The Girl Who Tore The BP/Shell Sign Down

You know that song "Everybody Dies Famous In A Small Town?" If you don't here's a refresher. Go ahead and press play. Then keep reading. I think listening to this song while reading would be completely appropriate.

And here's the story of how I earned my legacy in the great metropolis of Vincent, AL.



Yesterday, I decided to take a half day off to go to Uncle Mike's funeral. I wanted to pay my last respects to the old man, and I especially wanted to be there for my mom and our cousin Cynthia since they were the ones who had put a lot of the burden of the funeral on their shoulders. I left work and I made the turn off Hwy 280 around 11:45. I wasn't supposed to be at my mom's house til around 12, so I decided that I would drive to the cemetery. I know it sounds weird, but I wanted to go by my grandfather's grave alone before everyone was there for Uncle Mike's funeral later.

There's a Shell station in Vincent that is THE only place to get gas in town. Sure, you could drive to Harpersville, but everyone knows about this Shell Station. Actually, I should correct myself. Locals actually call it the BP as that is what it was for years. Despite the fact that it hasn't been that in at least five years, it's still commonly known as the Vincent BP. To get to my parent's house, I would turn right at the intersection where the BP/Shell sits. But to go to the cemetery, you go straight, right in front of the gas station.

I had just passed the usual turn and was headed on towards town when I suddenly saw the teal convertible in front of me slam on their brakes. So naturally, I slammed on mine. We were both going approximately 45 miles per hourish....so to avoid hitting her, I swerved to the right. On normal circumstances, this wouldn't have been a problem. I would have slid into part of the entrance into the gas station, all would have been fine.

But Miss Teal Convertible didn't turn on her blinker and she proceeds to make a sharp turn into said gas station.....and I'm about to get t-boned. So....my reflexes kick in, and I swerve again.

At this point, my car is out of control. I am pretty sure that my back tires went through the ditch and the next think I know my air bags have deployed and I feel a horrible THUD radiate through my body. Seriously, it is a pressure on my chest that I can still feel right now as I write this. And the smell of smoke and fluid filled my nose....again, a smell I still have on my mind right now. The next thing I know this man is running over to my car, opens up the door and says, "You have to get out of the car! Your car is smoking. You have to get out of the car NOW."

So in my heels and my black funeral skirt, I climb out of the right side of the car. And then I look up and I realize what I hit.

Yup. That's my car. Underneath a sign. When I lost control of the vehicle, my car slammed into 1) the electric gas station sign and 2) a fence that was behind it.

And the other car? Not a scratch. My car didn't even touch their car. Apparently, I should have just hit them because since I didn't, it's considered a one car accident. They left scot-free. Seriously, I hope they slept good last night since I apparently left the pretty teal convertible in fine condition. Someone actually told me on site that I would have been better off if I had actually hit the other car because then they would have been held accountable and it wouldn't have been a one car accident.

It literally felt like the whole city of Vincent was standing around me. I was shaky and bruised, but no major injuries. And trust me, the irony that I almost died on my way to a funeral was not lost on me. After I signed all the forms saying that I refused the medical treatment and the paramedics that were headed in that direction, I begin to notice the rescue people getting out their cell phones and taking pictures of my car. The sweet girl stood by me and said they couldn't leave until I left, but her co-workers were standing around my car and laughing.


And suddenly, in an instance, I realized what I would be famous for.


I was the girl who took down the Shell sign.

Don't believe me? Do you think I'm exaggerating? Well, get this.


So I get in my dad's car to drive back home, and I go to Harpersville to get gas. (Because it's going to be a long time before I can show my face at the neighborhood Shell station.) I kid you not. When I walked into the JetPep to pay with my cash, I literally walked in to hear the man inside telling the cashier, "Yeah, it was down on top of the car! I thought it was a truck at first, but it was a white Explorer underneath it. Took the sign right out."

I took that moment to say, "Um, that was me under that sign." He looked at me with this wide-eyed look on his face. "Are you OK? That was some accident!"

And when we went to the mechanic where the car was towed to, all of the guys came up to me, "How in the world did THAT happen?!?" and "How in the world are you not hurt?"

