A little bit of everything and a white trash family tale

This will be another ADD post, because there are many things rolling around in my brain today.
First of all, I saw the Johnny Cash movie last night, and it rocked beyond any expectations. Joaquin Phoenix had an eerie resemblance to the late Man in Black, both aesthetically and emotionally. I highly recommend it. I drove home after watching it and thought a lot about it, as I do when I see a movie I either love or hate, and really thought, "Hmm..Johnny Cash took a while to really get his shit together. Should I really be that hung up on my own perceived shortcomings?" I mean, how awesome is the line "There's just something about a Sunday that makes a body feel alone?"
Second of all, having come to a financial crossroads due to being unemployed now for over a month, I am in full acceptance of the fact that I will have to take whatever job I can, as long as it starts as soon as possible. It's almost cathartic I guess, to be as a big a professional snob as myself, to realize that I may be working at a Quik Cash sometime soon, because being charming, winsome, and a social butterfly doesn't seem to pay the bills as it may have at one time. Oh, well.
And lastly, and completely diverging from any sane train of thought, I was thinking about one of the trashiest things I ever witnessed a few days ago and realized that I simply had to write about it, because it's too funny to keep to myself and the select few that have already heard it. Here goes:
In high school, I was friends with people who were somewhat shady. All of my really close friends were basically okay, but there were people on the fringe of our crowd or friends of my friends who were ready for Jerry Springer before there was a Jerry Springer show. In fact, they may have since been on there. I digress.
One day, my friend Melissa was giving me and my friend Jessica a ride home. I had a car, but rarely was allowed to drive to school, so it was always cool when I could ride home with someone. The two of them had been friends before I came to that school, so I was really new to their friendship, but we were getting along swimmingly until this particular day.
Melissa and I stop to let Jessica out at her house, and the two of them began to argue, about what I don't remember, and suddenly, they were both out of the truck, clawing, slapping, pulling hair. (In retrospect, I should've found the closest group of guys and sold tickets, but I wasn't as enterprising in those days)
Anyway, me, not having any personal stake in the outcome whatsoever just kind of sat in the truck, stymied over what to do. I think my best effort was a halfhearted, "Um..guys? Maybe you should stop." Can't imagine why it didn't work.
Finally, the girlfight stopped with Melissa jumping into the truck, crying and freaking out and Jessica yelling at her at the top of her lungs. Well, I wasn't thrilled about being driven home by a panicky mess, but her truck was a stick shift, and I never had redneck initiation into driving such a vehicle, so we tore off, 70 mph down curvy, steep roads in rural Mississippi toward a mutual friend of Jessica and Melissa's, the notorious Jones (names are changed to protect..me) house.
Okay, here's what I know about this family. There were anywhere from 10 to 15 people living in this 4-room house, there was no indoor plumbing, they always had drugs, and therefore, rather unruly parties, and they were all related to each other somehow. Two of the guys were brothers; the rest were cousins, uncles and aunts, I dunno, but I attended one party of theirs where I'm pretty sure a crack pipe was passed around, and there were at least 3 babies being breast-fed at various times by aforementioned crack partakers. Classy stuff.
So, Melissa and I head over to this house so that she can talk to one of the cousin/brothers and presumably get high at the same time. We arrive, she heads off into the back with one of them, and I opt to hang out in the living room with another brother/cousin and his mother, along with someone's 7-month-old baby who is in a car seat on the couch, breathing in more second-hand smoke than some people ever do, let alone an infant..and I start to hear this exchange between mother and son:
Mother: "Curtis, I'm gon' cut myself! I am!
Curtis: "No, you ain't! No, Momma!
Mother: "Baby, I got to; I ain't got no choice!
Curtis: "Momma, don't! I'll punch you out to keep you from cuttin' yourself!
At this point in the dialogue, as I sit on the couch, trying to wave the smoke from in front of the baby's face, they notice that I'm sitting there.
Curtis begins to explain (why, I don't know, because I was perfectly content to be left out of the "cutting conversation) that his mother is on probation and is scheduled to see her probation office that day. Apparently, for medical reasons, like maybe glaucoma, she might not entirely so much pass the required drug test. So, in Momma's infinite wisdom, she decides to cut her arm with a butcher knife so that she will have to go to the emergency room and therefore postpone her meeting with her probation officer. Clearly, it's brilliant on many levels, but Curtis doesn't seem to like the idea. They resume yelling:
"Baby, I'm 'gon do it. Ya ain't gon' stop me!"
"The hell I won't! You do it, and I'll knock you clean out the door!"
Well, really, it goes back and forth for some time, and at times, I desperately wanted my friend to come out of that room so we could leave, and at times, I was sucked into the white trash train wreck and really just wanted to know what would happen.
Here's what did happen. Curtis and Momma came up with a compromise. He would cut her arm in a superficial way, but enough to draw a fair amount of blood and perhaps require stitches. It seemed that Momma had been medicating her glaucoma that very day to the extent that she likely would have lopped off her arm had she administered the knife herself, so they made a compromise.
About 15 minutes before my soon-to-be-ex friend came out of the back of the house that Clorox forgot, Curtis and Momma made their way to the emergency room with Momma's left arm swathed in a bloody towel. The last thing I heard was, "Baby, I feel lightheaded."
I have no idea how their plan turned out, and thank God, I never saw any of those people again after that day, but I often think about the pure love that boy clearly had for his Momma. Because Lord knows if I ever want to get out of a drug test with my probation officer, I want a son who will knock me clear out of the house to protect my safety.

It's all about me..as it should be

You know, lots of people who know me really well would probably say that I'm self-involved..and they wouldn't be wrong, really. I tend to freak out about stuff more than the average bear, and if something affects me in any slight way, it's possible that I have a stronger reaction that necessary. I've been to therapy, I've been on anti-depressants, and clearly, I've established this blog to kind of serve as an outlet for the crazies that creep in when I can't do much to stop them. But the thing is, I am actually not all that self-involved when it comes to the important stuff.
I have postponed career paths, educational paths, hell, sometimes just weekend plans, to accommodate others' needs, even though it might not be what I personally want to do. There are certain people that I've made changes and allowances for, because I'm being quite the opposite of self-involved, and if there were some sort of support group, I think this would be the "moment of clarity," where I stood up and said, "Hi, I am Emily, and from now on, everything really and truly is all about me."
For instance, I have been stressing for months on which grad schools to apply to, in order to make family, significant other, etc.. happy. Why in God's name have I been doing that? Do these people have to attend said grad school? Fuck no, I do, so decision #1 in pleasing Emily's goals is to go where I want. I'm the one who has put this off more times than I can count because it wasn't the right time, not just for me, but for others' agendas, and I'm done..DONE. I haven't decided 100% where I'm going, but rest assured, when I do, it will be because it's where I want to go..me, the one going..that one seems as though it should have been fairly obvious, huh?
Also, I'm done being a good girlfriend. Not to point fingers at any men I may've brushed up against for too long in the last few years, but Compromising and Understanding Emily has hung up her jersey.
In fact, I'm really done with being a girlfriend..period. I've come to the realization that I've been in an irrational hurry to get married because I want children so badly, and the whole turning 28 thing this year freaked me out to that end, but good God, do I really want to be in an unhappy, unfulfilling relationship so that I can then end up being a single mother, most likely? Ummm..lemme think..no.
I've decided that I am settling for no less than someone who wants to write a personal thank-you note to God for creating me and allowing me to be with him, and until I find that, I'm not settling. Why should I or anyone else have to? Dating should be viewed, I think, as more of a learning experience than anything else..that whole "you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince" philosophy. And God knows, frogs have overpopulated the planet at an alarming rate since I started dating..but I'm not going to dwell on that. It's all back story and life experience for the many best-selling novels I will write.
I will say this, if I've ever dated you and you've pissed me off, I would be very concerned..just a caveat.I feel I should be fair before taking some people off at the knees. I can't completely go cold turkey with the pseudo-selflessness thing, I guess..
So, anyway, to sum up, Emily (who, in fact, will be referring to herself in the third person from now on) is about to get serious about what makes Emily happy. It's been trial and error so far, which is about the best any of us can hope for, but I am no longer concerned with the feelings of others if they interfere with what I feel is my path.
It's an Emilyaissance, so to speak, and we'll (also the royal pronouns) see how it pans out.

The Third of a Life crisis

Well, I've been back at the teat of my parents for approximately 3 weeks now, and here's what I've figured out about myself thus far (in no particular order):
I am a 28 year-old woman who doesn't own anything of value, I have no job, gray hair, laugh lines, my face has suddenly reverted to adolescence by breaking out inexplicably; I can't do anything girly like decorate to save my life; I have less than $200 to my name unless I start selling eggs or a kidney, and I want children so badly, my womb aches when I'm around them, yet the thought of marriage really and truly scares the bejesus out of me. Oh, and clearly, I live with my parents..
And yet, I'm not particularly suicidal over all of those things, because at long last, I think..I think I've figured out that nobody else has all of those things particularly figured out, and that is quite frankly, what life is. Also, I've had time to think A LOT (which is never really all that good at thing) about what things are right with me and what things are wrong.
I have always been a social kinda gal, one who thrives on what people think (whether I admit it is another story), almost defining myself through the eyes of other people, be they boyfriend, friend or casual acquaintance, and quite frankly, I've been left feeling empty most of the time due to that personality quirk of mine.
While, yes, it makes me easily comfortable with different kinds of people; I will know no stranger at a party, etc..it also has left me with odd feelings of loneliness, which would seem to be the opposite of what a social person would aspire to feel.
I guess what I mean is that when you adapt your personality so heavily to those around you, going along with what they want, you forget or ignore your needs and wants, and you end up feeling, as I have come to recently, that you don't know who you are or what your wants and needs are anymore.
Further, I think that I have a problem with relationships sometimes because while it takes quite a bit to really get me, in that Jerry Maguire "You had me at hello" kind of way, once I'm gotten, I turn into a mouth-breathing Stepford person, and that's no way to be either.
I'm setting some goals for myself while in Mississippi, because frankly, there's not a whole hell of a lot else to do, but I digress.
I figure that I've returned to my childhood home, the scene of the crime, so to speak, so if I don't work out some issues I have with myself while here, they will never be worked out.
It's a bit of an undertaking, yes, and I don't claim that I will "Dr. Phil" myself in less than a year, but I think this is a truly rare opportunity to figure out who I am and what I want before I move on to the next thing.
I wish I had a Magic 8 ball to pose life's big questions to that would tell me what my path should be, but I think that's part of the problem.
I've been expecting that Magic 8 ball in some form or another since college and continue to be disappointed by its elusiveness.
Not to sound like a complete kook, but I am my own Magic 8 ball, and all of those answers are within me. Clearly, it would be an uncomfortable ordeal to shake myself around each time I have a big question, so it would probably be wiser to stick with introspection in that regard.
See, I can be funny when having an existential crisis.
All that being said, just for my own edification, there are some awesome things about me, too, that I will never change and make me feel good about myself.
Those being in no particular order: My niece Jillian loves me a lot and refers to me as "her best friend" sometimes, (see above text about children making me ache -- this is why) I am an excellent Trivial Pursuit player and bowler, having at one point been in a league..bowling, not Trivial Pursuit..however, if there is a Trivial Pursuit league, do let me know, which leads into one of my other wonderful traits..I am a DORK. I like to explain how to diagram sentences, I love listening to NPR, especially Terry Gross, I liked the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Batman Begins, AND the last Star Wars movie, and I'll take you down if you make fun of me...and last, but not least, and really probably not last..I am irreverent, sarcastic and downright obnoxious sometimes, and I don't care. In the event that God hasn't cursed me relationship-wise, and I do end up with grandchildren, my grandkids will tell friends about their grandmother who flashed at Mardi Gras and St. Patty's Day when she was younger, did ridiculous karaoke with her closest friends, sang "Proud Mary" with a band on Beale Street, "Me and Bobby McGee in Jacksonville, Fla., not to mention Mississippi, and used the word "Fucko" as both an insult and term of endearment.
All hope is not lost.

