if i twittered

my current update would be:

sitting in the kitchen in my pajamas; contemplating going to sip to get a latte; listening to the cbs sunday morning program play in the other room; getting psyched up to fight the crowds at opry mills; watching my crazy-ass dog try to jump the 8-foot section of the fence so he can catch a squirrel; wondering why my face is breaking out; thinking about eating another blonde brownie for breakfast.

secret santa

Every year around this time, we do the Secret Santa thing at work. Everyone on staff draws a name, and then the last week of school is Secret Santa week. You're not supposed to spend more than $10-$15, and you can choose to give little gifts throughout the week with a bigger gift on Friday, or you can save up and give a nice gift at the end of the week.

I like to think that I am a good Secret Santa. I try to give thoughtful gifts that I think the person will enjoy. So far, I've baked cookies for my guy, and I gave him a pocket-sized moleskine-type notebook he can carry with him for when inspiration strikes (he's an English teacher--writer--theater guy). Heck, I even wrote poems to go with my gifts. Not necessarily good poems, mind you, but just a little something fun that he could laugh at. And mock. And use in his class as examples of how not to write poetry.

So, of course, I was excited to see what I would get this week from my Secret Santa.

On Tuesday, I get to work, and I find this in my chair:


Yep, it's a snake. A snake you put it water and it grows to 600% its size. Oh, but you have to leave it in water for 96 hours for it to get that big. Right. I can see it now..."Um, I'm sorry, honey, you can't take a bath for FOUR DAYS, because I'm trying to grow a snake in there." My favorite part, though, is the warning on the front in large letters: DO NOT SWALLOW! Come on...when you get a 12-inch long snake, isn't that the first instinct you have, to try to swallow it? I'm not even going to touch the double entendres there, either--you can do that yourself.

Then Wednesday arrives, and when I check my box in the teacher's lounge, I find:


A tarantula and a blood-shot eyeball! And they're gummy! And when you throw them against a wall, they stick and leave a trail of slime! Yippee!

Ok, so I'm beginning to think that:

a) My Secret Santa doesn't like me very much
b) My Secret Santa is a science teacher with an odd sense of humor
c) My Secret Santa thinks that I am actually a 12-year-old boy
or
d) My Secret Santa doesn't like me very much

Sigh. I'm almost afraid to see what my big gift on Friday is going to be...

ick

It usually happens twice a year. Once in March, and then again around November.

As the earth spins on its axis, and the seasons turn from cold to warm or warm to cold, my body responds by producing an abnormal amount of mucus. My eyes burn and water, my face swells, and my sinuses alternate between being completely clogged up and flowing like a river. Think Niagara Falls, except really gross. (Come on, with a title like "ick," you should have known this wasn't going to be pretty). The worst parts, though, are the raw, sore throat and the upset stomach that result from the drainage. Fun stuff.

Sometimes, the sinus infection only lasts a few days, but then other times it perseveres for weeks, and the pharmacists at Walgreens begin to eye me accusingly, suspecting that my excessive purchases of suphedrin could signal that they've got a meth addict on their hands. Every now and then, though, something glorious happens--the leaves change, the weather turns cold, and...nothing. Nary a drip. It's like my sinuses weren't paying attention and totally missed their cue to wreak havoc on my body.

So when it hit me that Christmas was quickly approaching, and I hadn't even used a single dose of Claritin, I thought that it might be one of those wonderfully lucky times when the terrible, horrible, no good Sinus Monster was going to lie dormant, at least until spring.

And then, I ran a 5k in 27-degree weather.

If anyone needs me, I'll be at Walgreens. Ick.

second installment

or, "Holiday seasonal things I could do without."

1. Stations that play all Christmas music, all the time. I like "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" as much as the next guy, but I could do without hearing it 1,372 times in one day.

2. Holiday sale commercials that play over and over and over... You know what I'm talking about--it's that Sears/JC Penney/etc. ad that comes on EVERY SINGLE TIME the show you are watching goes to commercial...sometimes even twice in one break. It's maddening, and it is the one thing that might actually cause me to break down and get TiVo.

3. Chia-everything. Where do these things go the rest of the year? You almost never hear anything about Chia until it's time for the holidays, and then they are all over the place. Chia-donkeys, Chia-alligators, Chia-dinosaurs. Does anyone actually collect these things, or do they just get recycled as Dirty Santa gifts from year to year? Although, did you know that they released a limited-edition Chia-Mr. T head in 2000? I totally want that. Added bonus: Chia also has that completely annoying jingle that gets stuck in your head...you're thinking it now, aren't you? Ch...ch...ch...chia!

4. Malls. I am avoiding them this year. I really hate malls around the holidays...the parking nightmares, the crowds, the rude, stressed-out people, the insanely messy piles of clothes (that you know were nicely folded when the store opened, but end up looking like someone ran and jumped in them like a kid in a big pile of leaves), the idiots who jump line in front of me when I'm just trying to get a soft pretzel...the list could go on and on. It is insanity, and it doesn't surprise me to see news stories this time of year about someone who looses it and beats a fellow shopper over the head with the latest Tickle-Me/Dance-With-Me/Do-Whatever-You-Want-to-Me version of Elmo.

5. Shopping for holiday presents in general. Don't get me wrong--I love the act of giving. I get high off of the feeling of finding that absolutely perfect gift for someone that you know he/she will love. I just don't like the pressure of trying to do that for everyone I know, all at the same time. And yes, I realize that I could start in January and collect things throughout the year as I find them, but I just don't work that way. If I find something absolutely fabulous for someone that I am so excited to give them, I can only hold off for a week, tops, before I break down and just give it to them early. I've ruined a lot of Todd's birthdays/holidays this way, because I. JUST. CAN'T. WAIT. So, he might get his Christmas gift on Dec. 25th, or he might get it on Dec. 17th. It just happens.

Those are just a few things off the top of my head--anyone have something to add to the list?

uncle

So, just in case you were wondering how my nieces took to their new uncle Todd...







...the phrase "attached at the hip" comes to mind.

I knew he was a hit when, as we were getting ready to sit down for dinner, I asked Kaelyn if the seat next to her was for me. Her response-- "No, TT, that's for Todd. You can sit on the other side of him." The coolness of Uncle Todd surpassed the coolness of Aunt TT. And I would be a little upset about it, if it just wasn't so incredibly cute to watch him with them...

these are a few of my favorite things

Things that make me happy during the holiday season...

Gingerbread lattes:


Chocolate cherry bread from Provence:


Classic holiday cartoons like Rudolph and Frosty the Snowman--I love that they still show these on tv:


Spending time with Clark and the Griswold clan again:


Seeing Christmas lights on other people's houses (I'm not going to the time and hassle of doing it for my own house, but I enjoy seeing other people's creativity--and sometimes absurdity):


And, best of all, getting a full two weeks of vacation. Have I mentioned I L-O-V-E working in a school?


Next installment: holiday seasonal things I could do without.

'tis the season

Things that I am thankful for:

* A close, caring family
* A loving husband
* Friends who make me laugh
* Friends who keep me honest
* A job that I enjoy
* A paycheck that sufficiently supports my lifestyle
* Two puppies that entertain me
* Good health


Ok, I hear you...it's a pretty freakin' generic list. Let's see if I can elaborate a tad:

I am thankful that, when I wake up in the morning, I can be excited about a new day. I am thankful that the first thing that greets me in the morning is love in the form of puppy kisses. I am thankful that I can meet friends for an invigorating workout that makes me feel healthy and strong. I am thankful that I don't dread going to work. I am thankful that I get free lunch at school...but that if I want to go out and eat, I can go just about anywhere I want without worrying about what it costs. I am thankful that I get to come home to three funny boys that keep life interesting. I am thankful that I can pay my bills every month. I am thankful that I have a house that feels like a home. I am thankful that I have my own Cheers, where I can always find a friend. I am thankful that my weekends are times of freedom, to be enjoyed as I please. I am thankful that I can travel. I am thankful that I get to spend this holiday with family--and that I know it will be a time of fun and not a time of stress. I am thankful for a mom who calls every week to check on me. I am thankful that I very rarely have bad news to share with her. I am thankful that--even if I do have bad times--I have a huge support system of friends and family to help me through them.