The mayor even came up to me during the funeral. "I heard about the accident. Are you ok?" Seriously, one hour after we had left the scene, the town already knew I was the one who took down the sign. I mean, the only gas station can't put up their prices today, because of me. Well, really because of the twit in the teal convertible.....but still.

My car is totaled, which makes me super sad. I loved my car so much. She had flaws...major ones. She liked to quit sometimes without warning and her CD's got stuck occasionally. So I'm grieving my precious white Explorer that was my graduation present from Auburn. I'm lucky that I'm alive, and I'm thrilled beyond belief that my only injuries are a couple of bruises from the airbag and my hands and arms from jumping out of the vehicle on the passenger side when it was on fire.

So what lessons did we learn from this escapade in automobile dysfunction? Let's list them.

1) Don't swerve to avoid hitting the car in front of you. Always hit them. Because if you don't and your car is damaged but there's isn't, then it's your fault and a one car accident.
2) Love your car. You may not know when she's gonna get demolished.
3) Wrecks can make you feel crazy things. (ie. the smell and the thud I'm still experiencing)
4) In this day and age, people WILL ask if you were texting while driving (I wasn't) but refuse to believe you when you say "no."
5) Most wrecks really do happen within a few miles of "home." Sure, it was my parent's house. But as I explained to Meg, it happened about the spacial distance from the turnstiles at the Magic Kingdom to Cinderella's Castle.
6) People will laugh you respond to their question of "What happened?" with "I knocked down a Shell Station sign."
and the most important rule of all:

7) If you knock down a town icon, you will always be remembered as the girl who tore it down.

(Seriously and all kidding aside, I'm very thankful to be alive after that. It could have been much, much, much worse and the fact that I'm just a bit sore and a bit bruised is a major blessing. Someone was watching out for me and kept me safe. A few more inches and it could have been a much different outcome.)

Go Find Owen and Tom

It's no secret that I grew up in a small town. I lived next door to my maternal grandparents for the first 18 years of my life. I saw them every single day, with few exceptions, until I moved to Auburn. And then it became every other weekend.

A staple of my childhood was my Uncle Mike. He was like the meaner, angrier version of my grandfather....and I really do mean that in a loving way. That's just who he was. He was outspoken and brash and defined the word "Southern." My grandad's baby brother by 2 years, he was quite the individual. He would come to my grandmother's house at least thrice a week....and he my grandfather would just sit on the porch arguing about if the sky was baby blue or powder blue. They fussed like siblings do, and to hear them talk was almost mesmerizing. I remember that I would sit and listen to them on the porch and it sounded like one person arguing with themselves. My grandfather was a little more even tempered than Uncle Mike, but not by much.

But they loved each other. They would go to town and get a "dope" (which was their word for Coke and what I called the stuff until I learned the alternative meaning in the fourth grade) and sit and chat at the local gas station with whomever would go in and out. In fact, Reynold's Gas was their stop, and they would go and shoot the breeze with other fellow retires.

He'd get a new car each year, and it would be almost the exact same car. For years, he drove a red sedan, but when Ford released the Focus, he got a brand new White Focus each year. He would always get the same color and model because he didn't want people to know he was always getting a new car cause he thought people would talk about him.

See, my grandfather and his family were staples in town. Everyone knew the Hassett family. They lived here all their lives. They had the big ole farm down near the railroad tracks. 

He had a wreck about 4 years ago that left him in really really bad shape. His mind kinda went wishy-washy after that. My grandfather was diligent about his visits. He would go visit him once a week, sometimes unable to walk himself down the long hall to his room. The people in the nursing home knew that Mr. Owen was going to come see Mr. Mike, and they still talk about my grandfather and how funny he was two years after he's been gone. But that's partially because Uncle Mike would ask where Owen was at least once a week. Sometimes, he would ask for them to call him multiple times a day, and the nurses would pick up the phone and pretend that "Miss Punt (my gma) said he couldn't come to the phone right now."

