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Hershey Kisses

If you eat a whole bag of Hershey Kisses, does it constitute a make-out?

This morning the radio people were giving away a trip to Jamaica.  They asked a question, and then had people call in to answer the question.  The head DJ said that the winner would be the 17th caller with the right answer to the question.  And I thought it was a hard question. 

So does that mean that they answer the phone 17 times, then on the 17th time they ask the caller what the question is and if they get it right they win?

Or do they ask everyone whose call they answer the question, and the 17th person who answers the question correctly wins? 

Do 17 people have to answer the question correctly to get a winner?

Am I making sense?  Does this bother anyone else?

It was orange and big and full.  And I’m still having crazy dreams.  I know y’all get tired of me writing about them, but I can’t help it. 

Last night the people in my dream where Libby and Robert – Libby and I had met Robert somewhere to go skiing.

Oh, and Emily was in my dream too, Emily lived in the place where we were skiing.  It was a really small town, and it was my birthday, but my birthday cake said happy birthday jennifer, and I ate the whole thing.  It was a little cake.  Something scandalous had just occured in the town and all the locals were kind of on edge.  And Emily wanted to tell us about the scandal but couldn’t because we were in a crowded restaurant. 

  Then Robert had to go back to Japan, and Libby and I were going to continue our travels to my parent’s mountain house.  And there were new  ski resorts being built on the side of the mountain that you could see from the road- but they didn’t look right, they looked like a fair being set up on the side of the mountain with lots of big colorful tents and stuff, and chairlifts.

But then Libby realized that she had to be somewhere else and caught a ride back somewhere and I continued on to the mountain house by myself.  It was at my parent’s mountain house, but it didn’t look like our mountain house and it was in Colorado instead of Georgia.   

And Briscoe was at the house with me, and for some reason she had to stay in the basement (the real house doesn’t have a basement). So I was suppose to be with Libby, but I was alone with Briscoe.  And Mama kept calling to check on us, and I didn’t want to tell her it was just me in the house by myself in the woods because I knew it would bother her, but I also didn’t want something to happen to me. 

And then all the sudden there was a knock at the door that scared me to death.  Briscoe had somehow or another gotten out of her cage in the basement and out of the house and a nice neighbor had found her. 

That is all I can remember. 

–  Have a mosquito bite on the inside of the wrist. 

–  Put a heavy overnight bag on a sunburned shoulder.

–  Get into a car that has been baking in the hot sun.

–  Need to put my hair in a ponytail because it is making the back of my neck hot and sticky. 

–  Walk barefoot on hot pavement.

–  Drink beer quickly before it gets too hot. 

–  Eat homemade strawberry ice cream directly out of the churn. 

–    Feel hot water run on your toes from a garden hose that has been laying in the sunshine. 

Office Chatter

Me:  I want to hook diet coke up to an IV

Heather:  I’m pretty sure if I were to be cut I would bleed diet coke at this point.

Me:  NICE.

(I thought I posted this yesterday, but I only posted it as a draft.  Opps.  My dreams last night were even wilder, possibly too wild to describe).

I dreamed some crazy dreams.  This is all very jumble, but – I was at UGA – and it was homecoming.  Ant there were all these homecoming events that never actually took place when I was there.  And we were looking at some pictures of my parents from when they were at UGA.  Homecoming pictures.  Which is weird. 

Then it turns out that I am part of some sort of covert operation, there are bad guys, and I’m with the good guys and we are trying to foil their plans or something.  We are trying to get pictures inside this place, and we are trying to make sure they don’t know who we are.  But I know who the bad guys are and I’m pretty certain they know who I am as well – or at least some of them do.  Either way, I’m trying to keep a low profile. 

So I end up getting stuck in the bad guys headquarters, but they don’t know I’m there – I’m hiding.  And I hear some stuff and take some pictures and I really need to get out of there to get back with the other good guys.  And the headquarters is in a public place, like a mall or something. I’m able to sneak out of the restricted area I’m not suppose to be in, but then I have to nonchalantly walk to my car, but I don’t know where my car is – or even if it is there at all.  But I do have my keys and my pocketbook.  While I’m wandering around trying to get the hell out of there before I’m spotted and still keep a low profile a public transportation bus pulls up.  Since I’m so anxious to get out of there I hop on the bus, thinking maybe this is the best way to blend. 

I’m on the bus, trying to act normal, and the guy sitting next to me starts harassing me.  Like, trying to dig through my backpack, and grab my ankle and stuff.  And I know he is one of the bad guys – I recognize him.  I’m freaking out, and trying to get away, and I yell to the driver that I’m being molested, and the driver says he will call the police for me, but I don’t want to get the police involved, because I’m trying to keep a low profile, and I keep trying to stand up and move to another seat and the driver keeps telling me I can’t stand up when the bus is moving so for me to sit down and shut up or he is going to call the police anyway.  And the bad guy is like, yeah, call the police. 

And then I woke up. 

Obviously I have an overactive imagination.  I need to get a grip. 

On a good day, my hair rubber band is the perfect stretchiness. 

On a bad day, I explode diet coke cans in the mini fridge that Heather and I share at work. 

On a good day, I wake up and know exactly what I’m going to wear. 

On a bad day, I trip in the parking lot at work and eat asphalt. 

On a good day,  no one else gets on the elevator that I am on, and I am able to ride all the way to the ninth floor without stopping. 

On a bad day, my right foot is attacked by unidentified biting insects in my parents front yard. 

On a good day, chocolate chip cookies rain from the sky.

On a bad day I run out of gas on a busy street because my gas gauge doesn’t work. 