And, in writing this post, I am thankful that my mind is flooded with so many reasons to be thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and all the best to you and yours.

4 years

In four years, you can...

volunteer at a community garden...

learn to hip-hop dance...

become an old pro at the competitive games at the Annual BBBS Picnic...

get up enough courage to try all of the crazy slides at Nashville Shores...

...and so, so much more. In four years, you can watch a small, shy nine-year-old grow into a beautiful, confident teenager. And in four years, you can discover that the nine-year-old, and now the teenager, has taught you a lot about yourself.

Here's to four years, miss Nema, and to all of the years--and adventures--that lie ahead...

since we're on the subject of doctors

My guess is that most people my age, particularly those who are male or who don't have children, don't visit the doctor very often. If we do, it is usually a specialist--like an optometrist, gynecologist, psychiatrist, etc.-- and not a general practitioner. We don't see much need for a wellness exam, or the yearly physical, because we aren't at a point in life where we need a doctor's note before we can join the soccer team, or where we need a new prescription for the 17 different pills that are helping us live to see age 72. Even when we get sick, we are more likely to self-diagnose and fight it with OTC medicines, or in dire circumstances, seek out a doc-in-the-box minute clinic to get the extra strength drugs.

That's just my guess, because I was basically describing my own personal approach to sickness/wellness/doctors.

However, I'm trying to be more proactive in preserving my health, so I just made a follow-up appointment at Lifesigns. If you have thought about getting a physical, I recommend checking them out. They do the complete physical, including blood/urine analysis, an ultrasound of all of your major organs to check for cysts or abnormalities, a body fat and BMI test, and an EKG. They accept most insurance, so you can get the core battery of tests done for your normal doctor's visit co-pay.

It's not a bad deal--it's quick, easy, and painless--and since their specialty is wellness exams, you don't have to worry about sitting in a cramped lobby with a bunch of sick kids while waiting to see the doctor. Bonus!

it's like a forwarded e-mail string...

...you need to scroll down and read the previous post for this one to make complete sense.

Exhibit B:
Earlier this week, I had an appointment with my dermatologist. When I arrived, I noticed a sign in the lobby that said “Don’t wait! Please let our front desk know if you have been waiting more than 15 minutes to check in.” I got checked in pretty quickly, so I grabbed a magazine to pass the time while waiting. There were just 4 other people in the waiting room with me, so it seemed to be a light day for appointments. Around 9am, one of the other girls waiting in the lobby approached the front desk.

Girl: Hi, I need to know if I’m going to be able to see the doctor soon.
Receptionist: What time was your appointment?
G: It was over 30 minutes ago. If I can’t see the doctor in the next 5 or 10 minutes, I’ll have to leave, because I have to get to a court date.
R: Well, there’s still 1 person ahead of you, so I just don’t know if that will happen.
G: Then I’m probably going to have to cancel and reschedule.
R: You don’t want the appointment anymore?
G: I have to get to my court date, and I need to be there by 9:30. I didn’t know it would take this long.
R: Well, the doctors usually run at least 30 minutes late.
G: The doctor called and said he needed to see me, and he specifically told me to make a morning appointment to ensure that I wouldn’t have to wait long.
R: Well, there were already four people ahead of you this morning.
G: Ok, but how long does it take to see each patient? I got the earliest available appointment.
R: I don’t know what to tell you. Either you wait or you don’t.
G: Well, at this point, if I can’t see him in 5 minutes, I probably won’t even reschedule.
R: I will check and see what I can do.
G: Ok, I’m going to go out in the hall and make a call to let them know I am running late.

So the girl walks out into the hallway to make her call, and while she is gone, I overhear the receptionist telling a co-worker about the situation.

R: ...and she’s saying that she needs to see him in the next 5 minutes, and I just want to tell her “Well, just leave then.” I mean, it’s no skin off my back…not my problem.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Even though the girl had been very calm and reasonable in the way that she spoke to the receptionist (much more so than I would have been), the receptionist was being incredibly rude and dismissive. Again, I came so close to walking up to the window and saying to her “Excuse me, but that was extremely tacky of you. Do you not realize that all of us sitting in the waiting room can hear you? You are being terribly rude and dismissive to one of your patients. You even have a sign that encourages people to speak up if they have been waiting! Your attitude may end up losing this practice more than one patient today.” But, instead of doing that, I just bit my tongue. I am surprised I don’t have a big, gaping hole in it by this point.

I had to laugh, though, when I finally got back in the exam room, and I noticed these comment cards that were available for giving feedback:


I guess they don’t really care to hear the bad stuff—just comments of praise, please.

So, even though I was just a bystander in this negative experience, I am thinking about finding a new dermatologist. It may be that I am becoming more like my father, because I don’t think the idea that “the doctors always run at least 30 minutes late” is acceptable. If that is happening, then I believe they need to re-evaluate their scheduling practices. My dad refuses to wait more than 15 minutes for an appointment. Once it hits the 15-minute mark, he will walk up to the receptionist and say, “I need you to reschedule my appointment. My time is just as valuable as the doctor’s. I was here on time, and I expect him to be on time as well. If he is consistently late, then I will find another doctor who respects his patients enough to make his appointments on time.” He has a point—most of us have to take time off from our jobs to see a doctor, since doctor’s office hours directly coincide with most business hours. Unfortunately, though, it seems that medicine is one of the few practices where it is apparently acceptable to run late consistently. I mean, if I ran 30 minutes late every time I went to meet a donor, I probably wouldn’t be raising much money at all!

Sigh. See what I mean? I’ve done pretty well so far about keeping my temper and not lashing out in these situations..but one of these days, that tongue is going to slip, and I think it could be sooner rather than later...

sometimes, the heart needs to rant

Lately, I have been thinking that I either:
a) have unresolved anger in my heart (which often seems to surface in the form of road rage)
b) have very high expectations of other people
c) have become less patient or tolerant as I age
d) have a greater need to speak out against perceived injustices, or
e) the ever-popular "all of the above"

Exhibit A:
One morning last week, I was stuck in terrible traffic on Briley. One lane was blocked due to a stalled car, and then just a mile from that point, the other lane was blocked due to construction. I was actually feeling rather patient, not angry or annoyed (except for questioning why they would be doing this small bit of construction during rush hour). It took an hour to travel about 5 miles, which meant that I, and probably the majority of people around me, was running late for work. Finally, the lanes opened up--at last, freedom to drive at normal speeds! Well, just over the next hill, not even 1/2 mile from where the lanes opened, sat a traffic cop on a motorcycle with a radar gun. Immediately, I was livid. So angry that I came extremely close to pulling over my car, walking up to the cop and saying "You are evil. Everyone coming over this hill has just been stuck in traffic for at least an hour, they are probably late for work, and now you are going to make their day even worse by citing them for speeding if they are trying to make up a little time. Can't you find somewhere better to be?" I didn't do it, because I didn't really feel like getting myself cited for some random infraction of berating a police officer or something, but I boiled about it until lunchtime.

And, yes, I realize that the police officer would have been completely justified in ticketing someone if he/she was speeding, regardless of the circumstances, but still. EVIL.

