Friday, March 30, 2007

Another Me-Me Quiz!

All My Exes...

1. Your name?

2. Would you kiss your Ex one last time if you had a chance to?!
Some of them, sure. I dated a lot of good kissers!

3. How many boyfriends have told you they loved you?

4. Have you ever thought that you were going to marry that person?
Twice, but only seriously once.

5. Are you crushing on someone?
What kind of question is that for a married woman? *whistles and looks away*

6. Have you ever liked someone so much that it hurt?

7. Have you ever made a boyfriend or girlfriend cry?
I don't think so. It'd be pretty funny if I did, though.

8. Are you happier single or in a relationship?
I always try to be happy either way, but it is nicer to have someone to snuggle with.

9. Have you ever told someone you loved them and didn't mean it?
Only once, and I'm still rather ashamed.

10. Have you ever had your heart broken?
Oh, yeah.

11. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
I don't think any of my exes were attached enough to be heartbroken over me.

12. Think any of your ex's feel the same?
Who knows? I doubt they think of me much.

13. Do you believe that you are a good girlfriend?
I can be, but I can also be an unholy terror.

14. Have you dated people who were not good to you?
Yes. A borderline pedophile, an emotionally abusive jerk, an unbalanced psychopath and a liar. Not necessarily in that order. Bastards.

15. Have you been in an abusive relationship?
Sort of. I punched Jason Harris in the head. . . twice. Does it count if it were me who was abusive and if they really deserved it?

16. Have you dated someone older than you?
I've always dated older guys.

17. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?
Maybe not everyone, but it's OK sometimes.

18. Do you Believe in love at first sight?:

19. Do you want to get married?
I don't know. It's an awful big commitment.

20. Do you believe in ex's being best friends?
Yes! I'm very close to some of my exes.

21. Does heart break really feel as bad as its said to be?

23. Would you date one of your best male friends?
If I were single, or at least really sneaky, yes.

24. Have any of your ex's called you by a nickname after the breakup?
Jason still calls me "Sweetie Darlin' Head" when we see each other. I'm sure some of them still refer to me as "Bitch."

25. Do you regret any of your relationships?
Don't we all?

26. Who is an ex you think about most often?
I think about all of them from time to time, but probably Kenny, Jason and Tadd the most.

Thursday, March 29, 2007


1) For those of you who are interested, I did get my bag back. It got back to me last Saturday night at 7:45. I'm so glad it wasn't lost for good, although I was looking forward to sticking it to U.S. Airlines and getting some money from them. I think what happened was that it was searched and then misplaced. When I opened it, there was a card in there that said they had opened my bag. I wonder if it had the same chemical on it as my shoes.

2) I've got another month before my finals. One more month. One loooooooooong last month.

3) Sara is out of the hospital for now, according to her dad. However, she is sick with a cold. BOO GERMS! I have fully taken advantage of the chocolate while she's been out, but I will stop again if she goes back in. Let's all hope she doesn't go back in!

4) I've started going to a tanning bed again. I know, I know...I said I'd never do that again. However, last Sunday I wore a pair of cropped pants and my legs practically glowed in the dark. Steve put his hand next to my ankle and I swear, compared to me he looked Middle Eastern, and he's not exactly that tanned. So now I'm slightly burnt and my back itches like crazy. I do have one problem, though. I have a perfect line in the middle of my torso that will not tan. It also isn't burned. It's weird. I look like a chimera! Oh well, I suppose that just means no bikini for me this summer. (and the world breathes a sigh of relief.)

5) I've only made 67 cranes, so I need to get busy. Oy.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Why do most of my embarrassing moments include me being partially nude in a public place?

Yesterday as I was leaving school, I realized I needed to run by Wal-Mart to buy some paint to finish up a sign I had been working on. As I was walking through the parking lot, I realized that I felt a breeze. I looked down and my shirt was unbuttoned almost to my belly-button! EEEEK!

I fixed my shirt and decided right then and there that I would be buying a tank top to wear underneath my shirt for the rest of the day! I got the tank top and returned to work, and as I was walking through the parking lot, I realized that my shirt was unbuttoned again! Once again I buttoned it and hurried in to put on the tank top. Before I made it to the door, the shirt was open again! What the? I had to run into the nearest restroom and put on the tank top before I ended up embarrassing myself. I couldn't figure out why I was having this problem, because I had worn it before and didn't flash anyone!

I found out by accident what was causing it. I have a new purse that has a long strap and I was wearing it across my chest to keep my hands free. Apparently, every time I reached into it for something, it was pushing the buttons through the button holes.