Home again..am I in Twin Peaks?

Well, it's official, I have returned to the South, as of two weeks ago, and I feel like I fell down the rabbit hole, to some extent.
Not to sound like a prententious snob, but I can barely find decent coffee here, I went on a job interview, lamenting the fact that I don't have a business suit anymore, only to be met with people who were literally in street clothes, and I've been to Wal-Mart twice and marveled at some who are a little lower down in the evolutionary chain..okay, maybe I am a pretentious snob.
What's funny is when I was in Philly, I looked down my nose at them just as much and thought about the more genteel way of life down South. The grass is always greener, I suppose.
So, I've been unemployed now for about 3 weeks, and I'm starting to get antsy. And, funnily enough, it turns out that in Philly, I was grossly underqualified, and in Mississippi, I'm grossly overqualified. Ain't that a kick in the head? I'm sure I'll find the humor soon, after my bank account stops dwindling at a somewhat alarming rate.
I have made no progress toward graduate school, but that's because I'm currently plagued with a terrible Internet connection and a computer that has what looks like diet Dr. Pepper spilled on the mouse pad..(thanks, Dad)and a number of viruses that my parents "accidentally" download. OY.
I am still going to graduate school, no flaking out here, but I do think I have needed a proverbial fire lit under my ass. I believe a mere two weeks in Mississippi has ignited the flame.
Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying my family and my friends, but it is clearer to me than ever before, that if I were to stay here without an endpoint in sight, I would end up in Ye Olde Padded Room by the age of 30, which I don't mind saying, isn't that far away.
So, I'm regrouping, saving money (just as soon as I get that whole pesky unemployment thing out of the way) and trying to take it a little easier on myself than I did in Philadelphia, both physically and mentally, before I embark on grad school and really throw myself into another different world.
I've been down the last couple of days, wondering if I made the right decision, but I can't second guess myself anymore. I do that too much, and it makes me want to jump out of my skin and smack myself.
As I mentioned before, I'm almost 30 years old, and it's time to decide what I want to be when I grow up.
I think I'm a damn good writer, or have the potential to be, and that's what I want to work toward. Maybe no one will ever read anything I write professionally, or maybe I'll be on the bestseller's list, but what I can't and won't do is look back for the rest of my life and wonder "what if" because I didn't pursue this with ever fiber of my being.
I may have made many ill-advised decisions in my life, but I refuse to ever wonder what might have been. This results in my getting hurt a higher percentage than a lot of people, but one thing I will never shy away from is following my heart and my passions.
If I died tomorrow, I have no doubt that a collective comment about me would be, "She always did things with passion and was full of life and had strength and courage," and that's not a bad legacy to leave behind at all.
However, I hope to add as much to that as I can between now and age 70 or 104 or whatever age I am when I leave this earth after taking the world by storm in some way or another.

Homeward Bound

Well, perhaps I should change the name of the blog soon to "Independent Loose in Mississippi," because I will be returning to the fair Magnolia State at the end of October. It is a temporary move, but by temporary, I could be talking 7 to 8 months, so if you're a fruit fly, I guess it's pretty damn long.
What prompted this, you may ask?
Well, it's a myriad (GRE word) of reasons, quite frankly.
I moved here toward something. I wanted to work for John Kerry's campaign, but honestly, Kerry, was about as peripheral to me then as he is to the rest of the country now.
I knew that Mississippi was not the place where I would be born and die in, and there would never be any in-between. I was terrified beyond terrified about leaving everything familiar I had ever known, and so, I remained stuck there for longer than I feel comfortable admitting while all the while wanting to know what "the unknowable" was all about.
So, I made a decision, a fairly quick decision about how I wanted to leave there that came in the shape of fundraising for John Kerry, and I never looked back.
Now what has happened since the finale of that election has been another story. I have liked living in Philadelphia way more than I have disliked it, but I also have been railing against the harsh reality that I have not flourished here, mainly because I wanted to prove to someone, perhaps myself, that I could make it outside of Mississippi.
The funny thing about what I've finally come to realize, is that I can make it outside of Mississippi. I have totally made it outside of Mississippi, and for that, I kick absolute ass.
What has changed, perhaps, is my realization about the way my life is going to go in the next few years. I will be in graduate school next fall, where I don't know, but that's a story and stress inducer for another day. It will be well outside of Mississippi, that I can guarantee. But when I go to graduate school, at the ripe old age of 29, I will be committed to that for at least a couple of years, and that is pretty much it for any significant amount of time I will be able to save money, connect with friends, travel and generally avoid adulthood, as I have been wont to do lo these 28 years.
And who knows what may transpire in my life between now, next fall, and the conclusion of graduation school? The possibilities are endless. If you had told me 2 years ago that I would be sitting in my apartment in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, discussing moving back to Mississippi, I would've scoffed and pointed out your obvious drug habit.
Life takes you on many twists and turns and planning for them is utterly pointless. So, finally, maybe, I can just enjoy the ride and stop having to have every single detail mapped out for me. Because, frankly, that sounds boring, and I have been accused of many, many things, but boring has never topped the list.

An amalgamation of evanescent grandiloquence

As you may be able to tell, I'm deep within the confines of studying for the vocabulary portion of the GRE, and I've come to a few conclusions:
1. I am perhaps not as smart as I thought I was..shocking, yes, I know, but I believe it to be true. I can't decide if it's part of the gradual dumbing-down I feel I've been going through since leaving college, or if it's part of the ego deflations I have seemed to encounter lo these last months. Well, the latter is actually not an excuse as to why I'm dumb(er), it's merely an offering as to why I can accept it now.
As a sub-topic of being dumb, I think I may have been misusing a great many words for the last few years, which is somewhat more distressing. We snotty literary types have all had a giggle at those plebians who use the wrong words from time to time. Personal favorites are "supposably," "revert/refer back to," and "for all intensive purposes," and now I discover that those snottier than I may've been lording it over me that I thought "austere" meant strong, or "truculent" meant lazy. I won't even get into what I thought "alacrity" meant. It's better left unsaid.
So, naturally, the first night that I began my studies, which I thought would be a breeze, I got frustrated and wrote at the top of my page, "I'm too stupid to be accepted to graduate school," which I personally felt was a normal reaction.
However, after thinking about it, I guess it's conceivable that I'm just going to have to study that much harder instead of giving up immediately. Geez..exhibit follow-through? I guess it's worth a try.
On a different topic, after being in a super-cranky mood for the last week or so..(I plead hormones), it looks like perhaps I am snapping out of it, which is encouraging. Do you ever just plunge into a mood so foul that you cannot imagine not experiencing it? That's what we're talking here. I'm not even certain that I fully appreciated my 3-day weekend because of it, but I will damn sure appreciate my 4-day work week now that the fog has lifted.
I get like that sometimes, and, sure there are reasons why I was ill-tempered, but it seems as though my reaction may have been a little strong. I have mentioned at various points in this blog that my coping skills are not so hot, and they really aren't, but I think they're getting somewhat better. At least I recognize that I'm doing it now.
At least with this last hormonal/homicidal episode, I was just cranky, rather than crying at every sappy commercial I saw on television, which I have been known to do in times of despair. No, no, this was more of a focused, I-want-to-maim-everyone-I-see kind of a thing, which is by no means better, but at least takes less of an emotional toll on me. And, really, it's all about me..
I also rediscovered my David Gray "White Ladder" album yesterday and can't believe I had forgotten how awesome it is.
I will leave you with a line from my favorite song, "Hello, Goodbye"
"I put up with all the scenes. This is one scene that's going to be played my way."