I’ll post Exhibit B tomorrow, so that this doesn’t turn into the world’s longest blog post…

make no bones about it

voting

Today is election day, and I am nervous. Why? Because I think that there are a lot of people out there who vote without thinking. They just vote to vote, or they vote for whomever their parents or friends are voting for, or they vote straight party line regardless of the candidate...or they vote for a myriad of other reasons that have nothing to do with the important issues our country is facing or the qualifications and policies of the candidates.

There is one thing in particular that has bothered me lately, because I have heard it in conversations of friends and acquaintances, and it is the idea that being Christian = voting Republican. And people who think this way will usually point to the hot-button topics of abortion and gay marriage as the primary reasons that Christians should vote Republican.

But I disagree. I believe that there are far more issues to be concerned with, and far more thoughtful ways to approach those issues.

If you are a Christian and think that your faith necessarily dictates your party, I would encourage you to read this article from the Huffington Post. I don't agree with everything that the author says, but I do think that he makes a lot of good points worth considering.

I can't make you ignore the fear-mongering propaganda that a certain party (and many churches) have been perpetuating, but I can ask you to submit a thoughtful and educated vote. Please, vote wisely today.

And now, I will step off my soapbox.

just do it

I cast my ballot yesterday.

because i had fun with the first one...

Tucker plots.

something different

Why? Well, because it's a Monday, and I feel like being silly.

what does 10 inches look like?

Something like this:


A large portion of my hair is now on its way to becoming a wig, and I have a new short 'do.

I still haven't decided if I love the new look, but it's growing on me (pun not actually intended there). I definitely used faaaaar too much shampoo this morning--it is always the first shampoo after a drastic haircut that makes you realize just how short it is.

On another note, I now have a whole lot of ponytail holders that are no longer useful to me, so if you need them, just let me know.

If you would like more information about donating your hair, check out Locks of Love or Wigs for Kids.

run-run-run-run-run-runaway...or, Fort Tucker

Well folks, it's official. Tucker has now figured out how to jump the 6+ foot fence that we built just a few months ago--the fence that we built really tall and with the "pretty" side facing in specifically so Tucker couldn't jump it. We knew it was coming, because we've caught him a couple of times just hanging from the top of the fence, his front paws barely holding onto the edge, his nose peeking out over the top, and the look in his eyes making it clear that he was thinking "just a little bit more...almost. there."

So, I think Todd is going to try to construct some type of overhang that will keep Tucker from being able to jump up and grab on to the top of the fence. Geez...our backyard really is going to start looking like a fort. Next thing you know, we'll be rolling out the high-security barbed wire (ok, we would never really do that--so don't go calling the humane association or anything).

Honestly, though, it wouldn't surprise me at all if Tucker eventually figures out how to get past the overhang as well.

Heck, it wouldn't surprise me at all if I look out the window one day to discover that Tucker has dragged Todd's climbing equipment out of the garage, and he is scaling the fence with Levi on belay.

That dog is crazy.

just keep going

Inhale.

Exhale.

Repeat.

Sometimes, during the really busy times, I have to remind myself of the basics.

But, there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and it's so close, I can feel its heat. Just a few thousand more breaths, and I'll be there.

when faith is beautiful

I don't talk a lot about my faith. Some of my friends appreciate this about me, and other friends would probably see it as a shortcoming. Because I am surrounded by a lot of people who believe differently than I do, I am very sensitive to and aware of the way that Christians are perceived. And it honestly doesn't surprise me--although it saddens me--that Christians are often derided or even despised, because, let's face it, there are a whole lot of Christians out there who aren't very Christ-like.

I will be one of the first people to admit that sometimes, faith produces ugly things. I have seen it often, where people of faith will push an idea or legislation that is hateful, basing it on a so-called "Christian" agenda. And it makes me cringe. It saddens and angers me. And it discourages me.

But then sometimes, I am reminded in amazing ways that faith can also be, and should be, beautiful. In its purest and truest forms, faith produces beautiful things. I found one of these reminders recently, and I thought I would share it, because it encouraged me.

In one of my blog-to-blog link clicking episodes, I stumbled upon a blog of a girl that I used to volunteer with at CCC. She now works for World Vision, where she helps secure sponsorships for children in Africa. She recently went through one of those introspective periods of contemplating "why do I do what I do?" and she blogged about one of the defining moments that helped her answer that question. I have copied her entry below, slightly edited for length.

"I remember a defining moment, my "This is what I want to dedicate my life to" epiphany. It was roughly 11 years ago. I had just moved to Nashville from Los Angeles to work full time with World Vision. Three days after arriving in Nashville, I climbed on a tour bus with a band called Big Tent Revival. We had 3 shows to do in 4 days, one of them being a 10:00am show for a Junior High Lock-In somewhere outside St. Paul, Minnesota.

I thought to my skeptical self... we aren't going to get one single sponsorship at this event. Now, don't get me wrong. I adore junior highers. I really do. And though I enjoy their energy and verve, I knew producing any results for my "job" was sketchy, at best.

[At the lock-in] I returned to my World Vision table set up, filled with a few dozen picture folders of kids' faces and stories. Already at my table was a young "lock-in" victim... apparently not interested in the festivities happening in the other room. Darla (she'd told me when I asked her name) had a wildly-matted mane of thick copper hair, shiny silver braces, chubby freckled cheeks with dense, coke-bottle glasses that wedged a permanent red crease into the crest of each plump apple. She was shy, quiet, awkward. But she stayed at the table... picking up each folder... reading each child's story... studying each of them closely.

I simply chalked it up to her boredom. Or needing something to do? Possibly she was friendless? Or simply uninterested in the activities? But suddenly, she picked up one of the folders she'd studied earlier and with great determination... handed it to me. "Here", Darla said. "This is the one I want".
"Ummm", I offered. "You know that to sponsor a child takes $30.00 a month."
"Yes", she said matter-of-factly. "Here, I have $30 right here". And she handed me several sticky, wadded up bills.
"But you know, it takes $30 every month to sponsor this child. Are you prepared to do that?" I asked somewhat condescendingly.
"Yes", Darla repeated patiently... as her chubby finger pushed her smudged, thick glasses back up her nose, only to magnify and bulge her pretty green eyes. "You see, I have $352.48 at home. I've been saving for a long time. But I guess my contact lenses will have to wait another year. I wanna help her instead [pointing to picture]. I think God would like that."

I was speechless. Tears flooded my eyes and my bottom lip started dong that quiver thing. I immediately felt shame for my quick judgment and assumptions. But as Darla proceeded to fill out the sponsorship paper work... a light went on inside me. A light that filled my soul to the very brim. This shy awkward girl had every reason to spend her hard-earned savings on herself... to boost her self-esteem... to bring about a more confident Darla. But she understood something I apparently was still figuring out. It's not about her. It's not about me. It's about our Great Father, and what He wants to do in us and through us and around us.

When I joined the BTR guys on the bus later that day... I told them the story. And five grown rockstars wept... and then took $400 out of their weekend's earnings... and sent Darla a gift certificate to LensCrafters.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. But it was also the launch of a deep, deep passion. Not just for getting kids in Africa (or anywhere) sponsored... but a passion to discover Christ in unexpected and unlikely places. In the face and story of a small child in Uganda. In the chubby-cheeked smile of Darla as she happily sacrificed for another. In the tears of a rock band moved to compassion and generosity."

Thanks, Debbie B., for the reminder.

for real?

In keeping with my new year's resolution to do a different service project every month, I have been utilizing the services of a local organization that specializes in matching up volunteers with non-profits that need volunteer help. They have a very handy calendar of volunteer opportunities on their website, and I have used it to sign up for a multitude of fun projects, discovering many wonderful non-profit programs in the process.