After all of the mess it took for me to get there, the actual visit was great! I mean, of course Sara was sick most of the time I was there, which sucked, but I enjoyed my visit. I told her that I knew I was ugly, but she didn’t have to throw up every time she saw me. : ) Hmmmm, now that I think of it, she didn’t disagree with me. Evil heifer!

Monday I spent the day with her watching TV, except when her mom took me to Target to buy some clothes. I was literally wearing my pajamas because that was the only other clothes I had since my bag went AWOL. We rode across town on the elevated train and after Target we went to the mall, which the Target cashier swore was close (but she lied), and Gail and I hauled our giant shopping bags through a very posh shopping place. We were hot and thirsty by the time we made it to the restaurant we were looking for. It was an Italian place with very wonderful food. After that we stopped by The Cheesecake Factory and got some goodies to take back to Sara and went back to the Transplant House. I wanted to take a shower and change into some of the clothes I had bought so that I wouldn’t still be in my pajamas, and I met Gail and Sara in the hospital room. Sara introduced me to the wonderful world of “Housewives of Orange County” and “The Hills” as well as some weird show about a guy who travels all over the world and eats disgusting food. We had to turn that last one off because even though Sara is the one who is constantly nauseated, I am the one who almost threw up. The man ate ants and testicles, for the love of Pete! While at Target, I went to the dollar section and got all three of us some of those headbands with the ears on them that little kids wear at Easter. I picked out lamb ears and Sara and I wore ours while we sat and watched TV. Sara forgot she had hers on, so when the docs and nurses came in and out, we got some strange looks. I could have reminded her she was wearing a wooly headband with ears on it, but I didn’t. I got a kick out of the looks. The funny thing was, no one ever mentioned them. They came in, asked how she was, and looked from her to me, me to her, and then they would leave. I found out the next day she had so completely forgotten she was wearing them that she slept in them! Heeheehee.

Tuesday was about the same, but Sara felt much more sick. I felt bad that I couldn’t do anything to help, but there was really nothing that could be done on my part without cracking her on the back of the head to knock her unconscious. I didn’t think she’d appreciate that anyways. In the middle of the afternoon I got a blinding headache, one of those that make me sick to my stomach, and I had to go back to the transplant house and lie down before Sara and I started doing Dueling Barf-o’s. Luckily I caught it before it got that far and slept for a couple of hours. When I went back, Sara had been to get scanned and once she came back, all three of us spent the next few hours talking and I got to tell Gail about the silly things Sara had done in High School. We talked until pretty late, and as far as I could tell, we all had a good time.

Wednesday when we went back to the hospital, Sara had been sick in the night and still felt fairly terrible. My ride called to say they were in the neighborhood already, and since I knew Sara was exhausted and probably completely tired of me by then, I said my goodbyes and went back to the airport. I checked about my bags again (still no dice) and then began my trip home. Everything went well from there on, the only bad thing being that the lady next to me dropped her carry on bag on my head while trying to get her cell phone out, but even that wasn’t a big deal.

I made it home by about 9:45 that night, Huntsville time, and couldn’t wait to get a big hug from Steve when he met me at the baggage claim.

Once again, the joke was on me.

My plane landed early, my husband was late. I can’t really blame him for thinking that I’d be later than planned after everything the airline had put me through. I was kind of pitiful sitting in the empty baggage claim area waiting for him, though. He finally got there, but I didn’t get a hug. I swear, one of these days I am going to have someone be excited to see me after I get off of a plane! It doesn’t even have to be Steve anymore! I give up!

He just took me home and after I had eaten dinner, I slept like the dead.

My journey had ended.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007


You know, traveling alone isn’t so bad. I mean, I don’t think I would want to go on all my vacations alone, but there is something to be said about not having to worry about anyone else while you explore to your heart’s content. No offense to anyone I’ve ever traveled with, but I like to look at stuff and some of you don’t, so it was nice to be on my own this time, problems or not…well, most of the time.

When the idea was first broached that I fly to Florida sans companion, I was terrified. Literally, I grew up so sheltered and protected that the first time I ever drove to Birmingham alone, I was 22 and my mom STILL had kittens about it. She had me convinced that I was going to be murdered and buried in a shallow grave before I could get home. Trust me, I love my mom, but the woman has pretty much stayed in a 20 mile radius of where she grew up, so I think the idea of me being outside of that comfort zone scares her silly.

But I digress.

I had a few weeks to acclimatize myself to the idea of flying to strange places alone, and I had gotten used to the idea in a “Country Mouse Visits the City” kind of way. When the whole debacle happened and I was stuck in Charlotte, I had a feeling that I was going to have a brief, but powerful, panic attack that would probably end up with me chasing a plane down the runway, begging it to let me onboard so I could go home. However, I had hit “Kill Me” mode, and I realized that if I was going to snap out of the country mouse state of mind, I was going to have to be an adult. Also, I was too tired to muster up the strength to have a meltdown.

