Child Prodigy

My Uncle Rick just called with the funniest news I've heard in a long time. Yes, Mom, Rick called here to talk to me. I thought it was strange, too. Until I heard the reason why.

Apparently he was cleaning out his desk at AG Edwards in Thomasville where he works as a stockbroker, and he came across something someone brought to him a few years ago. Something that he thought might be of interest to me. A story, fully illustrated, entitled "The Murder of John Thomas: A Jennifer McBride Mystery". And the author? You guessed it... a 4th grade Miriam Terry. Yes, the lady who brought it in was no other than Mrs. Payne, my former elementary school teacher. Actually, in the year that I had her, she was Ms. Neil and then Mrs. Payne. And when my sister, Beth, had her two years before, she had been Mrs. Edwards. Quite confusing for a sheltered child like me. Anyway.

The funniest part about this story is that John Thomas, the victim in this tragic book, is my uncle. My very much alive uncle. My mom's brother. And Rick's, too. Rick said that there was even a detailed illustration of my Uncle John, lying on the ground, with a knife stuck in his chest. And, after stumbling upon this sight, apparently Jennifer McBride, the detective and heroine (of obviously more than one story, according to the subtitle), "screamed but no sound came out." Who knew that I was so talented to create such poetry, even at the tender age of 9? I must've been really mad at John. Poor, murdered, John.

Rick's holding the book for me to pick up when I'm in Thomasville next week. He promised he wouldn't give it to my parents before because he knows, as well as I do, that they'll keep it for themselves. Like those paintings I did that are up on the wall in our den. My grandfather offered me good money for those, but Mom says they're not for sale. You'd think she'd painted them herself.

On a completely different topic, I just had lunch with my coolest friend, Gina. I'm not worried a bit about offending any of you blog girls with that statement because those of you who know Gina know that she's unbeatable in that regard. Undeniably so. It was her adorably short, curly hair that inspired me to cut mine a couple of years ago. She teaches 6th and 7th grade at a Catholic School in Washington DC. LOVE her.

I'm attaching two pictures below from our lunch because, apparently, I'm a picture freak of late. Excuse the blurriness of the first; I thought it was too cute not to post anyway!

The Best Laid Plans

Funny how things don't always work out how you think they will. Remember how I was so worked up earlier in the week about having too many things to do on a Saturday night? The two festivals and all? Well, Elizabeth and I decided to do neither, instead having seafood at Jim Shaw's on the porch in the flooding rain and, afterwards, a chick flick. Couldn't have asked for a better time. Perhaps the key was just knowing that there were options?

Posting some pictures from our fun weekend. The first is last night at Cafe Intermezzo in Atlanta, and the next is from tonight at Jim Shaw's. Yes, the second one is scarily close and bright and shiny... Elizabeth took it herself!

Oh, Atlanta

Elizabeth and I had our most adventurous evening since our trip to Vegas last night. We drove up to Atlanta to see a friend of mine play at this great little coffee shop near the Tech campus (boo, I know. wreck tech and all that.).

This friend, TJ, and I have a very strange history. You see, I met TJ in West Virginia when I was 14 and he was 16. Summer of, um, 1992, I guess. Or maybe '93. I don't know. Both of us were taking part in a Mission Trip, based on the campus of Concord College in a town up there called Athens. His group was from Hilton Head in South Carolina, and my friend Courtney Blackburn and I thought that he and his friend Chris were the cutest boys we had ever laid eyes on. A friendship was born. We all exchange addresses and phone numbers and we leave expecting never again to see each other. Boy, were we wrong.

A correspondence between the four of us lasted a year or so following the trip. TJ and Chris were very creative; they'd occasionally send us videos or recorded cassette tapes instead of letters, some of which I still have today, I think. Over a year later, they met up with us when my high school played in Jesup for a football playoff game. My boyfriend at the time was not pleased, I don't think. Realizing that on hindsight. Sorry, J.

The summer before my senior year in high school, almost two years later in 1995, I went up to Charleston to attend a "band camp" of sorts. Shut up with the band nerd comments. It was just me and a couple of other folks from my school; it was really a leadership camp and, since I was going to be the drum major that year, I had to go. We had fallen out of touch, but somehow I discovered that TJ was not only a student at Charleston Southern University (the school where the camp took place), but that he was the roommate of one of the college students in charge of the camp. After I got permission from my band director, TJ picked me up in his little beat up car to show me around his Charleston one morning. We split an egg mcmuffin for breakfast (funny the things you remember), then walked around the historic district. He gave me the history behind the colors on the houses (so that, in the past, slaves could tell the difference between houses when making deliveries) and the significance of the palmetto tree on the SC flag. I leave South Carolina and we, again, say our permanent goodbyes.

Eight years pass. Eight years of college and graduate school and a time of a lot of change for me. I'm on the Internet one day in the summer of 2003, and I come across a website for a church in Hilton Head where a guy named TJ Edmond is the youth pastor. Surely not, I think. Surely this isn't my old friend TJ. I send an email to the address listed on the website. He writes back. It's him. We meet up one evening when I'm visiting Beth in Savannah, and we have some good conversation, catching up on each others' lives, etc. He moves to Buffalo, NY, I move to Macon.

