There's a first time for everything.

The other night my mom told me that I was a diva. She might or might not have been justified in such name-calling, but we'll get to that in a minute. I would argue against the title because would a diva go to Target in her Southern hometown on a Saturday afternoon without a trace of make-up on her face? Doubtful. Speaking of, I really need to stop such antics before there's unnecessary chatter and speculation that I'm down with some sort of terminal illness. Unless practicality over not wasting a day's worth of make-up for a 15 minute trip to the Target pharmacy constitutes terminal illness. While I'm on the subject of the Target pharmacy, I just got a phone call from them informing me that the insurance company refuses to pay for my Differin gel because I'm over the age of 30. Really? Is this what health care reform is going to look like? Because I can promise no one wants to look like the un-medicated version of my jaw line. [Good thing I'm building my mother's case in my own very weak argument against it.]

Anywho, for those of you who accidentally stumbled upon this post while searching for "Target Black Friday deals" or something equally as important, I'm temporarily back in my mother's house until I figure out what zip code I want for my next one. Quick review:

• I haven't lived in my mother's house since 1997.
• I haven't shared living space with anyone for more than a couple of weeks at a time since 2003.

So maybe some of you are wondering how all of this is going. My dog loves it:

The cat hates it:

 

I plead the 5th.

 

Is it ideal? Absolutely not, but good heavens, what an easy problem to have, in the grand scheme of problems. I have a roof over my head and a mother who would open her door for any of her children no matter what. Yes, I had better check myself before I wreck myself.

 

My mother can only get away with calling me a diva because she's a saint. I once said so in a Mother's Day post here and 4 years later, it's still true. We absolutely have our differences, but that's probably why in the long run this whole little phase will be more manageable than it could have been. So why did she call me that in the first place? Because my 14 year old brother refused to use his own bathroom and took over mine. When all I wanted to do was slather on some acne cream and take out my contacts and go to bed like any other hip and happening early-30-something bunking at her mom's house. Good. Lord.

 

While I'm on the topic of moving back home, I'll note a few other observations for the sake of posterity because one day this will all be a fuzzy memory and I'll be whining about why I didn't take advantage of this time while I had it.

 

The city has made me soft. Target is now a 40 minute venture round trip. I have to drive somewhere to go running. I miss local restaurants. I miss living less than 5 minutes from a Starbucks no matter which direction I go. I miss my hip and trendy mega-church right beside my little apartment.

 

To be fair, rural living has its own charm. What's not charming about coyotes howling in the distance or random shotgun fire while out walking the dog either late at night [coyotes] or just after sunrise [shotguns - it's gun season, you know]? Word to the wise: Never watch The Walking Dead at 9:00 and then walk the dog when living in the middle of nowhere. Never. Ever. The leaves are much more colorful and pretty. The Blue Ridge mountains stretch along the horizon. I can easily pick out the constellations because the stars are brighter. The air is probably a little clearer. But I think I've decided it's this kind of stuff that long weekends are for. At least at this stage in the game for me. Mama asked me the other day if I would raise kids in the city. To which I blithely responded, 'why not?' But where I'm going to raise my unborn babies is the last thing on my mind these days. I'm much more concerned about finding my stone loaf pans before Thanksgiving at this particular moment. Besides something makes me think that I don't have to worry about raising babies anytime soon as long as my living arrangements match those of Howard Wolowitz.

Girl Should Not Live On Cookies Alone.

When I'm stressed out I do one of the following: run, bake, and write.
Saturday, I ran 8.5 miles and wrote some notes. Sunday, I baked 4 dozen cookies. Monday, I ran 3.5 miles. Today, I'm blogging. And I just offered to bake pumpkin bread for a pal to take to a breakfast tomorrow.
It's nice to know that my coping mechanisms are fully functional.

While I'm on the subject of stress, let's just go ahead and get a few things straight. Sure, I'm twirling my hair and wondering how in the world I'm ever going to get every single thing on my to-do list accomplished. [A good start would be to get off of the silly internet.] Yes, that's stressful. BUT, it's not "your dad has a 10% chance of living through the night" stressful. I've experienced both types, and I've learned that when one is in a really critical, stress-inducing situation, one does not have time to document miles ran and cookies baked on a blog. In other words, I'm not complaining. I believe the term for this they teach the youngsters in Health Psychology class is "eustress". I suspect that the term which best describes me right now is "frazzled" or "Liz Lemon". Because it's normal to unknowingly drop your keys when walking the dog in the morning only to return back to your locked door before realizing something is missing, right? And then you get to retrace your steps completely while on the hunt for said keys. In the rain. Or refer to a male coworker as "Ms." in a printed document for a little event that I'm responsible for planning at work. Hello, Monday. You really should come around more often.

My Monday continued when I returned my defective running shoes that I had previously ordered online to the local sporting goods store in my future town. If you are my FB friend, you've already seen the bang up job the postman did of hiding them upon delivery:

I still giggle when I think about his decision to put the doormat over a gigantic box as a cover. While at the store, I learned that they have been discontinued and it was that pair or nothing. I might have grieved the loss by swearing off running for good and drowning my sorrows in a Five Guys cheeseburger. I'm super stoked to start the hunt for a new favorite running shoe because I have about as much success in that area as I do in finding an intelligent and charming man who appreciates my sardonic wit and humor. Hmmm, maybe one works at the shoe store. Two birds, one stone. Oh how I love efficiency.