As I lay in the floor of the airport, which was all I could do at the time, I tried to keep busy. I was lucky that I had my iPod and my busy box. As I’ve said many times, I don’t have idle hands, so I had brought a box in my carry on that contained tools for embroidery, crochet, and drawing. In the stretch of 7 hours I spent on that floor, I went through them all. I also just lay there and tried not to go to sleep. That was the worst part, being so tired and not feeling comfortable going to sleep. I felt that way partly because I was alone and didn’t want anyone to steal my purse while I was sleeping and partly because I waved at some random guy without thinking (Shut up, I’m friendly) and he kept walking by and staring at me. I didn’t want to wake up later and find that guy spooning me. It was an uphill battle, but I only dozed and jerked awake, never fell fully asleep. As I was lying against a concrete wall that seemed to be sucking the cold out of the air outside, I was freezing. I already had on my jacket, and unless I wanted to try and crochet myself a blanket, I was boned. Well, I thought I was. I had been eyeing this jacket that was on one of the chairs not far away from myself since I sat down. Since I watched it for at least two hours and no one came and got it, I stitched it and covered up my legs with it. I can’t believe I did that, because who knows where that thing had been! I was desperate.

As morning rose and the other passengers started trickling in, I saw some of them with coffee. Ah, coffee, sweet caffeine. I finally got up to stretch my cramped body and try to find the source of the coffee. I found it in one of the central food courts at a Starbucks that had opened. It was blissful. Armed with all of my baggage, a scone and a macchiato, I went back to my coveted corner and indulged in my breakfast. At this point, a lot of other people began to show up for the flight. I was terribly afraid that I would not get on the flight for a while. Some of the complainers of the night before came back and I swear, a good night’s sleep hadn’t helped any of them. There was one specific lady who was really irritating. She was saying nasty things about the situation and laughing like she was only kidding, but no one bought it. She wouldn’t shut up! We finally got ready to board and they let me on! Woo-HOO!

The flight was unremarkable in the sense that nothing bad happened. I made it to Ft. Lauderdale and called Steve to let him know I was there and on my way to get my luggage. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The joke was on me.
Apparently, the airline had lost my bag. LOST MY BAG!!!!!!! It was nowhere to be found. Oh, and I looked. The baggage claim area was packed with suitcases that had made it to this destination before their owners. Yet in this mélange of bags, mine was not there. I arrived at 9:45 am, and I looked until about 12:00 noon. I was thisclose to really losing my cool at this point. After all I had been through, I had finally reached my limit. One lady I didn’t know saw me on the verge of a freak out and helped me look, but to no avail. The kindness of that stranger calmed me enough to go over to the baggage claim office and file a report. Probably the only other reason I didn’t completely lose my composure was that the poor guy behind the counter looked chewed up and spit out, so I had pity on him. I had to leave that airport without my clothes, without my toothpaste and almost without my dignity. I finally just gave up my search and went outside to catch the shuttle service to Miami. It wasn’t a van as I had thought, but a very plush town car. I was stuffed in between two other ladies and we set off. The driver dropped off both of the other passengers and then we set off to the medical district. He spent the whole drive over there complaining that black people never tipped him. The dude was Cuban, so it struck me as funny that a man who was probably in our country illegally had the nerve to be racist. He did tell me a funny story about a professional basketball player he had once taken to a palatial estate in Miami. He said the man was a well-dressed black man who was extremely rude to him and snapped at him when the driver tried to be nice to him. When he, and his expensive luggage, were dropped off at this huge house, the passenger stiffed him on the tip. When he got back to his station, the driver told his co-workers about what had happened, and so they looked to see who his passenger was and they all said he was notorious for not tipping and being rude. As he put it, they all call the basketball player “Scotty Pippin-No Tippin’.”

Mr. Cuban car driver wasn’t familiar with the medical area so it took us a few minutes to find the address that Sara’s mom had given me. He dropped me and my luggage off, and I walked inside. I walked inside and found out that I was in the wrong hospital. Oy Vey.
So I set off to find the right hospital and walked the streets of Miami for a good 1/2 an hour before I found the right one. It was only later that I found out that I was only a five minute walk away from where I was supposed to be. I finally found Gail, Sara’s mom, and she took me upstairs to see Sara. Since Sara had no clue I was coming, she asked her mom where she had been and Gail told her there was a delivery and she waved me in.

I can honestly say Sara was surprised. She saw me, blinked and said “HOLY (expletive deleted)!” It was totally worth everything that had happened to see her face. We talked and all of us walked over to the Dunkin Donuts to get a iced coffee before Gail and I returned to the Transplant House to sleep. There are few times in my life where I have slept as deeply as I did that night.