I’ve finally run myself into the ground.  Four weddings and the masters in five weeks and I’m cashed.  I have a terrible cold, have no voice, and I’m totally exhausted.  Luckily – today is Confederate Memorial Day and I didn’t have to go to work.  I slept for five hours yesterday when I got back from the ATL, went to sleep at 11:30 last night, woke up at 9:30 for an hour, and then slept from 10:30 till 3 this afternoon.  I feel like I missed a terrifically beautiful day, but I just really needed some rest.

Now I’m sitting outside with my mom and Robin chatting.  Briscoe keeps trying to drink the salt water out of the pool and Mama keeps trying to tell me that it is going to make her sick.  But I can’t yell at her because I don’t have a voice.  The weather is perfect. 

Sigh.  I’m going to sleep early tonight. I have an eye doctor appointment and dentist appointment tomorrow – not to mention work.  Hmmm. 

Va. Tech

Vt_2 The shootings at Va. Tech yesterday were shocking and upsetting.  Writing about shocking and upsetting events sometimes helps me sort through my feelings.  It won’t necessarily make me feel better, but it might keep me from dwelling too much. 

Yesterday morning Heather stuck her head in my office and said – "Did you hear about the shooting at Va. Tech?  Twenty people have been killed."

I said – "No!" and immediately pulled it up on line.  The news feed I picked up said that one person had been killed and twenty injured.  So I reported that back to Heather.  And we both started trying to figure out the truth to the numbers.  As the numbers rose, the broken story started to come together. 

I went home and ate lunch with my mom.  At first we sat outside in the pretty breezy sunshine and let the dogs lay on our feet.  Then we started to discuss the shootings.  Mama commented that it was snowing in Blacksburg this morning.  The nice day lost some of it’s warmth and Mama and I went inside to watch MSN, FoxNews and CNN.  We discussed what we would do if someone in our family went to Va. Tech and we hadn’t spoken with them.  We decided we would get into the car and start driving, simply to have something to do with ourselves.  Mama recalled that when September 11th happened and my dad was in on a transatlantic flight from Vienna to Dulles, she got in the car and drove to Athens to be with Travers and me. 

The people on tv kept talking about the school’s response.  I obviously have nothing to compare such a tragedy to, except September 11th – and that happened thousands of miles away from my campus.  I started thinking about how when the first plane struck the world trade center I was walking out of Theta on my way to my 9:30 class.  Emily was with me, and I was, as usual, running late. I’m fairly certain I had some sort of bagel or toast in my mouth and a coke in my pocket for breakfast.   Mama called me to tell me what happened, and as I was talking to her the second plane crashed.  Mama told me I needed to find a television.  Emily told me we were going to miss the bus.  I wasn’t even sure I knew what the world trade center was.  I hung up the phone,  locked the front door of the house, and hurried off to class.  The class was organic chemistry and my teacher was losing patience with me. 

The class was an hour and a half long. Apparently I was the only one in attendance to have been running late enough to have heard what was happened in new york.  As I sat in class, my mind began to process what my mom was describing to me in real time on the phone.  I spent the last 45 minutes of the class having a mental battle as to whether or not I would raise my hand and ask the teacher if he was aware of what happened.  Because something inside me realized that this would be something we remembered, something that would change things.  And anyone who has ever had a class with me knows that I have no problem talking out of turn or interrupting anyone.  But I didn’t say anything.  I just sat there.  And when we were finally let out of class, we walked out into absolute chaos. 

I can imagine that the Va. Tech campus was like that, only a million times worse.

While I was fixing my lunch yesterday, it occurred to me that I had been sitting in this exact place when Columbine happened 8 years ago.  I was a senior in high school, and with the time change between georgia and colorado, I was already home from school when the serious coverage started.  I remember watching the images of the high school students being rushed to safety with their arms over their heads by the swat team on the little TV in my parent s kitchen.  And I remember it being all very surreal, because I had been in my own high school building minutes before.  My own high school, where fights were common and guns were definite possibilities.  But I’d always felt safe. 

And I always felt safe at UGA.  I don’t know what precautions could have been taken, even though obviously very few were taken.  I’m not sure that some email, even if I received it before I left in the morning, would have kept me from going to a class I needed to go to.  Not that I didn’t ever skip class, but I skipped class for my own personal interest – because I wanted to sleep, or go out of town.  If I was already dressed and ready, and it was an important day, and the reports were sketchy and across campus, I can’t say I would have ever imagined that something so horrific could take place. 

But now it isn’t something to imagine, it is something that has happened.  In the same way that if my mom ever called me in the morning and told me a plane had crashed into a building and I needed to find a television that I would drop what I was doing and find a television, I’m sure college alert systems and caution emails will now be considered in a different light. 

Although, in my humble opinion, if someone wants to kill a bunch of people at apparent random, there is going to be little anyone can do to stop him or her.  The lack of control, is the truly scary part. 

Wf

I’m not normally real concerned with celebrities – but I really like Will Ferrell.  I was about to black out.  This picture was from the country club on friday afternoon.  I sort of felt bad that he was getting mobbed – but you don’t finish a round of golf on friday afternoon of the masters at the augusta country club unless you really don’t mind getting mobbed.  And if you want to blend in you don’t have an orange fro hairdo either.   Or space glasses.  I’m in love with him. 

Will was also out at the tournament on saturday and sunday.  Travers and Cash happened to be standing next to him while watching a little golf – and a golf ball rolled by.  Here is the conversation:

Will:  Whose ball is that?

Travers:  Sandy Lyles I think. 

Will:  Didn’t he win the Masters a couple of years ago?

Cash:  If by a couple  of years you mean fifteen, then, yeah.   

Travers and Cash are my heros.