No Thanks, I'm Just Going To Whine About It For A Minute

You know what blows? Growing up. (When I answer my own questions, it should denote frustration.)

So, here's the big news: I'm finishing my VISTA in mere hours. It's been a whole year since I moved to this crazy-rat-race-city (O.K. not so much rat-racy. I keep reminding people, if your tires are rolling you're not really stuck in traffic) after 7.5 years of living in college towns. I have friends. I have been hired for another job. I have an apartment. My life is changing so fast it's practicially a blur, the futures so bright I have to wear shades, insert-another-cliche-here.

You know what I wish would move a little faster? Obamacare.

Because I will be a (warning, adjectives ahead) fully-employed, full-time, punching a clock, respectfully salaried, tax-paying individual who will still have to pay $604 PER MONTH for a full-coverage health plan.

That's easily mis-read. Hell, I thought it that was a yearly premium. So I will type it again.

Six Hundred Four Dollars.

American Dollars.

Per Month.

Through. My. Employer.

At roughly $18 an hour that's nearly a week's worth of work. Oh, and there's still a co-pay. And a deductible. Seriously?

I'm not hating on my employer-to-be. The poor HR person had to break the news to me that number wasn't a yearly premium. I am, however, hating on this ridiculousness. After a year of "living in poverty" (read: thank you, Dad) I have really had to think about what I'm willing to spend money on. Health insurance is something I'm not willing to live without. This new salary is a fabulous increase and will provide a very comfortable living little old me. However, If I was a single mother of two, it would put me dangerously close to the poverty line. Also, the cost to cover myself and my two children would hover near $1500. That's almost HALF of my salary.

I don't have a magic bullet for the healthcare/health insurance industry. I wish I did, I'd be rolling in it. (And then I wouldn't give any of this a second thought I would still think about this though, because VISTA told taught me to.) I do absolutely understand why people live without health insurance. I understand why people walk out on hospital bills. I'm talking about productive people, who put in 40+ hours a week. Because: $604 per month? Per person? Are you freakin' kidding me?

In other, funnier, news:

I sat for two little guys a couple of weeks ago, right before Halloween. The 4-year-old told me he was going to be a "Maple Leaf Pirate" for Halloween.

It took me at least 5 minutes to figure out that he either (a.) said, or (b.) meant, "Make-Believe" Translating for preschoolers, it's what I do.

Glitter Skulls Are 50% Off At Target

And it's taking every bit of my will power not to buy them out completely.

The first week of November makes me a little sad.

Mostly because I love Halloween like a fat kid loves...well, Halloween candy. (Bet you didn't see that simile coming.)

My mom made me the most stellar costumes when I was growing up. I was Maid Marion, complete with beautiful pink cape and candy-basket-of-wildflowers. I was a cat with the most intricate mask and coolest fuzziest tail. I was a bobby-soxer with a full-circle felt skirt, a cotton ball poodle and saddle shoes. I was a gypsy with a flow-y skirt made out of bandannas. An aside, I have no memory of any store-bought costumes even though I'm sure I begged for one when I was oh, say, an obnoxious 15 year old. (I know, you can't believe I was ever an obnoxious 15 year old. Not because I'm so much older than that, but because I'm so rational and even tempered that you couldn't ever picture me irrational, under any circumstances at any...oh nevermind. Show me a kid who wasn't an obnoxious teenager and I'll show you a bore.)

I attempted to translate my mom's awesome costuming ability into my life away from home. In college we did some awesome group costumes--thank YOU Goodwill. For example, one year we went as mixed drinks: cosmopolitan, jack and coke, Bahama mama. Last year I made myself cardboard bat wings and dressed up even though I was fully planning on sitting on the couch eating spaghetti and watching The Midnight Meat Train. Win.

This year I made myself a witch's hat out of craft foam, bobby-pinned it to a headband, wore some black and went to a caramel-apple-filled happy place. Also known as my friend/co-worker's (am I destined to explain our relationship in these awkward terms forever?) Annual Neighborhood/Family/Friend Totally Awesome Halloween Party.

(I'm crafty. In a I-like-to-craft sort of way. Insert one more Christine O'Donnell joke here.)

Halloween is my soul mate. (Sorry, M.) (Actually, I'm pretty sure he already knows this.)

Always the one to look for a silver lining, the good news is Thanksgiving is just around the corner. I do love to eat. As a matter of fact, I've always loved to eat. Case in point:

(Cookie Monster - circa 1986)

I'm bringing the boy home with me to meet the Fam. The Whole Fam. When you look up "trial-by-fire" in the dictionary there's a picture of my family Thanksgiving. It will be replete with inappropriate jokes, over competitive scrabble games, and food. And you have to eat all of the food. Because, "What am I going to do with all this food when y'all go!?!?" This should be good.

Hello There, It's Been a While

So, when you've been AWOL for 4 months do you just jump right back into things?

I've always been a toe-in-the-water-first kind of girl. Test it out. See how it feels before you commit to the whole diving-head-first thing. Occasionally I've wanted to be the dive-head-first type, but I'm beginning to reconcile that isn't ever going to be me. I'm cautious. I'm hesitant. I read Cnet for months before I commit to a moderately priced digital camera. That's how I roll.

All that being said, Fall tends to bring with it the inevitability of change in a vibrant sensory way. Chilly mornings, changing leaves, and bonfires serve to remind me every day that as much as I object, push away, or ignore it, time marches on. (Yep, ended a sentence with a preposition. Tried to fix that for 5 minutes and finally just left it.)

My AmeriCorps service ends in a matter of weeks. Time to make decisions. Choices. Changes. I'm proud of myself for opened up enough doors that I'm not in the same scramble position I was a year ago. Walking through them is the hard part.

