stop the presses

UPDATE:

Just spoke with very cute 30 year old man and we are going out again this week.

Persistance and anxiety do sometimes pay off.

don't let me be lonely

My boyfriend and I broke up about a month ago today, for reasons that are a little too personal for the interwebs. It was a very difficult decision that still plagues me today, even though I know I made the right choice. We had been together for almost a year and a half. For all that time, I always had someone with me who loved me. Now I am single. And it is not easy. He was my first real relationship and I got very attached. I got very used to having him around. I got very used to having someone to hug and kiss me when I got home, to tell me they love me. Now when I come home, all I have is my (very cute and very loving) puppy. And she is not a cuddler. I eat dinner alone and usually watch TV or read until bedtime.

For a brief moment about a week ago, I thought things were starting to look way up. I was applying for a job at the Georgia Museum of Art as assistant curator and a very cute man that I've had a pseudocrush on for a LONG time agreed to have dinner with me. I thought my life was going to turn around and I would finally start living like an adult.

The job opening was filled before I could even complete my application. The very cute man and I had a lovely date...and I have not heard from him since.

I guess maybe my expectations were a little too high, not very realistic. I should not have gotten so worked up about the job and should not have expected ONE date to blossom into a beautiful and loving relationship (although, it would have been nice. he is very, very cute). And I probably should not have jumped right back into the dating world so soon. This whole dating thing with all its rules and such is not something I'm very good at. I'm very straight forward and honest and open about my feelings, which means I told this man I liked him and wanted to go out with him and called him the day after our date to tell him that I had a lovely time. Apparently, I broke about seven "rules" doing those two things. Which I did not think would matter to an almost 30 year old adult, but given his absence, apparently it does (and gawd I hope that very cute 30 year old man does not read this because if my chances with him were not already ruined, they would be after him this bleeding heart blog).

So now I'm back to where I was at the beginning of October. Listless, sad and so so worried that my life will be like this forever, alone with a dead-end job. I'm so afraid to put myself out there anymore because of the chance of being hurt again, which I'm not sure I could handle. There will be other jobs, there will be other very cute men, I know. I should be RELISHING this time of my life. I'm 25, I am college educated and very hard working. I'm smart and funny and at least mildly attractive. When my mom was 25, she had two children and was pregnant with her third. My only responsibility to another living thing is to feed my dog, take her out for walks, and scratch her belly everyday (which really isn't that different from having a boyfriend). I should be celebrating my independence! My ability to go out and do just about whatever I want! And I think I will reach that point, eventually. But right now, I'm still pretty low.

I will say, if I have only learned one thing from this experience thus far, it is that I have an excellent support system in my friends and family. No matter what I come to them with, they are there for me; they will (and have) dropped whatever it is they are doing and come to my side. I am truly blessed and lucky to have them in my life. I hope that through this, I can learn to be a better friend to those in need, like my friends have been to me.

My birthday is next week, and regardless of that last paragraph, I am very much afraid that I will spend next Thursday, at home, eating cereal for dinner.

the graduate

I GRADUATE FROM COLLEGE IN 18 DAYS!!!

omgomgomgomgomgomg

maybe i'm just like my father too bold

He drank today. For some reason, he thinks that he can hide it from me. But I can always tell, there really is no point in even asking. Aside from the smell permeating from his body, he is much more talkative and his eyes can't seem to focus. I can always tell, its always the same. He came upstairs as I was getting ready to go to sleep; I asked (in a tone more bitchy than necessary) if he planned on continuing to pretend that he had done nothing wrong AND lied to me about it, repeatedly. He said nothing. I prodded, which lead to an argument. I told him that even though I had made several empty promises about kicking him out or breaking up with him if he drank again, one day, I would snap and remove him from my life for good. Like usual, he did not seem too perturbed by that. We argued a little more, resulting in no resolution and him taking a pillow and blanket downstairs and me making snarky comments like "start looking for apartments" and "I'm locking the door, don't bother trying to come back up here". I watched some TV in an attempt to wind down before going to sleep, but couldn't stop thinking about the situation.

Part of me feels like I should feel triumphant; that even though the argument didn't really come to any close, he is being "punished" by sleeping on the couch, while I get my super comfy bed all to myself.

Then the other part of me, the part of me that has been in love with him since pretty much the day we met, recognizes that while yes, I do have this big bed all to myself, I'm still sleeping alone tonight. No one to cuddle with, no one to kiss me goodnight and tell me they love me. Not having the comforting knowledge that even if we aren't touching at all when we're asleep, I have someone beside me who cares for me. And to think if this continues, the fighting, the lying, the not talking about the fighting and the lying, it may be a long time before I find that comfort again. That terrifies me. Maybe I'm just a brat who has gotten so used to having a boyfriend who is madly in love with me, that the thought of losing the little comforts he provides me is scary. Or more likely, I'm 24 and in the first real relationship of my life and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.