I had made it to Miami, I saw my friend, and all was right with the world.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

SATURDAY March 17th: Huntsville and Charlotte Airports.

Before I begin, I would just like to say, U.S. Airlines sucks.
I wish that I could write "U.S. Airlines Sucks" in every known language so that anyone around the world who looked up that airline would find this page and read about my adventure so they could run screaming in the other direction.

The most accepted definition of Murphy's Law is "If it can go wrong, it will go wrong." Kudos to this Murphy guy for hitting that nail on the head.

It was obvious early on that something was going to go wrong. I should have realized that my traveling experience wasn't going to go well when they all but gave me a cavity search at the security gate. You think I'm kidding, don't you?

Steve dropped me off in the line into the security area. We said our goodbyes and I proceeded to remove the 1 quart plastic bag with the few toiletries that I packed in my carry on (none over 3 ounces, of course) from my bag, remove my shoes, remove my jacket and placed everything into the plastic bin so that it could be x-rayed. As I walked through the metal detector, I set it off. The security lady made me take off both my belt and my watch, which enabled me to get through the detector without setting it off again. As I got to the end of the conveyor belt though, I realized that none of my stuff had come through yet. So there I was, standing there holding my pants up, shoeless, and feeling slightly vulnerable. I stood there thinking that they would pass my things over to me, but no. They had taken my things to a separate table and pulled out the little sniffer wand thing and proceeded to wave it over my shoes. The security guard asked what I did for a living, and I thought that she was asking as a bit of small talk, so I told her I was a graphic artist. Apparently that wasn't the right kind of answer because she then turned to me and said "So you wouldn't work with chemicals or anything, right?"

Oh, Crap.

I told her that I did occasionally use cleaners and stuff and I asked her what she found on my shoes. She named some complicated chemical that I had never heard of and then told me she was then going to search my bag. She searched through it and apparently didn't find anything dangerous. By this point, my watch, belt and shoes had been returned and I was in the process of redressing when she asked me to come there. I stood up, my belt literally half on and hanging out of my belt loops, and she said "Spread 'em." Whahuh? So, I held out my arms and she PATTED ME DOWN. Patted me down, people! I was too confused to object, so I submitted to the patting. Now, either she didn't feel anything concealed on my person, or she figured that anyone who is going to giggle while getting searched can't be all dangerous (shut up, I'm ticklish) because she then smiled and said I could go on. I had literally been inside the gate for 5 minutes and I had already been suspected of building bombs and concealing weapons. Nice. Once I got my things together, though, I went on to my terminal.

My flight was originally supposed to leave at 4:10 pm, but the nice computer lady from Orbitz called me and told me that the flight had been delayed. Was that going to affect my connecting flight? She said no. So I sat in the terminal for what seemed like five days as the flight times kept getting changed and pushed back over and over. It happened often enough to where I had to change my ring tone on my cell phone, because the "Super Mario Brother's" theme song was starting to get embarrassing. I met a nice Mormon woman who was traveling out to Utah to meet her Internet boyfriend for the first time and a spastic diabetic lady who kept reminding us that she was diabetic. Soon, though, I just sat there and listened to my iPod until they FINALLY called us for our flight. It was about 6:45 pm or so before we actually took off, and we arrived in Charlotte, NC at 8:30 EST. Well, I take that back, we actually probably landed at 8:00, but I think we taxied up the runway for another 1/2 hour. Once we got inside, I ran to the monitors that tell you if your flight is on time or not. Apparently, my connecting flight had been postponed as well, so I had three minutes or so to make it to my gate. So I ran.

Now, as you all know, I don't run. You could place Johnny Depp at the far end of the airport sporting a chocolate thong, and all you'd normally get out of me is a swift mosey. However, because I didn't want to cause trouble with my plans, I ran. I ran like OJ Simpson in that old commercial. Might I just add that Charlotte is a freaking large airport. By the time I found my terminal, there was no one there except the lady at the counter. I asked, in between gasping breaths and panting, if I was too late. Well, the plane had just left.


The lady was Russian, or Eastern European, and had an accent I could barely understand, so it took me a couple of minutes to understand what she meant. When I asked her if there was another flight, she said that the computers were down and she couldn't tell me anything. I smiled, while silently plotting her death, and went back to the monitors to find another gate leaving for Ft. Lauderdale.

