The Blonde Diggitty

"When The Frost is on the Punkin"

2011-11-23T06:37:00.000-08:00

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,

And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,

And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,

And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;

O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,

With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,

As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere

When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—

Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,

And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;

But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze

Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days

Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,

And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;

The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still

A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;

The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;

The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—

O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps

Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;

And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through

With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! ...

I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be

As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—

I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

~ James Whitcomb Riley
(1849 - 1916)

Inexpensive Wall Art — An Idea

2011-11-22T11:07:00.000-08:00

So I've been living in my new office now for about 8 months and have an enormous amount of wall space to fill up.

Being as that I didn't want to spend an arm and a leg for traditional framed art, I began brainstorming ways I could fill up the wall space without emptying my wallet.

Now what I am about to share with you is not rocket science ... and I'm sure it won't be "news" to some of you. But for those of you who had no clue, I've got a cheap and easy way to create a photo collage without breaking the bank.

I started with a paper pack of scrapbook paper, 8x8, from Hobby Lobby ... but you can choose any size based on your wall space.

Going through the paper pack, I chose complementing images in style and color to fit my desired number of frames. For instance, I wanted to fill a more vertical space, so I chose 12 images that I could arrange in a vertical grid on the wall (3 images across, 4 rows down).

Then I went to Michael's and found my frames. I chose simple black 8x8 frames, and I was lucky enough to find a 4-pack economy size. These normally retail for $19.99, but I was able to get them on sale for 50% off with an additional 25% off coupon I found online. (Be sure to check your Michael's or Hobby Lobby sale circulars as these go on sale quite frequently.)

I placed my chosen images in each frame. Then, using the floor as my "workspace", I arranged the frames exactly as I wanted them to appear on the wall.

The hardest part of this entire process? Measuring to hang all 12 frames. It only took about 30 minutes, and the results were far better than I anticipated. Plus, I can easily change out the images seasonally or as often as I like—all I have to do is pick out a different 8x8 paper pack and I'm good to go!

Total project cost: $15 to $20, depending on your paper choice

If you try this for yourself, be sure to link back and leave me a picture—I would love to see it!

*Here's a close-up with the flash for easier viewing.

NaNoWriMo—An Update (of sorts)

2011-11-22T10:36:00.001-08:00

The beginning of November started out with me picking up the gauntlet to write 50,000 words (or a novel) in only 30 days.

So I hit the ground running ...

and I stayed on pace for the first 7 days of the month (that's 1,667 words a day).

But on the 8th day, God created my birthday ... and so I celebrated. And wrote nary a word.

And on the 9th day, God created "writer's block" ... and I kept right on celebrating my birthday. And wrote nary a word.

And on the 10th, 11th, and 12th days I kept on celebrating. And when I was done celebrating, I celebrated some more.

Then on the 13th day, I realized time was a-wastin'. In a valiant effort, I dusted off the 'ole laptop and started playing catch up.

And finally on the 17th day, I wrote almost 8,000 words in ONE day and was just a thousand words shy of being caught up.

Then on the 18th day, I was hit with a curs-ed stomach virus, and spent the next two days in bed ... writing nary a word.

So here I sit, on the 22nd day, still trying to play catch up.

In my defense, I have written close to 30,000 words. Which is quite the amazing feat, if you ask me.

And my novel is taking shape. I've actually written some amazing moments alongside the "junk" that has to go, and my characters have developed and taken me places I never imagined on November 1st we would go.

My plot has thickened, taken some twists, and a whole lot of turns. The ideas have been churning, and I feel the best really is just around the corner.

Only 20,000 words to go before the 30th ...

have mercy.

NaNoWriMo 2011 — And We're Off!

2011-11-04T07:51:00.000-07:00

I've not talked about it much, if at all, here on my blog, but I'm an editor and ghost writer for a well-known public figure and a New York Times bestselling author. Since my day job is spent writing and editing for him, the last thing I want to do when I get home in the evening is—you guessed it—turn on the computer and write/edit some more.

Hence the reason all the books I want to write (and blog entries I want to post) are still locked tight in my imagination.

But no more!

I have picked up the gauntlet and have signed up for the 2011 NaNoWriMo—also known as the National Novel Writing Month.

Now believe me when I tell you ... it sounds a lot simpler than it is.

So let me lay it out for you:

The Cast of Characters
Myself and over 200,000 writers and authors worldwide

The Location
Coffee shops, libraries, museums, restaurants,
homes, and anywhere you can write around the world

The Challenge
To write 50,000 words of a new novel between
November 1st and November 30th

It's certainly not for the faint of heart. High school students, stay at home moms, business professionals, and writers from every walk and stage of life join well-known published authors to participate in the annual, Internet-based creative writing project that in 2010 alone culminated with more than 2.8 billion words written.

That's impressive, no matter what your vantage point.

So I will attempt in the next 26 days to finish my first novel—or reach 50,000 words—whichever comes first. I will push through the paralyzing writer's block that will inevitably come to shrug off those paragraphs that are nothing but junk and consume more coffee than imaginable. I'll join fellow writers in my region for write-ins, taking part daily across the world in airports, elementary schools, college campuses, and cozy coffee houses, helping encourage one another toward the finish line ...

and hopefully taking hold of an almost insurmountable literary goal.

And I'm planning to do it ... 1,667 words at a time.

I've already got 5,028 in the can.

Only 44,972 to go.

Wish me luck!

North Georgia State Fair

2010-09-28T09:52:00.000-07:00

Bakerella & Cake Pops

2010-09-10T17:07:00.000-07:00

I got my first introduction to Bakerella via The Pioneer Woman's blog roughly 2+ years ago. Ree casually mentioned in passing that she was thinking of having her friend, Bakerella, up to the ranch for a spell, and wouldn't we like to check out her blog.

You know how pushy that Pioneer Woman can be {wink, wink}.

Anyhoo, since Bakerella's from Atlanta—and I'm from Atlanta—I decided dropping by her site was the Southern thing to do.

And I'm really glad I did.

Though it was pretty early in her cake pop career, she had highlighted a few pops and, lucky for us, had graciously shared her "How To's" with the blogosphere. I knew it wouldn't be long before I'd have to give these cuties a try.

Now fast-forward a few months. It was the night before Easter, with a tornado barreling toward Atlanta, when I decided that I was not going to Easter dinner without any cake pops. I spent the evening in and out of the basement, tornado siren after tornado siren, when I finally finished these ...

My very first cake pops! Aren't they just adorable?!? (To read about the day they were hatched, just click here.)

A few weeks later, I received a message on my phone from Bakerella herself. (She had direct-messaged me on Twitter.) Seems she'd found my cake pops on the World Wide Web and was asking permission to feature them on her site.

Her site.

Let that one sink in. Bakerella, creator of the cake pop, was wanting to feature my cake pops on her blog.

I looked around, thinking it was a prank ... but alas, it was not. Not at all. So I humbly and graciously agreed to having my pops featured on her blog.

I can't explain what happened next, except to say that the world must love cake pops! Within a matter of hours, I had over 1,000 hits on my blog ... from every corner of the world. And the madness would continue for weeks, months, and even years to come. Without fail, every day I still get a visitor or two (or 10) who have linked to my blog from her cake pop entry almost 2 years ago! Some of my most faithful followers found me through Bakerella.

And I am grateful.

To show my appreciation (and because I just HAD to have one), I drove all over town this week looking for her new book, which hit stores September 8th.

I couldn't find them anywhere!

I checked Borders and Barnes & Noble: SOLD OUT.

I checked Amazon, Borders online, and Barnes & Noble online: BACK ORDERED—for at least 4 to 8 weeks.

While I was super-excited for my uber-talented, kindred spirit cake pop friend, what was I supposed to do?!? Her successful little "Cake Pop" book sold out in a matter of days, and there was not a copy to be found {gasp!}

I searched high and low all week, until I finally came across a handful of copies today at a bookstore on the other side of town—then I promptly bought up all they had. They're going to make great Christmas gifts for some of my family members and friends this year.

Now that I've had the chance to peek inside, let me be the first to tell you: Run, don't walk to your nearest bookstore ... get yourself on the back-order list PRONTO! You really don't want to let this one get away. I promise you won't be disappointed.

And if you'd like to learn more about Bakerella, cake pops, and her new book—or if you'd like to view an instructional video—please visit her feature on Amazon.

Hope you enjoy!

Photos courtesy of bakerella.com.

*Please note: The Blonde Diggity gets paid nothing for mentioning or endorsing this product. I've never met Bakerella; I just thought you'd like to know how to make Cake Pops with the holidays being just around the corner :)

A Rest from My Labor

2010-09-09T18:13:00.001-07:00

Ahhh ... Labor Day.

The day we rest from all our labor.

The day most people pack away their summer whites.

The day most pools close for the winter.

Here in the deep South, Labor Day Weekend always signals the end of summer. Though the days may stay warmer for another month or so, our nights begin to have just a hint of fall to them.

Wanting to drink in the last of summer before it slipped away, I decided to travel to my family's lake house for the weekend—the weather was predicted to be absolutely stunning, and it didn't disappoint.

The days were perfectly mild, without a drop of humidity in the air (if you live anywhere near the south, you know that days with no humidity are blissful and few and far between), and a hint of crispness rode the night air.

When I arrived mid-afternoon on Saturday, I was the first one there. Since I rarely have the lake house all to myself, I took full advantage of it. I rummaged through an antique trunk in the dining room until I found a threadbare, decades-worn quilt. Grabbing a pillow and a Patricia Cornwell novel on my way out the screen door, I spread the quilt beneath the Japanese Maple down by the water's edge.

Though I had every intention of reading, the gentle breeze blowing through the trees—and the dappled sunlight peeking through its limbs—soon lulled me to sleep. I awoke to the same gentle breeze not 30 minutes later, and I couldn't help but think, This is certainly not a bad way to spend the day.

Looking around, the rest of the family was still no where in sight, so I ran back to the house to change into my swimsuit and grab a float from the garage. I was still floating in the cove when my sister and her little boy arrived. I'd started out free-floating, but the breeze soon blew me 6 houses down stream. I eventually tired of paddling my way back to our house, so I rigged a ski rope to the back of one of our docked boats so I wouldn't float too far away.

With Christi & Tanner (my sis and nephew) now at the lake, Tanner and I decided a hike was in order.

We started out along the old golf course cart path down by the lake, then moved our hike up on the mountain. We stopped at hidden ponds to watch geese play ...

took pictures of glowing cattails backlit by the setting sun ...

and discovered a hidden tunnel deep within the dense foliage just perfect for exploring.

Dinner was homemade pizza and Caesar salad on the clubhouse veranda at the Highlands Grill, overlooking the 18th green and the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The rest of the weekend was spent lazing around, taking naps on the screened-in porch, swimming in the cove, paddle boating with friends, and fishing for bass from the dock.

When Labor Day finally rolled around, our lake house neighbors found us out on the main lake. We all decided to cut our engines, tether our boats, and drink in the last of summer's fun together. Grabbing life jackets, floats, and noodles, we all took to the water—floating the hours away talking horseback riding, college football, the upcoming Georgia/South Carolina showdown, and the promise of a southern Autumn waiting just around the corner ...

It Is Time

2010-09-03T19:11:00.001-07:00

I can just see him trotting around his backyard in Savannah even as I type this. Wagging that tail of his and throwing himself to the ground for a tumble amongst the blades of grass, a dog bone at his side.

It is time.

Tomorrow he'll take the field in Sanford Stadium, prancing around like he owns the joint—because he does. He'll sniff out his opponent, then flop down on a bag of ice in his dog house near the end zone, where he'll watch and bark his team on to victory (we hope).

The University of Georgia's season opener is tomorrow—kick-off against Louisiana-Layfayette at 12:21 p.m.

'Tis a beautiful thing.

It's been a long time since last December boys ... let's make UGA proud :)

"Go Dawgs ... Sic 'em ... Woof, woof, woof!"

2010-08-12T08:11:00.000-07:00

I can get lost in a library.

Even if I’m only after one particular book, I somehow come out with 10.

Case in point: Last night, in an effort not to spend $35 on the hard-back version of a new release I’ve been dying to get my hands on, I wandered into my local library in the hopes they could save me some $$$. Since I didn’t remember the author’s name (and the line at the Help Desk was a mile long), I decided to take it to the shelves myself. Armed with only a title, I didn’t really have much to go on except a determined look and a winning smile.

By the time I made it to the letter “K”, I had 12 books in hand—none of which were the one I’d gone looking for. I had the books arranged in my arms in such a way that if I so much as blinked in the wrong direction, the tower would come tumbling down.

I was also starting to get a lot of stares. “So what?!?” I asked the guy in ‘Self Help’ who was staring at me … “I like to read.”

But the truth is, my large stack was not so much about my great love for reading. I just have a hard time making a decision. I’ll walk around the library with 12 books because I can’t decide on the one I want to take home. What if I get it home and this book is boring? What if at midnight on Thursday next week I decide I should’ve checked out the other book I had in my hand? These are the questions that haunt me, replaying over and over again as I wander from aisle to aisle.

And it’s not just at the library that I have this problem … I do the same thing when I’m shopping—for anything. I’ll carry around 7 white shirts that all look the same because I can’t decide which one I want to buy. The same questions begin to circulate in my mind: What if I get this shirt home and I don’t like it? What if it doesn’t fit me as well as I thought it would? What if the other shirt I almost bought would’ve looked better with this pair of jeans?

Though I try to convince myself this is just “smart shopping”, the bottom line is that I really just have an issue with commitment.

Because in a world filled with way too many choices, I find it hard to make a choice at all.

Can anyone else relate?

I ended up leaving the library with only one book … having re-shelved all the others in the exact locations I took them from (why should I expect a poor librarian to re-shelve my inability to commit?) There’s a good chance I’ll re-think my book choice next Thursday at 8:00 p.m., but at least I walked away having learned a little more about myself in the process …

even if I never did find the book I went in there looking for in the first place.

Under Construction!

2010-08-05T18:29:00.000-07:00

After a much too long hiatus, this blog is undergoing a face lift through the weekend. New posts to come within the week, so check back soon!

xoxoxo,

The Blonde

Carolina Low Country, Day 2 ... Saturday

2010-06-13T19:13:00.000-07:00

To recap where we left off on Day 1 of vacation, the evening found us at a seedy motel in rural South Carolina armed with nothing more than our PJs and a prehistoric can of Lysol.

Many lessons were learned on our vacation, but perhaps none greater than learning that one cannot sleep on a bed that is broken and leaning at a sharp incline. I spent the entire night at the hotel rolling down hill, wrapped in bedsheets, taking my bed partner with me. When the first rays of sun began to peak through the motel drapes, I'd gotten the equivalent of 2.2 minutes of sleep.

I was not bright-eyed.

I was not bushy-tailed.

I was, however, dragging heavy eye-baggage and a bad attitude.

To add to my joy, I then stood in what has to be the longest McDonald's line I've ever had the privilege of standing in during my short tenure here on planet earth. By the time I got my McGriddle, the rest of my family was finishing up their meal.

"Take it on the run, baby ..."

I won't bore you with the details of our hour-long drive through the marshlands of the Carolina Low Country to get to the beach. Let's just say it involved singing, sleeping, drinking, and mooning (don't ask). By lunchtime, we were pulling up to Crescent Shores, North Tower—our home away from home for the next 8 days.

Our condo was on the 13th floor—and it was just beautiful. However, the 13 flights of stairs that had to be climbed to get there were not so beautiful. Since our condo was so far from the parking garage across the street (yeah, "across the street"—you read that right), we did what any of you would have done ...

we made an Olympic sport out of "See Just How Much Crap You Can Pile on a Hotel Luggage Cart".

(Just so you know, we set a world record this year.)

We were able to haul our various bags, baubles, and belongings up 13 floors with only two luggage carts. Even more miraculous? We made it in one trip. As usual, waiting for us at the top was the fight for who would get the best room—an annual family event. Usually it's my sister and brother who go at it for a couple of rounds. This year, it was his daughter and her son that came to blows over who wanted what room.

The hour that followed went a little something like this:

The "me, chief/you, Indian" discussion commenced, with both unruly pre-teens being sent to their respective corners.

The 14-year old, Friday night drink-dropper commandeered the 52-inch plasma TV for non-stop coverage of the Fifa World Cup.

Two of three kids proceeded to play paddle ball—indoors.

The men kicked back, completely oblivious, taking a load off with a couple of beers.

And the women hauled tail to the grocery store to grab food for the week before enormous crowds set in.

Pretty typical 1st day at the beach for our family.

We rounded out the afternoon with a trip to the beach for some body surfing ...

tubing in the lazy river ...

and hot-tubbing.

Dinner followed at Duffy's Fish Shack in North Myrtle Beach, where most of the family kicked back various seafood concoctions and I dove head-first into Duffy's award-winning Carolina Shrimp & Grits (perhaps the very best I have ever eaten).

After a quick stop at the ice cream shop and souvenir store on the corner, my parents took the kids back to the condo while the rest of us hit Molly Darcy's Irish Pub next door to our condo.

This place was awesome! The deck sat right on the beach, and while sipping on a Dirty Banana, I couldn't help but think this was not a bad way to end a day.

But then again, neither is this ...

Up next: Preston's Seafood Buffet, Cherry Grove Pier, and the Oceanfront Amusement Park turn in a sold performance for Day 3. Don't miss it!

Carolina Low Country, Day 1 ... Friday

2010-06-12T08:25:00.000-07:00

Once again, my family traveled to the Carolina coast for vacation this year.

Because my grandfather was having a procedure done early in the day on Friday, we didn't leave for South Carolina until 7 last night. After a brief stop at Wendy's for a quick bite to eat (and for my nephew, Drew, to spill a slap-FULL tray of Biggie-sized drinks all over the floor), we took to the open road.

Rider breakdowns:

In the Truck

Ryan (my bro)
Hayley (my sis-in-law)
Mom
Lindsey (my niece)
Me
Lindsey's stuffed dog
Lindsey's stuffed bear
Lindsey's stuffed poodle

In the Car

Dad
Matt (my bro-in-law)
Christi (my sis)
Drew (my nephew)
Tanner (my other nephew)

I must say traveling at night is always a solid choice. Kids sleep, fewer cars are on the road, less traffic. We did have to sit for a while on I-20 outside of Augusta, GA, for road construction ... but after about 30 minutes, it was a wide-open drive to Florence where we decided to spend the night.

Along with everyone else.

Who knew there was a business conference in town. One would not expect such a thing in rural South Carolina. I know I didn't. But alas, it took us 3 hotels before we finally found one with a vacancy. And for the record, let's just say it wasn't the best option available—by far. But we made do with what we had and were happy to have a place to lay our heads for a few hours.

Of course, my sister would have no "laying of the heads" on a bed until each room had been properly doused with Lysol^®—thanks to our unfortunate stomach virus epidemic on vacation just 2 years prior. That year, one of the tiny tots picked up the bug the 1st day we arrived at our condo, and it worked its way through each family member by the end of the week, dark-clouding our sunny trip to the shore.

So lesson learned. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of Pepto Bismol and Emetrol.

Off we went at 2:00 a.m. to find disinfectant. Lucky for us, a truck-stop gas station with bars on the window had a teeny-tiny can from before the dawn of man. They sold it to us for the low-low price of $6.

Obviously, it was not on rollback.

We fumigated 3 hotel rooms, 6 double beds, 3 rooms of carpet, 8 doors, and 3 kids before calling it a night.

On its way ...

2010-02-12T08:47:00.001-08:00

So what has been rumored for the last couple of days has now in fact become ...

FACT.

Snow has moved into south Georgia and is pushing its way northward to the Atlanta area. A major winter storm with significant amounts of snowfall (for our region, anyway) is not only predicted, it's an absolute.

Glory!

Schools are already closed or are closing early. Businesses are rushing to finish out the work week in an effort to send employees home before the flurries hit.

And my weekly 2-hour Friday marketing meeting has been canceled.

Oh yeah—snow's a big deal 'round these parts.

We don't take it lightly. Mainly because we rarely get much of the white stuff anymore. And when we do, our residents and our city are not equipped to deal with the fluff.

Let me put it, as best I can, in Georgia vernacular:

We ain't got no chains.
We ain't got no snow tires.
We ain't got nuthin'.