For dinner last night I had some of the cookies that I baked on Sunday. They really complemented that burger from lunch. That is one thing that I don't mind about being a little bit stressed because my metabolism responds by morphing into that of a 14 year-old boy's. I can eat and eat and eat and not gain an ounce. It's deee-light-ful. The other day I took the baby brother to lunch and ate more than he did. He's 19 and looks like this:

Tall and skinny [and incredibly adorably cute but I'm a big sister so of course I could be biased]. I am particularly fond of this picture because it was taken recently and he's wearing a shirt of mine from when I was in the 9th grade. In fact that's really the only reason why I'm including the picture. What? Didn't every girl from Georgia go through a future-lumberjack stage and wear flannels from American Eagle? It was only a phase, people. I'm a total girly girl. I've always admired Ethan for his ahem, sense of style. Down to the black crew socks with shorts and Sperry's. Lord bless the middle child. Anywho, back to my metabolism. I try not to take it or my good health for granted and abuse it so I must check myself before I wreck myself and abstain from eating cookies for dinner 3 nights in a row. Starting tomorrow. I'll probably run out of cookies between now and then anyway.

Snapshot Summary.

It doesn't matter how or why my hair ended up in a side pony while at work.
Nor does it matter how or why there is photo documentation of this whole tragic event.
What does matter is that this picture probably sums up the month of March thus far better than any written recap:The good news is that my eyes haven't gotten stuck in a permanent eye roll...yet. :)

Chocolate Lab Tattoos.

George Orwell was really on to something back in 1984 when he wrote from The Animal Farm that Big Brother is watching.

You see, Al Gore's information super-highway is so super, that Blogger runs these reports and provides stats so I can see how many people read my blog, the cities and countries where my blog is being read, and the traffic sources of how folks stumble upon this little blog o' mine. News Flash: 2012 is the year of the nerd. It's going to be MY year.

Because I am not a regular blogger, some days I have 3 readers, other days no readers, and then other days like 60 or so. The numbers confirm what I've always known: I'm keeping my day job.

For the life of me I can't figure out why anyone from Australia, Russia, Denmark, Germany, Singapore, or Spain wants to read my blog. Yet, folks from those countries are reading it. And now a message for these visitors in particular: "Hello friends, please don't form your opinion of the United States and its citizens based on what you read here. Or see on TMZ. Sincerely, Just Me...HP." I get traffic from cities and states all across the US too. Primarily Georgia, which is not surprising given my own coordinates. But there's also New York and California and points in between. You know, I didn't even realize that the internet had made it to Kansas yet, but it seems that it finally did back in the summer.

Numbers and cities are fun, but what I find to be most interesting is the traffic sources. The most common link is Facebook. Next, from other blogs that have my blog linked to theirs. But it's the Google search results that I love. For example, just this week people found my blog after searching the following: Chocolate Labs with Crayons and Chocolate Lab Tattoos. I'm intrigued. Like, I wonder if the person was searching what happens when a Chocolate Lab eats crayons. My dog has eaten practically everything, but praise Jesus he's never tried crayons. They are the gateway drug to Sharpies, you know. And then what's with the Chocolate Lab Tattoos? Does this person want a tattoo of a Chocolate Lab? As much as I love my dog, the teeth marks in the legs of my dining room chair is permanent reminder enough of his presence in my life. To the person out there considering a tattoo of a Chocolate Lab: Proceed with caution because when the next canine companion comes into your life and it's a Poodle, she's going to be quite cranky when she is constantly eye-level with that big loyal Lab plastered on your calf that you look at too as a regular reminder of what you once had.

I could care less about your vector, Victor.

I originally started this post last week from the airport, but I was sans internet connection so I'm just getting around to actually finishing it and sharing it with the world! Er, my three readers.

Fact: The airport is one of my favorite places on earth. I love to fly. I would travel somewhere every week if my job (and salary) allowed me to do so. I especially love super busy airports. Lucky me that the "world's busiest" is also "my" airport!

As I write this, it is 9:55 a.m. I've been here since 7:15. I knew that something was amiss when I settled in at my assigned gate with my freshly brewed Seattle's Best and blueberry muffin and instead of Chicago, the destination posted was Valdosta. [Who flies to Valdosta?!?] It turned out that my flight was cancelled. I do not love cancellations, but that is a matter absolutely beyond my control. [Someone's life lessons in control are paying off, aren't they?]

Now that I've had a couple of extra hours here, I've had the opportunity to make and note a few observations:
When going through security with an infant in a car seat, please don't kick said infant carrier to move it forward. I'm not a parent, but my gut instinct tells me to kick the bag and carry the baby instead of vice versa.

When using a public restroom, please close and lock the stall door, m'am. My eyes have seen things this morning they were not prepared to see. Ever.

When flights are cancelled, the nicer you are to the cranky ticket agent, the nicer she will become and the harder she will try to get you on an earlier flight.

One should not spray rose scented perfumey stuff one moment and then proceed to cough all over fellow travelers sitting in close proximity to you when waiting at the gate.

Is there a place in the airport that sells fried salmon patties? What is that woman across from me eating and why does it smell like fried salmon patties?!?! Isn't 10:06 a.m. a wee bit early to be eating fried salmon patties? I wish that whatever this food that she is consuming would be banned by the TSA.

I have no idea how all of these people are going to fit on the plane. And why did the guy on the speaker just say that we are going to Pensacola? I'm far too overdressed for a trip to the beach.

