We have a piper down.....a piper is down...

So, the pollen finally waylaid me. I feel a little better today, but yesterday, it felt like my head was stuffed full of pollen and mucus. (how I hate that word) Today, I mostly feel like my head is disconnected from my body, but I've been vastly more productive today than yesterday, when I slept for about 16 hours.

I'm addicted to games on my phone. At any given time, I am playing Draw Something, Words with Friends, Hanging with Friends, Scrabble, Word Scramble with Friends, and Poker. I am really, really horrid at Poker and not so great at Draw Something.

It brings back Pictionary trauma. I've really never been able to draw and after a few disastrous Pictionary games, I was smart enough to suggest another game when playing board games with a group of people. Now, my secret shame has been revealed. All my people are stick people, and pretty much all of my animals look like cats. My elephants just look like cats with giant ears and a trunk nose.

I had been playing Scrabble with random opponents, and one of them hasn't made a move in 2 days. I started to think, what if something happened to them? I mean, more likely, they just don't want to play Scrabble, but it's somewhat sobering to think that that Guest 4051 might've been hit by a bus on Wednesday, and I'll never know.

Diary of a bored white woman

I really need to stop watching the Real Housewives of Orange County...it ticks me off. One of them had a nose job under the guise of needing her sinuses fixed. Grr...but I cannot look away. It's like a spoiled train wreck.

My new plan to annoy our vampire neighbors is to make as much noise as humanly possible early in the morning. They appear to sleep until noon, which is annoying in and of itself, but the fact that at 11 p.m., I hear their demon kid running around, ugh....they are on my list. Also included on the list are Rush Limbaugh, cows, and people who drive Hummers who are not rappers or actively in a war.

I had this lofty idea that I would read and in some cases, re-read classic books. I have like 4,000 books, most of which are still at the unsold house, but I brought the ones I thought I would read to the apartment. So, "Atlas Shrugged" and "The Great Gatsby," among others, are mocking me from a bag while I read People magazine and play Draw Something on my phone. Maybe I have ADHD. I think Bloody Marys might cure that.

Besides my neighbors, dishes are my new albatross. I'm trying to be a good Martha Stewart-esque wife, making delicious and nutritious dinners every night, and that produces an entire load of dishes every day. So, in keeping with my "torture the neighbors" plan, I do them every morning, because this apartment has walls that are paper thin and every time the water runs through the dishwasher or shower, both floors can hear it...sigh....I wish Alabama had a lottery. I don't want to live near people I don't select anymore...

I also sing all day long, which is not particularly new, but for some reason, weird things like Run DMC and Snoop Dog are creeping in. What's THAT about? I think my monkey DJ needs interaction, too. He's starting to lash out.

The life of a rural housewife

I'm driving myself crazy. I have all this free time now until I have surgery in April, and I am so over myself. I've started to think bizarre things like:

1. Our neighbors are really annoying. They make a lot of noise and stay up all hours of the night, which leads me to believe they are either in abusive relationships or are making meth. It's probably neither, but they are driving me crazy.

2. When I'm done taking a shower, I have to turn on the super cold water to "refresh" my feet. Does everyone do that, or am I a freak?

3. You can only do so much with ground beef. I'm quickly running out of original dinner ideas, but it's the most I accomplish all day.

Did you know at any given time of the day, you can watch "Law and Order" and "Kitchen Nightmares?" They are on 24 hours a day. I watched an episode of "Law and Order" for the first time, and I don't get the appeal. I do like the little "ching ching" noise, though.

I'm going to use this time, starting tomorrow, to teach myself how to knit. That may end in cursing and drinking, but I'm gonna give it a try. Maybe I can open a craft booth in Boaz. I'm trying to adjust to small-town life again..I dunno how I'm faring. I don't really want to know or speak to my neighbors (also, they are are trashy), I don't know anything about guns or farming, and I feel like a huge snob every time I even try to have a conversation with anybody. Sigh....

Any more suggestions as to what I can do are welcome..I would like to avoid the padded room and jacket that ties in the front....

"Someone's boring me. I think it's me."
--Dylan Thomas

I don't do windows...among other things...

After declaring at Christmas to Smitty when wrapping presents, "I don't do wrapping paper," he found this to be quite amusing. The reason I don't do wrapping paper is because when I wrap presents, it looks like I made a 4-year-old do it. This was charming when I was younger, but I'm 34, and I cannot wrap presents. This is why I buy gift bags in bulk. That, I can do.

I told my doctor yesterday, the one who's given me 5 shots in 3 weeks, a blood test, and an MRI this morning, that I lived close enough to walk. I had to tell her this so she would give me the shots for the headache I've had for 3 weeks. I later explained to Smitty, "I could walk there...but I don't do that..walk to places." He suggested I compile a list of things I don't do for future reference. So, while he was kidding, he presented me with a challenge. Here are things I don't do:

1. Camp. Camping is dirty and involves hiking and pooping/peeing in the woods. It's either too cold or too hot, and  you're eating sloshy food cooked inside a can or shiny thing that I can't remember the name for. I don't care if there's a tent, wolves can eat through tents...also, bears. Did I mention vacating your bladder and bowels in the woods. I did camping for one guy, and it was as stupid and pointless as he was. No more camping.