I finally found one and once again ran across the world to get to it. I finally got there and I stood in a line that rapidly got longer and longer. It was already three people across and deep enough so that I wasn't even in the terminal, but out in the walkway between them. The Zoloft had kicked in, so I wasn't freaking out, but everyone else was. Apparently the planes from Buffalo, NY wouldn't be able to make their original connections, so everyone was routed to Charlotte, NC. I heard more than one person say that the folks in Buffalo had told them that they were sure to get a flight out of Charlotte, but that was not true! I found out later that there were more than 100,000 U.S. Airline passengers across the country that got stranded because of the weather in New England. I was one of them. The line didn't move for three hours. Three. Hours. No, I don't think you understand. THREE. HOURS. The line didn't move an inch.

While standing in this line I met a very nice family from Canada (they really do say "eh") and I also got to hear a lot of people complain. I felt bad for most of them because they were supposed to have been in Ft. Lauderdale to go on cruises and things like that. The people in my line all started saying what they were missing by being stuck in the line. In fact, they really started getting on my nerves. I heard "I'm supposed to be in Florida to catch my ship!" so many times that I finally said "Well, I have a friend who just had a transplant and is very sick. I'm trying to get down there to see her." There was a collective "oooooooh" and everyone shut up for a while. I'm not proud that I had to use Sara's condition to my advantage, but at least it worked.

The line finally started to move and after about 20 minutes, I got to the counter to hear the lady say "I'm sorry, but all of our stand by spots have been taken. We can't fit you on the list." Well, it was either scream and rip out her hair, or deal. I chose to deal. I finally got her to tell me the next flight leaving for Ft. Lauderdale, and that just so happened to be at 7:45 the next morning. Wow. So I walked off to find the terminal where it would leave from and get on the stand by list. Granted, I could have had that lady put me on the list, but I wasn't quite sure I still wouldn't jump across the counter and go nuts on her.

At the new line, I only had to wait for a few minutes while one very irate passenger accused the poor customer service lady of lying to him and then I was placed on the stand by list. At this point, I was exhausted, I felt dirty, and I was hungry. Unfortunately, there were no hotels available and none of the little shops were open anymore. I had no place else to go except over into the corner of the terminal, where I pretty much curled up in the fetal position and lay in the floor shivering. It was about midnight in the rapidly emptying Charlotte airport, and I was alone.

Thursday, March 22, 2007


I'm exhausted and missing more than half of my underwear.

Yeah, I know. That's a heck of a way to begin an entry on my blog, but it's true.

You'd think that with an opening like that, I must have had a wild start to my spring break, but I assure you, it isn't what you think.

For those of you who didn't already know, I just returned yesterday from a trip to Miami to visit my friend Sara, who is recovering from her multi-visceral transplant. I probably would have mentioned my trip before now, but we were keeping it a surprise. I'm really quite proud of the fact that I didn't slip up and say anything, because I am notorious for spilling secrets on accident. Since Sara reads this (Hey, Sara!), I had to constantly remind myself not to allude to the fact that I was going to be flying down to see her! So, if you've wondered where I've been for the past few days, I've been down in South Florida, partying with the locals! : )

I want to tell you about my trip, which involves adventure, intrigue, lust, anger, and a level of bad luck that would have caused most people to jump off of the roof. I want to tell you, and I will, but I still have a bad case of jet lag and I don't seem to be able to stay awake for long periods of time. Over the next day or so, I will tell you my story.

Stay Tuned.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Off Leash, a blog for those of us who want to know what dogs are thinking.

Plus, it's pretty frakin' funny!

Thursday, March 15, 2007

I'd like to formally apologize to my neighbors for the language their children no doubt picked up from me today. I'm sure that they heard the things I said, even through the walls of my bedroom, and I hope that with in-depth therapy, those phrases will be wiped from their impressionable little minds in no time.

See, what happened was, I bought a new pair of buddy shoes, you know...pseudo-Keds. Those ubiquitous canvas low toppers that last about a summer before the upper part rips freely from the sole. Wal-Mart and Target are great places to get these.

But I digress.

I bought these shoes because I needed some comfortable, slip-on sneakers that I could wear to work. Well, one thing I forgot about buddy shoes is the fact that when one has been wearing boots pretty much all winter, plus the fact that your feet are all tender and soft from not being exposed to the elements, the heels of these fraking shoes will eat the back of your feet alive if you don't wear socks with them before they are broken in. Well, guess what I did. Indeed, I -sockless and clueless- wore these cute little shoes to work and school today. Only, about two ours in, I realized that my heels were flaming balls of agony. No problem, I'll just pop over to Wal-Mart and get some kind of bandage or cushion thingie to help me out.

