On the radio as I drove to work this morning...

I heard this traffic update: "There's also a lot of fog rolling off the river, so be careful if you're southbound on I-65 this morning." Do they not warn the north bound drivers because they want them to just drive off the bridge? Does the fog only matter if you're driving south? Do the north bound lanes have magical fog-repelling features? If they do, wouldn't it make sense to put them on the south-bound lanes, since that's the direction of rush hour traffic? Am I the only one who thinks of these things?

Incomprehensible

5:55 AM: I leave for work.

6:16 PM: I arrive home.

6:30 PM: I try to catch up on emails.

6:45 PM: Brain transmits the following: "Bleep. Blurp. Ghag. Wine?".

Bottom line: I'm glad tomorrow is a federal holiday.

"A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?"

I'm not one to try and hurry seasons along. When the seasons change, I always think of what I like about the new one. I like all of them, even summer, as odd as that sounds coming from someone living in Alabama. I love that it stays light so long, I love that I am was growing tomatoes in my backyard, I love that it's light when I drive to work in the morning, I love that I can sleep with a fan on, and I love the excuse to drink as many pina coladas as my brain can manage to wrap itself around. Mostly the last one. But this year ... y'all, the heat has turned people into what I can only call Crazy Zombie People Who Are Trying To Destroy My Brain With Their Crazy. And it's close to working. Because the Crazy has reached epic proportions and no amount of rum is curing this. Maybe the problem is that I'm the only one drinking it? Solution: The government needs to change all of our water fountains at work to rum fountains. Fall needs to get here. Soon. The Summer Crazies are making me insane.

Dear Hollywood

Dear Hollywood, I don’t know what’s up with you lately. It seems that every other movie I watch – which, granted, is about 1 in 100 that you put out – that have scenes where people either are or have the potential to drown. It doesn’t even matter if they actually do, it’s enough that the potential is there. They’re underwater, sometimes trying not to gasp in water, sometimes not succeeding. DO YOU KNOW THAT I’M SCARED OF DROWNING? Last weekend, we took the Stepson to see Clash of the Titans. It wasn’t just a reshoot of the original movie – it had almost a totally new plot. Which may explain why I wasn’t expecting an underwater scene. DO YOU KNOW THAT I HAD NIGHTMARES AFTER WATCHING CASINO ROYALE? And then, I went to see Quantum of Solace, thinking, they’ve done the underwater thing. I’m safe. I was so not safe, because apparently the flashbacks were a necessary plot point. So. This is me kindly asking you to Knock It Out. There are millions of ways to try to kill people. Please try a few hundred thousand of them before going back underwater. Love, Me

Bless My Toes

Last week, a lady walked up to me on base – I was sitting outside on my break, enjoying one of the 6 hours of Spring we’ll get before summer hits – and told me, with no apparent sarcasm, how brave I was for wearing open-toed sandals with no toe polish.

A couple of my friends are probably staging a toe-nail intervention as they read this; to you I say: Don’t worry. Now that I’ve made this public knowledge, The Best Friend will wrangle my mismanaged peds into shape soon, I’m sure.

Anyway, as this Mystery Lady walked away, I could only stare at her. I couldn’t formulate a reply, and honestly, she didn’t seem to want one. She’s like a fairy, only instead of dropping happy pixie dust on everyone she meets, she must drop these random and totally unwanted opinions on complete strangers, maybe even feeling like she’s done a good deed for the day by complimenting my bravery – I’m so courageous, y’all! An unemployed Pedicurist could happen upon my feet at any minute and take revenge on my negligence, but I still dare to brave the world in my flip-flops! Someone give me a Medal of Honor!

I mean honestly, what do you say to that? I just stared at her dumbfounded, wondering why she thought that was necessary.

Then I woke up and remembered that I’m in the Deep South; merely breathing in this part of the country gives total strangers carte blanche to say whatever they hell they want on any and all parts of your public/private lives. It’s a State’s Rights issue that was passed along with Reconstruction, and no one is going to give it up.

Heartbreaker

Dear sweet Deity, I cannot put enough disclaimers on this post. I've always loved R.E.M.'s song "Everybody Hurts". It's a heartbreaker of a song, that's for sure. And now, it's a tear jerker for sure. Simon Cowell, of American Idol fame - of whom and for which I have absolutely no love, in any way - has put together a tribute song to the Haiti earthquake victims, recording multiple artists singing Everybody Hurts. He's releasing it to raise money for the relief effort. NPR had a few clips of it on the radio one day this week, and I put off looking for it online. I've given, multiple times, to a few charities. Done what I can do, and all that jazz. But I'm sheltered. Privileged. I didn't want to see too much of what's happened. Because there's nothing much more that I can do. So tonight I looked on youtube for a video of the song, because it sounded beautiful. And I found this. Giving to relief causes tends to slack off after the first horror has passed. The first horror is quickly passing. I hope that this video always makes me cry.