2. Pushing an industrial broom or mop. I will clean the house, I will Nazi-fy the kitchen, but what I don't do, is function as a janitor. And, oh, how I appreciate these people, but I remember in school, people throwing up, the janitor putting that weird, smelly sawdust over it, and then sweeping it away. That is not a job I could ever perform.

3. Decorating. I like things that are pretty, and I can envision some of them in our house. But there are those people who have little bric-a-brac just perfectly placed, and their carpet and furniture is perfectly accented with the paint and on and on...I need to be rich enough to hire a decorator that I can tell, "We like dark wood, dark metal, and hardwood floors. Also, I like red. Go." I don't have the patience or spatial awareness to deal with decorating.

4. Planning major events. Planning my wedding was one of the suckiest things I've ever done. It may've been different had I been left alone to choose the things I wanted. I don't know, but that was the biggest, most stressful thing I've ever dealt with, my father's death not counting. My mother turned into a demon of some sort, and we had a wedding that got us married, not the wedding either of us would've chosen. We're so having a renewal of vows or something at year 20ish, that is OUR decision. I'm picturing Elvis impersonators and a big-win at the slots in Vegas, that's just me.

5. Not fighting for myself. In life, it seems that we make sacrifices and compromises and let people treat us and speak to us however they want, and we stay silent and passive and just let it happen. I vow to do this no more. No matter what my future holds, whether this MRI tells me I have a giant tumor (which I'm not expecting), I'm not "watching my life" happen anymore. I will make things happen. I've started a book, and I'm excited about it, and I feel like it could be the beginning of something great.

I miss not living with my husband, and I'm working toward doing something about that as well. The thing about that is, we love each other so much, I don't worry about our relationship, I just worry that we're missing out on our lives together, the little things that make a life. I write this on Valentine's Day, in which neither of us believe, but still wish each other, but practice every day of the year. We love each other so much that we always think Valentine's Day is so dumb, because we celebrate our relationship 365 1/4 days a year and are a little sad for those who make such a big deal of it and spoil children with it, and are sucked in by such commerciality. But, I say, whatever works for them, they should do. We have our thing; they have theirs.

I want to be Julia Sugarbaker, among other things

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just don't know where to begin

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

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

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

Don't vote for Newt Gingrich...out

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just don't understand

This morning I was listening to NPR, yep, I'm "that" girl, and they were talking about the '12 election. I have almost actively tried NOT to pay attention to politics recently, as there are other things to worry about, and I know what a nutcase I'll be when the election is actually at hand. However, it creeps in or more truthfully, I can't really not pay attention. It's in my blood.

Specifically, they were talking about the New Hampshire primary and the Iowa caucus, which are really two merely symbolic contests, more than anything. Example, four years ago, Mike Huckabee won the Iowa caucus..who? you ask..that guy who has a show on Fox that looks like your sweet grandpa. But, NH and Iowa aren't giving up their symbols anytime soon, so..what are you gonna do.

Naturally, all candidates and media are in New Hampshire and Iowa, y'know, relating to the common man, which is so condescending when you think about it. When else do they give a whit about shaking hands and talking to Sally the Teacher about her problems? Politics really is so gross. Anyway, the media is out talking to locals, straw polling, etc.., and they spoke to a stay-at-home mom who said she liked Michelle Bachman, but wouldn't vote for her because, "Well, I'm a woman, and I don't really know that we have what it takes to be President. I mean, women probably really shouldn't lead the country."

Wow. I hope this person doesn't have daughters. It will be 2012 when this election takes place. Hilary Clinton was an inch away from becoming our last President, and we're still having this debate about whether woman can be President? So, we should teach our daughters and nieces and granddaughters, "It's okay to be whatever you want...to a point." If I had ever wanted to be President, by God,  you better believe I would've run for (still may, hahah) President. Frankly, if I have a daughter and she wants to be a quarterback, I will tell her she can do whatever she puts her mind to. I really can't believe a woman would even say this. I'm guessing her self-esteem is not the greatest.

Also, what is this business with Lowe's pulling its ads from "All-American Muslim" on TLC, a show that is actually trying to show that not all American Muslims are out to jihad us. How does that teach any semblance of tolerance or willingness to learn about a culture that we really don't understand? These are the things we do, like burning a Koran, etc..that serve to demonstrate how intolerant we are of anyone that's different, that we are too ignorant to even try to get along. Sometimes, I'm amazed the Civil Rights Act was ever passed. We seem to have devolved as a country, which I find immensely terrifying.

The holidays make me a little nutcracker

And the stress/happy/family-filled season is off! Thanksgiving was almost a marathon event with having Thanksgiving dinner with one family on Thursday and with the other family on Friday. We drove in to Mississippi Thursday morning and left Mississippi Friday afternoon. I miss being in school, where you have an actual weekend. I never thought about it until I didn't live in the same vicinity as my family, and now I feel I spend holidays in the car. And Smitty has been balking lately about letting me sing on road trips, so I don't get to get all that anxiety out in musical form.