A couple of months ago, I get an email from him out of the blue inviting me to join this networking site called MySpace. Just one of those form letter types of emails, you know, that sites like that send out? I join because, well, why not, I'm blogging, aren't I? and, through this site and an occasional short email, I discover that he's now living in Atlanta and in the early stages of starting a band. Last night was his first concert in over a year, apparently, so Elizabeth so kindly agreed to go with me to support my most random friend. Music was great, and he and I got to catch up very briefly for a few minutes after the show. We joke about how, maybe, we'll see each other again in 10 years, we say another probably permanent goodbye, and Elizabeth and I are on our way to dinner at Cafe Intermezzo.

What's the point in this entirely too long and rambling blog? There's not really one, I guess. But, if nothing else, I'll reward your patience with a picture of a 14-year-old me and a 16-year-old TJ, both sunburnt from building houses all day in West Virginia. Oh, and if you have a moment, stop by his site and take a listen to his stuff... I think you'll like it!

"To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub..."

This morning, at a ridiculously early time (4:30 am), I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. This happens to me on occasion; usually it's a sign that I'm anxious about something. Remember earlier this summer, when it was happening a good bit right before I left to go to Belize and when I was about to move? Trying to figure out what's got me going this time.

I'm a really laid back person, for the most part. I tend to take things as they come, and I rarely worry about things. I don't get flustered easily, and I work best when I'm under pressure. But. there's this one recurring sign that something's on my mind, and that's that I don't sleep well. It's the only indication that I usually have of my being under any kind of pressure.

I'm thinking this time it must be the approaching school year. Sure, I love my job. However, there are so many unknowns going into each new year. Will my new class be good (like last year's) or terrible (like the year before)? Will I be able to challenge them like I should? Will I set a good example, be a good role model for them? One of the toughest parts about teaching middle school is that I always have in the back of my mind the knowledge of how impressionable these kids are, that one thing I say, or don't say, could affect them for years to come. They're still at that age where what I say and think matters to them, and I do all I can to build them up, but there are some days when I'm tired or grumpy or whatever and I get irritated and snap at someone who may not particularly deserve it.

I know I'm starting to get nervous about the upcoming year when the anxiety dreams start. Crazy, I know. But I won't even be thinking a bit about school during the daytime, and -all of a sudden- I'm having these wacky dreams. My first year, I remember dreaming that I couldn't find my classroom, and I missed practically the entire first day of school. Last year (after my first year of particularly bad students), I dreamed that I couldn't control my classes and got chastised by my principal. I remember vividly dreaming that I was standing in front of the room, yelling and pleading and almost in tears because they wouldn't be quiet, and then she walks in to see the chaos. And it's already started this year, too. A couple of nights ago, I dreamed that I had to be out the entire first week of school for some reason, so that, by the time I got there, the students had gotten so used to the substitute that they refused to acknowledge me as their permanent teacher. All very amusing upon telling. However, these dreams are a little stressful when I'm trying to sleep in the middle of the night!

I had anxiety dreams in college and graduate school, too. One of them I remember well, especially since I still have it from time to time when I'm stressed out for some reason or another. In this dream, I've forgotten that I've registered for a class until a good bit past the midpoint of the semester, which is the cutoff point for withdrawing. I realize my mistake right before final exam time, so I have to show up and take it with no notes, no knowledge of the material, and no chance whatsoever of passing the class. It's my one recurring nightmare.

What's funny is that, once daylight comes, I'm completely back to my normal, no worries, self. But I know, once the dreams and sleepless nights start, I'm nervous.

So, School, here we go again. Welcome to another year!

Feast or Famine

How many times have I complained of weekends in Macon with nothing to do? No fun band at the Georgia Theater, no cool art festival going on downtown, no booksigning at College Square, no anything that resembles the multitude of cool events that were always happening in Athens? Well. It appears that the reason most weekends in Macon don't have an event that I can attend is because they throw them ALL into one jam-packed weekend, so that it's suddenly impossible to do everything I want to do within a 3-day span of time.

Take this weekend for example. We have something called "Bragg Jam" going on, which is, I *think*, Macon's answer to Athens' Athfest. Art for sale downtown, and you can get tickets or wristbands or something of the sort in order to visit all the different downtown venues where cool bands will be playing. Sounds great. Elizabeth says that, in the past, it's SO packed with people that it's a little overwhelming. Like, everyone in Macon realizes that it's their one chance to actually get out of their houses and do something, so they all converge onto the downtown area in one solid, chaotic mass.