Which is why we make the mad dash to the grocery store to buy up all the bread, milk, and can goods they've got ... even if tomorrow's temperature will be high enough to melt the snowflakes.

You just never know.

So with that being said, I'm buying in to the hysteria and leaving work early. I'll stop by the grocery store to pick up a few things, even though you and I both know I don't need them. It's just something we do down here.

Then I'll carefully make my way home, where I'll put on a big 'ole pot of something for dinner, maybe make some cornbread or homemade biscuits, brew a pot of coffee, stoke the fire, and snuggle up with a quilt on the couch in front of the TV.

Why?

Because General Hospital comes on at 3. And when was the last time I got to watch it smack dab in the middle of the day?!?

Ah yes ... just what I love most about the snow ;)

I'm Loving It!

2010-02-02T06:00:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you, but every year Winter wreaks havoc on my hair, skin, and nails. Products that work wonders for me in Spring, Summer, and Fall do NOT work at all for me when the "hibernating" months descend upon us.

Since February kicks off the month of all things L-O-V-E (and since here in the good old U.S. of A. we're in the dead of winter), I thought I'd list a few products I'm "loving" right now.

Here's what tops the list:

HANDS

Burt's Bees Lemon Butter Cuticle Creme: The perfect, all-natural cure for dry, cracked cuticles. Plus, the scent is AMAZING!

Burt's Bees Beeswax & Banana Hand Creme: I don't normally "do" banana-scented stuff, but I actually love this, which surprised me. You'll want to use this when you can go "hands free" for a while. It's ultra-creamy and will leave your hands slippery until it's had a chance to soak in. Pair this with some Bumblebee gloves and you'll be good to go.

BODY

Victoria Secret Pure Seduction Lotion/Spray/Shower Gel: No scent—and I do mean NO SCENT—on planet earth has stopped traffic for me in my life more than this one. Bar none. From my co-workers to my friends' husbands to random guys on the street, I get stopped constantly and asked what scent I'm wearing. Lucky for me my sister gave me a trial-sized lotion as an after-thought for Christmas a couple of years ago. I've been wearing it ever since. All products. All the time. You'll want to put this one to the test—I promise "traffic" will come to a standstill in your wake.

FACE—EYES—LIPS

Bare Escentuals Rare Minerals: As with most products I fall in love with, I received this as a free sample kit years ago. Since I'm fighting Mother Nature and my wrinkles every step of the way to my next birthday, this product line is a must have for me. It's all natural which is great ... but it can be pricey. My suggestion: watch for it on QVC. You can get great deals on Bare Escentuals there ... sometimes 50% less than retail price in stores. You're welcome ... and you're welcome :)

Bare Minerals Eye Color in Nude Beach & Bare Skin: These colors complement each other and work to warm your eyes in winter. These glimmers both have pink undertones which vary in intensity depending upon lighting. I wear both as shadows—wet or dry, sometimes mixed—I also add them to my cheeks and lip gloss. My complexion tends to get sallow and pale in winter, so I need all the "rosy-warmth" I can get.

Bare Minerals Lip Gloss in "Tartlette": Okay, so technically I've been wearing this since the Spring. SCORE + BONUS! A product with year-round use! All natural, smells like doughnuts, and a color that works for me all year long? Sold, sold, & sold! This color works for just about anyone.

Softlips Lip Balm in Sugar Cookie: This product may not be all natural, but it's all good. Why? Keeps my lips from peeling and every flavor smells divine. I'm partial to Vanilla or Peach, but right now I'm loving Sugar Cookie. I slather this on EVERY night before I go to bed, without fail. No chapped lips—all Winter long. Me likey!

HAIR
Let me just blurt this out—my hair. My H-A-I-R. Naturally curly. Medium coarse. Prone to frizz. Can be straightened ... if attempted with an iron will. But "katie-bar-the-door" if there's an ounce of humidity in the air. Below are two products I
do not want to be without:

Loreal Professional Intense Conditioner: No other conditioner works on my hair. None. Except this one. Helps me tame my curls, sending the frizz packing, without weighing down my hair.

Kenra Platinum Silkening Gloss: Last year at the beach, my brand new just-for-the-beach bottle of this was {gasp!} knocked into the trash and carted off to the garbage dumpster. I finally broke down a week ago and bought a brand new bottle. What took me so long?!? This is perfect for flyaways and silkening your hair after styling. Plus, it smells incredible.

And finally ...

Bolthouse Farms Strawberry Banana Fruit Smoothie for all over goodness. I mix this with their Amazing Mango fruit juice to quadruple my antioxidant fighting power. Because let's face it: it won't matter one bit what you put ON your skin, hair, and nails if you're not careful about what you're putting IN your body to begin with. Even if I did have to drive to 3 different grocery stores this weekend just to find it in stock. No distance is too great for feeling good and looking fine—all the while fighting father time.

Well, at least one can hope, right?

So there you have it: the products I'm totally digging this winter. Hope you enjoy!

So how ya been?!?

2010-01-13T15:57:00.000-08:00

It's been way too long since I have updated my blog. Perhaps you know how it goes: life starts moving at such a pace that you can barely keep up with the "have-to's" in your life, so things like blogging (no matter how much you love it) get pushed to the side. The good thing about a brand new year is that you can start fresh, and that's what I intend to do. In fact, "get back to blogging" is at the top of my list for New Year's Resolutions.

There's much to catch you up on over the last couple of months. Check back in the next few days & weeks as I catch you up on all things "Blonde Diggity". And be sure to leave me a comment with the link to your blog—I've got a lot of catching up to do myself.

I'm looking forward to it!

Until then ....

The "Office"

2009-10-16T20:40:00.001-07:00

For Bosses Day this year, a member of our web team put together this clever take on "The Office" TV show on NBC. She's got quite the skills! That's your's truly to the far right—how in the world she made me look like Angela, I'll never know!

Enjoy ...

*Click on the photo to view full size.

Failing Miserably

2009-08-03T09:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Doc,

I can't quit you.

XOXOXO,

---The Blonde Diggity

Goodbye, Old Friend ...

2009-07-31T06:27:00.001-07:00

Dear Doc,

When we met when I was 7, I had no idea you would become my lifelong companion. Through softball games, broken hearts, graduations, Caribbean cruises, severe work stress, all-nighters, tailgaiting, and all other moments "just because", you've been that friend that has stuck closer than a brother.

I always knew I could count on you when I was down and out—or just out in general—to cool me off when life heated up. I've always been able to count on you to jump-start my day when coffee just wouldn't do.

It's been many a year now that you, my friend, have been my "go-to" drink of choice, eclipsing the sweetness of a glass of iced tea or a cup of decaf Vanilla Roast. You've been the "yo-yo" to my "diet" as you and I have packed on and unpacked more pounds than I can count in the last few decades.

But I have come to realize that no matter how sweet you are or how deep our relationship is, it must come to an end. I know, I know ... I can't believe I'm typing these words, either. But it's true. The time has come to once again ban your sweet can from my life in an attempt to shed the weight of our past indulgences together.

I can carry them around no longer ... or my jeans won't fit come September.

But I promise we will always be close, Doc ... you'll always be as near to me as my mom's poolside fridge or a bazillion restaurants in any given town. And though I will avoid aisle #8 in my local grocery store, know that I will pass you by and throw you a longing glance as my buggy and I high-tail it away from you.

Please do not attempt to sway my decision or tempt me in any way. You are sneaky and I know you will try. But know that my resolve is strong, and I am prepared to stand my ground.

I have no doubt we will meet again someday ... once I've lost these pesky 5 pounds you've added to my frame in recent months. Until then, know that I will miss you tremendously ... and that you will forever be my "Nectar" ...

Hopelessly devoted to you,

I'm a Heifer—Can You Hear Me Moo?

2009-07-30T19:33:00.000-07:00

Seems my posts lately have been of the "bovine" nature.

And for that, I am truly truly sorry.

But this post will be no different. Why, you ask?

Because I can't stop grazing.

Why is it when you re-introduce the word "diet" into your vocabulary after an evening of unfortunate "scale hopping", you suddenly want to eat everything in sight?

(I'm sure hormones don't help, either.)

I did great early on in the day today: granola bar for breakfast, small salad with NO dressing for lunch, and at least 3 bottles of water—all before 3 p.m.

Then I left work.

And that's where it all just fell apart.

I finished off the container of Pringles within 3.5 seconds of walking in my front door. Then I took myself to the mall where I had a slice of pizza, a large Dr. Pepper, and 2 chocolate chip cookies from the Chocolate Chip Cookie Company. Feeling just terrible about my caloric intake, I decided a run was in order.

I sprinted a half a mile once home, then slowed to a power walk (seems all those carbs were catching up with me). Despite the carb-induced sluggishness, torrential downpour, and new running shoes, I did manage to put in 2.5 miles ...

then came in and celebrated with another cookie, 3 pieces of smoked turkey, and a large Dr. Pepper.

Even I am shaking my head at this one.

Obviously, I'm in need of serious help. I only need to lose 5 pounds ... but I know if I don't get those 5 pounds off stat, they'll quickly creep up to 10 ... 15 ... 20 pounds I'll need to lose.

20 lbs.

I shudder to think.

And that, my friends, will be nothing to "moo" about ...

Cow Appreciation Day

2009-07-30T07:15:00.000-07:00

July 10th was Cow Appreciation Day, hosted by Chick-fil-a.

Since my manager thought it would be a great idea to take our weekly Friday marketing meeting on the road, my entire team had to dress like a cow ...

and moo.

Seriously.

Seems if you dressed like a cow, Chick-fil-a would give you your choice of any of their menu combos—FREE.

And with these tough economic times, FREE is all we needed to hear to cut out some spots, pin on some tails, and start chewing our cud.

FOR. THE. LOVE. OF. THE. MOO .

I was behind the camera most of the morning (thank goodness!), but I wanted to share with you some of my co-workers in action.

Their names, of course, have been withheld to protect the innocent ...

*Click photos to view in larger size.

4th of July Parade of Boats

2009-07-09T08:32:00.001-07:00

For as long as I can remember, boat owners at Lake Arrowhead have "decked out their boats" in all their best red, white, and blue finery in honor of the 4th of July. Then their owners would parade them in and out of every cove for onlookers, visitors, and homeowners to enjoy.

Times have certainly changed since those early years. The homeowner's association now sponsors the boat parade and distributes prizes to the winners. Needless to say that when healthy competition was introduced to the mix, the boats became more elaborately "be-decked" than in previous years.

What I love about the boat parade is that you can watch from the comforts of your very own dock—or from the swing nestled on your screened-in porch. Some watch from the lazy ease of their lakeside hammocks, while others watch from floats bobbing in the wakes of the boats.

We heard the bullhorn from the main part of the lake announcing the boat parade's start this year—and it only took me a moment to wrap myself in a fuzzy beach towel, grab my camera, and take up my position dockside.

Thought you'd like to get in on the action. So I took some photos with you all in mind.

Hope you enjoy!

These young boys sang patriotic songs in and out of every cove. It was truly amazing! Not a dry eye for miles around.

"Hawaii" made a cameo appearance in this year's parade ...

I just loved these girls! They were so precious with their leis and hula skirts.

Their "floating luau" looked liked tons of fun! I wanted to join right in ...

Because it's not everyday you get to see "Hawaii" without ever having to leave your own dock.

"Uncle Sam" made a trip South for this year's parade.

With a whole lot of "Yankee Doodle Dandy."

Seriously.

And this guy? Why, he was representing our Native American heritage. Bless his heart, he kayaked in and out of all 6 coves and the main part of the lake.

Guess that's why he "packed" his "6-pack" :)

Our sisters from the north ... all the way in from Maine with their oh-so-adorable lobster boat ...

...which was being chased by the chefs on this boat. They kept holding up their pots and pans, banging on them with their wooden spoons. Then the "shrimp" and "lobsters" on the other boat would shriek and the chase would continue. Too cute! And such a clever idea.

Which brings us to this boat. A nod to the local history and the Lake Arrowhead Cherokee Indians. No trail of tears here. Just friendship and fun.

How.

But then there was this boat ... the one that brought up the rear. It was by far my favorite. These kids were so adorable, waving to the crowd, splashing each other and anyone else who got in their way.

Because to me, this is what the 4th is all about: freedom, family, friends, little ones, and fun.

Until next year ... a Happy 4th to one and all!

*Click on pictures to view in a larger size.

4th of July at The Lake

2009-07-08T05:24:00.000-07:00

I was blessed again this year to spend the 4th of July weekend at my family's lake house, just an hour or so north of where we live.

It was a weekend full of tubing, swimming, grilling, fishing, and fun! Thought I'd let the pictures tell the story.

Enjoy!

Doe at dusk.

Me & the nephew getting ready to tube.

Mugging for the camera.

Drinking in the day.

Say "no" to the spray!

My nephew.

My sister-in-law, nephew & sister.

Get a rope!

Squinting in the sun.

The perfect end to a perfect day ...

The Lifeguard

2009-07-01T07:43:00.001-07:00

So my extended family went on our annual beach trip June 12th - 20th to the Carolina Low Country. We vacation on the South Carolina coast every year at a place called Garden City Beach, just 5 minutes south of Myrtle Beach and 30 seconds north of Murells Inlet.

And we love it there.

We really, really do.

While there were many vacation moments to recount, I thought I'd shake things up right off the bat and start with one of the most memorable moments of our trip.

The lifeguard.

I mean really, girls—what's a beach trip without a really cute lifeguard guarding your life?

And we watched ours all week. He'd arrive around 8 a.m. and drag his lifeguard stand near the water's edge. Then he'd put out the beach umbrellas and chairs you could rent for a small fortune (if you'd forgotten your own), then he'd take his perch to guard the waters of the Atlantic.

While bobbing around far out in the deep, my family and I heard a faint whistle. A warning signal, if you will. We looked up to find the lifeguard motioning everyone to shore from the water—not uncommon in June when the tides can turn and the currents get too rough or a sharp-toothed, dorsal-finned wonder decide to swim in your midst.

Now there were some of us who took our own, sweet rebellious time getting out of the water. And there were other family members who took to walking on water quicker than you could say "Sweet Jesus." I made it out of the water just in time to see everyone on the beach covering their mouths and pointing.

So I did what any of you would do ...

I grabbed my camera and began memorializing this exciting event:

Oh ... you were expecting photos of sharks and people pointing? I'm so sorry. Believe me when I tell you the view from the beach was much more exciting than the dark blob swimming in the water.

But if it's sharks and people pointing photos that you want, I took one or two of those, too:

Turns out I was quite grateful to the lifeguard for saving my life and pulling us from the water, just in time for me to go upstairs and fix a sandwich and catch the tail-end of Days of Our Lives. And a few hours later, we were right back out there bodysurfing the best of waves, the shark a distant memory.

Weeks with no blog post?!?

2009-06-23T05:10:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it's been a few weeks since I've posted to this blog. How can that be?!?

Let me tell you how:

I hit a major Bible deadline at work (editing a new version of a study Bible), my manager was let go (shocking), and I was moved to another team (and wasn't sure I'd have a job) --- all within a matter of a week. Add to that the stress of getting things ready to go on vacation last week, and I've been one busy blonde!

But now that I'm back on the home front to stay for awhile, I'll be posting some pictures from my family's annual beach trip to the Carolina Low Country last week. Great times were certainly had by all! You'll definitely want to check back in ...

Until then, hope you're dreaming big and enjoying life :)

It's happened again ...

2009-05-28T05:16:00.001-07:00

I said I wouldn't, but I did ...

Didn't think I had it in me, but I do ...

The Real Housewives of New Jersey on Bravo.

My newest guilty pleasure.

Care to join me? You won't be disappointed ...

"Hey hey hey!"

2009-05-14T06:02:00.001-07:00

Last night, while purchasing a pair of black pants at a local department store, I had quite the interesting conversation with my cashier.

It went a little something like this ...

Cashier: How are you doing today, ma'am?

Blonde Diggity (BD): {mouth dropping wide open}

Cashier: Ma'am, how are you doing today?

BD: {mouth still open, chin on the ground}

Cashier: Can I help you today, Ma'am?

BD: "Y-y-y-es," I stammered, placing the pants on the counter. "Are you aware that you look just like ..."

Cashier: {interrupting} Like Usher? I know, I get that all the time.

BD: No, no ... you look just like Raj from "What's Happening!"

Cashier: Who?

BD: You know, Raj ... from "What's Happening!"? He hung out with Re-Run and Dwayne, ordered burgers from Shirl, and had a sister named Dee who was always needing a quarter?

Cashier: I have no idea what you're talking about, Ma'am. I look like Usher.

BD: No, you look like Raj. How old are you?

Cashier: I'm graduating from high school in a couple of weeks.

BD: Oh.

This blonde suddenly became dizzy.

How could anyone not know who "Raj" was? And what about "ReRun"? Had the world tilted on its axis? Had I fallen into some worm-hole in the universe? Had I somehow joined the ranks of those among the aged? And if so, dear God, when?!?

He finished ringing up my purchase as I did the math in my head. I don't normally feel old. But in that particular moment, I felt quite ancient.

High school.

Perhaps in a moment to save face (or not to age myself anymore than I already had), I did the only thing I could do:

BD: "You know, you're right," I started. "I think you do look like Usher."

Cashier: Really? You do?

BD: Definitely.

Cashier: Well thanks. {he beamed from ear-to-ear}

BD: Don't mention it. Oh ... and good luck with graduation.

You'll be old before you know it ...

In a World of Hurt

2009-05-13T06:28:00.000-07:00

Last night, I tuned in to catch the season 2 finale of “The Real Housewives of New York City.”

This morning, I got up with two black eyes and missing three fistfuls of hair.

At least that's what it felt like after spending an hour watching the season recap and catfighting that took place at 10:00 p.m. on Bravo last night.

First, it was Kelly on the Countess. Then the Countess and Ramona went a couple of rounds. Kelly and Ramona. Ramona on Kelly. On to Bethenny and Kelly. Jill input her two cents as needed, and I found her right on and quite refreshing. At least she was willing to stand up for those who were her friends. Then, the normally quiet Alex aptly told Bethenny that if she was going to talk trash about her to at least have the decency to do it to her face.

On and on they went, like a tennis match gone awry … balls of backstabbing and snarky comments flying everywhere.

My head was spinning.

I felt like I was back in middle school. Not high school, mind you. But middle school.

I could have turned off the television—or switched to another channel entirely. But the train wreck was amusing—even if it was a bit painful to watch.

These women are grown women—most with families and children of their own. They are considered to run in some of New York’s elitist circles of society. And they were acting like they were 12 years old. Kind of like Jennifer, Ellen, Jodi, and I acted back in the day: thick as thieves more often than not but each other's worst enemy depending upon who's company we were in.

Bravo has certainly found the formula for over-the-top television. And even though I only tuned in to see my favorite city in the world, the drama of these six women was a bit captivating ...

even if I think most of them need to be declawed.

I'll still be tuning in Thursday night to see the final brawl.

Because if I'm anything, I'm loyal ...

Random Friday Fun

2009-05-08T08:19:00.000-07:00

Someone sent this "Random Friday Five" questionnaire, so I thought I'd play along. Happy weekend to you all!

1. What memories do you have of your high-school chemistry course?

One of my best friends (Tracey) and I were lab partners in Ms. Zeimer’s 7th period Chemistry class our Junior year of high school. We had a lab one Friday that called for mixing Hydrochloric Acid (HCl) with different substances, and we had to track the changes that occurred. Of course, the hydrochloric acid had to be added very carefully and in a certain way for safety reasons.

Though it was very rare for us, Tracey and I began to squabble over just when the HCl was supposed to be added: I said carefully and at the beginning; she wanted to dump it in at the end. Since she was holding the bottle, she began to pour—on her mark.

In an instant, our experiment exploded all over me—hydrochloric acid burning my arms, chest, and stomach. It was “eating” its way through my shirt and was beginning to whelp my skin when Ms. Zeimer ran over and tugged me under the emergency shower—the one you think is only there for show that no one will ever have to use in the case of an emergency.

After getting doused with water from the neck down, Ms. Zeimer took me to the teachers’ office and instructed me to take off my shirt and put on the lab coat hanging behind the door. Since the acid was still burning me, she didn’t have to tell me twice! What was left of my shirt had to go.

It was just about the time I got my shirt all the way up over my head that I heard someone gasp.

