Tall Katie Tells It All

happiness is...

2011-06-10T22:22:00.002-05:00

A cool photo (from Erin Abbott Kirkpatrick...check out her stuff at her shop Amelia in Oxford!).

Life leading you back to a long lost true friend who remembers a better and more inspired me...and inspires me to be that person again.

Hearing a word used in casual commentary that you didn't expect and that shakes it up a little (in this case, the strings of a destroyed guitar being described as akimbo).

A new album that makes me feel dreamy (Bon Iver by Bon Iver), and a rediscovered artist seen in an entirely new way (Ray LaMontagne).

Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup on a hot June night...and a friend who gets it and craves it the same way I do.

Knowing, in spite of frustration and occasional ingratitude, that I am good at my job.

A niece insisting that her grandfather call me back because she didn't get to tell me goodbye and that she loves me.

A cold beer on the balcony at City Grocery, and the blessing that the thought it inspires ("I can't believe I LIVE here...") is actually a pretty common one for me to have.

High thread count sheets and a late wake-up time.

Pinterest.

2011-05-31T21:30:00.002-05:00

This is my new obsession.

take a moment to...

2011-03-11T19:26:00.002-06:00

40 days without facebook.

2011-03-09T18:12:00.002-06:00

Yesterday was Fat Tuesday, a day for excess and celebration. The weather here in Mississippi did not cooperate. My friend Tayla and I went to pick up our friend PJ at the new law school to go to lunch. "It looks like a Bronte sisters novel," I commented as Tayla zipped the wrong way through the one way circle in front of the building. "I know I'm going the wrong way," she offered in reply. I shrugged.

The law school absolutely looked like a scene out of Jane Eyre. Gloomy gray sky backdrop, massive rain soaked stone column facade...and PJ appearing as a teeny figure in tweed at their base. He walked down the long pathway to the parking lot, shoulders hunched up around his ears in a vain effort to combat the mist and wind. I joked that perhaps he was trying to make himself more aerodynamic.

We drove to Tallulah's, since it only made sense to eat Creole food on Fat Tuesday. The fact that Laurie had king cake from Bottletree made up for the wait on the cold rainswept patio. After stuffing myself with red beans and rice (and of course the aforementioned cake) and dragging myself back through the awful weather into my office, I spent the rest of the afternoon alternately working and inwardly debating my plan to give up Facebook for Lent.

I initially decided to give up Facebook because it's an addiction for me. I stay online long after I've read all the status updates there are to read, seen all the pictures posted, commented on everything I care to comment on. It takes up too much time, prevents me from more productive activities, and weirdly leaves me feeling a little empty and depressed when I finally log off. It's the perfect choice for me...a challenging sacrifice that will provide me with a little extra time for spiritual reflection (and possibly make me more productive in the meantime). But then I started noticing that Facebook decamping for Lent has become something of a popular trend.

I know the point of Lent isn't to give up something UNIQUE, but I started to wonder if perhaps I should change my thing. I wasted a significant amount of my afternoon and evening...on Facebook, stalking out how many people I know who are giving it up. And upon realizing this, I knew that my initial decision was the correct one.

I'm almost 24 hours in, and apart from a few moments of boredom, I have to admit that so far my first day in years without Facebook has felt remarkably....light. Focused. Freeing. But we'll see how tomorrow goes.

mississippi welch.

2011-02-07T11:53:00.004-06:00

My niece is two and a half, but she seems a little confused when we tell her that. I'm pretty sure she assumes she's at least 30, or possibly older based on recent events. The other day the following exchange occurred between her and my father...
Bitty: "Oh-Oh, what are you DOING?"
Dad: "I'm just getting this gadget for the TV."
Bitty: "What does GADGET mean?"
Dad: "Well...it's like a device, that, um..."
Bitty: "Oooooh (with a knowing nod of her head)...a DEVICE..."

A couple of weeks ago my sister was woken by Bitty insistently tugging at her arm. When Sara roused herself enough to ask her what was going on, Bitty solemnly informed her that she was Jake's daddy. Jake, it should be noted, is my sister's husband and is, in fact, Bitty's daddy. Sara pointed this out to Bitty, but she was not to be swayed. "No. I am Jake's daddy. You can call me Mike, and I am fifty and a half years old."

No one is sure why this specific name and age were selected, but it's not the first time she has surprised us with interesting takes on familial relationships. Over the holidays my Mother and I were at the kitchen table, shuffling around the Southern Living magazines and Christmas books and cookbooks and shopping lists that hold our world together during the last two weeks of December. Bitty was set up at the table as well, coloring in satisfied companionable silence while Down Home With The Neelys on The Food Network provided low background noise. "I just don't know, I'm not sure about that recipe," said my Mom, "but I feel like we HAVE to have at least one chocolate dessert..." We both paused and mulled this over. Bitty glanced up at the television screen and then watched with interest as Gina Neely (African American woman in her forties or so, in case you're not a cooking show person) wielded a hand mixer over a bowl of butter and sugar while shaking her hips to an imaginary beat. She pointed at the screen and declared "That's my grandmother," and then went back to her coloring. We watched her with confusion for a moment before Mom tentatively asked her if she was sure that was her grandmother. She said "Yes, it is," with a finality indicating that suggestions to the contrary were futile. "Well," said Mom, "there you have it."

Even more fascinating was Bitty's interest in the trophy presentation after a New Year's day bowl game, when she gestured toward the several dozen football players crowded on the stage at midfield and announced "Those are aaaalll my daddies." Jake glanced up from his magazine, mumbled "I certainly hope not," and looked back down.

Bitty will have a new baby brother joining her in the next few days, and we're all curious as to how she will handle this major life change. She has proven, at least, that she somewhat understands the concept of "having" and naming children, as she recently informed my Dad that she is going to have a little girl, and will name her Mississippi Welch.

I am not ruling out the possibility that she may very well understand all of the concepts I've mentioned and just actually be a creative comedic genius.

i want.

2011-02-01T10:45:00.003-06:00

My five minute breather at work just went a little longer than I'd anticipated after I came across the Sukan shop on Etsy...lately I'm obsessed with all things ikat, suzani, and kilim, so this is like the jackpot for me!

I highly recommend checking it out.

inspiration treasure trove.

2011-01-27T20:27:00.002-06:00

I live in a pretty basic apartment. When I picked up the key it was about as generic as they come...beige carpet, white walls, boring linoleum. The only notable thing about it, really, was the wallpaper in the kitchen and bathrooms...and it was only notable for it's early 90s hunter green/navy/burgundy awfulness. Thankfully my landlord was perfectly OK with my intent to paint over all of it, so my parents (an unstoppable wall painting duo-seriously, they're like a well-oiled machine) set to work covering the walls in the colors I'd selected: a pale gray blue in the living room, a light and minty robin's egg blue in the kitchen and bedrooms, and a warm light peachy pink in my bathroom.

My mother and I have been on something of a mission ever since. After reading countless decorating blog stories featuring characterless apartments and homes that have been transformed into gorgeous, charming abodes, I decided that I might as well try it myself. Since I don't exactly have loads of disposable income for the project, I'm lucky to have a mother who can turn a twenty minute trip to Hobby Lobby into a one-of-a-kind coffee table. Or curtains. Or a lamp. Or headboards. In just a few months my place has already grown significantly cozier and more chic than the blank canvas I moved into. The only challenge is getting a little inspiration for projects to come.

That's where Lonny comes to the rescue. Lonny is (so far) my favorite of the online shelter magazines popping up everywhere on the internet. This is mainly because of its awesome collection of archived images, organized by room. I could spend hours sifting through them (OK, so maybe I have), so maybe some of you would like to as well.

Check it out here!

an average day.

2011-01-23T09:38:00.003-06:00

January 14.

As an adult, snow loses it's appeal the moment you're required to go back to a functioning normal life in it. This is true even in Mississippi, where the mere suggestion of flurries is enough to send even the most jaded adults into fits of euphoria...myself included. I'd spent my two snow days off work with my nose practically plastered to the windows, drinking coffee and giddily watching the untouched white winterscape become pocked with footprints, spiked with snowmen, slashed with the tracks of makeshift sleds.

I was feeling anything but euphoria as I gingerly picked my way through the sheet of ice, slush and snow surrounding my car outside my place. Rain boots on my feet, suede ankle boots in my hand, scowl on my face because I was late for work and hadn't yet packed for the weekend as I'd intended. It didn't help that I had a staff meeting commencing as I walked in the door, but I grabbed a handful of walnuts from the stash in my office and decided to make the best of it.

Thankfully my place of business always provides ample material for it. On this particular day, someone from the Office of the Dean of Students called over claiming that he had spoken with the mother of a student or prospective student whose name was spelled as "La-a" and who was concerned over the mispronunciation of her child's name. (Let me break here to clarify that I'm relatively certain this is a joke and that said individual is NOT actually enrolled at Ole Miss.) Within a few minutes most of our office was participating in a debate over how we would pronounce the name. Leia? Lei? No one hit on the correct answer, which was...LaDasha. Upon hearing this there was a chorus of groans and laughs, but it wasn't nearly as intense of a reaction as one might expect. After all, in our line of work we are constantly exposed to bizarre names (two of the best I've come across are Aqua'Netta and Tequila Sunrise). However, after the groans and laughs there was a thoughtful pause as my colleague Brad experienced a minor epiphany and then said "Wait. That's not her name."
I looked at the name scrawled on a slip of paper resting on the counter and then: "Oooooh...." I looked back up at Brad in understanding. "Yeah," he said. "I'm not calling her that. That's not her name. That's not a dash, it's a HYPHEN. Her name is technically LaHyphena." Just another day in Financial Aid.

After work I scrambled to throw a random assortment of clothes and shoes into my weekend bag and hit the road for Florence to attend my sister's baby shower, enjoying the cut of gray highway across landscapes still white with snow, and counting the never-ending procession of melting zombie-like snowmen. Upon arrival at my parents' place, my mother informed me that she had a few errands to run and that her car wouldn't start, could we take mine? I considered this. "I'm not really sure I can get us down the driveway, Mom, it's still REALLY icy..." Vicki didn't see this as an issue. "Oh, it's fine, all you have to do is put it in reverse and just sliiiide on down the hill." I stared at her. "Yeah. You're driving then." Moments later I was gripping the door handle and watching in simultaneous horror and awe as my mother executed a perfectly controlled slide down and out onto the street.

At Belk's department store I patiently talked Vicki out of a series of entirely too clunky and vaguely sporty black "dress" shoes before giving up and going to try on the pair of black patent peep-toe platform heels I'd been trying to ignore. Mom was already in the process of purchasing her own shoes when I walked up to the register, and was deep in animated conversation with the sunny and petite woman behind the register, whose shining black hair was perfectly and smoothly pulled back to show off flawless chocolate skin. Beside her stood a younger guy who towered over here and was about three times as wide. A high school linebacker uncomfortable in the khakis and preppy navy and red striped sweater required for his part time job. Me and the linebacker exchanged a dismayed Look as the conversation between my mother and the saleswoman turned to hot flashes, although secretly I was fascinated by how laughingly and cheerfully these two women were covering such a topic. When it veered toward aging and dead parents with equal enthusiasm I interrupted with a polite reminder of all we had to do. The linebacker glanced at me in shy relief and appreciation.

After Belk we trekked into Walmart in the manner us Tompkins women always do...with laser focused determination on the mission, as if we're a swat team with a very precise amount of time to rescue someone trapped amongst any number of bombs and landmines. We hate Walmart. We hate the throngs of people in their Alabama, Auburn, and Tennessee tee shirts who lazily amble down the aisles in the manner of patrons at an art gallery, and the constant movement of products from one place to another to ensure that one has to traverse virtually every single aisle in order to find everything she needs, and most of all we hate the fact that we are by birth cursed with the ability to ALWAYS wind up in a checkout line behind someone with 65 coupons, or 65 questions about a product, or 65 items mysteriously missing a price tag or scan code. At least the Walmart in Florence sells wine.

I went to bed that evening full of perhaps one too many glasses of said wine, new stories, and girly pleasure over new shoes...not too bad for an average day.

new years resolutions...a little late.

2011-01-09T18:52:00.002-06:00

Every year one of my New Year’s resolutions is to stop procrastinating. Not surprising, given that in a typical year I don’t actually MAKE my resolutions until it’s nearly February.

This year, however, my first conversation of 2011 included the point blank question “so what are your New Years Resolutions?” If you know me, you probably know that I often require several minutes of what (to the untrained observer) might appear to be unfocused rambling before reaching an actual point or response. My conversation partner was thankfully kind enough to politely listen as I blathered my way through my thoughts in order to reach my final point…that I’m giving up on big, open-ended, vague, or unrealistic resolutions that you can never be sure whether you’ve kept or not. You know those…the ones where you commit to working out more, or getting up earlier, or watching less television. The ones where you set yourself up for failure. I’ve tried those resolutions for years, and at the end of every year I’m at best uncertain as to whether or not I achieved any of them. Does it count as “working out more” when you didn’t work out at all in the previous year and then went walking/running 5-10 times in 12 months? Probably not. And honestly, even when I was relatively certain that I’d at least moved in the right direction, I was somehow just left feeling even more acutely aware of the other big things I needed to tackle.

This year I’m trying something different. This year, it’s all about baby steps and the little things. Things like committing to hosting friends for dinner at my place, reading three to five books I’ve been meaning to read and haven’t, learning how to make my Nana’s biscuits, and FINALLY lugging the tons of clothes I haven’t worn in years out of my closet and off to the resale or thrift store or donation bin. For 2011, I’d prefer not to end the year frustrated by my inability to reach the lofty goals I set for myself. 2010 provided plenty of that, thank you very much. No, for 2011 I’m going to set the bar at a more realistic level. Nothing superhuman. My goal is to end the year feeling …satisfied to some extent. Productive. And, you know, to stop procrastinating…

notes on my Papa.

2010-12-02T17:25:00.006-06:00

My Papa loved it when I wore hats. And since he felt that I didn't wear them often enough, he began buying them for me, usually at Christmas. This was often a source of frustration for my Nana, who was doggedly determined to spend EXACTLY the same amount of money on me and my sister and who did NOT appreciate it when Charles would appear at the house the afternoon of Christmas Eve, just hours before my family arrived for our traditional dinner and gift exchange, and triumphantly produce a freshly purchased beret.

It sounded strange when he referred to me as simply Katie. Most often I was addressed as either "Sugar," or "Katie Dee." It should be noted that my full name is Kathryn Jane. When my mother announced this name to her in-laws before I was born, Papa casually told her that HE was going to call me Katie Dee. Mom's pointed remark that that was NOT my name was met with a simple shrug, and Katie Dee I remained. To his credit, when I persisted in calling him Papa (instead of the Papaw he had insisted upon to my parents), he accepted it without comment.

I had a knack for getting Papa to do things when the others couldn't. Even after I moved to Oxford for college it was common to receive phone calls from family members saying things like "could you call your Papa and see if you can get him to..." The theory was that my success was because I was so much like him, that we were more or less two of a kind. Both tall, with the same hawkish ridge on our noses. Both with very loud and jarring barks that were typically much worse than our bites. Both with a penchant for nice clothing and jewelry and such. We were both often accused of "talking down" to people.