Today as I was browsing the calendar, one project titled "Cooking for the Coaches" caught my eye. I imagined that it might involve cooking brownies or some other treat for coaches of inner-city youth teams, or providing dinner for life coaches at a non-profit organization, or something along those lines. So, I clicked on the link to read the description.

"Description: Volunteers are needed to assist with preparing and serving an evening meal for the Titan coaches every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday from 1:30-4:30pm.
Impact Areas: Homelessness/Hunger: Meal Service"

Um, I'm sorry. Did it say that I would be cooking dinner for the Titan's coaches? Like, the pro-football team Tennessee Titans? Maybe I'm mistaken, but can't the Titans' coaches afford to buy or make their own dinners...probably even more so than I can???

The dinners are organized through 2nd Harvest Food Bank, which is a non-profit that serves the low-income and homeless community. I know that 2nd Harvest's offices and warehouse are just down the street from the Titans' practice facilities, so maybe they are trying to be good neighbors, but I severely hope that they aren't using the organization's resources to provide dinners three nights a week for pro-football coaches. I'm pretty sure they don't qualify as low-income or homeless.

I mean, dude, if you're a Titans football coach and feel a little hungry, get Vince Young to go buy you a burger.

Crazy.

opry observations

Observations from an evening backstage at the Opry:

*Keith Urban is a petite man.

*"Petite" doesn't even begin to describe Little Jimmy Dickens, who might just be two feet tall. He could stand on his own shoulders, and I think I would still be taller than he is.

*If I had worn rhinestones, I would have fit in much better. Sparkle was definitely the uniform for the evening.

*I don't think fans realize how crazy they look. There was a girl in the third row, holding up a big poster of Keith Urban towards the stage, and singing along very passionately to every song he performed. I don't quite understand the point of showing someone a poster of himself. I could understand if she was holding up a sign that said "I love you Keith!", but what kind of message was she trying to send by holding up the poster? "Hey, look Keith, I just bought some of your swag!" or "I pulled this off my ceiling and brought it with me tonight just to show you what a big fan I am!" or maybe "I'm totally going to stalk you after the concert to get you to sign this thing for me!" If I had been Keith, I definitely would have pointed her out to my bodyguards and said, "Ummm, keep an eye on that one for me, will ya?"

*I don't do the celebrity ga-ga thing very well. I met Marty Stuart, and I was standing less than 2 feet from Keith Urban and Dierks Bentley, and I met a lot of the other Opry legends. I had my camera in my purse the whole time, and how many pictures did I get? Zero. I feel like the biggest cheeseball in the entire world asking someone like that for his/her picture. Honestly, I'd rather just ask the girl in the third row if I could photograph her poster...

why i love working in a school

Because kids are very entertaining, particularly when they don't even mean to be.

Now that my office is at the high school, I miss out on a lot of the adorable, funny antics of the little ones, but fortunately I have co-workers that are willing to share some of the gems.

For example, a second grade class was asked to write thank you letters to a couple of musicians that had performed a concert for them. They took great care to decorate their construction paper cards, and one little boy decided to draw a guitar on the front of his card.

To see his drawing of the guitar, click here.

I think it's a perfectly lovely picture of a, ummm...guitar, don't you?

gas-x

Aaaarrrrrggh.

I realize that I am a little late for Talk Like a Pirate Day, but aaarrrgh. I'm frustrated.

Why? Because I am tired of talking about gas, thinking about gas, hearing about gas, watching stories about gas on tv, driving by insane lines at the gas station and watching people freak out over gas, and worrying about how much gas I have left in the car, because once it's gone, I have to join those insane lines of gas-crazy people.

It. is. ridiculous.

People, chill. Stop acting crazy and hoarding gas like there's no tomorrow. If you have a half tank of gas or more, you should not be sitting in those lines. If you are taking time to fill up multiple gas cans at the pump, I hope that you intend to go out and help stranded motorists with your stockpile and that you aren't just hoarding it for the gas apocalypse that you seem to think is happening.

If you're so worried, stop contributing to the problem and think about ways not to use gas. Ride your bike. Take a bus (yes, I realize that public transit in Nashville is terribly sub-par, but it's there). Carpool. Eliminate unnecessary trips. Walk.

Just don't go idling your half-full SUV in the middle of Harding Pike because you're waiting in line to get into the gas station a mile down the street, so you can fill up your car and three extra gas cans "just in case". Because if that's you, you're an idiot, and you totally deserve to have the gas pump run dry while the guy in front of you is using it.

Please.

not unfounded

Not long ago, I blogged about some habits I have that could be filed under the heading of "Signs that Tiffany is a Slightly Neurotic Scaredy-Cat".

My fears are not totally unfounded, though. Today, I went to the restroom, and hanging out by the wall, not even 12 inches from the toilet, was a very alive, very scary-looking brown recluse spider. I kid you not. And he looked hungry for flesh. Not that I could blame him, because it was about three in the afternoon, and I always feel the need to snack around that time, too. But still. That's waaaay too close to comfort for me.

So yes, I will continue to check under the toilet seat every time I use the restroom at work. And I won't feel the slightest bit silly for doing it.

a matter of tayst

What I should have said to the snobbish waiter at tayst the other night:"Just so you know, your simultaneously patronizing and dismissive attitude has sufficiently tainted my experience to the point that I will likely--almost certainly--not be returning. I would think that during a time like Restaurant Week, you would attempt to put your best foot forward, as you are wooing many new customers in the hopes that they will become repeat customers, but you have instead accomplished quite the opposite. Our group of friends would normally tip in the 25%+ range for good service, but we are struggling even to justify 15%. So here's your tip--how about you do yourself, the restaurant, and future diners a favor and find a job that doesn't require you to engage in customer service."

What I actually said to the snobbish waiter at tayst:
"Thank you."

Sigh. I'm a wuss.

I would write about our entire experience at tayst, but one of my friends has already penned a much better review than I could even hope to write, so I will defer to her.

The verdict, I believe, for most of our group: tayst left a slightly bitter taste in our mouths.

balance

Things that make me smile on a Friday morning: Watching two old bearded guys roll by in a convertible Chrysler...with a pink license tag on the front that says "NANA".

Things that make me not smile on a Friday morning: Watching the weather forecast and seeing rain predicted for Monday, meaning that this could be the third year in a row that our golf tournament gets rained out. Sigh.

too many, too soon

Death has been far too familiar around these parts.

First, my uncle George died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Then, Grandmother Bratton succumbed to old age. Not long after, it was Clifford. And then Uncle Don passed on. And today, I received word that cancer took Uncle Gene. They had given him a year to live, but just one month later, he is gone.

It's too much. And even for those that were expected, it's still too soon.

So, Death...how 'bout you just hang up your hoodie and scythe, and take the rest of the year off, mkay?

You've reaped enough this year.

the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad puppy owners

I like to be nice. I do.

And I try not to say hateful things about others, or call other people out publicly on my blog, because that's just not my style.

But I'm angry.

I have lived in my home for just over three years, and in that time, I have watched three puppies die under the care (or carelessness) of my neighbors. Three lovely little dogs who never had a chance, because they were adopted by people who think it is perfectly acceptable to leave a dog chained in the yard all day, regardless of the weather, with little or no access to water or shade.

One of their puppies--a sweet, pure-bred yellow labrador--died of Parvo within just a few months of moving into their home. The other two dogs died of mysterious "poisonings". The only dog that has managed to live longer than a couple of years there spends most of his time trying to escape their backyard, where he is a penned up prisoner.

I was hoping, praying even, that after the death of the aptly named Underdog, they might realize that they weren't cut out to be dog owners--that maybe they just needed to focus on keeping their four little children alive. But then, a couple of months ago, they adopted another puppy, Buster. My heart sank when I saw him, because I knew that giving a dog to the Tanners was as good as issuing a death sentence to the dog.