Well, I can't find exactly what I'm looking for, but I found this stuff called Mole-Skin, which appeared to be a soft, adhesive stuff used for the problem that I was having. So I get to work, and slap some of this stuff on both my heels and the inside backs of my shoes! Brilliant! Worked like a charm! However, I still had sore feet because of the blister and friction burns on my heels from earlier. When I came home and removed the shoes, I went to remove the Mole-Skin that was plastered over my heels. My left foot was fine. I had one blister, but I had bandaged it and then put the other stuff over that. My right foot, however, was another story. As I pulled on the adhesive, I found that it wouldn't come off. Plus, it hurt. It hurt a lot. So I tried pulling in the opposite direction. Still, it hurt. So I braced myself and did the patented "Rip-Off-The-Band Aid" move. Baaaaaaaaaaaaaad Mistake. Apparently, at some point between when I had put the Mole-Skin on my heel and when I got home, two new blisters formed underneath. When I ripped it off, I also ripped off two largish pieces of my own flesh in the process. I haven't heard things like that ever come out of my mouth, ever.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go get into the fetal position in the living room and whine over my mangled feet.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

I don't understand art.

OK, that's probably the last thing I need to admit after studying it in one form or another the past 4 years, but I'm convinced it's true.

Oh, I've learned how to BS fairly convincingly about negative space and use of color, and lighting and all of that happy trash, but I'm going to be honest. A lot of this stuff means nada to me.

I came upon this realization during art shows for two of my classmates. Seniors who are studio art majors who don't study graphic design are required to have a gallery showing in the little renovated chapel on our campus. I've been getting the invitations almost every two weeks since I started school. Some of the people I know, but most of them I don't. I'll be honest, I don't normally go to these things because I haven't had time or I forget about them, but very recently I was straight out asked if I was going by the girl who's art was on display. What could I say? I had some time before going back to work, and I didn't think it would be polite to tell her I didn't want to, so I went.

First off, let me say, the girl is a very talented painter. Her pictures were very well done and she really has a style of her own that could probably make her a celebrated artist someday. Next, let me say, the paintings were almost all nudes of herself. Nudes of herself before, during and after her pregnancy. NUDES! OF! HER! My classmate! My classmate who I sit across from twice a week! I couldn't even run screaming or stabbing my eyes out because that would have been rude! There was nothing I could do but make the round of the gallery, leave a comment in her book, and leave as quickly as possible.

Look, I've gotten over my initial freaking-out over seeing naked people in art. In fact, sometimes I'll be looking at a book of photographs or drawings of nudes and it takes me a few minutes to realize that I'm even looking at a naked person unless someone else mentions it. However, the nudes in the books or whatever are not people who I have to interact with on a fairly regular basis. I like to know people better before I see them naked. It's just the way I roll.

OK, same setting, two weeks later. The same girl asked if I was going to see the new gallery exhibit, which happened to belong to her boyfriend or husband...don't know which because she just said that he was the father of her son. Anywho, once again, I had no reason to say no, so went. Thankfully, there were no nudes or semi-nudes of this guy who I've had a couple of classes with. In fact, I couldn't tell you upon pain of death what the hell that guy had painted. The paintings all had titles, of course, but the images looked like he had painted something on the canvas and then got tired of it and rubbed his hands through it. All 8 canvases were a mixture of the same three colors in the same smudged way. I don't think I'm explaining this right. Let me help you out. You remember when you were a kid and someone gave you a pot of finger paint? You plopped out a clump of paint and smeared it onto your paper until you had a layer of one color? Then you ran your fingers through it and scraped the paint away to make pictures? That is what it was like. There were also bronze sculptures of heads that looked partially eaten and a giant baby bottle nipple made of wood. Oh, and some kind of tangle of ropes in the center of the room with wooden arms hanging in the middle. Wei-rd.

Maybe I'm just not smart or cultured enough to get this stuff, I don't know. If I wasn't so convinced that everyone else who sees this stuff also BS's about negative space and stuff, I'd probably think that my whole college experience was a waste.

Monday, March 12, 2007


I'm back with my weekend update! You know you're glad.

FRIDAY: After work on Friday, Steve and I had dinner with some of our friends that night. Well, some of our friends and two of our co-workers that I don't normally talk to that often. Turns out they were a lot of fun. We went to the Chili's not far from our house because it was close to the theater where some of them were going to see "300". I demurred on the movie because, quite honestly, I didn't care to see it. One semester of Greek history isn't enough to get me hyped over a movie about the battle of Thermopylae. However, the dinner was fun. Chili's crammed 6 full grown adult people into a table that was only meant to comfortably seat four, but they do that a lot. :P After everyone else left for the theater, I felt as though I needed some ice cream, so I went to Cold Stone and was able to find a non-chocolate kind that was good. As I stood there waiting for the disgusted looking ice cream person to mix it up, I looked behind me where some teenagers were dancing and being loud. Does it make me old to wish that they would just be quiet? I remember being that age, so I'm sure I have acted the same way at times, but bleh. Annoying. Anyways, I made it home with my ice cream in tow and enjoyed the last little part of my day by watching Scrubs. I love that show.