Good news? No decisions are irreversible. No options are wholly wrong for me. I just need a little continental shift to move this town a little further east. Is that too much to ask?

They Just Don't Make Em Like They Used To.

What did you do this weekend?

I went on a date with my dad. It was awesome. We saw this:

If you can't tell, that's Carole King and James Taylor. It was A.M.A.Z.I.N.G.

My generation's music just doesn't hold a candle to this stuff.

More on this later, when I figure out how to upload videos (suggestions/tips welcome). M will be here any minute! Love middle of the week visits.

I was a Hermit Crab in a Former Life

Yesterday I spent the whole entire day inside. Not in a depressed-vampire-weirdo sort of way, but in a I-need-to-recharge-and-no-contact-with-the-outside-world-sounds-good sort of way. I planted myself on the couch and relaxed all day long. I watched lots of bad (and by bad I mean excellent) TV and ate popcorn. It was fabulous. Sundays are supposed to be for rest, right? Recharge days like yesterday remind me that despite being fairly outgoing (see sidebar) I definitely have some introverted tendencies. Gotta work with what you got.

If there are still doubts about how a day without leaving the house could be perfect, I submit my top five reasons why it's a good idea. (Every once in a while, don't get carried away & end up with a vitamin d deficiency or anything...)

1. Lifetime Movie Marathons. I watched "Speak" with Kristen Stewart, a movie about the pregnant teenagers in Massachusettes, before that, the Texas Cheerleaders story, before that the movie with Candace Cameron and Fred Savage about an abusive dating situation, and before that something weird that I only watched half of because I fell asleep. Which leads well into point #2.

2. Naps. If you spend the whole day inside, it doesn't matter if you sleep in late or wake up early. You're right there, on your couch, you can stretch out and sleep whenever you want!

3. Snacks. I'm pretty much always thinking about snacking. When I'm at home, I can nibble a little here, nibble a little there, without having to drag a cooler with me everywhere I go. I'm going to state the obvious here: the fridge is the ultimate cooler.

4. No need to fill up. When I don't leave the house, I don't drive anywhere. I don't use ANY gas. Gas is flippin' expensive! Not driving is also good for the environment. I believe that's called a win-win.

5. Pajamas. And glasses. And no bra. No one seeing me? Music to my ears. I'm pretty sure I own more pairs of PJ pants than real pants. They're way more comfortable. (p.s. showers are also not necessary on hermit days).

Say it with me now..."ahh." Monday's not so bad after an inside-Sunday.

A House Floating Down the Interstate is Just Not Normal

I feel like I owe the entire Middle Tennessee region a giant apology for my post on rain.

In case you haven't been watching the news much of my city looks like this:

(photo credit: tennessean.com)

It's really f'ing scary.

Yesterday I went downtown with my friend to party with the Parrotheads before the Jimmy Buffett concert. Then the tornado sirens went off. Let me tell you, for someone who did not grow up around tornadoes...woah. Sirens warning that tornadoes are in the area + new stations saying tornadoes will be cloaked in rain so you won't see them + text messages from freaked out friends about flooding = one stressed out Mel.

And then it got worse. Because it rained for 36 straight hours. It rained over 13 inches. That's more than DOUBLE the highest two day total in recorded history. Creeks jumped their banks. Neighborhoods flooded. The river swelled. The river is still swelling.

At about 3 pm I heard the chop chop chop of helicopter blades. I guessed it was a news helicopter. I figured it was a good sign because that meant the skies were clear enough for air traffic. Then I watched as they circled. I watched as the door opened. Right over the once-creek-now-raging-river just behind my apartment complex. I watched them come down to hover about 50 feet above the water. My heart stood still. I took a few pictures.

I saw more people come out of apartments that I have EVER seen in my complex. I didn't see them pull anyone out of the water. I'm not sure if they were in communication with a crew on the ground, or looking for someone who might have been swept down stream. I turned around, sat down in my comfortable, dry, chair next to my window and cried. I'm sad for all of the people who are cold and wet, I'm worried for them and their rescuers.

It's going to be a long night in Nashville. It's probably going to be a long few days, maybe even a few weeks.

I think we all kind of feel like this blackbird I saw climbing all over the apartment across from me:

Waterlogged and miserable. Just wanting a little wind to dry out our feathers.

Cars, trucks, and houses floating down the interstate is not normal. But I do like my city's new nicknames, particularly, Nashvenice. I kind of love that one.

On Fitness (ha...haha...ha)

So I got this:

And it totally kicked my ass tonight.

Mostly I'm a work-out-so-I-can-eat kind of girl. Sometimes I'm a work-out-so-I-can-brag kind of girl. On rare occasion I'm a work-out-so-I-won't-hit-someone kind of girl.

At the moment, I'm a ohmygawdsummerbathingsuitkillme kind of girl.

After day 1 of the shred, I'm feeling it. I must be in bad shape, because it was brutal.

I'm pretty sure I'm not going to lose 20 el bees like Jillian said I could, in part because I made these last night and they are delicious:

Banana-blueberry muffins.

One box of Duncan Hines + My two over-ripe bananas = heaven.

But I digress.

Hellooo, I like to eat (while watching tv) way more than I like to work out. People who feel otherwise are a little shady, if you ask me. Still, even though that 20 minute workout kicked my ass (and that's a little embarrassing to say, it's a freakin' dvd) I feel a teensy bit better. Plus-- Jillian sounds exactly like my high school coach, which makes me laugh a little. (Just a little, I'm totally out of breath while I'm in the middle of the work out.)

No pain no gain, baybee.

I think I'll have another muffin. I totally earned it.

Pilgrims!