But for Buster's sake, I hoped for the best. And when they asked us to watch Buster over the recent holiday weekend, we agreed--only after Todd confirmed with them that Buster was current on his vaccinations. They said yes. I'm afraid they lied.

Because this morning, we get news from our neighbors that Buster is sick. He is lethargic, he is losing weight quickly--both potential signs of Parvo. A highly contagious, deadly disease. And even though I know that Levi is current on his vaccinations, I worry, because he is still a puppy, and for some reason, black and tan breeds are more susceptible to the virus.

So help me God, if anything happens to Levi because of our idiotic, negligent dog owners next door, I will be beyond livid. I honestly don't know what I will do, but I can promise it won't be pretty.

Some people should not be allowed to own dogs. Period.

These people should be required to walk around with warning labels on their heads.

Danger: Puppy Killers.

toss. turn. repeat.

Welcome to day 3 of insomnia. I just wrote that sentence, and then stared at the computer screen for about 10 minutes before continuing, because I couldn't think of what to write next--that's how well my mind is working at this point. I have reverted to operating off of artificial energy, in the form of quadruple lattes (and the fact that a quadruple latte is actually listed on the regular menu at Portland Brew makes me think that I'm not the only one with a problem). I'm pretty sure that I could be mistaken as one of the extras in Shaun of the Dead. I'm just proud that I managed to pull together an outfit that matched this morning.

as a bee

Life is busy right now. Hyper-busy. The kind of busy where you're so busy that you feel guilty sleeping, because it seems like you're wasting time in which you could otherwise be productive. Things should slow down around the end of October, and I'm very much looking forward to that.

In the meantime, I probably won't be blogging too much, unless it's one of those nights where it is 3am and I can't sleep, or the stress builds up to a point where a public catharsis is necessary.

But, I have updated the other blog, and I figure that is probably enough soul baring to cover the next month and a half, anyway.

And now, back to work...

mourning the end of summer

Events of the day so far:

*woke up at 3 a.m. and couldn't fall back to sleep because I was too busy worrying about all of the things that need to be accomplished this week
*finally got out of bed at 6 a.m., showered quickly, begrudgingly put on dressy clothes and heels, and scarfed down a piece of pizza on my way out the door, in order to make it to work by 7 a.m. and prep for a morning meeting
*got stuck in terrible traffic between campuses
*had 190 emails that I had to process and respond to (due to my previous week off)
*scheduled three more meetings for the week, bringing the weekly total to 7 meetings
*was informed that scheduling has changed, and now things that I thought I had at least 6 weeks to finish now have to be done in 2 to 3 weeks
*realized that I triple-booked myself on Wednesday, without figuring out how to be 3 places at once

Yep, school is definitely back in session, and I can already tell it's gonna be an interesting year...

out of office auto reply

If I should seem particularly absent from blogging this week, it's because my friend Mary and I have escaped to the beach for a week of sleeping in, lounging on the white sands with good books and gossip mags, eating lots of fresh seafood, drinking fruity cocktails we would never order at the Edge, dancing to steel drum bands, outlet shopping, and sipping wine by the pool as the sun goes down.

We just finished our first balmy, 80-degree morning sitting by the pier and watching the waves roll in and are now off to a lunch of fresh, briny Apalachicola oysters.

As my niece would say, "Yay beach!"

next up

My first race since the half-marathon. Hopefully, it won't already be hotter than hades by 7:30am on Saturday.

And yes, I am totally going to wear all red for the run. Maybe I can even find a tomato-print bandana...

magnificent seven

This post is a little belated, because I don't have any of my good pictures on the home computer, so I couldn't post over the weekend.

On Saturday, one of my most favoritest people in the world turned seven. Yes, she's so cool that I have to be completely grammatically incorrect and make up words just to express how fantabulous she is.

She is a beautiful, fun, silly princess:


She is a cheerleader and encourager to others around her:


She is a fearless adventurer:


She is the walrus, goo goo g'joob:


And she is, most certainly, the apple of her Aunt TT's eye:


Happiest of birthdays, sweet one--you have brought so much joy and laughter into this girl's life that it's hard to imagine what the world was like before you were here. May this new year of your life be your best one yet. I love you dearly.

revenge of the cheese

I love cheese, but cheese does not always love me. So, I have to be careful. I've found that it's best if I limit my cheese consumption to small portions. But sometimes, I can't help myself.

Today, the lunchroom served up pizza, salad, and fried mozzarella sticks. I'm not a big fan of the flat, rectangular school-cafeteria-style pizza, so I supplemented my salad with a half-dozen golden delicious mozzarella sticks.

Oh yum.

And then, oh god.

Let's just say it's been a rough afternoon. But, it has inspired a haiku:

ate six fried cheese sticks
now I'm a salad shooter-
lactose intolerance

Hey, it's Friday-- goofy inappropriateness is totally allowed.

it's official

Yep, it is now completely official...my parents have hit the mid-life crisis stage. The term "mid-life crisis" is often used to describe a person, usually in his 40's or 50's, who suddenly engages in uncharacteristic behavior that seems like an attempt to reclaim some of his youth. Examples of such behavior might be: leaving one's family for a fling, quitting one's job and running off to the islands, buying a fancy sports car or boat, or undergoing extensive plastic surgery.

So why do I think my parents have hit this stage? Well, they just emailed me pictures of their most recent purchase:





So, Mom and Bob, all I can say is, if you decide to run off to the islands next, please take me with you!

4 x 4

So I got one of those forwarded e-mail surveys from a friend today, but rather than filling in my answers and sending it along, I thought I would post it here instead. Why? Well, a) because it is lunch time and I am taking a break from work as I am chowing on my Calypso tuna salad, b) I haven't been inspired to write about anything in over a week, so the blog has been looking a little stale, and c) a lot of my friends hate receiving forwarded e-mails.

The "4 things you may or may not have known about me" survey:

Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. HR assistant at the bus company in Chattanooga (CARTA)
2. waitressing at Olive Garden (which is why I never eat there anymore)
3. copy editing intern at Miller Freeman Publishing in NYC--for Insurance & Technology magazine (riveting stuff to read, I tell ya)
4. sales clerk at Brookstone--and yes, we totally played with all of the gadgets after closing

Four movies I've watched more than once:
1. Princess Bride (anybody wanna peanut?)
2. Life is Beautiful
3. National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation
4. Breakfast at Tiffany's

Four places I have lived:
1. Chattanooga, TN
2. Franklin, TN
3. NYC
4. Nashville, TN
wow...maybe I should aim for moving out of TN next...

Four TV Shows I watch
1. How I Met Your Mother
2. Hell's Kitchen
3. House
4. Dexter

Four places I have been:
1. Italy
2. France
3. Australia
4. Jamaica

Four of my favorite foods
1. Sushi
2. Thai
3. Potatoes
4. Hummus
(ok, so I realize that 2 of those are foods and 2 are types of food...but whatever, it's my list)

Four Places I love to shop:
1. TJ Maxx
2. Katwalk Shoes
3. Fabu
4. Woodland Wine Merchant

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. At a beach
2. Out west visiting friends (either in CO or CA)
3. Backpacking through Europe
4. On a boat

And now, my salad is done, and it's time for me to get back to event-planning. Hopefully, I can come up with something a tad more original for my next post...

recipe for fun

Ingredients of the weekend: girlfriends, laughter, wine, bright red shoes with 4-inch heels, the greatest cab ride ever, jello shots, Elvis sunglasses, honky-tonks, funny pictures with statues on 2nd Avenue, dancing, a blinking red necklace, 2 a.m. french onion dip, facials, Nashville's Most Wanted Pizza, pajamas and funky footwear, sparkle nail polish, a slightly modified version of pin the tail on the donkey, a pink caboodle, quizzes from a teen magazine, a documentary on a certain type of body puppetry that was disturbing on so many levels, make-your-own sundaes, a scary cactus, a dvd trivia game with a surprise video appearance by Todd, Pop Rocks, staying up late, sleeping in, mimosas, porch-sitting, and incredible amounts of food.