He pretended to be infuriated when I told him I was naming my new puppy Charles Glenn Tompkins the Third. "That's awful, sugar, naming a damned DOG after me, is that all you think about me?" He knew better. Our family treated dogs with a reverence that bordered on impropriety. He kept up the act, cursing grumpily as Charlie dutifully made the rounds on his patio, marking each and every plant....until I went inside to see Nana, when he'd pull an old folding chair out into the yard and watch his antics with a grin. He would pretend that having Charlie in the back yard wasn't an impediment to cutting the grass, and would then stoically ignore the barking at his feet that somehow managed to rise above the sound of the motor. He would also ignore my Nana and I as we laughed hysterically at the back door.

There are thousands of memories where these came from. Every day for the past two years I've lived with all of them swirling around me, simultaneously comforting me and adding a little bit of extra weight to my shoulders. I don't expect this to change anytime soon, but that is slowly becoming more OK than not. I suppose the important thing is to have them to begin with.

if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

2010-11-08T21:12:00.002-06:00

My last post was about staying positive. I also mentioned that my dog was having some serious health issues. Unfortunately, Charlie passed away in early October.

To be perfectly frank, I'm still pretty heartbroken, no matter how hard I try to ignore it...and because of that, I'm not quite ready to write about it yet, or really write about anything for that matter. Right now it would just sound sad and whiny and involve a lot of me feeling sorry for myself.

So I guess this is just my excuse for being so absent as of late. Hopefully I'll be back soon...

staying positive.

2010-09-19T15:18:00.002-05:00

It's so easy to be negative. So, so easy. That doesn't make much sense to me...it seems like it would be so much harder to be negative than to be positive, doesn't it? You always hear that cheesy saying about it requiring more muscles to frown than to smile. Yet somehow for me, especially for the last couple of years, the easy option has been stress, worry, fear, sadness, etc.

I guess this is what happens in your late 20s and early 30s...reality becomes harder to dodge. The grandfather/father figure/family patriarch dies suddenly and unexpectedly. The dream job turns out to be a nightmare. Getting ahead financially seems to be harder than advanced calculus. The relationship you thought would fix everything evolves into something you have to fix and then reveals itself as something that just isn't supposed to be and is holding you both back. Your dog/best friend develops serious health issues. It starts to feel like the one or two hard issues per year have tripled in size, and begin to continually regenerate in hardier, nastier forms as soon as you've solved them.

Those things are so heavy, and confusing, and dirty and complicated. In contrast, the good stuff, the tons and tons and tons of good stuff just seems so light and airy and easy and bright. And yet I spend so much time ignoring it, overlooking it, putting it off till later. Sometimes I get so bogged down in the dark mess that I can't even take the time to post a list of five simple good things.

I guess all of this serves as an overly wordy explanation for why I do such a bad job blogging.

So, moving on...good things...

I'm grateful for coffee and conversation with my mother this morning.

Ole Miss lost yesterday. They'll probably lose many more games this season. But here's the thing I love, love, LOVE about Ole Miss....yeah, we may not win every game and maybe we've never lost a party, but most importantly, we love life enough that a lost game isn't going to prevent us from fishing an icy Coke out of the cooler, pouring a glass of wine, fixing a tasty plate of food, clasping the shoulder of a family member or friend we love and commenting that it's going to be a long season before asking what's in this pasta salad and then telling an old funny story from college, childhood, the previous night.

That moment after getting in the bed where you find juuuust the perfect spot and position and experience a moment where your whole mind and body can process nothing but "aaaahhhhh...."

The side eye Charlie shoots me when I politely ask him to stop barking at the little dog outside, to stop pulling the stuffing out of one of his toys, to stop perusing the kitchen counter he's up on his hind legs investigating. It's genius...just the right mix of sarcasm and affection and annoyance.

Ice cream for lunch. I mean...why not.

weekend's end.

2010-07-25T19:55:00.002-05:00

Grateful today for:

Quality time with my parents. I may be 30 years old, but I appreciate the folks coming into town for a visit just as much as I did back in college. After a morning nursing my pup yesterday (slight complications post surgery, meh) it was such a welcome break to have an afternoon/evening perusing antique stores, buying cool snacks, picking out fabrics, and eating fresh tacos at Tienda Y Taqueria.

Completed home projects. Well, at least PARTIALLY completed home projects. I'm terrible at making decisions, and even when I've MADE the decision I often still feel like I need a nod of approval from my creative genius mother. Then I usually need her to assist me executing the vision. OK, to be fair...often I wind up assisting HER, but oh well. The important thing is that the cheap lamp base with the great shape but ugly paint job that I've begrudgingly toted from house to house is now a solid glossy turquoise and will soon have a nice new fabric covered drum shade.

French fries. And...this may surprise many Oxford townies, but...Old Venice. I had lunch there with my parents today (and dinner with some friends in town who wanted to eat there last month), and both times my meal and overall experience were....honestly, kind of flawless. Today was especially good. My mom and I shared the Mad Italian panini (thinly shaved ham, salami, pepperoni, provolone, pepperoncini peppers, and marinara) and the Tuscan Roasted Vegetable Panini (not positive on the details, but I know it involved roasted portobello mushrooms, squash, zucchuni, red peppers, pesto, and maybe bleu cheese crumbles). Both were fantastic, and the best part...we thought we substituted fries on the side for salads, but discovered when our plates arrived that the salads were an AND and not an OR. Good mistake (though perhaps not from a health perspective), since these shoestring fries were amazing. Perfectly crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, with juuust the right amount of seasoning. Mmmm. Fries.

My Boys. It's a little goofy (maybe a lot goofy) but it's nice and it's fluffy and it makes me laugh. Nice way to ease into a work week.

A pup who (for the moment at least) is peacefully snoozing and not doing any number of things which tend to result in stitches breaking and blood on Mom's carpet. Sweet guy...

i love my dog.

2010-07-21T14:57:00.002-05:00

A few months ago I noticed a strange bump on my dog Charlie's forehead, just over one eye. At first I assumed he'd run into something (he tends to do that when he's really excited, which is often). When the bump was still there a few days later, I had a vet check it out. She essentially told me to watch it for a few days and if it was still there she'd have to sedate him in order to take a needle aspirate...even though he'd quite calmly taken four different shots on his last trip there.

After being in denial about the bump for awhile, I finally took Charlie to a new vet yesterday, where I was blissfully NOT made to feel guilty for my dog being large and unruly and where it didn't seem that everything was ridiculously overpriced (that's another story). The new vet was troubled by the bump and felt it best to go ahead and remove it and have it checked out. One toenail trim (including fixing and caring for an ingrown toenail), one physical exam, one annual heartworm shot, one sedation, one needle aspirate, one mass removal, and six months worth of Heartguard and Frontline later, I was presented with my banged up but lump free dog, a full explanation in normal person guilt-free and non-salesman language from a much liked vet, and a bill that was just under the cost of a physical exam, two shots, and the same meds from previous vet. Needless to say, Charlie and I have found a better vet.

My poor pup looks like he's been in a fight with Mike Tyson AND his tiger, and it's likely that the bump contained something nasty and unhealthy (think the C word), but even if that turns out to be the case, it feels great to have him back home with the scary stuff gone. I really, really love this guy.

Today I'm grateful for:

The companionship of my best (albeit canine) friend and the knowledge that I've done what's necessary to keep him healthy.

Organized bills and recycling (two things that often tend to take over my space).

Successful attempts at new recipes.

A Coke over ice. Yeah, this doesn't sound like anything big, but I drink, on average, around 24 sodas per year...so a cold Coke to me is akin to candy.

Parents, grandparents and a sister who are always there for me with sympathy, encouragement and support.

fried chicken and smokey and the bandit.

2010-07-18T11:18:00.002-05:00

A few things I've been grateful for over the course of the weekend:

A lazy rainy Friday night in. It's been awhile since I've been able to just sink into my couch, take a deep breath, and do...not much of anything. I truly am so grateful to serve as a bed and breakfast for an endless stream of family and good friends from out of town, but every now and then it's nice to have a few precious weekend hours to myself.

The opportunity to represent my University. You know you're in the right job when you have to come in on Saturday and you don't mind a bit, since the work load consists of hanging out in the Grove and at the Student Union talking up Ole Miss and snagging free lunch (even though I was so busy gabbing I never got around to the lunch part).

The Oxford Square. After my stint at "work," I headed up to the Square to check out the Oxford Maker's Market. There really just isn't anything like the Square...artists selling their wares on one side, small kids giddily gobbling up mountains of frozen yogurt and toppings on the other. Dogs dragging their owners along for a walk. Pretty coeds in tee shirts with messy ponytails and buns, foreign tourists snapping photos of the Courthouse, relaxed conversations between friends over coffee above it all on the Square Books balcony.

A slow morning with hot coffee in hand and rain outside the window.

Homemade fried chicken and Smokey and the Bandit. Hard not to love homemade fried chicken, but it was even better in combination with a movie that transported me a bit to another time and place and made me remember how it felt to be a young kid in the South. What a great evening...

grove recipe test number one.

2010-07-16T21:32:00.004-05:00

Yeah. Expect to eat this if you stop by the Shoals Grove tent this football season. Heck, expect to eat this the next time you invite me over for a dinner party or come to eat at my house. I'm obsessed.

I found this recipe for Orzo with Tomatoes, Feta and Dill on Epicurious.com (click here for the full recipe) and decided to give it a spin for dinner tonight. So simple and easy! Only eight ingredients, including three you probably already have in your kitchen (olive oil, salt and pepper). Throw in a little lemon zest in addition to the title ingredients and those above, and voila...perfect hot weather pasta. I threw in some black olives just for a little something extra, but I don't think they were necessarily needed.

Now...suggestions on a good entree to go along with this?

gratitude for america.

2010-07-06T20:04:00.002-05:00

There's no denying that our country isn't exactly experiencing the best of times. Here, though, is the fascinating and miraculous thing about US. We can be in the middle of sluggish and unclear wars, frustrating and nerve-wracking recessions, and a bitterly divisive political climate...but when Independence Day rolls around, or the World Cup, or the Olympics...well, then, I can't imagine a people more enthusiastic about their homeland than we are. It seems that the worse things are, the better we as a people become at recognizing what we DO have.

This weekend, obviously, I couldn't help but think about what it is that makes me grateful to be an American citizen. Thankfully I was provided with a few examples:

Barbecue. Simple as that.

School pride. Nowhere else in the world will an alma mater be all it takes for you to bond with a complete stranger.

Sweet tea on screened in porches. This one might be a little regional, but it's still absolutely American.

Road trips, playlists, convenience store junk food.

Country music. Sometimes it can drive me crazy, but this weekend the combo of a porch swing, a cold beer, and Garth Brooks singing Callin' Baton Rouge on the stereo was sheer perfection.

A bunch of young kids on a boat at dusk in Alabama, waiting on the fireworks show to start and entertaining themselves by blasting and singing along with No Sleep 'Till Brooklyn.

Flo Town Bound.

2010-07-02T21:31:00.002-05:00

Good things today include:

A nice long sunny drive. Good music, good scenery (mostly) and time to THINK. Plus, there's something about crossing the Tennessee River into Florence that just makes me feel all warm and rosy about my hometown...dusky pinkish purplish light reflecting off the bluffs, last bits of sun shimmering on the water, city lights sparkling on the other side of the bridge...simply a great start to the holiday weekend.

Treating myself to a thoroughly unhealthy breakfast from Bottletree Bakery on my way to work. Probably not the BEST idea going into a weekend requiring swimsuit wear each day, but daaaaaarn was that honey cream cheese danish good...

The opportunity to catch UP a little at work. So satisfying to actually get up to date on a few things and not leave for the weekend knowing there's a teetering pile of work waiting on me come Tuesday.

A sliced tomato with salt and pepper from my Grampa's garden. Ahhh, summer.

Arriving at my parents' fabulous, beautiful and comfortable home with a couple of fun days ahead of me. It's always good to be home with family.

a little less humidity.

2010-07-01T19:38:00.002-05:00

Today I am thankful for...

The LAST day of the LAST freshman orientation until August. I desperately need some catching up and getting ahead time before Fall classes start!

Freshly pedicured toesies, even if my strict budget means I have to do it myself. I feel so much cleaner with a pedicure, and bright summer coral makes me happy.

A little less suffocating humidity...it was bordering on COOL outside when I took Charlie out this morning, and made for a great start to the day.

The prospect of a long weekend around the corner...and even better, a Fourth of July weekend. In my neck of the woods, the Fourth is just as big as Christmas. It usually involves chicken stew (weird, I know, but it's a Shoals area tradition), a pool, boats and wave runners on Wilson Lake and Shoals Creek, and a big huge fireworks show accompanied by a medley of cheesy American favorites (hellloooo, Lee Greenwood) on the water.

Pulling up to my place after work to find Charlie smiling at me from the patio door.

weekend gratitude.

2010-06-28T13:14:00.004-05:00

A few little luxuries and reasons for happiness from the weekend:

A clean fluffy dog. I am a procrastinator by nature, but I am especially bad when it comes to bathing my dog/indoor pony. Bathing an 80 pound dog (who is a HUGE baby about bath time) is a hard job for a single mom, and not one that I relish...particularly when there's no hose to do it outside. I try to look at this as the perfect excuse to finally get around to deep cleaning the guest bathroom, since no matter how many towels I layer on the floor or how quick my reflexes are in blocking Charlie when I sense him trying to escape from the tub, the bathroom is always in near post flood condition by the time our tussle is complete. Charlie really, really isn't a fan of the bath, and my lower back really, really isn't a fan of the stooping required for it. Still, it always feels worth it when my damp Airedale is bouncing and spinning around, high on cleanliness and freedom and full of goofy antics...and when his Mom is changed into dry clothes and collapsed on her couch with a cold beer to reward herself.

Sleeping in. Enough said.

Dinner out with friends, both new and old. I love, love, love dining out. Love it. And not just for the food. Eating out is a fantastic experience for so many reasons (when you do it right, at least), but one of the best parts is the conversation stimulated by a good atmosphere, good food, good drink, and good company. I was lucky enough to have two fabulous dinners out over the weekend...one with a family I've known for a long time but haven't seen since Christmas, and one with a mixture of people I've known for years and some I've just met. Both were packed with banter, laughter, stories, and commentary on everything from World Cup to pollution in Shanghai to local gossip to Southern culture. For whatever reason, conversation across a restaurant table just always seems a little richer.

Patriotism. Sure, the American guys lost on Saturday, but it was still worth it to enjoy the scene at The Blind Pig. Little boys with faux-hawks and American flag capes, homemade tee shirts reading "AMERICA" on the front and "F*** Yeah!" on the back (the shirt used asterisks, that's not my edit), a frat boy leading the packed room in a jolly rendition of God Bless America, a pretty female bartender sprinting up and down the length of the bar with the Stars and stripes streaming out behind the flagpole she carried. Pretty great when your team loses, a storm knocks the power out and repeatedly interferes with the satellite, and you still have a super fun afternoon.

