Friday, May 29, 2009

Camp Lesbian

On Monday, Chelsea and I drove 5.5 hours to visit the glamorous  Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, for a few reasons: 

#1  We both wanted to go to the beach.
#2  It is relatively close.
#3  My aunt Jill and her partner, Mischelle live there.
#4  Please see reason #1. 

The drive was very easy and we arrived Monday afternoon to my aunt's house, greeted by Jill and her fifteen dogs.  I mean, four dogs, including one pug puppy with a name that I cannot remember that sounds like a Middle Eastern country.  We ate a quick lunch and asked where the nearest beach would be with the least amount of people.  Jill directed us to Lichfield or something like that, which appeared to be a sort of haven for rich white people who lack creativity in their need to name their beach houses.  We walked out on the sand, breathed in the sea air and found a spot to lay in the overcast sun.  I immediately went in the water, feeling the waves crash around me.  It felt so good.  I went to lay in the sun, shamed into keeping on my shorts by the buff old ladies running on the beach and ogled the one young man on the beach instead.  After a few hours, we went back to Jill's to change and go eat dinner, being led to the most expensive Chinese buffet ever by my "adopted" "cousin" (apparently my aunt's penchant for taking in stray dogs is only rivaled by her need to rescue teens in distress).  Chelsea and I drank $12 worth of water, found some kick ass koozies and went back to the house, exhausted.  The rest of the evening is mostly a blur, something about Miller High Life, a woman named Annette who wants to be like me when she grows up, and Trivial Pursuit.  Bed.

We got up at some point and went to the beach before it could rain.  We agreed to apply sunscreen once an hour, on the hour.  We thought we succeeded, but soon found that we did not, and that we were both burned.  That aside, it was one of the most enjoyable days at the beach I have ever experienced.  The sun was shining, it was not too hot, the ocean was blue and lovely.  Those damn old ladies and their hot legs did make an appearance, but other than that, it was a great day at the beach.  Until we left and realized how burned we were.  We went back to the house and showered and went in search of food.  We wanted a local pizza place, so Mischelle directed us to Mama Bella's, which we were told was next to The Hot Dog Queen.  She was not joking, there is a place called The Hot Dog Queen.  We went to Mama Bella's and met the nicest woman ever, who gave us free drinks as she hand made our pizza.  Quella pizza era migliore pizza.  It was so good.  We all watched Hotel for Dogs and soon went to bed.  

We got up early on Wednesday, as we were leaving that afternoon and wanted to have a full day.  We did, however, wish to remain fully clothed to avoid any further sun damage.  Mischelle suggested we go to a pier in Garden City.  Piers always make me think of the 1940s for some reason, despite the number of people in ill fitting swim suits.  We took pictures of a pelican and then stared at the ocean for close to an hour (and when I say "ocean", I mean people in the water and when I say "people" I mean boys and when I say "boys" I mean males who look much older from far away but once you get close to them you realize they are probably still in highschool).  We bought more kick ass koozies and I finally got a hot dog.  We made our way back to the house, packed, kissed all the dogs good-bye, posed for party boat pictures and started home.  

I'm pretty sure if there is something you can think of that could go wrong while you're on a long drive, that thing happened to us on the way home.  First, we were caught in a scene from Twister which resulted in us pulled off on the side of the road cramming kit-kats down our throats to distract from the monsoon.  THEN, we were happened upon Columbia, South Carolina at 5pm which is apparently South Carolina time for "let's all get into pretty bad wrecks".  We saw at least three wrecks + what had to have been rush hour traffic.  It took us half an hour to go like two miles.  THEN, we started hearing this weird flapping sound.  We pulled off the road and saw that a piece of Chelsea's car had come unhinged.  We deemed the piece unimportant and kept driving.  It took us over SIX HOURS to get back to Athens, and when we did, it was a relief.  

Overall, it was a great time.  It was very chill, very relaxing, which is exactly what we both wanted.  I had a pretty brutal spring semester and am taking two summer classes that start next week, so this was a very welcome break from school, work and Athens.  But I am glad to be home, glad my sunburn is healing, glad that I have the knowledge that Camp Lesbian is only 5.5-6 hours away.  

Saturday, May 23, 2009


Summer is here and I have been surprised to find how much time it takes to do absoultely close to nothing. One of my many distractions, besides craigslist and library books, is this absolutely hliarious website. I mean, it probably isn't as funny as if I had just composed some brilliant blog about how I had dinner with/taught English (and maybe a little French too hehe) to a Czech guy last night, but close.

