Archive for August, 2009

I obviously have some authority issues.  As a child, adults didn’t really love me.  Part of this was that I was the most hyperactive child in America (so no one ever let me baby sit growing up), and I thought a lot.  One time when I was 4 I told my mom we needed to stop eating cookies because we were going to be sick if we ate the whole bag.  Wow.  When your 4 year old tells to stop eating cookies because you will end up sick, it’s a bad day.  I’ll also never understand why my elementary school made me sit on the curb during recess to punish me for not being able to sit still during class.  You would think they would have made me run laps instead. 

Well, regardless, I’m not around children a lot, and the children I am around are babies.  Now, when you get children that are a little older, you know the ones who are mobile and talk, part of me has a hard time not associating them with puppies, mostly because a lot of people talk to their kids like I talk to my dog.  Sit.  No.  Stop.  Come here. COME HERE RIGHT NOW!  I’m going to put you in time out.  STOP.  RIGHT NOW! 

When I can get over the fact that they aren’t puppies, I immediately revert to being a child myself and I want to tell them things I shouldn’t.  Like smart come backs to every day comments people make.  (That’s not funny.  It’s hilarious!)  I also have no idea what I’m not suppose to do around them.  I’m the person that gave you kid nine sugar cookies at the luncheon the other day.  Oh, he’s not suppose to have nine cookies?  He already had seven?  Oh, I didn’t know that, he left that part out.  He asked me for them so politely.  He’s not allowed to have Dr. Pepper either?  But he asked for it!  (this goes back to dogs, I don’t like it when people feed my dog people food, and I guess I should be more aware that people probably feel that way about their children, but I think of them as little people).  Part of this is that I want the kids to like me, and I don’t want to be the authority. 

The only way I know how to make kids act right is to play upon their need for acceptance and tell them that what they are doing isn’t cool and that cool people have more friends.  Like, it’s totally not cool to throw sand in your cousin’s eye.  I would think you were cooler if you didn’t do mean things like throw sand in people’s faces.  I’m sure there are much better techniques for getting children to act right.  I haven’t learned them yet. 

I like kids.  I really do.  And for the most part, kids tend to like me.  I think.

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You’re So Vain

So back to my grotesque self inflicted injury.  My entire eyeball is now blood red.  I would post pictures, but it is so gross, that I cannot subject y’all to that.  I’ve been sending Libby a picture text every day of the progression, because, well, she cares more than any normal person should about my personal difficulties (which I appreciate to no end).  It’s interesting to see it progress.  It’s like a lava lamp.  It moves really slowly, but it’s always moving.  Every time I look in the mirror it looks different.  Jim shudders every time I look him in the eye.  When I got upstairs this morning Sarah said, wow, it’s gotten a whole lot worse.  THANKS. 

The weird part is that it doesn’t hurt.  At all.  I don’t even notice it.  Actually, I forget about it.  And I’m even starting to get used to seeing it in the mirror.  But see, no one else is getting all used to it like I am.  I wasn’t really sure how to go about handling this.  So I got an eye patch.  ARRGGG.  I’m a pirate.  Actually, I now have two eye patches.  One has pink sequin hearts on it.  The other one is just regular.  I wanted one with a jolly roger on it, but I had to buy the whole pirate costume for an eight year old to get that.  Sigh.  Life is hard. 

I apologize for anyone and everyone who has to be around me for the next week.  I know I should probably just stay at home and not subject other people to the horror film being shown in my left eye, but I don’t really want to stay at home.  Home is sort of boring, and going out is so much more fun.  There are so many fun things to do this weekend and fun people to see, staying at home sounds no fun.  Of course, grossing out everyone in my line of sight also sounds kind of lame. 

I sincerely appreciate all the nice people who have told me that it doesn’t look that bad (it does) and who tell me it is cool (it’s not).  Those are very sweet, thoughful lies, and they do make me feel better. 