Speaking of the storm...finally, I am thankful for blessed cooling rain. It's been awhile since Oxford has seen more than a sprinkle here and there. I just saw that the high tomorrow is 87, and that sounds heavenly compared to the sauna we've experienced for the past several days.

today's gratitude.

2010-06-24T20:11:00.002-05:00

Today I am grateful for:

Company coming into town for the weekend.

A front desk shift that was light years more positive and less stressful than any I've had in weeks. Thank goodness for the students who are thankful, compassionate, responsible, gracious, and have a sense of humor! This afternoon I dealt with students of every age, gender, and race, and every one of them behaved in a manner that makes me proud to serve my alma mater and her students.

Lightning bugs and cicadas at dusk. Mmmm, the South at dusk in the summer...I'm not sure if there's anything more magical.

Local hardware stores, particularly Sneed's in Oxford. How is it even possible that a key copying trip during a lunch break could be a pleasant experience? Sneed's somehow manages it.

My pup's head resting against the side of my leg.

today's gratitude.

2010-06-23T20:27:00.002-05:00

Today I am grateful for:

The 50% off sale at Nielsen's that provided me with super chic (and super cheap!) dinner napkins in the exact same print as a shower curtain I previously lusted after. Nothing like a little indulgent treat to perk you up...especially when the treat is also a bargain!

Actually getting up in time to shower before work. I'm aware that this should be an everyday thing, but I usually resort to showering before bed with the assumption that there's just no way I'll get up in time to do it. I'm not knocking showering before bed, but there's just something about starting off the morning fresh and clean that is a huge positive attitude booster.

The delicious smell of a roast cooking away in my Crock Pot. This is my first time cooking a roast, and since it's still cooking I can't yet claim it also TASTES delicious...but the smell certainly seems to be a good sign...

lonnymag.com. Domino used to be my best source for beautiful home decorating daydreams and ideas (and Domino, oooooh how I miss you), but thank GOODNESS Lonny Mag has taken up the torch online.

Two days in a row wearing my contacts! Again, not such a big feat unless you know the whole story...I've been having stressful eye issues for months now. My eye doctor finally diagnosed me with Giant Papillary Conjunctivitis. Lovely, right? It sounds a lot worse than it really is...possibly. Essentially it means i'm allergic to something in Accuvue Oasis contacts which causes bumps to develop on the inside of my eyelids. Pleasant. She also noted that I have chronic dry eye AND grass allergies. From a practical standpoint, all of that means I've been stuck in old prescription eyeglasses for weeks now. I know it's cliched, but...I really honestly don't feel as attractive in glasses. For starters, I have to go without sunglasses. And if you know me, you know that I practically feel naked without a pair of big sunglasses. Besides, squinting in bright sunlight just isn't all that sexy. I also don't feel like I have as much energy, spunk, attitude. ANYWAY, the thing to be grateful for is that it would seem that things are finally getting back under control, since this is the first time I've managed to wear contacts two days in a row without my eyes flaming up in protest. Yay me.

gratitude.

2010-06-22T10:39:00.004-05:00

I suck at gratitude. Really, I do. I sometimes have a hard time expressing gratitude to those closest to me, and I couldn't even really tell you why. Likewise, I often find that I have a hard time keeping myself focused on the positive things in my life. It's just so easy to get bogged down in the difficult stuff...lost relatives, breakups, financial burdens, health issues, etc.

A few years ago my Mom referenced an Oprah show (of course) in which Oprah and a guest discussed keeping gratitude journals, essentially pausing during or at the end of each day to reflect and jot down five or so things they were grateful for in the past 24 hours. I passed this off as being somewhat new age and goofy, the power of positive thinking and all that.

In my old age, however, I'm beginning to change my mind a little. Maybe there really IS something to the art of forcing yourself to think positively. I've been thinking that perhaps it would do me good to spend a little time focusing on the positive things, both small and large. And that means you, dear readers, are going to be exposed to it...

Today I am grateful for:

Fresh raspberries brought back from a family friend's garden in Florence. They made for a fabulous breakfast this morning mixed with whipped vanilla yogurt.

An unexpected financial windfall, albeit a small one. Apparently the upside to living in an old beat up apartment is that you get your security deposit back so long as you don't bash a great big hole in the wall or something. I've lived in plenty of apartments, duplexes, rental homes, etc, and put down plenty of deposits. I've never gotten a single one back, so I absolutely wasn't expecting this! Definitely a nice surprise, and an answered prayer for sure.

Guilty pleasure television. Say what you want, but there's no better way to top off an extended work day, a busy grocery trip, and an evening of cleaning than a lounge on the couch and new episodes of The Hills and The City.

The wonderful sound of a relieved mother laughing delightedly after I explained her daughter's financial aid eligibility and proved that she'll have enough money to make it work (and in the meantime looked up Paris's province for her, since the daughter needed it to list place of birth on her application). Definitely worth staying late.

My first michelada of the Summer (beer, lime juice, a shot of Zing Zang over plenty of ice).

Cheers!

there's something about clean sheets...

2010-04-12T12:18:00.002-05:00

Lately I've noticed that freshly washed sheets on my bed seem to be more effective than any sleep medication on earth. Is this just me? For some reason I find that even when I go to sleep in turmoil, my mind racing, unmet obligations stacked up to my ears...I still wake up recalling nothing after turning out my bedside lamp. The problem is that I wake up feeling as though I've chugged an entire bottle of Nyquil.

I'm pretty sure that my bed felt more comfortable than it ever has before this morning. Comfortable enough for me to hit the snooze button and drowsily ponder the above...as well as a few other things.

Just thought I'd share a few recent observations...maybe SOME of them will be a little more significant than my deep thoughts on clean sheets.

1. It is entirely possible to fall in love and have a great relationship (for awhile, at least) with someone you still think is amazing but who you are not going to be able to stay with long term because of practical considerations (timing, finances, geography). This is a really scary observation for me, but one I had to learn I guess.

2. Anyone driving around Mississippi at this time of year with a shiny clean car has clearly just thrown away precious money or time. Just chill out and drive around in a dusty green pollen-coated car like the rest of us for a few weeks.

3. Speaking of cars...what happened to the days when someone at least waved or smiled when you let them pull into a line of traffic or cut through? Today I stopped to let a female student pull in front of me to enter a parking lot and watched in annoyance as she continued to gab into her cell phone without ever acknowledging my existence.

4. First observation: if you live in the South and don't know who Dixie Carter or Julia Sugarbaker is, you've clearly been in a coma since the late 80s. Second: I associate watching Designing Women as a young girl with the first time I remember feeling fiercely proud to be a gracious, opinionated, witty, loving, terrifying, smart and crazy Southern female. As I suspect most little girls do, I was incapable of watching any television show or movie without calling dibs on which character I would be. I'd mostly grown out of this by the time Designing Women came on the air, but from the first episode I watched I knew, without a doubt, that I wanted to be Julia. The woman who played her clearly wasn't all that different in real life, and with her passing we have lost a great example of what it means to be a Southern Lady. That term is often reduced to a negative cliche, but I think she serves as a prime example of what it really means...after all, only in the South can a lady get away with telling someone "I find you rude, lazy, horny, and dumb." We will miss you, Ms. Carter.

a little inspiration...

2010-03-19T15:28:00.003-05:00

I heard a snippet of a story about this installation on NPR today during my lunch break, and thought I'd share the YouTube video I found. I want to be as creative as this guy.

Céleste Boursier-Mougenot at Barbican Centre, London

national day of unplugging.

2010-03-19T08:48:00.002-05:00

National Day of Unplugging

Hello, my name is Katie, and I'm an internet addict. A little bit of a television addict too. When I was younger I was driven crazy by people who left televisions on even when they weren't watching, just as a habit. Come in, turn on lights, turn on TV. Now I realize that I do the same thing. Yesterday evening we had BEAUTIFUL weather in Oxford. Even after the sun went down there was just this pervasive feeling of impending Spring, and a sense of all of the energy and reflection and peace that comes with it. I had every intention of leaving my television OFF and cleaning in preparation for company whilst enjoying some music...but by the time 7 o'clock rolled around, I was on my couch, tuned in to NBC and frantically chucking my laptop out of my lap during commercial breaks to run and complete one little household task at a time.

As for the internet, I always used school as an excuse. I HAD to be online constantly because of school...except that 99.9% of my time online was spent on Facebook, iTunes, AIM, celebrity gossip sites, online shopping sites...not exactly school related. Sometime after I graduated, after everyone got jobs and we all moved to different locations and had less time to spend constantly updating our Facebook pages and gabbing on instant messenger, I finally realized that I was still spending a significant portion of my day staring at my laptop screen. Still desperately hanging on even though there really wasn't THAT much to do online anymore. At my low point, I literally couldn't visit a friend's home for an hour without picking up their computer for a quick check of my various pages and accounts.

This was all before smart phones became the norm. Not that I have an iPhone, it's even worse. One of the bigger problems in my last relationship was my failure to connect, and the iPhone was a constant issue. Even in the moment I knew I spent too much time fixated on the screen...playing Mah Jong tiles, checking email, and, again, the ever deadly Facebook page. I knew that he had a point, that it really did make him feel like he may as well have not been in the room with me...but still I couldn't stop.

At first all of these things seemed like they enriched my life. The aforementioned guy and I started dating after exchanging a flurry of MySpace messages...it was just so much easier to be bold on MySpace than to approach each other in person. Watching TV gave us witty things to talk about. Our phones encouraged blatant flirtation via text message. But in the end, I imagine for him it began to feel as if all along I'd really been in a relationship with technology and he was just one of me and technology's many mindless hobbies.

The bottom line is...more and more technology is making me feel like a junkie. I crave the feeling of being connected, and technology gives it to me with little to no effort. The problem is that at the end of the night, when I finally power down the computer, turn the TV off, and place the phone on the charger, I just feel...empty. Like I've wasted precious hours of my life and missed out on things I may have experienced during them, whether they be something as small as watching how peaceful my pup looks curled up and dreaming, or as big as (hah) writing something that turns into a best selling novel. It feels as if it's taking more and more to achieve the high, and like the low of the withdrawal is growing ever more dreadful.

As it often goes, we typically don't buck up and try to fix things until the damage has already been done. So it goes with me. Don't get me wrong, though, I want to cure myself of my addiction to technology for me and me alone. I think that checking off things on my Happy List (referenced previously) will help, but the National Day of Unplugging seems like a really good kickstart. Doesn't hurt that it just so happens we'll have another day of glorious weather for it...

allow me a few moments of nostalgia...

2010-03-07T20:32:00.004-06:00

In a strange way, it seems that often the cliched moments in life are what turn us into the beautiful, complicated individuals that we are. These cliches wake us up, I think. They provide gateways of possibility. And regardless of how cliched they may be, of how many times they have happened to millions of people before....in the moment, to us, they are magical.

So many of these moments happened for me in one building...a former cotton gin turned bar just off the Square in Oxford, Mississippi. Named, of course, The Gin, since it really could never have been known as anything else. The bar was 18 and up, 21 to drink. IDs checked at the door. Those of age were marked with a random symbol of the night, jotted onto hands with magic marker. A red star one night, perhaps a blue triangle the next. Those of us under age were scrawled with a black X, if I recall. We took to carrying packs of markers in our oversized purses. Once in the door we glided past the bar on our way to the ladies room, pausing only briefly to observe the hands of those ordering drinks before darting in and heading straight for the sink to furiously scrub the black marker from our hands and replace it with the necessary symbol. One night I walked in to find a girl that I knew checking IDs. She waved me through with a conspiratorial grin, saying something like "oh it's OK, I know YOU'RE 21..." For the first time in my life I felt like I was in the loop with people my own age. That was huge.

My first college dance with a boy was on the dance floor at The Gin, to the sounds of a song like Sexual Healing or Let's Get It On, sung by a band called Super Tyrone. Tyrone himself was a wiry African American man who wore an ill-fitting superman costume with a T across his chest. Not the most romantic experience in theory, but for a girl who felt mostly ignored by boys her entire life, there couldn't have been anything more romantic than a boy feeling compelled to ask her to dance after glimpsing her across the room.

By the end of that year I was dancing on a table (albeit reluctantly) in the corner as the Kudzu Kings played on stage, and happily making the rounds on the sprawling back patio greeting friends and eating crawfish. I had seen musicians like Bobby Rush and discovered that there was so much more music out there than what I heard on the radio. That summer I would drive two and a half hours from my hometown, ironically homesick for Oxford, just to spend an evening enjoying Penny Pitchers at The Gin.

By the time that the word began to spread that The Gin was closing, I was practically a different person from the one who had arrived in town a couple of years beforehand. In many ways I was still unremarkable...I wore the same black leather jacket that most college girls at the time were wearing. I carried a leopard print bag (completely unlike me) and desperately wanted a boyfriend. Still though...the events that took place in that bar had set some wheels in motion. This girl walked with confidence. She started conversations with people she didn't know and wasn't thoroughly uncomfortable with people looking at her. She sometimes drank bourbon. Most importantly, she had learned to be OPEN. To new adventures, new music, new people, new clothes, new drinks, new bedtimes, new ideas, new places. New everything. Old everything too, but anything that was new to me.

When The Gin closed, my life was moving so fast that I barely paused to grieve. I'm sure that I wasn't yet smart enough to fully recognize what had happened. I went right on about my life, growing and expanding and refining. In the meantime, The Gin slowly decayed. Looking down over it from the Murff's balcony, the scene was almost haunted or post-apocalyptic. I chose to view it, as I suspect most dedicated Oxonians did, as a positive thing. I preferred the ruins to the alternative...another bland condo rising in its place. Plus, it always seemed that as long as the ruins were there, as long as the basic shell of the building existed...there was a CHANCE. Some magical chance that somehow, one day, it would be open for business and I would somehow have access to the same feelings and experiences I'd had before.

Last night my friend Tayla and I were sitting at the bar in Ajax Diner when a well known local came rushing by from a table in the back, pausing to call out to us that The Gin was burning before sweeping out the front door. We jumped up and followed, I suppose just assuming, as comfortable Oxford folk do, that we knew the bartender and surely our bags and beers were under safe supervision. Just a few steps down the sidewalk and we stopped, staring at the massive column of smoke rising into the sky just over the shoulder of the Courthouse. Over the southeastern skyline of the Square sparks flew upward from a warm and eerie orange glow. People were running toward it. Most who frequent the Square can tell you that it's rather commonplace for a fire truck to scream through the inner loop. As one wailed past me at that moment, it occurred to me that after over ten years, it was the first time I'd ever seen one pass and known where it was heading. Tayla, never the emotional type, briefly laid her head against my shoulder. We watched for a moment, and then turned to walk back up the sidewalk to our beers. On our way back to the car we wandered over as close as we dared. In the darkness we could only make out a black mass. It was easier to spot the continuing waterfall pouring down onto it from the fully raised crane of one of the several firetrucks. The entire Square was hazy with smoke.

