I listen to a lot of angsty, angry music. I was looking through the titles of my entries, and they're so angry.
But, I mean, since I name them after whatever I'm listening to at the time I title the post, I guess it's ok. Or whatever.
I learned today that I'm not allergic to wasp stings. I learned this in the parking lot of a grocery store I frequent. I'm walking along, minding my own business, and all of a sudden, I have this intense, intense pain in my left pointer finger. I yelled. . .well, I won't relay what I yelled. Let's just say if one didn't know what was going on, they might think I'd come down with a sudden case of Tourette's. It wasn't pretty. I think I scandalized an old woman sitting in a car near mine.
I mean, I can understand that. Since no one except me knew what actually happened, that I'd been stung, they'd think I was just randomly shouting obscenities. Which, in retrospect, is actually kind of funny.
What's not so funny? The fact that I was stung 5 hours ago and it still hurts.
On the drive back to work, I was paranoid that I was losing feeling in my hand/my hand was going numb/I couldn't move my fingers. . .basically anything that would indicate I was allergic to the sting. It hurt SO BADLY. I really can't believe something that small could hurt so much. You can most definitely count me out from having children. If a wasp, approximately 1/1,000,000 the size of a child, can hurt me this badly, there's no way. No freaking way.
At this point, my finger is still swollen, and it still hurts, but I'm certain I can safely say that I'm not allergic. Thankfully. Because the hospital nearby sucks.
People are still abuzz about the trooper being murdered. Derek is, apparently, getting mail from people who objected to his use of a picture of the widow on one of the pages of Monday's paper. Now, I'm fairly certain it's Vi who picked the pictures, and there were other news outlets there, some being a lot less respectful, so I don't see where people get off getting mad at Derek for doing his job. I mean. . .I guess I get it, because I hate the media, despite being a part of it. But if there weren't those pictures, you can guarantee someone would be like, "Why aren't we getting the coverage we deserve?"
We're also publishing the 911 call from the night the trooper got shot. Which I, personally, don't agree with, but I'm not the person who decides what does and does not go into the paper.
I love Whitaker. I do. And I'm aware that most of what we do, economically, has to do with the tourism industry. I get that, too. But really, all these people from Florida? Are making me crazy. Most of them drive at least 10 miles below the speed limit and they're just. . .everywhere. Like that old lady in the grocery store parking lot, Mrs. Judgey McJudgerstein. Yes, I'm shouting profanities. I JUST GOT STUNG! Go back to Florida if you don't like it.
I'm getting a 4-day weekend over the weekend of the 4th and I'm going home. Yay!
I'll celebrate with a survey. I love this particular kind of survey. You're supposed to put your iTunes on shuffle and put whatever song comes up under the category. This one, I believe, if entitled "The Soundtrack to Your Life."
Waking Up: "I'm Glowing and You're Why" - Braid
First Day At School: "Lullaby" - Shawn Mullins (Because I'm. . .sleeping through class?)
Falling In Love: "One Minute" - Kelly Clarkson (I guess I'm fickle.)
Fight Song: "Give It Up Or Let Me Go" - Dixie Chicks
Breaking Up: "No More Sad Songs" - Clay Aiken (Either this one or the one before would fit here, I guess. . .)
Prom: "Fabulous" - from High School Musical 2 (Awesome. So clearly awesome.)
Life's OK: "Breathe" - Melissa Etheridge
Mental Breakdown: "I Woke Up In a Car" - Something Corporate
Driving: "Bruised" - Jack's Mannequin (Yikes. That's not good news. . .)
Flash back: "Big Pimpin'" - Jay-Z (Again. . .I'm not sure why I have this one. I think my sister downloaded it at some point.)
Getting Back Together: "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" - Elton John
Wedding: "Basket Case" - Green Day (Seems appropriate, I guess.)
Birth of Child: "Special" - Garbage
Final Battle: "Can't Let You Go" - Matchbox Twenty
Death Scene: "The Worst Pies in London" - from Sweeney Todd
Funeral Song: "Work It" - Missy Elliot (I would seriously leave all my money in my will to whomever could get an organist to play this song during my funeral.)
End Credits: "Be Good To Me" - Ashley Tisdale
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Hate is a strong word (but I really, really, really don't like you.)
I'm back after what can be considered an extended hiatus in the world of my writing in here. Some good stuff has gone on, and some crappy stuff has gone on. I'm going to start with the crappiest. I was going to write this all down last night, but I was really in such a state, I would have rambled and been all depressing and no one likes that. This is going to be a really, really long entry. Just so you know.