Chaos I can deal with, though, if it means there's something to do. However, in a strange move, the Powers That Be in Macon have also decided that this particular weekend would be a good one for a little event called "Midsummer Macon" that takes place on the Quad at Wesleyan, the opposite end of town from downtown and Bragg Jam. This festival of sorts involves certain carnival-like activities and then, at 8:30 on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, a free movie for the crowds. You know, everyone brings a blanket and a picnic and sits under the stars to watch a family friendly film. Sounds right up my alley. Tomorrow night is Grease, Friday night is Shrek 2, and Saturday night (most exciting) is E.T. However, I can't be two places at once. I can't enjoy the downtown art/music festival AND take advantage of the fun outdoor movie festival. Oh, and a friend of mine in Atlanta is playing a show at a coffee shop there, and he wants me to bring friends and come along. It is at this point (and this point only) that I wish cloning was morally and ethically and scientifically possible. I'm feeling pulled in three different directions.

And most of the time, I sit at home alone with nothing to do. It makes absolutely no sense to me.

On another, unrelated side note, I got an email from my friend Gina today, and she's coming through Macon and stopping for lunch on Monday. Yay! Gina is the epitomy of cool. She is who I strive to be. She and I were in grad school together, and she was the third traveller (along with Rebecca and me) on our very adventurous trip to London in 2003. I LOVE her. She is currently teaching middle school English at a Catholic School in DC. Trying to find a picture already on my computer to post, but it appears the only ones I have are hard copies. And my scanner isn't hooked up. And I don't really know where it is.

Ok, wow, this is a rambler, isn't it? Apologies. I'll just chalk it up to yet another entry that I look back at in a few days and wince. Seem to be lots of those lately.

Rooting for the Average

Ok, we've established that I don't have cable. And my reasoning for not having cable is so that I'll get things accomplished. What things? I don't really know, but surely anything other than parking myself on my couch in front of the television is a more wisely chosen path.

For the first evening in over a week, I'm free. No plans, no traveling, no nothing. What do I do? Well, in the productive, efficient world in which I should be living, I'd do the laundry in my clothes hamper, as it's piling up from my various travels. Perhaps I'd read the novel that I checked out from the library the other day (Memoirs of a Geisha. Pretty good, actually. Recommended by Rob Vickery, my former landlord and friend, who teaches AP 11th Grade and Honors 12th at FPD). Maybe I'd mix up the corn and black bean salsa that I'm taking to Bible Study tomorrow night. Then again, my apartment needs cleaning and my dishwasher needs unloading. All equally respectable choices.

But do I do any of these? No. Instead, I go pick up Chick fil A (there are addicting drugs in that chicken, I swear), plop down on my couch, and watch "Average Joe: The Joes Strike Back." Yep. That's right. I'm sad to say that I'm addicted. I find myself, week after week, glued to the set watching my one channel, pulling with all my heart for the adorably geeky "average Joes" and hating, with a passion, the models/actors who have come in to ruin the Joes' chances with the beautiful girl. And what's even more embarrassing is that this isn't even a well-made reality show. It's TERRIBLE. bad acting, bad editing, you name it, it's bad. Like the ghetto version of "Joe Millionaire", which all of my Athens friends got together to watch and laugh at a few years ago. What will become of me? Am I doomed to live a lazy existence, feasting on fast food and bad reality tv? Have the spoils of my weekend in Savannah forever ruined my resolve to regain my intellectuality (is that a word?) in this black hole of all culture and academia that is Macon, Georgia?

On a lighter note, I've had a really good day up until this latest epiphany that revealed my gluttony. Went to the pool this morning with a new friend and her two little babies. She grew up in Macon, but she's been living in Colorado until recently when she and her husband moved back to be nearer to her family. They only have one car, and he takes it to work every day, so she's been trapped at home with the two kids every day. Just found out about this last night, or I'd have been over there more often. Sitting at the pool, ya know, is such a sacrifice.

Spent a lazy afternoon reading, napping a little, watching Oprah (of course) and corresponding some through email with an old friend from high school, who I haven't heard from in 7 years or so. He's considering a career move to teaching English, and wrote wanting my opinion. It's been refreshing catching up, and a lot of fun!

So. Guess I'll hit that laundry pile and the dishes in the sink. No more Reality Show for this girl... at least until the season finale tomorrow night!

Savannah Pictures

Here are the promised photos from the night it all went down in Savannah. Enjoy! :)



Check out Officer Pudge on the left of this shot.


Look closely and you'll see the Arby's that I had to hike to in order to use the bathroom.


And -FINALLY- Thai food with Beth!

Girls' Night Out

Read the title. Close your eyes. What images come to mind? Several girls, a few girly drinks like cosmopolitans, fruity martinis, maybe a white zin here or there, a cute bartender with whom everyone is flirting. Ok, ok... at minimum, in a conservative group, perhaps a fun restaurant with the flirting occuring with the waiter, then a cheesy chick flick afterwards.

So, my question is, when did I outgrow that? I receive an email the other day from a girl my age entitled "Girls' Night Out". I get excited. Yeah, man, this is what I've been waiting for. Let's do it. Count me in.

