I want to be Julia Sugarbaker, among other things

I'm completely obsessed with Designing Women. It comes on four times a day on the TV Guide Network, and I DVR every episode. I delete the later ones with Jan Hooks, Julia Duffy, and whoever that drag queen that played PJ was, but oh how I love the first few seasons. when Dixie Carter sashays through their office and just starts blasting someone for being un-PC, sexist, racist, etc....I miss Dixie Carter. And Delta Burke was priceless. And who wouldn't want to work with their closest friends??

I heard this morning that 8 or so sea lions were found shot in Washington state. What is wrong with people? How could you be such a jackass that a sea lion would make you shoot it? I mean, obviously, the sea lions weren't doing anything, these people were probably on meth, but, seriously...shooting cute little frolicking sea lions for sport? I'm not a tree-hugging hippie or anything, but I think crimes against animals deserve their own special punishment. They can't defend themselves. It's like when people hurt babies or little kids. I don't even like hunting, but whatever, if you want to get up at 5 a.m. to sit in a tree, shoot an unarmed animal, and pretend it's a sport, whatever.

People in power positions need to learn how not to be poopheads. I don't care if you're the manager of Burger King or the CEO of Google, you need to not treat suboordinates or imagined suboordinates like they're you're indentured servants. You can lose your position in the blink of an eye, so acting like a despot isn't going to help your cause later on...plus, it's jerky. If I were a boss, I would be the coolest boss ever. We'd have happy hour and a ping pong table and a pool. We'd work, don't get me wrong, but I firmly believe in working hard and playing hard, and happy employees make the most productive employees.

I think I'm going through early menopause. I am hot all the freakin' time. It could also be that my body was waiting for winter and since it hasn't happened, some sort of weird, hormonal thing is taking place as protest, I don't know, but as I sit here, my face is bright red, and I could easily and happily bathe in ice water.

Julia Sugarbaker:
Julia: Yes, and I gather from your comments there are a couple of other things you don't know, Marjorie. For example, you probably didn't know that Suzanne was the only contestant in Georgia pageant history to sweep every category except congeniality, and that is not something the women in my family aspire to anyway. Or that when she walked down the runway in her swimsuit, five contestants quit on the spot. Or that when she emerged from the isolation booth to answer the question, "What would you do to prevent war?" she spoke so eloquently of patriotism, battlefields and diamond tiaras, grown men wept. And you probably didn't know, Marjorie, that Suzanne was not just any Miss Georgia, she was the Miss Georgia. She didn't twirl just a baton, that baton was on fire. And when she threw that baton into the air, it flew higher, further, faster than any baton has ever flown before, hitting a transformer and showering the darkened arena with sparks! And when it finally did come down, Marjorie, my sister caught that baton, and 12,000 people jumped to their feet for sixteen and one-half minutes of uninterrupted thunderous ovation, as flames illuminated her tear-stained face! And that, Marjorie - just so you will know - and your children will someday know - is the night the lights went out in Georgia

Breathe in, breathe out, ignore the sirens if you can

I had a tornado panic attack. I'm not ashamed of this, as in retrospect, the whole tornado, death, destruction scenario is very, very real in Alabama, plus I don't think it's weak admitting when you're jarred from sleep at 3:30 a.m. by yourself, only to hear that a tornado is headed straight for you, is terrifying. In April, the "Day of 1,000 tornadoes," I had to get in the bathtub, cover my head with a comforter, and tearily tell Smitty as he went to the guest bathroom, "I love you," thinking I might never see him in this life again.

We were lucky, and I emphasize lucky. That destructive tornado passed literally less than half a mile a way from our house, completely destroying structures in its path. We had no power for 27 hours, no cell phone service, no gas for more than 20 miles away, and total neighborhoods in our area were destroyed. I didn't think I would have to deal with this again until at least the spring. Nope...now, Smitty's living and working in Albertville, and I perched myself on the edge of the bathtub while trying to think about bringing the dogs inside and where to charge the phone.

The power went out, which is terrifying enough, but when it's pitch black outside, it's more so, and it brought back memories of squatting in the bathroom while a tornado literally passed over our house in April. Luckily, the storm passed over us and hit another area of Birmingham quite hard, but I ended up being awake from 3:30 to 6:45, when I had to get up for work. I slept for about 45 minutes, which intensified my apparent post traumatic stress situation I didn't know existed. I got to work, completely drained, and realized I was on the edge of tears. This only seemed to gain traction as when each caller had an issue and was nasty about it, I had to put them on hold so I could cry and take deep breaths. I said "Monkeys are fun; Smitty loves me," and took deep breaths, but it didn't work.

I finally dissolved in total tears and realized that I didn't need to interact with the public, came home and took a nap. I'm fine today, but I am not kidding you when I say, I can no longer handle tornadoes. I don't care where I'm living, I want a shelter. I will dig a damn hole in the ground myself, worms be damned, I cannot deal with tornadoes showing up willy nilly whenever they want, to scare the bejesus out of me. It's still too freakin' hot this January, which means more of this weather is coming, and I can't take the idea of constantly dealing with this with Smitty living 75 miles away. I am putting my foot down. I need a shelter or I want to move to Alaska or somewhere with no tornadoes..whichever is easiest.