Despite my eye, I have been in a fantastic mood all day, for no real good reason.  I think it might be the eye patch in my pocketbook.  It changes you.

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The cicadas are in full force.  Mama told me last night that the cry of the cicada scares the roaches.  We’ve had a lot of rain recently.  And guess what?  A roach got into my room last night.  A FLYING roach.  Honestly, I’m not sure I can type the following words. 

He landed on my arm when I was trying to go to sleep.  A roach.  Landed on me.  While I was laying in my bed.  I might die.  I’m at least seven years older this morning than I was last night. 

This roach wasn’t doing so hot, which is probably why he fell on me.  He was obviously dying, and the whole flying thing was becoming difficult.  But that didn’t keep him from totally ruining my night and causing me sincere heart failure.  Obviously, once I was able to make sure it was dead (it hid from me for a while, but I found him and took him out with chemical warfare), and calm down, I had to sleep on the other side of the bed because I was so upset with what had happened on that side.  I tried to go to sleep with the lights on, because I couldn’t bear to turn them off.  Roaches don’t like light.  I read my book for a very long time and tried to find a happy place in my imagination. 

When I woke up this morning, I was still rather upset about the situation, but was ready to move on with my life.  As I was putting on my mascara, I noticed something funny about my eye.  My eye ball, under my top left eye lid, is blood red.  I had my second heart attack in 12 hours, ran downstairs to show natalie, and called Mama.  Natalie supported my assumption that I was probably dying, and Kate told me that I probably popped a blood vessel and would live. 

I called the eye doctor, and they told me that I did pop a blood vessel, and that I could come in to have someone look at it if it would make me feel better, but that there was nothing they could do about it.  They also told me that it would get worse before it got better, and would probably look much worse tomorrow.  The good thing is that it will go away on it’s own in TEN TO TWELVE DAYS.  Are you serious? 

Right now you can’t see it unless I move my eye a specific way and point it out to you, my eye lid is covering it up completely.  But I am convinced I can feel it moving down my eye ball.  And every time I do look at it, I’m horrified that it looks ten times worse than I thought it did.  If I wake up in the morning and look like one of the ghouls from Thriller on my hi def television, I’m not leaving the house. 

In other news, today is my one year anniversary with my law firm.  Hooray.  Sarah says it feels like I’ve been here a lot longer than that.  I can’t believe it’s been a whole year.  It is amazing how fast a year can go by!  I guess I just have a really awesome job. 

Speaking of awesome jobs, one of my girl friend’s coworker is out of town, so she has been doing some of his work.  To do his job involves using his computer.  In order to access his computer, she has to use his password.  His password, for EVERYTHING on his computer, is Boobies.  He thinks this is hilarious, to the point he could barely get it out of his mouth because of his giggle fit.  He’s married and has children and is entirely too old to get the giggles when he tells people his computer password.  I’m not saying the word boobies isn’t funny, because, it can be.  But when you work in corporate america, and you go out of town for vacation, and you know your female coworker is going to be using your password all week, change it from boobies.  Better yet, keep that kind of password on your home computer.  I can’t even repeat some of the other off color remarks made by her other coworkers, mostly having to do with whether their desk can withstand their assistant’s weight.  Thank god for corporate sexual harassment training!

In addition to the roach, and the eye ball problem, the humidity when I left my house this morning was 97%, which is impressive. 

I am sorry for the negative tone and high gross out factor of this post.  I am slowly recovering from my traumatic experiences.  Now I just need to stop looking in the mirror.  It is making me kind of ill.

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The Academy
The Academy
I fell down the top part of these steps one time right as school got out.  I had on a skirt and my overloaded backpack flipped over my head and dragged my down to the landing.  The only thing broken was my 15 year old spirit.

I fell down the top part of these steps one time right as school got out. I had on a skirt and my overloaded backpack flipped over my head and dragged my down to the landing. The only thing broken was my 15 year old spirit.