All of these important and nicely dressed business folks who are looking at their phones with furrowed eyebrows and furiously typing on their touchscreen phones? I suspect that it's not business, but a mean game of Angry Birds or Words With Friends.

A fun game that I like to play when waiting is to try to guess where people are going based on what they are wearing. Something makes me think that the guy in plaid shorts and flip flops will not be on my flight.

I'm kind of torn when it comes to airport chit-chat. Like, when people make general statements to no one in particular, but I obviously hear them, am I obligated to respond? I vote no.

There's a man on my flight who looks just like Ted Kennedy. Except I know it's not him because well, Ted has gone to glory and this gentlemen has the last name of Briggs and needs to make a reservation for December 12, 13, and 14. So I've heard him shout between curse words at least eleventy-dozen times. I hope he's not my seat row buddy, but I would choose him over Miss Salmon Patty, I believe. [Fun fact: The ghost of Ted Kennedy, Mr. Briggs, was my seat row buddy!]

After one cancelled flight, and three more delays and sitting on the plane for 30 minutes, we are finally on our way. Phones, laptops, electronics are all powered down. Oh, what's that you say, Mr. Pilot? We've traveled no less than the distance of a football field, and we're going to sit here so it's ok to turn on our cellular devices? Got it.

You know how some pilots are all business and some pilots need either a dog or a therapist based on the amount of chatter that comes from the cockpit? The pilot on today's flight was chatty. He proudly informed us when we flew over Kentucky and into southern Indiana. I admit, that I don't mind when they point out landmarks or give a little update so I can get an idea of where we are in relation to where we're going. However, when we were about 60 miles out, Mr. Delta, announces over the intercom that we've been put into a holding pattern. He then starts all this talk about our vector and how the tower is flipping the runway because the wind has changed so they have to change the direction of the incoming and outgoing flights. So, that's all well and good and really cool if you think about it. BUT as I looked outside of my window, there was nothing to see but fog. I know, I know, their instruments see for them, but what happens if a pilot was checking his Facebook status or texting while flying or changing the music on his iPod and missed the whole announcement about rerouting all traffic in one little circle of a holding pattern? I would have regretted the will power I exercised to resist eating a half-dozen Krystal burgers after spending what amounted to half a work day in the airport, for one thing. What screams "perfect last meal" better than a bag of teensy tiny fake hamburgers? Obviously that didn't happen and these people are pros at this kind of stuff, but I couldn't help but to giggle just a little bit when he was talking because I felt a little bit like I was living the Seinfeld stand up routine that he does about pilots.

My return flight was equally as entertaining. I sat next to an airplane mechanic. As in, when I boarded the plane and sat down beside him, he was pouring buckets of sweat and eating his sandwich like he was due back down there to tighten one more bolt before take off. He was super tall and reminded me very much of my dad (minus the fact that dad always swore he would never fly and this man has to fly in order to get to work some days). We had a very interesting and educational conversation about the frequency in which the tires on a plane are changed as well as the distance allowed between planes when in flight. Any guesses? I focused on that information instead of his statement about how he had been working non-stop without any sleep for a day and a half. I think that when I make my recommendation to the TSA about banning airport foods that are noxious to the olfactory nerves, I will also recommend that the people responsible for fixing the metal capsules that shoot us through the air at fast rates of speed get a full eight hours of sleep each night.

Next Stop: Fountain of Youth.

Today I learned that the 6th grade is not the place to go in order to boost one's ego. Actually, I learned this in 1990 as a 6th grader so technically I guess today I was just reminded of this fact. Last month I wrote about my experience with a 6th grade class. At the time I had no intention of a recap of my monthly meeting with them turning into a regular segment on this little blog o'mine. And by "regular", I mean "occurring more than once." ...just so we're clear on that.

This morning I asked the question "How old do you think the oldest student at the college I work at is?" A student from the back exclaims: "37!!" Awesome. [The real answer for those of you playing along at home is 84.] I don't really know what happened next, all I know is that suddenly, one student informed me that I was "middle-aged". Really? From the current outbreak happening on my face, I can see why someone might confuse me for a 16 year old boy, but middle-aged? I think not!

So at the end of my presentation, I once again opened up for the floor for questions about going to college or my job, etc. Big mistake. Huge. Because here's how that went down:

Question 1: "Are you married?"
Just Me...HP: "No."

Question 2: "Well, do you at least have any kids?"
Just Me...HP: "No." [In my mind I'm thinking "thank heavens" when I answer this one considering my answer to #1.]

Question 3: "Don't you get lonely?"
Just Me....HP: [as I'm wiping the tears from my eyes and curling up into the fetal position...oh, kidding!] "Nope, I've got plenty of time still for marriage and babies."
Little boy who earlier reported that one of his favorite activities is eating pork chops, collard greens, and cornbread: "Well, my mama, she 33 and I a whole lot older than yo' babies gonna be when you finally have 'em."

The whole thing is really quite hilarious. I don't feel a minute over oh let's say 24, but the truth is, I'm getting older. But here's a fun little fact: When I started the 6th grade, my mama was also 33, and I thought she was o-l-d. [Hi, mom! Love you!] It wasn't until she had a baby at the end of my freshman year of college at the age of 41 though that I actually point blank told her that she was old. What's that they say about karma?

"Why did you look so sad?"

This morning I had the opportunity to speak with a class of 6th graders because I participate in a local area adopt-a-class program. I know what some of you are thinking: "Ugh, middle school." To be honest, I was kind of thinking that myself as I prepared my presentation. Who here remembers middle school? Perhaps the better question is, who here remembers middle school fondly?