The Professor

The Professor is the faculty advisor for a fraternity. Meaning: He goes to weekly meetings, yells at them when they make bad grades, and takes me to fraternity parties. Really: What 32 year old is still going to frat parties? At the meeting tonight, they passed around a piece of paper labeled: "I love The Professor because..." A couple of my favorite answers: " He has an epic mustache." "I can see my reflection in his head." There was more, but those are my 2 favorite. For the record: I, too, love his mustache and his shiny head.

Message?

At 3 random places around the city today, I've heard 3 different people whistling/humming "If I only had a brain". How am I supposed to interpret that?

Mind Games

Whenever I run across the movie "Forbidden Planet" in the DirecTV guide (which has been quite often lately), the opening song of The Rocky Horror Picture Show gets stuck in my head.

Wondering Why

It's 63 degrees outside. My windows are open and I'm loving the weather, sitting on my back porch with a glass of wine. The neighbor's air conditioner just kicked on. What the hell temperature is it in their house?

77

The Blessed Year I was born. The High temperature today. Either one of these could be the reason that I love the number 77. That is all.

Get to Know Me

Because I don't spill enough about myself already? As my big sister leads, so I follow... 1. What time did you get up this morning? 5:10 AM 2. How do you like your steak? On the rare side of medium rare – just done enough that it’s warm all the way through. 3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince 4. What is your favorite TV show? That would imply I watch TV on a regular basis. I’ll go with anything on HGTV. 5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? Amsterdam 6. What did you have for breakfast? Banana and a piece of Canadian bacon 7. What is your favorite cuisine? Italian. Or maybe Mexican. No, wait! Indian…or Italian? 8. What foods do you dislike? More than I can count. Short list of things I absolutely hate: Beans of any variety, sauerkraut, mayonnaise, condiments in general, anything ranch-flavored, corn… 9. Favorite Place to Eat? My mama’s kitchen. Or my sister’s. Or mine, if I did a good job that day. 10. Favorite dressing? Dressing is gross. Enjoy the flavor of the vegetables, people! 11.What kind of vehicle do you drive? 2001 Camry. 12. What are your favorite clothes? My denim skirt and one of several tank tops. 13. Where would you visit if you had the chance? Australia. Or Russia. No, Costa Rica. How about “anywhere I haven’t ever been, and most of the places I have”. 14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full? ½ full, unless I’m angry. Then I throw it at you and it’s 100% empty. 15. Where would you want to retire? Wherever The Professor does, which will probably be near a beach. 16. Favorite time of day? When I get home from work. 17. Where were you born? Louisville, KY 18. What is your favorite sport to watch? Baseball, if I have to. 19. Who do you think will not tag you back? Tara 20. Person you expect to tag you back first? Stacey 21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this? My mom’s 22. Bird watcher? If they fly in front of me. 23. Are you a morning person or a night person? Night. But – scarily enough – I enjoy getting up early now… 24. Do you have any pets? 1 cat 25. Any new and exciting news you’d like to share? My living room redecorating project is finished - and so, I hope, is spending money for awhile. 26. What did you want to be when you were little? Teacher 27. What is your best childhood memory? Holding my new baby brother in the hospital for the first time 28. Are you a cat or dog person? Cats. 29. Are you married? Yes. 30. Always wear your seat belt? Yes. 31. Been in a car accident? Yes. 32. Any pet peeves? Don’t get me started. 33. Favorite Pizza Toppings? Cheese, pepperoni, cheese, mushrooms, cheese 34. Favorite Flower? Lilies, Orchids, Tulips… 35. Favorite ice cream? Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked 36. Favorite fast food restaurant? Taco Bell…isn’t it everyone’s? 37. How many times did you fail your driver’s test? None 38. From whom did you get your last email? My boss. 39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Amazon…but only if someone else pays off the balance. 40. Do anything spontaneous lately? Not that I’ll write about where my mother might read it. 41. Like your job? Ask me again in 2 weeks. 42. Broccoli? Never. 43. What was your favorite vacation? I love them all. I’m getting the feeling that I don’t do well with picking favorites. 44. Last person you went out to dinner with? The Professor and The Bestest Friend 45. What are you listening to right now? My Broadway playlist. 46. What is your favorite color? Blue. 47. How many tattoos do you have? None. 48. How many are you tagging for this quiz? I didn't count, I just started typing names. 49. What time did you finish this quiz? 6:30 50. Coffee Drinker? Not anymore, and thanks for reminding me.