Having lived in a valley for the last 7 years or so, I have come to hate rain. It never just showers for a couple of hours when you live in a valley. Nope, too easy. In a valley, the sky turns gray for a few hours, then it starts to sprinkle. The sprinkle turns into a full fledged downpour. The downpour turns into a miserable mist/intermittent drizzle that lasts for days. Days. Simply? It sucks. Makes you cherish the sunny days.

It's been sunny for two straight weeks. Not so much as a decent rain since early April. Maybe even late March. I can't remember the last time I smelled warm wet asphalt, so it must have been cold the last time it rained.

Today when I heard the rumble of thunder off in the distance I grinned. Rain. Finally.

I'm not a farmer (I can't even keep silk flowers alive), so it's not like I'm worried about my crops. But, running the risk of sounding like a touchy-feely-new-ager, water is life. It refreshes. Cleanses.

The next time I feel like complaining about rain, I'm going to try to keep these things in mind:

1. Rain gets rid of the pollen that makes me miserable.

2. I don't have to wash my car when it rains.

3. Thunderstorm are awesome sleep-sound machines.

4. Tomatoes.

5. Tempers 80 degree weather. And Humidity. 80 degree weather in April is a little overwhelming. In addition, Humidity in the south is a real, major, issue. And it always demands a capital "H."

So maybe I'll suffer through the hair frizzies today. And be okay getting soaked walking from my car to the door. I missed the rain...gasp!

P.S. The title is the punchline to this joke that I love:

If April showers bring May flowers,

What do May flowers bring?

Hahaha.

Well, Well, Well...Look who we have here.

I had this resolution that I was going to slow down in my daily life. Take stock in each moment and pay attention as time goes by. I fully intended to take time out and write more frequently.

Now it's almost May--beats me how the hell that happened. And the last time I posted was 16 days ago.

This is unacceptable.

I'm having a little 'nothing interesting to report' writers block. That probably stems from the fact that 1) I'm not a writer, and 2) I have nothing interesting to report. My day-to-day is about the same, with a little more math thrown in for good measure. My weekends are spent in transit, gradually getting more worried about my car as my dad asks "how's your car holding up?" every couple of days. I have a few more real friends here in town. Actually, a friend from my growing-up days just moved to the area and looked me up. I'm putting effort into it and it's working, shocker! Nice people are everywhere you just have to seek them out!

There are some exciting things in the days to come, maybe I can write about them.

I'm going to the Predators playoff game tomorrow night and I'm PSYCHED. My seats are AWESOME and we get $10 food vouchers. Gotta love $200 worth of playoff hockey for free. If you're not a hockey person (don't worry I live in the south, most of these people only watch football and the Atlanta Braves) you probably don't understand the difference between the season and playoff hockey. This is 'season 2.' And so far, the Preds are hanging in there, much to everyone's surprise. We're up one game on Chicago going into tomorrow night. This is AMAZING. I'm personally looking forward to raining down the hateful chants on the Blackhawks' Goalie, Huet. It might not be nice, but it's hockey. People lose teeth.

I'm making the long drive east again this weekend, but it means going to see Disney's Ocean on opening weekend (yay) see the boy play some music (double yay) and all of that will start with an early day out of work on Friday (triple yay).

Last week couldn't have gone more slowly, but this week is flying by! I like it.

My house is mostly clean, I'm doing my laundry, and the closet has been de-cluttered. Maybe I'm turning over yet another leaf. Maybe I'll find the resolution to maintain MY resolution under this one.

Remember when you were a kid and secretly hoped all the time that your homework would do itself? And even though you knew it never would, you never quite gave up hope that one day, one day you would come home and that whole math worksheet would have filled itself out in your backpack? Well, I kind of feel like that now, only I was kind of wishing that my life would do itself. I mean, I know it will keep going, regardless of my level of participation, but I wish I could at least have a little preview to what I'm working towards, just know how that 'it'll all work out" stage has worked out.

That might help me slow down.

A Bedtime Story

Author's note: This is a story as old as The Hills (you know, the t.v. show?). We've all seen it before. But, Saturday night I was sitting all alone & had no one to enjoy the train wreck with me. So here it is in all its gory glory. With a little artistic license, of course. Pardon the puns, I assure you, I come by my sense of humor honestly.

I'm going to tell a sweet little story about a Princess and a Frog as I observed them.

Once upon a time in a happy, yet surreal, land called Collegeville, a pretty Princess and her Friend sought Saturday night refuge in a noisy, popular bar. That night a fantastic band was entertaining the crowd as they escaped their families on Easter/Passover weekend.

The Princess and the Friend sat watching the band and talking with a boy who was employed by that establishment, and therefore was distracted for much of the time he spent with them. The Princess and the Friend downed several beverages and then got up to dance.

There were many handsome young men who took notice of the Princess swaying back and forth, but the Frog was watching and waiting in the background all along.

All of a sudden the Frog hopped over to the Princess and ribbetted, "My Man-servant over there didn't think I would come talk to you, so I had to prove him wrong!" The Princess hesitated. Everyone who overheard the Frog thought, "Oh Princess, don't fall for that old line!" But the Frog was smart, and the look in his eyes said, "If you'll only kiss me, you'll see I'm a Prince in disguise."

And the Princess fell for it.

Of course, this required the help of the Man-servant, who was quick to win the affections of the Friend. The quartet danced and laughed and switched partners. And this, seemingly innocent, supposedly temporary, partner swap was the beginning of the end for the Frog.

For the Princess realized the Man-servant was the more handsome and suave of the pair. As she danced, she noticed the band through her haze and realized the man playing to entertain the audience was debonair, as well. The spell was broken.

The Frog panicked and kicked wildly (as frogs are apt to do in a tight squeeze). He tried in vain to pull the Princess away from the other gentlemen while she batted her eyelashes and trilled her voice in their direction. The Princess grew bored of this game, and asked the Friend to retire to the powder room with her. She was discovering the truth that the observers already knew, he was not a Prince at all!