I jerked my shirt down and looked into the eyes of a boy that looked vaguely familiar to me, but whom I did not know. He was an aide for the science department 7th period, and after a slew of “I am so sorry … please excuse me’s,” he backed out of the door, closing it behind him.

Now fast-forward to 7:30 p.m—same day. It was Friday night, and my friends had set me up on a blind date with a guy for later that evening. Since I’d recently broken up with my boyfriend of 1½ years, my friends were trying to get me back out in the dating scene. The guy they’d set me up with had been interested in me for some time, and they thought this was the perfect match.

My skin still burning, red, and blistered from my run in with the lab experiment gone awry, I opened the door at 7:30 to find my date standing on the doorstep …

the very guy who’d walked in on me while I was taking off my shirt in the science department.

Just so you know, not the best way to start off a blind-date. Though we both made it through the awkward evening, we never went out again.

I can’t imagine why not ;)

2. When did you last take medication for pain? Last week.

3. How do you feel about opera? I don’t. I’ve never been, and I’m not sure I’d enjoy it very much.

4. Which of these Rob Reiner-directed films have you seen, and what do you think of them?

• The Bucket List (2007)—Haven’t seen it yet.
• Rumor Has It … (2005)—Never heard of it.
• Alex & Emma (2003)—I love me some Luke Wilson. He was cute in this movie but that was about it.
• The Story of Us (1999)—Never saw it.
• Ghosts of Mississippi (1996)—Never saw it.
• The American President (1995)—Loved it! It began my “I want to be the First Lady someday and run the White House” phase. [Really, I just wanted to live in the White House.]
• North (1994)—Never saw it.
• A Few Good Men (1992)—“You want me on that wall … you need me on that wall.” Could Jack Nicholson be any better?!? And talk about truths you can’t handle—Tom Cruise in Navy dress blues. Oh. My. Word! Since I almost married a guy in the Airforce and spent 5 years "hanging out" with (as he put it) a Navy guy back in the day, I have a thing for men in uniform. This movie didn’t help my addiction. Not one bit.
• Misery (1990)—Kathy Bates was oh so creepy.
• When Harry Met Sally… (1989)—I’ve been told more times than I can count that I look like a young Meg Ryan—and that I’m a dead ringer for her when I wear my hair curly. So many great scenes and one-liners in this movie: “Men and women can never really be friends …,” “Do you want to go through life knowing that someone else is married to your husband?,” and the infamous, “I’ll have what she’s having.” Classic!
• The Princess Bride (1987)—“My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father … prepare to die!” Rodents of Unusual Size and Twu Wuv … what’s not to love?!?
• Stand by Me (1986)—“I never had friends again like I did when I was 12.” I could relate. For me, no truer words have ever been spoken.
• The Sure Thing (1985)—John Cusack. Need I say more? He made the movie for me. One of my all-time favorite Hollywood crushes.
• This Is Spinal Tap (1984)—Never saw it … but it’s on my list to see.

5. How do you feel about basketball? It’s my least favorite sport. But I will play “H-O-R-S-E” if pressured by my nephew.

Rendered Flirtless

2009-05-01T22:40:00.000-07:00

[photo courtesy of thisisbroken.com]

Sometimes it’s best to jump right in. So this is me, jumping right in.

When I wrote those words back in February, I had no idea that I’d have the need to write them again.

But here we are two months later, and I’m writing them again.

Why, you ask?

Because I got another ticket on Tuesday afternoon.

Now I know what you must be thinking: the blonde does not know how to drive … take away her driver’s license!

To which I beg you—please, hear me out.

Since my “California Stop & Roll” ticket back in February (my first ticket in 8 years), I have been extra careful in obeying all traffic laws. I’ve stopped at every stop sign, kept my speed in check, and have all but crashed my car trying to keep from running even a yellow light.

On my way home from work Tuesday afternoon, I decided to stop by Ulta. As I was leaving the parking lot, I pulled up to the red light and STOPPED. I looked both ways, and there was no traffic coming in either direction. Just before I decided to pull out, my cell phone began ringing. I reached down to answer it, and the line was dead. I put my phone back on the seat then looked both ways AGAIN to make sure no traffic was coming. Since the way was clear, I CAREFULLY pulled my car out into the flow of the non-existent traffic.

And immediately saw blue lights behind me.

HERE. WE. GO. AGAIN.

I had been completely stopped for a good 2 minutes, no traffic was coming, and I was in control of my vehicle. My tag was properly affixed to my car, my ad valorem tax was paid and up-to-date, all taillights were in working order, and I was wearing my "Cherry-Cherry-Raspberry" lipgloss.

What did I do wrong? I thought to myself.

I was still running through the list in my head, trying to figure out what I had done as I pulled my car to the side of the road and readied my license and insurance.

“Ma’am, you can’t go right back there.”

“Oh … I can’t?” I started as the officer walked back to his patrol car.

Can’t go right back there. I mulled it over in my head. I’ve been to that particular store many times before and had always turned right. I mean, there’s only two ways you can leave that store—going right or going left. So if I couldn’t go right, did that I mean I had no other choice but to go left? And how absurd was that when I was sitting in the RIGHT turn lane leaving the store? My mind was reeling. I couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t buy a vowel. I couldn’t catch a clue.

The officer approached the car with clipboard outstretched.

The familiar triple copy paper looked familiar. Only the county was different this time. As I began to sign my name while he was giving me the spiel about my court date, I couldn’t help but ask:

“Excuse me, but if I can’t go right back there, how am I supposed to leave the store?”

“You wait for the light to turn green.”

Such the smug, smart-elleck he was. I looked up at this young, blonde-haired, blue-eyed officer and was struck mute. Seriously. I couldn’t say a single word.

And I was rendered completely flirtless.

I’d heard of it happening to others before but had never dreamed it could happen to me. In that moment, I couldn’t even muster up a single eye-lash flutter. I’d lost the desire and will to even flirt my way out of this one.

He had utterly ticked me off.

Utterly.

Ticked.

Me off.

Let that sink in. Because I don't get that upset very often.

I finished signing my name to my "No Right on Red" ticket and planned my defense for traffic court in July.

Then I drove home completely stunned, imagining what my life will be like when my license is taken away for getting too many tickets in a certain amount of time. I’ll be riding the bus with no social life at all and will have to walk to get groceries. My niece and nephews will have to introduce me to friends as their “poor Aunt Meems who’s not allowed to drive." My friends will be waiting endlessly for me to arrive at an event, because I can only power-walk 3 miles per hour—on a treadmill. I can't even imagine what that will be like when I take my show on the open road.

And all because I needed a new facial toner to combat dry skin.

In life, sometimes you’re the windshield and sometimes you’re the bug.

You don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out where I was “splatted” on Tuesday afternoon.

Sometimes, the bug indeed ...

Overwhelmed

2009-05-01T06:30:00.000-07:00

I know I promised you a blog post yesterday—the one about me being rendered completely "flirtless" and all just a few days ago.

Somehow when I read this post about the slums of India on the LPM Blog yesterday afternoon, what I had to say didn't seem so important anymore.

You'll get the "flirtless" post today, I promise. But please read about the Compassion International Bloggers' trip to Kolkata, India. And if you're anything like me, have some Kleenex handy.

"God, forgive me for my addiction to this world and all its charms—and please open my eyes so that I may truly see ..."

It's been a long week ...

2009-04-29T18:20:00.000-07:00

Seriously.

How can it only be Wednesday?!? This week has been dragging on forever.

Life has a tendency to do that at times.

The pool people are coming tomorrow to open my parents' pool, and I always help with the prep work. Since my dad had surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff the beginning of April, he's unable to lift a finger—literally. So that left mom and I the bulk of the work to do after working our day jobs this week. We pulled off the cover and emptied the water bags on Monday (which is no easy task), then with my brother and sister-in-law's help, we were able to finish up the rest yesterday.

While I've had more than my share of work to do at work this week, there has been drama there that has made it unpleasant. I try so hard to stay out of things and just do the job the Lord has called me to do, but there are times that just seems impossible. Having spent 13 years working in the corporate world and 9 years working in full-time ministry, I will never understand why working in the corporate world was so much easier. SO much easier. I know everything will sort itself out in due time, but until then I'll keep at the task God's given me to do and will turn everything else over to him in prayer.

And there is also a shift coming in my family as the decision has been made to move my grandmother to a nursing home. She's been battling Alzheimer's for at least 15 years, and it has progressed to a point where we are unable to care for her properly. She's been this way for some time, but my grandfather has refused to move her there. He's finally admitted and agreed that now there's no other choice.

And it is heartbreaking.

Tomorrow will be their 60th wedding anniversary. My grandparents will have been married 60 years tomorrow. They'll celebrate with Cheerios for breakfast and a kiss on each cheek. And then a sitter will come so my grandfather can go sign the papers that will do the one thing he promised her he would never do.

Heartbreaking, I tell you.

I can hardly stand it. But I know in my heart it is the best thing to do—for the both of them.

Makes all the other things going on in my life seem trivial in comparison.

And finally ...

I was rendered completely and utterly "flirtless" yesterday afternoon on my way home from work.

Completely.

And I didn't think that could EVER happen.

But alas, it did—and it deserves a blog post ALL its own.

Which it will get ... tomorrow.

Believe me, it's a good one. A true "blonde" moment if ever there was one.

You won't want to miss it ...

tomorrow.

For the Love of the Moo

2009-04-24T09:06:00.000-07:00

In my family, I have a sister.

She's two years younger—almost to the day—and is the polar-opposite of me in most every way:

She's tall, I'm short. She's brunette, I'm blonde. She's a pessimist, I'm an optimist. Her glass is always half-empty, mine is always half-full. She's a realist, I'm a dreamer. She wears bigger jewelry—I wear more lip gloss.

And she's my best friend in the world.

I heart her.

I really do.

As you can imagine though, our teenage years could be a little catty and bickerish (if you have a sister close in age, you know exactly what I'm talking about). Anyway, we've long since had a saying between the two of us that we use when we're flabbergasted, agitated, frustrated, or just can't quite think of anything else to say:

"For the love of the moo ..."

It started out in the beginning as, "For the love of the moo cow." But over the years, the "cow" got dropped and now it's just "the moo."

A couple of examples for you:

Are you going to get off the phone now so that I can use it?!? Rebuttal: For the love of the moo! I just got on the phone.

Are you going to eat your french fries? Rebuttal: For the love of the moo, I just sat down. Can you give me a minute?

You get the picture.

As adults, we both still use the saying in our everyday lives. And because it's been with us so long, it strikes us odd when people look at us funny when we say it.

Case in point:

Last night, I'm in a department store trying on a shirt to go with a skirt I bought last week. Right in the middle of changing clothes, a tornado siren begins to sound.

FOR. THE. LOVE. OF. THE. MOO.

"Excuse me?" a voice asked.

"Ummmm, nothing," I stammered as I reached for my phone.

{dialing, trying to find anyone near a TV}

Me: Hey, is there a tornado coming?

Dad: Where are you?

Me: Well, I'm in a dressing room right now ... with very little on. Do I need to get somewhere?

Dad: You're where with nothing on?!?

Me: The Pacific Northwest, Dad. I'm in the Pacific Northwest with nothing on. Do I need to get somewhere?

Dad: Wherever you're going, I'd get there quick.

FOR. THE. LOVE. OF. THE. MOO.

I changed back into my "street" threads, then dashed the 10 minutes back home. Grabbing my belongings and darting out of the car, I get pegged in the head with quarter-sized hail.

FOR. THE. LOVE. OF. THE. MOO.

The hailstorm lasted non-stop for almost 30 minutes, and in my entire life I'd never seen anything quite like it. The sky was green and the air smelled of pine—like Mother Nature, herself, had opened a bottle of Pine Sol and poured it over the earth in an effort to Spring-clean.

The eerie mist followed, as the fog and steam from the asphalt mixed with the melting hail, giving the atmosphere a "dry-ice" feel.

It was truly one of the most bizarre storms I'd ever seen.

And true to form, my sister called so that we could chat about it ...

My Sis: Did you see that storm?!? Oh my gosh ... I was absolutely petrified!

Me: Did you know Dad thinks I'm naked in the Pacific Northwest?!?

My Sis: Seriously?!? For the love of the moo!

Now that's what I'm talking about. Finally!

I love it when she "gets" me.

For the love of the moo, indeed ...

A Note to You All ... and Bakerella!

2009-04-21T16:45:00.000-07:00

This time last week, the hits were going WILD on my blog thanks to Bakerella.

It seems she liked my first attempt at Cake Pops and linked from her blog to my blog.

The rest, they say, is history.

I wanted to take the time to say "thank you" to all of you who stopped by via her site ...

It didn't escape my notice.

It's amazed me how far you've all traveled to get here: from Germany, France, England, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Singapore, Australia, Switzerland, Denmark, South America, Holland, Sweden, Canada, Mexico, Spain, South Africa, India, the Philippines and more! Every state in the USA, too—they've all been represented.

All I can say is you must really love Cake Pops!

I have truly been humbled to have you stop by ... and I hope you'll visit again soon.

And if you do, please be sure to leave me a comment with a link to your blog—I'd love to drop in on your corner of the world.

Thanks again!

The Blonde :)

"Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore ..."

2009-04-20T07:46:00.000-07:00

I was thinking this morning at 2:00 a.m. that for someone who doesn’t live anywhere near Kansas, I sure do spend a lot of time in a “storm cellar.”

Here in Georgia, we call it a basement.

When your summers are 100 degrees with 99% humidity and your winters get down into the teens with a little snow, there’s bound to be some “upset” when the seasons change from hot to cold. Our springs here in Atlanta are volatile, to say the least. With cold fronts pushing down from the Arctic north and warm, humid air pushing up from the Gulf of Mexico, the punch is powerful when the two collide.

In a nutshell, the air gets unstable.

And sirens go off in the middle of the night … and trees fall over … and houses are blown apart. And sometimes, people die.

But you still have to get up and go to work the next morning.

After my back-to-back-to-back tornado siren wake-up calls in the wee hours of the morning, I’m dragging around some serious baggage at work here today—a designer, matching set: over AND under both eyes.

I finally put my own “Toto” in bed with me around 3 a.m. since she was whimpering in the laundry room. Then I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, dreaming about bicycles and wicked witches and dwarfs with flying monkeys.

Because let’s face it: so much of what I’ve learned about life and tornadoes has come from watching one of the greatest movies of all time ...

“The Wizard of Oz.”

So before we go, let's take a look at the life lessons you, too, can take away from this cinematic wonder:

• Don’t run away from home.
• Don’t stand in front of a window. It might blow open and knock you out
• Don’t run around outside in a storm. Find a whole in the ground and climb in.
• Never fly around on your broomstick.
• Green makeup looks good on absolutely no one.
• Not everyone can come and go by bubble.
• Munchkins are people, too.
• Scarecrows CAN talk.
• “Spooks” are real.
• Sometimes we all could use a little more courage.
• Lions … and tigers … and bears—OH MY!
• Poppies will make you sleep.
• Don’t go looking for happiness any further than your own back yard. Because if it isn’t there, you never really lost it to begin with.

And finally, the most important thing I learned from "The Wiz" is that there truly is no place like home ... especially when tornado sirens are blaring and the wind and hail come barreling down—and YOU HAVE NO CLOTHES ON.

Seriously.

And since I brought up serious matters, let me leave you with this little nugget of truth—in the hopes that you, too, might learn from my mistake:

When a teenager, I would stay away from telling your mother in a moment of upset: “I thought the Wicked Witch of the West was dead.”

… and you certainly won't want to follow it up the next week with, “Be gone … before somebody drops a house on you.”

Let’s just say there’s no siren on earth that will be able to warn you of the impending storm that will be brewing on your mother's horizon after that one.

I'm just sayin' ...

"You're spinning me round-round, baby, round-round ..."

2009-04-15T05:47:00.000-07:00

It’s time ...

To tell the truth ...

About the cat in the dryer.

In light of last week’s “come to Jesus” moment about the unfortunate demise of Whiskers the rabbit (at my hand), I felt it was time to lift the burden of Chi-Chi’s trip through the dryer from my shoulders.

In an effort to cleanse myself, allow me to set it up for you …

The Year:

10th grade

The Cast of Characters:

me & my cat

The Place:

our Maytag dryer

I was mad. Furious. Spitting-nails. I was on restriction for back-talking my mom (gasp!) and was told I would not be going out with my boyfriend that Saturday night. Instead, my 15-year-old self was going to dinner with my mom, dad, little sis, and baby bro.

So not where a 15-year-old wants to be on Saturday night.

In true teenage form, I showed my utter disapproval and angst by putting on the ugliest, most wrinkled, mismatched clothing I owned …

then I promptly walked into the den.

Mom: “What have you got on?”

Me: {Ignoring her}

Mom: “We're not playing this game again. What have you got on?”

Me: “Clothes.” (I had my arms crossed over my chest, my right leg out to the side, looking up at the ceiling.

Mom: “I hope you don’t expect to leave my house looking like that. Get in your room and find something else to wear. And if you so much as think of walking back in here in something wrinkled, you can add another week’s restriction.”

I stormed out of the room.

Grumbling under my breath, I found an airbrushed t-shirt from the summer before—the one that had “Blondie” written in bright rainbow script across the front and a pair of jeans I hated—then went storming back through the den and into the laundry room. In a moment of fury, I threw my clothes in the dryer and slammed the door.

Ugh.

I punched the “ON” button.

As I turned to walk away, I heard an odd noise coming from the dryer. It was extremely loud and sounded like a pair of shoes bouncing around. Since my little brother spent 1981 through 1990 covered in mud, I just figured it was a pair of his shoes mom seemed to be forever washing.

I turned on my heel in a huff, and walked out of the laundry room.

TEN MINUTES LATER, while my mom was yelling for me to hurry up, I went back to the laundry room and opened the dryer door.

At this point, you can just go ahead and forget about the t-shirt and jeans. They’ve served their purpose in this little story. From this point forward, they’re not even a blip on the radar.

Why?

Because at the very moment I opened the dryer door, what I was wearing was no longer an issue. My beloved, long-haired Calico cat came flying out the door, paws lifted in surrender toward heaven, her mouth wide-open in a blood-curtling screech.

A sight you won’t soon be forgetting, let me tell you.

Bleeding from the mouth and looking like a wild animal, I did what I felt was best for the both of us at the time—

I threw my head back and started to scream.

And then I ran and ran and ran—through the kitchen, back through the den, down the hall, until I reached my bedroom … slamming my door and locking myself inside.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God!” I kept saying over and over again, arms tight around me, rocking back and forth. “I killed my cat, I killed my cat, I killed my cat!”

On my bed I stayed, a 15-year-old locked in her bedroom, dressed in wrinkled, mismatched clothes—oblivious to the drama taking place in the rest of the house.

About 15 minutes and 3 heart attacks later, I heard a knock at my door.

Mom: “Blondie—open this door!”

Me: “I can’t.”

Mom: “Blondie … open the door NOW.”

Me: “I can’t,” I cried. “I killed Chi-Chi!”

Mom: “OPEN. THE. DOOR.”

You all know that voice. The voice that signals there is no more negotiating. The voice that signals lay down your arms, prepare to surrender ...

and open the door.

Which is what I did.

There was my mom … and my cat. Apparently, Chi-Chi had crawled on her belly, pulling herself along the floor, all the way through the house to get to me.

Not because I had put her through the dryer and she had a score to settle.

But because I was the one who was upset.

Always giving of herself, she was.

“Be careful,” my mom cautioned as I went to pick her up. “She’s still hot.”

Gulp.

The cat was panting to high heaven. She was scorching hot. And she looked like she’d stuck her paw in a light socket—her hair beyond fluffy and standing out on all ends.

I felt just terrible. I bent down to kiss her on top of her head. And she promptly smacked me in the face with her open-clawed paw.

“You deserve that,” my little brother said.

“Did you know mom had to put her in the sink and turn on the cold water … and that steam came pouring off her?” My sister offered.

I looked at my mom.

“What were you thinking?” was all she could ask. “You know you’re supposed to check the dryer to make sure she’s not in there before you turn it on.”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

“I forgot.”

That was the last time I forgot to check the dryer. Some things have a way of sticking with you.

For life.

Chi-Chi lived another 7 years and never stepped foot anywhere near the dryer again. Though she didn’t hold her tail up for weeks after the incident, she eventually returned to normal. She found her way back to sleeping at the foot of my bed and seemed to forgive me for her near death experience.