Put them all together, and what do you get? One of the best weekends ever, with some of the most fabulous friends a girl could ever ask for. Thank you, Mary V., for the extraordinary amount of time and heart you put into making it such a special weekend, and thank you to all of my friends who contributed to the celebration. You all, quite simply, rock my world.

sometimes

Sometimes, life throws you a curve ball.

And then sometimes, life throws 100-mile-per-hour fast pitch straight at your head.

What a game.

what's left

Every now and then, I go through periods where I contemplate my place in life. I think about the things I have already accomplished, and I think about the goals and dreams that I would like to realize before I leave this earth. The questions that most often siege my soul are: "What have I contributed? Have I had a positive effect on the lives of those around me? How have I improved the community, and the world, that I live in? And what have I given or accomplished that will remain after I am gone?"

At 31, I hope to have many more years to answer these questions, but the reality is that we never know how many years, or days, we have left in this life. It is a slightly morbid consideration, but it's something that I think about--perhaps because I work in development, and we talk a lot about "leaving a legacy." In that context, we are generally referring to a financial gift/bequest, but since I know that I will likely never have the ability to leave a monetary legacy, I ponder the other ways of leaving behind something meaningful.

During these times of contemplation, I enjoy reading verses and quotations that inspire me in my endeavors to make a positive mark on the world. One such piece follows:

To laugh often and much;
to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;
to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition;
to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.
-(often attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson, but originally penned by Bessie Stanley)

bitten

Sometimes, I think WebMD can read my mind.

I receive their weekly e-mail newsletters, and every now and then, the email title seems to be specifically directed at me. For example, I recently opened my inbox to find the title "Are you a mosquito magnet?", and I immediately had to click through to read the featured article. You see, I have been pondering that exact same question quite a lot lately.

Mosquitos love me. They long to be near me. Sometimes I think that I can see them staring in my windows, just waiting for me to come outside. I'm not sure, but I think that there must have been a write-up in the Mosquito World News that said something like, "If you're ever in Nashville, TN, be sure to stop by TT's for a quick bite to eat. Ask for a seat on the back or upper arms--those are the best spots. It can get a little crowded at times, but it's worth it."

If I played connect-the-dots with all of the bites I currently have, it would look like a full-body tattoo gone horribly awry. There are so many that I actually asked Todd yesterday if he thought it could be chicken pox instead of mosquito bites. He just looked at me like I was crazy. He does that a lot.

When I was little, my mom used to tell me that the mosquitos liked me because I was "so sweet." What I found out from the article is that some people truly are more attractive to mosquitos than others--specifically, people who have more cholesterol or steroids on their skin surface, or people who give off larger amounts of certain acids or carbon dioxide tend to attract more mosquitos. Lovely. I think I liked mom's theory better.

Since I can't alter my body chemistry very easily, I guess I'll just have to start bathing in a mixture of Cutter and Off, and buy a little stock in Calamine lotion. At least then I can amuse the small children in the mall, as they tug at their mom's shirts and say, "Look, mom, there goes a pink polka-dotted lady!"

you shall not pass

I just saw this slideshow of the Top 10 Most Commonly Used Online Passwords, according to PC Magazine. The top four:

1. password
2. 123456
3. qwerty
4. abc123

Um, really? No wonder it's so incredibly easy for hackers to break into online accounts. Are we really that un-creative, or are our memories just so bad that we can't handle anything more complicated? And honestly, why don't more people use antidisestablishmentarianism? I figured that would at least be #8.

Reason #27 why I will not be going vegan...

Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory.



I'm not generally a big cheerleader for chain restaurants or their food, but holy crap. This little piece of chocolatey goodness made my day yesterday.

preach on, helen reddy

I tend to describe myself as a pretty independent woman.

I remember very clearly, around the time of my parents' divorce, my mom looked at me and said "Never let yourself become dependent upon a man." This message emblazoned itself on my brain, and I have tried to live accordingly ever since. I can kill my own spiders, mow my own lawn, pay all my own bills, read maps by myself, and use power tools to fix things. I have followed my mother's advice in almost every way, except when it comes to one thing.

Flat tires.

For some reason, whenever I get a flat tire (which happens to me quite often--I can get a flat tire just by thinking about one), my first instinct is to call a boy. I'm pretty sure, in our first year of dating alone, Todd changed three flats for me. I am quick to look for help in this area, and I've even played the "damsel in distress" on the side of the highway and let a benevolent motorist change the tire for me. I know, it's terrible.

But then, today happened.

I was on my way home from running at the park, and as I was driving down the street, I hit something. I could hear a clicking noise, and I assumed that I ran over something that was now stuck and being dragged under the car. So I pulled into the driveway, and as soon as I got out, I could hear the air gushing out of one of the tires. I had hit a pair of pliers, and somehow one of the handles of the pliers had become completely lodged in the tire. (I honestly don't know how these things happen to me.)

My first thought, as I stood there looking at the completely flat tire? Crap, Todd is out of town.

My second thought? I could call my running partner. Since I had just finished running with him, I knew he was out and about.

I sent him a text message inquiring about his availability to help, and as I was sitting in my driveway waiting for his response, I re-evaluated the situation.

1. It was around 9:00am on a Saturday morning, and I really didn't have anywhere else I needed to be.
2. My car was conveniently located in my own driveway, away from any traffic.
3. I was already sweaty and gross from running.

So I asked myself, could there be any better opportunity for me to teach myself to change a tire?
And my answer? Probably not.

So I sent another text message saying that I thought I might have everything under control, and I went to work. Having watched my tire get changed plenty of times, I had a pretty good idea of what had to happen. And, in fact, I only made one mistake, which was jacking up the car before I loosened the lug nuts on the tire. So, I let it back down, loosened the lug nuts, then jacked it back up.

And then I proceeded to change my tire, all my myself. And when I drove it to the tire store in Rivergate, guess what? The spare totally didn't fall off.

And you know what I was thinking then? Oh, yeah:

"I am strong, I am invincible, I am woooooooooooman!"

(You knew that was coming, right?)

I could be just slightly neurotic...

It's possible. I do have some habits that could lean toward that description.

For example, I will check under the bed from time to time, particularly when Todd is out of town, just to make sure that there aren't any axe murderers lying in wait for me to hit REM sleep before they jump out and go all ginsu on my dormant body. Of course, now that I have dogs I tend to do this less often, because I assume that one of them would alert me if someone was hiding under my bed, especially since that is at their nose level and all. I guess I tend to think that axe murderers would be fairly odoriferous and catch the attention of my nosy mutts.

And then there's work, where we have a slight brown recluse problem. And by "slight" I mean that we see them scurrying down the hall or along the wall quite often, which means that there are probably 2,000 more hiding behind the walls. So, everytime I go to the bathroom, I lift the toilet seat and look underneath, just to make sure that one of the little buggers isn't crouching under there, ready to take a bite out of my bum when I sit down. Brown recluse bites ain't no joke--they make your skin and muscle tissue fall off. Not that I would mind terribly if part of my bum fell off, so I could fit in my size 6 jeans again...but I would prefer that the venom of a recluse spider not be involved.