The point is: I am not crazy...well, depending on your crazy spectrum, I may be, but I think it is okay to have anxiety when tornadoes occur, considering the last one made me think I'd never see my husband again. I'm like a dog with panic attacks who need storm Valium...is there such a thing? Give me a damn break, I'm dealing with a lot of changes, and I thought I'd be trapped in the bathtub.

I just don't know where to begin

It's the new year...fake winter. I predict, based on no information whatsoever, that the end of Feb/beginning of March will be a bitch of a winter. It was 62 today with freakin' thunderstorms that reminded me of the April tornadoes. Did I mention that since the April tornadoes, if there is even the remote threat of a severe storm, I kinda freak out? I'm sorry, yes, I'm dramatic, but crying with a comforter over me BY MYSELF in the tub when the power zapped out while a tornado literally passed over our house and I seriously sang "Amazing Grace" in my head, when I hear sirens, see lightning, I wig out.

I was on my way to work at 9ish a.m, and the lovely (douchebag INFINITY) gentleman in front of me chose to drive 15 mph, and I could never pass him. Awesome. Every day, I grow more and more accustomed to not so much believing in my fellow man. My fellow man is dumb. Having worked at newspapers, I know that newspapers print at a 3rd grade level. That is stupid enough, but if you have the sheer joy of working directly with the populace, it actually makes perfect sense.

I am at a point, where I don't know what to do. I need my job and the money it provides, but I need something else for which to aspire. I think I should teach, and I think I need to earn my degree to make that happen. We have a house in Fultondale and an apartment in Albertville. Would you like to buy our house? It's awesome, and it would help out greatly......Que sera, sera...I'm trying to see the big picture, but I did not get married to see my spouse 3 days a week. I would suck right out loud as a military wife, and I don't intend to be a long-term wife situation, but, damn.....we need to solve this dilemma....I will write my book. Situation: Over. HA.....

Don't vote for Newt Gingrich...out

Edward Norton Gaither Smith, you're not going anywhere yet

So, for those of you that don't know me that well, I have a dog named Norton. His full name is in the blog title; he agreed to take Smitty's name after much sniffing and treats, and I have had him since March '00. I got him at Animal Control in Huntsville, he's a total mutt, part Beagle, German Shepherd and Chow, and he is quite simply the most awesome dog ever. I got him when I was living in a house full of other dogs and just decided, in the way that you do when you're 22 and don't consider responsibility thoroughly, "I totally need a dog."

When I picked him out, he was with three siblings who looked almost exactly like him, but I was drawn to him immediately. He looked scrappy and seemed to exhibit the friskiest personality. I took him into a little room where they let me hold him to decide, and I was hooked. I put his paw up to the fence to tell his siblings that he was leaving, that I promised to take good care of him, and he would be loved. I think one of them sneezed on me and walked away. 

Norton was one of my first real forays into responsibility. We had dogs growing up, but my dad was really the sole caretaker, the one that made sure they were fed and had their shots. We just played with them and did the fun part. The next thing I'm about to say is really, really gross, but when I first got him, he had worms. I had no idea what this was and thought maybe he had eaten spaghetti or a power cord. My roommates advised me I was incorrect, and being that he was my dog, I had to clean up the offending poo. I picked it up, disposed of it, and then ran to the bathroom and threw up. I made sure he had all his shots, I had him neutered, for logical reasons and for fear the patchouli hippies from Animal Control would sic a wombat on me if I didn't, and I house-trained him.

He has lived in six places in 11 years, has ridden with me back and forth from Huntsville to Mississippi more times than I can count, held his bladder the night I broke my ankle because I couldn't take him outside until reinforcements arrived (he peed for 5 minutes straight when he finally could), slept on my bed, rightfully sussed out the good/the bad/and the ugly where boyfriends were concerned, and stolen food from plates, only to make a "hhhahh" noise realizing it was too hot and flung it on the floor, just to name a few things...he's my furry little heart.

This morning, when I went out to feed him and Zoe, our hyperactive German shepherd, he started walking how I can only describe as sideways, like part of his body was numb, and then he collapsed and couldn't get up. I completely freaked out, called Smitty, ready to commandeer a dog ambulance, if necessary and then realized (or maybe Smitty rationally told me) that I needed to calm down, he's had arthritis, and give him an aspirin. I did this, begrudgingly went to work and worried all day, and came home to a perfectly frisky tail-wagging dog.

I'll spare the story of how when I let him out of the fence to let him in the damn house to keep an eye on him, which we NEVER do, he briefly ran away. I had to pick him up in the car after driving with the windows down calling his name like an idiot, and then carry him in the house, where he paced like an expectant father for an hour because he clearly thought I was up to something. I love that freaking dog. I'm not a child, I realize that pets die, and I know he won't live forever, but I'm not quite ready to let go of him yet. I had to let go of my father, I don't want to lose my dog, too. So, there.