I, however, would have nightmares for decades of her running frantic in the drum of a hot dryer, bouncing around with the dryer sheets.

She left home Memorial Day weekend of my Junior year in college and never returned. Though we all suspected it was finally “her time to go,” I was heartbroken that she didn’t say goodbye.

But then again, I guess she didn’t really owe me anything at all.

In her mind, maybe we’d already been there …

Chi-Chi and my brother in happier times, circa 1980. Even then, she seemed to be trying to get away from us. Maybe she sensed what we had in store for her ...

Tickled Red & Black

2009-04-14T11:19:00.000-07:00

I had a totally different blog post ready for today, but that all changed when I happened upon Mark Richt's UGA Football Blog.

Oh. my. word!

I love me some Bulldawgs :)

And if you happen to like them, too, trot your way on over and sniff out his site.

Or if you're not much of a sniffer, you can just click here.

143 days ...

3,441 hours ...

206,495 minutes ...

12,389,741 seconds ...

until Opening Day @ Oklahoma State on September 5th.

But who's counting?!?

"GO DAWGS ... Sic 'Em! Woof, Woof, Woof!!!"

"To be, or not to be ..."

2009-04-11T23:55:00.000-07:00

... that is the question."

Tonight was a night spent out on the town ... with good food, good friends, and a whole lot of Shakespeare.

"Hamlet" was on tap at Shakespeare's Tavern in downtown Atlanta, and it did not disappoint! Since we're always looking for new things to do in the city, the Tavern was an easy choice. It was my friend Robert's birthday, and he loves Shakespeare.

I met everyone there since I was on the other side of town at a soccer game, and even I was amazed that I scored a parking spot in a lot not a half a block down from the Tavern. This never happens in Atlanta! Especially when there's an event at The Fox (which there was) and the Braves are in town.

Score for me.

Since they have a wide selection of English favorites, we decided to do dinner there. From Cornish Pasty to Shepherd's Pie, you truly do feel like you've stepped across the pond. I opted for the Tomato Basil Soup and Zucchini Bread, while most everyone else opted for the English Chili.

I'd been to the Tavern before to see "Romeo & Juliet" a few years back, so I knew the show would be well-acted and superbly performed. It was. Hamlet was flawless, and the girl who played Ophelia had you believing she truly had gone crazy. By far my favorite actor of the night was the "grave digger," who was a company player wearing many different hats and acting over the top. To me, he made the night.

Why? Well let's be honest: Shakespearean theater isn't the easiest thing to follow in the world—even if you did have to take countless Shakespeare courses in college to get your English minor. (Go Owls! Hoot-hoot!)

And Hamlet certainly is not the shortest play ever written. By the third act I was ready to go, as were most of the men in our little entourage. "Me thinks this is going to go on forever," I whispered to Whitney and Chris as Hamlet continued his spiral into "madness." They nodded in agreement.

Still, you can't beat a night in the city with some of your best friends in the world.

All-in-all, if you've never been, I highly recommend it. And make sure you get the warm Apple Crisp with Vanilla Bean ice cream at intermission—you'll be oh so glad you did ...

Cake Pops!

2009-04-10T19:18:00.000-07:00

While metro Atlanta was battling tornados all evening (and I was in and out of the basement all night), I was making Bakerella's Cake Pops.

And for my first try, I think they turned out oh-so-cute!

Even if I only ended up making 8.

Even if I have 52 frozen cake balls left over.

Even if it took me 3 hours to do it.

So if you'd like to take a sneak peak, I'll show you who showed up for the party:

And every body knows you can't bake without these guys:

Let's get this party started!

Once baked, you've got to crumble your cake (and believe me, I had the hardest time crumbling a perfectly good cake—probably the prettiest I've ever baked. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do):

Mix the crumbled cake with a container of frosting (I chose cream cheese), then roll the mixture into little balls. You'll want to push your sleeves up, because this can get a little messy (... and inconvenient when the tornado siren goes off and you have to run to the basement.)

Next, melt your white chocolate candy melts...

Then let the kids jump into the "pool" for a little swim and magic swirl ...

When you're done, you'll have ... Cake Pops!

[***Click pictures to view larger images.]

I Heart New York

2009-04-09T10:09:00.000-07:00

I came across this picture last night while doing research for a project I'm working on. It's the lower end of Manhattan near the Brooklyn Bridge, circa 1900.

And I've stood right there. On that sidewalk.

Of course, it looked quite different 105 years later.

But old or new, it's still New York. And I love New York. Have I ever mentioned that?

Yeah, I guess I have. But have I told you how much I'm fascinated with old New York?

Probably not.

This picture (and the one that follows) piques my interest even more.

Because there's just something about this city for me—its energy ... its history ... its eccentricities. And the food, the theater, Fifth Avenue, Little Italy, Central Park. While I don't much care for the grit and grime ... or its crime, for that matter ... there's just something about this city I get.

Or that gets a hold of me.

I worked for a company in Rochester for a while, and for all its upstate quaintness and charm, it's just not the same as Manhattan. And the itch to get back there for me has begun. It's been three years.

Much too long.

I'm thinking the fall, maybe. Because there's just something about autumn in New York.

Road trip, anyone? If so, start spreading the news ...

Little Italy, circa 1900.

She's at it again!

2009-04-08T05:53:00.000-07:00

The Pioneer Woman just launched her latest giveaway. And even though I'm still a tad bit upset I didn't win one of these mixer's last week, I'm going to enter again anyway.

Why?

Because "Goonies never say die!"

And because I love the way these wall hangings represent the natural elements found all around us: blue for water, red for fire, brownish/gold for earth, and green for growth. Plus, I have a space over my big screen TV in the den that I just can't figure out what to do with—and these would look PERFECT hanging side-by-side in the space.

So if you're interested, run—don't walk—to The Pioneer Woman's website to enter.

Or if you're not much into exercising, you can just click here.

Good luck!

Whiskers: A Look Back

2009-04-06T17:54:00.003-07:00

In honor of Easter being just around the corner, I thought now was as good a time as any to tell you about the sweetest Lop Eared Bunny ever in the history of the whole entire world ...

and how I killed him dead one hot, August afternoon.

The year was 1987, and my grandparents had given my sister, brother, and I a black Lop Eared Rabbit for Easter. We were given the lecture on how bunnies needed more than just love: they needed to be fed and watered, and their cage had to be cleaned all the time because they pooped an awful lot.

Yada, yada, yada.

The three of us took an oath that we would forever defend, protect, and take care of our furry little friend. "Whiskers" he was named and in the backyard on Bennett Street he would reside.

In the beginning, we all fought over the care and feeding of Whiskers. But it didn't take long for the newness of the bunny to wear off. What we were left with was a rabbit whose cage stunk to high-heaven and who bit us every time we tried to hold him.

So yeah, we lost interest in Whiskers early on. Since I was the oldest, it became my duty to see to it that he was taken care of—because as my mom put it, "He's not MY rabbit. Now get out there and take care of him."

So I did.

Over time, Whiskers and I bonded a little, and I decided I liked him again. It didn't bother me so much when he bit me. And I was learning all sorts of things about being responsible and not gagging when I had to clean out his cage.

Four months later on a sunny August day, I thought Whiskers would enjoy some time outside his cage. We had a big backyard just perfect for a cute little bunny to hop around in.

So I got him out and placed him in the middle of the yard.

He took off hopping. (It's amazing how fast those little boogers are when you're chasing them barefoot through pine cones and hot grass.)

I had to come up with a new plan. I spotted some left over chicken wire in our tool shed. "I know," I thought to myself. "I'll just make a circle out of this chicken wire in the yard, and then Whiskers will be able to hop around, enjoying the afternoon sun."

It was a good plan. Genius, really. Within 30 minutes, I had the wire in place and Whiskers secured in the middle of the backyard.

Then I grabbed my bathing suit and headed down the street to the pool.

Six hours later armed with a good tan and completely oblivious to the fact that I owned a rabbit at all, I returned home to find my grandmother visiting. My mom thought now would be the perfect time for my grandmother and Whiskers to get reacquainted. "Melissa, why don't you go get Whiskers and show Nanny how much he's grown."

"What?" I was not paying attention.

"Whiskers."

"Who?" I was totally engrossed in Madonna's Lucky Star video on MTV.

"Your rabbit. Go get him ... Nanny wants to see him."

"Oh."

My rabbit. The one in the backyard. The one I'd completely forgotten about.

I made my way outside and noticed right away that something was not right with Whiskers.

As I moved closer, it was quite obvious that he was no longer among the living.

Great.

I had just put my cat through the dryer accidentally not a year before, and now I had inadvertently killed the rabbit.

My Nana was waiting for me to bring her a cute, live bunny. And all I had to offer her was a dead, stiff, charbroiled bunny.

I stayed in the backyard.

My mom hollered: "Melissa, what's taking you so long?"

I didn't answer.

"Mel, bring the rabbit!" she yelled.

"Ummmm, I can't," I yelled back.

"Why not?"

"Because I think he might be dead," I whispered.

"WHAT?!?"

I screamed it at the top of my lungs:

"BECAUSE. I. THINK. HE. MIGHT. BE. DEAD."

The entire neighborhood was in my backyard within 2 seconds flat.

"What have you done?" My mom asked.

The babbling commenced: "Well I just thought he'd like to play in the grass and enjoy the day out of his cage so I made him this little 'vacation pen' here and when I put him here this morning he was in the shade and then I went to the pool and when I came back he was in the sun and now he's dead." I took a breath.

"Melissa Leigh."

Some times there are just no other words. And sometimes your full name never sounds worse than when your mother is using it full-on in front of a group of people when you have just committed the unthinkable.

"I know," was all I could say.

"You're going to have to bury him before your dad gets home, you know that, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You know where the shovel is."

I did. I took Whiskers to the back of our property to my family's "Pet Cemetery," trying to remember the positions of Dougal the dog, Chocolate Chip the kitty cat, Short-Stuff the hamster, Jo-Jo the cockatiel, Sweetie the parakeet, and Chippy the flying squirrel. My brother helped me dig a hole and then he said a few words about how I killed his favorite pet and then I apologized for taking his life. We covered him with dirt and threw a big rock on top of him.

My sister, ever the business woman, made sure that I knew she fully expected 1/3 payment for her interest in our now dead bunny, and I'm sure I obliged and paid her what she was rightfully due.

Dad came home and I graduated from college and my sister married and my brother had kids and we all moved on and life pretty much returned to usual.

But every year when Easter rolls around, and chocolate eggs show up in local stores, and bunnies appear in pet stores at the mall, I'm reminded of the deed I committed so long ago—and the price our bunny paid for a 15-year old's poor lack of judgment one hot, August day ... when the pool was more important than the rabbit "on vacation" in the middle of her own back yard.

So now the world knows. My burden has been lifted. Somehow, I feel a bit better. Guess it's time to come clean about the cat in the dryer.

Now that, my friends, is a story ...

I'm trying to win one of these ...

2009-04-01T21:21:00.000-07:00

over at The Pioneer Woman's website.

Not that I ever win anything, mind you. But I'm trying just the same.

Not that I have time to cook all that much anymore, either. But that would all change if I won one of these babies. I hear they are the bomb diggity! And as The Blonde Diggitty, I think it only fitting for me to have one.

Except I'm not dropping $300 on a mixer. Ever.

Never.

Just so you know.

I do believe I'm due a win this time—since I didn't win her $500 Apple Store Gift Certificate a while back OR her Nikon D90 with two VR lenses she gave away just a few weeks ago. So what if there are over 18,100 entrants at this time? So what if I was entry #211 and will probably get lost in the middle of the pack? I'm still quite hopeful.

Ever the eternal optimist, I am.

So when I win, you're all invited over for the baked good of your choice. Because I like to give back.

That's just how I roll ...

***Contest ends at 8:00 p.m. PST. You've still got time to enter, so hurry! May the best man win :)

[UPDATE: I didn't win one of these, even though The Pioneer Woman gave away an EXTRA one because she was having server issues yesterday. I'm not bitter ... I'm just not baking anything for a really long time.]

Entertaining Angels Unaware

2009-04-01T08:01:00.000-07:00

People say that angels don’t exist.

But I disagree.

I was just in the presence of one.

There I was all damsel in distress, with my newly purchased granola bar teetering ever so precariously on the top row of the vending machine.

In layman’s terms: I'd paid for it, and it was stuck.

Now I don’t have to tell you that these are tough economic times. People are hurting. Money's tight. This blonde was not about to walk away without her granola bar, losing 50¢ (or “Fitty Cent” for all you hip-hop readers) in the process.

So I did what any of you would’ve done ...

I started banging the fool out of the vending machine with the palm of my hand.

Nothing.

I pounded my fist on the glass.

Nothing.

I tried to rock the machine from side to side.

It wouldn’t budge.

I need to put some weight into it, I thought. So I shimmied myself down between the side of the vending machine and the wall, bracing my back and beginning to push with all my might.

This time, I’m the one that got stuck.

And still … nada.

Now I was mad. I'd tried it the normal way, but it was time for a blonde approach:

I started jumping up and down in front of the machine. I guess I thought I was heavy enough to start a small quake, and that in and of itself would shake my granola bar loose.

But as you might guess …

Nothing.

Beyond frustrated and nowhere near ready to admit defeat, I looked up as my vending machine angel started down the stairs.

{Cue music}

Vending Machine Angel (VMA): “What seems to be the problem, Ma’am?” He asked in his angelic voice.

Blonde Diggitty (BD): “My granola bar is stuck,” my voice dripped with the sweetness of a 7-year old. “And I really tried as hard as I could, but I just couldn’t get it to budge.”

VMA: “Let me see what I can do.” He flexed his Herculean muscles.

Rocking the vending machine from side to side, my granola bar fell within 2 seconds flat.

BD: “I tried that,” I said.

VMA: “Well, I guess you did all the hard work then.”

He reached in and handed me my granola bar.

VMA: “Have a good day,” he offered, as he tipped his halo and walked away.

I skipped my way back to my office through "Nature Valley" munching on "Oats & Honey," all the while thinking about the good people left in this world—those who are still willing to rescue damsels in distress …

especially when they find themselves in the most dire of situations ;)

Pondering ...

2009-03-24T07:29:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had your mind so preoccupied that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't even seem to put yourself on "autopilot?"

That would be where I am today.

My dad is scheduled to have surgery next week for a torn rotator cuff in his right shoulder. He's been in excrutiating pain for 3 years, and he finally reached the "unbearable" point where he knew something needed to be done about it.

In a routine pre-op stress test yesterday, doctors found some issues of concern with his heart. Now he's off to the cardiologist for more extensive testing later this week.

Even though I am a "recovering hypochondriac" who would rather drink anti-freeze than visit WebMD, I broke my own rule and did a little research on what his issues might entail.

And it doesn't look that great.

Growing up, there's not a day I remember my dad ever being sick. That all changed 4 1/2 years ago when I got the call that he was at the hospital after suffering a stroke at work. It's been one thing after another ever since.

I know that God is in control of all things—even such things as these. And I know there are so many others who are suffering things I cannot bear to think of. Still, that doesn't stop my mind from pondering, no matter how many times I take my thoughts captive.

Even though I need to be writing 12 teaching lessons on how God works in the lives of college graduates ...

Even though I need to come up with 52 weeks of curriculum to help encourage young mothers ...

Even though I would much rather be writing an upbeat blog post instead of being so reflective.

Because sometimes even the brightest of blogs ... and lives ... encounter cloudy days that hint of a storm brewing on the horizon.

"Burn, Baby Burn ..."

2009-03-19T19:34:00.000-07:00

Last night I was minding my own business ... doing my own thing ... when I looked out the back windows of my den to see a two-story fire burning in my neighbor's backyard.

Unattended.

At 10:00 p.m.

A little voice inside my head said, "Call the Fire Department, Blondie." But since the next door neighbor's delinquent, rap-sheet-a-mile-long, convicted felon grandson had just showed up at her house after his release from prison (and since he had spent the afternoon shooting firecrackers at me when I walked to the mailbox), I thought it best to mind my own business.

Besides, I had other more important things to do ...

"I'll just put on this facial mask for 10-minutes. And if the fire's not under control by the time I need to remove it, I'll call the Fire Department."

That was my plan.

And it was a good plan.

Not 5 minutes later, I heard what sounded like a garbage truck pulling to a stop in front of my house.

SCORE!

I pumped my fist in the air and ran into the den to see that the Fire Department was setting up shop and dragging their lines and hoses across my driveway, down my side yard, and into the back yard of the neighbor next door.

Now at this point, I want to make sure you understand that the fire was still burning unattended. Completely unattended. The Fire Department was perplexed at the thought that someone would build a 2-story fire at 10:00 at night and then leave it to burn without keeping an eye on it. So as the firemen dealt with the situation next door, I did what any self-respecting neighbor would do:

I grabbed my camera and ran outside.

It was at the very moment when I stepped onto my front porch that I saw some of the cutest firemen I've ever seen standing on my property ...

and there I was in a pair of PJs, my hair in a ponytail on top of my head, and a pore-minimizing, wrinkle-reducing mud mask immobilizing my face.

Not one of my finer moments.

I dropped to the ground.

Then I ducked in behind the shrubs on the front of my house, sliding up under the bushes. Lying there in the pine straw and pine bark (and hidden by the low-lying limbs), I positioned my camera so that I could try to get a night-shot of the firetruck with my new 6-point star filter. And I was trying to be all covert not using any hint of flash because I didn't want to give away my position below the shrubs.

I was belly down in the dirt, taking shot after shot, trying my best to get something worth saving. Every shot was way too dark. Since I thought all the firemen were in the neighbor's backyard at this point, I decided it was safe to turn on my low flash and give it a whirl.

That's when I heard, "HEY! What was that?!?" as a fireman started to walk toward me.

Uh-oh.

Suddenly I remembered just how ridiculous I looked with a dried mud-mask all over my face, cloud-jumping sheep decorating my PJs, and my hair piled on top of my head like Cindy Lou Whoo.

Oh yeah, I was representin'.

In a moment of pure desperation, I went slithering on my belly like a reptile from the pine bark up onto the front porch and crawled through my front door in 2 seconds flat. It slammed with a thud.

Though the fireman looked around for a while, he never found the "woman in the bushes" thanks to my cat-like reflexes.

It took the Fire Department another hour to put out the fire, write the neighbor's citation, and corral the hoses back in the truck.

And me?

Well, by that time my wrinkle-free skin and I were nestled all snug in my bed with visions of cute firemen dancing through my head ...

"The Hippo"

2009-03-16T17:54:00.001-07:00

"You called your friend a WHAT?!?"

Yesterday after church, some friends of mine and I went to the local wing establishment to grab a bite to eat. All of us seemed to be in happy moods despite the deluge of rain that had been dumping from the sky and drenching us for the third day in a row.

After drink orders were placed, my friend Alan and I got to chatting about the movie Madgascar 2 which we saw on Friday night. Now I'd never even seen Madagascar 1, being as that I'm not a huge fan of animated flicks. But this one was quite cute. And all because of the hippos.

I loved them.

I really did.

And my heart just went out to Melman the Giraffe who was in love with Gloria the Hippo ... who unfortunately just so happened to be out on a date with Moto-Moto, her hippo love (who was seriously putting the moves on her in that mud swamp. S-E-R-I-O-U-S-L-Y.)

So there's poor Melman in love with Gloria for a small forever—and there's Gloria, falling for uber-smooth Moto-Moto. She was clueless as to the giraffe's true love for her. In a moment of pure desperation, Melman the Giraffe has enough and runs into the swamp to profess his love for her. He tells Moto-Moto that he better realize what he's got in Gloria—in all her awesomeness—in all her roundness—in all her glory. As he professes his feelings and admiration for Gloria, it's as if her eyes are opened for the first time. And she starts to look at Melman in a whole new light.

Now it was at this particular point in the retelling of the story at lunch that I, in a friendly gesture, just so happened to tap my friend Angela on the shoulder while saying the following:

"... Because isn't that what all hippos want—to be truly loved and admired by someone who is completely head over heels in love with them?"

Angela spun around to me and spit out: "Are you calling me a hippo?"

Needless to say the table dissolved into laughter as I desperately tried to back-paddle my way out of a completely innocent comment.