However, I read the invitation and realize, to my utter dismay, that the "Girls' Night Out" is, in actuality, a COOKIE SWAP where we have to bake a dozen cookies and bring them, along with the recipe, to a friend's house so that -joy of all joys- we get to take home an assortment of different goodies AND (if that wasn't fun enough already) the recipes so that we can make them all ourselves!!!!!

Suddenly, I'm feeling not 27, but 72. Maybe my grandmother's computer got hit by a virus and all of her emails are accidentally getting sent to me.

I think I'll grab my walker and hobble to the bathroom; I'm feeling sick at the hokiness of it all. Oh, wait, nevermind. I have to go make cookies.

If it comes in a tub ...

... it can't be good for you. At least, that's what Beth and I discussed over a tub o' Coldstone Creamery Peanut Butter Cup Perfection ice cream a few minutes ago. Other examples? Tub O' Lard, Tub O' Butter, Tub O' Indian Food. See what we mean? And, although everything we've eaten and done this weekend hasn't come in tubs, it might has well have. We've done everything in excess, nothing in moderation. And what fun it's been!

I mentioned Thai food Friday night after my day wrecking the car? and Indian Food (A Taste of India, the place was called) after art museuming and coffee shopping? Well, yesterday morning, we woke up around 9 and were at the beach less than an hour later, soaking up a Tub O' Sun on Tybee Island. Lunch was a brief, hot walk on the sand later at 1, where we dined on Pina Coladas and Tubs of Plantains, Corn/Avocado Dip, and a Crab cake sandwich at the North Beach Grill. Then it was a tub o' sleep (naptime) before we went to a tub of parties (two, actually, but within a 5 hour span of time and only disturbed by a delicious seafood dinner somewhere in the middle, it was more partying than I've done in longer than I can remember.). The seafood was found at AJ's, a little hole in the wall joint on the Intercoastal Waterway, where you can eat on the dock, watch the sunset, and listen to a musician who could make a very good living in Vegas as a James Taylor impersonator. Oh, and one of the parties included a tub of EMS boys. Not literally a tub, before you all get too jealous, haha. I think they were highly flattered that Beth the Surgeon showed up, and we both felt REALLY old, but they were all quite adorable. There had to have been a million of them there, for real.

Today, after waking up at 11 (see? nothing in moderation!), we headed to a place called the Firefly Cafe for brunch, which was great. Then, if our tub of water wasn't full enough after yesterday's morning at the beach, we rode Jet Skis all afternoon. No, not all afternoon. But a few hours, leaving enough time for us to get pedicures at the nail spa. Beth had a tub of pumice stone ... the lady scraped her feet so much, they started bleeding! Gross, I know. Sorry.

After pedicures and showers, we went downtown to eat sushi, then out to Target where we spent TWO tubs of money (I got a cool Beatles t-shirt, though), then to Cold Stone Creamery where the idea for this blog came about in the first place.

So. Tubs. The more I think about it, they aren't always bad. You get in them, they get you clean. However, you stay in them long enough, and your skin gets all weird and wrinkly. You get waterlogged. you look like a prune. What's my point? My point is that this bath of indulgence has been great. Could I live like this? Not a chance. So tomorrow, when I return to my landlocked Macon, step on the ominous bathroom scale, cook my Weight Watchers dinners, get a dose of reality at the car body shop, and log my multitude of purchases in my checkbook, I'll be happy and not disappointed. Because what's the point of a tub, if you don't ever get out of it and experience the refreshment gained from your time spent there?

I Heart Progressive

Update on the Car Situation. Insurance companies have both been great. Faxed the police report to mine early afternoon, and they were quick to be in touch with the other guy's (henceforth known as the "Perp"). Within an hour I'd had 2 conversations with Progressive (both of which while I was visiting the Telfair Art Museum and feeling very much like "that annoying girl on the cell phone at the art museum"). I talked to them again so they could get my statement while I was at The Sentient Bean, a really cool coffee shop across from Forsyth Park. Set up for taking my car in to the shop that I usually use on Monday afternoon, and I'll be hooked up with a rental.

Oh, and did I mention I might be crushing on Jared the Claims Agent? He was too cute. At least his voice was. I think he liked me too, as he was quite flirty for a typical late Friday afternoon business call. Wanted to know all about my weekend and what I had done in Savannah so far. Yup, nothing like a phone call with a claims agent to boost a girl's confidence. I could get used to this wreck thing.

Adding to The Story

In the last few years, I've come to realize that things aren't always going to work out in a most fabulously perfect way. This concept used to be really hard for me to grasp, and I would complain constantly. I'm working through it, however, and I've come up with a really easy way for me to accept life's little obstacles: realizing that they will add to The Story that will eventually, hopefully, become The Book. The Book that will make me my millions. My Ship Yet to Come In.

I made it to Beth's house in Savannah from mine in Macon in record time. 4 hours and 15 minutes. The longest EVER to take a person to get from the one spot to the other. How did all of this come about? Well, let me just tell you.