He had no children....only a bunch of nieces and nephews. He was blunt and would tell them exactly what he thought...and if he liked it you knew it. And if he didn't like you....well, you knew that too. I think he liked me pretty well. He was an absolutely obnoxious Alabama fan, but I still remember the day that he brought me a collector's Coke bottle that had Aubie on it with War Eagle written down the side so I could take it with me to Auburn. And when I would be at home for the summers, he would ask me all these questions about Auburn football and rag me about how Alabama was going to win the next year (which they never did while I was there, much to his chagrin.)

When I was four, I didn't understand how both Uncle Mike and my father shared a first name. It confused me that both of them were named Mike. And especially at gatherings on my dad's side of the family when my cousins would call my dad Uncle Mike. It was very confusing times for me. I asked him once when I was pre-school age how he could be Uncle Mike too. And I remember he gruffly said that HE was really the only Uncle Mike there was. I didn't get that he was kidding until I was much older and his answer only confused my little self even more.

He was a tough old dude, that's for sure. If you had told me that he would have outlived by grandfather by two years, the 2009 me would have laughed in your face. If you had told me that he would have outlived some of his best friends who were in WAY better health, I would have told you you were nuts. In fact, my grandfather, always the older brother, took Uncle Mike's "good suit" to be cleaned 2 and a half years ago. But Uncle Mike was a stubborn thing, even when he got super sick, and he fought and fought for years.

We knew it was almost the end about two weeks ago. And he started calling for Owen, and their other brother Tom. The nurse said one day last week was particularly filled with him calling for them. And Friday morning, his sweet nurse told him, "Precious, if you see Owen and Tom today, you just go towards them."

I like to think he saw them yesterday when he finally breathed his last breath around 6pm.

My mom was there when he slipped away. I'm sad she was there alone, but I'm so glad that he had family there.

It just makes me really really sad. I think it's because it's one more link to my grandfather that isn't there anymore. Or perhaps its because a prominent figure in my childhood has passed on. Or maybe it's because despite being all alone in life, he did have people who loved him and that's just kinda beautiful. Like my grandfather. Like my mother. Like his sweet, sweet nurses. Like my cousin Cynthia who was an absolute saint to him during the past four years.

Even the lonely aren't really that lonely after all.

Reality Reality Check

Remember this?  Hard to believe that was almost a year ago. Being a candidate for a reality show was such a fun experience! Who knows? Maybe someday I'll be a superstar yet!

But I think Garth Brooks said it best when he said, "Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers." That's always been a favorite song of mine. For years I applied it to the boy who owned my heart for about ten years. I then applied it to my dream of moving to Orlando, and to my grandfather not surviving the infection. God isn't a genie in a bottle. He doesn't grant wishes. He works specifically in our lives....so we learn the lessons that we need to.

I have to make a confession regarding the reality show. When they told me that they had selected another girl instead of me, it hurt.....but not as much as you might expect. Honestly, it hurt worse not getting selected as a War Eagle Girl and it definitely hurt worse when I didn't get the sorority I wanted during rush week. I think because it wasn't something that I had ever anticipated meant it hadn't had a lot of time to dig roots in my heart. Was I disappointed? Sure. But it didn't linger. And truthfully, I was honored.

And now....the show in question has made it on air. And upon watching it, there was only one thought that ran through my mind as the ending credits ran.

WHEW. That was a close one.

I'm absolutely not kidding you. I would have been a fish out of water for sure. I mean, seriously, I would have been chewed up and spit out like day old liver that hadn't been cooked properly in the first place.  The cast is completely different than my type of people....and in so many ways. I just kept watching it and thinking, "Oh dear Jesus, thank you for closing that door."

And then it hit me. It could have been me having a mini-meltdown on the small screen. It could have been some other random girl watching me have a mini-meltdown on t.v. over something kinda silly.

Relief washed over my soul. It was so refreshing.

And here's a fun kicker.....I know one of the girls they cast from my school days. And she's probably the one that beat me out for the slot. She and I couldn't be more opposite. And honestly, now that I've seen the show, I'm unequivocally glad it's her and not me. Honestly, if they wanted someone like her, then they made the best choice not to pick me.