I don't know how the fire started. I don't suppose that it really matters. One thing that I have learned from living in the town where I went to college is this: college towns are always evolving. As we passed through we heard giggly undergrads pause in their gawking to inquire "what WAS that building anyway?" One girl walked away from the scene quietly, the only quiet one amongst her gaggle, pausing to look over her shoulder with a look that I immediately recognized as just the teeniest bit of awareness. It made me smile a little. The time of The Gin may be over, but somewhere else in town, that girl will grow up and become herself, develop very specific tastes and opinions and a very specific future...even if it starts with underage drinking and dancing on tables. I wish that for her and all girls like her.

But as for me...I'll go back to trying new things, but I pause to raise my glass to The Gin.

the happy list.

2010-02-28T15:56:00.002-06:00

Have you ever put so much effort into something good in your life that you unwittingly turn it into a NOT good thing? So much effort that you grow lazy when it comes to all other good things in your life? Without going into TOO much detail, this is how I'm feeling as of late...like I have somehow developed a crushing and stressful case of tunnel vision, spending months and months pouring all of my focus and energy and attention into one of the good things in my life, only to be shaken into reality and discover that the good thing has soured into something marked by pressure and obligation and stress and that all of the other good things just OUT of my narrow field of vision have grown dusty, rusty and forgotten.

I find it almost hard to remember the "other" good things...even though for the vast majority of my life they've been all I had...but a few obvious things stick out. My family and my friends. Extensive writing and reading. Extensive traveling. Music. New experiences in general.

Here's what my relatively recent life has been like for the most part: Get up, go to work. Come home. Put on lounge clothes. Fix something to eat. Settle onto the couch. Watch TV, surf internet. Have perfunctory phone conversation with some combination of family members/boyfriend. Go to bed. Repeat.

I can't do it anymore. To borrow a line from the Vampire Weekend song referenced in my last post, my soul has grown old and rusty, and before I just accept that this is who I am now, I have to do something (or several things) to remind myself of who I REALLY am.

And so I'm making a list of things that will provide me with happiness. Just the act of making a list gives me a bit of happiness, so it feels like a small start in and of itself. I don't necessarily intend to share EVERYTHING that is on the list or that goes on later, but here are a few initial entries:

1. Clean out my closets and filter out the things that I don't like, that don't fit, that are stretched out/stained/frayed/worn out, or that just frustrate me for reasons I can't even explain.

2. Take small weekend road trips much more frequently to see my dear friends in Memphis, Jackson, Tuscaloosa, Birmingham, New Orleans, and Nashville.

3. Get a serious haircut, just for a good shake-up.

4. Cliched, but make walking/running outside part of my routine as soon as the weather is remotely warm enough to do so (which should be happening very soon I hope!)

5. Start that budget I mentioned months ago in earnest...

6. ...mainly in order to start saving enough money for plane tickets to visit friends in LA, NYC, North Carolina, Dallas, Denver, etc.

7. Give up at least half of the TV shows I follow. In other words, turn off the damned TV and listen to music, clean, read a book, go out to eat, go or a drink, etc.

8. A little more detail on the previous entry I guess...but get out of the house at least one weeknight each week.

9. Give my Charlie dog a little more attention...more playtime, more car rides, more baths.

10. Do all of the girly grooming things I've mostly abandoned...manicures and pedicures, new perfumes, experiment with makeup, and so on.

I'm open to further suggestions or advice, gang.

what do jake gyllenhaal, a jonas brother, and lil john all have in common?

2010-02-21T19:41:00.002-06:00

...they're all in Vampire Weekend's music video for a single from their new album, Contra. Hmm. Random?

The song is Giving Up The Gun, and I like it. But I haven't met a Vampire Weekend song that I don't like. They're all just so soaring and bouncy and comforting. Anyway, you can find the video here....

poem for the day (as stolen from a friend, who stole it from The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor)

2010-02-17T16:42:00.002-06:00

Cleaning up after the Dog

by Jason Tandon

Pull plastic bag from pocket
and wave it like a flag

or diploma. Make sure many people
congratulate your care
for the community.

Check bag for holes.
Double check.

Inspect stool for odd hues.
Greens, blues, blood.

Evaluate consistency.

You don't want to leave smears
on the sidewalk or grass—no prints.

Getaway must be clean.

Prepare to go in for all of it.
Hold breath.
Grab, clamp, reverse bag, twist, knot, cinch.

Smell hands.

Hold loaded bag high in the air,
assure onlookers that Everything is Okay.

If a cop should cruise by,
his crew cut bristling
in the sun,

hold that bag higher,
so he, too, can salute
your contribution.

The bomb diffused,
the world a little safer, a little cleaner,

will not offend the deep treads
of someone's shoes.

In response to this poem I'll just say...thank you, Katie O., for a reminder that I should be grateful to A) not live in the city with a dog; and B) own a dog who prefers to back up into any handy bush or clump of underbrush and use it as his personal toilet rather than go right out in the open.

Check out The Writer's Almanac site for more interesting tidbits...

why I hate living alone.

2010-02-01T18:43:00.002-06:00

When my little sister graduated and moved out, leaving me living alone for the first time, it felt like the most blissful thing imaginable. I could prostrate myself on the couch with dirty hair and no makeup without fear of my roomie having company over. For the most part I could go to sleep in my preferred state of blissful silence. Ceiling fans were permanently turned off, which meant that I was never chilly and never had dry contact lenses.

I've often wondered since then if I would ever be able to share a home with another person without major issue. It's been quite a while, and I am awfully used to having it my way. Are these throw pillows a little too girly? Eh, who cares. Should I paint the inside of this cabinet bright turquoise? Why not. Stash all of my pretty/fancy kitchen things in separate cabinets from my old/ugly things, even though it's completely impractical? What the heck, it's my kitchen anyway.

Those are the pros of living alone. Putting things wherever you wish. Leaving your home clean or dirty, depending on your mood. Temperature set just the way you like it, colors just as you selected them. But there are also, unfortunately, some major cons. I'd be lying if I said I'd never experienced that cliched moment of seeing a news story about some poor person choking to death in their lonely apartment and thinking "Oh crap....that could happen to me..." Every now and then I'd give my right arm to have someone else around the house to let Charlie out at lunch when I'm too busy. And finally, there is the ultimate con....there's no one else around to help you catch a mouse.

Yes. A mouse. In my bathroom. I'd like to think that I've actually made it pretty far in life before having to endure a face-off with a wild warm blooded creature in my space, and to tell the truth, this creature was pretty adorable... but that certainly didn't provide me with any assurance in the moment. In the moment I shrieked and cursed and jumped back as if I'd happened upon a viper. I had enough presence of mind to quickly block the mouse into a corner with items from the room, and then to curse my property manager and maintenance man for not sealing the gap underneath the bathroom vanity that just happens to back up to a crawlspace. And then, when the mouse apparently decided he'd rather live in the new habitat I'd created for him than crawl back from whence he came, I freaked out a little bit again. A cute mouse in a pet store is one thing. A cute mouse who may just happen to run across my toes while I'm brushing my teeth is quite another.

I picked up the phone and realized that I was going to have to choose one of two cliches....either call my boyfriend and interrupt his card game with a ridiculously girly problem...or call my daddy and provide him with further proof that his 30 year old daughter still can't take care of herself. Having pestered Ben enough for one week (and having at least a little respect for the sanctity of guys' card night), I went with Option B. My dad only jokingly asked if perhaps it was someone's pet and then told me it wouldn't bite and to grab a shoebox. Great.

In the end I armed myself with a tupperware bowl and an issue of Marie Claire, took a deep breath, and then removed a section of the barricade and nudged the mouse through it with a plunger. One loud curse, a clap of tupperware against the floor, several scampering steps outside, and one mouse flying off into the thick pile of leafy underbrush across from my apartment later, the rodent problem was solved. Well, after all of that and a few minutes spent stuffing the open space with old washcloths.

You'd think that in the end I'd feel confident, proud, content. As if I'd single-handedly managed to cross one big Con out on my Living Alone list. I didn't feel that great, though. Not at all. A little proud of myself, sure, but when I texted Ben about what I'd done and remarked that I'd be glad when he was around to catch the mice, he texted back that better yet, he'd make sure all the walls and spaces were sealed so that I'd never have to find them. And that just made me even more sick of living alone than I was to begin with.

NOLA vacay.

2010-01-28T17:42:00.007-06:00

As previously mentioned, Ben and I took a little post Christmas trip to New Orleans over the holidays. I know a lot of my readers (as in, 6 out of all 8 of you, hah) have been to NOLA or spent extensive time there. I've been a few times myself....as a little kid, as a high school student mortified to be with my parents, as a wild sorority girl on a wedding weekend trip, and most recently as a single working girl thrilled to be out on the town during Mardi Gras. My trip with my guy was definitely a laid back couple getaway. These have all been great trips, but they've also all been very different trips, almost like they each took place in different cities.

That's one of my favorite things about New Orleans...it somehow manages to feel new and familiar at the same time. On this particular trip, I got the new experience of sharing New Orleans (or part of it, at least) with Ben for the first time. Not to brag or anything...but I think I did a pretty decent job.

After checking in at the Hotel Saint Marie on Toulouse, we wandered over to Pat O'Briens for a hurricane in the courtyard...a must for a NOLA trip. Then over to Jackson Square to take in the sights, including some pretty hilarious dancing street performers at the amphitheater on Decatur Street. After climbing up to check out the river we walked across the Quarter over to the Royal Street Oyster House for dinner...really a split second choice since we didn't have a plan, but we had a GREAT experience there. Then back to the room to bundle up against the cold before heading back over to Cafe du Monde for some dessert beignets and coffee and chicory (of course). A nice evening walk around the quieter parts of the Quarter was followed by drinks back at the piano bar at Pat O'Briens. Definitely seems like a pretty generic touristy NOLA day, but between watching Ben's reaction to everything and getting to indulge in a few things I haven't enjoyed in awhile it was a pretty perfect day.

Day two started with a quick walk-through at the French Market. When I was younger I always wanted to speed past the produce and foodstuffs in order to dig through cheap sunglasses, scarves, jewelry, mardi gras masks, etc. As an adult the trip is precisely the opposite. Afterwards we popped into a hole in the wall bar called Turtle Bay on Decatur to partake of a great deal on beers, and then discovered that the bar menu sounded too good to pass up. Thus lunch became loaded nacho french fries (amazing) and sweet potato fries with maple syrup and powdered sugar for dessert (also amazing). A little more wandering and a quick rest break later, we were headed over to get in line for Acme. The chargrilled oysters made the meal for me, but I have to say...I am only a fan of community style seating when it's in a spacious and relaxed atmosphere. Being tightly packed into the middle of an 8 top table and having to yell across at each other was a little stressful, to say the least. We bar hopped in and out of a pretty relaxed spot that I unfortunately can't name before landing BACK on the same section of Decatur Street at a bar called Pravda. Definite old school Russian theme, but somehow done in a phenomenally effective and comfortable way. I'd dashed into this bar on a previous trip while watching the Krewe de Vieux parade and even then had made a mental note to come back. Ben and I settled in and stayed awhile. I LOVE the red shaded table lamps...it makes things so cozy.

For our last full day we made a strategic decision...hit up a few spots suggested by folks, but only long enough for a snack and a drink at each spot (to avoid post-lunch sluggishness). We stopped into a pretty touristy restaurant on Bourbon called LaBayou. I was quite hesitant, given the wealth of negative reviews I'd found on my Yelp application, but between a good solid Bloody Mary, pretty darned tasty boudin balls, a not-too-crowded or noisy space, and a really awesome waiter...my experience was nothing but pleasant. Our next stop (after an indulgent stop in at Urban Outfitters, so sue me) was the Crescent City Brewhouse, which was very...average. I might have had a different reaction had we been able to sit on the balcony, but in spite of a few tables eating out there during obvious lunch hours, the hostess bluntly informed us it was closed and started walking toward an inside table without giving us the option of a further request. The inside decor kind of seemed like we could have been in any American restaurant in any city, and while the house crafted beer was good, I don't know if it was worth a stop in on limited vacation time. As we neared Bourbon again Ben finally gave in to the desire to try a hand grenade (seems like you can't make a block without seeing that tell tale tall neon green cup). It occurred to me that I'd never had one myself, so we ducked in to the correct spot (too much neon, too much tropical print, too much loud music, too much everything) and grabbed a couple to go. Were we younger the drinks might have been the kickoff to a wild night...but for us the only real result was the need for some rest time before heading over to the Marigny for dinner.

We didn't have a set plan on where to dine in the neighborhood, but since Lisa had previously suggested we visit Snug Harbor for the music, I decided to check out their food on Yelp. I discovered that people LOVE it...and a couple hours later, Ben and I were in love as well. A wonderfully cozy spot that doesn't take itself too seriously, with great patrons, great staff, and a dish called Fish Marigny that was possibly my favorite of the trip. Ben was pretty thrilled with his fried oyster sandwich (more like a platter that happened to have a bun and dressings) and loaded backed potato (larger and with better toppers, like sauteed mushrooms) as well. Full and content, we moseyed down a few doors to d.b.a., a bar that was recommended seemingly by everyone I know in Oxford, and had the best bar experience I've had in awhile. Our petite bartender was wonderful, paying attention to our preferences and making suggestions for future rounds. A group sitting in one of the window areas had a couple of great doggies on leashes. The man in his fifties sitting a couple seats down was easygoing and friendly. The New Orleans Cottonmouth Kings played perfect happy Dixieland jazz. Hah, and my white russian concocted with vanilla vodka and Mint Chocolate Baileys? One hell of a dessert.

Before leaving town on our last day we popped into Coop's Place, THE spot for jambalaya according to a few locals. The food was great, the bar cat residing in the window just beside our table (and occasionally hopping over my lap and bounding off the corner of the table to reach her windowsill) was hilarious, and the bloody marys were the best of the trip. Our last stop was at Envie, a coffee shop a couple of blocks down with the best cast of NOLA characters you can imagine, a wonderfully clean but character packed interior, and fabulous coffee. These two places were ALSO on Decatur, in the same area as the previous bars. I think that this stretch of street will become a pretty standard stop for us in the future.

Hope y'all enjoyed a few of the nine billion pictures Ben took during the trip...

bad blogger. bad.

2010-01-20T18:29:00.009-06:00

Yes, it's been awhile. A long while I suppose. I would say that I've been waiting for inspiration, but recently my significant other referred me to a podcast aimed at debunking the idea that "waiting for inspiration" really works. The basic point was that if you're trying to produce something creative, just sit down and do it, whether you feel like it or not.

So, since I'm a writer, I suppose that means I should write. But while I do believe that the above point is correct, I also figure that easing into it isn't a terrible idea either. So I'll call this enough writing for now and share some of my favorite photos instead...taken by said significant other, who is obviously better at just doing it in his particular medium. The above picture, by the way, was taken a few months ago inside what used to be The Gin in Oxford, Mississippi. Very, very creepy, if you're one of the folks who used to practically call this place home on Monday nights. Aaaahh, penny pitchers.