But to no avail.

The hits just keep coming and coming in my world.

So I spent the rest of lunch with both feet planted firmly in my mouth while Angela kept referring to herself as the "hippo."

Yeah, I won't be living this one down anytime soon.

Just so you know.

Madagascar 2—now available for your viewing pleasure on DVD and BluRay.

Warning: Watch and repeat at your own risk.

Texting vs. Instant Messaging

2009-03-13T13:33:00.001-07:00

Today's "Friday Meme" poses the question:

Which do you prefer—texting or instant messaging?

I prefer talking.

Quite a lot of it.

And face-to-face.

Thank you.

*If you decide to play along, be sure to leave me a comment or link to your blog in the "Comments" section of this post. Enjoy!

"Miss Myrtle"—The End.

2009-03-12T19:07:00.000-07:00

My adrenaline was rushing, my heart pounding. I watched my reflection in the mirror, noting every single rapid rise and fall of my chest.

As I reached my hand up to touch the spot on my neck where I'd felt the air, I'd already begun explaining the experience away. I mean, there had to be a logical
explanation for what had just happened. I'd imagined it, that was all. Yes, that was it. My imagination.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of unease. And for reasons I will never know, the question I asked next came out of my mouth before I could even begin to think of what I was saying:

"Is someone in here?"

The room was completely still. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. I looked "Miss Myrtle" over, and everything was as it should be. Finally convinced that it was nothing more than my overactive imagination, I stood and turned to make my way back to my office.

The air on the opposite side of my neck was blowing in a steady stream once again, as if someone were deliberately doing it, lasting for more than a second or two.

Oh. Dear. Lord.

I fumbled for the latch, hyperventilating. "Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God" I kept silently praying as I struggled with the door, completely locked inside. Banging on the wooden frame, I did my frantic tug-of-war with the knob, trying my best to get out.

Nothing. was. working.

Then, just before I let out a blood-curtling scream, the door unlatched and out I ran, smacking right into one of the senior partners and tumbling with him to the floor.

"Melissa, what in the ..." Russell was saying as he tried to untangle himself from our heap.

"I .... just .... get out ... Myrtle ... air ..." I couldn't breathe and was making no sense whatsoever. By this time, most of the law clerks and a handful of the other attorneys had come up from the law library to see what the commotion was all about.

Joe, the managing partner, began to chuckle and simply offered, "from the looks of it, I'd say you just met our ghost."

Excuse me?!?

Over the next half hour, the majority of the firm began recounting encounter after encounter each had had with the office ghost.

They told me that the incidents started shortly after they broke ground on the new wing, expanding the size of the firm to accommodate the growing practice. Strange things began to happen almost overnight—and always in the old part of the building. From the tunnels ... to the attic ... to the basement ... to the main floor, things were seen, heard, and experienced that none could explain away.

I sat mesmerized. "It would've been nice if you would have told me," I said matter-of-factly. (I was bothered they didn't go over this in my "New Employee Orientation.")

Since I was the resident Journalism major, recently trained to "sniff-out" a story, they asked me to "hound-dog it" and see if I could uncover the entire history of the home—you know, see if there was any reason we might be experiencing something strange. And since they signed my paychecks, I spent my lunch hours across the street at the city archives, digging through almost 150 years of history for them.

And uncover I did.

While I don't subscribe to the daily beliefs of ghosts & goblins, I will say that on that particular day in "Miss Myrtle" I walked away uneasy and with the knowledge of something I could not explain. And after the research I uncovered, it all began to make a little more sense to me.

Though there is SO much more to this story, I think you'll find it interesting that the remains of those exhumed Union soldiers I mentioned in the first part of this story actually came in through the basement via a service porch—i.e., our latter day "Miss Myrtle"—and that the remains were placed in coffins housed in the basement of the home before being shuffled through the tunnels into the cemetery under the dark cover of night.

And I think you'll also find it interesting to know that Mr. Cole's daughter, Mary, lived in the house until well into her 30s, when she suddenly died of a ruptured appendix—in one of the basement rooms.

Really?

Really.

In the 3 years that I worked for the firm, I never once stepped foot in "Miss Myrtle" again. At least, not until my very last day in the office when I decided it was time to face my fears—once and for all.

Only this time, there was no solid stream of air on either side of my neck, no door latch that could not be undone. As I walked out that final time, I took one look over my shoulder and whispered to no one in particular ...

"So long 'Miss Myrtle' ... so long Mary ..."

You know, just in case "she" was listening.

"Miss Myrtle"—Part Deux

2009-03-11T16:39:00.000-07:00

Now where were we?

Ah, yes ... "Miss Myrtle" ...

So there I was, just out of college working for a well-established firm of defense attorneys in this super-old, pre-Civil War home. I was starting out at the bottom, paying my dues, sharing an office in the basement of the oldest part of the building ...

and loving every minute of it.

My office had a rock fireplace that was built in the 1800s. I'd grab my coffee every morning, sit in front of it, and listen to the wooden floors from the office above squeak and moan every time one of the partners paced the floors.

The underground tunnels I spoke of in my last post were literally off my office, and they were our extreme weather shelter anytime a threat of tornado drew near. They were hidden behind a closed door; and to say that they were creepy is an understatement. The tunnels only allowed you to go so far—their openings out into the cemetery had been sealed with concrete many years before.

Still, for everyone who stepped inside of them, the feeling described was always the same:

Dark. Frightening. Ominous.

There was a feeling of something being "just not quite right" there; and whether we liked it or not, we were all required from time-to-time to disrupt the dust bunnies and creepy crawlies who lived there.

It was just beyond and to the right of the tunnels that "Miss Myrtle" could be found. The tiniest of rooms, she had been some sort of basement washroom back in the day. But with the invention of indoor plumbing, she later became a bathroom.

Now you couldn't get anywhere downstairs without passing "Miss Myrtle." The kitchen, mail room, law library, copy area, and file storage all surrounded her. She was the hub of the basement floor. And because she was a bathroom, needless to say, she saw a LOT of activity. If you couldn't find someone you were looking for, all you had to do was ask: "Lee, have you seen Russell? ... Yeah, he's in 'Miss Myrtle.'" or "Sean, is Rodney striking a jury? ... No, last time I saw him, he was on his way to 'Miss Myrtle.'" You get the picture.

So on an ordinary day, yours truly had to .... um ... well ... pay a visit to "Miss Myrtle." I stepped inside and latched the door behind me. I always tried to avoid "Miss Myrtle" at all costs because to be quite honest, she freaked me out. I can't even really describe her to you—except to say that she was beyond old, with outdated fixtures from the early 1900s and a pull cord for flushing. There was a washbasin which looked like a bathtub on stilts that sat right in front of you. And leaning up against the wall inside this washbasin was a full length mirror.

Even now, I get chills just thinking about it.

So there we were—the mirror, "Miss Myrtle," and me.

When all of a sudden, I felt something blow on my neck.

I spun around. Nothing was behind me.

When I turned back to face the mirror, something blew on my neck again—only this time on the other side.

My heart was racing. I looked up at the ceiling, down at the floor, my eyes darting from every corner of this tiny room. There were no heating or air vents in "Miss Myrtle" because she was built before the invention of central heating and air. She was always stuffy and hot. When I say we all complained that there was never any air movement in "Miss Myrtle," I'm not lying. The partners were always trying to figure out a way to get some sort of air to move down in that bathroom.

However, on this particular day, plenty of air was moving ...

and in a steady stream first on the right side, then on the left side of my neck.

I stared in the mirror. Even today, I can't explain it: I'm a rational, God-fearing, Bible-believing human being, and in that moment I knew I was not in that bathroom alone.

Though I was scared to death, I was determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.

And the question I asked next—and the response I got—would haunt me for many years to come ...

(Final installment tomorrow ... then on to something new!)

"Miss Myrtle"

2009-03-10T18:37:00.001-07:00

At lunch on Sunday, some friends of mine and I got to talking about tall tales and ghost stories—you know, something light and breezy to chat about over BBQ ribs and sweet iced tea.

As you can imagine, everyone had a story to tell.

So the gauntlet was thrown down and the rules were set forth: the story had to involve an alleged ghost sighting or event; it had to be somewhat true; and it had to have happened to you.

Since I happen to think that my story won hands down, I thought I'd share it with you. It’s going to be a two-parter—maybe even three. You'll want to check back.

And you might want to grab a snack … you’re gonna be here a while.

Once upon a time (way back in the late 90s), there was a hot, babe-a-licious blonde who was working for a law firm right out of college.

(The fact that I was babe-a-licious really has no bearing whatsoever on this story. I just like to take every opportunity to remind myself that at one time, I was hot. And humble.)

Now this law firm was in a historic old home—and not just any home. It was the home owned by a man who was a Yankee traitor.

(Here in the south, we take Yankees very seriously. I'm going to need a moment ...)

The Yankee’s name was Henry Cole, and he was married to a southern belle by the name of Georgia Fletcher. Georgia’s father and brothers were die-hard Confederates, and they plotted the movement of their troops late at night in the local town hall. Henry (Georgia's husband) acted like he was one of them—a staunch supporter of the Confederate initiative.

However, he was in fact a dirty Yankee (and one Scarlett would have muddied with a fistful of Georgia red clay if she'd been given half the chance). Henry was slipping Confederate information to his old friend, General Sherman, behind enemy lines. This information helped Sherman greatly as he burned his way through Georgia "from Atlanta to the sea."

(Or as Snoop-Dogg would say: "Fo-shizzle, lil-sizzle.")

As we all know, the Civil War died in 1865, and the south lived to rise again.

Many years later, Henry passed from this life to the eternal beyond, and the house fell into the hands of the lawyers who employed me. It didn't take them long to realize that Henry left some “things” behind when the house sold and the home changed hands.

A letter from General Robert E. Lee was found in one of the basement rooms. Underground tunnels from the house into the family cemetery were used during the war to free slaves via the Underground Railroad. And after the war, the same tunnels were used to transport coffins holding the remains of exhumed Union soldiers to the land Henry had donated for use as a national military cemetery.

But of all the things that Henry left behind, perhaps the most unusual thing was "Miss Myrtle" …

and the not-so-friendly ghost who inhabited her.

Got your attention yet ... Yes? No? Maybe? I can't promise you anything, but I think you're going to want to read on. I know how this one ends ... and it only gets better from here ...

"Miss Myrtle, Part Deux"—tomorrow on The Blonde Diggitty.

Still here ... just working hard ...

2009-03-05T18:30:00.000-08:00

I can't wait to tell you all I've been up to here lately in the ATL (I've still got to fill you in on the fish funeral I attended recently, the 3 inches of snow we got in Atlanta this past Sunday, and the time I sent my cat Chi-Chi through the dryer for 10 minutes on fluff dry (she was not happy with me when I opened the door to say the least ...)

But the day job and freelance work are keeping me oh so busy. I've been working all week on a workbook that is going to press early next week (put it to bed today), editing 18 articles for a freelance project for my former employer, and editing research for Dr. S. for his sermon this coming Sunday. It's been CRAZY!

I plan to come up for air after my off-campus work meeting tomorrow at Atlanta's Stone Mountain Park—which means blogging will re-convene this weekend.

I know, I know ... you can't wait. Don't worry—I can hear your sarcasm all the way through my wireless router ...

TTYS!

Running Random Recap

2009-02-24T07:01:00.000-08:00

Because I can't think of anything clever to write today (and because I have a sinus headache that just will not quit), let's do a running random recap of Blondie's weekend:

[*random being the key word here*]

Friday

Ring. Ring. Who is it? It's your cell phone dying. Spent 3 hours buying more phone than I need with more minutes than I can ever use. Salesman was oh so crafty! I walked out with a sleek and stunning contraption that can now put air in my tires and shop for groceries. Oh ... you don't think they make those? Yeah, you could be right. But before long they will. Estimated time for my new phone to be technologically obsolete: next week.

Achoo! Got an empty Tylenol Cold & Sinus box? Use it as a fish coffin. That's what my sister did when I dropped by her house late Friday afternoon just as her family's pet fish, "Mr. Fish", decided to swim through the pearly gates. My nephew was—as we say in the south—TORE up over the loss. But that's another post entirely.

Yum. Yum. I had pizza for the 3rd night in row Friday night when Tanner begged me to change my plans and go to dinner with him. His fish had just died ... plus he has the cutest blue eyes. What would you have done? I know ... eaten pizza for a 3rd night in a row.

Strum-strum. A little Guitar Hero World Tour rounded out the evening, with my cell phone finally regaining service around midnight.

Moving on ...

Saturday

Zzzzzz. Slept in. Until the dog woke me up at the crack of dawn needing to go out. It was a day to get things done: my taxes, a little shopping, some errands, maybe an oil change. Then a friend gave me a hard time about not playing frisbee golf the last three weekends and ...

Ca-Fling. I met said friends to ride 54 miles to the other side of Atlanta for 18 holes of frisbee golf. Since there were 10 of us playing, the 18 holes took quite a while. Near the end my head was splitting, and I was beyond ready for the madness to end.

Yum. Yum. Though I had planned to go home after golf, my friend Laura needed a ride back to her car. 30 minutes away. So away we went. "Why not stop for dinner?" To Chile's we went. As we were leaving the phone rang and ...

Chatter and Scatter. My frisbee golf friends wanted us all to hang out. With Ocean's 11 on the tube, we played 12 rounds of Scattergories before the night dissolved into uncontrollable, everyone' crying, faces are red, and no one is breathing laughter. I could barely hold my eyes open by the time I fell into bed at 1 AM wondering where in the world the day I had all planned out had gone.

Sunday

Wet and Mild. Met most of my family for lunch at a fine wing establishment to recap and catch up with each other from the last couple of weeks and to celebrate my sister-in-law's new job. Though I planned to go right home after lunch ...

Batter Up! I ended up at the batting cages to get my swing on. Never you mind that I hadn't swung a bat in probably 5 years. Nor did I remember how fashion backward batting helmets can look. But I gotta say that out of all the pitches I took, I only missed 2. Now that's a record for me. I was quite pleased with my performance—and the bottle of Ibuprofen I had remembered to grab on my way out the door.

So there you have it. The randomness of my weekend.

Let's recap once more for those of you who skimmed the post and went straight to the end:

I got a new cell phone, crafted a coffin, attended a fish funeral, ate pizza, played Guitar Hero, didn't get my taxes done, nor my oil changed, played frisbee golf, got a headache, forgot Ibuprofen, drove my car, ate at Chile's, laughed hysterically, swooned over Brad Pitt, fell into bed, ate some wings, swung a bat, looked hideous in a helmet, and wondered how in the world it was already time for Monday again.

All in all, just your average American weekend ... Blondie-style.

Overhaulin'

2009-02-18T18:09:00.000-08:00

Do you remember when AOL was THE way to get online?

You'd unplug the phone cord from the jack in the wall, plug it into the back of your mammoth computer hard drive, then cross your fingers while you waited for all those strange little "pings" and "boings" to make a connection.

"You've got mail."

Back then, those were truly magical words indeed.

And long before there was a Blogger or WordPress or Live Journal or Typepad—long before blogs were even "a thing" at all—there was the AOL-Journal community. You only had one layout and one color to choose from. You couldn't imbed video or play around with HTML code, or import a photo bigger than a thumbnail. It was all about the words ...

and the people you shared them with.

I made a lot of friends in the AOL-J community: Freeeeepeace (Trish) and Aims (Mia) and SloMo (Amy) and Scalzi (John), a little Robbie and a lot of Lotus Martini's (Gina). All were spread across this great nation (and continent) and just the click of a button away.

My first journal was named:

Coffee Swirls & One Girl's World
... pondering life one tall, decaf, non-fat Vanilla Latte @ a time ...

It won some awards and had quite the following before banner ads took over and everyone started jumping ship for the other blogging communities that were starting to pop up on the Web.

When AOL removed its journal community entirely on October 31st of last year, I moved my old journal from AOL into my new journal.

And I've been trying to clean up the mess ever since.

Some posts never made it; some are partials. Links are broken, photos missing. Videos gone. When your newer journal is named something completely different than your old journal, how do you explain the references to "The Swirl & The World?" or all the times you refer to yourself as "Swirly" [the nickname my followers gave me early on]?

Yes, it has been a mess. And I'm nowhere near being done yet. But I've been trying. Being a magazine editor for many, many years, I'm never fully satisfied with the look or the layout or the art. So I've been playing around with it.

Far too much, I think.

So I'm going to leave it as is for a while. Let it marinate and see what kind of flavor I get. Grab yourself a fork and pull up a chair. I just invited you to dinner.

And if you ever look back at some of the older posts in my "Archives" and see hiccups and halts, or a reference to "The Swirly Girl" along the way, now you know ...

she was blonde, too :)

Thanks for bearing with me ...

"Ma'am, get back in the car ..."

2009-02-09T07:59:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it's just best to jump right in.

So this is me ... jumping right in.

I got a ticket this morning.

A ticket for rolling through a stop sign in the office park where I work.

It wasn't on my way in to the office—NO. It was on my way to the QuikTrip to get some coffee after I got to work and realized we were out.

Now I don't think I've ever seen a car at this particular 3-way stop in the mornings. And I have certainly NEVER seen the Po-Po at this stop sign. I made sure the way was clear, then I rolled my heap of metal right on through.

I carried on the madness as I made my way up the hill.

I whipped my Toyota right on in to the nearest parking space. Then, in one swift movement, I swung myself up and out of the car, grabbing my wallet and keys on the way out. I could already taste the decaf.

"Ma'am ... get back in the car!"

What?!?

Now I should probably tell you that I don't work in the best part of town. It's not a bad part of town, but it ain't great. It's fine during the day, but since it's close to downtown, crime can be an issue after hours.

So when I hear a police bullhorn announcing someone should get back in the car, I scan the perimeter and prepare myself to drop.

Imagine my surprise when I spin around and realize the policeman is talking to me.

Me.

As in "I".

I got back in the car. And tried to figure out what I had done that would prompt him to not only be "chit-chatting" with me over his bullhorn from afar, but would also have caused him to pull right up behind my car at such an angle any means of escape I might want to make would be thwarted.

So there I was, dressed to the nines in my work finery on the wrong side of town—and on the wrong side of the law.

Just like a hardened criminal.

The conversation that followed went a little something like this:

Po-Po: Blondie ...

Blondie: Yes sir.

Po-Po: Do you know why I stopped you?

Blondie: Ummmm, well ...

Po-Po: Well, Blondie, that's what I thought. See, you didn't stop at that 3-way stop sign back there.

Blondie: {Fluttering her eyes and tossing her hair} I didn't?!?

Po-Po: NO. [He was not impressed by my flutter or toss.] You did not stop. And that's why I was going to pull you over. But then you took off and were going so fast up the hill I couldn't stop you.

Blondie: {All wide-eyed} REALLY?

Po-Po: Yes, Blondie. Really.

Blondie: Oh.

I handed him my license and insurance card (because this blonde has been around the block a time or two and knows the drill.)

The policeman went back to his squad car to call in my digits and {hopefully} prepare my warning speech. I grabbed my nail file and began to file my nails because there were 4 international men just leaning up against the brick wall of the QuikTrip watching my situation go down.

That's when I hear a commotion behind me and look up to find that not only is my policeman stopped behind my car on the left, but now another one has swung in on the other side of me, blocking the right side of my car with his lights flashing.

YOU. HAVE. GOTTA. BE. KIDDING. ME.

Evidently, rolling through a stop sign is SERIOUS business in DeKalb County.

No amount of nail-filing could help me escape the embarrassment of my current situation. I tried to look on the positive side and find the silver lining to the cloud that was attempting to dark-cloud my otherwise sunny morning:

It's his job.

... not helping.

The life you could be saving is your own.

... what?!? Also, not helping.

Blondie, it's been almost 8 years since you've chit-chatted with the civil servants in this fashion ... it will be good to catch up.

Nothing was helping. Before long, both policemen walked back to my car.

Po-Po: Blondie, I'm citing you for not stopping at the stop sign and ...

Blondie: Where's my warning?

Po-Po: ... you will need to call this number on the back to determine your court date should you wish to plead not guilty ...

Blondie: I said where's my warning?

Po-Po: ... should you opt not to appear in court you will need to call this number for the amount of your fine ...

Blondie: Can I get my coffee now?

Po-Po: Do you have any questions?