I must admit that these kiddos were the highlight of my day. Perhaps it's because we are only in the second week of school and the 6th grade group is still doe-eyed and excited about all things related to middle school. Or perhaps it's because I didn't give them enough credit. To my surprise they were full of questions which is a nice change of pace from the high school seniors who know all there is to know about everything that typically fill my normal work day. A few questions included:

• "How old do you have to be to go to college?"


• "How old were you when you went to college?"


• "Are you married?"


• "How old is the oldest person to go to college?"


• "Who are New Kids on the Block?" [Just go with it.]

But my favorite was when a little boy asked "Why did you look so sad?"

His question was in regards to this:
As my introduction, I included slides that explained that it was 1990 when I was their age, George H.W. Bush was president, etc. And then I included 3 pictures of myself from my 6th grade year. This move would have been complete social suicide 20 years ago. Fortunately my peers are no longer 11, and I wore my hair straight today as a means of boosting my confidence when I showed the pictures.
Why did I look so sad? Let me count the reasons:

• I was wearing glasses that both Sally Jesse Raphael and Steve Urkel would have beaten me up in a dark alley to take for their own.


• My hair was 4 times bigger than my actual head.


• I was wearing a blazer. With shoulder pads. At the age of 11.


• And pantyhose. Why in the world was I wearing pantyhose at the age of 11 underneath pants?

The only things that I had going for me were the impeccably tight-rolled pants [Why not jeans? I'll cover that in therapy next week.] and my sweet Moon watch. Technically that's not the technical name, but those of you born in the late 70's and very early 80's know exactly what kind of watch I'm talking about. Or at least you should if you were half as cool as I was in middle school.

More vacation, please.

I just got back from vacation. It was grand and glorious and relaxing. I'm sure those three words were the exact ones that came to your mind upon seeing the above picture. And just as soon as I finish painting clothes on the other inappropriately dressed vacationers, I'll be back with another post. Patience, please. There's a chance that it's going to take me at least until this time next year to get all of those edits done.

It looks like we made it.

I originally wrote this on Saturday so it's like reading last week's newspaper. Except there is really nothing newsworthy included in this post.

I’ve heard rumblings that the world is supposed to end today. I’m not even going to waste my time engaging in debate regarding this claim because for me, it’s a win-win situation. It happens: Welcome to Heaven! It doesn’t: I carry on with my weekend plans which include finally seeing Bridesmaids.

Regardless, by the time this post hits the blogosphere the present threat of rapture will be a distant memory. Why, you ask? Because I’m typing this post the old-fashioned way. Well, old-fashioned in a Microsoft Office 2007 sort of way as opposed to directly in Blogger. It just so happens that my computer has some sort of internet virus. And if I’ve learned anything over the past few days, I’ve learned that computer viruses don’t just “run their course” like people viruses do. Instead of confronting the issue head-on by contacting my local geek squad, I’ve taken the Scarlett O’hara approach and have decided to worry about it another day. [And if the world does end then I will be glad that I didn’t waste what little time I had left here devoted to repairing Coco the Dell.] So all of that to say, I’ll transfer this post from a flash drive to my blog at some point before Jesus returns.

I don’t really have anything of substance to write about today, but since I haven’t written in awhile I thought I would do a sort of housekeeping post as a means of updating everyone on my so-called life. And by everyone I mean the three readers who regularly stop by this little blog o’mine. Without further adieu…
1. I’m happy to report that I’m no longer down with the sickness. After an additional round of antibiotics and a cocktail of steroids and Mucinex with Sudafed, I can finally hear my television when the volume is set at a reasonable level. A word about steroids and Mucinex with Sudafed: The combo made me fighting mad. Except it also killed my appetite so I had no energy to actually fight anyone.
2. Unfortunately the loss of appetite was only a temporary side effect so I have been celebrating its return quite frequently with my latest and greatest grocery store discovery: Yoplait Smoothie pouches. You can find them in the freezer section and they are a delicious combo of smoothie goodness that you simply throw into your blender along with a cup of skim milk. My favorite so far is blackberry pomegranate. Speaking of Yoplait…
3. I like yogurt now. If there was ever a sign of the apocalypse my new found love of yogurt is certainly it. Especially considering my aversion to any and all foods of a certain color and texture.
4. I might or might not have contributed to the perpetuation of Southern stereotypes earlier this week. How so, you wonder? I “fixed” my car with duct tape. Jeff Foxworthy would be so proud. You know that Scarlett O’hara mentality I mentioned earlier? Yep, it’s in full effect here too.
5. Also earlier this week, I went to a Neko Case show with my friend Kat at 40 Watt. You three know that I take pride in what I consider to be my rather broad knowledge base when it comes to music. Until Wednesday though I was completely ignorant to all things Neko. In fact, I went to the show never having heard a single one of her songs. I have totally been missing out! She was fantastic. An added bonus of the evening was the opportunity to observe Athens culture at its finest. I really do love this town. An unanticipated part of the evening was getting hit on by an uber creepy high school guidance counselor. It’s an occupational hazard I suppose. Fortunately, it wasn’t too long until he spotted one of his former students and moved on to her. I wish that I was kidding about that but I’m not.
6. I’m really sad to see some of my friends leave for the summer. And by friends, I’m referring to characters on television shows. Perhaps I should devote a whole post to this like I did at the beginning of the new season. Spoiler alert: my favorite show this season has without a doubt been Parks & Recreation. I never saw it coming, but it li-tri-ly makes me laugh until I cry each week.
7. I just remembered my biggest reason for hoping that the rapture doesn’t happen in 29 minutes as predicted: Justin Timberlake is hosting the season finale of SNL. Oh how I love Justin Timberlake. And I know that he’s going to love me one day too. Just as soon as Kristen Wiig introduces me to him because it’s inevitable that she and I will be great friends one day as well. She can be a bridesmaid in our wedding.
8. I should be spending less time rambling on about nonsensical matters and more time updating my resume. Um…not because I’m actively looking for a new job right now but in the event that opportunity knocks, I need to be ready to answer. Besides, I’ve got a fancy diploma all rolled up in a cardboard tube as evidence that I’m smarter and more qualified for certain jobs than I was this time last year. I might as well make the most of that free education.
9. Speaking of education, I never thought that I would say it this soon after graduation, but I kind of miss school. No one tell my boss this because he would be able to say "I told you so" even louder than he already does. I don’t miss is badly enough to go back. Yet. In the event that I do go back, perhaps I should take basic grammar courses in an attempt to nip my habit of beginning fragmented sentences with conjunctions and ending them with prepositions in the bud.
10. I need a vacation.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Shamrocks, Leprechauns, & the Fighting Irish.