Heard at Thanksgiving by my 91-year-old grandmother:
"When people here die, they move to Oxford."
"I guess I'll see y'all at Christmas, I might be at the nursing home." (the same nursing home on whose waiting list she's been since 2002)
"I thought I was going deaf, but the volume on my phone is just turned down."

I also found a cookie that had been living on the floor of my mom's kitchen God knows how long, uncovered leftovers in the refrigerator, a block of cheddar cheese you could use as a doorstop, and ants in the dishwasher. Ah, familia.

On another note, I set off the damn security system at home yesterday when I selected "Stay" on the key fob instead of "Off." Apparently, we set a code I forgot about, and while a mean little timer ticked down 60 seconds, I punched in every combination of numbers I could recall, and then "WAH WAH WAH," so that I had to call Smitty while this was happening to have the phone immediately disconnect so he could give me at least 3 combinations before I found the right one. Emergency averted. Alarm, one. Emily, zero.

I love online shopping. Oh, dear God, how I love it. I can remember being in college and literally buying my last two presents on Christmas Eve. I don't know why, but it used to make my mom so mad when I'd come in to spend Christmas Eve with them and have to spread out all my wrapping paraphernalia because I also hadn't wrapped anything at all. Now, I'm also a huge fan of gift bags, which require no wrapping and therefore, no mockery at my crumply, 5-year-old-esque wrapping job. I always liked to think it was charming and homespun to look at my wrapping, but is decidedly less so as I'm approaching my mid-30s.

My only holiday issue now is decorating. Smitty is out of pocket working a lot this season, so decorating (or not) is left up to me. I'm thinking of only putting up a few things, like the Christmas "manuh manuh" Muppet, and the stuffed dog that barks "Jingle Bells," stockings, and the glass lighted tree that we call the Dr. Seuss tree. That way, I still feel festive, but not like I'm sitting amid a sea of the inflatable Nativity with dark thoughts surfacing due to that super-loud noise they make. Does anyone put inflatables inside their homes? I really don't like them at all, in any capacity; I think because they look cartoon-y and speak to my weird phobia of exaggerated features, but I just wondered that.

The thing is, I like the holidays, really I do, the actual fire-burning, cheer-filled, kids being excited, fudge, OH MY GOD, fudge, that warm, fuzzy feeling Christmas gives you, and the times you look at your family and remember why you didn't kill these people when you were young and are thankful that you married into a warm, embracing family...and fudge.

"A perpetual holiday is a good working definition of Hell."
George Bernard Shaw

I am a screaminger, and I love it!

So, I saw this skit the other night on "Saturday Night Live," which nearly perfectly describes me. One of the characters had lost out on a promotion, and her co-workers were taking her out to cheer her up. She stayed behind a little while to blast Adele's "Someone Like You," and wallow in self-pity for a little while. One by one as they came to find her, they wanted in on the crying action to relieve their individual stresses.

I did that frequently in high school. I had some old stand-by's, Jane's Addiction, "I Would for You," Nine Inch Nails, "Something I Can Never Have," and Harry Chapin's "Cat's in the Cradle," to name a few. I would be very sad and deep and write horrendous poetry in my journal until I felt I had suffered enough. Dramatic? Me? Noooo

Now, I am addicted to songs that I can really "sing scream" to...like Concrete Blonde's "Joey," (which is probably Smitty's least favorite song because of this),  Pat Benatar's "Hit Me with Your Best Shot," and now my new favorite, Adele's "Someone Like You."  And I'm sad because she had surgery for a throat polyp, which threatens her luminous voice. I feel sure she'll pull through. We big girls are tough. That was Amy Winehouse's problem..she needed to eat a cheeseburger, oh, and not smoke crack.

You know what I don't like, though? Incessant Christmas music. I feel angry when it takes over a radio station the week before Halloween. That's like a full 60 days of Christmas music. I like Christmas music, like the classics, like Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole, even Elvis, but some of the tripe they're playing is making Christmas music sad...and baby Jesus is crying.

Also, where did they holidays come from? Has this not been the fastest year ever? It's crazy.  I'm looking forward to just relaxing family time..or is that an oxymoron? We'll give it a try...optimism...glass half-full...we can do it. (the royal we---me) I still feel an ache for my dad during the holidays, and I know that won't go away, but he would be really mad if it cast a pall every year. So, I won't let it. There are new memories to be made, and I have in-laws that welcomed me with open arms, so I'm blessed with two familes.

No progress yet on the knitting; I think this may be a Christmas wish, as everything is crazy loco nuts right now. Smitty fractured his arm moving some stuff, so he is only partially functional. I like to think my clumsiness rubbed off, but if something had to rub off, I wish it could've been something else, like the singing for no reason. I'd enjoy that. But I'm being "nurse-y" as best I can; that's not so much an innate quality I have. I make him take his pain pill if it hurts, although I have also been calling him "gimp," which is probably not as helpful.

You know what makes me happy? Baby carrots and balsamic vinaigrette...my goodness, it's a little sliver of heaven in your mouth.

I (want to) knit, therefore I am (will be)

So, I spent a good hour in a fabric store in Tuscaloosa yesterday. My nephew is an angel in an upcoming Christmas pageant, and my sister is having a little costume made for him. God bless her, I would've just cut a hole for his head in a sheet and been done with it. However, I realized while I was in there, 1. There are some bizarre people that frequent a fabric store, and 2. My new goal in life is to learn to knit.