God's not a genie. I'm so glad that he isn't. It was surreal to see "What could have been today?" but even more so to think, "What happened is the way it's supposed to be."

Look At How Crafty I Am

I decided to make something for Little Miss from Pinterest. With (lots of) help from Libby, look what the cutest girl in the world is gonna be wearing soon!

The Zumba-ing Lolita

January was not the "let's exercise and go" month I had hoped.I started the month feeling yucky to do a health issue left over from December. Then I got a cold. Then I had other health stuff pop up. And quite frankly, I was exhausted. In fact, I think that if I had to think of three words to describe me lately it would be listless, exhausted and tired.

But alas, I'm still trucking on in my exercise routine. All in all, I ended January down, which was good. Not as great as I hoped....but good.

So Tuesday night, I forced myself to go to the gym even though I honestly didn't feel like it. (Ok. Who am I kidding? It was actually my mother who forced me. I think I told her I wanted to take a nap right there on the table during dinner and she kicked my butt into gear and told me to get to the gym.)

The Tuesday night Zumba class is always packed. There are two teachers who are incredible at this gym, with one of them being Ashley. Listen, Ashley's class is ridiculous, and people flock to the dance room on Tuesday nights. It's always jammed packed in there, but people don't care, because it's "Ashley." But despite the general jam-packed-ness of the room,  people typically respect space, with a few exceptions. It really seems like, for the most part, that people know you can't get all up under someone when you are dancing without being annoying.

So last night, I was running a bit late to class because of my stupid brace, but I ran in with enough time to stand in my usual spot. There was this precious lady to my right in her 60's that was doing her first class tonight, and she and I struck up a conversation about how tough Ashley's class usually was. I was so immersed in my conversation with her that I didn't notice Sofia Vergara* come up behind me.

Sofia had on the tightest pants I've seen at the gym. I swear they were either painted on or tattooed to her legs. You get the picture. They were tight. She also had on a black tank top and a cropped fire-engine red jacket with the zipper down to make sure we all saw how big her boobs were. I heard her talk to the lady standing to my left in super-fast and super-loud Spanish.

 (This is her!!! Well, except for her jacket was red and she had on no makeup. But seriously. This is her!)

Let me interject something here, folks. And let me warn you it is not my intent to sound racist with this statement. Just because you are Latino, or Spanish or Mexican does not mean you are automatically a Zumba master. It does not mean you are automatically a wonderful dancer. I get that your culture appreciates the art and uses it as a cornerstone of many celebrations. However, just because you are considered part of the Latino community does not mean that you are Ricky Martin or Gloria Estefan. There is a possibility that the rhythm is not going to get you and that you may not "she-bang" when you dance.

I also don't think you should look down on me just because I don't happen to be fluent in your language.

Such is the case of the Alabama Sofia.

We started the routine, and for the most part, Ashley stuck with dance sequences that I've been doing for a year. There is a group of about 6 of us that have been consistent with classes (well....except for my foot debacle) for about a year so I know these girls relatively well. We dance well together, for lack of a better term. (Not that any of us are going to be Fly Girls on "Living Color." But we are at least all in sync. And it looks good in the mirror.)

I make sure I give the older lady a bit of room since she is new and it takes a while to catch on. But to my left, I notice that I'm no longer standing an appropriate distance from Sofia's friend. No, at this point, Sofia has wormed her way up into my space. And I'm literally about to run into her with every spin and turn that I make.

Finally, it happens. Sofia, in all her awkward glory, gets close enough to flap me during one of the upper cardio routines.

And then she spouts some sort of insult in my face in Spanish and keeps dancing. I don't speak the language, but trust me, she did not say, "Excuse me."

I don't know what happened to me, but suddenly I was enraged. This is MY spot. This is MY dance class. You do NOT get to say something disdainful to me in Spanish and expect me to be ok with it. I get that you are Latino and you think that you are Katrina Smirnoff, but Sofia, you are not. And my body is just filled with rage as I start to get closer and closer in her personal space, forcing her to move or get hit.

The first time I deliberately flapped her was when she was so close behind me I could feel her heavy breathing on my neck. So when we spun, I stuck my arms straight out, completely aware I was going to hit her. And I did.