All in attendance recognized this as The Kiss the Frog did NOT want. This, unhappily for the Frog, was The Kiss of Death.

Within minutes the Princess was saying her goodbyes to the Frog, while he unashamedly tried to convince her to come home with him. Not wanting to be outrightly rude (she was a princess after all!) she begged off, saying, "I like you, but I'm going to my house," all the while making starry eyed glances at the good looking man on the stage. The Princess pulled away from the Frog as he tried to kiss her--landing ineffectively on an awkward spot somewhere between her cheek and the back of her neck. She parted with a hug, dragging the Friend away from the Man-servant.

Once free from the Frog, the Princess tried one last time to garner the attention of the man on the stage, to no avail. As the Princess and the Friend walked out into the night, arm in drunken arm, the Frog and the Man-servant regrouped and turned their attentions to a table of older, married women.

And the moral? Well, there is more than one to this story, so take heed:

1. Never let a Frog do all the talking.

2. Keep an eye on your Princess--and keep dancing. If you're not fun, you'll lose her attention and affection.

3. Kiss off Princess. That handsome man on the stage is most certainly spoken for.

More Like "P.T. Loser"

I'm not going to say I'm the worlds greatest driver. I have my share of, "oops, didn't see you there" moments. My bumper has a couple of war wounds from losing battles with walls. In addition, although this tends to be a bad combination, I get a little aggressive in traffic. I usually limit my frustrated reaction to the inside of my car.

All that being said, I'm a fairly conscientious driver. I learned to drive with a lot of other people on the road, I know how to merge, I do a good job paying attention. Minor blips aside, I'm safe to be around on the road.

However, today I did not make a new friend on the road. In fact, I got called a "bitch" and flipped off by a 75 year old man driving a periwinkle P.T. Cruiser.

Seriously?

Let's recap the situation shall we?

I was in a lane that was ending and needed to merge into the lane that continued to go straight. I looked in my rear view mirror and had room, so I merged. Next thing I know the car behind me is flashing his lights at me like it wants to moonlight as a strobe in a nightclub. I'm trying NOT to be so distracted by this that I drive off the road, when I realize lanes to my right have opened up but the lane I am in is ending (it's a convertible center lane across a bridge). The Flasher gets over before I have a chance to, speeds up to trap me in the middle of the bridge and then just as I get a glimpse of his silvery hair passing me, yells "BITCH" out his window. Then, once I was behind him, he flips me the bird. Now--we're driving down city streets, so the lights keep us close together. I end up in the lane on his right. The old Cooter rolls down his passenger side window and continues to yell at me every time he gets next to me.

Two things I wish I'd done:

1. Rolled my window down and 'sincerely' apologized. Honestly, I don't think I did anything wrong, and I don't know what his deal was. Still, I wonder what he would have said or done if I'd just said, "I'm sorry sir, I didn't think was cutting you off. I apologize for making you nervous or angry."

2. Blown him a kiss mid-rant.

I have to say, this was the first time I've ever been sworn at by a septuagenarian.

Then again, I might be angry too if I was driving a lavender P.T. Cruiser.

Let's talk about blogslacking

I kind of love the way I can make a new word out of anything if I just put "blog" before or after it.

I was just trying to type up a bunch of examples, but my brain is mushy at the moment.

So I'll go on to say that I slacked off last week. I didn't even read any of my regular blogs because I felt guilty opening up my dashboard knowing I had no intention to add something to mine.

It's not like I haven't had anything to say since the last time I wrote. Really, exciting things are happening at work and at home. I just end up with this brain mush situation by the time I get to the computer. Then I want to play mindless games like Peggle (Ridiculously addictive game. Run if you still have a chance.) and Spider Solitaire on 'easy,' and watch my favorite shows, the bachelor, and teen mom (both of which have just gone off the air...the day before my return to my blog...coincidence?). Luckily I now have the second season of 16 and Pregnant to keep me company. Let's talk about ungrateful 16 year olds who get pregnant and then think it's their mom's job to take care of the baby while they act like, well, 16 year olds. Is anyone surprised by this amazing cycle?

So here I am, tired, and mushbrained, and feeling old. (My little brother turns 21 next week. 2-freakin-1. I can take my baby brother to the bar with me. That's enough to make anyone feel old.) And I'm blogweary <-- see how that works. I don't even have a good excuse like "I need a mental break for health reasons," or "I'll be without internet in Zimbabwe for 2 weeks while I build huts with twine and palm fronds." Nope, I just blogslacked my way into oblivion.

I said that I didn't make a New Years resolution, per se, so I'm not feeling all guilty about that. Actually, I don't usually feel all that bad when I break a New Years resolution, but this way I don't have to pretend.

All that to say: I'm back. For at least the next couple of weeks consistently.

If Only You Were More Like Me...Parts I and II

This should probably be two separate posts, but I don't feel like splitting it up.

Whatever, I do what I want.

Now now, don't get all riled up. I'm not turning into some self-involved little pain-in-the-rear, though I have my moments. This is really just a post to say: I have a hard time understanding others when they don't think or act the way I do. Not that I expect them to act exactly the way I do, variety is the spice of life. It's just...jeeze the more I type the more I sound like a self-involved pain-in-the-rear. I guess my real problem is understanding motivation, particularly motivation behind irresponsible or malicious actions.

Part I: Responsibility

I thanked my mom tonight, for raising me to understand responsibility and respect.

I was never the kid to call adults by their first names (see notes: 1). My mom and dad are still Mr. & Mrs. B to all my friends. It was months before I was comfortable calling M's parents by their first names, even though that was how they were introduced to me. This is a very specific example--and now that I, too, am an adult (shudder), it's less of an issue--but...where was I going with this? I got distracted with the I'm-an-adult concept.