Despite trying (vaguely) to skew where I'm living, a lot of elements of this story will pretty much take you exactly to where I am, but whatever. I'm not especially concerned because, for one, it doesn't really matter, and for another, if I talk about any part of this story, people will know exactly what I'm talking about in several states. I mean, the NYTimes briefly covered this story, so it's not like it's a secret.
We recently had a highway patrolman killed while on duty. On Tuesday, in fact. He pulled this son-of-a-bitch over for a routine traffic stop, because the car and trailer the guy was dragging didn't have the proper plates. The 37-year-old guy, a 19-time convicted felon, was driving from Tennessee to Florida. Trooper Blanton pulled him over and tried to arrest him, and the guy freaked out and shot the trooper twice. Because. . .he had improper tags on his vehicles.
So then he runs. But not, as it turns out, before he searches the trooper for anything worth stealing and steals at least his weapon. He was tracked down by cops on a highway near where he'd shot the trooper and they found not only the trooper's gun in his car, but also drugs. The guy had convictions for armed burglary, assault with a weapon, carrying a concealed weapon, sale and possession of marijuana and escape. He was in jail in Florida from 1998 to 2005. While he was being chased by cops, during a, I believe, 16 to 19 minute chase, he fired two more shots at the officer chasing him. Luckily, he missed. So he's a lousy shot as well as a disgusting excuse for a human being.
Trooper Blanton was brought to a large city nearby's hospital, but he died.
Before I even get to the worst parts of this story, I would like to commend the Haddis County police force. If it would have been me, and I'd known he'd just shot one of my colleagues and then he shot at me? The bastard would have gotten a bullet right between the eyes. But they didn't use "violent force" to take the guy down. Now he's sitting in the Haddis County jail, waiting for. . .well, I hope he's waiting for someone to shoot him point-blank, but I guess
he's actually waiting for a court date or something. They're holding him without bond, thank God.
So the worst part, as if it could get any worse. The trooper had been married for less than a year, and his wife, Michaela, had just had their first child, a son, seven weeks premature. The kid had just either opened his eyes or breathed on his own for the first time (or both. I'm not certain, it's just what I hear) the day his father was killed. Trooper Blanton died at the same hospital his wife and son were in.
At this point, I feel that I've told the story in a fairly newspaper-person sort of way (aside from the occasional cursing of the bastard's name). This doesn't reflect in any way how I feel about the situation.
Did I mention his age? He was 24. He and I were born the same year. It's always sad when someone dies (unless it's someone like that SOB that killed the trooper. He deserves a horrible, agonizing death), but 24-year-olds aren't supposed to die. It's not supposed to happen like that. And don't give me the whole, "Oh, everything happens for a reason, we never know how much time we have, blah blah blah." 24-year-olds are not. supposed. to die.
So I, as the editor of the obituaries, had to, obviously, get his obituary in. I was working on editing it and, halfway through, I had to take a break. I actually called my mom to talk to her to have something lighter to talk about, because, while I'm usually very good about separating myself from the obits, this one was hitting me really, really hard. And I didn't even know him.
It reminds me of last year, when the shootings went on at Virginia Tech. It freaked me out on a level I wasn't aware existed. It shook me. That's the only way to describe it. I was shaken. I sat in front of my TV and computer that day and just watched. I was experiencing this heightened state of fear, shock, sadness. . .all of it. It took me a week to pull myself out of that and, again, it didn't involve me. Sure, I knew people at VT, but I also knew they were fine. This is what this reminds me of, the way this makes me feel.
So I've been freaked out ever since I found out about this and, of course, being that I'm in the industry I'm in, I've heard about it constantly.