Either way, I will be sleeping on the left side of the bed, on my stomach, not moving around at all because I'm so used to him being on my right. I will be sleeping alone.

on taking criticism well

OMG how long has it been since I last wrote something!

I am currently taking my very last class as an undergrad and I met with my professor to discuss a bibliography for a project. Before leaving, I told her I was meeting with a career counselor and asked if there were any specific questions I should ask or fields I should inquire on. She told me of a few things, and said something to the affect of "you could go into publishing...well, actually

WRITING ISN'T REALLY YOUR FORTE

so maybe publishing isn't for you..."

I stared at her, mouth agape, not knowing how to respond.

I have seriously considered, upon graduating, keeping my college job as a cashier and focusing on writing a book, instead of pursuing a career in the field of art history. I would absolutely love to become a professional author and devote all my time to my creativity, organizing my thoughts and putting them out there for people to enjoy and possibly learn from or relate to. I've written my whole life, everyone in my family writes, and I just got a subscription to Poets and Writers magazine.

SO

imagine my horror to hear that I'm not a good writer.

I do have to take into consideration that my professor has never read any of my CREATIVE writing and therefore was not commenting on my ability to write as I would like to and the way in which I feel I excel.

HOWEVER

This is now my...fourth class with this specific professor and I have written COUNTLESS papers for her and made high grades on all of those papers; so how can she, purely on an academic basis, say I'm not a good writer? I obviously am a capable writer, but perhaps she feels that writing papers on art history would not be a career I would excel in? I don't know, I don't know why someone would ever phrase a statement like that or say that to someone who is about to go out into the world searching for a job and is probably terrified of that idea, I DON'T KNOW.

What I do know, is that WHEN I publish a book (not on art history), the dedication will read:

To Janice Simon, who once said to me, "Writing really isn't your forte."

And I will personally deliver a signed copy to her.

you say you want a revolution

Let me begin by saying, I really don't have time to write this. I have a HUGE midterm tomorrow that I have not studied for, but I am so full of angst right now, I need an outlet, and talking with my drunk brother did not sate my desire for outrage.

The Georgia government has demanded that several of the Georgia University System schools cut budgets, DRASTICALLY. After UGA cut their budget drastically recently. They want more.

Of all the things to cut the budget of, EDUCATION IS YOUR CHOICE? Georgia already has such a poor education system and you want to take money away from people who have made the decision to get a HIGHER education? Made the decision to learn more about the world and people around them, which makes them not only more educated, but better people overall? People who sacrifice their time and money to spend four (+) years in order to become better people? It is already super difficult to get by in college, the government wants to make it more difficult?

How does UGA propose to cut costs? By firing professors, cutting programs that would force some students to transfer to other schools and by potentially closing the Botanical Gardens and cutting the budget of the Georgia Museum of Art so drastically that it could barely stay open. Oh, and possibly hiking tuition by over 70% and limiting the incoming freshman class.

No where in the proposal is anything mentioned about athletics. OK, I know, this is such a touchy subject, and I know I have very angry feelings about UGA's emphasis on SPORTS, but think about it for a second. Ok, so the UGA athletic department is primarily funded by revenue generated from those sports (how much did you pay for a Georgia/Florida ticket?) and whatever money is leftover goes back into the university system (however, I can't really tell after looking over their budget where exactly this money is being funneled into, all I could get is that UGA has an airplane), so I can't really say, "oh, let's cut out the athletic programs to save money", because they're pretty much self sufficient.

HOWEVER

Think about those athletes. They are students. They have their education paid for and are pampered for four years (unless of course they get drafted early. Please see my previous blog about Matthew Stafford not needing a dictionary). Some of those athletes were admitted to UGA with a three digit SAT score and a 2.1 GPA. Why? Because they can throw a football/dribble a basketball/hit a volleyball/etc.

Where is our emphasis? If the freshman class is cut, who are we cutting? The kid who desperately wants to make a change for herself, learn more of the world, become a doctor/lawyer/teacher/etc? OR the boy who can throw a football and will look good in tight silver pants and probably won't even graduate? What about the people who choose to stay an extra fall semester just to have another football season? Those hungover jerks are taking up room (physical ROOM) that could be filled by bright young minds who are actually eager, yearning to LEARN.