Oh yes, even though using titles is a fairly specific practice, it's a good example of how I was raised. Respect for elders and higher-ups, respect for equals, respect for lessors and those more youthful, respect for self. I believe respect translates smoothly into responsibility. Being a responsible daughter, friend, employee, girlfriend, all trace back to showing respect for those people around me. Honestly, because the whole concept was basically ingrained in me since before I exited the womb, it comes pretty naturally. Which doesn't help when I try to comprehend others acting irresponsibly.

Part II: Malicious Intent

I also ranted to my mom for a while about bored individuals with malicious intent.

Because when I was clicking around this evening, I was faced with a Malware warning.

I did what any self-respecting-internet-addict-and-moderately-computer-literate individual would do. I freaked out and called my more computer literate little brother. Then my mom, since she had recently been through this very same problem.

One computer cleaner, one malware scanner, and one spyware scanner later, the problem is solved but I am mystified. I did absolutely nothing to the programmer who create this problem. Nor, I'd be willing to bet, did the vast majority of the 200+ million users who had this particular problem cleaned off their computers for free thanks to Malware Bytes (stats via malwarebytes.org). So why the heck would you try to ruin my computer? I can almost understand those programs that go in and steal your credit card numbers or the ransom-ware that's going around now, those guys are trying to make a buck, but just to go in and screw up my totally insignificant files? I don't get it. Who is that intentionally hateful (see notes: 2)? Life is too short to spend it doing ugly hurtful things (see notes: 3). Mom defaulted to Bambi on this one; "If you can't say (or do) somethin' nice, don't say (or do) nothin' at all."

Notes:

1. I do not think calling adults by their first name as a child is pathway to disrespect or irresponsibility. It was simply the most illustrative example I could come up with.

2. Hateful is one of my favorite southern words. I use it all the time. It's the LBD of words, dress it up, dress it down, perfect for any occasion!

3. Also I've cooled down about the computer issue for two reasons. First, I fixed the problem fairly quickly and painlessly. Second, my brother reminded me that I come out on top. Worst case scenario, my computer is a little screwed up and IT has to fix it. But, I'm not living in my Mom's basement with the glow from my HP the only light my skin ever sees. So, you, malware villain, might win at hard drives, but I win at life. I'll take that trade off. (Just kidding, ha? Please don't hurt my pretty new HP again mr(s). mean virus (wo)man.)

Scott Hamilton is Practically My Neighbor (and Other Comments on the Olympics)

I am an Olympics junkie. If I could do nothing for two weeks but watch the Olympics, I would. Summer, Winter, it really doesn't matter to me. I like the sport of it all. I like the idea of the world coming together to compete in a friendly way. I like to watch the medal count. But, I follow the Olympics in my own quirky way. Because, let's face it, that's how I roll.

In no particular order, some of my thoughts on the Olympics at the half-way point:

I love to watch figure skating. If that makes me a typical girl, so be it. It is freaking amazing. I also love Scott Hamilton. He won his gold medal the year I was born. I'm pretty sure this gives us some kind of cosmic connection. (And I just found out he lives about 30 miles down the road. Cue stalker music.) However, listening to Scott Hamilton commentate on Olympic figure skating gives me anxious fits. He "OH!s" and "YIKES!s" and "AAARGGHH!s" and takes 5 minutes off my life with every single competitor.

Snowboarders are the only Olympians who fall, shrug their shoulders and say with their whole hearts, "It was awesome just being here and riding with these people." Where is this shockingly healthy perspective on a ::cough cough:: GAME coming from? Will the Chinese women & their 10 hour training days ruin it? I'm going with no. The best part of snowboarding, especially the half pipe, is that the person having the most fun, wins.

I don't understand the relationship between Lindsay Vonn (Alpine Skier) and her husband. I don't have to because the only reason I know who she is at all is that I'm watching her ski. Please, Bob Costas, stop confusing me with their coaching/marriage relationship. It's taxing and I'm trying to enjoy this.

I cannot, for the life of me, stop singing the Cool Runnings song. "Jamaica we have a bobsled team" over and over and over again. I either need; 1) a cure for this affliction or 2) to learn the rest of the words. They don't even have a bobsled team this year!

It's nnnnot righttttt that it has been warmer in VANCOUVER than here in Nashville this week. Not. Right. They want the snow and cold. I'm all too happy to give it up. Hey, Jack Frost, could you do something about this little problem? I feel that Canada would not be a comfortable place for me to live.

In review: Scott Hamilton gives me the nervous shakes but I still love him, Snowboarders are (insert surfer-lingo positive descriptor here), Lindsey Vonn is a fast skier, Jamaica only has 1 athlete at these Olympic games and he's a cross-skier, and I'm cold, dammit.

GO TEAM U.S.A.!

Oh yeah, and I've GOT to get my hands on one of those USA knit hats. I kind of love them. They can keep the weird puffy jackets though.

(photo credit: Ralph Lauren)

Musings on EBT: Round Two

(photo credit: amspartner.com)

So, I got my food stamps after all.

I have no idea how this happened. Today when I checked my mailbox there was my EBT card along with a letter telling me how much I qualified for and that it would be deposited in my account on the 10th of every month. I'm going to run with it.

I was pumped. Mostly because I was on my way to the grocery store at that very moment. I called M to tell him the awesome news. I called my mom. I texted my boss. "Woo-hoo!" I nearly exclaimed in a very-Vicki moment (Real Housewives of Orange County anyone?). But guess what? Anxiety about actually using the card was starting to creep in around the edges.