This subject line [or entire blog post] really has nothing to do with much of anything at all unless of course you count the fact that today is St. Patrick's Day. Or March 17th if you're [insert all other nationalities besides Irish here]. When it comes to country of origin, I think I'm pretty much a mutt. Surely though I've got some Irish in me from somewhere down the line if I look to the pigmentation of my skin as a clue.

There are three reasons why I like this particular day, and none of them have anything to do with the road rising to meet me or the sun shining on my back or whatever.

Reason #1: Cake.I might have mentioned once or eleventy dozen times how much I love the mint chocolate grasshopper cake from The Grit. Well, I made it last night. I won't share the recipe online because then before you know it I'll be like that lady who got mad at Neiman Marcus for charging her 43 million dollars for a cookie recipe so she made it her lot in life to share it with the whole free world. Or at least those of us fortunate enough to have an email address and internet access. You can find the recipe here though. Or if you're like me and fortunate enough to have a friend who will loan you her copy of the cookbook to score the recipe. Speaking of score...

Reason #2: Brackets close at 12:00 noon today, folks!

Have you made your picks? I'm slightly upset that Notre Dame isn't actually playing today because it seems only fitting that St. Patrick be honored in such a way. Or maybe this way all the players can honor him by drinking green beer [errr...gatorade] tonight in preparation for tomorrow's match-up against Akron.

Reason #3: This is just silly and it makes me laugh.

Tripp & Tyler Wishing You a Happy St. Patrick's Day from Andy Waddell on Vimeo.

The Obvious Winner.

Oh how I love this commercial the most.

The time Alexander Graham Bell rolled over in his grave.

There is a sociological model known as the technology adoption lifecycle. For those of you who have already checked out for Christmas vacation, please don't check out from this post because I promise that the educational value parallels the nutritional value of circus peanuts. Anywho...the model is based on the premise that we all fall somewhere within the spectrum of the technology adoption lifecycle which ranges from innovators to early adopters to early majority to late majority and finally, the laggards. If asked, I would declare that I fit in quite comfortably between the early majority and late majority. Perhaps the fact that I just got DVR earlier this year would lead you to believe otherwise. Or if you have ever attempted to send me an image via text message and I never acknowledge it [Because! My! Phone! Won't! Let! Me!], I suspect that you roll your eyes and discuss amongst your cool tech savvy friends "this poor girl you know" who still has a flip phone that only has the functions of phone calls and standard text messaging. No more, my friends. No. More.

Before we get all oogly-eyed over [the picture on the box of] the shiny new phone, can we please just make a few observations about the old phone? Or more specifically the charger. I mean, seriously...aren't the exposed wires somehow some sort of fire hazard? And just last night the silver trim that borders the keypad on the inside that you see propped up there on the phone like it's being sold on QVC fell off while I was in the middle of a phone conversation. Which really means that it stuck to the side of my face because the 4 year old glue that finally came loose from the phone still adheres nicely to skin. It's been a good phone. It's even been with me through and longer than two boyfriends. We won't compare its reliability and consistency with theirs. Oh...I kid, I kid!

Now I realize that me with this new phone is akin to giving a 16 year-old boy the keys to a Corvette. Lack of experience + Lots of power = Danger Zone. That's why I plan to ease into using a phone that is smarter than me much like I enter a swimming pool: test the waters before diving right in. I'll say there's a pretty great chance that I may even take it out of the box before the end of the day.

Whatever happened to bobbleheads on dashboards?

I'm glad to see that the Hallway of Heads scene in Return to Oz seemingly left a more positive impression with this person than it did with me.

"Y'know, Nietzsche says: 'Out of chaos comes order'."

Really?!? This is the desk of one who is within weeks of graduating with a Master's degree in OD? I'm sure housekeepers have dirty homes, right?

A Hiatus for HP.