The second photo features Mamasita, a local Oxford cat who calls Off Square Books home. Sometimes you'll find her demurely curled up on a chair or posing in the window, but more often than not she sets up camp right on top of a stack of books. So far I've been lucky, but I've always wondered if anyone has ever scurried into the shop on a deadline, seeking out a particular book, only to find Mamasita sleeping peacefully atop every last copy. What would one do in this situation?

I just love the photograph of O'Neal Bridge. It may not be so interesting to everyone else, but to me it's just wonderfully warm and rosy and familiar. It also makes me long for a nice warm day on the lake in the Shoals.

The last one is me, as you might have guessed. It seems kind of narcissistic to post a picture of myself when I'm sort of bragging on my fella's photographs, but as he'll readily tell you, I very rarely approve of any photograph of myself. So the fact that I enjoy this one makes me feel like it surely has some artistic merit. Obviously I'm a little biased, but I find it hard to believe he's only been shooting for about a year. It's pretty nice to have a personal photographer around to document life, especially when life contains so many great things. Like a post Christmas trip to New Orleans, which I'll post on soon (complete with more pictures from my guy...and maybe a little more writing from me). I'm appreciating the little things in life much more these days for all sorts of reasons, so I'm going to try to check in more often to relate the good stuff.

dirty thirty.

2009-10-29T08:13:00.002-05:00

It's funny how the sum of all of the little details of your life affect your outlook on the big traditional landmarks. Last Saturday was my 30th birthday. It passed with a surprisingly small amount of fanfare, and with none of the angst and depression expected. Not a lick. A few days beforehand, a close friend emailed to inquire about my mental state. She noted that "I always make the best of everything." This is interesting, because I've never really seen myself as an upbeat or overly positive person. In my own head I am too often a depressingly realistic, angsty, glass-half-empty sort of girl. Yet for some reason not too many people believe me. On a plane several years ago (back when I was still CERTAIN that writing would be a significant part of any future career), the nice gentleman sitting beside me pronounced, after a couple hours of chatting, that I was "not screwed up enough to be a writer."

I wonder why I was offended by that assertion, and why for some reason my friend's statement didn't land in the synaptic web of my brain as the generous compliment she had intended. Maybe some part of me fears that with contentedness and stability comes a loss of creativity, excitement, drama, etc. I like to think that I come across as a more positive person than I really am when I communicate with my friends, that it's my way of shielding myself from judgment. After all, if I'm bouncy and upbeat about my job, my future, my finances, my appearance...it doesn't really leave many windows of opportunity for criticism, to my face or otherwise. "Well, yeah, she's making a lot less money than if she'd bucked up and gone into practice, but she's so happy that it's obviously worth it."

So what does ANY of that have to do with my 30th birthday? I figured that out when I sat down to reply to my friend's email. I wrote...well, I wrote the following, which I will post in it's entirety, since said friend said afterward that I should do so:

It's weird, because I've been dreading turning 30...pretty much ever since we graduated from college, when I still believed that there was some social "rule" of sorts which dictated that by 30 I needed to own my own home, be either in my dream job or getting close to it, have a great marriage with an impossibly perfect guy, and maybe even have a kid or two. I'm pretty much over THAT, but I gotta say, if I were where I was two years ago, I'd be depressed as hell. So I guess now it feels like...well, I haven't knocked it out of the park when it comes to the things I wanted to have or have done by 30, but I've also come a hell of a long way in just two short years. I'll be turning 30 in a career field that I've discovered I LOVE, even if it is on the beginning end. I won't be living in my own home surrounded by nice things, but at least I'm living a completely self-sufficient life with a hell of a lot less (quickly dwindling) debt than most people in my position, and amazing job benefits to boot. I'm not married with kids, but after what feels like a lifetime of trying out males who were never going to truly respect me or provide what I needed, I've formed a stable, long-term and possibly lifelong relationship with someone who is real and fallible, but who makes me laugh, and thinks I'm worth fighting for, and makes me feel genuinely happy and safe. And of course, to top it all off, I have seriously amazing friendships that have been strong enough to endure distance and adulthood and time. It could be a lot worse, right?

So I performed what was essentially the keyboard equivalent of "scribbling" all of that down. And hit send. And walked away. And then I remembered that one little bit from the Royal Tenenbaums, where Royal says something uncharacteristically heartfelt and then the narrator intones: "Immediately after saying it, Royal realized that it was true."

And if it's true, then...well, crap. Maybe I AM a positive upbeat person after all.

simply stunning.

2009-09-03T12:30:00.004-05:00

Only in Memphis....

The link to the story follows, but I think the shirt speaks for itself. Just to clarify...this shirt was (apparently it's been pulled from sale) sanctioned by the University of Memphis Athletic Department Marketing staff.

Memphis Athletics…Selling Rivalry and Sexual Innuendo One T-shirt at a Time

um. hotty toddy anyone?

2009-08-11T14:13:00.000-05:00

a quiet evening with charlie.

2009-08-03T18:35:00.004-05:00

Charlie is currently stretched out on the carpet and looking out the window. He has this thing he does, where he quietly whines while watching me out of the corner of his eye. He wants me to believe that there is something out there, something that requires his immediate attention. Unfortunately for Charlie, I know him. Charlie is bored. But to his credit, I think he always believes, with his entire furry being, that there is surely something just out of his field of vision to investigate or bark at. When I turn my head toward him he quickly focuses his gaze back to the window and stares intently through the glass. He thinks he's a master manipulator. I think he's adorable, if sometimes exasperating.

Sometimes I trick myself into thinking that Charlie will live just as long as I will, possibly longer. He's entirely too large to be just another dog, and not just physically. Everything about Charlie is expansive...his bark, his showy gait, his sixteen syllable yawn, and especially his sense of humor. Charlie hates closed doors, and should you accidentally leave one open that is normally latched against him, there will be consequences. He recently backed up to the hearth in the normally off-limits basement at my parents' house, and quite deliberately took a dump there, just to mess with my Dad. Right there, dead centered in front of the fireplace. He also has the weirdly human capacity to understand when he looks funny. A couple of months ago he shook his head so violently that his chain collar landed asymmetrically across his face with the ring firmly placed over one eye and then walked around with it, pretending not to notice anything was amiss as we all collapsed in laughter. This has become one of his favorite recurring gags. And I swear that sometimes, when I open the door into the tiled hallway of my apartment, that he has seen me park my car and run to the opposite end of the hall, poised to take a running start at precisely the correct moment to slide gleefully into me the very second the door has swung open and away from his trajectory.

I'd rather he be doing one of the above things (which I can say safely since I personally don't have a hearth) than slowly wearing me down until I drag myself off the couch to take him outside...again...but what the hell, I love him anyway. So...here we go. Come on Charlie, let's go outside.

get it together, ole miss.

2009-07-28T12:55:00.002-05:00

Apparently while it used to be true that "we may not win every game, but we ain't never lost a party," the opposite is now becoming factual as our football team grows in stature. Come on, Ole Miss. Strive for perfection!

Ole Miss Slips in Party School Rankings

cakes gone horribly wrong.

2009-07-23T08:56:00.002-05:00

Need a pick-me-up on this lovely morning? Check out some truly tragic cakes, courtesy of one of the Sugar websites, which are a favorite of mine.

i promise this isn't becoming a sports blog.

2009-07-22T10:38:00.002-05:00

At least not entirely. But as we continue to creep excitedly toward football season at an excruciatingly slow pace, I just find myself more and more with SEC football on the brain, and with all the tradition, memories, fun, and fanfare that accompany it.

So, this is coming from an EXTREMELY biased viewpoint, but I really do find it laughable that the SEC is almost never given the credit it is due, at least from the other conferences or from the gussied up, often pompous pretty boys behind the desk at ESPN. Perhaps they should read this article pretty closely and try reeeally hard to remember it.

These Aren't Tough Times For SEC Football

i can't help but think my Papa had something to do with this.

2009-07-19T13:48:00.002-05:00

My Papa didn't start playing golf until later in life. The story, as I remember it, is that my Dad and some friends were playing when Papa arrived. He scoffed at the sport, but they convinced him to swing a club. He declared it "easy." Papa had a gift for dry humor. He may have had a bit of a natural gift for golf too, but regardless, after that day I think he was hooked. He played constantly, right up until the golf course accident that would claim his life. I wish that we'd been able to discuss it, but I don't know that it would really be necessary for him to actually tell me that he wouldn't want to go any other way. I can't say I can really even imagine any other way.

When he wasn't on the golf course, it was common to find him in his favorite armchair watching golf tournaments on television. When our hometown boy, Stewart Cink, began to slowly rise to the top of the game, Papa fiercely cheered on the young guy that played at our country club. To me it was just cool that my elementary school librarian's son was on TV, but to Papa, I think it just made him all the more proud of the sport he loved. He never stopped cheering for Cink, through all of the near misses and frustrating last minute collapses. So today...I know that my Papa is still very much alive somewhere, and while I do not presume to be certain of what he knows and sees and is able to do from there...part of me very much wonders if he's smirking happily over a certain golf course in Scotland today.

seriously.

2009-07-19T12:34:00.002-05:00

"When is a Starbucks not a Starbucks?"

So begins the baffling article I read a few minutes ago from the Seattle Times. The basic gist is as follows: given Starbuck's recent slump in sales, the chain is looking for any way to drum up foot traffic, and apparently they think they've found a potentially successful one. I think it's stupid.

Starbucks is currently in the process of re-branding three of it's Seattle stores to give each "a community personality." Each store, starting with the first, "15th Avenue Coffee and Tea," will have it's own independent name and "feel." They will also feature wine and beer on the menu and more local entertainment events. The problem is that each will still have a Starbucks menu. Same coffee, just with a different name on the cup.

"Those who can capture a sense of community and offer consumers a compelling experience will win in the long run, said Michelle Barry, senior vice president of the market-research firm Hartman Group in Bellevue." Um. OK. On one hand, as a girl who has spent the past several years with a family in the independent restaurant business, I completely agree. Part of what has kept Dales around for so long is the fact that it is intrinsically tied to life in Florence. It's where you go to celebrate graduations, birthdays, anniversaries. People get engaged there, and many have their rehearsal dinners or receptions there. It's just simply tradition for so many Florence families. And it's unlike anywhere else. Even when Dales had multiple locations in its earlier years, each of those restaurants retained an individual sense of identity. One felt more like a jazz cellar that just happened to serve a great steak, while Florence was more of a family place.

But here's the thing...Dales evolved that way. Those locations were allowed to develop their own identity from their inception, in spite of the common brand they shared. And they certainly didn't have a marketing firm advising them on HOW to "capture" a sense of community and artificially recreate it. In today's world, I'm not even sure that Dales would develop the way it did. So to me, what Starbucks is doing sounds preposterous, and a little insulting. Sure, the name might refer to my neighborhood. The person playing music in the corner might live a few blocks away. But the coffee in my cup will still be Starbucks, and they'll still ultimately own the establishment I'm sitting in.

Look, I like Starbucks. I've been a patron there before and I will be again. I'm quite happy, during a long road trip, to discover a drive through Starbucks on my route, because it means I know I can get some good coffee. But should a re-branded Starbucks ever pop up in either of the two towns I consider home...no thanks. I'll stick to Bottletree or Rivertown.

portobello mushroom lasagna.

2009-07-19T08:52:00.006-05:00

I've been trying to make a habit of cooking one new thing every week. A couple of weeks ago I attempted my first batch of fried green tomatoes, which looked like they were going to be a complete and total failure until they suddenly browned and crisped just perfectly. Other recent successes are a white bean salad and mustard roasted potatoes. And Lisa...I made my own batch of Ina Garten's Broccoli with Garlic and Soy Sauce and am most definitely obsessed with it. I've reached the point where I feel pretty comfortable with side dishes, but entrees are another story. I always find myself frustrated when I'm thinking about making a meal because of my limited experience with main dishes.

And so, yesterday I started out with an entree (of sorts) that doesn't involve meat...The Barefoot Contessa's Portobello Mushroom Lasagna (I'm a little obsessed, if you couldn't tell). I was still a little apprehensive, since this was my first time making lasagna of any sort. And this involved a pretty extensive set of directions...for me, at least. Above is a not-so-professional picture of mushrooms cooking in butter and olive oil, and a sauce consisting of milk, butter, flour, salt, pepper, and nutmeg, and to the right is another amateur iphone picture...of the final product! Notice that the cook was unable to resist cutting a piece to taste before remembering to take a picture.

I was pretty darn pleased. This lasagna is RICH, and that's even after I substituted whole milk for two percent. I think that the massive amount of butter (about a stick and a half, in total) and Parmesan cheese are enough to completely override the absence of whole milk. One other note...I used baby bella mushrooms instead of full sized Portobellos. I'd like to try it with the larger ones to see if it makes for a firmer and more cohesive product, but as is, this lasagna was firm enough to hold together and still be rich, juicy, and delightfully sinful. The recipe is a little long to re-post here, but you can find it by searching for "portobello mushroom lasagna" at www.foodnetwork.com.

go figure.

2009-07-17T18:35:00.002-05:00

It probably won't be a surprise to anyone that I've already hit a financial roadblock before my budgeting project has even begun. That's how life works, right?

A couple of days ago Charlie (my monstrous Airedale Terrier, for those who might not know) got a little bit sick. I won't go into details, as I presume that very few readers want to know the details. He's fine, nothing serious, but...when we got to the vet's office I had to face the fact that he's overdue for yearly vaccinations. And then face the fact that on top of original minor health issue, he also has an ear infection. And then face the fact that no matter how great they are, dogs are NOT cheap.

Six months to a year ago or so I would have burst into tears as soon as I was back in the car. An unexpected expense like this would have meant having to ask for help with a monthly bill. So at least it was a pleasant experience to drive Charles back home a little disheartened, but secure in the knowledge that an unexpected expense no longer leaves me sidelined at home, eating ramen noodles and wondering how I'm going to make that car payment, etc. Add to that the fact that I'm about to get half off my next rent check (for resigning my lease...I don't love where I live, but it was an offer I couldn't refuse), and I'm at least back to square one, if not still a little bit ahead.

Still, I find that the shadow cast by the budget restrictions looming ahead of me is causing some interesting side affects. Everything on the Anthropologie website suddenly looks irresistible. The thought of going home and cooking something with the groceries I've bought (already on a practice budget) just doesn't compare to the mouth-watering lure of a dinner out on the Square. I just find myself wanting to SPEND. Will this go away?

september can't get here fast enough.

2009-07-15T12:22:00.002-05:00

I don't know whether to be exhilarated or nervous about this. I don't know if anyone read the Paul Finebaum article the other day, wherein he essentially laughed at the idea of Ole Miss doing anything other than choking this season. I won't even bother to post it, as it's pretty much an annoying attempt to rile everyone up (one comment referred to Finebaum as the Jerry Springer of sports commentary, and I tend to agree). Anyhow, in your face, Finebaum. And, um...nice shades, Houston...

my boys.