And finally, the car. And parking lots. I'm always hyper-vigilant when walking to my car in a parking lot, because I've heard too many stories about people's ankles being slashed by gang members hiding under the cars, or stowaways hidden in the backseat (again with the axe murderers), and so on and so forth. I realize that most of these tales are urban myths, but still. Also, if there is a large white van parked on the driver's side of my car, I will be entering my car from the passenger side, thank you. Of course, the irony here is that my soon-to-be husband drives a large, white van. Now, if Todd wants to surprise me and pull me into the back of his van to have his way with me, I'm ok with that. As long as he moves the table saw out of the way. With other random vans, I'm not going to take my chances.

So maybe I'm not actually neurotic, maybe I'm just a little bit of a scaredy-cat. But, if my overactive fear anxieties keep me from getting my butt dissolved by a spider bite, or prevent me from being kid-napped (adult-napped?) in a Target parking lot, or mean that an axe murderer is going to have to kill me to my face instead of in my sleep, then so be it. Call me a scaredy-cat all you want.

i do my little turn on the katwalk

It's official. Ya'll, I just found a new place to feed my shoe addiction.

And you know I only break out the "ya'll" when I'm really excited.

As many of my friends know, I have been a frequent shopper at "Shoe Time", which I lovingly refer to as the ghetto shoe mart. It's a tiny storefront in a strip mall on Gallatin Road, right next to the Save-a-Lot. And it has been my go-to place for cheap, unique shoes.

However, for the last few weeks, their blinking neon "open" sign has been darkened. There still appears to be inventory inside, so everytime I drive by, I think "maybe today...maybe they've just been on vacation...maybe they did a huge, 4-week restocking extravaganza." Yet, nothing.

But then, the other day, I noticed something.

Down the street about a block, on the other side of the road, a new shoe store has opened. Enter, Katwalk Shoes. My curiosity got the better of me, so yesterday, I went in to explore.

Ladies, it is a bright and shiny shoe mecca. The Gallatin Road version of Off Broadway.

Need some pink leopard-print kicks? Oh yeah, they got 'em.

Want a lime green pair of stilettos, with a metallic heel? Right here, aisle 2.

How about some sandals that make it look like a bejeweled serpent is slithering up your foot? Yep. In three colors, no less.

Ok, so there may be quite a few shoes in here that you would never really purchase, unless you have a hot date on Dickerson Pike later, but there are a plethora of cute shoes in the mix as well.

And the best part? None of them are over $20.

So, my exploring adventure quickly turned into a purchasing adventure, and I walked out with some strappy sandals with a tall cork wedge heel that make me about 6-foot-5 when I wear them. Absolutely fabulous.

And as I checked out, the very nice sales girl let me know that they get in new inventory every Monday.

Katwalk Tuesdays, anyone? I see a tradition beginning...

letting the days go by

Things I have learned about myself recently, in no particular order:

* I have a hole in my head. No, really. There's a very large dent/soft spot in my skull near the front of my head, and I'm not sure if it just recently occurred, or if I just recently discovered it. It's disconcerting, but I probably won't go to the doctor about it unless it gets bigger, or unless I start randomly fainting.
* I really don't like fake meat products that try too hard to taste like meat. I know that my Chik'n Griller is made of soy, so I'm o.k. with it if it tastes more like tofu than meat. If it tastes more like a freezer-burned version of a McD's chicken patty, then ick.
* I can still get a tan. I thought I had lost the ability to tan, because I haven't had much color to my skin since the mid-90's. However, doing lots of yardwork lately has led to a nice golden skin tone. So, I discovered that my problem is actually that I grew up and got a job that no longer allows me to spend all of my summers outside, and not, in fact, my suspicion that I used up all of my melanin when I was a tanning teenager.
* I run kind of like Phoebe on Friends. I've always known that I run somewhat awkwardly, because I have long arms and legs that tend to fly about when I am attempting to propel myself forward at increased speeds. But, pictures from the 1/2 Marathon gave me photographic proof that it is worse than I imagined. Just ask my running partner.
* I can eat an entire pizza by myself. Multiple hours of yardwork does wonders for the appetite. After a day of manual labor, I can down 8-10 pieces of pizza as fast as you can say "Would you like to try a slice of the 'East of Eden'?"
* I definitely don't need/want more than 2 pets. Pet-sitting for friends is great, and I honestly don't mind doing it, but I'm always glad when our crazy home life drops back down to the dull roar of a 2-dog household. So, if I ever even mention the possibility of adopting another pet, please lock me in a closet until the urge passes. Unless it's a fish. No, wait--I can just imagine Tucker attempting to go fishin' in the tank while we're not home. Nevermind.

what does 50/50 look like?

As someone who is about to get married, and who has recently been struggling with my mate regarding the division of labor within the household, I found this New York Times article on gender roles and equal responsibilities within a marital partnership to be incredibly interesting.

We've come a long way from the 1930's wives, as a fun test on a friend's blog reveals, but how much do their ghosts still haunt us?

eat your veggies...carefully

I am a pesco-vegetarian, which basically means that I am a vegetarian with a seafood problem. It also means that Sir Paul McCartney thinks I'm living wrong. But, as a mostly-vegetarian, I tend to think that I am safe from most diseases associated with the consumption of meat. However, the last couple of years have proven otherwise.

First, my beloved spinach was victim, as tons of fresh spinach were recalled in September of 2006 due to an e-coli outbreak. I eat spinach every day, and when I say that, I'm not exaggerating. Going to my local grocery store and finding the shelves cleared of spinach was rather depressing. But, with the spinach issue, disaster could be averted by washing the spinach thoroughly enough, or by cooking it.

Now, tomatoes are being recalled all across the United States because of a salmonella scare. And with salmonella, washing doesn't necessarily get rid of the bacteria. You could cook it away, but then you just end up with tomato mush. And this is the time of year when I should be able to buy a tomato, slice it up, add a little fresh basil and mozzarella, and be good to go.

Yep, next year I think I will definitely be joining a CSA, or planting a very large garden in my backyard.

In other food news, Spam and Ramen seem to be making a comeback, due to the rising cost of groceries. Ugh. I think I'd rather take my chances with the tomatoes...

did someone order a sauna?

Here's your 4-day forecast:

Today
Sunny
Hi 93°F


Friday
Sunny
Hi 92°F


Saturday
Mostly Sunny
Hi 92°F


Sunday
Mostly Sunny
Hi 93°F


Welcome to summer in Nashville. I think we might need to move our August outdoor wedding underground. Or invest in backyard A/C.

Sorry, Walter

I just came across this blurb on consumerist.com (Thanks, K and other friends, for introducing me to one of my new favorite sites).I thought it was a fitting follow-up to my previous post on customer service.

Knowing what I myself have muttered to those automated voice services, I can only imagine what those recordings might hold...

R.I.P., C.S.

Did I miss the funeral?

I'm wondering, because all of my experiences in the past week indicate that customer service is dead. Toes up, six feet under, cold as ice--dead. Instead of actually helping you, company reps seem intent on responsibility-shifting...sending you from one person to the next person to the next, and oddly, none of them seem to know what to do to make the situation better. This week, I have heard myself say more than once "I need you to make this right for me," which everyone knows is the very polite way of saying, "Look, you flaming idiot, you've got less than two seconds to work this out in my favor, or else I'm gonna put down this phone, drive to your office, and beat you senseless with my left shoe."

So what's the end response that I've gotten? "I'm sorry." And I can imagine them saying it while shrugging their shoulders and giving a little half smile to the phone receiver. I'm sorry? That's it? I mean, thank you, Home Depot, but "sorry" doesn't exactly help the fact that your mistake probably effected my credit report...nor does it remedy the fact that a bunch of people are showing up tomorrow morning to build a fence, and we still don't have all the lumber you promised us. And, Leaderpromos, "sorry" still leaves me SOL and looking like a very unprepared alumni relations director when I don't have anything to give the seniors as a gift next week when they graduate.