THIS MAKES ME SO ANGRY. What does my education mean now? Am I lucky that I got in when I did, with the HOPE scholarship and my program still intact? I already don't have access to the Georgia Museum of Art (because it is being renovated, which I'm sure cost millions of dollars which seems ironic now), meaning I don't have access to works of art and many many books that would further my education. What happens if that is taken away completely?

What is it going to take to make people stand up for education? People are ok with cutting art and music programs, and have been for a long time, will it just be when we stop teaching history and math that people will get angry enough to make a difference? What does this mean for my brothers and sister? What will their college experience be like, assuming that they will be able to have one? If I have children, what will be available to them? Will Mommy have to tell them stories of the days when I sat around all day, learning of Venetian art and dinosaurs? My opportunity to LEARN is a luxury, it is time that I stood up and defended that luxury.

Whew. I feel a little better. I may not even study for this art history midterm. If the government of Georgia doesn't want to support my education in art, why should I even bother?

Giving Thanks

As I celebrated Christmas with my family, I began to think about all of the traditions associated with Christmas. My mother asked me to sing a song for my family, which I did, and had a multitude of songs to choose from. Mom's house was covered in beautiful decorations, the tree, the lights, the wreath. We had a lovely dinner (and dessert!) and opened a few presents and then to bed until Christmas morn.

Christmas day played out much like Christmas Eve. More presents, huge breakfast, followed by general laziness by all. This was repeated at my father's house later in the evening.

The Christmas season got me to thinking about other holidays. Easter, Halloween, birthdays, Fourth of July. They are all surrounded by so many traditions and rituals. We sing, we eat, we get together with people we love. And then I thought, what about Thanksgiving?

What about Thanksgiving? It is the day we celebrate the bully behavior of the first American settlers for kicking off the natives so we could live here. We do get together with our families and we do eat, but what the hell else is there?

Take Halloween for example. Halloween is ALWAYS on October 31. Thanksgiving doesn't even have a set day, just an understood rule that its on some Thursday in November. Some people spend the entire year developing a costume to wear on Halloween; do we really get that dressed up for Thanksgiving?

And what about the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade? IT IS A PARADE DEVOTED TO ANOTHER HOLIDAY. Don't try and tell me that that parade is about Thanksgiving, it is clearly all about Christmas.

At least Easter gets a mascot. Does Thanksgiving have a mascot? The turkey? We EAT turkey on Thanksgiving. Do we eat rabbit on Easter? Or pumpkins on Halloween? NO.

What Thanksgiving songs are there? There is a song exclusively devoted to birthdays, what about that Thursday in November?

I understand that Thanksgiving is a good holiday, and one that should be celebrated, I just think it kind of got the short end of the holiday stick. All it really has are large ugly birds and Publix commercials. Time to step it up, Thanksgiving. Take back the parade!!! Sing some songs! Get a mascot that we don't devour! I would be thankful for that.

seamus hackworth?

James,

I couldn't send you a message on facebook, so assuming that you (for some reason) still read my blog, would you please message me on facebook or something? I want to talk to you. Or more like apologize.

Girl who was a huge bitch last time we spoke,

Bonnie

Oh and hey everyone else. I will update more soon, I have so many ideas. After Christmas, I don't work again until January 2, so expect something great!

Faux Poor

As Leah pointed out what should have been obvious to me, I am posting the piece I wrote for Kyle on here. Enjoy and watch for more!

Fashion: Faux Poor

If you're a student at UGA or a resident of Athens, you're familiar with the designer products a majority of students are privileged enough to wear. You could be thinking of anything; if it can be made "designer," someone in Brumby will have it. Whether it be the now mass-produced fleece jacket to match your mass-produced bookbag, those shorts with the lines that are supposed to streamline your legs (they don't), to computers to keychains, to the luxury vehicle that even your dad can't afford, brand names unfortunately abound in the Classic City. It can be really difficult for a student not so privileged to feel adequate enough when their sunglasses don't have two tiny white words printed on the lens. So what does a young person do when they can't afford to fit in, say... in Terry? I have one name for you:

Lamar Dodd.

Welcome to the Mecca of the faux poor, the destitute destination for all of the University. How often have you seen someone downtown and thought to yourself, "I wonder if that person is homeless?" and it turns out they're just a pottery major? I know I have, and I've developed a keen eye for the style of the art student. Rich or poor, hobo chic is the way to dress down at the art school. And the look of the art student is oh so easy to emulate. Allow me to suggest some ways that you, yes YOU, can become your own Chuck Close, a modern day Van Gogh (ear chopping not required, though the dried blood would look pretty beggarly):

#1 - Hygiene.