The trip was taking a long time from the beginning. First, I had to stop for gas. Then, while at the gas station, I stupidly decided that buying a liter of water for the road would be a good idea. This brilliancy brought about another stop at a gas station about halfway to Savannah, where the bathroom was being cleaned and I had to wait for several minutes to get in. Picked up a diet coke. (Remember this for later.) Then, about 20 miles outside of my destination, I hit a terrible rainstorm and couldn't go more than about 35 mph. I was making great time, let me tell you.

Oh, but that's just the beginning. I get to Savannah and take the wrong exit. I travel about 10 minutes or so down the road before realizing that I'm going WEST on Lynes Parkway and not EAST towards Beth's house off of Abercorn. I turn around and head back. 20 minutes later, I'm on the right track. Thai food (our first night's feast) right around the corner. I was so close I could smell it.

So, here I am, waiting in 6:00 traffic at the stop light about a mile from Beth's house, when I look in my rearview mirror and think, slowly, "Hey, I don't think that ghetto car coming up really quickly behind me is going to stop. No, they're not." And they didn't. Rammed me in the back of the car. I had been in the far left lane with a median on one side and traffic on the right, so there had been nowhere to go. I saw the whole thing coming. Great.

I call Beth and tell her I've been hit. Called 911. Got out to survey the damage. Pretty serious dent in my rear bumper, along with some bad scrapes, but, all in all, it could've been much worse. Plus, it wasn't my fault, so I'm okay on the financial end.

Beth shows up. The cops don't. Not for 45 minutes, at least. Beth was ready to pull some strings with the "I'm a Trauma Surgeon" bit on the phone with the cops, but I held her back. Oh, remember that Diet Coke I had bought earlier? well, I was about to wet my pants. Seriously. Coming into Savannah I had to go pretty badly, but I decided that I was only about 15 minutes from Beth's, so I could wait. That was BEFORE the wrong turn and BEFORE the wreck. Once Beth got there and I got permission from a very amused off-duty cop who had stopped by to make sure we were taken care of, I hightailed it down DeRenne (very very busy parkway) ON FOOT to the Arby's that was within my sights. Relief.

Cops finally get there. Can I just say that I think it a safe bet that they had been whiling away the minutes at Krispy Kreme? Officer Pudgy, the man in charge, waddles up to me and says, "Ain't hurt anywheres, is you?" "Um, no sir," I reply as I try not to make eye contact with the "you've got to be kidding me" look written all over Beth's face. He then proceeds to take another 20 minutes to write up the police report before letting me go. Meanwhile, Beth and I were taking pictures galore... of Pudge and his partner, the police car, my car, the Perpetrator in his ghetto mobile, the Arby's sign a ways off down the street. Oh, it was great fun.

Then, finally, Thai food. And for those who keep asking, tonight's restaurant was a place called The King and I. Yummy.

Pictures will be added as soon as I get home on Monday. And tonight will most definitely be added to The Story.

Input needed!

Ok folks... I need your help. Which picture do you like better for my profile shot? The one with the highest vote wins, regardless of what I think!

A couple of ground rules:
1)Only one vote per person.
2)"Neither" is not an option. Be nice.

Smorgasbord

The fun part of summer leads directly to the most annoying part of summer: living out of a suitcase. I unpacked from my trip to South Carolina on Tuesday, and I'm frantically doing laundry right now in order to pack for Savannah. I'm leaving this afternoon.

My trip to see my sister, Beth, was originally scheduled as just a quick weekend; now, it's turned into a 5-day, 4-night eating extravaganza. Oh, don't get me wrong... this is a good thing. A very good thing. Beth called about a month ago, and the conversation went a little something like this:

Beth: "Um, I think you're gonna have to come for longer than a weekend."
Miriam: "Sure, ok. Why?"
Beth: "Well, there are too many restaurants that we need to go to, and there's no way I'm narrowing them down to just two."
Miriam: "Woohoo! Count me in!"

We're doing Sushi, Indian, Thai, and Seafood at the beach on four consecutive nights. I'm thinking that I may need to pack those jeans in my drawer that are the next size up.

So, I'll see y'all back again on Monday. Heavier, I'm sure, but happy.

Family and Friends

For those few of you who actually check this site often, you'll have noticed I've been gone for a while. A week, actually. I haven't been ignoring you, I promise... I left last Thursday to go to South Carolina to visit my sister, Julie, and her husband, Josh, and I also used their proximity to Charlotte, NC, to visit my friend Kelly and her husband Daniel. Even though I've been back home since Monday, I've been immersed in the 6th Harry Potter book, along with paying bills, doing laundry, etc. I'm leaving tomorrow to visit another sister, Beth, in Savannah, so expect another absence.