2009-07-14T19:18:00.006-05:00

I don't find myself with too much to say today, so I thought I'd just share a picture that makes me happy. The fountain in the background is in Wilson Park in downtown Florence, Alabama (my hometown, for anyone who may not know). The two subjects are my fella and my dog. I'll let you determine which is which. Moments before this picture was taken, the fella had called and gestured for the dog to come to him for a photo-op. The dog decided to interpret this as an instruction to jump in the fountain. I think this picture captures a nice moment...a man-to-male dog exchange regarding whether or not male dog's behavior was cool, set in the middle of a lovely lazy Saturday morning walk to the coffee shop for a latte and a shared muffin.

That reminds me, though...I should totally write a little (or not so little) plug for Rivertown Coffee in Florence, on Seminary Street. Sometime soon...

while on the subject of finances...

2009-07-13T12:54:00.002-05:00

I may have mentioned before that I have been tasked with researching financial literacy programs and resources for college students and beginning the process of developing a program and iniatives tailored to Ole Miss students and alumni. This is a daunting task. There are so many questions to answer...what should we be teaching? How can we format it so that there's at least a CHANCE it'll sink in? How should it be organized?

So, just for research purposes, I thought I'd ask anyone who has a minute to answer a couple of questions for me. Feel free to answer in the form of a comment, or if you'd rather not share with everyone, just shoot me an email.

1. What do you wish you'd been told about financial aid or finances in general when you were an entering freshman? (Examples might be "what interest on a loan is," or "how the debt I'm taking out now will affect purchases I'll want to make in the future, like a home or a car," etc.)

2. How do you think an instructor could have given you the above information so that you'd actually pay attention and digest it?

the b word...

2009-07-12T18:53:00.003-05:00

No, not that one. I'm talking about....dum dum DUM...a budget. As in, starting in August, I am going to begin following one. I'm sure this will provide a whole new world of topics to blog about, so hopefully you'll bear with me.

At present, the only "budget" that I keep is basically as follows: I get paid twice a month. And twice a month, I pay half of my monthly rent, bills, and expenses. Then I just...live. I buy groceries. I go to lunch with friends. I gas up my car for a weekend trip to Florence. I buy the odd item of clothing. I don't spend like crazy...at the grocery store I often avoid the expensive cheeses. I go out with a friend and order a beer instead of a glass of wine or a martini. I browse a clothing website and then steer myself to navigate away from it without placing an order. More often that not I'm relatively pleased with the amount of money left at the end of the two weeks. But I don't have a PLAN.

So I was inspired today during a long drive with a friend. Char has, from a financial standpoint (among others), always impressed me. She went to college with very little outside assistance. She needed her financial aid, and very rarely did she abuse it. Given the option between a part time job or another loan, she chose the job. When it came to using a credit card, Char treated it just like a checking account, never charging more money than she would have available to pay at the end of the month. When we graduated from college, Char seemed to have her student loans paid off in no time. And for the past several months, she and her hubby have dutifully followed a very specific budget.

In Charlotte's budget, if you habitually spend money on something once a month, every three months, etc....there's an allotment for it. And that six pack of beer? That's not groceries, that's entertainment. There's no sliding things that have fuzzy lines into larger chunks of the budget.

This does not sound fun to me. In fact, this sounds like something that requires a dreadful amount of time and attention and THOUGHT. I mounted a fierce attempt to poke holes in my friend's reasoning during our trip. But it's so much harder to grocery shop for one person! And I'm in a long distance relationship, so since we only see each other on the weekends, it's important for our relationship to make those weekends special (aka, often expensive). I can't really just create ONE budget that works for me all year long, because I spend more and less depending on what I'm involved in during various parts of the year. Char calmly and patiently shot down every excuse I provided. Because, yes, that's what they are. Excuses. I CAN figure out a realistic grocery budget for one person, I just have to take the time to pay attention to what I'm buying, how long it lasts, and how much it all costs. And yes, of course my weekend time with the fella is special, but it's special because it's the time we get to have together, not because we go out to eat multiple times/stay at the bar longer than we intend to/convince each other that it's really OK to buy those sunglasses, that scarf, that CD. It's no less special when we buy a bottle of cheap wine, cook an inexpensive dinner at home, and just hang out on the porch listening to music and talking. And finally, yes, it's definitely true that I spend more at certain times of the year...like on presents for family and friends at Christmas, and less at others, like groceries during football season (hosting a house full of football fans is beneficial when they tend to leave copious amounts of tasty leftovers from the Grove). As Char pointed out, that's the beauty of the budget. During the easier months, you hopefully wind up with surpluses in one or two categories. Those surpluses can then be tucked away to get you through the more expensive times, or put on top of debt based monthly payments.

In the end...Char wins. She'll be sending along her handy-dandy Excel worksheet, and I'll be starting a new punishment...I mean, project...

I'll keep you posted.

a couple of websites peeerfect for wasting some time and having some laughs.

2009-07-08T19:07:00.002-05:00

These two sites are my go-to for a quick minute of stress relief and buoyancy in the middle of a stressful day. After all, what's funnier than stuff that white people like or hipsters?

Stuff White People Like

Look At This F***ing Hipster

my new favorite spot on campus.

2009-07-06T20:30:00.002-05:00

Today my friend Tayla asked if I wanted to try out the new Einstein Bros. Bagels in Anderson Hall. I'm a food and coffee junkie, so I readily agreed. I really didn't know what to expect, since I've never been to an Einstein Bros. before. I did know that I often find myself at work hungry at mid-morning and desperately needing something filling and savory. The Java City coffee shop in the Library is great, but as far as morning fare goes, you're pretty much limited to muffins, a few stray pastries, and the occasional dry plain bagel. When I've reached that stomach rumbling, not-going-to-get-through-this-meeting-without-a-fix, can't focus for lack of sustenance state....a smallish slightly stale danish just isn't going to cut it. So obviously I had a wealth of hopeful expectations as I headed down the sidewalk with Tayla.

I was definitely not disappointed. As a matter of fact, I'm now a little dismayed by how close this cute little shop is to my office...because upon entering I found a pleasant little spot tucked away in the Engineering building and STOCKED with every savory and sweet treat imagineable for a hungry girl in search of a hearty breakfast. Even super fresh looking large fruit cups and yogurt parfaits! Nice healthy option....but instead I went with an Asiago bagel with garden veggie cream cheese. And it was totally worth the calorie splurge. I also love the variety of coffee drinks, and especially the self serve coffee station. I will definitely be back in the near future to try a wrap or salad for lunch....

So if you're a regular on campus....you should most definitely head on over.

you must be joking me.

2009-06-21T20:15:00.002-05:00

A while back my fella mentioned a movie he had paused on during some bored late night channel surfing. Idiocracy, featuring Luke Wilson and Maya Rudolph (on an unrelated note, who else REALLY wants to see Away We Go?). In the movie the characters are part of a government "hibernation" program in which they wind up sleeping for 500 years, only to awaken and find an America that has grown stunningly and ridiculously stupid.

The movie isn't great, but the point is uncomfortably...probable. Part of my job in the Office of Financial Aid involves reading written appeals submitted by students who have been placed on financial aid suspension, mostly due to some truly miserable grade point averages. I'm usually horrified by the writing skills I encounter from students who have acquired well above freshman standing. Students who graduated from high school. Students who passed freshman comp. Who is passing these students? And what's going to happen when they get into the real world? How will they cope?

Well, based on Pizza Hut's apparent new plan to re-brand...just fine. It's hoped that this new design will appeal to the "texting generation." Or, you know, the generation who can't bother with the time to write things out.

See for yourself and tell me what you think...

one hurtin' pup.

2009-06-15T11:04:00.002-05:00

It's a little bit alarming how stealthily and sneakily your youth can get away from you. Not to say that I'm OLD. I'm not, especially by modern standards. But here, in this no man's land between college graduation and full blown adulthood, with PTA and retirement plans and kitchen renovations and such...that's where your youth seems to find the perfect environment to make a break for it. Why am I writing this today? Well, mainly because I woke up unable to trek much further than the distance from my bed to my couch due to back pain, and find myself home from work, trying to figure out whether said back pain is the result of playing tug with my dog or from being certain that I could tote my heavy load of groceries in one trip rather than two. And also, incidentally, trying to decide which of those causes would be more pathetic. I'm prone to blaming it on the dog.

Anyway. Perhaps you don't acutely notice the signs because mentally, you still FEEL young. I do. Yes, I want those adult things, and some of them I already have. But I still FEEL like Katie at Ole Miss, who goes to rock shows and eats out with friends and plans vacation trips and gets excited about something new and cute to wear to the Grove (though thankfully, that something no longer involves quite as much effort or sparkle as it did in undergrad). But lately, in a personal world where I've gotten a little more reality than I'd like, I've started to slowly grow aware of some things that are missing...things that used to be givens for me. I can no longer spring up from an Indian style position on the floor. Just one extra beer or glass of wine can suddenly lead to a massive hangover...and that one extra is tacked on to an overall tally that is CONSIDERABLY diminished from my undergrad or law school days. A day at work in shoes that aren't super comfy or supremely broken in leads to unavoidable pain by 5 p.m., and even a day out at Double Decker in flat sandals leaves me with sore ankles and calves. And a late night out for a concert or gathering on a week night? Yeah. If it means that I'll be showing up at work on less than six hours of sleep, it's probably not going to happen.

When I look at all of these little signs amassed together, it's shocking. The only conclusion I can reach is that I've let myself get old. I've LET these things slip away, or build up, or what have you. I've eased into an everyday life where I am so sedentary and such a procrastinator that these things are inevitable. I guess the good news is that a lot of this "youth" can be reclaimed. I know many people much older than I am who don't seem to have all these issues. They walk, they eat healthy, they play tennis, they do yoga. I may never be able to work with 100% productivity on less than six hours of sleep ever again, and that's OK. But I'm not going to accept the fact that I'm just too old to enjoy a long day walking around at a festival.

So the question becomes...where to start?

too many good things.

2009-06-13T12:07:00.003-05:00

Oxford continues to draw in absolutely fantastic opportunities for entertainment. And I LOVE David Sedaris. Of course I do. So why am I not just blathering on about how GREAT it will be to see him live? Because there's another thing that I really, really, truly love. And that's Ole Miss Football. Which poses a problem, since October 10th in Oxford, Mississippi will not just revolve around an Evening with David Sedaris, but also around the Ole Miss-Alabama football game. Which is, as of yet, to be announced time-wise. In a perfect world, the game will be at one p.m., followed by dinner and a couple of (celebratory, I desperately hope) drinks in the Grove, and then a nice stroll down to the Ford Center for a a belly full of laughs. In reality...well, some people are going to have a tough decision to make. And something tells me (I'm so sorry, David) that if that's the case...I'll be hawking two David Sedaris tickets. Hey, we all have our priorities.

oxford cravings.

2009-06-09T19:46:00.002-05:00

Oxford has no shortage of amazing restaurants. You can't throw a rock around here without hitting a restaurant that's been featured on the Food Network, in Southern Living, the New York Times, etc., etc. There are so many, in fact, that living here can begin to make one forget what it's like to experience a real craving...that need for something that you can't get and can't get out of your head.

In the spirit of enjoying life to its fullest, I've been thinking about particular dishes in Oxford that I just can't live without (and thankfully, don't have to). Here are some old and new dishes around town I adore and highly recommend that you try:

Ginger scone- Bottletree Bakery
Veggie Pizza- Newk's
Cheeseburger- Handy Andy
Muffaletta- City Grocery
Green Tea Ice Cream with Tempura Fried Bananas- Two Stick
Fish Tacos- El Milagro
Green Curry- Bangkok Thai
Uptown- Bottletree Bakery
Hot and Sour Soup- Two Stick
Ajax Salad- Ajax Diner
Big Bad Breakfast Plate- Big Bad Breakfast
Filet Special (regardless of what it is)- Yocona River Inn (come back soon, Yocona!)
Shrimp and Grits- City Grocery
Sausage and Cheese Plate- Taylor Grocery

What would you add to the list? Anything you'd dispute?

long time, no write. lots of life.

2009-06-03T20:14:00.002-05:00

I've had a lot of ups in the past few months. Enough, I guess, that I've been negligent when it comes to boring people with my writing. I've also had a couple of major downs. Downs are bad, and I won't go into the details of mine. I will say that inevitably, those downs suddenly bring the ups sharply back into focus. I take so many things in my life for granted...a job I actually love, a beautiful and hilarious niece. A boy who dedicates himself to me, ME of all people, and makes me believe every now and then that I'm the most phenomenal girl in the world. A wonderful, shaggy, unruly dog who fills my hum-drum day-to-day with laughter and cuddling and amazement, and family that are always, always there and who GET me even when they don't. Friends who are intense, funny, oh so smart, passionate, a little nuts, and who keep me afloat and inspire me continuously. And a faith that can get awfully shaky sometimes but that never ever seems to let me abandon it, no matter how hard I try.

The other night a friend and I were talking about one of these recent major downs, and also about faith questions, and also about how the subject of one of the recent downs had this fierce and uncanny ability to squeeze every last drop of life from every detail he encountered. He also managed to find the time and energy to document most of it. I'm going to do my best to do the same.

Six Interesting Things...

2008-11-23T17:51:00.003-06:00

Lisa tagged me to do this blog. However, as I am new(ish) or perhaps just not popular enough in the blogging world, I don't exactly have six people to tag...so I'll just fulfill my obligation to write down six interesting things about myself and leave it at that.

1. I'm an aspiring domestic goddess, but so far failing at it miserably. I read Domino magazine religiously. I regularly peruse the home offerings online at various website and compose fantasy wish lists. I daydream about elaborate dinner party menus, guest rooms and baths full of luxurious amenities, and entertaining in my fabulous, quirky, chic but comfortable home. I compose mental lists of in depth cleaning tasks to accomplish and convince myself that it will be truly enjoyable to accomplish them after work with a nice soundtrack and a glass of wine. Every now and then I make a little bit of headway...but too often I find myself doing what I'm doing tonight. I plant myself on my couch with my laptop or a magazine and try to ignore the many things I could and should be doing. I really hate to think of myself as a dirty person, but I'm realizing that in my own space I'm entirely too lazy. Hmm...New Year's resolution perhaps...

2. Next fall I'll be starting work on my third degree. Yikes! I have a Bachelor's Degree in English and a Juris Doctorate, both from Ole Miss. I've always sort of had Higher Education Administration on the brain, and even before getting my current job as a financial aid advisor I'd contemplated pursuing advanced degrees in the field. It seems a little like divine guidance then that employees of Ole Miss can take up to two classes a semester (one during business hours) free of charge. It also seems divine that with job experience in the field, a law degree can be substituted for a masters. Thus I will likely be starting my pursuit of a Ph.D. in Higher Education Administration next fall. My home may not look as impressive as I'd like, but my office wall sure will!

3. My boyfriend is six years younger than I am. Yeah. I'm not particularly over-enthused about sharing this one, but I know it is indeed an interesting fact about me. I'd always thought of myself as someone who required an older guy for things to work. Instead I'm discovering that I am significantly less emotionally mature than my 23 year old fella. He definitely arrived on the scene as something great when I least expected it...but also something entirely different than what I anticipated expecting. Hah.