The next time was when we had to take six steps back. Stupid Sofia took six steps forward instead. So the next go around, I made sure that me and my long legs took a few extra spots to force her hand. She didn't go forward that time.

But Sofia finally got the message when we started doing this step that goes, "punch, turn, punch, turn." Well, let's just say I punched and turned a little harder than the instructor wanted. Sofia didn't turn quick enough and I got her square in the shoulder. Hey! It's not my fault. Girlfriend turned the wrong way for the 97th time in the class and almost fell into me. All I did was follow instructions. She grabbed her arm backed up after that and got directly behind her friend...like she should have been all along, with her chest still flapping out of her red cropped coat.

Look. You may say I have gym rage. And quite honestly, gym rage is worse than road rage because there's always the chance that you are going to run into your attackee/er at any visit. But Sofia needed to learn a lesson. You don't get in another person's personal space. I knew going into the class that I might not get to stay because I was late. I knew to respect those who got there before I did and used my judgement to decide if I should stay or not. Sofia didn't do that. She just believed her skill was awesome and that she was entitled to do whatever the heck she wanted.

Sofia, I'm watching you. And you need to watch your back. Because like it or not, you are going to learn that 1) You are not the Zumba Lolita and 2) You will not get in my space without me putting up a fight.

No tengo miedo de ti, y yo bailaremos círculos a su alrededor hasta que aprenda su lugar.

****(The girl seriously reminded me of her the entire class, therefore that is what she will hence forth be called.)

For The Little Bridge Girl

I'm 27 years old, yet and I've known for 16 years that one of my future children would not biologically be mine. Now before we get ahead of ourselves, I'm not adopting any babies anytime soon. That's not what this post is about. But it doesn't change how my heart feels towards the idea that not all babies have to be put in a family in the natural way.

I remember the first time my heart was completely broken for the sweet babies overseas. We got these Weekly Readers in 6th grade that were supposed to teach us to keep up with news and to read the real paper (which I already did each night at my grandparents, but whatever.) Anyways, I distinctly remember sitting at my desk and reading an article about this orphanage that was taking in all of these precious baby girls so that their parents wouldn't kill them. In this particular country, parents wanted boys, leaving the girls alone and scared to fend for themselves.

One particular baby girl had survived a fall from a bridge where her parents had thrown her out like we throw out gum from our car windows. I'm sure Mrs. Merrell doesn't remember this, but I had to ask to go to the bathroom with tears in my eyes because I didn't want to cry in front of my classmates.

Brokenness at 11. It's a scary thing.

I was haunted by the little bridge girl for years. I wondered what happened to her and if she found someone to love her. I had all these questions and couldn't help but hope that she'd found a home of people who would love her and take care of her. I don't always understand the messages that I hear from above and I know that they are often misinterpreted and mistranslated because of our own wants and desires, but I've always felt that someday I would go to that country and add a part of it to my life permanently. Who knows if that will happen someday? But I know for sure that my life was forever changed at 11 by the little bridge girl.

The whole process though enthralls me. It's something that I someday hope and pray that I'm able to do, and I guess it's why I read about it all the time. It's why I read every single blog on my cousin R's journey with such devoted interest. It's why I've added Work BP to my daily prayer list and anticipate her bringing her second daughter to her forever home.

It's also why I am able to support an organization like The Sound of Hope.

 (E and her husband Rusty with one of their sweet friends in India)

See, I would give to E's organization even if I didn't believe in the cause because I love her and I support what she supports. But she's devoting her life to helping sweet babies like the one I read about. She's helping give a life and an education and a home to that baby girl whose parents threw her off the bridge. She's setting up schools for these children so they can overcome the circumstances they were born into. She's helping some find forever homes and she's helping others build a forever life.

So, today is Alabama Gives Day. And even if you don't live in Alabama, I'm asking you to consider giving to The Sound of Hope today. There are some cool Alabama/Auburn prizes you might win if you donate $10 dollars or more, but that's not why you should consider giving. Think about it this way.