Julie and Josh were great ... Julie is expecting my first little niece or nephew, and we're all watching her like a hawk. You see, I come from a family of four girls, and she's our guinea pig. Will she be cute during her pregnancy, or blow up like a whale? Will her body return quickly to its normal size, or will she forever be marked with hips the size of Texas? (side note: The Terry Girls' "normal size" is by no means small. We're curvy women. We own it.) Will she have morning sickness? How long will her labor last? The answers to these questions will be a large factor in determining mine and my other sisters' paths in child bearing. Thanks, Diddy, for being The First. I did get to hear the baby's heartbeat (from now on, Baby = Bitty), which was really neat. Josh and Julie hadn't heard it before either, so it was a really special thing. Oh, and then I went to Piggly Wiggly next door to the hospital and got a t-shirt. Which was a cooler experience? Hmmm. Hard call. :)

Kelly and Daniel in Fort Mill, SC (up near Charlotte) were my next stop. Kelly is my oldest friend. She moved to my neighborhood in Thomasville when I was three, and, although we were playmates then, we were destined to become lifelong best friends when, in the 7th grade, we both fell madly in love with Zach Derringer, the 8th grader who lived down the street. Zach had spiked hair and played the trumpet in the band, and Kelly and I bonded as we took very slow walks back and forth in front of his house on Robin Hood (the streets in our neighborhood were themed ... I lived on Sherwood, Kelly was on Doncaster; we also had a Friar Tuck, a Nottingham, and a Pembroke. Cute, I know.) Zach ended up being my first "boyfriend", and Kelly was great about it and never held it against me. I hope that I would've done the same had the tables been turned. This all happened before I learned the rule that you never date a guy that your best girlfriend is crushing on. A belated sorry to you, Kel. And if it makes you feel any better, Zach never even got so much as a kiss in the entire 9 months that we dated. Have I mentioned what a prudish goody-two-shoes I used to be?

Anyway, Kelly and I continued our close friendship through college (we were roommates at UGA), and she was the one crucial factor in my getting out of a relationship when I was 21 that was and had been headed in the wrong direction for 6 years. I'll never be able to thank her enough for that. And even though we've had our rocky times together, she's the one friend that I know will stick around for forever. I love her dearly. She was surprised by the amount that I've changed in the past 5 years or so that we've been apart, but I think it's okay. She's happy for me, and I think she knows that I'm finally becoming the person that I would've been much earlier had it not been for other factors. And her husband, who's great, had to deal with me at a very difficult time in my life, and he doesn't seem to hold it against me. So thank you, Daniel, for that. I'm sorry for being so crappy to you.

So, this blog is for Josh, Julie, and Biddy. And for Kelly and Daniel. I love you all!

Obsessions

I think I stole this idea from Rebecca, but I don't think she'll mind.

With my personality, I've noticed that I tend to get fixated on certain things at certain points of my life. Some of the obsessions stay constant over a long period of time, others last only a few days. I thought I'd list my top ten here. So, in no particular order...

- Harry Potter. I've been rereading Book 5 in anticipation of the latest installment coming out on Friday. It's SO good. I had forgotten how good. I think that the last time I read it, I was going so fast in order to get it all in that I didn't really appreciate it. I *love* it. Can't wait until Friday, midnight. Perhaps Julie, whom I'll be visiting, will want to make a trip to the local "I'm a Harry Potter freak so get over it" bookstore gathering? I hope so!

- Boys. This one pretty much stays around, although the fulfillment of this obsession wans from time to time. One of the best things about being single is that I get to have really fun guy friends in my life with whom to hang out, flirt, etc, without feeling an ounce guilty. There's just something about talking to a boy either on the phone or in person that can't be duplicated in a conversation with a girl-friend. Perhaps it's the simplicity of boys, or the straightforwardness? Then again, maybe it's just that they're adorable. Either way, just this week, I had three different single men call me within a 24-hour span of time. SO fun. Feast or famine with this one, though, I tell you.

- Thomas's Light English Muffins. I don't know what it is, but I have gotten to where I have to have one of these little babies every morning for breakfast. Toasted, with light butter and my mom's homemade fig preserves (3 points!). I have it with a cup of English Breakfast tea, and my morning is complete. Oh, and it doesn't hurt that I'm not eating these until after I get up late around 10 in the morning.

- The Price is Right. This show will never get old.

- Patty Griffin. She's been an obsession for quite a while now. I thought I had lost the two cds of hers that I have in my move, and I got really upset. Like, almost hysterical upset. But they were found, thanks to Beth, and all is right in the world again.

- Fresh Cream Peas. I think that's what they're called. It's the tiny little green peas that you can only buy from somewhere like the farmer's market in the summer in the South. I got a bushel of them for the first time this year, and I can't get enough. I did all the Southern Housewife things with them ... blanched them, froze them in little plastic bags ("putting peas up" is how we know it here), and, when I cook them, I feel like my mother. I've been eating them with other veggies like sauteed squash and vidalia onions, mushrooms, okra, and with wild or white rice. Yummy.

- Wednesday Night Bible Study. I've decided that never this summer will I be gone on a Wednesday night. With not having work, and with most of my travels wiping out the possibility of going to First Pres on Sunday mornings, Wednesday nights have become my time to see everyone in this town that I know. Plus, Chip Miller's teaching it (he's FPC's pastor), and he's great. I get the fun opportunity to help him and Chris Robbins (formerly of Cord of Three) lead the music.