Conversations in an Airport

StepSon: "Did you see Slumdog Millionaire?" Me: "No, was it good? " StepSon: "Yeah, they-" Me: "Stop! Don't tell me the end! You always tell me the end!" StepSon: "The end was really cool! They-" Me: "No! Stop" StepSon: "Fine, I'll tell Dad." Also, the laptop came in helpful for a discussion over the largest city in the world. Occupational Hazard: People expect me to solve these dilemmas, which of course I have to make more difficult with questions like "Define city - do you mean city limits or metro areas?" Anyway, Wikipedia may or may not be right, but it was a quick way to end a 10 minute debate.

Maybe I’ve been repressing the best parts of myself

It’s a Friday morning. Friday morning’s are the mornings least likely to need some form of caffeine to get me through it, because just thinking about the weekend gets me high. Who needs crack when there’s a Saturday around the corner? Maybe we could make every other day a Saturday and then no one would need crack anymore?

So I walk into work, humming a merry little tune. It’s a been a good week with the parents in town. Work is boring, but that’s ok. It’s given me time to think up creative new ways to make The Professor’s head explode. I may start cataloging them soon.

And so I do my morning routine. I really hadn’t noticed I was humming, but then…that’s kind of the point of humming, isn’t it?

And so one of the ladies asks “That sounds kind of familiar, what are you humming?”

I had to stop and think for a second before I told her “Good Morning Starshine”.

The look she gave me was more than blank. It was as if she were still waiting for me to respond. So I said it again, as a kind of question. “Good Morning Starshine?”

Still with that look, so I started singing “Good Morning Starshine….the earth says helloooo…”, hoping to get a reaction. Still nothing from her. And then, because I’m full of goofy Friday-ness, I keep singing: “You twinkle above us…we twinkle below…”. By now, I have an audience.

“Did she just say ‘Starshine’?” a lady that is a little … religiously conservative … whispered. “Is she one of those earth-types and I never knew it?”.

I rolled my eyes and before I could reply, another librarian laughed and said “No, she just sounds like a hippie 30 years out of date.” She totally meant that in a good way. And then she walked back to her desk whistling “Age of Aquarius”.

It’s a Revolution, I tell ya.

Life after coffee

It’s official. I am no longer a coffee drinker. After a while, I paid attention to all the acid with which my stomach was flooding my esophagus. I tried to outlast it, but apparently, the stomach really doesn’t ever run out of that stuff. It took me wishing for a digestive-track-replacement-surgery to get the message. But now I’m clean. The rest of you can thank your deity of choice for whoever is responsible for Diet Mountain Dew. Final tally: Stomach: 1, Me: 0 The Bestest Friend and I have officially embarked on Operation: Make The Professor’s Head Explode. We had only planned on the satisfaction of redecorating my living/dining room area; the exploding head is merely an added incentive to get it done sooner rather than later. In many houses across this fine land of ours, repainting and re-arranging a living room is not a matter that makes people wheeze into their gin and tonics. But apparently in Chez Professor-land, the placement of the TV has some kind of mystical meaning. Wish I’d known that four years ago, because I think I’ve missed a lot of mysticism and now I’m feeling left out. Final Tally: Mysticism: 1, Me: 0, with an option to change to : Professor’s Head: 0, Me : 1 Also – and this is really very exciting, so hold on to your knickers - : The pictures of Dead People are coming off of my living room walls. I don’t know where they’re going, but you will not be confronted with a couple of dead kings and queens when you walk through my front door anymore. I’m definitely afraid I’ll get home one day and find them hanging above my bed, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take since 95% of the time that I spend in my bedroom I’m sleeping. Final tally: Dead People: 0, Me : 3 We’ve done most of the planning and bought the paint and supplies. And guess what? I have to wait ANOTHER MONTH before I have time to paint. But that also means that it gives me a month to round up people to help with the painting. If I play my cards right, there could be 5 of us. Do you think I could turn that into “I’ll cook a five course meal if you do all the painting for me”? Final Tally : To Be Determined.

Food That....Excuse Me, WHAT?

There's a Captain D's at my exit on the interstate, and a couple of miles before you get off, you're treated to a billboard for it. There's a plate of something fish-like, and a huge slogan: "Food That Loves You Back". Now, I'm not adverse to Captain D's. About twice a year, I get an insane urge for their fish and chips. I don't know what's in their oil, I don't know what kind of fish they use, and I have no idea as to the overall cholesterol content of my chosen meal. And I really don't think I want to. Maybe it's just me, but the idea of "Food That Loves Me Back" makes me very nervous. How, exactly, does it accomplish this? Can it send me greeting cards? Does Halmark make something for this occasion? Am I required to send a Thank You Gift? How, exactly, does food love me back? Do I even really want to know? These are the thoughts that permeate my dreams... I really don't want my meal to remind me of it's presence once it's past my taste buds. As far as my commitment to any one meal, that's kind of my limit. After that point, it's a "better seen and not heard from" situation. I'm great with Food That Loves To Be Eaten. I'm great with Food That Loves, period. Who doesn't want to be loved? But if my dinner is promising to come back from the great beyond that is my digestive track and in any way tell me at 2 AM "Hey, Thanks for eating me!"...well... My love of their Fish N Chips may have been cured.