Insomnia and anxiety..we meet again, old chaps

Ohhh, need to sleep so badly and can't. I've been doing well with the insomnia problem for the last couple of weeks, and tonight, I am so cranky, hormonal and utterly exhausted, that I can't sleep or be still, and it's driving me mad.
I feel like a huge baby considering what's going on in the southern part of this country to say that I've had a week that seemed Dante-esque in its ickiness, but I can't help it.
And frankly, the events in the South are a large contributing factor to the way I feel right now. I'm dumbfounded at what is going on, and I honestly don't know what to do or say about it that will do any good whatsoever.
I may be able to volunteer next week, I'm just waiting to hear, and maybe that will help me stop feeling so impotent and like everything I have been doing in my daily life this week is so pointless when so many people need help.
That being said, there were other things that have contributed to my shitty, shitty mood; my job is wearing on my nerves faster than a Fox News program, and it's starting to get to me.
I went through waves of denial after the initial "Yay, I got a job with insurance" thing wore off, thinking, well, "It must get better. It can't truly be this mind-numbing." Umm..actually, it turns out it can and is, which makes me all the more determined to get into graduate school in the fall. I don't care if I have to go to Sasketchewan University to get my degree, I'm going back to school to study creative writing. I think I'd rather be happy and poor than comfortable and miserable.
What else am I cranky about? Hmm...in no particular order..
a. People who take people for granted. 'Nuff said. That is never an okay thing to do, and I grow weary of it.
b. Getting cut off in traffic about 50 times this week. They're called turn signals; look into them, drivers of Philadelphia.
c. The fact that I can have about 3 drinks now during the week and literally feel as though a truck has run over me the next day. Getting old is not all that pleasant at all. Also, a sub-note of that, I now get circles under my eyes if I don't sleep well, which I never did before, and I think readers of this blog know how well I'm sleeping, so happy f-ing 28th birthday to me. I'll be an alligator bag-face by the age of 30.
d. The cost of gas. That's all I'm going to say about it, but I think I'm going to start commuting via Razor Scooter.
Alright, I think that about covers it.
On a brighter note, there were things that made me happy this week: Finding out that all my friends and family were safe after the storm hit made me extremely grateful; Simon talking about kicking the "footy" and getting into an argument about where to buy Red Sox gear for someone who really loves the Red Sox with a crazy Phillies fan saleslady. I didn't think it was funny at the time, but now that I have a little perspective on it, it's actually really hilarious. Sports fans in Philly are so nuts, they really should have special wings of mental hospitals.
Good night (hopefully).

A loss of comprehension

I wrote yesterday about my initial impressions of the effects of Hurricane Katrina on my home state and surrounding areas, and I have to admit, I had no idea what I was talking about when I posted yesterday.
I have felt, since Sunday, that I was in an information vacuum, and had no real idea of how extensive the damage was.
The city of New Orleans, which I personally would wager to say, is the best fucking city in the country, is in dire straits. The levees have been breached in two places and because of the extensive water pressure on those places, the Corps of Engineers has not been able to repair them, which means that the city continues to be deluged with water, and the situation of what may happen next becomes more and more critical.
Because I'm in Pennsylvania, I have limited access to local coverage as to what is happening, although, clearly all news media is focused on what has happened there.
But the thing is, the coverage is centered on the coast, and because they weren't really able to get in there until yesterday, it's been sporadic.
So, as of yesterday morning, I had no idea that the situation was as bad as it was, and I was just glad that I was able to reach my dad last night to find out that they were okay. But then that presented a whole other set of problems, because the last time a major hurricane made its way up to north Mississippi, hundreds were without power; some lost their homes, and I wanted to know where my friends were, but I still couldn't get through because of limited phone service.
I have gotten through to everyone now, and I'm so grateful. I feel so bad for New Orleans and the cities of the coast that were the hardest hit, that I really can't even express it.
The thing that warms my heart, is that I know the resilient nature of a Southerner. We don't take no shit, and we don't admit defeat. Look at us, 140 years later, we refuse to admit defeat in the Civil War in earnest.
I have endured serious accusations of abandoning the South for "the Yankees," without a hint of irony, when I moved to Philadelphia.
It will be a long, costly, arduous process, but the cities will rebuild and the citizens will exhibit more strength than most of us are capable of, because that's what Southerners do.
And I've never been more aware of that fact until now, being over 1,000 miles away from that place in which I grew up, and truly, that's where my heart is gonna be for the next few months, or longer, until they are back to their fighting weight, but I have no doubt that they will eventually be, so that's what comforts me, if only somewhat, at this point.

Helpless and nostalgic

I have been watching the news coverage of Hurricane Katrina that ripped through my home state and some of my old stomping grounds, including the Mississippi and Alabama Gulf Coasts and New Orleans, and I have been thinking about the time I've spent at the various locations that were hit the hardest and how sad it makes me to see the rubble they've become.
First of all, there is no worse feeling than the one I had yesterday when I didn't know where the storm was, knowing how devastating the winds could be even as far up into north Misssissippi where my parents and a majority of friends live, and I couldn't get through to anyone.
The news coverage of anywhere but the coast has been deplorable, as my parents, way the hell up in north Mississippi, had been without power for 20 hours, not that I would've known it, because the national media didn't mention the small towns throughout the South that were affected.
Now, I'm worried about friends I can't reach, although through local news there, I do now basically now that they're okay, but any of you reading this that I haven't spoken to, need to call me. I mean it, bitches!
I hate that helpless feeling, and I hate even more knowing that amazing areas of the South that colored memories of my youth are virtually destroyed now and will take weeks and months to rebuild.
We always went to Orange Beach in Gulf Shores for our annual family vacations, and, honestly, I have no idea what shape that area is in, but for other vacations, we went to Biloxi, and it was hit hard.
I remember Biloxi before its biggest boon was casinos, and it was a beautiful beach town. The beach left a lot to be desired at the time, because not nearly as much care was put into as has been since the casinos popped up, but it was a sleepy Southern beach town that afforded Mississippi families who wanted a short trip within their state a place to go, have fun and come home feeling satisfied.
New Orleans is a whole other story. I never went to New Orleans until I was in college, and I regret that I haven't been there more often.
New Orleans is easily the best part of the South with perhaps Memphis as a bit of competition, and it literally hurts my heart to see what shape not only the city itself, but the people are in right now.
New Orleans is a picture-perfect blend of quaint Southern charm and the naughtiness that non-judgmental Catholics can enjoy.
The architectural alone is enough to make you sigh, but then you experience the city, which has an actual pulse, and you're hooked.
I regret that I've only been there during Mardi Gras which is no way to fully appreciate such an amazing place, alive at all times with jazz and gypsies and who knows who else might be strolling down a street in the Garden District.
If you've never been there, give them about 3 months, and I know without hesitation, that they will rebuild, restructure and come back with a vengeance.
I was listening to NPR today to a guy who rode out the storm in his 160-year-old French Quarter apartment, and after the eye had passed, he went out exploring the immediate neighborhood. He encountered a few bars that had stayed open, boarding their windows and spray painting on the boards, "We refuse to die sober."
That city ain't going out into that good night..

Smug bastard

No sleep for the weary

I have recently become a world-class insomniac. I used to hear people say they had insomnia and think to myself, "HA! I can sleep through anything..suckers." Now, I think the fact that I had those thoughts is manifesting itself with some sort of karmic retribution, and it is not pleasant.
I am tired for most of the day, daydreaming about when I can come home and take a nap or imagining going to bed at a normal time and sleeping the sleep of the content. But that has only happened about 4 times in the last month, and it's starting to wear on me a bit.
I think of that line from "Fight Club," in the beginning, about how when you stop sleeping, you never really know what's real and what's not. I probably screwed that up, but you get the general idea.
Seriously, after the first couple of weeks, I would just sort of feel like I was underwater for a large part of the day, and then I would get a second wind, but still not feel quite normal. It was an odd euphoric feeling, that would still allow me to be able to sleep for at least the first part of the night, and then at 2 a.m. was when the fun would start.
Now, I don't know what to think. I'm pretty cranky all the time, which was hard to recognize as a symptom for a while, I have headaches, and when I do finally sleep, I wake up so many times that by the time my alarm goes off, I'm never really sure if I was asleep or not.
It's kind of a maddening way to live. I've tried to pinpoint what may've set this into motion, and I honestly don't know. Sleep and I have always had a very fond relationship.
Had a rough day? There's my old friend Sleep willing to step in and lend a 45-minute power nap-hand to help out.
Been burning the candle at both ends for a few days in a row? Sleep knows what to do. A nice 12-hour refueling, and everything is back to normal.
I'm trying to decide if my body has suddenly realized that it's 28 and no longer wants to accept caffeine after a certain hour, which is what my sister suggested, but I refuse to be one of those people who says that drinking a Coke after 1 p.m. will keep them awake for the rest of the day. I'm not THAT old, Jesus.
I will never forget one of the funniest memories I have of my friend, Brian. We had been dating about 3 months and had taken our first overnight road trip to Huntsville, Ala., to see my friend Layla.
We had been out having a few beers and had headed back to our hotel for the night. As we're going in, I stop by the vending machine, as this was during the "Mountain Dew..to hell with my kidneys" phase, so that I could dose up on its sugary goodness.
Brian says to me, without a hint of irony, "You're getting a Mountain Dew. Well (insert old man voice here), don't keep me awake all night after you drink it," as though I'm going to finish drinking it and immediately start pole vaulting around the room.
I found it so funny, in fact, that I laughed, rather loudly, for about 5 minutes, the entire way it took us to get to our room, and I'm fairly sure that I kept laughing well after we got into it.
Now, who's laughing? Now that I dread actually putting head to pillow at night, because I lie there (blink, blink), tossing and turning for 2 hours, I may actually have to conduct a series of experiments that may involve cutting off caffeine in the afternoon to see if that's what the problem is.
I'm off to bed (again). Wish me luck.

A woman obsessed

I have a compulsive personality, I'll admit it. When I choose to engage in certain behavior, I do it obsessively until I'm tired of it, which could be anywhere from a week to a year.
Previous obsessions have included karaoke at least once a week, sometimes twice, fried cheese with ranch dressing, having to check my alarm clock 8 times before I went to sleep, and reading anything Kurt Vonnegut ever wrote.
Now, these are not all bad things to be addicted to, mind you, but having just spent nearly a full two weeks watching basically nothing but The Sopranos and only really stopping because I ran out of episodes and Season 4 won't be delivered until Tuesday, I realize now that I have some "issues," to put it mildly.
I once watched that show "I Love the '80s" on VH1 for an entire 8 hours, even though I had stuff to do that day and was actually expected somewhere about an hour before I got there.
That show is a perfect way for me to hone the compulsion. It has short, attention-grabbing clips, and when one show ends, the next one just kind of morphs into being without so much as a commercial break. So, even when I was thinking,"Okay, must get into the shower now," another show would start, and I would be held captive for the next half hour or 3 hours, however long the marathon went.
I did this with "Sex and the City" as well. When I had both a VCR and DVD player, I was a woman possessed with having to watch every episode back to back. I have 3 seasons on VHS and 2 on DVD, but now I only have a DVD player, so basically I have the seasons that I do own memorized, which is not such a good thing.
When a person is telling me of relationship trouble, or I'm discussing my own, and I say, "Well, it's like when Carrie and Mister Big did this...or said this..," that can't be good.
I've gone so far as to actually call certain men in my life Mister Big and give detailed reasons as to why I think that. I have a problem.
But now, the sickness is clearly focused on The Sopranos. I love, love, love James Gandolfini. I've mentioned that in a previous post about my fascination with the Mafia, but I think my feelings for him veer over into "I-Want-To-Start-A-Fan-Club" territory.
When he walks down the driveway to pick up the newspaper in his little terrycloth bathrobe, I want to molest him. Or even when he yells at his kids because he genuinely doesn't want them to turn out like him, *sigh*, my heart breaks just a little.
My name is Emily, and I'm addicted to Tony Soprano

