, that’s basically what I would have said. Except in a lot more words. Basically, you’re welcome for not writing about it.

Anyway, I’m back. Missed you.

Also, I’m now rural gone urban – gone really, really urban.

Hope you can handle that.


I'm here, Charlotte.

The interim of life is a funny place. You’re excited, yet sad. Nervous, but exhilarated. I’m here, Charlotte. The interim is over. No more can I turn down invitations knowing a move is imminent – or work with a slight pang of guilt knowing the travel calendar I’m planning isn’t for my explorations, they’re for a person yet to be determined. During the past few weeks I’ve allowed my thoughts to drift to what my new life will hold. What will I be doing on Sunday nights instead of watching Revenge with Courtney? Who will make me laugh at work? The new is exciting. And, it’s here.


It’s here after a 1,500ish mile road trip with a layover in Nashville to meet a few of T’s friends and witness the most amazing hockey fight, a quick stop in Knoxville to visit with one of T’s bffls, and only two other stops. That’s correct, two total stops. Yes, we’re awesome.

WelcomeToCharlotte I’m living with a lovely girl who answers to the name of Karissa. Not to be confused with Clarissa Explains it All. That's not how she’s saved in my phone. That’s a lie. I loved that show. Of course that’s how she’s saved in my phone.

First thing this morning I made my way to my new artsy-ish hood (the locals call it NoDa) and was greeted with the most adorable display of fresh flowers.

What? I’m not living with T? Of course not. Oddly, a lot of people have very heated opinions on this matter. That’s just silly, people. We’re not married. There’s no reason for me to burden him with my messiness. And, yes, I’m a very messy person. Stuff… errywhere.

Anyhow. I live in my little neighborhood, T lives in his. And, we live in the same town. How great is that? 

This means I can annoy him anytime I want.

Pasta And, on random Monday nights I can walk to T's hood's pasta shop and pick up dinner. Is there anything more romantic that a few episodes of Breaking Bad, pasta and a sick fiancé? Nope. It's perfect.

Owning it.

I fully endorse dance parties. Dance parties where you're standing in your living room, firmly gripping a wooden spoon that happens to be doubling as a microphone, and singing so off-key your five pound farm dog looks at you like you're a crazy person.

Also, I fully endorse sentences that make you stop and gasp for air. You're welcome.

Because of my love for such dance parties, my eyes lit up like my birthday morning at a certain concert last week. What concert? Coldplay, of course.

Goodness gracious I'm staring to sound like a spoiled brat with all these evenings at the beach and nights with really, really good concert tickets.

Someone is giving me every right to claim my title as a princess. And, I'm owning it.