I have never tried to use food stamps before. All I knew was that they were only good for food (duh). The card looks like a credit card, with an American flag on the front with my name and card number. I tucked the card into my wallet and confidently* strode into my neighborhood Kroger. (*Read: slowly losing my nerve and questioning whether I would really use the card or not once I got to the register.)

I shopped, conscious of three very pressing things:

1. I don't want my purchases to look extravagant.

2. How weird will it look when I use my new EBT card and my reusable shopping bags?

3. What self-effacing joke can I make when I mess up trying to use this card for the first time?

Obviously I was fairly uncomfortable using the card, especially in the nice-neighborhood Kroger.

I shopped quickly & then spent 15 minutes sussing out the cashiers and picking a line with the least-judgmental-looking employee. Know which one I picked? The one with the new guy, who had to ask his trainer how to enter my card. He was quiet and subtle and called it an EBT card. She was loud and matter-of-fact and called them food stamps. He looked embarrassed for me. Fortunately, in that moment I was more worried that something wouldn't work than self-conscious about receiving government assistance. All-in-all I walked out with $39 in groceries. Nothing extravagant, enough to keep me for two weeks. It worked and it'll keep me from decimating my bank account trying to feed myself.

I knew this was going to be a "lessons learned" moment. Now, this is the poverty experience VISTA wanted me to have. Despite my anxiety over using the card at all, and my expectations that any who saw it would be judging me, I was proud of myself for one simple reason: I did not try to explain or defend myself. I did not blurt out, "I've never done this before--and I'm an AmeriCorps Member and just qualify because I'm living on a small stipend--did I mention I have a bachelors degree AND a masters degree--and...What's that? You don't care? I'm holding up the line?" Nope. I kept all this to myself and simply smiled at the green cashier while he fumbled to apologize for not knowing how to run my card--and maybe a little bit for his trainer's boldness. I made it through my first food stamps purchase and it wasn't that bad. Although, I'll be honest. I would rather have a job that keeps me from qualifying for food stamps and pay full price for my groceries. For the record: I'm probably not the only person who feels this way.

I'm also hoping they won't call me in three weeks and tell me I owe The Government $40 because I wasn't supposed to have the card in the first place.

Alabama Charm

How could I forget to post this picture?

Many thanks to M for getting the shot just in time as we flew by this billboard on the highway.

Do Moonpies Leave Bruises?

I went out of town over the weekend and I was struck by this question: What is it about free stuff? You know when you get home you're going to sit there thinking, "what the hell am I going to do with all this crap." But, in the moment all you can think is, "OH-MY-GAWD-GET-OUT-OF-MY-WAY-I-NEED-MORE-OF-THAT."

And that is how I ended up with all these beads:

Disclaimer: no nudity was required to earn these beads.

I would have had more, but I was injured early--suddenly and unexpectedly struck by something much more formidable than a question. You see, I foolishly assumed that the things thrown from family friendly Mardi Gras floats during a family friendly Mardi Gras parade would not be HARD or HEAVY. Which is why, when I was bombarded above the eye with something very very hard, it took a minute to register what had just happened. I turned to M's sister (who, unbeknownst to me, had caught said object) and said, "I don't know what just hit me, but it really hurt," just before doubling over holding my forehead. Then I momentarily dissolved into tears, because IT HURT GOSH DARN IT. And I may or may not have been half way through a bottle of wine.

Of course, I pulled it together, because that eight-year-old beside me was not going to get her sticky fingers on anything else thrown in our direction. Also, being generally accident prone, I know how to rebound. Later, M's great-aunt told me I'd been christened, while recounting her story of being knocked out cold by a full can of beer during said family friendly Mardi Gras parade a few decades earlier.

The weekend mini-vacation flew by. The gulf coast, and all of the awesome women in M's family, make for a whirlwind of a trip every time. Or a mild concussion may have blurred my memory. Luckily I have the following awesome (and adorable) pictures.

Spanish moss was always how I knew we were getting close to the beach as a kid. Even though I know (now) it's a horrible parasite, I still kind of love it.

This is the pier at the end of M's mom's street on Mobile Bay. Yeah, I'm prepping for my move to this awesome little town.

Sunset over Mobile Bay. It was cold and windy, but I'm a firm believer that a bad day at the beach beats a good day anywhere else.

My hair is attacking me.

Beautiful beach. My soul is soothed.

And then I returned to -40 degree weather (okay, 30s) and blizzard conditions (okay, 1-3 inches of snow). I'm going hunting for groundhog. Who's with me?

Don't Take Your Coach Bag When You Apply for Food Stamps

(my new least favorite place, photo credit: wkrn.com)

Two and a half months ago I began my year as an AmeriCorps VISTA, a Volunteer In Service To America. (If you're confused--think domestic PeaceCorps). I really planned on writing more about this experience, but to be honest, it's been fairly uneventful. Pretty much your run of the mill 40-hour-a-week job. I'm just not getting paid much.

Today was different.

A few weeks ago I met with the VISTA coordinator for my project who encouraged me to apply for food stamps. My living stipend doesn't count towards income, so I was told that I could receive $200 per month for groceries! Sign. Me. Up.

This morning I got up at 5, showered, got ready for work and drove to the local Department of Human Services which, of course, is in a sketchy part of town. I got there at 6 but they didn't open the doors until 6:30. There were already about 30 people in line. Oh yeah, it was freezing. And raining. And still dark.

The security guard unlocked the door a very much appreciated 5 minutes early. He had a spiel that included such comic gems as "hold on to your personal items, there are thieves among us, you know who you are," (ha) and, "welcome to your home for the next few hours" (ha).

I handed my appointment sheet to the guard at the front desk and walked into the waiting room where I sat and waited for my name to be called.

And waited.

7:15 am - Carried on a conversation with the nice family behind me, laughing with them over the antics of their 18 month old. This was the high point of the morning.