Confessions of an eternal flake..and other stuff

Remember when you were in school, and you had to engage in that vile academic absurdity, Parents' Night, where your parents would come and meet your teachers and get an update on your progress? I assume it's much different now, what with teachers being afraid to scar children by failing them now. They call it what, grade-promotionally challenged or something.
Anyway, the comments from teachers were any of the following "Doesn't pay attention," I'm fairly certain my sister got "Talks too much," some kids might've gotten "May grow up to be a serial killer," you get the idea.
Anyway, mine were always along the lines of "Has enormous potential, but doesn't apply herself fully," and if the saying "Who you are at 3 is who you are at 30," I'd have to say some teachers I scoffed at once upon a time may've actually gotten something right.
I have a tremendously hard time following through with anything. I'd like to think it's because I'm so incredibly brilliant that I can't be bothered to limit myself and therefore feel the need to dabble in a number of different things.
However, that is me being full of shit.
Let me just recap for you:
1. Was utterly convinced at the age of 16 that I would one day be a lawyer. I thought, "I'm argumentative, and I sure do like that movie A Few Good Men. How cool would that be?" So, I maintained that path, majoring in political science to give myself a strong background before I began my career as the next Johnnie Cochran. I didn't necessary want to be as sleazy as Johnnie Cochran, but I think I liked the idea of being a rhyming lawyer.
Anyway, that lasted until the middle of my sophomore year when I began to find political science to be a bit dull, plus one of the only two professor that taught me was intensely annoying.
So, I changed my major to journalism. I had always liked to write (still do, obviously), and I could see myself dashing in and out of the fray with a brown trenchcoat and stiletto heels like Ingrid Bergman or Katharine Hepburn while I brought down City Hall.
Uhh..yeah. I ended up at a school that had little focus on news reporting and became the Entertainment Editor of my college paper. Incidentally, it was the most awesome job I've ever had, so I have no regrets for that, but it kind of set a scene, if you will, about what professional direction my life ended up taking...However, this leads me to..
2. I was engaged to a giant ass clown when I was a mere 20 years old. I don't know what malfunctioned in my brain chemistry for me to ever have agreed to marry this person in the first place, but one week before my 21st birthday, I accepted a ring, and off we were.
So, as a result of that unholy pairing, I transferred schools, which is where I ended up as Entertainment Editor. But over the course of our courtship, I slowly began to realize what an emotional fuckwit this person was and then ultimately had it confirmed when I had to go to the emergency room for a kidney infection, couldn't locate my beloved until the next day when I was greeted with, "Where was I? Oh, I had a date last night." !@?!@? So..yeah, that was that.
I had just finished college, was still working part-time for the college paper and was temping while trying to find actual employment.
What next followed is what I have regretted for longer than I realize and basically just have to let go:
I was so distraught by being kicked in the teeth by this person who wasn't worth it, nor did he ever deserve me, I realize now, that I promptly fell apart. I was only 3 hours away from home, which is put into sharp perspective now that I'm 20 hours away from where I grew up, and I thought that it was too far away for me to be sufficiently coddled, so I packed it in when I had a really good job and went running home to my parents and my former life, thinking that would solve everything.
This leads me to the worst career move I ever made, taking a job as a copy editor at a paper that offered me nothing professionally positive. The best thing to come out of that job was that I met people that mean more to me than they may ever know, but that is it. I languished for almost 4 years, really merely gaining a distaste for the news business and picking up proficiency in some software that I truly hope I never have to use again.
A caveat to this bullet point is that in NO WAY should I have married that asshole. That's not the thing that I regret not following through with; I regret that I let the emotional toll of the break-up have me give up a job that paid well in an area that fostered what I wanted to do.
I think what took me so long to get over that break-up was just that. I let this person that I never should've been involved with in the first place dictate what I did with myself, and I will never fall prey to that again...
Compromise is a great thing, when it's the right time to compromise, and I hope to God that I know the difference now, with some age and wisdom.
3. I am sad to report that I have temporarily given up the guitar, which is a little bittersweet.
The thing of it is, my teacher was a pretentious meanie, and I'm not putting up with that crap. I promised myself that I would pick the guitar up again, and I will, but right now, I'm focusing on something else that I feel is more important and will be the thing that breaks the "flake curse."
I am going to graduate school next fall to pursue a master's degree initially and then perhaps a PhD in creative writing, but, mark my words, that is the last thing I will do, and I will follow through with it.
I will write my novels, and I will end up as a professor, perhaps the female counterpart to Robin Williams' character in "Dead Poets Society," except maybe I'll sleep with my more promising ingenues..I'm totally kidding.
Anyway, I'm breaking the cycle. There will be no more of "That Emily, she just bounces from one thing to the next."
Or, who knows? I might get bored.

Now, that's a hot group of girls..

These women..

I just returned from the most awesome, sanity restoring weekend I've had in a while.
I went to see my best friend in the galaxy in Miami, and I have never meant it more when I say, "It was exactly what I needed."
Ms. Amanda Meadows, Esq., and I have been friends for an amazing 12 years, and I simply shudder to think at what I would do without her presence in my life. We've only had about 3 arguments that I can think of and none of them ever lasted for longer than it took for us to make each other laugh.
The truly wonderful thing about a friendship like ours is that we have both essentially "grown up" together, or as close to it as we're going to get anytime soon, and I've gotten to watch her do fearless and wonderful things and continue to become a genuinely awe-inspiring person the more I know her.
In addition to being able to have much needed girl time with her, I got to reconnect with a group of friends that she's made throughout her time in law school and their friends' friends (ya got that?), and I have to say that there is no better way to spend 3 days than in the company of smart, funny, amazing women that are a positive force in each others' lives.
Too often, and I'll be the first to put forth this opinion, women don't serve to support each other; they tend to be catty and suspicious and insecure, which is a huge reason that I've always had mostly guy friends.
But, maybe, as we get older and realize that men are rarely a beacon of anything that resembles anything close to helping us stay sane, we understand the need for that support system of giggly, advice-giving girl fun and how there is no equal for that.
Don't get me wrong, I love men, too much I think, sometimes, and I don't want to denigrate what they provide either, but it makes me truly sad when I see women who only do things with their boyfriend/husband/male friend with benefits..what have you, because they will never know the comforting embrace of estrogen-filled Saturdays spent watching bad movies and making fun of commercials after a night of carousing.
These are the people that will bring you a Bloody Mary when you have a hangover (it works, really), will tell you, no matter what the circumstances or what you may have done in a relationship, "It is NEVER your fault," will call you on a particularly low Tuesday just to cheer you up, will sing you a birthday song on your voicemail within minutes of the day actually turning over to your birthday and will pick you up from the airport blasting Justin Timberlake while shouting, "OWWW! Shake it!" much to the delight of the harried pilots waiting for their shuttle buses to their crappy hotels.
Frailty, thy name is woman, my ass.

Gather ye rosebuds...or something

Well, I turned 28 years old today, and I have to say, this birthday was antcipated with a little more than mild trepidation. Yeah, I know people who are 30+ who are reading this saying, "Screw you; I wish I had my 20's back," but these people are not me, so I don't care.
I've thought a lot about this, about why creeping ever so steadily toward 30 bothers me so much, and I've come up with a number of things.
First of all, I'm kind of vain. Yeah, I'm sure some of you could be knocked over with a feather after that earth-shattering revelation, but it's true. I don't want to get wrinkles, I don't want any (more) gray hair, and I don't want my breasts to be in my shoes.
I'm not the most beautiful or the hottest girl in the world, by any means, but I'm not too bad to look at either, and I'd like to stay non-Crypt Keeper in appearance. It's shallow, but true.
I suppose my double secret fear is that I lose my looks and I, along with the rest of the world, discover that I'm not really as interesting or entertaining as I thought, and attention that I may've received in the past disappears.
On my good days, I know that's not true, but we all have our bad days.
Second of all, I'm not too crazy about death. Yeah, I know that no one is particularly looking forward to death, but everything about it scares the bejesus out of me to the point of insomnia, if I ever let myself think about it for too long.
It's not just my dying that scares me; in fact, that's really the least of it. It's the thought of as I get older, everyone I love gets older as well, and even thinking about the day I have to attend my parents' or sister's or best friend Amanda's funerals makes me want to broker a bunch of deals with God in order to be able to go first.
And third of all, and this is really the kicker I think and the one I can actually do something about:
I haven't accomplished what I imagined I would've at 28. This, this is the other thing that keeps me up at night when that pesky death thing isn't bothering me. When I was younger, I suppose I kept a vague idea in my head of what my life would resemble when I reached 30, and right now, it's not close.
Of course, when I was younger, I think a life at 30 entailed living with a big group of friends in California (where I could pursue my successful singing career), and we would all stay up as late as we wanted and always have Kool-Aid in the house, because my mom never let us have Kool-Aid, and I thought that a Kool-Aid-free house was no way to live.
But more recently, I would say that I set goals in college as far as where I would be career-wise, and at the present time, it's just not where I am, but over the last week or so, I have literally said to myself, "Give yourself a fucking break."
(I kind of got offended when I said that to myself, but I realized it was for my own good)
The thing of it is: A year ago, I moved from Mississippi to Pennsylvania and did not know ONE person. Not one. I had no idea what would happen after Election Day, and I didn't care at the time. A year later, I have found an apartment with an awesome roommate/friend, I have a job that pays me better than it should and gives me excellent benefits, I have people in my life here who mean more to me than I ever would've thought, and I have a plan to go back to school and see what path that might lead me down.
I think I may finally get it, Simon. I don't have to have all the answers. Asking the questions is as much a valuable part of the journey as knowing exactly what to do all the time.
So, happy birthday to me. I'm 28, and I'm fabulous.