- Ben Jones. He's the weather forecaster at 13WMAZ, the local television station, and, since I currently only have two channels, he's kinda the highlight of my tv-watching day. Yeah, he's a cutie. And some of my friends know him!

- Mexican Food. I used to hate it. Any one of my family or friends can vouch for that. I was the loser in college who prevented the others from going where they always wanted to go (Mexicali Grill) because of my strange dislike for tacos, burritos, and quesadillas. But let me tell you, something has changed. for the past year, I've loved it. So much so that I can't seem to get it enough. Poor Elizabeth ... anytime we go out for dinner, I either want El Azteca, Margaritas, Moe's, or Caliente's. I can't help it!

- Skirts. I've been wearing them everyday. I mean, I haven't been wearing shorts in public for quite a few years, and I've been replacing them with jeans or capris, which are both SO hot. Why has it taken me so long to realize that, in a skirt, I can get all of the benefits of shorts and look cuter and more girly and feel pretty all at the same time? Perhaps it's just because they're in style right now. Either way, I don't think I'll ever give up this one.

There you have it. More than any of you ever wanted to know about my current life.

Must go... The Showcase Showdown is on!

A Figment of my Tipsy Imagination

Before mom freaks out, I haven't been tipsy lately, I'm just using that as a good title.

Wanna know something funny? I have a hallucination. A hallucination that is only brought about by drinking some sort of randomly fruity margarita. Let me explain.

Some of you may remember my previous blog about my trip to Vegas, during which we met a really fun waiter who served us Pineapple Vanilla Margaritas? Well, I'm trying to decide if he's real or not. here's why. In a completely out-of-character act, Elizabeth and I gave him our phone number while we were in his restaurant in the Venetian, just in case he wanted to meet up with us later or later that weekend. Never thought he'd actually call. Well, he does, and we don't see him again, but we strike up this hour-long, weehourofthemorning conversation that seems as if it might lead to a fun cross-country friendship.

We get home, and Elizabeth and I laugh about the funny situation. We expect to not hear from him again, of course, so are pleasantly surprised when he calls one Saturday night about a week later while the two of us are at our favorite local Mexican place, El Azteca. Here's the funny thing... he asks, "So what's going on?" and I look around and, being completely honest even though it's kinda funny, I say, "Well, we're drinking margaritas!" He says, "Um, is that all you do? You were doing that when I met you guys!" hahahah. So we laugh about it, and we say that it's not just any normal margarita, but a randomly fruity one (that night, it was peach), that brings our fun Vegas friend about. We hadn't had a margarita since our night in Vegas, so it really seemed to fit. That was about a month ago.

So fast forward to last night. I've been at the Y-Club conference all weekend, and Elizabeth calls wanting to meet up for a movie, which we do, and we then head over to the Mexican place next to the Amstar Cinema called (fittingly) Margaritas. I order a peach margarita on a whim (was still a bit strung out by the crazy YMCA cheers I had been faced with all weekend), and -- seriously -- I laughingly say to Elizabeth after the waitress leaves, "Hey, I've got a margarita, maybe Vegas will call!" She cracks up. I hadn't had a margarita since the night a month earlier when he called us, and, of course, he hadn't called since then, either. We didn't really expect him to. We had both written him off as a fun Vegas story.

I went to bed earlier than usual and turned off my cell. Woke up this morning and had a voicemail from ... you guessed it ... Las Vegas! I was absolutely cracking up. How weird is that?!? And he actually says, "I hope you're out doing something fun, like drinking margaritas." I'm beginning to think I'm drinking more than I think I'm drinking, or else there's some chemical produced by mixing Tequila with a fruit that, when ingested, produces the illusion of my cell phone ringing and connecting with a cute California-accented voice on the other end of the line. And of course, the hallucination in Vegas was much bigger and more realistic (in the form of a Freddie Prinze, Jr. lookalike waiter) because everything in Vegas is much bigger and more realistic.

So the only thing left to wonder is ... why aren't I drinking fruity margaritas more often?

Oh Y did I sign up?

I am currently in the middle of the Y-Club Summer Blast from Hell. That's correct. The most boring weekend of my life, in process now. Chaperoning some FPD kids at Mercer. Staying in a dorm room, although I'm only 10 minutes away from my comfortable bed. Misery.

Help me, Someone. Please.

Tragedy

My sincere condolences to all of my British friends for the loss of so many lives in the Underground/bus bombings this morning. It's terrible. A year ago, almost to the day, I was in Kings Cross Station, arriving back in London from my travels in Scotland. We stayed in the most wonderful little hotel right across the street from Kings Cross called Hotel Alhambra. I'm sad for the folks we met who own the place (Bruno, Miguel, and family), who are probably a bit crazy right now, wondering what in the world is going on. For Peter and his family, who, though a distance away up in Scotland, are probably experiencing something similar to what we in Georgia felt on 9/11.