Frightening Thought of the Day

Whilst sending an email to my sister this morning, making plans for a summer vacation, I had an epiphany: Six months from today, StepSon will be living at college. In a dorm. Where no parents are present. Prayers and presents of an alcoholic nature (for ME! Not him!) are much encouraged and appreciated.

In Which My Family Laughs In Scorn and My Best Friend Calls Me Old

Today, I went to the eye doctor. I hadn’t been in almost 5 years, but The Professor’s university just added a vision plan to their offerings this month and we jumped into that pool feet first with our palms open for handouts. He’s getting Lasik-ized next month. I decided that maybe it was time I could tell the difference between a Prius and Suburban whilst driving down the interstate. It’s all in the priorities. I just got back from my appointment, and the glasses – which will only be made cuter by the librarian-chain they will hang ‘round my neck by – have been ordered. (And as an aside, I am very glad I passed linguistics before I started butchering grammar as I just did back there). The Bestest Friend has promised me a Seeing Eye Dog for my 50th birthday. That’s more of an excuse to A) Call me old, and B) get me to own a dog, than it is a necessity, but she’s occasionally good at planning ahead and killing two birds with one stone. Or two eyes with one dog, as the case may be. My family…well, I and the baby brother have been blessed with our lack of a need for eyewear. I’m pretty sure a couple of them are legally blind without some kind of device on or in their eyes. So when I tell them I have 20-30 vision in one eye and 20-25 in the other, I’m sure I’ll get a “Yeah, kid, come back when you have an actual need for vision correction”. To them I say: “Please. Call me kid again. It sounds kinda nice.”

Two Totally Unrelated Things

Thing the First: Everyone knows that we have a crazy-liberal, give-the-Dems-glowing-praise-no-matter-what, fall-all-over-themselves media in the US, right? Ok, good. Thing the Second: Friend Rob pointed me towards this handy little garden-style-analyzer and it got me spot on:

Eclectic and sweetly rumpled, a cottage-style garden isn't the buttoned-up type. Relaxed, romantic and informal, the cottage garden overflows with multiple blooms, often set off by picket fences, arbors, and trellises. Heirloom and vintage plants are quite at home here as well. It's often the melange of plants that makes it so charming. Practical herbs for kitchen and medicine chest stand side by side with roses. It's truly a garden of the heart, of the hearth and of the home.

Conclusion: I really need more days off to play around these here internets.

Surviving the panic attack

I wrote this in the middle of a layover. I’m posting it unedited 6 hours later because…well, hell, because this is my blog and I CAN. Obviously, I survived. I’ve never been a lover of airplanes. They get me less and less efficiently from point A to point B on every trip, but for some destinations – say, Europe – they really are necessary since I don’t have the kind of vacation time it would require to cruise back and forth across the Atlantic. I’ve learned that I’m going to be nervous. That the first step on the plane is accompanied by the tightening of a tail that evolution still hasn’t convinced my body is unnecessary; the deep-lung-breath of air that holds me over til the next deep one comes when I set foot off the plane; the temporary hand-clutching that slowly eases as I make my way to my seat. It’s a ritual. I was raised Catholic – I’m good with rituals. Sit in the seat, open the book. Read merrily along through jostling, crying babies, The Stewardess Address, The Captain’s Welcome. When the plane actually begins to move, my eyes close, I say a prayer to the first saint that comes to mind, and then I concentrate on breathing and pretend to read until the plane is winging it’s way through the air that surely it was never meant to occupy. I’ve flown many times before. I’ve flown alone. I’ve flown with a large group. I’ve flown with just a few people. I’ve flown through turbulence so bad that 20 people I knew personally were throwing up in their bags. I’ve sat next to a pregnant woman who had a seizure and threw up on me, causing my own gag reflex to rear its head. I’ve flown across the ocean a few times and I’ve flown around the US. I’ve spent hours watching movies, sleeping, reading, talking, eavesdropping. So why in the name of all that is holy did I have a freaking panic attack this morning as the wheels left the ground? I broke out in a cold sweat. I clenched my hand so hard that I still have indentations in my hand. I took deep breaths and got scared looks from the woman next to me. 50 minutes later, when the plane landed in Atlanta, I felt a relief on the level that I felt last night when I realized My Guy won. Where the hell did that come from? And how am I supposed to get on a plane in another 80 minutes? Funny thing - the second half of the trip? No big deal. I dozed, I read. What the heck was that about?