I've been thinking about it for a while when I heard a story on NPR about how knitting was seeing a resurgence with the downturn of the economy because people were getting back to basics and doing activities on the cheap. I'm simultaneously fascinated and terrified by the giant needles involved, but I think after I poke myself a few times, it'll be okay. It just seems like a really neat thing to know how to do.

I'm trying to figure out the best way to dip my metaphorical toe into the yarn game. I feel like a class or lessons would be helpful, but I also have a feeling I'm not going to be good at this for a while. I don't want a repeat of my Step Aerobics class from college that I ended up having to drop because someone asked me if I had inner ear trouble that affected my balance. I'm thinking a beginner's book, a starter kit, and You Tube are gonna be my keys to top-notch scarves, socks, and hats. I like the idea of being able to knit for my children, well, child, as I only plan to have one and actually have put thought into things that I make for others. Smitty says he wants some underwear, I dunno about all that, I think he was mocking me. That seems like a potential for a doodle to pop out unexpectedly.

On a completely unrelated note, I find myself looking forward to the holidays this year. I wasn't really into them last year since my dad had just passed away, but I'm actually ready for all the family time and treats and decorations. Thanksgiving is really my favorite holiday, largely due to not having to buy gifts. I detest shopping, and I like the idea of being thankful and stuffing your face with dressing and cranberry sauce. I once ate an entire can of cranberry sauce by myself. I'm not proud of that, mind you, but it's something of note.

I wish we were more thankful all year, though. I think it's nice to let other people know that you appreciate them. That's my personal goal, to let those that are important to me know how much I value their presence in my life. I've already started, in fact, but be aware, there may be a thank you headed your way. This also goes for my dogs...but they can't read or understand me, so I guess that's just an unspoken thanks.

Needing a sensory break

Some things make me really mad. Some things mildly irritate me, but there are those particular things that cause irrational, spitty-esque, Yosemite-Sam anger. These are in no particular order, just as they fly into my head, making me ponder anger management classes.

1. Discussing politics in a clearly biased fashion with no regard as to whether it's appropriate or without any regard to whom you're speaking. Yes, I worked for John Kerry. However, I can discuss politics in a rational manner. In fact, that experience taught me to do so. It's incredibly interesting to talk with intelligent people who have different views. If people weren't able to do that, very little would get done, in fact.

But when I start to talk, and someone says "Obama's a terrorist," or something similar, we really have nothing else to say. Furthermore, if you say things that indicate that a. Democrats cannot possibly be Christians, b. Obama is a Socialist who wasn't born in the United States, c. All Muslims hate us, and d. Not supporting the war means you don't support the troops...we don't actually need to talk about anything...except that I am super glad we don't agree.

2. Meddling in other people's business. It's the age of the 24-hour news cycle, Facebook, Twitter, myspace...we MUST know what is going on with our friend, our boss, our sister's friend we've never met...that's fine, but when you're using online networking sites to just spy or stalk people for your own personal judgment...you got some issues..It's generally my experience that when you're oh-so-very concerned about what other people are doing, you're either lacking something in your life or avoiding your own little area. So...STOP it...or I keeeel you!

3. Any sense of entitlement. I've come to the conclusion, working in a customer-service environment, that we are in the economic mess we're in because we're far too dumb to handle our own money. Thus begat the housing crisis, and so on and so on. We are a country who has an average of 3 vehicles per household, and SUVs, which may as well just take money as fuel, are still very, very popular.

People, including myself, have no concept of sacrifice. If you are broke, don't go on a vacation. That one, I do follow...I'm not sure what a vacation is...But I get soooo tired of hearing reasons why people can't pay their bills. We may not be rolling in money, but we're not behind on bills.  We have no concept of cutting back or budgeting properly. That's why most of our credit scores are horrible, and it's not like we're teaching great values to youngsters and little people..(children, not midgets)

Yes, eating out is nice, but you spend a ridiculous amount of money doing it. I'm actually shocked by how often people eat out when they're not making a huge amount of money either. Trust me, if I can learn to cook, anyone can learn to cook, and you literally save hundreds of dollars a month. it's crazy. Plus, you're not waiting 3 hours at Outback on a Saturday night with all the Alabama fans..or what have you..

My point is, don't say you're "broke" if you own 3 BMWs or eat out 5 times a week or took 4 vacations last year. That means you're "spoiled," and will come up with money to do what  you want. That is our whole problem as a country. "No, we can't raise taxes," umm, people, you made $22,000 last year and took on a $2,000/month mortgage..you kinda helped cause this mess. If we accepted our limits and placed ourselves within those limits, the government, too, we can get back to where we're supposed to be. Ask somebody who grew up in the Great Depression about sacrifice. They'll call the lot of us major wussies.

There, soapbox complete for now. Enjoy the beautiful weather...it's free.

A sickly gal can't catch a break...