4. I'm a collection of stereotypes. During the course of my life I've been a goody goody, a nerd, a jockette, a prep, a sorority girl, a hipster, and a professional. Do I necessarily feel that I've REALLY been these people? Not exactly. But I do know that I've participated willingly in things that have led others to think that I've been one or more of them. Church camps, honors colleges, basketball teams, the Greek system, indie music shows, and now webinars and seminars and staff meetings. You have to wonder if we all wind up as rag tag collections of all the things we've been and are...

5. I have a scarf addiction. If the weather and the situation in ANY way permit it, I'll find a way to incorporate a scarf into my outfit. It's gotten to the point where I literally just feel more natural while wearing one.

6. The above fact might make more sense when one considers how ridiculously cold natured I am. I spend the majority of the winter with cold feet and a cold nose. Meh.

Dear Santa...Part Two.

2008-11-20T20:21:00.002-06:00

4. Little Birch Jewelry Stand. I currently have jewelry tangled in every available nook and cranny, so finding and carefully untangling that one particular necklace can sometimes turn into an extended exercise in patience. This stand would look artistic and graceful on a dresser or bathroom vanity even without jewelry, but I think it would be delightfully quirky, bohemian, and, gasp, FUNCTIONAL dripping with all of my necklaces and bracelets.

5. Bodum Chambord French Press. I gave my Mom one for Christmas last year, and while it doesn't come out for use on a weekly basis, it always feels a little luxurious when it does. French press coffee just tastes richer. Maybe it's just the fact that using one reminds me of dinners at Yocona...oh, and at last weekend's freezing Ole Miss/ULM game, we discovered that toting a French Press, an electric burner, and a tea kettle to the Grove makes a steaming hot cup of coffee and Bailey's a perfect and surprisingly easy game day drink.

6. Domino Magazine. I'm addicted. Pure and simple. More great home ideas and products than you can shake a stick at. Giving a magazine subscription seems like something of a dud gift at first, but getting something in the mail each month for a year that provides you with a few minutes of relaxed entertainment before bed is a truly great thing. And while you're on the Domino website, check out the super cool online Deco File tool.

More to come...

Dear Santa...Part One.

2008-11-19T21:08:00.003-06:00

I've been thinking about Christmas gifts...about past gifts given that were raging successes, about the perfect thing for Mom, Dad, boyfriend, family, friends and beyond, and maaaaybe a little about a few things I'm drooling over for myself. I thought I'd share a mix of them...

1. WoodWick Candles. When you're stranded in a bland little musty apartment in the winter sans fireplace, these babies are perfect. The scents are nice, but the flat wooden wick that creates that familiar crackling, popping fireplace noise is genius. Dim the lights, grab a good book and a blanket, and let one of these create some perfect substitute cold-night-in ambience.

2. The University of Mississippi: A Pictorial History. I flipped through a few pages while on a coffee run at the campus bookstore the other day and was pretty pleased with what I saw. This new book is a hodge podge of photographs and other memorabilia from throughout the years, and would make the perfect coffee table volume for idle flipping/declaration of school spirit.

3. Victoria's Secret Flannel Pajamas. At six feet tall, I have a pretty darned hard time finding comfy pajama pants that will cover my ankles AND make me look cute. I have to admit that this pair from Victoria's Secret is my go-to, and this season the array of prints is thankfully a little more grown-up and chic. Plus, around the holidays you can usually get a matching pair of slippers tossed in for free.

To be continued...

Vive le procrastination...

2008-11-16T18:22:00.002-06:00

Some things I should be doing on this Sunday evening:

1. Cleaning my kitchen.
2. Pouring half of the massive amount of leftover tamale soup into freezer bags to save for later.
3. Figuring out what in the heck is wrong with my car THIS time and praying it fixes itself.
4. Laundry laundry laundry.
5. Taking a shower.
6. Brushing Charlie.
7. Organizing bills and statements.
8. Dusting.

Instead I'm on my couch, drinking the last of the vino from the weekend and watching reruns of America's Next Top model. It just seems like a good way to wrap a weekend of freezing cold football.

a farewell to the one truly great thing about my new apartment...

2008-10-15T13:27:00.002-05:00

So we've established that mid September is most definitely NOT the ideal time of year to be searching for a place to rent in Oxford, Mississippi. Given my limited budget and tight time frame, I felt lucky to find a place period, even if it was in an apartment complex I've always regarded as being thoroughly unremarkable. There was one little thing that cheered me up about the place...the fact that along the wall beside my front door were three wild and lovely abelia bushes, always alive with butterflies. To be fair, I didn't know exactly WHAT they were until I clarified it with my good friend Lisa over at Shower Fresh Garden. When Lisa saw these bushes however, she made her jealousy perfectly clear...and if Lisa is jealous of your plants, then you have some seriously great plants. She informed me that it was nice to see my abelias looking the way they're supposed to, as in the aforementioned wild and lovely. I'm fairly certain that she advised that the worst thing to do was to cut them back...so imagine my horror when I arrived home for lunch today to find my bushes hacked into sad, low squares, with more stick showing than leaf or flower.

OK, so I know that technically they aren't MY bushes, and that in all likelihood, I'll be moving on to a (hopefully) more fitting Oxford location in July. Still, I feel like my otherwise boring little place has lost the one thing that gave it instant character. And I'm definitely making a mental note to plant some abelia bushes at my next place...

your attention please...

2008-09-13T23:25:00.003-05:00

I have a new job! Monday will be my first day as a financial aid advisor at Ole Miss. I'm beyond thrilled to be moving back to Oxford...funny how a town I'd only visited a couple of times before I turned 18 has so completely made itself my hometown. It's certainly not as if I haven't made frequent visits in the past two years, but there are still so many things I look forward to having nearby...burgers from Handy Andy, quiet time on the balcony at Square Books, Thacker Mountain Radio, lazy browsing at the Mustard Seed...

Now if I can just find a roof to cover mine and Charlie's heads...could there BE a worse time to be house/apartment hunting in a college town? I'm having a hell of a time. It doesn't help that I'm a lightish sleeper and don't do well with next door keggers on work nights. Yeah. My 18-year-old self would be staring at me with baffled disapproval right now.

10 things I can't live without...

2008-08-28T11:57:00.002-05:00

I'm copying Lindsey's Lingerings a little here, and also creating a more cohesive list of something I've already started. Can't help it. Reading Lindsey's was so interesting...I really think asking someone a question like this gives you an amazingly thorough glimpse into the person they are. So here goes...

1. Smith's Rosebud Salve. I've already posted about my obsession with this stuff, so I won't go into it. See below if you're interested.

2. Fancy underthings. Even when there was no one around to see them, I literally couldn't stop myself from purchasing nice lingerie. Nothing ridiculously trashy or anything, just things a little nicer than your average cotton pair. The standard argument is that wearing nicer underthings makes you feel nicer in general, and I have to agree whole-heartedly. Even if I'm just in jeans and a tee shirt, I feel a little more fashionable, a little more adult, a little more TOGETHER if I know there's something matching and nice underneath. And now that there's a fella around, I think he probably appreciates my splurging on lingerie more than if I were splurging on face masks or something.

3. Concealer. (Preach it, Lindsey!) I definitely inherited my Dad's dark circles. Mine have been the bane of my existence for years now. Even when my skin is clear, I still have never been able to walk out of the door bare faced lest I scare small children. It's a pain. I constantly bounce from brand to brand, trying every formula and expense bracket imaginable. Looks like, based on recent things I've heard from friends, that next I'll be trying Vincent Longo and Bobbi Brown.

4. Coffee. If I don't have a cup in my hands within half an hour of waking up, my day goes nowhere good. But aside from the whole morning headache avoidance necessity cup, there really is just something so mentally and emotionally soothing about the perfect cup of coffee. I recently read that having a good cup of coffee can serve as a mood booster. I definitely find this to be the case. Before I left the job that was making me miserable (more on that later) one of the things that got me through the day was a latte delivery from my honey or the chance to slip away for half an hour to meet him at Rivertown (our favorite local coffee shop) for a cup. When I was studying for the bar exam a couple of years ago, I found that I was miraculously more focused, productive, and cheerful about the whole thing when I had a cup in one hand. And for years and years, one of my oldest friends and I have scheduled late morning "meetings" when we're both in town to catch up over a cup of coffee at one of our houses. I suppose I associate the drink with good friendships, support, etc.

5. Charlie the Indoor Pony. Speaking of emotional support...yes, I would definitely be lost without my crazy Airedale terrier/son. Charlie has supported me through law school, job searches, bad jobs, heartache, you name it. He always knows when I'm not doing so hot and comes straight over to rest his furry head in my lap. With Lindsey here yet again...having a pet is a mental health MUST. Not to mention, studies now prove that children who grow up in homes with furry pets are significantly less prone to developing allergies.

6. Fitted blazers and jackets. I miss them all summer long, and when fall and winter roll around, my go-to outfit always involves a blazer or jacket. They're just the perfect solution...they cover what needs to be covered while still creating a slim silhouette, they take casual jeans and a top to a slightly dressier level, and they make for a perfect layer to shed when necessary in overheated indoor climates. I have a black skinny wale corduroy blazer that I would seriously cry over if I misplaced it. Seriously.

7. My Mac products. Yes, I'm THAT girl. Addicted. I have an older iBook G4 that certainly isn't the newest snazziest model (far from it) but it still is a dependable part of my everyday life. I have an iPod mini in green that needs a new battery but that I still refuse to sell or dispose of, in spite of the fact that last Christmas I got an iPod classic, which now serves as the perfect portable road trip playlist, dance party soundtrack, and work out accessory (if I ever get back to working out, that is). And now I have a first generation iPhone that I got on the cheap from my (also Mac addict) father when he just haaaad to get the iPhone 3G. I'd convinced myself that I did NOT need one. Now I find that I use it constantly, and rarely just to chat. My most addictive features as of late? Tetris to play when I'm waiting somewhere without alternate entertainment, Shazaam (which, dangerously, can listen to a song you're hearing on the radio, tv, etc. and search it and give you the artist, song....AND link you to the iTunes page to purchase it...), Weatherbug to let me know precisely what the Grove will be like...

8. Nars Laguna Bronzer. I'm pale. Scary pale, and since I refuse to tan my face in the hopes that I'll look ten years younger than everyone who did in a few decades, I have to have something to match my face to the slight tan I develop on my arms and (sometimes) on my legs. This bronzer is perfectly portable, makes my skin glow, and gives me the perfect shot of natural color without looking like I've been baking in a tanning bed. I use it everyday, all year.

9. Sunglasses and/or scarves. If I don't have at least one of these on my body, I don't feel normal. Who knows why.

10. My faith. I'm not a regular church-goer, and I'm certainly not the strictest Christian you've ever met. But I deeply believe that God works in my life and pushes me gently in the direction I'm supposed to go. Without that belief, frankly nothing would make sense.

Big House Pink

2008-08-12T09:58:00.002-05:00

Better late than never...I believe I promised I'd touch base when I got around to trying out the Big House Pink, and finally I have. A few weeks ago, but still.

Let me reiterate that I am NOT a wine expert, and this being the case, I have to admit that, even knowing a bit about rose, I just assumed that the Big House Pink would be sweet. And there IS just a little bit of sweetness on the backside of it, but "sugary" would in no way be an accurate description. It was just highly crisp and fresh and tart. Of the three I'd have to say it's not my favorite, but in hot steamy summer months, it will occasionally hit the spot.

Now, when I get a chance, remind me to fill you in on Michelob Ultra's Raspberry Pomegranate Beer. No, I'm not kidding.

Quick and Tasty Artichoke Dip

2008-07-03T13:19:00.003-05:00

For the 4th of July lake party I'll be attending tomorrow I'm making an artichoke dip that is my absolute standby when I need something easy to throw together that will still be delicious and appreciated. I usually serve it with Wheat Thins. Here's the recipe:

Ingredients
1 regular can artichoke hearts, drained and chopped
1 small can water chestnuts, drained and chopped
1 cup mayo
1 packet dry Ranch dressing mix

Just mix it all up, put in the fridge for a couple of hours to marinate and chill, then serve!

Hope everyone has a fabulous 4th. I'll be starting off with our prized family chicken stew recipe at my Grampa's house, then heading over in the pontoon boat to a family friend's house with a stunning view of Wilson Lake, and a super nice collection of both shady and sunny decks, patios and piers to choose from for lounging and swilling Corona and boat drinks. Looking forward to the day IMMENSELY. Yay for the 4th!

This is what I'm wearing today.

2008-06-30T13:37:00.002-05:00

I'm fairly certain that Jo Malone Vetyver cologne is intended for men, but so what. The first time I got a sniff I was in New Orleans wasting away a wonderful Saturday afternoon with friends by wandering around Saks Fifth Avenue and dream shopping. I love how the Jo Malone fragrances are displayed in stores (and previously online as an interactive menu, though I was irked that as of late this is no longer so) as a semicircle spectrum grouped by category, with the florals blending into the citrus, etc. There's something about it that makes for a great learning experience in terms of discovering what it is about certain scents that appeals to you. I was looking for something of a Statement Scent, a night out type of thing that would in no way be mistaken for my shampoo, baby powder, etc. I thought I wanted a heady floral, and wound up with Vetyver instead. The website touts it as "a modern interpretation of a spicy, aromatic classic. Vetiver, the legendary scent of India, is blended with sweet orange, nutmeg and tarragon to create this powerful, mysterious fragrance."

And it IS powerful. Be prepared. It's definitely not one of those scents that will smell lovely but blend in with those of other females around you. The website Now Smell This (a must for perfume lovers) seems to have only one complaint regarding most of the Jo Malone scents, which would be staying power. It IS a cologne, anyway. However, the first time I wore it around my fella he commented on how great I smelled AFTER dinner and an evening out at the bar, and actually gave a pretty accurate description that DIDN'T involve cigarette smoke. So as far as I'm concerned, that alone makes it a winner.

As for wearing it to work...I'll let you know.

I Can't Go Without...

2008-06-23T13:13:00.003-05:00

Smith's Rosebud Salve. This stuff is one of my favorite things. To the point that it's one of those few things I find myself doing a mental check on as I leave the house for a trip. "OK, I packed my contact case...glasses...underwear...Smith's Rosebud Salve..."

I mainly use it as lip balm, but the company isn't lying when they boast about how multi-functional it is. I've found that it's great for softening cuticles, and the scent is so soft and pretty that I've been known to dab a little bit at my neck and behind my ears in a pinch when I need a little perfume. I doubt it has lasting power in that capacity, but why not. And one tin lasts FOREVER...supposedly it's also great for diaper rash. Guess I'll have to have my sister test it out...

10 Essential Websites, according to Time Magazine

2008-06-20T14:09:00.002-05:00

Check out the following linked story...I for one can attest that Facebook, Wikipedia, and ESPN are sites I have definitely never gone more than a week without visiting...if that...

Necessity Rules-10 Essential Sites

Guilty Pleasure Television Shows...

2008-06-19T14:59:00.002-05:00

In honor of the beginning of the third season of So You Think You Can Dance, the following is a listing of my personal guilty pleasure TV shows. Are there any that might constitute legitimate, OK-to-admit-that-I-love programs? Let me know.