Currently my to-do list has about 651 or so tasks on it. As much as I love drawing a line through tasks on lists upon completion, day after day I stare at my current list [during commercial breaks], and I've yet to draw a line through a single one. Instead I keep filling my days with other things in an effort to delay the inevitable. Why do you people think I've been spending so much time on this little blog o' mine lately? Not that I don't love entertaining the masses [and by masses, I mean the 3 readers that come here] because I do, and I'm thankful that you stop in on occassion. It's much easier to type out a post about nothing of significance sans APA formatting than it is to discuss matters related to adult learning, program planning, research, and organizational change in a clear and concise manner. But it's crunch time now and I've got to get busy because flunking out of grad school during my last semester would be uber uncool. Especially since I'm in the business of promoting higher education and all. Even though the "do as I say, not as I do" tactic sure seemed to work well for my daddy whenever he threatened to tan my hide if he ever caught me smoking a cigarette...as he was smoking a cigarette, I plan on avoiding that tactic until I can use it on my own children.

If you are worried about how you're going to spend the extra 2 minutes you normally spend here each day, I'm one step ahead my friends. I've created lists with boundless opportunities. Let me know how successful you are at crossing things off of these lists. Hopefully one of us will succeed.

Read other blogs-

• Stuff Christians Like: Oh my goodness. I laugh. I nod my head up and down in agreement as I read. I wince and curl my toes because it hits a little too close to home. It's good stuff. #113, #269, #106, #357, and Remix - #34 are some of my favorites. Feeling overwhelmed? I recommend that you start at the archives and work your way through.
  
• Big Mama: I swear she and I would be friends if we lived in the same town, understood and appreciated the same high school fashion trends, or if she wasn't creeped out by the fact that there's some random girl proclaiming an assured friendship based solely on the fact that I read her blog daily. I can't say for certain that she's creeped out by this proclamation, but it's probably a safe assumption.


• People of Wal-Mart: It speaks for itself. I'm not really sure what it says but it definitely speaks.

Read real books - [Do you remember those things from days of yore?]

• The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning. I'm currently in the middle of reading it for the third time, and it never gets old. Always relevant. Always good.


• Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. After much coercion by co-worker Em, I finally read this book. I wasn't on board at first because I was all "a book about a circus? I was scared of the circus as a child so why would I want to bring those fears out of retirement?" However, I loved it much like I loved The Time Traveler's Wife. I fear it will be dulled when the movie comes out next year...much like the movie version of The Time Traveler's Wife did for it. Darn the cinema!


• The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. Look, I understand that if you grew up in a really small Baptist church like I did then you might be inclined to bristle up at first. Just read through it. Seriously. Loved this book. Added bonus: the hometown of the family in the book is Bethlehem, GA which is a stones throw from me. That's not really a bonus at all, actually.


• What's So Amazing About Grace? by Philip Yancey. There are tons of books on the subject of grace. Personally I think experiencing it for oneself is the best teacher but this is a good read. So good I've read it twice now.

Watch TV -

Y'all, premiere week could NOT have come at a worse time. I imagine that I feel much like Laura Ingalls did when she had to miss premiere week to work the fields or whatever it was she had to do when she lived in that little house on the prairie with Ma and Pa and Mary and Carrie...and Albert. I'll forge through like her and just set the DVR and catch up when the chores are done. Who am I kidding? We all know the only reason why I'm going to have to play catch up is because I'll be at the beach next week. Graduation, schmaduation...there's nothing coming between me and my friends who live inside the TV.

• Old friends that I'm looking forward to catching up with: Modern Family, Glee, Parenthood, and How I Met Your Mother.


• New friends that I'm excited about meeting: Chase, Undercovers (don't disappoint me, JJ Abrams!), The Event, Outsourced, and Outlaw. [Nope, I'm not paid by NBC to promote essentially their entire fall line-up of new shows. I've fallen victim to their marketing strategy, apparently.]

Listen to some music - [This is where I include a watered-down version of my weekly soundtrack. No hyperlinks, no changing of the font color for the song titles, less commentary. Maybe.]

• Just a Dream by Nelly. It kind of reminds me of that time he sang a song with Tim McGraw. Wasn't that Nelly and Tim McGraw? Or was it 50 and George Strait? Oh that would be a funny Crossroads episode.
• Teenage Dream by Katy Perry. I blame the movie Inception for my mentioning two songs in the same week with the word "dream" in their titles. Let's not discuss my potential lameness for digging Katy Perry and Nelly, please.
• Cath... by Death Cab for Cutie. Who here has been to a wedding and the whole time it was happening, you knew it was never going to last? Sad isn't it? Unless the reception food is good which makes for a little less buyer's remorse when you think about how that place setting of China you sprung for is probably going to end up on the dining room floor one day shattered into a thousand pieces...Like the happy couple's lives. [Debbie Downer was just a guest blogger it seems]
• Delta Dawn by Tanya Tucker. She recorded this when she was 13 which means she was the Taylor Swift of the 1970s. Except Barry White probably didn't interrupt her acceptance speech at the VMAs.
• Dog Days are Over by Florence + the Machine. Speaking of VMAs, did anyone else see this group's performance of this song? I don't think I'm speaking out of turn when I say that Flo is a horse of a different color, but she can carry a tune much further than I'll ever be able to carry one.
• Young Americans by David Bowie. It was the last song I heard as I was getting back to work after my mid-morning coffee break to Jittery Joe's.
• Y'all Come Back Saloon by The Oak Ridge Boys. I know the words to at least a million tunes so maybe I should start playing the tambourine with a silver jingle too. No? Alright, that's probably best.
• Should I Stay or Should I Go by The Clash. This song often comes to mind when I'm making a left hand turn in a busy intersection.
• Shelter from the Storm by Bob Dylan. There's something about this song that makes me miss The Wonder Years. Speaking of The Wonder Years...
• I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends the Joe Cocker version. Boo-yah... 4 weeks in a row. It's the little things, people.