Blondie: No sir. Thank you ... have a good day.

And yes. You read that correctly. It wasn't a typo. I seriously thanked the policeman for my ticket and wished him a good day. "Southern hospitality and all ..."

After my walk of shame into the Quik-Trip (did I mention I was parked right at the front door?), I finally got my coffee.

But I gotta admit it stung all the way down with the bitter defeat of what it cost me for that 22-ounce cup of Joe:

QuikTrip: Now normally this 22-ounce cup of imported Columbian Java would cost you 99 cents. But today, thanks to your inability to stop at a stop sign and take that lead foot off the pedal, Blondie, it's yours for $125.99—court case pending, of course.

Ah yes ... bitter indeed.

Cupid, Cupcakes & What Not

2009-02-07T19:51:00.000-08:00

I have been baking for the last 3 hours.

Why, you ask?

Tomorrow is my mom's birthday. And this year I had the honor of baking her cake: a gorgeous, delectable Strawberry Shortcake with moist snow-white cake, strawberries in rich syrup, and fluffy whipped cream.

What's not to like?!?

Apparently, quite a lot if you are my brother-in-law. He does not like strawberries at all (GASP!)—and would not eat them if his life depended on it.

Therefore, I also baked two dozen Valentine's cupcakes with milk chocolate frosting.

So since I was doing all this baking, I thought it was as good a time as any to pull out all my Valentine's decorations and get my "cupid" on. From the back door ...

to the dog bowl ...

[<— Don't you just love how you barely get the water bowl on the floor and your camera ready when you discover your dog is already up to her ears in the water bowl, sloshing water hither and yon?!? I know I just love it ...]

So now I have 24 iced cupcakes slumbering on my dining room table and one Strawberry Shortcake chilling in the fridge, a pond of water sitting around the dog's bowl, and a house that looks like it's been hosed down by Cupid himself.

Now I remember why I never sit home on Saturday nights ;)

One Word Only

2009-02-04T07:37:00.000-08:00

I was tagged with this meme on Facebook today and thought it would make a good post for here. If you want to play along, leave me a link in the "Comments" section of this post so I can find your blog. Have fun!

One Word Only

You can only type a one-word response to each number below. Good luck! It's harder than you think ...

1. Where is your cell phone? Purse
2. Your significant other? Somewhere
3. Your job? Editor
4. Shoes you're wearing? Boots
5. Your father? Absent
6. Your favorite thing? Family
7. Your dream last night? Bizarre
8. Your favorite drink? Tea
9. Your dream/goal? Happy
10. The room you're in? Office
11. Your fear? Death
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Married
13. Where were you last night? Den
14. What you're not? Introvert
15. Muffins? Blueberry
16. One of your wish list items? Beachhouse
17. Where did you grow up? Austell
18. The last thing you did? Drive
19. What are you wearing? Makeup
20. Your TV? Big
21. Your pet? Loved
22. Your computer? Lifeline
23. Your life? Full
24. You're upset like always? Not
25. Missing someone? Always
26. Your car? Paid
27. Something you're not wearing? Lipgloss
28. Favorite Store? Loft
29. Your summer? Fun
30. Your favorite color? Blue
31. Last time you laughed? Today
32. Last time you cried? Week
33. FOUR PLACES I GO OVER AND OVER: AGAIN TYPE ONLY ONE WORD:
a) Work
b) Church
c) Home
d) Grocery
34. FOUR OF MY FAVORITE FOODS:
a) Pizza
b) Steak
c) Italian
d) Mexican
35. FOUR PLACES I WOULD RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:
a) Beach
b) Island
c) Cruise
d) Mountains

What I Don't Want to Be When I Grow Up

2009-02-02T16:10:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I was stuck in traffic that just wouldn't end. I was at the half way mark—half from work, but still half way from home. A traffic jam was not on my agenda.

But there I was ... stuck just the same.

In an effort to pass the time, I decided to look around and take in my surroundings.

Chick-fil-A on this corner.

Starbucks on that one.

Your typical suburban Atlanta intersection.

Bored with the familiarity of my otherwise unfamiliar surroundings, I decided to look up. Surely there'd be something a little more interesting above sea level.

Right beside me, a high rise condominium caught my eye. It had to be at least 25 stories high, right there in the heart of Buckhead.

Ugh, that's really high, I thought to myself as I noticed the workers walking on some of the lower floors. I was starting to sweat. I'd hate to be one of the ones that had to work all the way up at the ...

My eyes scanned upward. There, perched atop this enormous high rise was an even enormous-er (is that even a word?!?) crane.

A CRANE.

On. top. of. the. building.

My first thought: How in the world did they get that thing all the way up there?

My second: I'm so glad that thing's automated—I would SO hate to be that little guy up there running it right now.

What?!?

There was a man sitting in the cab of this enormous crane hanging out over the side of a 25-story building! I could feel my adrenaline pulsing through my veins in fear—and I was firmly rooted to the ground!

I watched for 10 minutes as he meticulously maneuvered this crane with large beams of steel all around the sky. I held my breath as he ever-so-gently placed beam after beam on top of the building. I kept imagining the cab of the crane accidentally opening up, his harness loosening, and him falling to his death—all right in front of my eyes. I saw myself running over to offer help (because what else would you do?). And then of course I gave my interviews to Pam Martin of Channel 2 Action News, followed by my breakdown of events for Brenda Wood live at 11.

When all was said and done and the traffic had begun to pick up again, I was absolutely worn out.

I drove the rest of the way home feeling like I had just run the 50-yard dash. Isn't it funny how you can have such a strong reaction to something that doesn't really concern you—something you're not even participating in?

As I made my way home, I began to quietly add to the mental list of jobs I hope to never hold. "High Rise Crane Operator" may very well topple the top place holders of ANY job in the medical profession (being as that I am recovering hypochondriac) and that of fish autopsy specialist (being as that I have a phobia of dead fish).

I arrived home not a moment too soon and walked in on rather shaky legs, all the while thanking God for my job that's planted firmly on the ground ...

traffic jams and all.

"Blondie for Bogey"

2009-02-01T16:53:00.000-08:00

I am forming an addiction.

What is it? Frisbee Golf. [Or "Disc Golf" as the professionals call it.]

Believe me when I say it caught no one more by surprise than me. Back in November while en route to the mall for a new pair of black stiletto boots, some of my guy friends asked me to join them for 18 holes of golf. "I don't have clubs," I told them while putting on lipstick in my rear-view mirror. "You don't need them," they responded. "We use frisbees."

Ummmm, yeah. Okay. Whatever.

Since the park where they were playing was on my way to the mall, I thought the least I could do was drop by, say hello, then be on my merry way.

But when I got out of my car at the park, I noticed all these young, good-looking, apparently single men just gathered around.

And they ALL had frisbees.

It didn't take long to do the sum in my head:

Single guys + single girl = Blondie foregoing black stilettos to stay & investigate a little thing called "Frisbee Golf."

These fine young gentlemen were more than happy to assist me on my way—they even walked me over to where my friends were on the 3rd hole. (Check, check.)

[Frisbee Golf was looking better and better.]

***********************************************

Now fast forward to today. It was absolutely gorgeous in the ATL, and my friends (who are addicted to this game) had decided to go fling some discs. We headed over to a park in Alpharetta, and began our afternoon drive.

This was only my second time playing, but I've found that after about the first 4 holes, I'm not that bad. I'm also not that great, either. I can at least get the frisbee down the fairway ... all the while looking good.

(And since I brought up looking good, let me go ahead and tell you that today I was sporting an adorable grey Reebok hoodie, my favorite jeans, and my blinged-out black Relic sunglasses. I was also having a really good hair day and was sporting my new Cherry-Cherry Raspberry Lip Gloss. Woot!)

So there I was, looking all "frisbee-cute", when I realized that this course was a little different than the one we played in November.

It had a creek ...

with running water ...

that I and my "frisbee cute" self spent a great deal of time wading around in today.

Seems every other hole, my disc decided to go for a "swim." And if it wasn't "swimming," it was spending a lot time stuck up in trees. So I had to pull "a little bit of Tarzan and a WHOLE LOT of Jane" to figure out how in the world to get my disc out of the foliage.

After the game was over and I finished somewhere well OVER par, I decided maybe it was time I invested in my own set of discs (instead of always borrowing one of the boy's). So Chris, Wayne, Angela & I left the others and dropped by "Play It Again Sports" to peruse the goods.

Chris and Wayne were taking their time talking distances and hook arcs, fairway shots, and discs for putters ... "the Valkyrie, the Leopard, the Stingray would all get the job done quite nicely."

I, however, wasted no time at all picking up a hot pink, neon green, and two sky blue discs. Heading over to the counter to make my purchase, Chris commented, "Well that didn't take long. Which discs did you get?"

"Oh," I replied, holding them up: "This really cute bright green one, two pretty blue ones, and this gorgeous hot pink one. Aren't they pretty?"

"Did you get a good distance driver?" Wayne asked.

"Distance driver?" I asked, a puzzled look on my face.

The guys looked at each other and just shook their heads.

It suddenly became obvious to all that I could care less how far the discs would fly, or how tight they would hook, or how precisely they would arc. All I cared about was that they be super-colorful for me to watch when they flew through the air.

Kinda like a rainbow ...

in disc form.

Or, to be more precise, that they be super-colorful so that the next time they decide to go for a swim or hang out in the trees, I'll have a lot easier time trying to find them.

Oh yeah, "Blondie for bogey ...."

Go ahead—you know you want to golf clap.

25 Random Things About Me

2009-01-30T07:49:00.001-08:00

Okay, this was technically something for Facebook, but I thought I'd share it here. I did some of these in an earlier post a month or so ago, but I thought it would be fun to share some of the others. If you do you own "25 Random" list, let me know—I'd love to see it!

25 Random Things About Me

1) My great-grandmother was a full-blooded Cherokee Indian, and her father was one of the tribal chiefs. I, however, still manage to spend the majority of the year pale as a ghost.

2) The 4th toe on each of my feet is deformed. Seriously. Sad … but true. I still wear flip-flops.

3) I am a recovering hypochondriac. I’m "recovering" because I can fall off the wagon at a moment’s notice … and without warning.

4) I have the photographic memory of an elephant—I forget nothing (except how to put air in my tires and where I left my keys).

5) I dream in color.

6) I played flute and piccolo for 13 years. If I hear something once, I can play it by ear.

7) I’m allergic to shrimp caught in the Pacific Ocean—or rather, the high levels of Iodine they swim around in.

8) I cannot stand to see fish out of water, fish floating on top of the water, or fish dead in the water. This is the equivalent of "nails on a chalkboard" to me.

9) When I was in 10th grade, I accidentally put my cat, Chi-Chi, through the dryer for 10 minutes on fluff dry. I still feel just terrible about this.

10) When I was in 11th grade, I accidentally killed my family’s pet rabbit. It seems hot August sunshine and "Whiskers" confined to the middle of the backyard do not mix. I still feel just terrible about this.

11) When I was in college, I sucked my fancy fantail goldfish out of the aquarium (and out of our 2nd floor window) through the air hose used for vacuuming the gravel. [I was busy talking on the phone to my boyfriend at the time.] Since I can't stand fish out of water (see #8), I ran and put a rock over him. I don't even think he was dead. I still feel just terrible about this.

12) In spite of numbers 9-11, I have successfully owned (and kept alive) pets for the last 15+ years.

13) I'm pretty adventurous. I have been rock climbing, rappeling, bouldering, caving (spelunking), white water rafting, and parasailing. I still want to go hang-gliding and skydiving.

13) I was teased and called "Elephant Woman" at the end of 6th grade when I had my nose broken playing softball. This was one of the biggest character-building moments of my life.

14) I text in complete sentences, with no grammatical or spelling errors. I've tried to text the "normal" way, but I just can't do it. It's the editor in me ...

I5) If I had a dollar for every time somebody told me I should write a book, I could retire.

16) If I had a dollar for every time someone told me my life would make a great sitcom (and I should be the star), you and I both could retire.

17) I'm always cold. Even if it's July and 85 degrees outside, there's a good chance I'm still cold.

18) I can execute a 360 on a knee board, all while jumping the wake. I'm still trying to master skiing.

19) I don't eat any kind of bean or pea. The only beans I do are coffee, vanilla, and cocoa.

20) I love photography and I love to travel. Combine both of these, and I am one happy camper.

21) Speaking of camping (were we?), I want to hike the Rocky Mountains and the Appalachian Trail someday. It will happen. Care to join me?

22) I also want to sail the Caribbean in a masted ship (like a pirate ship), stopping in forgotten ports of call. My heart is happy near the equator—warmth and water ... what's not to love?!?

23) Speaking of water, I absolutely love it—you'll have a hard time pulling me out of it or off of it come summer time. Swimming laps calms my soul.

24) If my family wasn't in Atlanta, I would be living on the Upper West Side of Manhattan working for Random House. In the winters, I would be writing my books from my beach house in the Carolina Low Country or from my yacht sailing the Caribbean. My imaginary doors are always open to you all—visit anytime!

25) I was very shy as a child and didn't talk much. But then "Katie bar the door!" something happened around 5th grade and I haven't shut up since. Lucky for you, right?!?

Inauguration Day

2009-01-20T11:48:00.000-08:00

"May that Being who is supreme over all, the Patron of Order, the Fountain of Justice, and the Protector in all ages of the world of virtuous liberty, continue His blessings upon this nation ..."

~ John Adams, 2nd President of the United States of America
Inaugural Address, March 7, 1797

Wednesday Media Mix

2009-01-14T11:50:00.000-08:00

Got tagged with this one, so I thought I'd share with all of you:

Listen: What are your favorite songs about places—or that have a place mentioned in the title of the song?

"Georgia on My Mind" by Ray Charles—I'm a native Atlantan, born and bred in the sweltering heat of the Piedmont ... just beneath a magnolia tree, a glass of sweet iced tea in my hand. This is, without a doubt, my favorite! Just the sound of the first couple of notes and a lump rises in my throat. In one word, this song signifies all that is "home" to me.

"New York, New York" by Frank Sinatra—I heart New York, my favorite city in all the world [next to my hometown, of course :)].

"Going to Carolina in My Mind" by James Taylor—My extended family vacations every summer in the Carolina Low Country, just south of Myrtle Beach and north of Charleston, in a sleepy little beach town called Garden City/Murrell's Inlet. I hear this song, and I immediately see moss in palmetto trees, stunning sunsets, my family at play, and the crashing waves of the ocean.

"Kokomo" by the Beach Boys—Since I one day hope to sail the Caribbean in a masted ship, docking in forgotten ports of call, this song could be my anthem!

"It's Five O'Clock Somewhere" by Alan Jackson/Jimmy Buffet—because sometimes, "somewhere" is a lot better than "here"!

"Sweet Southern Comfort" by Buddy Jewel—My niece was almost 5 years old when she rode with me to the beach while this song was playing on the radio. We were somewhere south of Montgomery and north of Mobile on I-65 making our way to the Bay Minette exit which would take us to Perdido Key. We kept changing stations trying to find this song again and again and again. I can still see her in my rear view mirror, practicing the hand movements we made up along the way . To this day when I hear this song, I think of her and that trip not so long ago. And if she's with me, we both still do the hand movements:

"... from Carolina down to Georgia, smell the jasmine and magnolia ... sleepy sweet home Alabama, 'Roll Tide Roll'... Arkansas, Mississippi—Old Man River whispers to me ... carry on, carry on sweet southern comfort, carry on ..."

Watch: Any particular shows you are looking forward to seeing this season?

"The Bachelor" on ABC—I really liked Jason from the last season of The Bachelorette, and my heart sank when his proposal was turned down by Deanna. He seems like a really great guy ... I want to see him find happiness. Besides, I happen to think everyone deserves a 2nd chance at love.

"Bones"—I came late to the show, but I'm really enjoying catching up. Forensic pathology ... investigations ... hot lead actor ... what's not to like?!?

"The Office"—Michael Scott, Dwight Schrute, Jim ... need I say more?

Read: What are your thoughts on Amazon Kindle (the electronic book reader)? Do you love this sort of invention—or would you rather have a physical book in your hands?

I'm a book and magazine editor by day and writer by night. There's something about the smell when opening a new book. I've got to have something to hang on to. Some of the magic gets lost if I can't touch what I'm reading.

Blonder than I pay to be ...

2009-01-12T11:49:00.000-08:00

Last night, I went to get my hair cut and my roots colored. I was well-overdue for both, and after 2+ hours sitting in my hair stylist's chair, I was ready to go home.

Having not eaten a bite all day, I stopped by the grocery store on my way home to pick up a few items. By this time, it was nearing 9:00 p.m., and I had been up since 4:45 a.m. I walked to my car, hit a couple of buttons, placed my groceries inside, and was on my way.

Whipping in and out of traffic (and yes, not obeying the speed limit), I was almost home when I slowed to stop for a traffic light. I heard a loud thud, a bit of a jolt, and I immediately knew I'd been hit. My eyes went straight to my rear-view mirror, but all I could see was darkness, the outer edges illuminated with light.

"Oh my gosh," I thought to myself, reaching to unlock the door, "he hit me so hard his headlights are buried up into my trunk!" I climbed out of the car. You'd think if he'd hit me that hard I'd have felt more of a jolt. Checking myself for abrasions and soft tissue injuries, it became quite clear to me when I got to the back of the car that all was not as I had thought.

My car trunk was standing wide open—and the car behind me was stopped right where he should've been ... a safe distance and one car length behind me, just as Georgia law stipulates.

It didn't take me long to realize, standing there in traffic at a major intersection, that I had originally planned to place my groceries in my trunk. But at the last minute, I decided to put them in the back seat instead. However, I had already popped the trunk and totally forgot to close it again. So as I was driving the 15 minutes home, my car's trunk "lid" was bouncing in the breeze while I was whipping in and out of traffic.

It occurred to me while I was standing there that I had to do something. I mean, people just don't get out of their cars at major intersections for no reason. So I pretended that I had meant to pop my trunk, and I frantically looked around for anything to grab to make it look like I had planned to get back there.

The only thing I could find was an umbrella. I grabbed it, closed my trunk, then waved it at all the people around me on the way back to my driver's side door.

So what if it had not rained in Georgia in 2 weeks?!?

Ah yes, I am blonder than I paid to be ...

The Weekend Playlist

2009-01-12T10:03:00.002-08:00

Someone sent me this fun Monday Meme, so I thought I'd play along. Here goes:

"Name the TOP 10 songs on your weekend playlist this past weekend, and why you were listening to them."

Well here they are, in no particular order:

"Womanizer" — Britney Spears
"One Step at a Time" — Jordin Sparks
"Love Lockdown" — Kanye West
"Off the Wall" — Michael Jackson
"Circus" — Britney Spears
"More than a Woman" — Bee Gees
"Realize" — Colbie Caillat
"With You" — Chris Brown
"Rockin' Robin" —Michael Jackson
"Lucky" — Britney

Why these songs? And why this weekend?

With the exceptions of "Love Lockdown", "With You", and "Realize" (all which I heard on the radio and which got stuck playing over-and-over again in my head all weekend), I was building a playlist to add to my blog. You can find the tunes at the bottom of this page.

Hope you enjoy!

Okay ...

2009-01-06T18:49:00.002-08:00

So I’m having a really hard time getting back into the swing of things here at work after the holidays. Maybe it’s because I’m ready to retire.

Or maybe it’s because I don’t have much going on at work this week.

Or maybe it’s because I got used to staying up until 3:00 a.m. every night playing on the computer and sleeping in until 11.

My 4:45 a.m. wake-up call is beyond brutal.

And I’ve been dragging baggage all week under my eyes, trying my best to stay awake in this working-man’s world. When all I really want to do is go back home, put on my comfy PJs, my fluffy furry slippers, grab a good book, and climb into bed.

So to pass the time, I’ve been playing in Photoshop, creating a new header for my blog, getting in touch with old friends on Facebook, and planning our annual family trip to the beach in June.

In June, people.

Daydreaming will just have to do until my next day off.

Happy New Year to us …

one and all.

"Did you know ...?"

2009-01-02T19:38:00.002-08:00

TEN Random Things You May Not Know About Me

1. My great-grandmother was a full-blooded Cherokee Indian, and her father was the tribal Indian chief. I, however, still manage to spend the majority of the year pale as a ghost.