Am I venting? Yes. So don't even get me started on the automated answering services. I am convinced that in the seventh level of hell, you are forced to sit on a phone with an automated answering service that never gets you anywhere, and no matter how many buttons you push, or how many times you scream "representative!" in the phone, you never get to speak to a live person. Ever.

Sigh. I feel a little better now. Although, if the security guards at HD or LP headquarters see a woman with crazy eyes approaching the building, carrying one of her shoes in her hand, they better watch out.

blog-hopping

This whole blogging world is quite strange.

If you're anything like me (a curious cat), you can totally get sucked in to link-hopping. I'll visit friends' blogs that I like to follow, and I'll see the list of their blogging friends, so I'll click on a few of the links to check out what their other friends are like. And then while I'm visiting those other blogs, I might become intrigued by a cool name on their link list...so I just keep traveling from blog to blog until my eyes get a little blurry from reading so many life essays.

And in the process, I've actually discovered a few blogs that I quite like, and I find myself going back to visit them (once I can retrace the link-map that got me there). Part of me would even like to add them to my link list...except that it seems a little weird, considering that they have no idea who I am. Unless, of course, they have done the same thing I have and discovered my blog during their web-wandering.

I did find one blog, though, that I thought I would share, because it's just too darn funny. Anytime I need a laugh, I visit this blog, and it almost always delivers.

how you know you've hit that stage where you're a weird hybrid of young and old...

...when you get the tubes in your medicine cabinet mixed up, and you accidentally rub your acne spot eliminating gel under your eyes, and you dab your rejuvenating eye serum on your cheek zits.

random thoughts from the road

I'm spending a few days in lovely and historic Chatt-town, visiting the family and, well, sleeping (I had a two-hour nap today that was totally uninterrupted by dogs. It was glorious.) Here are some random observations from my road-trip down here:

* There is a flea market on top of Monteagle where you can buy socks, t-shirts, and camoflonge. That's not a typo...that's actually what the sign said, camoflonge. Being a curious person, I googled it to see if it might actually be a legit item, and not just an egregious misspelling of camouflage (it is, in fact, the latter). But, someone else had totally taken a picture of the same sign and posted it on the internet. Here it is:


Randomly, the syllable "flonge" makes me think of another word that I like-- phalanges. Not sure why, I just think it is fun to say.

* As I was driving, I saw a Michigan license plate, and it reminded me that I used to call people from that state "Michiganese". Then I dated a guy who was from the Detroit area, and he let me know that the correct term was "Michiganders". I still like my word better. Michiganders makes me think of geese.

*On the highway going down Monteagle mountain towards Chattanooga, there are occasional emergency truck ramps off to the side-- long, upward-sloping gravel ramps that trucks can use if they are having trouble braking on their descent. Every time I pass these, I always have the urge to gun it and see how far I could drive my car up the ramp. It just seems like it would be fun to try it out. Well, until it gets to the part where your car gets stuck, and someone has to come and tow you out, and you get cited for being an idiot. That might not be so fun.

* Today was extremely windy. My car is extremely small and light. It makes for an interesting combination, and a rather exciting drive (Hey, look there, I just changed lanes without even meaning to. Sweet!)

Ok, I think that's it for road randomness...now, it's time for me to go sleep some more...

unsubscribe

About a year or so ago, I joined the East Nashville listserv. I thought that it would be a great way to keep up on information related to the neighborhood, and that it might also help me get to know a few of my neighbors in the process.

Well, after a year of receiving the digest e-mails and following every crazy thread, all I can say is...holy crap. I've personally never been a watcher of soap operas, but this listserv is basically like an online version of "The Days of Our Lives." Except that it seems chock-full of people who are intent on broadcasting just how ignorant, obnoxious, and offensive they can be. And what I discovered was...if these people are anywhere near like what they represent themselves to be on the listserv, then there are quite a few of my neighbors that I don't really ever care to meet.

So, today I unsubscribed. It felt good. It felt...healthy. I could hear a faint chorus of Mary J.'s "No More Drama" echoing in the back of my mind.

And although I might miss a few good announcements or a bit of interesting information, I figure that if it's important enough, I'll either hear it from my friends, or I'll see it on the news.

Although, local news might be the next thing that I cut out...I mean, honestly, how many minutes of a broadcast can you dedicate to covering the weather? Really?

the dog days of spring

Sunday was totally a dog day. Here's the sequence of events:

Approximately 8:00am--Todd has left for golf, and I am putzing around picking up laundry. I glance out the window to check on the dogs in the backyard, only to see Tucker take a flying leap over the back of the fence at that exact moment. Sweet. I get to go chase my dog through the neighborhood in my pajamas. So, if you were sitting in your kitchen Sunday morning, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper, and you looked out the window to see a woman wearing a bathrobe and wonky glasses traipsing through your yard carrying a leash and a dog treat, then hi, I'm your neighbor, and I'm sorry if my dog chewed on your gladiolas.

8:20am--Tucker is relegated to puppy-jail, to sit and think about what he has done wrong. Levi is in the backyard playing with the neighbor's dog...or at least I think that's what he is doing, until I hear a crash in the basement. I go investigate and discover that Levi has knocked Tucker's big bag of dog food over, and it has spilled down the stairs, and he and the neighbor dog are now having a feast. Side note--add dog food to the grocery list. Second side note--large bags of dog food generally aren't cheap.

9:00am-- Tucker is released from puppy-jail and decides that he needs to proclaim the injustices he has suffered to the entire world, so he proceeds to stand in the backyard and bark his fool head off...despite my repeated commands of "Tucker, no bark!" I have decided that Tucker either doesn't understand this command, or he just refuses to follow it. I'm pretty sure it's the latter.

10:00am-- Yep, Tucker is still barking...and now he has persuaded the other dogs to join him. It's kind of like a symphony. No, more like a cacophony.

10:30am-- I am getting ready to leave, so I bring the dogs inside as I'm gathering my things. I walk into the back bedroom only to discover that Levi has peed all over the bed. Really, dog? You've been outside all morning long, and you've only been inside for 5 minutes, and now you decide to release your bladder? On the bed? Ironically, when I told a friend last week that Levi had peed on the couch, he said "That's the 2nd worst place he could have peed-- the first being the bed." Yep, bingo. Now all Levi has to do is piss in my car, and he'll have a trifecta!

So, it isn't even noon yet, and already my day has gone to the dogs. And I can't help but wonder two things:
1. Why did man think it was a good idea to try to domesticate animals?
2. And why, oh why, when we already had one dog that was quite a handful all on his own did I think that "hey, let's get another dog" sounded like a good plan?

i like big hearts and i cannot lie...

There is a quotation from W.H. Auden that one of my old high school teachers included in her yearbook entry, which randomly etched itself into my brain, and it comes to mind every now and then:

"Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh."

Last night, I had dinner with a couple of friends. One works for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and the other just recently began a new job at Hands on Nashville. Both of them are beautiful women with big hearts--people who are passionate about helping other people. They both absolutely love their jobs, because each day carries the joy of knowing that what they do makes life better for someone else.

And as I basked in the love and the laughter that we shared over dinner, it hit me. My common denominator is big hearts. The people whom I love the most are those who love others well. If I see someone who spills out his/her life in service to others, I am smitten. People who almost give too much-- too much of their time, their money, and their resources to help others-- to me, they positively glow.

So, if you've ever been accused of caring too much, giving too much, or volunteering too much, then please, come sit by me. Chances are, I'm gonna love you and your big heart.