I've been hoodwinked..or maybe not

Ladies, we are suckers. Truly, we and logic need to get together, because there's an almost mythological concept that we operate under most of the time, and I think it needs to come to an end.
Men are not our saviors. No matter what you've heard (and I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my dad for telling me that I would know when I met "the ONE," because it would hit me like a bolt of lightning.
At this point, I think I'd rather be hit with actual lightning than have to try to decipher anything further in the relations between the sexes.
I feel I have been duped.
Because of my dad's crap advice and my obsession with movies and books, I was clearly expecting some stuff that hasn't been delivered to me.
Like, has anyone ever stood outside my window with a jambox, circa "Say Anything" and played Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes?" Uhh..no.
Has anyone ever realized what a moron they were by having let me go and said, at the risk of making a complete ass of themselves, as Matt Damon did at the end of "Good Will Hunting," "I have to go see about a girl."
I'm starting to agree with conservative senators about censoring Hollywood, except I could give a shit about the violence and profanity (obviously), no, I think it's far more dangerous to give women a false idea about what they should be expecting out of men.
Tell it like it is.
See "About a Boy." Except in my version, he never actually gets his shit together for the woman he supposedly loves. He strings her along for about 15 years until she realizes she's wasted her youth and her child-bearing years, and then he leaves her for a 25-year-old.
That's reality. Why don't we see more of that?
Just wait. Before I camp out permanently in the bitter barn, I actually want to say something that doesn't sound psychotic.
I love love. As kicked in the teeth by it as I tend to get and as downtrodden as I might get about the prospect of it ever actually working out for me and anyone, I have no intention of giving up, contrary to what I might say in my less optimistic moods.
I know that eventually I will have children and grandchildren at the forefront of which will be a man that I found who loved me for me and maybe possibly made a grand gesture or two while we were young, and even a couple after we weren't.
But, if my mother asks me one more f-ing time if I think that every single man I ever mentioned having a conversation with might become serious, I'm entering the damn nunnery just to spite her.

Standing in the shower thinking...and ducking

I am living in fear of my shower head. Sure, sure, laugh it up, but this thing is out for blood.
It is one of those detachable shower heads, specifically called a "shower massager," and is rumored to have the capability of being a girl's best friend. (I'm sure I don't know why)
However, mine, which is held together by some manner of tape thanks to my ghetto landlord, is the polar opposite of being a girl's best friend.
Oh, and just as an aside, how friggin' sleazy are landlords? It never occurred to me that one day I would include landlords in the annals with used car salesman and FOX News journalists, but that is where they are in my psyche now. They are either around WAAAY too much or WAAAY too little. There is no middle ground,and the only way you can get them to do anything, apparently, is to sleep with them, and that's really no choice at all. Anyway, I digress.
Let me explain about my shower head.
A regular occurrence: It's shower time; I'm excited. Showers serve to both wake me up and allow me to sing at full volume, as my roommate is hardly ever home when I am in the shower. So, I get to enjoy our marvelous water pressure and sing Fiona Apple as loud as I want.
Then, the trouble begins. Halfway through the happy shower and just at the part when I start to bray, "Let me know the way...before there's hell to pay...," the shower head comes out of its little holster and tries to hit me in the head while simultaneously spraying the ceiling and hitting the cold water spigot, so that not only is it flailing around the tub, it's shooting out near-boiling water. So that if the initial bonk on the head doesn't kill me, it will at least scald the shit out of me.
Now, this is a problem.It has also frequently attacked my roommate and her boyfriend, and I feel like we're becoming prisoners in our own bathroom. We can't not take showers, but now, every time I'm in there, I anticipate at any moment that it's going to snake out of its little holder and attempt homicide again.
It must be stopped.
On another note, I began my much-awaited guitar lessons last week, and they were a little disappointing, but I'm trying not to dwell on it.
I think because I was so excited and anxious, that the actual lesson was a bit of a letdown.
My teacher, a 40-ish lifelong picker, was slightly condescending to me, remarking that "my nails were real pretty," had to be cut in order to fully strum the guitar. He went on to say something about "manicures being okay if you want to be fancy" or some such crap.
Okay, I have a manicure exactly once in my whole life, so, I dunno who this guy has me confused with, but I think he may be operating under a gross misapprehension that I'm some sort of princess-y type girl, and that is so not the case.
Then, I felt super-stupid because I don't know anything.
I'm sure you're thinking to yourself, "Of course you don't know anything; that's why you're taking lessons," and you would be right. I just didn't expect to know even less than I thought I did. It's very disconcerting.
But, I've been practicing, and I'm going to give Mister Bad Attitude teacher another week and see what happens. Otherwise, I will be looking for a new mentor, and this teacher can imagine that I'm sitting on a throne of diamonds somewhere being fanned. yea right.
On a final note, I am reading the most awesome book right now, and I highly recommend it. John Irving's "Until I Find You." It is so amazingly good, and I really only just started it.
I hope someday I can write 1/4 as well as Irving can, because this is one of those books that, not only am I enjoying the story, I'm in stupefied awe at the way he writes, just the way the sentences are set up.
And if you read that, you should also check out his books, "A Widow for One Year" and "The Hotel New Hampshire." They are amazing.

Getting old and all of that other stuff

I haven't written on here in so long, I feel really badly, but I'm sure you've all managed to continue living your lives, breathing in and out and that sort of thing, even without my blog as incomprehensible as it is to me that people can really go all that long without a "dose of Emily," but, anyway. (and I am totally kidding. I would probably be a really happy person if I was that full of myself)
First things first: Sandra Day O'Connor is retiring from the Supreme Court, and it's very unsettling. When they announced on NPR, I was listening to headphones at work and said (very loudly), "Oh, shit," loudly enough that people around me were concerned.
I've been thinking about what it might mean quite a bit, and I am actually going to give Bush the benefit of the doubt until I have reason not to on this. He can't really gain all that much by stacking the court with right wingers, and as much as we Chardonnay-sipping (NPR-listening, for that matter) wailed about what Bush might do the court if given the opportunity, I actually am choosing to think that he might not want his legacy to have the country in a complete and total uproar over Roe Vs.Wade. We'll see.
Okay, next. I AM GETTING OLD. This is not so much distressing in and of itself, but I simply cannot do the things to my body that I used to. i.e., continuously get only about 5 hours of sleep a night during the week, drag myself up at 6:30 a.m. and just say, "Oh, well, I'll make it up by sleeping late this weekend." NO. No more. I had my first bags under my eyes the other day, and that is just not going to happen. I already have to contend with gray hair, laugh lines and that "Ugh" noise when I bend down to pick something up. Bags under my eyes will not stand.
What else? I've decided, after much reflection and meditation (perhaps the meditation involved cocktails), that stressing out about things is absolutely pointless.
Refer to a previous post of mine that I worry too much. I worry or have worried so much, in fact, that I can't be still. I am working on this, but due to my anxious nature, I shake my leg constantly, play with my hair, bite the inside of my mouth and clench my jaw to the point of giving myself headaches..and I don't even think that's it, but even people who know me really well at this point are like, "What?!"
So, I just say, fuck it. Recent personal issues made me realize that no amount of crying or not eating or listening to Kenny G was going to change any stressful situation, so "fuck it" is indeed my new attitude.
If things are meant to work out, they'll work out, and I'm tired of not enjoying the good moments in life by worrying about what's going to happen in a month, or six months or six years. It's no way to enjoy life, and I want to enjoy my life, however it may turn out.
And on that note, I will leave you with this. I have a flyer in my possession right now that directs me where to go to view midget wrestling at the end of the month.
Where am I gonna be on said night at the end of the month? Drinking beer and screaming for people that come up to my knees to pummel each other. Life is good.

Going to see a guy about a guitar

I bought my first guitar yesterday for $75 from a guy named Lenny that I met through the wonderful world of craig's list. It's really no monumental occurrence; millions of people use craig's list to buy stuff every day, and probably half as many have bought musical instruments.
But, one acute difference where I'm concerned is that a. I don't know how to play the guitar, and b. I don't generally go to strangers' houses to purchase goods.
Point b is fairly irrelevant, but as I arrived at Lenny's and knocked on the door at our pre-arranged time after I got off work, it occurred to me that no one knew where I was and even more disturbing, it occurred to me that it would be until the next day that I didn't show up for work and then weekend plans, that anyone would even know I was missing.
These are thoughts a girl from Mississippi has in Philadelphia sometimes. I don't know if it makes me cautious or a wuss, but I'd rather not end up on Fox Channel 9 news here, where the newscasters can barely read and would most likely mispronounce my name when they reported that my head had been found on South Street while an arm turned up in Wissahickon (because I like to say Wissahickon).
Anyway, back to the guitar thing. I have wanted to learn to play guitar since I was about 10. I took lessons, in fact, for about 6 weeks, until my mother decided that the stupid piano was a more lady-like instrument for a Southern girl to learn. (for all the good that ladylike business did)
So, alas, I had been consigned to staring longingly at those who could pick up a guitar, start to strum and immediately conjure images of Bob Dylan or Joni Mitchell.
I even made a New Year's resolution about 3 years ago to learn to play, since it was something I always wanted to do, but I believe that was the same year I resolved to quit smoking(see earlier post), so it fell by the wayside.
Having been knocked sideways by a few things this week, I realized, "What the heck am I waiting for?" How long will I have nearly unlimited time/resources all to MYSELF to do what I want, when I want and really better myself as a person?
Well, considering that I think my 3-year niece will be in a functional relationship sooner than I will, I may always have unlimited time to myself, but my more optimistic part says that will not always be the case, and one day, I will have the demands of juggling the things that a modern-day gal has to juggle and won't be able to pursue learning the guitar.
So, I'm doing it. And I'm so excited about it, it's almost obscene, but it feels good to look forward to doing something that I made a vow to myself a long time ago that I would.
And so, I am issuing preemptive apologies to friends, family and most importantly, neighbors, because I feel that this is something I will be slightly obsessive about, as I begin to realize my dream of sitting in a chair with my guitar bathed in blue light while I huskily sing "Me and Bobby McGee" in a seedy bar and am discovered by a indie producer who wants to make me the "next big thing."
Who says a rich fantasy life isn't necessary? If it weren't for my dreams and hopes, reality would be fairly bleak sometimes.
So, I'll be coming to an open mike near you sometime soon, be afraid, be very afraid.
FREEBIRD!