DO. NOT. BATHE. Seriously. This is the foundation of looking (and smelling) like an art student. And if you absolutely have to shower, do not wash your hair. Speaking of hair, you should probably cut it into something choppy, and bangs are a must. Both of those techniques provide a good base for the greasy look you are trying to achieve. The dirtier you are, the poorer you look. The poorer you look, the less understood you feel; and the less understood you are, the better your art is.

#2 - Clothing.

Know those terrible jeans your mom made you wear in like middle school? Dig them out and wear them everyday for the remainder of the semester. Pretty much anything without a collar and with an ironic logo is acceptable for the top, but rips, tears and stains definitely say, "I sleep in a box." Also, any art supply you can get on the clothing is excellent, even if you don't paint, draw, etc. Rub a charcoaled hand across your shirt and go!

#3 - Accessories.

Scarves. And nothing else. Lots and lots of scarves. Don't have one? Ask Dr. Zuraw if you can borrow one of hers.

Oh, and get a couple of tattoos.

#4 - Cigarettes.

Ok, this may not exactly fall into the "poor" aspect, as cigarettes cost money, but you have to smoke. Preferably American Spirits or Parliaments. It may as well be a requirement to become an art major, like a superinflated ego.

These are just a few suggestions, and if you're actually poor, you'll have no problem fitting in and making friends.

Until the smelly kid next to you pulls out his MacBook and starts taking notes. Because remember, these art kids are not actually poor: Their torn up, "vintage" style probably costs as much, if not more than those logo-ed co-ed clothes. And believe me, American Spirits are NOT cheap. The trick, however, is to appear poverty-stricken and if you actually are broke, the art kids will never know the difference. So all you poor kids who feel that you can’t fit in anywhere on North Campus, make the trek down to Lamar Dodd, light up one of your expensive cigarettes and feel welcome.

Can’t draw?

Don’t worry, neither can they.

the goat

Hello everyone!

School this semester is INTENSE and I apologize for my lack of writing.

However, a friend of mine has started a satirical blog for UGA and has recruited me to write for him! Stop by and read my first article and let me know what you think!


thegoat-uga.blogspot.com

to bang or not to bang?

TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY?!

I'm getting a haircut on Sunday* and I cannot decide what I want to do!!! I've had an on/off relationship with bangs for about two years now and I think I want them back, but I cannot decide. I need your help. Sooo....

No bangs? Or.....

Bangs?

*City Salon is hosting a cut-a-thon on Sunday from 12-5pm. All haircuts are 20$ and all proceeds go to Project Safe. No appointments, just a first come, first served basis. GREAT DEAL.

its been a while

Hello all five people that read my blog.

I apologize for the absence and my own laziness. As previously stated, having a boyfriend is a lot of work (which I plan to write an entire, lengthy blog about) and now that school has started back, I'm taking four classes and working 18 hours a week, I have very little time. BUT, in an effort to put my life in some sort of order, I want to get my blog going again. I love having it as a creative outlet, and as just a place to share all the things I find interesting about my young life. And Leah, don't worry, I have a long list of things that need to be blogged about, so it will be sometime before you're bored.

However, today's blog will be short. I should be working on a paper right now that is due on Friday. I'm just proud of myself that its not Thursday night at 9pm when I start it. Anyway, I want to share with all of you a website that I find amusing. Amusing is not even an adequate word to describe this website, honestly.

We all think there is something strange or weird about our family. It could be the uncle you have that wears short shorts, or perhaps your grandma has more cats than grandchildren. Either way, chances are good that you have taken a photograph (or five) with said weird relative. Enter the greatest collection of photographs to behold...

awkwardfamilyphotos.com

I will say, as the website has gained popularity, the photos have waned in quality. And by that I mean there are fewer pictures of adults in Whinnie The Pooh costumes, so you may have to go back and look through several pages to find the truly awkward ones.

But trust me, it is totally worth it.

Maybe I'll upload that one of Dad in a union suit from Christmas morning 1987...

I spilled a bottle of water...

A while ago, I posted about a website called "fmylife.com" and about how funny it is.  

Here, my friends, is its less funny, but still amusing, almost dry, little sister, mylifeisaverage.com.

Happy Monday, everyone.

The Picture of Dorian Gray Hair Cover-up

Hello all.  I know it has been too long since I last posted. By way of excuse, I am taking two summer classes, working and have recently started dating someone.  Like actually dating them.  Like I have a boyfriend.  But I digress.  