2. The 4th toe on each of my feet are deformed. Seriously. Sad … but true. I still wear flip-flops.

3. I am a recovering hypochondriac. I’m recovering because I can fall off the wagon at a moment’s notice … and without warning.

4. I have the photographic memory of an elephant—I forget nothing (except how to put air in my tires).

5. I dream in color.

6. I played flute and piccolo for 13 years. I can also play the organ … and I can play all music by ear.

7. I've walked to Canada.

6. I’m allergic to shrimp caught in the Pacific Ocean—or rather the high levels of iodine they swim around in.

7. When I was in 10th grade, I accidentally put my cat, Chi-Chi, through the dryer for 10 minutes. True story. She actually lived to “meow” about it.

8. I am always cold. Even if it’s July and 85 degrees outside, there’s a very good chance I’m still cold.

9. I can do a 360 on a kneeboard, all while jumping the wake.

10. I don’t eat any kind of bean or pea. The only beans I do are coffee, vanilla, and cocoa.

NINE Places I’ve Visited

1. Cozumel, Mexico

2. Nassau, Bahamas

3. New York City

4. Key West, Florida

5. Niagra Falls, Canada

6. Memphis, Tennessee

7. Coco Cay, Bahamas

8. Miami, Florida

9. Austin, Dallas, Houston & San Antonio, Texas*

[*Okay, so that's technically 12 places, but I'm an overachiever.]

EIGHT Ways to Win My Heart

1. Make me laugh.

2. Be genuine.

3. Don’t lie to me.

4. Love me for who I am, and don’t try to change me. Though I’m not perfect, I’ll be the very best I can be for you.

5. Be loyal and trustworthy.

6. Want to build a life with me, not just expect me to become part of yours.

7. Have a love and devotion for family and friends.

8. Never, ever leave me.

SEVEN Things I Want to Do Before I Die

1. Get married.

2. Have kids.

3. Write a bestselling novel.

4. Live at the beach.

5. Hike the Rocky Mountains.

6. Sail the Caribbean in a masted ship (like a pirate ship), stopping in forgotten ports of call.

7. Fulfill my purpose and destiny for being on this earth.

SIX Things I’m Afraid Of

1. Outliving those I love.

2. Not fulfilling my destiny.

3. Never getting married or having kids.

4. Dying alone.

5. Being diagnosed with a chronic or terminal illness.

6. Mice.

FIVE Things I Don’t Like

1. Beans

2. A critical spirit.

3. Mice

4. Cruel words.

5. Dead fish floating on top of the water.

FOUR Ways to Turn Me Off

1. Lead me on.

2. Be arrogant and think you’re all that … I’ll be gone.

3. Cheat on me … it’s never happened, but if it does, you’re gone.

4. Be unkind to others.

THREE Things I Do Everyday

1. Talk to my mom & dad.

2. Drink a Dr. Pepper.

3. Let the dog out.

TWO Things That Make Me Happy

1. My family.

2. My friends.

ONE Thing On My Mind Right Now

1. The beach … always

New Year's Eve at "Goldfish"

2009-01-01T19:32:00.002-08:00

I started the last evening of the year off at a trendy Atlanta restaurant named “Goldfish” just outside the Perimeter.

I met some girlfriends of mine to kick off the night’s festivities in a posh top-end Sushi bar with aquatic blue salt water tanks, live jazz band, and champagne toasts that were flowing all night. Since I do not care one bit for Sushi (why not just swim around in the ocean with your mouth wide open), I opted for the Charleston Shrimp and Grits. OH MY WORD! This dish was absolutely incredible and on my new list of faves.

After dinner, I headed to a friend of mine’s place for the first of two parties, then high-tailed it across town to ring in the New Year at another friend’s place (I got there with just 7 minutes to spare!) What a fun night

Give Me Six—Top 6 Holiday Movies

2008-12-29T23:52:00.002-08:00

Today's "Give me 6" is to name your Top 6 Holiday Movies. So here goes:

1. National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation

2. Little Women

3. Meet Me in St. Louis

4. The Family Stone

5. Home Alone

6. It's A Wonderful Life

"... on Vixen!"

2008-12-28T18:51:00.002-08:00

Someone took this photo during the holidays—I think it was my nephew, Tanner. He grabbed my new Nikon and somehow managed to take a better picture than I probably would have—and he's only 7. He truly captured the moment, too—the night before Christmas Eve after baking & decorating 6 dozen cookies. Needless to say, we were all in the Christmas spirit. Can't you tell?!?

"Vixen" has always been my favorite reindeer (followed a close 2nd by "Blitzen"). I think with these snazzy, jazzy reindeer antlers, I've done her proud.

I have no doubt Santa would've let me guide his sleigh if he'd seen me in this get-up ...

Ah, to be a reindeer—even for just a moment :)

"Marley & Me"

2008-12-27T23:55:00.002-08:00

I had been warned about this movie:

“Don’t go see it without a box of Kleenex …”

I didn’t take those who tried to warn me seriously.

About 40 minutes from the end of the movie, I couldn’t wipe the tears fast enough that were sliding down my cheeks. I finally gave up altogether, dabbing only when a dark scene would come on the screen. Why bother? I couldn’t stop them from coming anyway.

It didn’t help matters that “Marley” looked exactly like my Labrador, Josie, who died a couple of years ago. (You can read about it in my February 2005 archives.) Or that it triggered some rather sad memories about an old dog who sauntered into my world and changed me.

In this life, we’re expected as adults to deal with what we’re dealt—to take our shots, pick ourselves up, and get back into the routine of things. Which is exactly what I did when Josie took a turn for the worse one bitter February day and never quite recovered. But tonight, sitting in a darkened movie theater with a handful of friends and rows full of sniffling strangers, I realized that we don’t just “take our shots” and get back into our lives.

Sometimes our “shots” hit at such an angle and run so deep, the richochet off our hearts leaves bits and pieces of hurt we won’t discover until sometime much later …

when we least expect it …

on a day quite like any other day …

when a dog in a Hollywood Christmas Blockbuster reminds you of a friend you lost not so long ago—

and a set of brown eyes you’d give anything to see just one more time.

I still miss you, Big Lou. You truly were the very best of the best. Rest in peace, old girl …

Mosaic of Me

2008-12-26T23:06:00.002-08:00

Mosaic idea inspired by a fellow blog friend, Boho Girl @ Chronicles of Me.

I really do like how mine turned out. I really feel like these images express some of the bits and pieces who make up who I am. I’d love to see yours! If you decide to play, do leave the link to your post in the comments.

Here´s how you do it…

Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr search. Using only the first page, choose your favorite image, copy and paste each of the URL’s into the mosaic maker (3 columns, 4 rows).

The questions:
1. What is your first name? (Melissa)
2. What is your favorite food? (Italian)
3. What high school did you attend? (South Cobb)
4. What is your favorite color? (Blue)
5. Who is your celebrity crush? (Matthew McConaughey)
6. Favorite drink? (Vanilla Latte)
7. Dream vacation? (Hawaii)
8. Favorite dessert? (Strawberry Cheesecake Ice Cream)
9. What do you want to be when you grow up? (Writer)
10.What do you love most in life? (Romance)
11. One word to describe you. (Eclectic)
12. Your Flickr name. (Swirly)

"O Holy Night"

2008-12-24T23:08:00.002-08:00

“And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her first-born son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them:

‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord …’”

—Luke 2:6-11

Oh dearest Holy One, Blessed Lamb of God, how peaceful and calm the night must have been when you slipped from your majestic world and took your place on earth. Did you know in that one moment that you would trade your holy throne for a wooden manger, or that your heavenly robe would become swaddling clothes?

As you lay in your mother’s arms that quiet evening, did you look into the night and see the eastern star appear—winking to you, its Maker, a “Welcome” from above? Did you know that by its guiding light the wisest of men would find their way to bow their knees to you? Oh, I am sure you must have known.

Did you hear the cattle lowing in the stable that you shared or the naying of the donkey that somehow had brought you there? Oh I am sure you must have heard the ones to whom you gave their voice. Did the tiny hands that reached in wonder to a fragile world so new, know that they would one day heal the blind and cause the lame to walk? Somehow, I’m sure you knew.

Oh Precious Little One, the world to which you came did not accept you as its own. Yet in the unconditional and never-failing love of your Father, that which was all love and righteousness was clothed in human flesh, embodied in the womb of a virgin, and sent to dwell among us here. Though your beginnings on this earth were quite humble, the meaning of this night remains everlasting: for two thousand years later, there are those who will pause to honor you in the manner in which you deserved on that night so long ago. We will honor you as King of kings and Lord of lords, the Promised Messiah, the Anointed One. You truly are Emmanuel, our God with Us.

Oh Lord, we pause to lift your name this Christmas season; and as we do, may we each examine our hearts to find the truth of this night hidden deep within: for the true meaning of Christmas is not in the giving of gifts, but in the Gift given to us on that night so long ago.

As we look to the eastern sky this Christmas Eve and gaze upon the star placed so lovingly on the night of your birth, may we even now hear the rustle of angels’ wings as their voices ride the wind proclaiming …

“Unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord …”

"Go, Fight, Win!"

2008-10-23T09:50:00.000-07:00

My 8-year old niece has been cheering for the past couple of years. Now that she's gotten a little older, the cheerleading has gotten bit more serious.

Case in point: This past Sunday afternoon, I hauled my dragging self across town to a local high school where my niece's squad was involved in a cheerleading competition. Now I remember going to cheerleading competitions when I was in high school, but I wasn't prepared for this.

There were thousands of fans supporting their favorite squad, SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS. In a gymnasium. Complete with air horns. Fog horns. Cowbells. And boom boxes. The. noise. level. was. staggering. Staggering.

STAGGERING.

Did you get that? It was staggering. There are no words to describe the noise level in this place. I wasn't even aware there were decibels that went that high. Nor was I aware that 8-year old squads do basket tosses.

BASKET TOSSES.

Or that 5 and 6 year olds perform a dance and cheer routine to music—all while doing ... BASKET TOSSES.

Needless to say, I guess I've been out of the loop for a little while.

In any event, my niece's squad placed 2nd (out of 2), and they all received ribbons ... and roses ... and medals. Oh my.

And me?

Well, I received a migraine.

And there was no medal for that ...

GO RAIDERS!

"Earl, clean up in produce ..."

2008-10-23T09:45:00.000-07:00

After work yesterday, I went to see the movie Fireproof. (I
enjoyed—more on that in another post.)

When I left the theater, the headache I had had for most of the afternoon had reached borderline-migraine proportions. I wasn't really hungry, but I knew I needed to eat something and take some Ibuprofen. The only thing I wanted was some fresh fruit.

So I stopped by Kroger to pick me up some.

With my head pounding, I made my way into the produce section. The pressure in my head and eyes was so heavy, I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. I reached for an apple, and apples went rolling to the floor.

Oops.

Lines from the 80s movie, "Mr. Mom," started running through my head. "Earl, clean up on aisle 5 ..."

I did my best to pick up the apples, carefully placing them back where they were before. (Side note: what exactly is the rule for produce that has been on the floor? I mean, where do you put it if there's no garbage can?)

Deciding that maybe I should stay away from the apples, I wandered over to the melon/berry section. Perhaps a nice fruit salad was in order. Some cantaloupe, a little watermelon, a handful of blueberries? Sounded somewhat good to me. So I grabbed the fresh container of cut cantaloupe and turned to place it in my buggy.

The container made it.

The melon with blueberries? Not so much.

I stood there frozen with my mouth wide open, watching as the top of the container popped off and what looked to be a million blueberries started rolling as if they were in the Olympic 50-yard dash.

Blue. berries. every. where.

Tons. of. people. staring.

"Earl ... clean up in produce ..."

I dropped to all fours trying to corral the wayward blueberries, only to find myself kneeling in a puddle of cantaloupe juice.

"Ma'am," I heard a voice above me say, "they have people here to do that."

"I know ... but I just feel like I have to do something."

My vision was blurred, my head was pounding, blueberries were everywhere, and my dinner was on the floor. Having lost all appetite, I graciously excused myself and left via the front entrance, daring not to venture beyond Produce.

"Brrrr!"

2008-10-21T09:48:00.000-07:00

Autumn has finally arrived here in the Deep South ... and I'm daydreaming about the flip-flops of days gone by. I had a good friend of mine message me this morning saying that he missed his shorts and flip-flops from just a few weeks back. As much as I love everything October, I think I love my flip-flops even more!

We've barely just begun fall here in Georgia, with the temps dropping close to freezing night before last. We've got a long way to go yet before we hit the ground running in our flip-flops again. Still, this Southern girl knows that summer has a way of making one last stand before the winter chill blows in to stay ...

best not to pack away those summer flips just yet :)

"For Good ..."

2008-10-16T09:49:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I am taking my sister to see "Wicked" (her first time—I'm sure it won't be the last) at The Fox. To say that I am beyond excited is an understatement! She took me to see my first show on Broadway ("Rent"), so now I am returning the favor with an evening out on the town, taking in a show in our very own backyard—the ATL.

Since so much of me is made up of what I learned from her, I truly hope she'll love it as much as I. And as she has left a "hand print on my heart," I hope our evening out will leave a similar imprint on hers ...

The House of the Seven Gables

2008-10-08T09:52:00.000-07:00

I picked up a book last night to do some research and came across a reference to Nathaniel Hawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables.

As an English minor in college, I remember doing a great deal of work on this, one of Nathaniel Hawthorne's most famous works. I had read it in high school ("read" being code for "going out and buying Cliff's Notes"). In college, I had to put forth a little more effort.

Still, why is it when you are forced to read something for a grade, or a class, or a thesis paper you find every shortcut possible and every reason for not reading it? Then, when you're older—and quite a few years on the other side of a classroom—you wish you'd paid more attention to your professors when they were trying to teach you the symbolism of such a great piece of work?

I've decided that in honor of October, in honor of all things dark and spooky this time of year—and also because the 7 deadly sins seem to be running rampant in the world today—I'll re-read this literary masterpiece. Not because I have, not because Ms. Burgess or Professor Welch say I have to. I'll read it for the sheer enjoyment. It should be interesting to see what I get out of it as a 30-something instead of a teeny-bopper.

Introducing UGA VII

2008-10-02T09:53:00.000-07:00

My Favorite Month Starts ... NOW!

2008-10-01T09:53:00.000-07:00

October is my favorite month. Here in the south, we are knee deep in football—Pee Wee, Flag, 100 LB, 7th & 8th grade, and the SEC. The air is just beginning to get crisp, and the leaves are just starting to turn. The Halloween decorations have been pulled down from the attic and are out for all to see. In fact, last night as I was putting out a faux carved pumpkin near my back door, I caught the first "whiff" of wood smoke riding on the wind. I even blew leaves in my front yard night before last—not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

Yes ... I do love autumn.

As I did last year, I thought it would be fun to spend the month of October blogging about some of my favorite things that happen or remind me of this time of year. Be sure to check back often to see what I post!

Life Between the Hedges

2008-09-15T09:54:00.000-07:00

And so it begins ...another glorious fall with the Georgia Bulldogs! Bring home the national championship boys — and do all of Georgia proud ...

Erin Go Braugh!

2008-03-18T09:55:00.000-07:00

For St. Patrick's Day, my friend Ang and I decided to head off to Meehan's Irish Pub in Vinings to enjoy the festivities for St. Patty's Day.

As you can imagine, the fun times, food, and drink were flowing.

As you can also imagine, it was beyond packed.

We ended up at the New York Pizza Exchange instead. Because nothing says "Luck of the Irish" like marinara and pepperoni with a side of mozzarella sticks.

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

How I Roll

2008-03-08T09:56:00.000-08:00

While the tornado that tore through downtown Atlanta on Friday night was knocking out windows and peeling back the roof from the Georgia Dome, me and 30 of my friends were just north of the city here ...

doing this ...

All I can say is skating has come a long way since I slid a plastic comb into my back pocket, feathered my 1st grade bangs, and laced up a set of these ...

or, if I forgot my own skates, then a set of these ...

which, by the way, I would've worn on Friday night if I wasn't so chicken about being upstaged by a group of 5th graders.

Let the good times roll!

Life with Purpose

2008-01-11T09:58:00.000-08:00

Last night, I attended a monthly networking event/seminar for the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences. The guest speaker was some actor from L.A. who has performed in tons of films you would know and television shows you probably are watching (in fact, he was on "SVU: Criminal Intent" at 9:00 p.m. Wednesday night mere moments after he addressed our seminar—ah, the wonders of modern-day media!) He was joined onstage by George Watkins, a director for Synergy Films. Their topic of discussion for the evening:

Living with Purpose.

So what exactly do a director and an actor have to say that could be beneficial about living your life with purpose? Turns out, quite a lot. Here are the highlights ...

There is more to live than making a living. Instead, you should focus on making a life.

The person who has his/her "why" to live can bear almost any "how".

In life, it is beneficial to write out your life role. We all play roles all day long in our everyday lives. If actors can change roles, then so can you.

Approach your life by defining your roles. Define each role with your character, background, choice, life, intention, and purpose. Then, play the role that brings out your intention of the day.

Use action verbs to define your intention, because this creates action and movement—it will create and bring about your desired result. If you know "why" you are doing what you are doing, you will figure out the "how".

The clearer your intention is defined about your purpose (job, etc.), you will have a presence that draws others to you and you will be a person who makes things happen.

Play with the sub-text of your life. This allows you to bring this sub-text to life with action and intentionality.

Bring purpose and intention to your life.

Create your own personal mission statement—your long action verb that will drive your life.

Create something that creates an emotional response that will drive everything you do in and with your life.

Ask yourself this question: "Does what you are doing drive your life?"

Stay focused and effective.

Write your 5 core values (such as compassion, character, integrity, honesty, humor, fairness, genuineness, serenity, etc.)

List your 5 most gifted talents.

List your 5 most enjoyable things you do.

Then write your top 5 career (or life) goals.

Take all of this to formulate one long mission statement for your life. Begin with: "To ...

Remember, there is great value in the words you choose.

Keep your mission statement with you at all times.

Word your mission statement in such a way that the words you've written have deep emotional meaning to you.

Ask yourself and remember what motivates you.

Beware of the obvious.

Take nothing for granted.

Claim authenticity.

Base your actions on your values.

Watch the way you work.

Watch how people respond to you and how they feel when they've been around you —after they've left you. Leave a lasting mark and impression—for the better.

Remember that you connect people through the work that you do.

Approach what you do with a value-based decision.

Write something that motivates you.

Remember that everyone matters in life.

There are no small parts. Only small people.

Re-order your priorities.

Treat the work you do and the life you lead as if it matters, because it does.

You ARE making a difference—even if you don't know it.

Challenge yourself to become and to live fully alive and aware.

More often than not, it is not our darkness that we are afraid of ... it is our light. Live what you were created to do.

Don't die with the music still in your heart. Don't die with the dream still in your heart.

Do what you love to do. Start by being grateful for the experience of it all.

Stay focused on the fun in life and in what you do.

Be focused and be more productive.

You can't approach life with tunnel-vision—be careful of your own bad habits. Broaden your vision for your life. Remember what gives your life resonance—what resonates with you. Tap into your passion and your bliss. Live your life from these two and all will be well.

Get your life pointed.

Learn, do, and give back.

Some resources that will help on the journey:

"Wild at Heart" by John Eldredge.

"Callings"

"Let Your Life Speak" by Parker Palmer

"Purpose of Your Life"

"What Happy People Know"

All in all, it was a great motivating night!

"The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow"

2008-01-11T09:57:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I'm working "Annie" at The Fabulous Fox Theatre.

No doubt it will be a night filled with screaming youngsters, aggravated parents, spilled drinks, and me running up and down endless stairs in search of non-existent booster seats ... all before collapsing on my "step" in the Loge section (hopefully) to drink in life at the orphanage with a dog named "Sandy".

So why am I willing to spend a Friday night in such a way? A trip to Cafe Intermezzo, my favorite Atlanta coffee house/dessert bar, 15 minutes after the curtain lifts at the end of intermission ...

oh yeah, you can "bet your bottom dollar" on that.

Thanksgiving 2006

2006-11-23T22:11:00.000-08:00

"Swirly Revisits Manhattan!"

2006-11-16T06:34:00.000-08:00

Since I never got to properly share all the photos with you guys of my NY trip, here's a sampling. Hope you enjoy!