The most random of thoughts

Well, I haven't updated in so long, I'm sure whatever people may've been semi-regular readers have moved along to other, more interesting blogs, but since I never really did this for anyone but me, oh, well. It's my blog, and I'll update it when I want to. Here goes:
1. I've discovered a few things lately. I hate, hate, HATE getting up at 6:30 every morning, but I love, love, LOVE being able to afford things like regular happy hours, Sex and the City DVDs and the girliest shoes I've ever bought for myself that will probably inevitably kill me, but they make me forget that I have no coordination when it comes to walking in heels, so we'll see what happens.
2. I was in this funky little bar the other night that had writing all over the bathroom wall, and I saw something that made me laugh out loud. It said, "You're afraid of commitment? What the hell does that mean anyway?" Boys reading this probably won't see the humor in that, but I find it amusing that women hear that so often that it's become a mantra appropriate enough to scrawl across a bathroom wall so that every woman entering will immediately read it and knowing say, "Ahh..another one."
3. I watching watching a movie recently that said in a voice-over "There's a time in your life when you go to your parents' house and realize that it's no longer your home," and I believe I've reached that point in my life,and it kinda freaks me out.
I recently visited home, and I had an awesome time, don't get me wrong, but it may've been the first time in my life that I realized I have no desire to ever live there again, and it truly felt like just a visit. It was liberating and terrifying all at the same time.
4. I have no set political affiliation anymore. I think I hate them all equally. I've had it with the goofy-ass Democrats, and I still don't identify with the soul-less Republicans. My political sensibilities are at a crossroads, and frankly, whoever makes the most sense first will win my allegiance. I'm sick of the lot of them. I find it brutally disheartening that out of each party, the names being bandied about for 2008 are as pathetic as they are. We deserve better, and I hope that will happen between now and then, or, America, we are in some serious trouble. All I can say, is if John McCain runs, I will vote for a Republican and five minutes later, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse will show up, so I'm giving everyone fair warning.
Alright, my lunch break is almost over. I've just been almost compulsively meaning to update, so now I have, albeit kind of briefly.
Let me leave you with this; you should really shy away from ever saying, "I will never (fill in the blank)," because you lose out on a lot of amazing experiences that way. That's Emily's little pearl of wisdom for whoever may peruse this.

At last, I can break my leg at will

Well, it's been a long, strange employment trip here in Pennsylvania at times. Since arriving here with a job in August, I've since had that job end and then had the humiliating experience of temping for four months for, frankly a bunch of assholes, to temping here and there for people that were nice, but not quite nice enough to pay me higher than slave wages, offer me insurance or give me tasks that even remotely spoke to my "extensive" abilities. (okay, I can spell really well..)
That has all come to a happy and abrupt end, thank God. Mississippi was starting to look good again after months of rejection letters and making $10 an hour.
As of last Monday, I started a job at a company I will keep secret (those of you that know me know, so that's all that's important), and as of this Monday, I was promoted...with a raise...and, ta, da...medical benefits (!!) to the position of proofreader, and yes, the last time I checked, that was something I have experience in.
After learning of my promotion on Friday, I seriously had the best drive home I've had in months, thinking about how frustrating and discouraging this whole experience had been thus far.
I came here to work for John Kerry, who by the way, in an ironic little twist, didn't offer health insurance. Notice no one mentioned that in any campaign ads promoting his hopeless ass, and he can stick it right in his ear for that the more and more I've considered it.
It actually turned me into quite the hypocrite, extolling his virtues and advocating health insurance for all, when the people working their asses off for him couldn't go to a doctor without paying $100+..trust me, I know. I had strep throat a week before the campaign, and I had to pay about $140. Thank God, the doctor took pity on me and gave me sample pills, or I shudder to think how much it would've been.
Miraculously, since August, that's the only time I had to go to the doctor sans insurance. Let's forget the fact that I'm pretty certain I'm allergic to every pollen-producing plant in Pennsylvania, my eyes have been watering since March and should've had shots months ago, that was a luxury I couldn't afford.
Anyway, as documented at various times on this very blog, I was really, really discouraged about my career situation and starting to labor under the impression that something was intrinsically wrong with me, or there really was something to that whole "North vs. South" thing.
So, anyway, my point is, I am making more money than I ever have, which is kinda sad, and puts into pretty sharp focus how much professional time I wasted in Mississippi, I have insurance and can actually go and get new glasses that I've needed for about 3 years now and had never had vision insurance to cover it, and if I want to break both legs, I can go ahead and do that, and not have to pay too much for it..Score!
So, simply put, I am happy, and that's a pretty good feeling. I'd forgotten what it felt like to not hang your head when someone asked you what you did for a living.

Fox Force Five joke

Well, it's been a whole two weeks since I've updated my poor little blog. I know that everyone has been inconsolable since then, so to anyone who's been upset, I apologize. Also, please know that I am not yet that full of myself, and I'm totally kidding.
I wish I could say that I've been living such a fabulously, action-packed life in the big city that it's kept me from the daily musings that I started in January.
That has not so much been the case.
The most fun I've had recently involved waking up at 11 a.m. on a Saturday to attend a 4-hour beer tasting, replete with a band that played "Sweet Home Alabama," obviously, just for me. Yeah, that sounds oh, so, chic, I know, but it put a smile on my face.
No, sadly, I was just given a different temporary employment assignment that did not let me gaze fixated on the computer screen wondering what porn sites I could get away with looking at..(again, kidding)
I have had a rough week, involving sleep deprivation, and on one night, something called a growler of beer, so if this jumps around, I apologize, but I like to think that my semi-incoherent posts are the ones that have that certain "je ne sais quoi."
The other day I was having a conversation with someone who frequently describes me as a "kooky liberal," and I thought about how vastly less liberal I have become in the last 5-7 years.
I was a self-described "feminazi" when I was in high school and early college and can remember berated a certain whipped boyfriend when he deigned to open doors for me. What a self-important idiot I was. I could turn anything into an inequality issue and Lord have mercy on whoever had the temerity to argue with me, and these would degenerate into near-screaming matches with me vowing never to hang out with whoever had offended me again.
What a long, strange trip it's been. You would think that having worked for a political campaign, I would've become more indoctrinated toward that particular viewpoint, but I honestly think it was the absolute best thing I could've done in terms of expanding my horizons and being open toward opinions that differ from mine.
I will likely never vote Republican. I can't say it for sure, though, and that's something I never thought that I would even consider.
I am now able to truly listen to others' opinions and even if I don't agree, carry on an intelligent two-sided conversation that generally doesn't end with my stomping away and calling someone a poopy-head or whatever brilliant attack I used to come up with when someone incensed me so badly just for not agreeing with me.
And I prefer it this way. I left Mississippi because I wanted to experience things that I had never experienced before, and whatever other things I set out to do and haven't accomplished, I have and continue to achieve that, and I feel pretty good about that.
I remember having a conversation in Mississippi when I was on one of about 4 "farewell bar tours" before I left that I think serves as a good reminder as to how far I've come.
I was in a certain bar I enjoyed having the occasional cocktail and witty banter in before I left, and I happened to meet a guy who worked for a local state representative. I was flirting with him a little, trying to use a little "leaving town mojo" someone had told me to take advantage of, and then he lowered the boom about who he worked for, and I proudly proclaimed, "Well, I'm moving to Pennsylvania to work for John Kerry," and off we went.
Before the night was over, the bartender had declared me wholeheartedly unpatriotic, as well as the skanky barmaid, and this guy and I, while perhaps still flirting, were at complete odds with each other, and I was frankly disgusted with myself for still flirting with him. I was at the bar well after closing time while poor Ellen waited in the car for me, thinking that I couldn't possibly argue with all of those people for much longer. Wow, was she wrong. I was practically thrown out of the bar and told that I was probably going to hell for working for John Kerry, or at the very least, people "like me," would be sorry for not agreeing with the war.
So, clearly, I've had some experiences a little different than that since leaving, and I don't think it's just because of the difference in ideologies here. I think I've become a lot more open to finding out why people think the way they do, rather than immediately lashing out at them for not thinking the way I do.
And there's not a thing wrong with that.

Suffering blog

Well, to my fans, all five of you, the blog will only be updated periodically now, as I am no longer at a super-boring job that affords me a ton of free time. I'm sure that you're all really upset, but perhaps this means that my postings will no longer contain stream-of-consciousness type information, but will be chock full of meaningful, intelligent prose (yea, right). A girl can dream.
I've had some offers for guest bloggers, but I feel that would compromise the vision in this yellow dog's head.
Stay tuned for future posts when I can do them. I know you'll all be on pins and needles.

The First Amendment makes strange bedfellows

Okay, apparently, Jane Fonda was signing her new book in Kansas City, Missouri, yesterday when a Vietnam veteran spat tobacco juice at her as a way of letting her know he didn't so much agree with her stance against the war and felt the need to let her know it over 30 years after her anti-war actions.
It set off a bit of a media storm, especially at Fox News, and I use the word, news, loosely. Naturally, they began running footage of her Vietnam-era trip, and it seems to me that it was almost like they wanted to say,"Look, this is still so recent, look, there she is..," when the man was at fault here.
If you want to speak out against someone like an intelligent person, then do so. Spitting disgusting tobacco juice at someone at a crowded book signing really only serves to make you look like an inbred hayseed, rather than an intelligent man with a thought-out point.
I was trying to imagine the thought process behind it. Did he tell his children, "Hey, kids, Daddy's gonna go spit tobacky juice at that ther liberal Hollywood lady. Aren't you proud?"
I'm sure they'll treasure the news stories generated by their redneck father causing a scene when, if he wanted to protest her visit, he could've created a sign and stood outside, or even voiced his objections in the arena.
An excerpt from a news article:
"She is responsible for a lot of my friends, a lot of my buddies, a lot of my brothers being listed on 'the wall'," he said, referring to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, which lists 58,000 casualties from the war.
I think that's a bit strong. Since when are anti-war protesters responsible for the death of soldiers in battle? That mantle would be squarely placed on those who made the decisions to go to war, in fact the very same people that individuals like Fonda are objecting to.
We had no damn business being in Vietnam, which reminds me of something now...I wonder what that could be (maybe it'll come to me)...and maybe the vets should be pissed off at the government that sent them there rather than certain people who were trying to get them home.
She was photographed in an anti-aircraft carrier and claims she didn't mean to be, that she was merely touring the facilities with the Vietnamese. Now, I agree that this was a stupid thing to do. When we're at war, whether you agree or don't, you shouldn't try to do things that could affect troop morale or put yourself in a position in which it seems like you support the enemy, but I really do think it was a case of a ditzy actress trying to make a name for herself and was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It also happened over 30 years ago. Do we want to hold people accountable for those actions? I think if that's the case, our fearless President better start damage control over the things delving into his past can and have brought out.
I don't agree with the war in Iraq; does that mean someone who has served in the Middle East should hate me? Hardly. I fully and wholeheartedly support every single soldier that is fighting in our military today. That doesn't mean that I agree with the governmental policies that put them there, and no one can tell me that I can't think that.
That's the absolutely brilliant thing about this country. It affords the freedom to say and express yourself however you choose, except for assaulting someone, including spitting on them. It protects me; it protects Michael A. Smith of Kansas City, Missouri, should he ever decide to voice his opinions without behaving like Boss Hog; and it protects Jane Fonda.
God Bless America.