Oh, how I love fall...football (weird, right? Thanks, Smitty), sweaters/boots, Thanksgiving, the possibility of snow and lying on a bearskin rug in front of a toasty fire..okay, that last thing may never have happened, but it could. However, this fall has kicked my allergy-shot, no immune system-having butt. Since there has been even the whisper of falling leaves, my whole head has felt like a giant bowling ball..and not the good kind, like in "The Big Lebowski," the cheap kind.

I literally slept about 30 hours this past weekend, trying to drug up and get better. All that did was make me sleepier. I take shots, daily allergy meds, stick bottles of salt water up my nose, chant to the monkey gods, leave an offering for the Mafia, nothing works definitively. As much as I hate needles, I would let Michael J. Fox ply me with them in the hopes that acupuncture might alleviate this constant inability to breathe and function.

I snore like a lumberjack now, thanks to my devious septum..that crafty little bugger is shaped like a question mark, and up to no good. Surgery is a possibility, but they can't guarantee with the litany of things I'm allergic to, that it will do any good. Therefore, no sharp objects are going up  my nose. It's against my religion.

On a completely unrelated note, are there seriously going to be like 50 GOP debates? It's like watching a high school debate team made up of the kids no one wants to hear. I think the pizza guy is going to school them all. What an odd world it is. On that subject, the Doomsday guy who said we were going to have Armaggedon in May has changed his mind to say it will be on Oct. 21. I wish people would stop trying to predict the end of the world. There is no way any earthly person will know that information; plus, it clutters up my Facebook.

How to save a life and shoes

I was afraid of my closet. The floor of my closet of what I now know was: shoes, shoes, shoes, discarded Mylar balloons, weird discarded 7 pennies, random socks, which Smitty has blamed me for months, whatever. My closet was a benign symbol, much like the malignant " Bayou Shark," I recently witnessed with Kristy Swanson on SyFy Channel. 

I cleaned the damn thing out, gimme a break. I found books  I forgot I owned , shoes I dreamed I had, and clothes that I am now too damn voluptuous to wear. I hate my stupid closet. It's like a time capsule, designed to end in tears. No, I no longer wear a size 8 in those pants that were mocking my semi-deliverance denial into cleaning out my closet altogether. I hate my closet, but I love it too, like a Jewish, guilt-ridden goy at this point......Oh, Happy Roshashanah.

I threw you out, inane Old Navy, "tank shirts," if you think you can produce a tank shirt that covers actual human breasts, give me a call...mine are spectacular...maybe you need an ad...When did Old Navy become Pedophile United? There are no clothes now that fit beyond puberty, barring a special order? My blog grows angry. FYI: I cut and dyed red my own hair. I like my weird, brassy, partially uneven red hair. What??

Things I can discuss in therapy

My mother signed up for match.com. There, I said it out loud (sort of). Let me preface this by saying, in theory, I adore the idea of my mom finding a nice, non-creepy man to date or plan canasta with or whatever the dating seniors do these days. In reality, since I found this out, I can't get the image of spending holidays with someone named Gil or Stan who has ear hair and wants me to call him 'Dad' if I'm comfortable. (I'm not and never will be)

I have friends on match.com..my God, I went out with exactly two people I met on there, both creepy and clingy and professing eternal love on the first date. I do not have a good association with these digital matchmakers. Plus, my mom's trying to date! Hello, freaking out! I still have dreams about my dad almost every night, and I really don't think he would like this. Maybe I'll ask him tonight while we're flying with the Beatles.

I know I'm being childish. I guess it's akin to your parents divorcing. Eventually they would date, but my dad's only been dead for a little over a year. Plus, if I had been married 40-something years, I dunno that I'd be jumping back into it for a while. Also, don't people freak out when their divorced parents date/marry other people? I'd say right now, yes, I acknowledge some childishness on my part, but on the flip side, this is the first notion I've heard of my mom out on the town with a "divorced male, 60 years old," so I'm allowing myself some illogical immaturity.

Enough of that, or I'll have nightmares. Speaking of sleeping, I literally slept 15 hours last night. I woke up so disoriented, I thought I was still asleep or that I had died and my heaven was my bed, which is how I like to imagine heaven...my bed on a cloud where everyone I ever wanted to see again or meet hangs out and occasionally, we have karaoke.

I also experienced a bout of unwarranted hives all morning. It's not cool to get to work and suddenly have the urge to scratch every part of your body. I would request to be moved away from someone who did that, so I had to maintain, take a Benadryl, and try not to nod off while helping customers. It was a long, fuzzy puff of a day, and somewhere in the muddle, there was Chef Boyardee ravioli, which I am partially ashamed to admit I still eat when I can't find anything else to take for lunch.


"Mommies are just big little girls."  ~Author Unknown

I do think "The Help" helps

I finished "The Help" a few days ago, but I've been sort of processing what I want to say about it. First off, let me preface this as such, I,
as perhaps the whitest girl alive, (I'm almost clear) have no idea, nor would I presume to know what it's like to be black in any era, much less
at the height of the civil rights movement. Also, I somewhat agree with the criticism that it's slightly egotistical for a white affluent female
author knows much more than I do about the subject. For that matter, she and I, as white women growing up in Mississippi, would probably struggle to find common ground.