And waited.

8:00 am - Tried to avoid a conversation with the creepy 46 year old man (he told me his age) who asked me how old I was, my first name, and told me he'd like to have another child someday. I'm pretty sure he was a sex offender.

AND WAITED.

8:30 am - Avoided eye contact with the homeless men who were probably staring at the wall behind me.

8:40 am - Texted my boss to let her know I was probably going to be late.

8:45 am - Social worker called my name.

If you're keeping score (and I was) at this point I had been at DHS for 2 hours and 45 minutes.

It took the social worker about 8 minutes to figure out that I have too many "resources," (read: money in my bank account that I wasn't committing FRAUD by lying about, and a paid-for 2004 Corolla) to qualify for food stamps.

In the words of the Unsinkable Blair -- Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

If the social worker hadn't been so darn frank & sympathetic, I would have come across the desk. "So," I said to her, "Spend it all, sell the car, and come back?" "Yep," she replied, doing that slow head nod that means: "I know this is bullshit. At least you don't have to give food stamps to 31 pregnant 19 year olds and 8 drug addicts over the next 8 hours like I do."

As I walked out of DHS, passing the crack-fiends and meth-heads, I couldn't do anything but laugh. And process.

And here's what I decided to take away from this completely ludicrous morning, in bullet form (because this is a long story already):

• I fully understand why people who have resources available to them do not always seek them out. If you've walked into DHS to seek help to keep yourself from becoming destitute because, HELLO, you're a little bit financially responsible, and you are told to come back when you're destitute, you don't come back. It is HUMILIATING to be sitting in that office with a full time job, dressed for work, and feel 300 (at least) pairs of eyes on you wondering what you're doing there with them. Who wants to go through that twice?

• I have no idea what people do when they don't have understanding bosses like mine. Or, in more extreme cases, when they don't speak the same language as their boss. I got to work at 9:30. I'm supposed to be there at 9. I didn't have to wait for the bus, I could drive myself to work in my personal vehicle. In any other situation, I would lose my job.

• Why in the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks is it okay for these people who are CLEARLY drug addicted, felons, committing fraud, whatever, to receive food stamps/medicaid/housing subsidies? I get that it has to be a tough process so the truly needy get help. But the truth as I saw it was a process so convoluted and frustrating that the only people who have time to deal with it are those who DON'T HAVE A JOB. Not to mention (see second bullet) if you try to go through the process while you have a job, you'll probably lose it. Then you'll have to spend every penny you have in savings before you're eligible for assistance. And then (see first bullet) if you have one ounce of pride, you try anything to find another way--any other way--to make ends meet.

M, self proclaimed libertarian that he is, listened to my whole rant on the way to work and said, "Yeah, babe. It's a self-perpetuating system. Once you get in, you never get out."

I tend to think of myself as a learned-liberal. Meaning, for the most part, I'm a social liberal living in a state with a lot of people who disagree with me. I've had to learn the best practices for speaking my mind. I'm proud of my feelings on the matter of the state bearing some responsibility for the basic needs of it's people. Generally, a whole-is-greater-than-the-sum-of-it's-parts perspective.

However, having seen it from the inside, I recognized a much more conservative turn in my thought process today. Granted, I'm coming from a place where I (one day soon) hope to be on the able-to-give end of the economic spectrum. I'm still working through this morning's events (jeeze, at 7 pm it feels like days ago). The truth is, I'm not destitute-yet, and I can ask my Dad for money if I need it. But, I sat under a microscope (not to mention in a cesspool) for HOURS today and have nothing to show for it. Disappointing, disheartening, and (aha!) enlightening.

The VISTA poverty experience I'm supposed to be having. However, I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to walk away from it flip flopping on my political leanings.

Barbara Ehrenreich, I'm channeling you, but I'm living somewhere between poverty and the millions you made off this book. Can you hear my brain turning this one over and over and over? Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

A Very Merry Un-Birthday

I just realized that my little real estate on the web turned 6 months old this week!

I'm good at getting excited about something...following up for a couple of weeks...and then jumping off the train (basically how it goes when I decide to work out), so this is pretty much an accomplishment. Unlike how I feel after 6 months (or 3) of working out, I'm not inclined to say "Job Well Done" (or-i'm-too-tired/it's-too-cold-now/doesn't-sex-count-as-exercise*?) and move on.

So, while I'm stuck in my house by the snowpocalypse of 2010, making-and probably eating-an entire pan of brownies, and turning my Christmas tree into a Valentines day tree (see below) so I can wait another 3 weeks before taking it down, I'm going to blog, too. I'm so freaking diligent. It's ridiculous.

* 1. Sexercise...hehehe, I've been giggling since I thought of that one and 2. Mom/ Dad/ Uncle/ Aunt/ Minister, if you read this, I'm totally a virgin and only put that line in for dramatic effect.

I Have Impeccable Timing

So last night my mom called me and told me we are supposed to get 8 inches of snow starting tonight.

I'm sorry, I think I miss heard you. It sounded like you said it's supposed to snow EIGHT INCHES in MIDDLE TENNESSEE starting Thursday night.

And I have no bread.

And bad eggs (cough cough...they don't smell, I just know they're bad, ok?)

And NOTHING with ANY nutritional value, so I'll die of scurvy if I'm locked in my house for days. Not to mention boredom.

Oh, yeah. And my gas tank? Empty. Thankyouverymuch-intern-task-of-delivering-grant-proposal-to-location-25-miles-away.

$80 worth of price gouged shopping later. I'm good to go. Good to go nowhere, that is.

I hear you scoffing, New Yorker. But, not only do we not 'do' snow down here, we get ice (and lots of it). Which makes me miserable because it keeps me cooped up in my house all day long. Lame.