Last month, I was reading the June issue of Vogue, and was enjoying the issue as I usually do.  Then I came across the article "Fat Chances", an article that has the sub-headline of "will body perfection one day be possible...a new world way beyond lipo".  The article goes on to detail how women these days along with wanting to look thin, also want to look young: "Ten years ago, the women who came to see me just wanted to look thinner...now they want their body to look younger, too".  (May I add here that this is coming from the magazine that at some point last year had what they called the Body Issue, which celebrated many different types of bodies.  yeah.  seriously.)  The article has sections titled "The Fat Blasters: Lipo Plus", "Fat-Dissolving Injections", "The Tighteners" (which in my opinion sounds like the title of a horror film), and "Cellulite: The Eternal Scourge".  

I think at this point, I put the magazine down and thought about never opening another issue of Vogue again. 

As a young woman, with virtually no gray hair or wrinkles or other "age" markers, I haven't really thought about what it will be like to look older.  I have thought about what it will be like for my hair to go gray, and have pretty well decided that I will never dye my hair and just let it age naturally.  I read a quote by Ann Curry a few years ago that I tried to find, but could not, so I will paraphrase, but it was something like "I hope that one day my wrinkles will show how much I laughed and lived".  It was something much more poetic than that.  My point is that I am going to live a full life and laugh a lot and probably cry a lot and yeah, my face is going to show that.  Yes, I use moisturizer and eye cream and wear huge sunglasses until dusk, but I'm not that worried about getting wrinkles. 

Now, apparently, I need to start worrying about what age my BODY looks.  

If you've read any of my previous writing, you know that I get a little worked up over body image issues.  However, I've only focused on the problems that YOUNG women face, children, teenagers and women my age.  I guess I sort of assumed that women matured out of the whole "caring about what the world thinks of you" thing.  I assumed wrong.  It is not enough anymore to think that you aren't thin or pretty enough, now you need to think that you're not young enough. That maybe your stomach isn't that flat anymore or your hips are a little bit wider (the author of the article mentions the "curve of her lower back".  I had no idea that was a problem area.  oops).  

What in the hell is so wrong with looking your age?  

When we are younger, we want to look older.  When we are older, we want to look younger.  I get that.  But going to extreme measures, using something called "the tighteners" to look 25 again?  

In the same issue of Vogue, there is an interview with Cameron Diaz, in which she says, "I'm not 25 years old anymore, nor do I want to be.  I wouldn't even want to go back to being 30.  That journey-I've done it already".  HOW CAN YOU HAVE THAT IN THE SAME ISSUE AS SOMETHING ABOUT HATING YOUR AGING BODY?!  Nice work, editing.  

There is a lot that is screwed up about the way Americans treat women, the way this culture expects women to look like, so my next statement is most likely unnecessary, but what happened to age=wisdom?  What happened to the respect that comes with living, with experience, with knowing more about the world through LIFE?  Or is that still there, we just expect our women to live always in the shadow of impending liposuction?  We can only respect an elderly woman if she appears to be 30?  

I really hate that this new way of self-loathing has been brought to my attention.  Now I know that for ever long I live, there will always be a new way to hate my body. 

 I better go wrap myself in sea kelp now and age away in an infrared sauna.  

HOTlanta

I have often wondered why Southerners tend to be more creative than people from other parts of the country.  I honestly believe it is because they are so hot for so much of their life.  Maybe the heat makes your brain more imaginative, or maybe it just melts down your inhibitions, allowing creativity to flow as freely as the sweet tea.  Or maybe this whole time I've been mistaking insanity for imagination.  

It is interesting to me how it appears that we in the south don't deal well with weather.  If it rains, we freak out.  If it snows, just stay in your home, leaving will only result in confusion. It seems we are only content when it is 73 degrees and sunny.  

But the heat, the heat is a completely different animal.  From April until October, the south puts on us a great big snuggie and doesn't take it off until Thanksgiving.  You can't sit still without sweating.  People say that life in the south is so slow, we do everything so slow.  Let them live in Georgia in July and see how fast they do things.  This heat makes me want to lie completely still on a giant block of ice.  This heat makes me want to chop off all my hair and throw away anything with sleeves.  And it's not even the hottest it will get yet.  It is only the beginning of June.  Soon, the only refuge we will get is the hours after the earth has finally cooled from the hot afternoon, right before the sun comes up.  Those few hours are the coolest, when most of us should be asleep, before the south has a chance to heat up again.  

When people say "the south will rise again", maybe they just mean the temperature.  

batons and self loathing

I guess it's never too early to start hating your body.

get in shape, girl

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.  

fml

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.

fml

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.  

HOWEVER

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!

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!" 

nothingnothingnothingnothing

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.