SATURDAY: I woke up earlier than I wanted to, but for a good reason. Steve and I were going to be helping Josh move out of his house that day. Yes, I know. He had only lived there for a little over a year, and his house was so cute! However, when you become a priest, you have to take all of those lovely little vows, and poverty is one of them. He sold his house in 11 days, which is awesome, and had to be out of there by that day. When we showed up, Josh's mom's husband and friends had him almost completely moved out. We all felt like we were in the way, but Shannon and I did end up packing his kitchen up for him. Steve and I had decided to buy Josh's dining room furniture to help him out (he has to pay off his debts before he goes to seminary) and also to replace our own old table and stuff. My parents gave Steve and I their old dining room table and chairs, which was about 33 years old, and it was all broke down. However, even though I already had set this up with Josh, he said that he sold it to the man who was buying his house! I was mad! Well, while we were there, the new owner tried to renege on his offer and not pay him for it in return for not making Josh fix two little problems he had seen with the house, but still get the furniture. Josh said no, so he offered it back to Steve and I. At that point I had decided that it was all for the best if I didn't buy it, and when I told Josh that, he got this wild look in his eyes. Apparently he is freaking out about paying off his bills, so I told him we'd get it after all. Yikes. After we had gotten everything out, Josh and I wallered on the living room carpet one more time. We made carpet angels. It was sad. :( Josh won't actually leave for another 5 months, but I'm already starting to miss him. But hey, I get to be buddies with a priest, so that's kind of cool, right? My little, pet Josh is growing up so fast! Once we left Madison, we ended the day with dinner at Cracker Barrel with everyone sans Josh. It was chicken and rice night after-all.

SUNDAY: First off, let me say, I hate the spring forward part of daylight savings time. I don't mind the extra daylight we supposedly get, but I hate losing that hour. Steve and I woke up with a not-enough-sleep hangover, plus we didn't wake up on time to ride to church together. Steve had to leave for orchestra practice and I drug myself around in an attempt to get ready. I was a little late, but I made it! My friend Christie brought her baby to church for the first time, and she is a cutie! I didn't hold her, and Christie (who made me swear I'd get over my fear and hold her anyway) didn't mind. She has those First-Time-Mom fears of letting Lily out of her sight. Color me relieved. I'll hold her when she has more bones in her head. :) After church, Steve got an e-mail with a problem at work, so I traveled on my own to have lunch with the family. When I got home, I fell asleep again (my allergies are killing me!) and then finally got up in time to do my take home exam for theater history. Fun Stuff.

Oh! I finally got to talk to my friend Sara this morning after I don't know how long! Well, talk may not be the word, but I chatted with her until she got called away. At least I think she got called away. She stopped talking to me, anyways. She told me that she may have to have another whole graft again because some of her new parts aren't working! That really sucks, but I'm still praying for a miracle, so I know it isn't completely for sure yet. I just hope she heals soon and can come home again so I can see her. : ) Miami is too far away.

Also, did you know that a self cleaning oven really self cleans? Steve had made a pizza some time ago and oil or something had dripped onto the bottom of the stove. When I tried to make biscuits the other day, the fire alarm went off and I had to open almost all of the windows and the door on that end of the house! So, for the first time, I set the thing on "Clean". I expected that whatever was on the bottom of the oven would burn off and I would have to clean out the ashes. However, when I went back and opened it up, the stuff on the bottom was GONE! Completely disintegrated! I'm pretty sure that if I had been able to see inside, little elves or something were busily cleaning all of that goo away. Something tells me that I shouldn't be so amazed by this, but I can't help it.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

I need your help.

First off, I may not know every one of you who stumble upon my blog, but I do know that several wonderful people take time out of their lives to check up on me and a regular to semi-regular basis. For that, I thank you and sincerely hope you eventually get a productive hobby. ; ) Just kidding!

Because I know that someone is out there reading this, I felt sure that if I gave this request, then at least one or two of you might do something for me. At this point, I can't be really specific with what I'm going to do, because it's supposed to be on the DL, but I promise it is nothing illegal or wrong, so just bear with me.

I need you to pray for me. Not only pray for me, but for a group of people that I'm very close to. I've been asked to help someone, and while I am perfectly capable of helping them physically, emotionally I'm afraid I may be a little weak. Most people think that I am made of much stronger stuff than I really am. I'm glad that they think this, because I want them to feel that they can come to me and hand off a considerable chunk of their burden so that I can help them carry it. However, sometimes I'm afraid that I can't carry it very long or very far, and that is why I need your prayers this time. I want to help, and I'm going to try, but I'm afraid that I will be completely ineffective when I try. It's important that I stay strong and solid, because I want to be able to take a bigger load on my shoulders than I have before and I'm just afraid I won't be able to do it. So please, if you pray, say a prayer for me and my friends. I'll have to ask that it just be considered an unspoken request, but I'll be able to explain more as time goes on.