These pictures are of my beloved high school, from the front page of the Augusta Chronicle this morning.  As you can see, I went to the Academy of Richmond County.  My brother and I are 4th generation Musketeers, as is my cousin if I think about it.  This year marks the 225 anniversary of the school. 

Seriously, I love Richmond.  I don’t to be in high school again, under any circumstances, but it was a great place.  Never a dull moment. 

My ten year reunion is coming up in a few weeks and I’m not going to be able to make it because of a conflict with a wedding.  But I really wish I could be there. 

In the early summer, when my teacher friends get out of school, I have a sincerely, strong hatred for them.  It’s not fair! I stomp.  I want to sleep till noon on tuesday.  But then, when they have to go back to school, I remember why I couldn’t handle that.  I would have an extremely hard time returning to work after being foot loose and fancy for two months.  Plus, being up and ready for a class full of other people’s children at 7:30 is not my idea of a good time, although I greatly admire the people who perform this necessary service to society. 

Last night reinforced how much I love my neighborhood.  Natalie, Briscoe and I sat outside on the front porch, and Travers came over, and then Matt and Jenna stopped by, after which I wandered around the corner to see Paige and Jack, and ended up at Helga’s playing trivia with the public defenders – Travers and Natalie and Matt and Jenna were there too.  Helga’s has really awesome french fries.  Leaving trivia, I saw Ross and Caleb, who tried to peer pressure me back into the bar because they obviously had nothing to do at work today.  I held strong and didn’t not re-enter the smoky dive, and endured a few hate voice notes full of their disapproval.  I had some crazy dreams and woke up to a text message from natalie saying she was running out for a biscuit and did I want one?  Of course I do!

It was such a fun night, all so close to home and including so many of my favorite people.  There is a really cute house for rent down the street from us, don’t you want to move in?  We can grill hamburgers and spy on our drug dealing neighbors and Briscoe will lick your toes while you drink a cold beer.

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Frosty Update

So I’ve told y’all about Donald, my handy-man.  He has single handedly remodeled my house for me. 

Donald was installing some light fixtures for me the other day, and he was telling me about how he had to go home and baby sit his aunt.  Apparently she’s real old and doesn’t know what is going on very well anymore (Donald’s words were a little less PC). 

Donald:   “She’s a moron.  Seriously, she doesn’t know what’s going on.  And you have to get her a frosty every day.”

Me:  “Really?  Does she have a frosty card?  How big does the frosty need to be?”

Donald:  ” What’s a frosty card?  She doesn’t care what size it is, you just have to get her one every single damn day.”

Me:  “She totally needs a frosty card!  You get a free frosty!  Whenever!  You don’t even have to buy anything!” (I picked my keys up to show him my frosty card)

Donald  (with a suspicious look) “How much does that card cost?”

Me:  “A dollar.”

Donald:  “Can you buy one for someone else?”

Me:  “Far as I know, it’s a fundraiser!”

Donald:  “I’ll have to look into that.”

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We are helpless creatures

Our office is small, and more than one person with a sick child at a time can be cause for panic, for the obvious reason that we are extremely dependant on each other. 

This morning, a planned vacation, and dentist appointment, a broken alarm clock, and a sick child led to the unfavorable situation where the only people at the office for about an hour were Bill, David and me.  For the record, Jim is more self sufficient than the rest of us, i.e, he knows how to type and how to use the phones. 

So while I was typing up a letter that Bill drafted, and trying to remember to answer the phone if it rang, David walked by my office. 

“Hey David!”

“What’s up?”

“If the phone rings, and it’s for Jim, and he’s not here, can you tell me how to send it to his voicemail?”

“Um.  That’s a good question.  I know you hit transfer or hold, or something, and then hit their line.”

“Yeah, I tried that a second ago, and I hung up on the guy.”

“I guess we should have asked Sarah before she went to the dentist.”

“Oh well, hopefully we won’t be here by ourselves for much longer.”

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