Could you save $4 each day this week? Maybe give up that Starbucks coffee or that trip to McDonalds? Could you wash your clothes instead of sending them to the cleaners? Could you buy Wal-Mart brand instead of name brand when you go grocery shopping this week? For $25, a child can be educated for one month. ONE MONTH. That's $.83 per day.

And because of that donation, some sweet child can go to school and learn and start striving towards an awesome life full of potential and success.....all because you gave up your Starbucks.

I'm not meaning to sound like an infomercial. But visit E's website. Learn a little about the kiddos she's helping, and perhaps reach beyond your comfort zone and support Alabama Gives Day.

By doing so, you are gonna be helping sweet children like that one who was tossed over a bridge and captured my heart. You'll be helping the caretakers who found her and took her in. And you are helping give her the things she needs to overcome that nasty way she was treated as a baby. And you are also helping the 27 year old girl who still thinks about the baby girl by the bridge so many years later.

An Interview With Me

Alright. I'll play. So Ashley tagged me. And perhaps gave me the motivation to post a life follow up and blog again. I do love me some blog challenges. (AHEM, Baby Cousin A.)

I'm not going to tag anyone, because I don't really know anyone that I would tag who would actually answer and play along, so just enjoy my trip through memory lane, and we can go from there. (I apologize ahead of time for the fact that I'm super long winded. I talk a lot. So sue me.)

11 Facts About Me
1. I hate the month(s) of January and September.
2. My perfect meal consists of movie popcorn, thin crust pizza, my mom's ChexMix and Diet Dr. Pepper with vanilla.
3. I google vacations when I'm bored at work.
4. Right now, I would like to take a nap more than anything in the world.
5. I convinced my parents to name their dog after a character in the Hunger Games.
6. I tend do be fanatical about the things I enjoy.
7. I am growing tired of wearing boots every day.
8. My bed is my favorite place in my house lately.
9. I can't stand the name Bubba.
10. I've lied and said I liked certain people when I actually can't stand them so I don't hurt feelings.
11. I think a lot more than I should about what celebrities would play the people in my life in a movie.

1) If you could vacation anywhere in the world and money was not a concern, where would you go?
I'm going to cheat and tell you two vacations I would take. When I worked for Southern Living At HOME, I had the chance to go to some really fantastic hotels and amazing vacation destinations. I also got to preview some potential trips that were options for our customers. And there is one that stands out, even four years after I first saw the booklet. It was this castle-like resort in Canada. It looked like the pictures had literally been stripped from a storybook. And although beach destinations were more popular with our consultant friends, I remember crossing my fingers and praying that my bosses chose that location so I would get to go. (Granted, the company sprung a leak before it was even an option.....but still.)  To this day, I dream of someday going and staying at one of those castles. I look at The Westin Resort and Spa in Whistler and the Fairmont Le Chateau Frontenac and I close my eyes and dream of myself surrounded in a castle in the snow.

My second vacation is Hawaii. I know this is an American destination that people go to all the time, but I really would love to spend two weeks in a tropical paradise that is half a world away. I want to hear the Polynesian music and eat the food and immerse myself in Hawaiian culture....and still be a selfish American and not have to translate another language to survive. I see pictures from there, and my heart just longs to be in the long sun with the big bright pink and purple flowers all around me. (I also have to admit that a part of me hopes that the man I marry would be willing to have a destination wedding and get married here. I REALLY don't want to get married in a traditional ceremony for lots of reasons, and I think this would be a really good fit for me.)

I'm currently obsessing over this place. Doesn't it look fantastic?

2) Who is your best friend? Why?
That's easy. Little Miss. Duh.

Truth be told, while Little Miss' momma may be my best friend, I have been blessed with lots of peeps that would fall into that category. Ly's known me longest and she's the friend who knows everything (and I do mean ev-ur-ee-th-ang, but Meg is the one that I call when I've had a bad day or a freak out and she meets me for angry Tazeki's meetings or Sunday dinners at Chuy's. And Libby is the one I call when I have a project I want to undertake or a new adventure. She's the one I go to when I need to get creative. I mean, I have great friends. When I say my friends are better than yours, I truly truly mean it.
 