And for the rest, who I didn't really know, but who have made my travels in London much more fun to tell about (John Hood at The Quest hostel; the guy in Lo Spuntino across from Hyde Park who cut Rebecca and me a half of a cake to eat, on the house, when we were hungry and out of money and waiting for the embassy to open to get a new passport after Reba's was stolen; our fun friend on the Big Bus tour who we saw, randomly, outside of the Petrol Station the next day and convinced to get in a picture with us; the cute business man outside of the American Embassy who was embarrassed to find Rebecca and me giggling about him; the McCrae family leading the little Free Church of Scotland up in Dingwall; the guy who gave up his day off to take Matt, Amy, and I on a private tour of the Parliament building in London; and so many others). My prayers go out to all of you!

I love the UK!

Losing My Mind (in more than one way)

This week has been one in which I have wished either that 1) I was not a teacher and was at work like everyone else, or 2) Everyone that I'm friends with was also a teacher and therefore available at any particular moment for me to play with. Preferably the latter, of course.

I was discussing with friends at Bible Study last night how frustrating it's been for me the last few days to be at home or running errands alone all day long, only to have my friends (namely, Elizabeth) get off of work and be rightfully too exhausted to go out and have an exciting evening. She laughingly said that she now knows how it must feel to be a traditional married couple, where the husband works and the wife stays home either alone or with very young kids. He comes in dead tired and wanting to do nothing but collapse on his favorite chair in front of the television, and She finally has someone with a developmental stage over the age of 3 years old to talk to. She talks and talks and talks and gets all of her pent up energy out, and he, still, remains unresponsive. It all makes sense, now! So does this make Elizabeth my husband? Hmmm. Too weird to think about. Let's move on, shall we? :)

I think it's probably worse coming off of a really nice holiday weekend, when Elizabeth was available for three full days. Saturday was the absolute perfect day ... she woke me up late with a phone call around 10 am suggesting that we head over to the pool, at which point I jumped up and pulled on my suit and ran out the door. We lounged by the pool for a couple of hours, then had lunch at Twila Faye's Tearoom in Bolingbroke in our bathing suits and with our wet hair. So fun. Later, we went and got pedicures, and then I rode a motorcycle. I mean, who could ask for a better Saturday?

Sunday and Monday went by pretty much the same way. Sunday began with the epitomy of all Patriotic Cheesiness with the 4th of July church service at First Pres., complete with a picnic afterwards. We went and had sushi that night (I know, I know, not very patriotic), then drove around town to find that everything in Macon that might have been fun to do was closed on a Sunday night. Who knew? At least now I know that I'm not missing out on anything when I go to bed early to prepare for the start of the week during the school year. Then, on Monday, I went to a neighborhood picnic for the 4th, then a cookout at a friends house for dinner, then fireworks.

So, you see, those weekend hours packed full of things to do have been contrasted sharply with the hours of boredom I've experienced since then, thus heightening the sense of lonliness and desperation I'm feeling. Not really lonliness, perhaps. Desperation, definitely. I'm a little disappointed because this weekend, when I finally will have friends off of work to play with, I have to head over to Mercer to chaperone a Y Club retreat called Summer Blast. I'll be in Macon, but instead of sleeping in my comfortable bed at my new home, I'll be in a sleeping bag in a dorm room. Sigh. It's okay. I committed to it, and it won't be as bad as I now think it will be. My selfish tendencies just want to keep my weekend to myself. Hey, if nothing else, it'll be something to blog about, right?

I've been spending the morning reading the blogs of my other friends, and I've realized that I am totally and ridiculously subpar to the intellect of others. I mean, I ramble about such surface and everyday things, while they're all debating theology and whatever really intellectual book they're reading by whichever historian, apologist, philosopher, dead poet, etc. they happened upon during the course of their day. I'm reading Harry Potter, Book V, for the second time. and now I'm concerned that Macon is dumbing me down. I used to be able to hang with the best of them in all types of intellectual conversations, and, now, I can't think any deeper than whether or not to fight the humidity and straighten my curly hair when I get out of the shower. I'm sad about that. My intellect gave me what little edge I used to have. I can't afford to lose it. I refuse to lose it.

I think I'll get a library membership this afternoon.

The Rest of the House

Nothing like a boy coming over to motivate a girl to clean her apartment, huh? Took these pics for my avid blog readers (hah!) the other night while on my high-after-the-motorcycle-ride when my place looked nice for a brief time. Includes the bedroom, the "office" (actually, as you can see, just a closet!), and my kitchen, which is connected to the bedroom by a tiny hallway off of which is a tiny bathroom. Couldn't get a good angle with the kitchen ... it's a lot cuter in person. The three rooms all just go straight back, so folks have to traipse through my bedroom to get to the bathroom and the kitchen. Not good for a messy person like me. Oh well. I painted both the bedroom (originally a boring beige) and the kitchen, which was a dirty white with a really old border.













My browser keeps messing up, so I'll post the others later today when I've given it a chance to rest. Until then, Happy 4th of July!