Bouquet of Surprises!

2006-11-09T07:46:00.000-08:00

I didn't work on my birthday this year, so when I returned to the office today I had the neatest surprise waiting for me:

Blooming Cookies!

The design firm who handles the layout and production of my magazine (as well as my illustrators), all got together and sent me these adorable cookies for my birthday. Since I was keeping my nephew while my sister and her husband were cruising the Carribbean, Tanner got in on the fun, too!

It's nice to feel loved and appreciated!

Another Year ...

2006-11-08T09:03:00.000-08:00

Today is my birthday! I won't tell you how hold I am, but I will say that I was born in a nice "round" year that makes it very easy to figure out how old I am. Does that help? Yeah, I didn't think so!

Last year for my birthday, my sister surprised me with a trip to New York City. Let's just say that this year, there were no trips northward hidden in any birthday gift bags for me! Not that I expected that at all. But I've thought a lot in the last year about my trip to NY ... and the generosity my sister showed in loving me enough to take me there.

When I've had a bad day at work, I find that I slip away in my mind to the "6" train headed to the Village to walk Bleeker Street and brunch in a streetside cafe. When it's cold and dreary outside, I'm walking 5th Avenue, peering into the windows of Saks, Versace, Gucci and Cartier's. When I pass a Dunkin Donuts here in Atlanta, I'm immediately back at the corner of 47th and Broadway in Times Square, ordering a coffee regular and killing time before heading to Rockefeller Center. The trip my sister planned for me was magical ... there's just no other way to describe it. And we had such a wonderful time together, taking in the sites and seeing things we'd never seen before. I've traveled many places in my lifetime (New York having been one of them), but my trip to Manhattan with my sister last year has been without a doubt one of the sweetest and greatest things anyone has ever done for me.

Yes, the last year has been filled with blessings I never imagined would be mine. I am grateful for all the Lord blessed me with and for the family and friends who make each day of my life so very special. I look forward to the year ahead with eager anticipation, trusting that the richest blessings of the Lord will yet again be mine.

"The Nine"

2006-11-01T18:18:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to let you know that if you are not watching this show Wednesdays at 10 p.m. on ABC, you are missing out! I am so addicted!

“The Nine” is a complex character drama series that unravels the mystery of what transpired during a bank robbery turned 52-hour hostage situation in Los Angeles. Chronological flashbacks of what happened inside the bank open each episode, but the heart of the series is how that harrowing experience impacts the key characters in their present day lives as they continue to intertwine, deepen, and complicate their connections to one another.

I don't want you to miss another moment! Tune in this week to "The Nine" on ABC.

And once you, too, are as addicted as I am, let me know what you think!

(Source: ABC Press Release. 2006.)

Happy Halloween!

2006-10-31T06:41:00.000-08:00

I just love Georgia in the Fall!

This year for Halloween, we took off for a small town in North Georgia not too far from my sister's house to go "Trick or Treating." It's the kind of town that takes you a step back in time: antebellum homes, a courthouse square, 1950s storefronts. All the houses were decorated to the hilt for the night's festivities, oversized mums, carved pumpkins, and even icky skeletons hanging from the trees. The homeowners opened their front lawns to Trick-or-Treaters with homespun cotton candy machines, old-timey popcorn carts, and fall festival games such as "Ring the Scarecrow," "Bob for Apples" — even a "Cake Walk." The Baptist church offered a free "hot dogs with all the trimmings" Halloween alternative dinner, and "Trunk or Treats" and Apple Cider stands rounded out the 3-mile walk. After meeting up with friends, we took the town by storm. It was a "Spooktacular" night!

Proud Member of the Bulldog Nation

2006-10-30T07:11:00.000-08:00

I am a member of the Bulldog nation. I pledge my allegiance to the mighty "G" blowing on the billows of an Autumn wind. I bleed Red & Black. I bow at the entrance of Sanford Stadium. I view the "promised land" between the hedges in Athens as hallowed ground. UGA is a national treasure. Larry Munson's voice brings a tear to my eye.

And I hate Florida.

Well, not the state. As far as states go, Florida's quite nice. I've spent a good bit of time splashing in its oceans and skipping across its sandy white beaches. It's "the Swamp" I don't much care for. That and the varmin which slither around in there.

I, of course, am referring to the Florida Gators ... Georgia's fiercest enemy. There is no greater rivalry in college football than that which exists between the slimy Florida Gators and my Mighty, Mighty Bulldawgs.

Which is why the last weekend of October always brings such anxiety & turmoil to my family's household. We are all die-hard Bulldog fans (minus a couple of 2nd cousins twice removed who pledge their allegiance to the Rambling Wrecks of Georgia Tech.) All of us don our Georgia finery and head out to take in the game at a friend's house or a sports bar of our choice.

That is, all of us except one.

Year after year he swaggers into our presence dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and reptilian flip-flops. He oozes orange and blue from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He's got the Gator emblem tatooed to one arm and the Gator watch securely fastened to the other. The Gator "head" is on his blue hat, his orange shirt, his blue flip-flops, and the flags flying from the windows of his SUV. He's smug and he smirks and he walks into our presence with such a cocky walk, you'd think he himself was the coach of the Florida football team.

My baby brother ... a Gator fan ... no doubt, switched at birth. We have tried for years to figure out his gator obsession in a family full of Bulldogs, but we've yet to clue into the apparent imbalance which is quite evident.

And every year, when Georgia chokes and fumbles and throws the ball away for the 6th, 7th, 8th year in a row, my baby brother is there to offer his "I Told You So's" to each and every one of us. To rub it in. One more time. Year after year.

It's almost more than a girl can handle.

Which is why the begging and pleading have already commenced for next year's game. Because I'm still convinced that "next year will be our year ..."

Have a Nice Day!

2006-02-21T11:00:00.000-08:00

If you have read this blog at all, you will recall that for my birthday in November I had hoped to be getting front row seats to Bon Jovi's "Have a Nice Day" tour when it came to Atlanta. But alas, I got an all-expense paid trip to New York City from my sister. Truly amazing!

What was even more amazing, and what I forgot to report to you, was that while I was checking into the New York Helmsley on 42nd street, my bud Angela was standing in line purchasing tickets for Bon Jovi. She called to tell me that she was able to secure floor level seats, just a few rows back from the stage.

That was in November.

Three months later, Angela and I were speeding up the interstate with dreams of this dancing through our heads:

I mean, it's not every day that you get to see this:

When you live here:

The Georgia Aquarium

2006-02-20T09:07:00.000-08:00

I can still remember the day I heard the announcement about the new Georgia Aquarium: I was not thrilled. Just one more tourist trap to lure the masses to Atlanta, I thought to myself, jamming our already overcrowded interstates with more and more traffic. Besides, we had the Tennessee Aquarium in Chattanooga just 2+ hours north of Atlanta, well within driving distance if we wanted to see creatures of the deep.

As an old friend of mine used to say when he knew he'd been wrong:

Yep ... yep ... yep.

Yep...yep...yep. I admit it.

I was wrong.

I spent four hours there last Sunday afternoon and barely scratched the surface of all there is to see. I marveled at the Beluga Whales, so graceful and beautiful as they swam in their arctic tank. I scrunched my nose at the Pacific Octopus that glowed as if it were on fire. And I hung my mouth wide open in awe as a moving sidewalk maneuvered us through the center of a 6.2 million gallon tank, 25-foot whale sharks, hammerheads, and grouper swimming by.

I immersed an entire arm into a tank where sharks and stingrays gracefully glided under your touch, some moving back and forth as you pet them. In the Tropical Diver exhibit, I viewed a kaliedescope of colors as fish clothed in every color of the rainbow swam up to the glass. It was as if God Himself had put a viewing window in the deep of the ocean, displaying its marvels and mysteries for all the world to see.

Yep ... yep ... yep. This place is pretty amazing. There's just no way around it. And should you ever find yourself in Atlanta, I highly recommend you make this a must see on your visit. I'd hate for you to come all the way to Atlanta and miss out on something that is truly spectacular!

And for that, I'd be willing to sit in a super long line of traffic for you :)

How'd They Know?!?

2006-02-18T21:50:00.000-08:00

You were the ...

All American Kid

Popular but not plastic. Athletic but not a jock. Smart but not a brain.

You were well rounded and well liked in high school.

Who Were You In High School?

Yep ... they pretty much nailed me on this one. And we all know these blog-thingy quizzes don't lie ;)

Movies You Hate to Admit You Love

2006-02-18T21:25:00.000-08:00

Back in the day when Coffee Swirls was on AOL (and long before the days of banner ads), we had what was called "Scalzi's Weekend Assignments." Scalzi would give us a blogging assignment, and the whole journal community was asked to participate.

Tonite, I was tagged with a "Share Your Favorite Movie" e-mail ... "The Movie You Hate to Admit You Love." And just like in high school & college, I went digging through my files and came up with the quickest way to get the job done: take an old "paper" and revamp it to fit today's needs. Some might call that cheating---but I choose to call it efficiency genius. So here you have it: a new play on an old blog entry. Hope you enjoy!

Weekend Assignment #67:Bad Movie Marathon! Share your favorite bad film of all time. Tell us why you love it so.

Extra Credit: Your favorite quote from the aforementioned film

Okay ... I am the QUEEN of bad movie marathons! If it was bad or cheesy, I probably not only loved it, but own it. Which is true for my first entry:

Oh, but yes! This movie not only launched Michelle Pfieffer's movie career, but it kept my friends and I glued to the TV set watching HBO all summer. That's right ... it was on constantly! And we never missed it. The year was 1982. I was 11-years old, playing softball, and we were smack-dab in the middle of All-Stars. Helen, Jenny, Shannon, and I hung out all summer at the ballpark, dancing behind the concession stand between double-headers, and re-inacting every single scene from this movie. We were the Pink Ladies --- and it mattered not that we had no T-Birds! We were in a world all our own. It is still, to this day, the most favorite memory of my childhood and the best summer I have ever spent on this earth.

And as for extra-credit --- the question is not "Can I remember my favorite quote?" from this movie, it's "Can I choose a favorite quote?" from this movie. I still know them all by heart. Here's a few:

"Tonite, we bowl!"

"I kiss who I want, when I want ..."

"Maybe I'm tired of being someone's 'chick.' Tired of being someone's chick? Are you feeling okay?"

"You know, Steph, there has been talk. We haven't been talking, but there has been talk, Stephanie, questioning your loyalty to the Birds. It's not like you have to go steady with Johnny. But the code does say that we're T-Bird chicks ... at least till grad."

When the summer ended, we had won a State Championship, found a few boys to crush on, and vowed that one day we'd start our very own Pink Ladies (which we did.) We're 20 years older now, but I doubt any of us have forgotten the time we spent out behind that concession stand, or the pledge that we took that summer:

"The Pink Ladies Pledge is to act cool, to look cool, and to be cool. Till death do us part --- THINK PINK!"

Now fast-forward 6 years. I am "17" and mere days away from my high school graduation. My friends and I rented this "Movie You Hate to Love," and the rest is history ... [drumroll, please]: The Allnighter. Yeah ... this is definitely one you hate to admit you loved! I think the reason I loved this one so much was because Gina, Val, and Molly lived in the coolest house called "Shangri-La" right on the beach. I vowed right then and there that when I got to college, there would be no dorms for me! Only "Shangri-La" baby! (Oh, how naive at 17 ...)

On the eve of their college graduation, these 3 chicks (along with 1 really handsome guy and one not-so-handsome sidekick) have 24-hours to "live it up" before they have to enter the "real world." They weren't ready to say goodbye ... weren't ready to leave their home by the sea ... weren't ready to grow up. I so could relate. Though I haven't seen this movie since 1988, I remember it like it was yesterday.

And there you have it ... the movies I hate to admit I love. Still just as dear to my heart as the friends I shared popcorn with when I saw them for the first time. They have a way of taking me back. I love that they can make me feel 11 ... or 17 again.

And if only for that, they're worth their weight in gold!

So...what's Swirly been up to lately?

2006-02-18T18:06:00.000-08:00

I have reached the conclusion that one is unable to find time to blog when she is busy living her life.

It can be frustrating.

So in an effort to do a quick "catch-up" for you, here's what Swirly's been up to:

* Kicking that nasty cold. (It only took a month and a half!)

* Working no less than 4 magazines through the design process at one time (thanks to the recent outsourcing of our in-house design department at work. The new company=one big NIGHTMARE!)

* Helping take care of my 80-year old grandmother who is convalescing at home after falling on the ice, breaking her ankle and shattering her leg the week before Christmas.

*Joining the niece and nephews at "The Jump Off" where we jumped and bounced and played as if we were 8-year olds (which most of them were, or at least close to it. I, however, would be hovering in the "20+10" range).

* Traveling with the family to the Georgia Aquarium to get our season passes that were a Christmas gift from the parents (and quite an awesome one, I might add! If you have the opportunity to stop by the new Georgia Aquarium while in Atlanta, I would recommend it highly.)

*Turning down an all-expense paid (minus the airfare) trip to the Ritz Carlton at Central Park in New York City weekend before last (which I am still kicking myself over!)

*Rocking out with perhaps the best rock band of all-time (in my humble opinion) this past Wednesday night at the Gwinnett Arena. Who might that be, you ask? I'll give you a clue:

"Shot through the heart, and you're to blame ... you give love a bad name ..."

BON JOVI!

Uh yeah, that is correct! Quite the show :)

I will be uploading pictures soon from the Aquarium, the Jump Off, and of course ... Bon Jovi. Did I mention Jon Bon started the show singing on a stage just 2 rows from me? And did I mention I just happened to be on the aisle? And did I also mention that he is even hotter in person than Swirly ever imagined? Uh yeah ... again ... that is correct! Can't wait to share it all with you.

In the meantime, keep living large and chasing after your dreams. You only get one shot at this thing called "life" ... so take it slow and make it count!

And check back soon ... there's more of my life to come. Will blog again soon :)

"New York City?" Get a Rope ...

2006-01-30T09:53:00.000-08:00

At 11:30 a.m. this coming Friday morning, I could be knocking back a Coke and nibbling on peanuts aboard Delta flight #"You're Bound for Manhattan."

But I won't be.

At 2:00 p.m. I could be checking into my guest suite at the Ritz Carlton, overlooking Central Park.

But again, I won't be.

At 9:00 p.m. I could be draining my bank account while dining out at a 5-star eatery on the Upper East Side.

But alas, I won't be.

Why? Because of that pesky little New Year's Resolution I made about distinguishing between a want and a need. Of saving more money versus spending money.

You know, a person truly finds out what she's made of when an offer to spend a free weekend in one of the grandest cities in the world materializes right before her very eyes. Her hotel room in one of the most luxurious hotels in Manhattan is paid for, and all she has to do is flash the old credit card and purchase herself a roundtrip ticket to Laguardia.

Never you mind she barely has the extra money in her account to cover it. (Because —and let us recap— she spent her money traveling to Gulf Shores and Myrtle Beach and Nassau and Coco Cay and the Carribbean and Manhattan last year.)

"But it's a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

Yeah. Don't I know it.

"You could be sleeping on designer 100% linen or 700 thread-count jacard cotton sheets, custom designed for the hotel by Pratesi, the world's most luxurious linen."

I know, I know, I know.

"When will someone like you ever be able to afford a $900+/per night room at one of the grandest hotels ever built?"

Ummmm ... your point?

Okay, look ... I know it's a once in a lifetime opportunity. But there comes a point when what you want and what you need are two totally different things. And today, more than ever, I want to go to New York for the weekend.

But I need to pay my $400 gas bill.

And my car payment. And my phone bill. And the electric bill. And shop for my mom's birthday. And put some money aside for that new computer I am desperately needing. And help buy food for the little girl I adopted in Zambia last year.

Food, people!

PRIORITIES! Priorities.

FOCUS! Focus.

So with all the willpower I could muster, I graciously declined the Manhattan offer. Though I tossed and turned and was extremely grateful, in the end I just couldn't justify the means.

Because sometimes, you've got to prove you're the grown-up ...

even when you want to kick and scream your way to New York City.

From the Earth to the Moon ...

2006-01-30T04:07:00.000-08:00

Looking for something different to do last weekend, my friends and I decided to go to the Fernbank Observatory in Atlanta. We'd heard there was a spectacular view of Mars and Saturn in the winter sky, and Fernbank housed the largest telescope on the Eastern seaboard. Since it was only open to the public on Thursday and Friday nights, we decided to check it out.

We were a little disappointed when clouds moved in, blocking our view. In an effort to salvage something educational of the evening, we walked through their mini-space museum. I had no clue Atlanta was home to the Apollo 6 capsule! Or that I could reach right over that barrier there and break all the rules, touching something that once spent a great deal of time in outer space.

Amazing!

Even more amazing was the fact that I spent $4.95 at Cafe Intermezzo later in the evening for a thimble-size cup of Cafe Machiatto. And that I spent an extra dollar on top of that for an added shot of vanilla ...

Yep. Truly amazing.

"Like, Omigosh Becky, You Should Never Cheer for the OTHER Team ..."

2006-01-19T06:23:00.000-08:00

Cheerleading, tumbling lessons and camps since age 3: $30,000
Annual cost of attending USC: $50,000
Annual cost for staying just the right shade of blonde: $10,000
Cheering when the other team scores: P-R-I-C-E-L-E-S-S!

***Be sure to check out the faces of the other cheerleaders on her squad. This is one USC cheerleader who's gonna be demoted to mascot duty. Classic!

"Hook 'em Horns!!!"

Who Writes This Stuff Anyway?

2006-01-17T07:48:00.000-08:00

I'd hate to be the copywriter responsible for this one...

Of Colds and Mr. Copperfield

2006-01-16T05:32:00.000-08:00

Okay ...

So the cold I've had now for a week is still hanging on. Nagging cough, stuffy head, sore throat. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know—me and the rest of North America. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining here. Just stating the obvious. And I can tell I'm getting better, even if it is slow going.

It did, however, make my weekend feel sluggish. There was much to do ... and I did it all. But my energy was zapped, and I felt like I was walking around in a fog with cotton in my ears.

I was scheduled to work the David Copperfield show on Sunday afternoon at The Fox. I think it's important to note up front that I've never been a fan of Mr. Copperfield's and I'm really not all that in to magic. I only volunteered because they sent out a last minute SOS in desperate need of volunteers (and since I want to work "Wicked" in May, I've got to work some not so "me" shows to get to work the one I do want.) So once Mr. Copperfield's show began and I took my swimming head up to the balcony for a seat, I knew I was the resident skeptic. And I could care less.

The first hour of the show I spent most of the time yawning. Good 'ole Dave made a duck disappear from a bucket with a lid. ::Yawn.:: So could my nephew with a kid's magician's kit. He walked through steel while it was hidden behind a curtain. ::Yawn.::So could I if sneaking around said piece of steel was hidden behind a curtain, far from the audience's view. Hopped up on two Sudafed and a couple of Ibuprofen, I looked around at the people who had spent good money to come see this spectacle. "Are they aware they've been ripped off? I thought to myself, checking my cell phone to see if I'd had any calls. "Do they realize this guy is a fake and they've all been had? I yawned and turned back toward the stage.

That's when he got my attention.

Three randomly chosen (honestly!) audience members picked the six numbers that he'd written on a sheet of paper hours before. Numbers he had written and locked in not one, but three secure boxes. Not only that, he pinpointed that the first two numbers would be chosen by a man wearing blue boxers, the middle two numbers from a man who drove a green Honda, and the last two numbers from a woman whose birthday was February 26th. What?!? I sat up a little straighter. Then he pulled out his late grandfather's license plates from the 1950s, and there in sequential order were the numbers these audience members had chosen. Excuse me?!? Then the 1950s model Ford appeared and hovered in mid-air.

Bizarre.

I noticed I had stopped yawning. Seriously.

I kept trying my hardest to figure out how he did that one. Then he made 13 audience members disappear. POOF! They were gone.

I still haven't seen them.

And the man he took from the audience with him to an island in Hawaii? I won't even attempt to touch that one. Let's just say I gave up when the randomly chosen audience member's father walked out from behind a palm tree on that island.

In the words of Bobby Bouche's mother in the Water Boy, all I can say is "You the de-bil, Mr. Copperfield!"

You the de-bil.

... but if you can make my cold disappear, then we'll talk :)