I don't know when I'll be back here in the blogosphere, but I do know that when I return, I've got some riveting topics to discuss. For example: Hair - Straight or Curly; Prayer; and well...I don't know. I usually just make this stuff up as I go.

Things That Me Go "Hmmm".

We all have them. Here is a sampling of my current ones.

The song "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry. Have y'all heard it? It's bizarre. The video? Bizarre. The fact that I made a point of discussing it? Bizarre.

Jeggings. I sent a text to my pal Val this weekend that said something to the effect of "I believe that I will be the owner of jeggings before it's all said and done." Sigh. Even though I am of the whole honey-just-because-they-make-it-in-your-size-doesn't-mean-you-should-wear-it belief, I think it's just going to be easier this season if I embrace the trend and get some jeggings to wear with my UGGs and cowboy boots as opposed to my skinny jeans. Primarily because the skinny jeans in my closet are no longer skinny enough. I suppose I could opt for chocolate chip cookies instead.

How my personal email account is sending random spam emails to folks in my address book. If you have fallen victim, yeah...well...sorry. Whatever you do, don't click on the link because you and I both will probably explode or even worse, cause a breach of security that will make bank systems fail worldwide. [Looks like someone watched a few too many cop dramas over the long weekend.]

My ability to waste time. I don't know how I do it, but I'm a champ.

Cash, the Wonder Lab's bottom front teeth. They are tiny. Honestly, I thought he must have broken them chewing on a bone or something. As it turns out, they are his puppy teeth. He was born without permanent bottom teeth. It looks great with his graying face. I should mention that he's 2. What a pedigree.

Ke$ha.

Inception. Seriously, my brain hurt after I watched it this weekend.

The latest fall fashion trend of blinged out camo. I wish I were kidding. I'm no Jaclyn Smith, but it seems to me that one could simply create this style at home and save mega-bucks if you just get a large camo t-shirt (the one in your husband's closet will suffice), get the bedazzler down from the attic, go a little crazy with the fake jewels from Hobby Lobby, and cinch the finished project with a belt.

And last but not least...

My personal thoughts on how stick figure families on the back glass of cars provide a perfect way for the kidnappers to inventory children aside, do these people really have 13 dogs? Hmmm.

Was Guy Smiley really that happy?

I loved Sesame Street whenever I was a little girl. Each afternoon at my grandmother's house, my routine consisted of the following: lunch, nap, General Hospital, Sesame Street, and Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. Some of you are hoping that I'm kidding when I make mention of watching General Hospital at the ripe old age of 3 or 4, but I would not kid about matters involving Blackie, Robert Scorpio, Frisco Jones, or Edward Quartermaine. Friday's were extra special because I went to the beauty shop with Mu so she could get her hair done for church on Sunday. Jesus does love a sassy 'do. I inevitably scored a 5-piece pack of Carefree sugarless gum from Esther Forrester every week which made the trip completely worth it. Back to my point, if I ever had one of significance in the first place.

My love for Sesame Street. To say that I was obsessed is a bit of an understatement. Back then, I looked forward to 4:00 as much as I look forward to meal times now. Even though I'm not really sure why because Oscar the Grouch completely got on my nerves and I was terrified of the Count. Look, I know that they are Muppets, but Count had a scary laugh and each time he laughed, it was accompanied by sounds of thunder in the background. Don't even get me started on my fear of thunderstorms. I feared them almost as much as I feared my mama's hair in this picture:
(It's unfortunate that my dear mom was jealous of her 2 year old's naturally curly locks so she went and stuck her finger in an electric socket but that's another story for another day.)

So. Back to Sesame Street. My favorite parts of the show were the ones where they went to places to show how things were done. Like the one that shows how milk is made. Or the one with that teaches about recycling aluminum. The one that I loved the most was the one where they showed how crayons were made. We were talking about it at work yesterday so this morning I got the bright idea of seeing if it was on YouTube. Lo and behold, it is.


Funny how my memory of the way super cool video from my 4 year-old perspective is much different than it is now. I mean, was the crayon factory next to a retirement community? Given all the rust on that machinery, I do hope those employees had an updated tetanus shot. At least the folks seemed happy to be at work. Or maybe Guy Smiley just shared his SSRIs with them.

Late Bloomer.

I've always been a bit of a late bloomer. The first sign came in the 5th grade. I got my very first training bra not because I needed it but because of the social stigma that would have developed as a result of me not having one. What would have happened had I been standing in line on the way back to class from lunch and one of the boys reached between my shoulder blades fully anticipating a bra strap to snap and came up empty-handed? I might as well have been Carrie at the prom standing underneath a bucket of pig's blood. I didn't get my driver's license until I was 17. I was 30 before I told a boy that I loved him. My phone? It's a flip phone that can only be used for phone calls and text messages. Spare yourselves the extra charges and don't bother to try to send me a picture...I'll never get it. To celebrate the beginning of a new decade, I finally got DVR back in January. I believe that in his book, The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell refers to people like me as laggards. In true laggard fashion, I finally just two weeks ago started reading Twilight.