Too much information?

On my way to work this morning, I got behind a car that had a "Baby on Board" sticker. Jesus, I didn't know they still made those, to be honest. Remember how those were everywhere at one point in the late '80s/early '90s. I never really understood the point of it.
Is the idea that obviously I would be headed to plow into the car, but, oh, wait, there's a baby in there, so I'll crash into someone childless.
I tend to think that it's more to let everyone who passes your car know that you, in fact, have a baby, like, "Look at me; I've contributed to society. I have a baby."
Which leads me to people imparting information to other people that only seems to serve the purpose of validating their lives.
There's a "Seinfeld" episode, one of the really early ones, and there's a scene that is still one of my favorites.
All of the gang goes to this horrible party in Long Island, and Elaine gets stuck talking to this woman and the conversation goes like this:
Annoying woman: Mary, have you seen my fiance? Where is my fiance? My fiance; I seem to have lost my fiance. The poor baby.
Elaine: Maybe the dingo ate your baby.
And the woman looks at her like she's on drugs and gets up, presumably to find her fiance.
I work with a guy who is quite odd and has the personality of a shoe and yet, every time I happen to be outside on a smoke break and am trying to make conversation with him, he invariably mentions his fiancee. A typical exchange:
Me: The weather is nice.
Weird guy: Yeah, my fiancee said that very same thing to me this morning.
Me: Ah. Yeah, I hope it stays this way.
Weird guy: So does my fiancee. We're getting married, you know.
I don't know if he thinks I'm trying to hit on him (he would be wrong), but I feel that it's more likely that he's so clearly bizarre, he needs the world to know that he is, in fact, loved by a woman.
It's funny, when I was engaged, fiance just didn't roll off the tongue. I ended up saying something like "This is Josh, he's my boyfri...ance. And I was always mildly uncomfortable when people noticed my engagement ring and asked me when the wedding was.
Now, there could be a number of reasons for this: I had no business getting married, I knew it was a match made in hell, or, and I choose to believe this, I just don't need to broadcast details of my life in order to validate myself.
I hate meeting people in an elevator, waiting room, etc..when, within about five minutes, I know that: they're divorced, they have ungrateful children, they've recently come out of the closet, or that antibiotic cream really paid off on that rash in their nether regions..
There is some stuff that simply needs to be kept to one's self.
I suppose it's ironic that I say that as I'm writing this for a blog on the Internet. But, whatever, do as I say, not as I do.

Merrily, merrily, merrily

This morning, as I was driving to work, gripping the steering wheel with hands of rage as usual, something kind of funny happened. Even though I'm in a state of clench when I'm in traffic, I can't not sing along to the radio. So, while I'm generally annoyed, I'm also singing at the top of my lungs to "Maggie May" by Rod Stewart while simultaneously checking my cell phone to see what time it is.
And the reason that I have to do that is that the clock in my car, along with my alarm clock at home is about 35 minutes fast, so I never really know what time it is.
Everybody does that trick, right? Except for me, it no longer helps me to be on time, I just never know what time it actually is.
So, anyway, as I look up from my cell phone, there's a guy in the lane next to me laughing. At me. Because I'm singing rather animatedly. This happens quite a bit, and normally, I kind of get flustered and break eye contact, but this morning, I just laughed right back and kinda shrugged my shoulders to indicate, "Yeah, you caught me." It made the remainder of my commute a little more bearable.
Yesterday, during a particularly hideous day at work, I went outside for my 3:30ish smoke break. Now, I look forward to this for a number of reasons. The weather is awesome, and this is one of the few times I get to go outside during the day, smoking does calm me down a little (at least in my head it does) and by taking my break at 3:30, it means the hell that is my workday is almost over.
So, I'm outside, enjoying my cigarette, having just lit it, and what appeared to be a red wasp kind of just popped up in front of my face. So, I did what I've been doing since I was 5 and that consists of running away like an idiot, even though every logical piece of advice regarding things that sting you tells you to be still and just get them to go away.
So, I ran around the parking lot, yelling "Sonofabitch," that is, until I ran into the glass door, with my head, mind you, and, realizing that the stupid thing was still on my sleeve, entered the code more quickly than I ever have before, while knocking the gangster wasp off me.
Thank GOD no one saw me, and I feel sure that when I came back inside, everyone was wondering why I was that much out of breath, but I chose not to share it.
And, when I drove home, again in the lovely commute that makes me want to turn homicidal, I realized that my cell phone had been cut off, with no warning, not because I hadn't paid the bill, but because Sprint decides after an arbitrary point, that if you have a certain amount of minutes over your allotted minutes, regardless of how much money you've given them, they cut it off without telling you, even if this is your only phone, and masked bandits could kidnap you at any moment, with your cell phone being your only link to the outside world.
So, while waiting the up to four hours for my payment to go through, I had to borrow my roommate's boyfriend's phone to make calls, trying to assure people that "No, I'm not poor, I swear. Sprint just sucks."
But you know what? After sharing all of that, things could be A LOT worse, so I'm venting, but not complaining. There's a subtle difference.

What's the opposite of a health nut?

This weekend, I had the pleasure of watching "Super Size Me," a documentary by a guy named Morgan Spurlock who went on a diet of nothing but McDonald's food for an entire month.
The deal was, he ate everything on the menu at least once (even the Filet O' Fish, blech), and every time they asked him if he wanted to "super size," he did. All in all, he super-sized 9 times.
When he began, he weighed 185 and was in pretty good shape. He had 11% body fat and a cholesterol of 165. When he finished, he weighed 210, his body fat was 23% and his cholesterol was around 220. Also, every doctor that he went to told him that he had harmed his liver quite a bit by eating that much fat and sugar, even advising him to end his experiment early, but he didn't.
It took him almost 6 months to lose all of the weight. Crazy.
So, I started to think about all of the unhealthy things I do, and it's really quite sobering.
Now, I genuinely don't eat fast food that often. Every once in a while, I might get breakfast from McDonald's, but that's about it. And that's the most positive thing I can say about my health regiment.
I drink diet soda like there's nothing else in the world to drink. I am addicted to Diet Vanilla Pepsi. I used to be addicted to Mountain Dew, so that's a slight improvement, but diet drinks, while they don't contain sugar, contain aspartame, which has been linked to cancer. So, it's a question of preferring to be fat or preferring to increase your risk of cancer. Lovely choice.
As aforementioned, I smoke roughly a pack of cigarettes a day. I can't even begin to list all the adverse effects smoking has on a person. I have been smoking now for 12 years. That is crazy. I'm giving serious thought to quitting, as I am tired of being out of breath all the time and really tired of smelling like smoke. We'll see how that goes.
Now, I don't drink alcohol super often, maybe once or twice a week, but when I do, I drink too much at once. I suspect the reason my stomach seems to have regained part of its pre-Pennsylvania girth is that oh-so-tasty Pennsylvania treat, Yuengling lager. I truly love this beer, and it's starting to be a problem. Not a 12-step problem, but a "When's the baby due"? problem, and that's not good.
Let's see..I also either get way too much sleep or not enough, which has been linked to a number of health problems, and I never exercise. Oh, and I eat frozen food way too often to be considered a healthy eater.
So, I've clearly got some work cut out for myself.
Step one is to start going to the gym and eating better. I'm starting to eat a little better, but I really need to make an effort in that area, and I have GOT to go to the gym. Besides the stomach issue, I've had these jiggly areas under my arms for longer than I care to say, and you know what, I don't like 'em. I want Linda Hamilton in "Terminator 2" arms..not really, I think that would scare me, but you get the picture.
So, when I drag my lazy ass to the gym and maybe cut the I.V. of Diet Vanilla Pepsi, I'll be sure to let everyone know how the exercise and healthy living is treating me. Well, I'm probably a little ahead of myself. First, let's get through the beginnings of the exercise, and then we'll go from there.
Beefcake!!

Yea! 

Are you tough enough?

I originally wrote this as a column about a year ago. I'm sick and don't feel like writing today..enjoy.

I like to think of myself as a little country girl from Macon. Rather, that’s what everyone else likes to think of me as, and I generally cringe when reminded of the tiny 2,000 population town in which I grew up.
However, I recognize that I didn’t exactly grow up in the throes of a cosmopolitan area, and I am slowly accepting to embrace my past rather than deny it.
However, mud-riding and creek-swimming as a child and teenager aside, there are certain things even this “country girl” isn’t prepared for – a Toughman Contest, for instance.
In case you don’t know what a Toughman Contest is, I will be happy to fill you in. Apparently, there is a national Toughman Contest in which the regional winners throughout the country compete. So, each state holds a series of local Toughman Contests, and the winners from these take their illustrious spots nationally.
I had the privilege (?) to attend one of the regional contests in Meridian recently, and I have never witnessed a more surreal experience. Roughly 10 grown men entered and after receiving a required physical from the eminent Toughman-sanctioned doctor, off they went to pair off in order to beat the tar out of each other while being cheered on by a beer-fueled crowd.
Several things struck me about this event, in no particular order – The men who had registered early walked around, shirts off (a mistake in some cases) chests puffed out, listening to music ( I like to imagine it was Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman,” but I’m sure I’m mistaken) and giving withering looks to anyone who might challenge their manliness. A male thing, I guess, I really wouldn’t presume to know.
Secondly, there were small children at this thing. In one instance, I’m talking about near-newborns asleep on the chests of their fathers, who I feel sure probably could’ve stayed at home with a babysitter or a sane parent, but as a childless “singleton,” I suppose I have no say in such matters.
Finally, there were the “Ring Girls.” Now, I realize with the machismo of this event, I shouldn’t have been surprised by semi-scantily clad women proclaiming the beginning of each fresh round of torment for the loser, but these girls looked to be about 17 years old and were subject to the lasciviousness of men twice and three times their age, catcalling and hooting as though Pamela Anderson Lee was strutting across the stage. I found it a little sad, both for the catcallers and the “Ring Girls.”
In conclusion, I saw men who I assume have other, daytime jobs that don’t require them to beat down a co-worker do their best to at least leave them walking funny, and I admit it, by the end, I was cheering as well, caught up in all the testosterone and madness of it all. I guess it’s true; you can take the girl out of Macon, but you can’t take the Macon out of the girl.