Monday, May 18, 2009

all of my beeswax

I am not very trendy.  I am usually one of the last people to know or try something.

I'll give you a moment to silently disagree with that.

I STILL don't have a digital camera and I think was the last person on earth to play guitar hero.  


If there is one thing I'm hip to, it is lip product.  

When I was in the second grade, my family moved to Conyers, Georgia where my dad worked as the operations manager at Underground Atlanta.  At the mall, there was a store The Nature Store or something like that.  There, they sold a little known product called Burt's Bees.  

Even at a young age, I was a lip balm connoisseur.  I had tried them all, Chaptstick, Lip Smackers, SoftLips.  They all paled in comparison to this minty balm that came in the yellow tin.  My father brought some home one day to me and I have never looked back.  I very rarely strayed, always having a little tin of minty delight in my pocket.  

Then, we moved back to Danielsville.  And I lost my beloved Nature Store or whatever it was called, along with my lip balm.  

BUT ALAS, my mother, being the herbalist that she is, discovered my sweet nectar at Phoenix, a store that used to be downtown on Pulaski but has since moved to Epps Bridge.  There, they sold my beloved balm.  My friends began trying it, complaining that it would sting their lips, but eventually loving the way it made their lips feel.  I soon had half of Danielsville using my beloved product.  

You all know how the rest of this story goes.  Burt's Bees is now a booming business, selling not just the lip balm, but glosses, lipsticks, and all kinds of bath products.  They also have a variety of lip balms, the original, honey and pomegranate, all of which I enjoy (warning: DO NOT try the LifeGuard kind OR the clove.  grossgrossgross).  Now, when I see Burt's Bees selling at Target and WalMart, I sigh, and think about how I singlehandedly made that company flourish.  

Ok, not really.  But I have purchased goodness knows how many dollars worth of Burt's products, and will continue to do so.  Thanks, Burt!  And thanks, bees!

Thursday, May 7, 2009

number one draft picks and me

Hey all.  My finals are over!  Hoorah!  I had plans to go out with my friends and partypartyparty tonight, but my throat started hurting the night before last and has not stopped AND I have to be at work at 8am tomorrow, so I didn't want to risk getting sicker by going out and grinding on strangers.  I'll do that Saturday.  

Today, I would like to tell the charming stories of my interactions with the NFL's number one draft pick this season (or whatever they call this time frame), the one, the only, Matthew Stafford.  My affair with Matthew Stafford began many years ago, on a cold, January day.  Young Stafford was in my orientation group at the University of Georgia.  We were both young, nervous.  Actually, that is not true. I was 20 years old and there with my dad, he was like 17 and there making money breathing.  Our eyes met.  That probably isn't true either.  The only reason I even remember that he was in my orientation group, along with several other football players, is that a rep from the athletic department kept checking on them.  Every few minutes, "Do you need anything?  Are you ok?"  I remember commenting to my dad about how annoying it was.  If only I had known what would become of Matthew and me.  

I will begin with my third most close interaction with the young athlete.  I was standing in Park Hall, waiting to enter my classroom.  I saw the quarterback sitting on a bench across from me, reading a paper.  Probably looking for mentionings of his own name.  Jerk.  Anyway, as I was staring at him, a class let out nearby, and students started filing into the hallway.  Soon, two bros walked past, talking.  

One says, "Hey Matt!" 


The man didn't even look up from his newspaper to acknowledge this young, admiring fan.  

I almost laughed aloud and said to the one guy, "Dude, you are TOTALLY not friends with Matthew Stafford!!"

But that would have been rude.

My most intimate encounter with the star (now making over like $70million) was when he came into MY bookstore to sell back some books.  Normally, when I see athletes come in, I get annoyed before they even open their mouths or bookbags.  While there have been some exceptions (Mohamed Massaqua is one of the nicest men I've ever met.  Same with Craig Lumpkin), they usually complain about not getting money back for books they did not buy (or read) in the first place. 

But not Matthew.

No, Matthew Stafford put his books in a neat pile on the counter and patiently waited as I told him how much they were worth.  One of the books was a hard back, desk-type dictionary.  In shrink wrap.  He tried to sell it back, and it was not worth anything.  I gave him his money and he started to leave, without the dictionary.  

I said, "Do you want this?"

His response?

"No, I won't use it."

No, Matthew, you wouldn't, and it looks like you never will.  

I should have made him sign it.     

Sunday, May 3, 2009


After finals are done!