Pause. If you've never read Twilight, I need you to immediately stop reading this post for two reasons. The first one being because you need to instead spend the time emailing me your address so I can overnight the books to you so you will no longer walk in darkness. The second one being that if you are a skeptic to this whole Twilight craze like I was up until two weeks ago, I don't want this post to change your opinion of me as a person. I do have a reputation to maintain.

So, what happened? Why did I finally cave? It was because I needed something absolutely mindless to read. Little did I know at the time that I would become one of those people. A Twi-Hard, if you will.

I blame the vampires.

How else would I have been able to read 4 books that are each well over 500 pages long in a period of two weeks? I should mention that I also worked, slept, met friends, went to church, exercised, entertained my dog, and lived in general during this time too. It's as if one is able to read them with vampire like speed and deftness. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the average age of the intended audience is 15.

It's true. I'm a girl who loves a good love story just as much as anyone. I'm also a realist. So when I first heard the premise of these books and that the characters involved were vampires and werewolves, I was immediately disinterested. Blame it on the Thriller video scaring the bejeezus out of me when I was kid, but I don't really flock to the immortal or supernatural. That was before I knew that Edward was such a virtuous vampire or that Jacob wasn't actually a werewolf, but a shape-shifter. While it is a love story, let me once again bring up the fact that the intended audience is teens which means that it does not fall into the "trashy romance novel" category. Let's just consider Fabio for a moment. He was a model for the cover of romance novels and then later transitioned into being a spokesman for margarine. I can't imagine that anything featuring his biceps on the cover really has that much plot involved.

Out of the four books, I don't have a favorite. It's probably because I just read them all in complete succession. Perhaps it's for the best that I waited until they were all written because guess who couldn't even wait 4 measly days for Breaking Dawn to be released in paperback? That's right. Me...HP.

It's a sickness. I'm pretty sure that there is going to be a whole classification in the DSM VI devoted to people like me. People that I used to roll my eyes at and now I've crossed over to the dark side and joined their coven, or pack, depending upon which side they affiliate themselves with. I think this classification will fall under the category of "Freaks of nature who need to take up a sport or other hobby" in the manual.

I apologize. I'm sorry to all of my friends and acquaintances that I've rolled my eyes at anytime there is discussion of Twilight. You were right. I was wrong. Laugh all you wish. I'm used to eating my words by now. Unfortunately words aren't as tasty as people or wild animals. Just a little vampire/werewolf humor there folks. No need for alarm.

Which team am I on? As if there was ever a reason to consider otherwise...

Team Edward.

Pet Peeve:

(n) a frequent subject of complaint. [Thank you Merriam-Webster online for the specific definition]

We all have them. Here are mine:

Ringback tones on cell phones. Nothing gets under my skin more quickly then when that lady on the other end of the line says "please enjoy the music while we try to reach your party". In my job, I hear that voice frequently. Although, the tones can be indicative of a person's personality so it's sometimes nice to have a sneak peek before actually speaking with them. Except I'm still a little confused by the Nickelback ringback tone of the mom that I had to call back the other day. I would have never pegged her as a Nickelback fan. But then again, who are Nickelback fans anyway?

"Atlanta." ...in response to the question "Where are you from?" when asked inside the state of Georgia. Odds are, that person is not from Atlanta. He or she probably doesn't even live NTP (near the perimeter), forget ITP. Example: The person who just proclaimed that he is from Atlanta when in fact he is from Ball Ground. That's at least a day's drive by horse and carriage. And horse and carriage is still the primary mode of transportation for people living in Ball Ground. Oh, I tease. I love Ball Ground and the folks who live there. Seriously.

What are some of your pet peeves? I'm in the market for a few more so if you've got good ones to offer up, let me know.

I hate to say "I told you so", but...

I just won a bet. Not that I'm one to gamble, but I did in fact win a bet so please humor me for a moment, dear blogosphere, and think back to last July. If you fill your mind with important things as opposed to the nonsensical then perhaps this post will serve as a brief reminder. In the event that the only time you hop on over to this little blog o'mine is when there are no more sheep in the field to count, then let's prolong your sweet dreams a little longer and allow the picture below to serve as a reminder:According to Chris Harrison it was the Most! Shocking! Finale! in Bachelorette history when that Reid guy got all dolled up in this best Chuck Taylor's, Levi's, and Brooks Brothers sport coat and made a last ditch effort to win back the woman of his dreams. Only to have his hopes dashed moments later when Jillian told him that he was oot and she had fallen for another Romeo, eh. (Remember, she's Canadian...that was my attempt as a Southerner to type Canadian, roll with it)

So, poor Reid stacks up more revolving consumer debt by purchasing yet another one-way plane ticket home while Jillian mentally practices pronouncing her soon-to-be new last name. By August there were rumors swirling that Ed had cheated but as any good woman (or maybe just Tammy Wynette) would do, Jillian continued to stand by her man. I predicted that they wouldn't make it a year after the big finale. Some called me jaded and cynical. How could a love like that not stand the test of time? I called myself a realist. I lost all hope for reality tv marriages and couples when not even Nick and Jessica could share their lives with the rest of America and maintain a bond of holy matrimony. Let's not even talk about Jon and Kate. I'm just waiting for Tori and Dean to show up on Divorce Court, but maybe Farrah told Tori to stay the course the other day when she channeled her. [Because if any celeb knows about long-term marriages, it's Farrah Fawcett.] I digress.

The past couple of weeks have already been tough enough in reality romance land given the big split between Jake and Vienna so it was like a double punch to the gut when this news broke today.Just 345 days later and she's back on the market.

I told you so.