3) Facebook or Twitter addict?
Hmmm......both? Neither? I'm not addicted to either, I think. Now, my iPhone? Different story.


4) Where is your favorite place to shop?
 I love Ann Taylor Loft. I love the outlet. I love the website. I love the store. I know exactly what size fits me, and I know what pieces look the best. It's clean and trendy and classic.....all in one piece. 


5) What is your go-to clothing item?
My skinny jeans get worn more than any other item in my closet. I got these things last year from Old Navy, and I haven't stopped wearing them since. I can wear them as leggings underneath a dress. I can layer them with a sweatshirt. I can wear them with a long-ish shirt. I can wear them with flats. I can wear them with boots. If Dr. Suess was still alive, I'm sure he could find a poem in there somewhere. Anyways. they are a staple of my wardrobe and a piece I couldn't live without.

6) If you had to read one author for the rest of your life, whose books would you want to read?
Ouch. Tough, tough question.  I think I'm going to say Jodi Picoult, although I think that my brain is going to be exhausted only reading her work. I have loved (almost) everything that she has written, although when I'm done with it, I have to take a break and read something extra fluffy to satisfy me. I just think if I could only read one author, I'd go with her as the safest bet.


7) If you only had one day left to live, what would you do and who would you spend it with?
That's depressing. I know most people would say, "I would spend it at home with my family and friends." And I would spend it with my family and friends. But if I knew it was my last day on Earth, I would pack up my mom, my dad and my best friends and I would fly to Disney World and spend the last day watching Wishes. I would want my last day filled with fun, fireworks and parades and Pineapple Dole Whips.

8) Tell us the top 3 items on your DVR list.
Hmmm....there's four. Glee. Once Upon A Time. Grey's Anatomy. How I Met Your Mother. (And maybe I'd throw in a little Big Bang Theory and New Girl in there too.) (I like T.V. way too much.) 


9) Tell us the color of the dress you wore to your senior prom.
I wore a white dress with sparkles. I loved this dress so much that I drove to Atlanta to pick it up. I think my parents were willing to help me get what I wanted since I went to my senior prom ALONE. (I've tried to repress all those memories. Yeesh.) I still think back on that dress and how much I loved it. The night may have completely sucked, but I loved that dress.


10) What is your favorite childhood memory?
I had a wonderful childhood, so pinning down one is hard. Many of my favorites, though, included my grandfather and all the time that I spent with him: playing cards, memorizing the county numbers on the license plates of Alabama, watching him go down my slip-n-slide fully clothed. But I think one of my favorite, favorite memories involved sitting on the backporch when he would make up these amazing stories while I ate pop-cicles with him. Most of his stories were completely made up, but there is one that has been in my head for 27 years. Grandad sat on the porch with me and pointed up to an airplane flying over head and said, "When I was a little boy, I once flew by myself on an airplane. My mom and dad dropped me off at the airport and I flew all the way to Georgia. And while I was on the plane, the stewardess gave me a grape Popsicle. And boy, was it good! And on my way back, she gave me an orange one. And ever since, that's been my favorite flavor."


It wasn't until I was in my teenage years that I learned that 1) my grandfather was born in 1918, so flying as a boy wasn't really an option for him and 2) my grandfather had never even flown in his life. But for years, that's the one story I remember most: my grandad on a plane going to Georgia with Popsicles.


11) Mountains or beach?
Mountains. Definitely mountains. Preferably Gatlinburg with a side of Dollywood. 


Well, that was fun. If you decide to play yourself, answer the questions above, blog them and let me know so I can read them. YAY for blog challenges!

Whew!

Whew!

Since we last spoke ten days ago, I have to admit my life has been incredibly busy. I should have blogged more. I have lots of fun stories. But when I had time, I ended up falling in bed and crashing. I do that a whole lot these days.

So how about a photo dump, a list, and a promise to do better? Ok? Ok.

*Fun fact: If you go to a restaurant with a child, they get a coloring book and crayons. Including a four-month-old who can't even hold her on bottle.

*Sometimes, getting defriended is a good thing. As long as one of your dear friends DOESN'T get defriended and can still share amazing quotables with you. (I like chicken. I like pizza. I like cake, and I can eat it too.)