Tuesday, March 06, 2007

I've made a desicion.

I recently got some information about my friend, Sara, who is the girl who had the multi-visceral transplant. She keeps going back and forth between getting better, getting worse, two steps forward, one step back. I've been racking my brain trying to figure out anything that I could do to help her, but because she is down in Miami and I am up in Huntsvegas, I'm really not that useful. However, I still feel as though I need to do something.

Although I realize this is probably the most useless gesture ever, I have decided that I am giving up chocolate until she gets out of the hospital. Granted, this isn't going to help her, but she has lost out on so much that I don't feel right being able to do whatever I want. She has been one of my best friends since 7th grade, and if I can't be useful directly, I want to at least do something.

You probably think I'm being awfully self righteous to tell you all this plan. After all, sacrifices shouldn't be advertised, right? Well, fear not, I am not telling you this for your admiration. I'm telling you this because I need your help. Since I decided to do this, I have caught myself several times almost eating chocolate. I didn't realize how ingraned it was in myself until I tried denying it. So, if you see me about to eat chocolate: Stop Me. Seriously.

I thank you in advance.

Monday, March 05, 2007

Guess what I got today?!

My cap, gown, and tassel! I also found out that unless I do some major screwing up grade wise, I'm going to graduate cum laude.


It's going to be all I can do not to sleep in my regalia.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

I regret to announce that there will not be a WEEKEND UPDATE this week due to circumstances that have overshadowed all other events during the weekend, and I don't feel they are appropriate to recount in this space.

Because my high red threat level state of pissed off has just very recently settled into a low grade pale yellow annoyance, I feel that by rehashing what happened, I run the risk of getting pissed off all over again. No one wants that to happen.

I will say this one thing, though. It is quite fortunate that I placed myself in a position where I was away from Steve for almost the entire day Sunday, because I'm pretty sure that had I not had time to think of how to handle myself with restraint, I might have flown at him with a wrath very seldom seen outside of Quintin Tarantino movies. As it stands now, however, I think he will be safe.

That is all.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

It's official.

I like dogs more than people.

I went to Pet'sMart earlier today because they were having an adoption event and the first thing I did was fall madly in love with not one, not two, not even three or four, but FIVE dogs. I called Steve to tell him about it, and he shut me down with extreme prejudice. I realized as I pried myself away from those fuzzy babies that I would probably be less bothered by leaving Steve in one of those kennels than I was leaving the dogs behind.

No offence, Steve!

Friday, March 02, 2007


I can't believe that I forgot to tell you guys what I did yesterday!

I had an exam yesterday that I was worried about. The exam was set for 9:35 a.m. and was going to be a pain because it consisted of one essay question and that was all.

So I work as fast as I could to get the info I would need to take into the exam with me and by the time it was ready to go, I realized I had locked my keys in the car. ACK! So I had to call Steve and have him come by and open it for me. When I got outside to wait on him to arrive, I found that my car was making a strange sound.

Apparently my car was not only locked with the keys still in the ignition, but the car was still RUNNING! Sweet banana mousse with walnuts! How can a person get out of a car while it's still running and not even notice? Geez.

I actually made it to the exam, but I'm pretty sure I bombed it so bad that there were civilian casualties.

Later that day I came home with a bad headache because of my allergies (Hi, spring!) and that headache made me nauseated really badly. A while back, a doctor had prescribed me a very powerful anti emetic/allergy medicine and that was the first thing I thought about taking. Well, that pill helped me feel better, but it made me VERY floopy. I'd like to apologize to Brian for what I'm sure was a very badly typed IM conversation, and to Steve for having to put me to bed.

How does someone have a Monday on a Thursday?

Note to self. Prescription allergy medicine is evil.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

I just saw a commercial for a new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie! Whahuh?

I didn't think those things still existed, much less were still popular enough to make a movie about them.

It made me think of my very first date. Yes, my first date was to see TMNT 3 and then we went to Taco Bell for dinner. I was 16 years old, and the guy I was with was 18. He was 18 and he took me to see a Ninja Turtle's movie. So funny. It was also the first time anyone ever kissed me. Oh, I had boyfriends before that, but they apparently found me too frightening to kiss! Anyways... the commercial just make me a little nostalgic, I guess.

So I was 16 when I kissed someone for the first time and about 25 the last time. Well, I had a good run, right? :)