That being said, I thought it was a good book. Certain parts made me cringe and wish I had been alive during that time, as I like to believe
I would've been "Skeeter" or someone similar, trying to spotlight the often ill treatment of the maids that kept the South running. I will say
that I think reviews like "If you only read one book let this be it," are vastly overblown. This is no "To Kill a Mockingbird." I'm sorry, but
other than the fact that they are both books set in the South, the similarities end there.

I know there's been controversy surrounding the book and the movie about perpetuating stereotypes and keeping black women in the outdated state of servitude and complacence. After hearing all of that, I guess I expected something different when I read the book. I couldn't disagree more with the notion that it portrays black people unfairly. If anything, white people come out looking like complete buffoons and frankly, uptight bitches. I would've much rather hung out with Minny and Aibileen than Hilly and Elizabeth, although Celia would've probably been a hoot, too, until she drank too much and threw up on me.

I think the thing that reviewers outside the South might not understand is that, as a Southerner, even in 2011, some of us recognize some of these characters and their behavior. If you visit Macon, MS where I grew up, you'll feel like you stepped into a time warp. People there still use "help," and I can confirm in some cases, they aren't treated much differently than they might've been in 1963. I'm not trying to malign
the modern South, but race relations in the South are still about 50 years behind race relations elsewhere, and that may be the sticking point to remember.

I found the book fairly poignant about how different people from different walks of life can come together and change things.
If no other message is taken away, take that one. If that weren't the case, where would our country be? Would Barack Hussein Obama be President? Hardly. And who was his closest competitor for the Democratic nominee? A woman. That, too, would've been unheard of, but that's a different cause for a different day.

I know we can never be colorblind, we can also never be class-blind, disability-blind, or gender-blind, to name a few. But I think that at
least the discussion of these issues is a good start towards maybe going from blind to just myopic or near-sighted. That's my hope anyway.

I can bring home the bacon and burn it up in a pan...

I am not domestic...I'll hold for those of you who know me to pick your jaws up from the floor. In my post-college apartment, I ended up throwing away dishes that had been sitting unwashed in the sink for over a month. My car once doubled as a mobile trash mobile, and when I did once thoroughly clean my apartment in anticipation of a gentleman caller, I pulled a back muscle.

Then, I met a hilarious, sexy, sweet gargantuanly tall man who found me winsome and charming, and I moved in with him to start marital bliss. Our first fight was over how the dishwasher was loaded, although in my defense, I still don't know what I did wrong. He cooked, he cleaned, he tried to ignore the pairs of shoes that were scattered in various places throughout our tiny apartment. He looked away when faced with my bedside table, that no matter where I live, ends up looking like a rat's nest (eye drops, lip balm, ponytail holder, book, phone, Jimmy Hoffa).

I would also like to preface this by saying I had NO chores growing up. Sometimes, I had to fold laundry and once I can remember raking the yard while singing a slave spiritual, but I didn't even have to make up my bed until I was in high school, and I still didn't do it every day. I was not taught cleaning skills, knowing when to clean, what to use to clean, and where to clean, that you can't just wipe around stuff, that you have to pick everything up in order to clean well. Also, was not taught cooking, unless you count heating pop tarts and boiling water so I could have my precious spaghetti. All cooking is self-taught...which is fairly evident.

I have:
1. Broken a plate by setting it on a hot stove eye
2. Set a plastic Pyrex lid on fire in the oven because I thought it was oven-safe
3. Cooked chicken that was not fully thawed, resulting in disgusting, bloody chicken that still haunts my dreams.,
4. Burned at least one pot with corn that wouldn't wash out due to not realizing you have to keep liquid in the dish to avoid this.
5. Caused countless smoke plumes, resulting in the smoke alarm going off to the point that we had to just keep it unplugged.
6. Misread cake directions and cooked a cake for the 8 x 8 size, but in a 9 x 13 pan, meaning the outside of the cake was delicious, but the inside was raw.
7. Most recently, broke our pizza stone, although I maintain I used it as directed, and maybe it was just "its time."

All that being said, I am never one to shirk away from a challenge. I am, in fact, the dish Nazi now. If you leave a dish on the counter, even if you're not done, I'll rinse it. I don't like for the kitchen to look cluttered at all, and if you don't rinse your dish, God help you.

Cooking: I will tackle you yet. I can cook, no really I can. I am in constant search of easy, simple recipes, and most of what I cook Smitty really likes. The turkey meatloaf was a big fail, and something I made called sweet onion spoon bread was like onion pudding, but other than that, I do all right. It's just a big learning curve, and I secretly want to go on a home cook reality show like "Worst Cooks in America" so I can learn some stuff. I also secretly know that would end in disaster once I got yelled at and threw a pan at Anne Crazy Hair, so I practice in anonymity.

Today, I have a pork loin in a crock pot with cream of celery soup. It's supposed to be creamy and delicious and ready in 7 hours. However, I have the number for Domino's handy.

"I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food."
--W.C. Fields.

After while, Crocodile

Today is my dad's 74th birthday. I raise a glass upward and know that he's had a day of fishing and Clint Eastwood movies and maybe only a brief nod (hopefully) to the fact that he is missed down here today. This is the second birthday of his without him here. I always think the day is going to be terribly depressing, but ends up being a day where I talk about the best memories I have of him and as long as I don't linger on it, it ultimately makes me happy to remember the kind of relationship we had.