*Waiters shouldn't cross me. If you rush me through dinner with two of my favorite girls when one of them has had a horrible day, I'm going to order dessert even though I'm stuffed just to make you rerun our check stay with us a little bit longer.

*And if you bring out my check with dessert while rushing me with two of my favorite girls when one of them has had a bad day and continue to piss me off, I'm probably going to leave you a little note as your tip.

*I pretended like I was seven when I watched "Beauty and the Beast 3:D."

*I surprised Work BD and Work BP with a super fun blast from the past. Let's just say that you sometimes find fun surprises in old travel bags. (See, Work L? Don't you wish you were still friends with us so you could be included?) (P.S. Hope you had fun in Hawaii over Christmas! Super jealous.)

*Finding the Bella dress at a nearby wedding store.

*Hanging out lots with Cousin H and being thankful for family night.

*Spending quality time with a dear girlfriend and meeting some of her fun friends.....all while wearing sequined crowns and learning that you should wrap yourself in Preparation H and hemorrhoid creme to lose water weight.

*Said girlfriend letting me try on her real-life crown

*Party planning. For multiple people. And multiple parties.

*Meeting lots of new people at book club while learning about media and medium (not the psychics) and about a sweet woman who lived a horrible life but helped solve a TON of medical issues....and reading said book on my new best friend, Kendall the Kindle Fire. (Yes, I know I'm a weirdo.)

*Not watching television. This television junkie hasn't turned on the television all week. I have hours of shows to catch up on. My DVR is going to get a workout this weekend.

I'm going to be a better blogger. I promise! I'll get back into the swing of things soon! Maybe I can talk about my Pinterest projects or something soon. Who knows?

Anyhoo....forgive the lack of contact and accept the pictures. Have a magical day, people!

What A Rip Off

I'm not a bad Auburn fan. I'm really not. I don't send taunting text messages. I don't post mean things on my Facebook page. I don't buy t-shirts that are just tacky against Alabama. I believe more in promoting my own team. And for my friends who do? Well, that's their prerogative. I'm not saying it's wrong....I'm just saying, I don't do it.


But I'm a proud Auburn fan. When I go shopping, I find it difficult to purchase red items of clothing. I love houndstooth, but refuse to add it to my wardrobe in any style or fashion. I think the colors orange and blue are a lovely pair, and my heart swells with pride when I see a fellow Auburn fan on the road. And thus, I have a National Championship 2011 sticker on the back of my car. '

Or, I guess I should say "had."

On Thursday, I had to stay late at work, but still had another hour to kill before I went to book club. So I opted to go to Wal-Mart since I had a few items I needed to pick up. When I walked out, I immediately noticed this on the back of my car.

Someone had tried to rip the top and the bottom off my sticker while I was in Wal-Mart. They couldn't get the whole thing because it was stuck on their pretty good. But the culprit ripped the top and the bottom off during the 30 minutes I had gone into the store.

How do I know it was Wal-Mart? Easy. I had lunch with AN that afternoon, and we both made a comment about how you could obviously tell what team I went for by looking at the back of my car. My sticker was proudly in good condition then. And my company is entirely too small for someone to have done that to my car and gotten away unseen. (And everyone here with a few rouge exceptions are Auburn fans.)

Do I like that Alabama won the National Championship? Not really. I mean, I don't really care other than the fact that it eclipsed Auburn. But do I hate it? No. And would I ever touch someone's private property because I didn't like their team? Absolutely not.

I have someone in Auburn working on getting me a new sticker, and I'm really appreciative as they are all out in Birmingham.

I guess being classy is just too much to ask for some people.

Wish #1

I wish that TLC would just once show a program about a normal family with no "hook." You know: a mom, a dad, a son, a daughter and maybe a cat or a dog.

Instead, they show stellar programming like this......

Don't get me wrong. I love the Duggars. Obviously. And Mackenzie from Toddlers and Tiaras owns me. But this show made me feel icky and wrong. I lasted five minutes. And then I went and gagged a little before changing the channel.