Metro schools are already closed for tomorrow--again, nary a flake to be found. My plan is to go to work early, stay until I get scared, and then try to get a good parking place at the top of the complex (so I don't have to call AAA just to tow my ride safely to the street come Monday morning).

No snow please. I would like to be able to do fun things this weekend.

Update: 3-8 inches of snow plus .5-1 inch of ice...Gag me with a spoon (does anyone say that anymore? no? cool). Also, apparently I am screwed because I don't have a generator. Okay--being stuck in your house with snow is one thing. Being stuck in your house with no TV, no computer, no way to cook food, and OH YEAH - NO HEAT!? Look, I know it's January. Spring, if you're listening, I'm ready for ya.

Can't.Write.Title...No.Creative.Energy.

M has a gig tonight. He called me on his way out the door & I told him that he could call back later because I would probably be up for a little while. Then I looked at the clock and...dear-god-it's-only-seven-fifteen-how-early-is-not-pathetic-early-to-go-to-bed-when-you're-twenty-five?

I feel like it's been three weeks since Monday. I can't really pinpoint when this week took a sharp turn towards crazy, but that's where I ended up. Every time someone has asked me lately how I've been, my answer is always: busy. (Note: I am not complaining. The girl who did not have a job for 10 months post-grad school is NOT complaining about having a job!) I'm so busy I can't remember what I did on Monday. I'm so busy during the day, I want to come home and watch mindless television (thank you, Bachelor) and eat (at 5:30 like a grandma) and go to bed.

Sounds interesting doesn't it? I'm so busy I can't think of something to write. Even my adjectives are lifeless.

Being busy had left me so tired that I'd rather not wax poetic. It nearly took an act of nature just to get me typing. How lazy is that? The mommyblogs make me feel like the laziest person ever. Two new posts a day and three sick kids, plus they work 78 hours at two full time jobs. What-ev-er. I'm busy too. I just don't have a baby. Or a husband. Or an animal. Or even a yard for goodness sake. How the hell would I be able to take care of all that? I understand more and more how people end up living in this:

(picture credit: www.anxietyandstress.com)

Because--COME ON--no one comes up to my apartment. It's JUST ME LIVING IN IT.

Ok. Not really. I'm no neat-nik, but I don't live in filth (most of the time...hmm maybe I should start the dishwasher).

In my delirium I've come to a couple of conclusions:

1. I don't feel bad for Conan O'Brian. He's walking with 45 mil. Cry. Me. A. River. If someone gave me 45 million dollars to NOT WORK, I would never work again.

2. Girls play stupid games. Like telling a man you don't want to see him & then getting pissed when he doesn't beg you to stay with him. OR telling a man he can't kiss you and then basically laying yourself out on a platter, uh uh uh NO kissing! Dear women of The Bachelor: I can't stop watching you, but I would appreciate it if you could shake off some of the sheer vapid-ness. Look, I know it's hard for most(/all) of you, but you're giving half of the rest of us a bad name, and the other half some bad ideas. So, I'm gonna throw it out there: Stop acting like morons. Or don't. Because then I'll have a busy day of work and nothing mindless to come home to. I take it all back.

Ok, that's all. In other news: College basketball makes my winter-world go round. GO HOOS (8 straight) and GO VOLS (who needs scholarship players?).

Heh, ridiculous ramblings tonight. I'm going to bed. I'll probably sleep until spring.

Counting the Minutes

I walked out of work today and almost drove 2.5 hours (only to have to drive it BACK the next morning) for a hug. Yep. One hug.

Because sometimes you just need one to set the world back on it's axis.

Even though I'm fine on my own. Seriously.

Even though I know it'll all be fine, because I'll work it out.

My awesome college roommate got married young. Verrrry young by some counts, particularly the other kids at our prestigious college. All of us girls were supposed to go out and be independent and take on the world (or at least the Fortune 500 companies) and never want to get married. We joked about "those others schools" with girls just out to get their "MRS." degree. I'll admit. I love her to death, and I knew she got it from enough places other than me, so I kept my mouth shut about how confused I was about her wanting to get married.

Then one day she came home and said, "Everyone keeps asking me, 'don't you want to go to Europe? Don't you want to do this-and-that?' YES I want to do all that, but I want to do it with him."

I didn't get it then, not totally. I'm definitely the kind of person who learns from experience (read: from my mistakes, and not always the first time). Hey, KT, I get it.

I can't wait to get on the road. Even though I don't love to drive.

Is it Friday yet?

It's TOO Cold

It was 15 degrees when I left for work this morning. Listen, Mother Nature, none of us here in the mid-south are equipped to deal with below freezing temperatures for a week. Here are some things that it's too cold to do & the times that I did them--because I think it's too far past the holidays to write a drawn out description:

Wait for a table for an hour while sitting next to the front door that keeps opening for new people who HAVE reservations & get seated right away. (Christmas Eve)

Stay in a hotel that doesn't have heat in the bathroom. (Christmas Day)

Hang out in a big empty house that has the heat turned way down and no comfortable chairs. (Weekend between Christmas and New Years)

Drive with the windows down. (New Years Eve to keep me awake on the drive to see M)

Be out after dark. (Pretty much every day over the last two weeks)

Drink a whole banana milkshake. (Saturday Night)

Take the Christmas decorations down. (Heh, Success! Lights & tree still ablaze as of January 5th)

Do anything but be curled up under a warm blanket with warms socks and a warm sweater. (Monday & Tuesday & every other weekday until it warms up above 32 for more than 24 hours in a row)

Good news? It's supposed to snow Friday, and the word on the street is this town shuts down for 2 inches of snow.

P.S. My new HP and this game are my excuse for not doing anything productive around my house since the day after Christmas.