Speaking of fishing, he taught me how to fish. I had my own rod and reel, in fact. I don't know how many afternoons were spent with him at various "fishing holes" in Noxubee County, in mud with bugs and heat and stinky fish water, casting and re-casting my line. I mention the conditions, because I cannot imagine doing that now, although fishing would still be fun maybe in a boat, but those were some of the most enjoyable memories I have. There's a picture he had on his bedroom mirror until he died, of my sister and I, in matching visors (oh, yeah....), and she's holding up either a fish or string of fish while I pose with my hip stuck out and my hand on top, like "America's Top Model....and Fishing." 

He also taught my sister and me how to shoot on some of those trips. I remember thinking how incredibly cool it was to shoot a gun, and frankly, my sister was like a secret government sniper. She loved it and was a really good shot, and I mention this because when I think about my sister, sharpshooter is not the exact image that leaps to mind. Smitty has a really hard time picturing this, as I freak out about the guns he has in our house, but that has more to do with being terrified that one's going to go off accidentally and shoot one of our feet off...sorry, I have my peccadilloes. They include, but are not limited to: guns, bugs, sharks, cows, and hearing fingernails scratch on anything.

When I reminded Smitty this morning that today would've been my dad's birthday, he let me ramble about different things growing up, and all this stuff came to mind...:

1. Almost every time he left to go anywhere, probably until I was in my 20's, we had this exchange. "See you later, Alligator," "After while, Crocodile," "See you soon, you big Baboon," which is one of those things that is so silly at the time, but as I write this, is making me cry and want to hear his voice, which perpetually smiled.

2. Even when he was sick, really sick, including before he died, he worried about me. I had a toothache around the time he died that I totally blew off and turned out to be nothing, but he asked me every day, "Did you go to the dentist?"

3. He taught me to appreciate all kinds of pasta, particularly spaghetti, and at age 10, I could describe and demonstrate "al dente" noodles, explain that it literally means "to the teeth," and tell you that the flag of Italy is red, white and green, for the tomato sauce, the noodles, and the bell peppers. FYI, we are not Italian, have no Italian roots of which I'm aware, but much like the fact that he could eat his weight in shrimp, he could do the same with noodles. I got that from him, still will pretty much eat only spaghetti if Smitty is out of town and be perfectly content, and I think of him every single time I drop a noodle into boiling water.

4. He literally told the dumbest jokes in the history of the world. In his defense, he picked these up from friends and colleagues, but, wow...example...

"If cloning scientists work with figure skaters Dorothy Hammil or Nancy Kerrigen, the result will be an ice queen clone."

 "Dyslexics of the world, untie!"

When I heard this, my favorite joke, and I told him, I think he was actually proud...


"So this pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel in his pants. Confused, the bartender asks "Hey bud, why do you have a steering wheel in your pants?"
"I don't know" the pirate says, "but it's driving me nuts!"

So I've had my cathartic cry for the day, I've laughed remembering when I told Smitty about the fishing trip he and I took where he had to shoo the cows away from the truck (only in the South) before I would even remotely get close..(see above irrational cow fear), smiled contentedly telling Smitty how I always felt he was proud of me no matter what I did, mainly because I so resembled him, but how that does a lot of good for a child's, or adult's, for that matter, self-esteem. Thank God for that. I can still feel like I'm on a completely random path and the faith and confidence he had in me sustains me. And I can end today, a bittersweet day, not feeling sad, but blessed to have these memories and many more that remind me of how important he will always be to me.

This was our favorite scene from a movie to quote, ever....:
"You know, it was kinda like old squares in the battle like you see in the calendar named "The Battle of Waterloo" and the idea was: shark comes to the nearest man, that man he starts poundin' and hollerin' and screamin' and sometimes the shark will go away... but sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark he looks right into ya. Right into your eyes. And, you know, the thing about a shark... he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya, doesn't seem to be living... until he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'."

"Jaws," the scene with Robert Shaw, Roy Scheider, and Richard Dreyfuss, where they're in the boat, hunting the shark and sharing drinks and war stories.

Blue roses...google Tennessee Williams, for God's sake

No one really likes to hear about people being sick. Other than, "Oh my God, you have cancer?" and "You broke your ankle by tripping over a handicapped ramp?" (I did, indeed...a good story and a worthy explanation of why I don't wear any manner of platform shoes or spiky heels) I love my mother, but when I was old enough to understand what "feeling bad" meant...a. she was going through menopause ( I was a change of life baby), hurt for no apparent reason, and cried at me, like projectile crying, for my being born.... and b. my dad took great pride in taking care of us when we were sick. He brought us juice, soup, took our temperatures, gave the OK for us to nap if we felt like crap, and I follow this principle today whether I feel like crap or not...naps cure a great deal of things. Also, Smitty doesn't understand why I equate fever with grave illness...I thought everyone had mercury thermometers that you checked thrice daily when you were sick...apparently, I was mistaken.