1. Gossip Girl. I once told a friend that I only watch this show for the clothes and the accessories. And that is...mostly true. Maybe.

2. The Hills. Same as above. Except that, in all honesty, the clothes and accessories usually aren't that great. And, as with most people (I hope) Spencer and Heidi make me break out in hives. I try not to think about the fact that I'm 28 and am entertained by rich spoiled idiot brats whose dialogue is about as fresh and witty as your average telemarketer phone call. OK, the more I write, the more I wonder why exactly I watch this show period...and yes, I am perfectly aware that it isn't REALLY a reality show.

3. What Not To Wear. This one I think at least BORDERS on being legit. Some people have told me they find Stacy and Clinton to be mean, but (perhaps indicating that I am mean as well) I think they're hilarious. Come on, they just say what we're all thinking anyway. I've also been told that they try to turn everyone into the same preppy hip mommy, but in the past couple of seasons I've noticed that the end results have become much more varied depending on personality, lifestyle, etc.

4. So You Think You Can Dance. Come on, people. This show is GREAT. Better than stupid Dancing With The Stars, which features a cheesy band covering J Lo songs and lower grade celebrities who can't really dance and have no business doing so.

So have I lost your respect now?

White Wine Season.

2008-06-16T14:36:00.003-05:00

I'm not a wine expert. In fact, I know virtually nothing about them other than the names of the varieties, their colors, and their respective standard flavors. I can tell you what I like and what I don't like, but all of it is based entirely on whether I truly enjoy sitting around and drinking it. There's no rhyme or reason, no explanation behind it...just that most basic gut reaction that indicates to me whether or not my tastebuds approve. Here's what I do know. During the winter months I tend to almost exclusively drink red wine, pinot noir for the most part, and during the warmer months I'm always excited to shift into drinking primarily sauvignon blanc. It's just so light and refreshing...usually with a great citrus kick. However, since I often find myself in stores with limited options (and sometimes find myself with limited funds), over the years I've found various blends and table wines that always do the trick. Much less embarrassing to show up at a dinner party with these than with a jug of Carlo Rossi, and infinitely more enjoyable to drink.

The Big House Red has been a longtime favorite of mine, since I first developed a taste for reds, in fact...this could be because it was the house red upstairs at City Grocery in Oxford, my second home. And, because I'm girly, I have to throw in the fact that it has a great label...hip but not stuffy or pretentious. Not that it would be pretentious, since it's a great $10 a bottle. It's also fruity (not in a sweet way, of course, but a tart cherry way), just spicy enough, and still smooth and drinkeable.

I introduced this wine to my fella shortly after we began dating when we found ourselves one night wandering up and down the aisles of a local package store, with little to no knowledge of what the other would and would not drink, looking for an appropriate bottle to suggest. When I spotted a lone bottle of Big House Red tucked away at the end of the aisle I gladly lunged for it. As aforementioned, it fit the bill perfectly, allowing me to avoid all the standard obstacles one faces when trying to impress a boy who is about to purchase a bottle of wine that you've suggested. It wasn't exorbitantly expensive, but while it DOES have a screw top, it didn't resemble a bottle of Boone's Farm either. It didn't look dull and stuffy. And since it was a blend (Carignane, Sangiovese and Charbono, in case you care), I didn't run the risk of getting a tepid response like "Oh...so you drink Pinot, huh?" He bought it. He loved it. He's now a regular purchaser.

But then spring came, which in Alabama lasts two weeks at best before hot, sticky summer sets in. I was over red wine. The next time we were at what by now has become "our" package store, I wasn't so thrilled when he immediately and casually swooped up yet another bottle. But then I spotted, thrill of all thrills, one single bottle of Big House WHITE just beside it. I bought. I drank. I was immediately pretty ok with the fact that my significant other preferred to stick to his own bottle instead of horning in on mine. I'm now a regular purchaser. All my (limited) research will turn up is that it is a blend of "at least nine varieties." But the web site's description of "a riot of citrus, flowers and peach" is right on target.

A couple of weeks ago I was flipping through a Real Simple article and spotted a page of wine suggestions which included the Big House Pink, a rose. Having (for the most part) gotten over my crippling fear of drinking anything which might look to the uninformed observer like a glass of white zinfandel, I immediately asked my nice package store owner if he'd order a bottle or two for a taste test. I'll keep you posted...

A few thoughts on dry shampoo...

2008-06-06T13:25:00.006-05:00

I was never the kind of girl who didn't wash my hair. In high school, in fact, I washed it every single night, then rose early enough in the morning to painstakingly spray and curl every strand with a scalding hot curling iron. Naturally, this daily ritual fell apart when I got to college. At some point during this hazy period of late nights followed by classes attended with greasy hair smelling faintly of the odd combo of Febreeze and bar smoke, I was introduced to the baby powder trick. Just sprinkle a tiny amount on your scalp around your part, tousle your hair, shake out the excess, pull hair into ponytail and go. The amount bit was tricky with my dark hair...too much and I looked like I'd made a lame attempt at looking like Cruella DeVille. However, it worked well enough to chase away any concerns that I'd receive looks of disgust from everyone I passed.

Flash forward to the present day, wherein I have a full time job with a little extra money to burn and what could safely be called a nasty Sephora.com habit (free shipping for orders over $50! Three free sample with every order!). As I was perusing the hair products I noticed a tab labeled "dry shampoo." Now, I work from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. or later every week day. My drive to work takes 10-15 minutes. I am not a morning person, for the most part. I think I COULD be, but that's a different story. Bottom line, I abhor waking up early enough to wash, dry, and style my hair. So when I saw the smattering of dry shampoo products I seized upon them.

For my first try I went with the Oscar Blandi Pronto Dry Shampoo Spray. Initially I was concerned that the scent would be too overpowering...and it IS pretty lemon-citrusy smelling, but overall nothing strong enough to clash with a perfume or make you smell like a house cleaning product. And it WORKED. A nice misting at the roots, a good tousle, and voila, hair that looked as though I'd JUST put down the blow dryer and curling iron. I was obsessed. I also drained the can within two weeks. Pretty sure it should last longer than that at $21 for 3.2 ounces. Right?

So with that thought in mind, I decided to try the Ojon Rub-Out Dry Cleanser. $24, but 4.5 ounces. At first I didn't like it as well. Then I followed the instructions clearly indicated in the name. No one said I was the brightest crayon in the box. So as opposed to Blandi's tousle and shake and go procedure, Ojon requires you to spray the product onto your roots, rub it in with your fingers, and then brush out any excess. Initially this seemed to work. Plus, the smell was a little more up my alley: soft, powdery and unobtrusive. However, after using it a few times I realized that I had to be pretty careful when it came to getting the excess out...I think the rubbing procedure has a way of flaking off the product somehow, so that if you aren't cautiously observant you might walk out the door with what appears to be a mild case of dandruff. Not good. Plus, again, I went through the product entirely too quickly for my taste.

So what, am I a dirty hippie, you ask? Well, I admittedly found the products a little TOO effective, using both at least three times a week...maybe more. I decided to spend a few weeks without before ordering yet again...and then I happened upon a new product, Frederic Fekkai's Summer Hair Wash & Wear. The packaging was orange and rich looking and hip and fabulous. I knew that being a Fekkai product the scent would undoubtedly be divine. I also assumed that it would WORK. So I ordered it. Granted, I was a little confused as to how a spray, as opposed to a dry powder mist, would, as the product description states, "refresh limp or overworked locks without water." This seemed to be in direct contradiction to the name, Wash & Wear, which seems to assume the use of water. Was it a shampoo alternative or not? The directions instructed me to spray sparingly onto my roots and then brush and restyle. So I sprayed. I brushed. And I was horrified when my hair looked greasier than it had before. A couple of days later I tried again, only to get the same result. So now I'm left with a nearly full bottle and no intention of using it on the mornings where I just haven't bothered to wash my hair. Thankfully, I was dead on regarding the scent...it's lush and summery with a hint of coconut and just generally delicious. I think I'll spritz some on for days when I'm out on the boat with wet hair pulled up...especially since the product boasts UV protection.

In the meantime...a couple of mornings ago, as I stood dejectedly in front of the mirror staring at my slightly greasy hair with the realization that I had nowhere near enough time to wash it, my eyes drifted down to the large container of baby powder I've had literally for YEARS on my countertop. I picked it up, deposited a bit at the roots, leaned over and tousled, brushed, and pulled my hair back. It looked...decent. Not great. But decent. Looks like I'll be holding off on any further orders for the foreseeable future...

Prime: A Review

2008-03-12T13:38:00.003-05:00

This isn't exactly a story, but you WILL in the future find many restaurant stories here. So on that note, I just thought I'd share a few thoughts on my recent first dining experience at Prime, Oxford, Mississippi's newest hot spot.

I should first note that I might be just a BIT biased. Both head chef Crash Hethcox and Assistant Manager Terry Moon are former coworkers of mine, and Assistant Manager and Events Coordinator Michelle Rounsaville is one of my sorority sisters...so obviously I very much walked in wanting to love the place.

Thankfully, I wasn't let down. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, and enveloping without feeling claustrophobic. Nothing too hip or too cliched, but definitely posh and celebratory. I especially enjoyed the music...an upbeat mix of jazz standards from Ella, Louis, etc. Something about those songs always makes me feel chic. Good acoustics are always a selling point for me, and Prime has them. My party of five was seated at a round center table surrounded by other diners, but in spite of the music and the packed house, I never had to strain to hear the members of my party seated across from me, which is one situation that always puts a damper on any festive dining experience. The wine list looked great, and there was a pretty extensive specialty martini list, which is always fun. Possibly the only truly negative thing I have to say about the entire experience is that the straight up, very slightly dirty martini i ordered arrived VERY dirty and almost too salty to drink. Coming from a restaurant background, however, I know that this could easily be chalked up to the restaurant being a mere two weeks old and the night clearly being an insanely busy one. It's quite possible also that the waitress just missed my emphasis on the "slightly" part of dirty, but in every other respect, the service was informed, attentive, friendly, and not too pushy.

Now for the food. We ordered a side of the truffle fritte to start, which is comprised of house fries sprinkled with parmesan, asiago, parsley, and truffle oil. They arrived in a metal pedestal cone with wax paper...a very cute presentation I thought. Beware of these...they'll sneak up on you! The first bite was just so-so, but then they began to taste dramatically better and I eventually found myself picking stray bits from the bottom of the cone.

For dinner I ordered the pork chop with a side of the truffled mac and cheese. Important note about the sides: unless you're absolutely starving, don't order one for yourself alone, as the portions are quite large. My party wound up passing the sides around family style, which worked well. However, I'm afraid I was a little stingy with my mac and cheese. This side is sort of like a couture version of shells and cheese...just replace that orange powdery velveeta with mascarpone, parmesan, asiago and orecchiette truffle cream. Simply divine. The pork chop wasn't my favorite, but that's simply because I tend to like a little more going on with my food. I'd order it again, as it was a great portion and cooked perfectly, but I'd probably try pairing it with one of the excellent sauce offerings, like the bleu cheese with shallot butter. At any rate, it's nice to have the option of a non-fussy but well-cooked piece of meat. I managed to sneak a taste of the parmesean black grouper as well, and it's also possible that I'm not raving about the pork chop simply because I liked the grouper so much that I wished I'd ordered it instead.

In spite of being very well fed already, we just had to test a few of the desserts...specifically, the key lime cheesecake, "s'mores," and triple-chocolate fudge pie. All three were very good, though the fudge pie (or at least the bite that I had) had more of a cakey texture. The "s'mores" is actually a martini glass full of peanut butter chocolate mousse covered with a layer of toasted homemade marshmallow with a homemade graham cracker. It was by far my favorite...perfect texture, perfect rich flavor, not too sugary, with that wonderful toasted marshmallow flavor and texture to boot.

All in all, dinner at Prime made for a perfectly yummy, cozy way to spend an otherwise cold and icy night. I can't wait to try lunch! And Crash and Terry inform me that in the future they'll be serving Sunday brunch as well, complete with omelette and waffle stations. Those boys definitely know the way to get a girl all hot and bothered...when that Sunday comes, I'll be first in line.

Family Names

2008-03-06T09:18:00.003-06:00

My younger sister is having a baby. The final chosen name (so far, anyway) is Isabella. Not the favorite of the family, but infinitely more approved than the initial choice of Zoe. It seemed that after a few months of weekly baby-name-changing, a certain peaceful stability had finally settled in. However, after a recent Sunday visit, it would appear that this is not the case for my Nana.

Nana's stories, as those of most older Southern ladies, are typically so convoluted and overly detailed in irrelevant places that you have to wonder if she's actually spent hours crafting a brilliantly complex brain teaser of the Whodunit variety, as opposed to just genuinely considering it necessary that her listener comprehend what her distant family relation had just purchased when she ran into her at the mall. The mere act of acquainting us with the fact that this woman was in some way the progeny of my long deceased Great Aunt Dean took five minutes alone.

It was this distant family relation (fourth cousin? Fifth?) who delivered the havoc-inducing news to my Nana that her son and daughter-in-law intended to name their unborn little girl, of all things, ISABELLA. This news was delivered to my parents and myself in a tone that implied we were expected to gasp in horror, and to question her as to what we were going to DO about the fact that these family members that we see precisely...NEVER...have the audacity to select the same currently popular baby name that my sister chose. Instead we looked at her in confusion. After a long pause, wherein our silence was clearly interpreted as shocked distress, she continued with "but don't worry...the full name is Isabella Claire, and they say they'll call her Clarabelle."

Another long pause. Finally my mother hesitantly asked, "...Clarabelle?"

"Oh, you know how they do that in Dean's part of the family," Nana explained breathlessly. "They've got a Lelabelle, another Clarabelle, and you know Dean's REAL name was Zenabelle, and..."

If there were more specific examples after that I didn't register them. And based on the open mouthed expressions of amused awe and delight on the faces of my parents, they were too busy digesting the same fact that I was...that I have a rather close family member, whom I'd always known as Aunt Dean, whose real name to me, if you went by what her birth certificate stated anyway, was actually Aunt Zenabelle.

"Zenabelle?" asked my mom. My dad's face had settled into a contended goofy grin. "Yes, Zenabelle, you know." responded my Nana, as if this piece of information was common family knowledge and that therefore she was mildly irritated with us for holding up the more important points of the story over it.

"...how did they get DEAN?" As the in-law in the room, my mother was apparently the only one bold enough to ask these questions.

"Well honey she changed her name as soon as she turned sixteen, of course....anyway, I asked where Ronnie Dell was and she said he was at home with the other grand-baby, that one their son had with that other girl, the one they're having all that...what's that word, paternity nonsense with...and she told me that SHE doesn't see any need for any paternity test, that the other day that little girl picked up that little dog of theirs and threw it over the upstairs landing, and she and Ronnie Dell said they knew right then that that child was a Graves and that was all there was to it."

It took another five minutes or so to coax the information concerning the fate of "that little dog of theirs" out of my Nana. It landed on the couch, apparently, and is just fine, should you care.