Road warriors and good times

Nothing quite creates a feeling of camaraderie like a good road trip. It's typically something you do in college, but there's nothing to say you can't pick up and go anywhere with close friends well into your 40s. I certainly hope to still be doing that, maybe as an homage to "Thelma and Louise," excepting that whole over the cliff part at the end, oh, and committing murder. But, you get my point.
To date, my favorite road trip partner is by far one Amanda Meadows. She and I have been to New Orleans twice, Memphis at least twice, one of those trips spanning Memphis, Nashville and Lynchburg (to tour the Jack Daniels distillery) as well as a brief sojourn in Bucksnort, Tenn., and briefly touring the Ave Maria Grotto in Cullman, Ala.
We actually went about an hour out of our way to stop in Bucksnort because when you're looking at a map, a name like that kinda jumps out and begs to be seen. What Bucksnort actually consisted of, was a sign and a couple of gravel roads, but we have pictures, and I have a commemorative rubber keychain, so it was totally worth it.
And the reason the Ave Maria Grotto tour was so brief, was that we arrived about 10 min. before they closed and had to do some fast talking to even be let in. Then, Amanda proceeded to curse over something, and we had a spasm of laughter over my telling her, "I don't think profanity is allowed in the grotto." We still laugh about that.
And, oh, was there singing on these road trips..and flashing..on the way to New Orleans. Not to out anyone, but it wasn't me doing the flashing..
The singing, which I clearly take too seriously, had maybe hit a new silly high/low (?) when Elton John's "Candle in the Wind" came on the radio, and I cleared my throat in order to sing it properly without even realizing it, and Amanda ridiculed me for the rest of the trip.
Perhaps the greatest purchases from the Tennessee trip, other than the Taking Care of Business sunglasses she bought at the Graceland gift shop were two lighters we bought at this hole-in-the-wall gas station.
Amanda's was a small, metallic leg (awesome), but mine was truly the best. It was a white, headless woman wearing a polka-dot bikini. When you depressed the button to light it, her nipples and crotch started blinking. I named her Tammy, and when the part of her leg that made her blink fell off, it was a really sad day for me. I still can't really talk about it without getting misty.
She was quite popular when I returned to Mississippi, dancing on the table to karaoke, she made the rounds in the bar until I had to retrieve her for fear someone would run away with her. But, I digress..
There was another trip to Memphis with Amanda and me, where we were driving through Oxford, Miss., and I swear to God, we saw a road sign that said "Cats crossing" with little pictures of cats crossing the road.
Yet another trip, just to Oxford, was to visit another friend who was staying with some fraternity brothers. I think it was Homecoming weekend at the University of Mississippi. There was this awesome '80s band playing, and they started to play Rick Springfield's "Jesse's Girl," which may be the greatest song ever created.
With a little help from my friend alcohol and a little too much excitement directed toward the beginning strains of "Jesse is a friend...I know he's been a good friend of mine..," I slid down a muddy hill in front of about 200 people, and the sad part is, I didn't even care. I jumped up, covered in filth, and kept right on singing, while Amanda convulsed in laughter with my other friends who had witnessed this display.
And then, there was the shopping cart incident. Amanda, you knew I had to bring it up. Okay, we're in New Orleans at this awesome bar called Madigan's, I think, at our first Mardi Gras. We are having so much fun, it shouldn't even be legal, and we go outside to get some fresh air.
There just happens to be a grocery store across the street, replete with shopping carts. Well, in our infinite wisdom, Amanda says, "Let me push you! Get in!" Um..yeah, she pushed the shopping cart faster than it was ever meant to go, hit a pothole and I literally flew out, drink in hand and flying everywhere along with me, and landed on my ass. OY
People came out of nowhere.."Are you okay? That looked horrible. Let us buy you a drink.." So, all in all, not a terrible thing..although I had a bruise the size of Brazil on my ass the next day and a little trouble walking.
And, yes, I did end up getting her back in a very public way, but since it's not about a road trip, it's not relevant here..heheh.
Anyway, as long as Journey and Hall and Oates are played on the radio, Amanda and I will have the best road trips ever.
*sigh* Good times.
Love you, bubeleh.

Go back to the tenth circle of hell from whence you came! 

Seriously..

What is wrong with Ann Coulter's body? I dislike her independently of her freakishly thin body frame and bizarre long face, but, seriously, has anybody looked at her really closely?
They did this bit on Saturday Night Live over the weekend where Drew Barrymore portrayed her on this talk show, and they kept asking, "Seriously, what's wrong with your face"?
Thank God someone else finally put their finger on it. It's just that for her to be touted as the "sexy" conservative, that must mean there's not a hell of a lot for them to choose from these days because she looks like one of those biology skeletons wearing some skin and a blonde wig.
Sorry, Annie, but if you're going to say you hate liberals and act like a general stupid bitch in the name of selling books, I have no problem pointing out your obvious deficiencies in life as well.

Things that annoy me

Yes, it's true this post might not have some of the positivity of previous posts, but it's Monday, I left my apartment without drying my hair this morning, and I've had a headache since yesterday, so if you want to be uplifted, you should probably skip the blog today.
While most of the time I have decided to focus on what's good in the world, let's face it. I'm a pretty impatient person who is easily annoyed. I used to think that it was a terrible way to be, that I should try not to let little things get to me, etc..., and I don't react to them as badly as I used to, but I simply cannot help my high levels of annoyance.
There's really no explanation for it, other than for the most part, I come from a long line of grumpy people.
So, here we go..
1. Morning radio shows. I don't think there's anything more irritating in the morning than a group of two or three people on radio stations who have been chosen for some inexplicable reason by that station to greet morning commuters and give their oh, so intelligent and informed opinions on the day's events.
They are pretty much all people who have "faces made for radio," and somehow this little vocation that requires little to no skill has afforded them the idea that they are really, really cool. I think radio stations should just, I dunno, play music..what a novel idea.
2. Working in an office. I realize this is one of those annoyances I'm going to have to get over or just accept, and basically, I have, but I hate all of the little "Office Space"-isms of working in a place that has cubicles. My current supervisor at this temp job absolutely REFUSES to answer any calls transferred to her.
I know that people think I'm a huge liar everytime I have to say, "Oh, she's on the phone, or she's out of the office, would you like to leave her a voicemail?" Not only does she refuse to answer her phone, she refuses to meet with anyone who comes into the office for any reason. The security company wants to touch base? No, she's too busy, etc...
Which makes me wonder, what in God's name is she doing? She pawns off virtually all the work she can onto me, she's not answering calls, so what exactly is there to be so busy about?
Oh, yeah, I hate female superiors..sue me, Gloria Steinem. You work for a bitchy woman in her 40s or 50s, then get back to me about how great women are.
3. Money. I hate what it does to people, because, clearly, you can't live without it. I hate the fact that I'm terrified about potentially not having a job, obviously most principally because of money. I just signed a year lease, and I'm in no position to live a life of leisure. And I want to smack people who can and do completely squander large amounts of money while having no comprehension about how real people live.
I worked for a man, who was a millionaire, perhaps billionaire, but I doubt it. Anyway, this man had never had a real job that wasn't part of his "legacy" a day in his life, never wanted for anything, and he paid his employees so small a salary that most people had second jobs, and these were people with college degrees.
He refused to give cost of living raises, saying that they weren't necessary. Well, to someone who has no idea what the cost of living actually is, that makes perfect sense, I suppose.
I wish we could go back to a bartering system and then really see who's useful to society and who's not.
4. In no particular order: The price of gas, people who talk too loudly or too softly, gaining weight, religious television channels, being lonely, men who are sleazy, people who say "dude" way too much, people in politics who lie, poorly written books that are on bestseller lists, PARIS friggin' HILTON, being lied to, people who have not the slightest sense of irony or sarcasm, the Michael Jackson trial, insecurity, and metrosexuals.

Janie's got a gun

I hate traffic. Traffic and getting anywhere since moving to an actual city have now become the collective banes of my existence. I work roughly 11 miles away from where I live, and it takes me between 45 and 55 minutes to get to work.
I seriously don't know how there aren't more instances of road rage or, frankly, people just abandoning their cars and running away screaming into the woods, because that's frequently what I want to do.
I understand that it's a big city and there's going to be traffic, but often, for no reason at all, the traffic will just cease to move for like 20 minutes, and you think to yourself, "Oh, there must be an accident," and when it starts back up, no, there was no car on fire, no woman giving birth, people just stopped, and then it makes you want to, again, run into the woods and perhaps live a life among the trees and wood nymphs.
There are some days when the commute home doesn't bother me as much, because it kind of serves as an unwinding, where I can blast the radio and decompress before getting to my apartment, but those days are mostly few and far between.
Mostly, I alternate between putting a death grip on the steering wheel and talking to myself about what idiots other drivers are. It can't be healthy behavior. Perhaps I should get a meditation tape or something to listen to on the way home to undercut the bubbling, psychotic feeling that wells inside me more frequently lately.
And my commute, by Philadelphia standards, is not even that far. Some people commute up to 40 miles, and it makes me tired to even think about how long that takes them daily.
And it's entirely possible that I will be one of those "long commuters" sometime soon should the career gods ever smile on me and actually grant me a decent job, and I guess I will do what everyone else does and get used to it, although I don't imagine my ever really being used to being confined in my car for such a long period of time while people simultaneously whiz past me and plod along in front of me.
I thought about it the other day, and it really is just crazy. I mean, what are you gonna do? You have to go where a job is, and clearly, you have to get home, so you're just stuck in this insanity, and there's nothing you can do about it.
After my brief relationship with legions of cars, I now fully understand Michael Douglas' character in "Falling Down," who just abandoned his car and went on a crazy all-day shooting spree with people that annoyed him.
I'm also really thankful that I don't have a gun, because I would fear for the driver of the car who takes up two lanes with his left blinker on and inevitably decides to turn right after holding up traffic for a full five minutes.