I want to explain this: I am allergic to 24 of the 25 things for which allergists test you. I cannot use soap, body wash, gel, etc...or anything with perfume. I use Dove Unscented soap, which almost makes me cry, because I used to be a HUGE fan of all manner of scented body wash. I was a Bath/Body Works junkie, which I now pour into shampoo/conditioner because thus far, there has been no link between allergies and my hair products. I currently own 6 shampoos and 5 conditioners, just in my shower...I have a back-up 2 shampoos and 3 conditioners as well. It's sick..I'm the same way with lip balm, because so far, I'm not allergic to any lip balm, so I have like 7 back-ups.

My point is, and I require no self-pity whatsoever, but if you don't have these bizarre anomalies, you couldn't possibly understand. I, personally, would've called myself the "snotty kid on the playground," except I wasn't...at ALL, until I moved to Birmingham and enveloped their extreme brand of pollution. So, I take Allegra every day, and I take Nasonex every day, and I take 2 allergy shots every 5 days, and even doing all that, because my septum, the bone that separates your nasal cavities, is shaped like a question mark, I can still get sick as a dog in the middle of spring, summer, fall, or winter, it doesn't matter.

And, oh my God, how I try to be positive about it. I do not want to be a sickly person, but here's what happened recently...I went outside...just walked outside to look at the dogs, just to look, because the last time I played with them, because I love them and want to pet them, an immediate hive patch formed on my chest, and then my face got hot, and when I say hot, I mean, I looked in the mirror and my face looked and felt like I had spent an entire day on the beach with no SPF, and it didn't go away until I went to the doctor and had two shots and 2 prescriptions written for possible allergy and for possible rosacea.

So, I miss work for a few days because my face is the color of a cherry tomato, plus swollen to about its size + 1/4, which looks vaguely like Eric Stolz from "Mask." And when you try to explain to normal people who have normal immune systems and don't understand this sort of thing, I feel like they think I'm just kinda making stuff up. Look, until 6 years or so ago, I was never, ever like this. My only suggestion is that I am far too delicate for pollution...that's what triggered it. It's been a complete nightmare since I moved here...I blame it on marriage (not really...I fully blame it on Alabama, specifically Birmingham and Alabama fans)

But, look. I am completely serious. I can walk outside and have a weird hive thing happen. I can come into contact with chemicals and have a weird hive thing happen. I can have a doctor who won't listen to me prescribe a medication which will not only cause a weird hive thing, but will also cause a full facial swollen thing. I am not lazy, I want to work, I want to do work that is even with my level of intelligence, in fact, I am a remarkably hard worker with little tolerance for stupidity, but it seems sometimes that I am an island...like John Donne or Jon Bon Jovi...take your pick.

I would just like to say that Smitty and I appreciate your prayers and good thoughts to fling us upon the universe wherever He may find us useful, and I feel for one or more of us, that ship has sailed. I just don't think life should be this hard. And I know, before you match your strife to mine, which I also find a bit distasteful, we all have hardships. We all have physical issues and emotional issues and et cetera, et cetera, but I find the best thing we can do when confronted with others' issues is convey empathy, rather than engage in a one-up-man-ship with one another.

I will be the first to admit how I am wildly self-involved, but when it comes to those I care about, I will listen to you all day long, and I will not once say, "Oh, you went through that? You don't even know..listen to this...," because that makes things only about you and it belittles the feelings of those you claim to care about. I grew up with this, and if I ever display this behavior, you have my personal permission to call me on it. Life is not about any one person, and if you go through it only caring about yourself and your experiences, you've pretty much succeeded at only moving your purposes forward in life.

As a sickly, snotty allergic, ridiculous person, I don't ask at all, even remotely, for special treatment. I just ask that you understand or try to understand that I'm not just making shit up, I get sick easily, and I work and function through 75% of that, but the other portion, is where I feel like Death is daring me to get up in the morning because I have a 101 fever or because, recently, my face looked like Elephant Tomato Girl..I'm thinking of having T-shirts made. I find it ridiculous no one can say definitively that you're allergic to something or you have a freaky(new)  incessant skin condition. I don't feel that bad in admitting none of this concerned me terribly until it got to my face. As I sit here, I didn't wear make-up to work today, my face feels like it's on fire, and if you hold your hand an inch away, you'll get a contact sunburn.

I do not at all ask for self-pity. I'm not dying, there is nothing life-threatening wrong with me, but I frequently feel awful. I try to make plans in advance, and the day of, I feel horrible, and I don't want to be a complete drag, so I cancel plans. Under NO circumstances, do I want to talk about what's wrong with me, so I make stuff up, which means if you really like me, we haven't hung out in forever. But no more....my new little pledge to myself is to engage with more people and at least let them know that it's not them....it's genuinely me..but I will change that...

"Smitty is bullying me into bed; he took away my wine. That was unnecessary.
If you're my friend, you know that I come from a place of love. I can't possibly police from where your love comes. If you're feeling guilty, you're free to speak to me about this hole I know holds you captive. Don't threaten me. I've cut your co-dependence off before, and I won't hesitate to do it again. You hold nothing over me, mother, ex-mother, and whatever you are now....severing this tie does nothing for your current position. Never forget that."

me, 2011