Cut to yesterday. I don't typically get e-mails of opinion in my inbox, because there's very little you can have an opinion on when it comes to weddings, births, school awards, and special events going on at the hospital. I got the following e-mail in my inbox that infuriated me almost to the point of tears. I'm going to post it exactly as I received it, typos and all, but I'll change a couple of names and stuff:
To whom it may concern,
As I read the Amesville and Whitaker paper today and see all the stories about Mr. Blanton's tragic death I have to wonder if anyone else died and who's missing them. It truly is a shame that anyone is killed at work doing the job they chose to do.My heart truly goes out to Mr. Blanton's family and I'm sure he will be missed. Going through the obituaries in todays paperI thought I would pick a random name and see how much coverage they recieved. The first name I cam to was Martha Baker. Ive never met Mrs. Baker nor did I attend Benjamin School. In 37 years as manager of the school cafeteria I have to wonder again as to how many lives she touched. That has to be an amazing number but where is that story ? I also see she was the chairperson for the Benjamin Community Cemetary Committee, she also had a pretty extensive family who I'm sure will miss her very much. Looking at the attached picture I can see she had a very warm smile and Im willing to bet her family will miss her homemade biscuits each Sunday as they get ready for church. How did someone as loved as Mrs. Baker's death not make the front page of your paper. Where is the story of how many students she touched, how many friends she made,how many people in her church have great things to say about her. I see she had a service at Weaver Funeral Home. Does that mean Benjamin School couldn't afford to rent the Civic Center for the service.Apparently Haddis County School system doesnt have as deep pockets as the North Carolina Highway Patrol.
Really? Really?
Later yesterday, CousinCasey told me this woman downstairs said it was good for her that Trooper Blanton had been killed, because her husband had gotten a ticket from him earlier, and it's being dropped, because the trooper can't come to court.
People nauseate me. They really, truly do.
I've got more to say on the subject, but I feel this entry is long enough. And I've got a wedding to cover today.
Despite trying (vaguely) to skew where I'm living, a lot of elements of this story will pretty much take you exactly to where I am, but whatever. I'm not especially concerned because, for one, it doesn't really matter, and for another, if I talk about any part of this story, people will know exactly what I'm talking about in several states. I mean, the NYTimes briefly covered this story, so it's not like it's a secret.
We recently had a highway patrolman killed while on duty. On Tuesday, in fact. He pulled this son-of-a-bitch over for a routine traffic stop, because the car and trailer the guy was dragging didn't have the proper plates. The 37-year-old guy, a 19-time convicted felon, was driving from Tennessee to Florida. Trooper Blanton pulled him over and tried to arrest him, and the guy freaked out and shot the trooper twice. Because. . .he had improper tags on his vehicles.
So then he runs. But not, as it turns out, before he searches the trooper for anything worth stealing and steals at least his weapon. He was tracked down by cops on a highway near where he'd shot the trooper and they found not only the trooper's gun in his car, but also drugs. The guy had convictions for armed burglary, assault with a weapon, carrying a concealed weapon, sale and possession of marijuana and escape. He was in jail in Florida from 1998 to 2005. While he was being chased by cops, during a, I believe, 16 to 19 minute chase, he fired two more shots at the officer chasing him. Luckily, he missed. So he's a lousy shot as well as a disgusting excuse for a human being.
Trooper Blanton was brought to a large city nearby's hospital, but he died.
Before I even get to the worst parts of this story, I would like to commend the Haddis County police force. If it would have been me, and I'd known he'd just shot one of my colleagues and then he shot at me? The bastard would have gotten a bullet right between the eyes. But they didn't use "violent force" to take the guy down. Now he's sitting in the Haddis County jail, waiting for. . .well, I hope he's waiting for someone to shoot him point-blank, but I guess
he's actually waiting for a court date or something. They're holding him without bond, thank God.So the worst part, as if it could get any worse. The trooper had been married for less than a year, and his wife, Michaela, had just had their first child, a son, seven weeks premature. The kid had just either opened his eyes or breathed on his own for the first time (or both. I'm not certain, it's just what I hear) the day his father was killed. Trooper Blanton died at the same hospital his wife and son were in.
At this point, I feel that I've told the story in a fairly newspaper-person sort of way (aside from the occasional cursing of the bastard's name). This doesn't reflect in any way how I feel about the situation.
Did I mention his age? He was 24. He and I were born the same year. It's always sad when someone dies (unless it's someone like that SOB that killed the trooper. He deserves a horrible, agonizing death), but 24-year-olds aren't supposed to die. It's not supposed to happen like that. And don't give me the whole, "Oh, everything happens for a reason, we never know how much time we have, blah blah blah." 24-year-olds are not. supposed. to die.
So I, as the editor of the obituaries, had to, obviously, get his obituary in. I was working on editing it and, halfway through, I had to take a break. I actually called my mom to talk to her to have something lighter to talk about, because, while I'm usually very good about separating myself from the obits, this one was hitting me really, really hard. And I didn't even know him.
It reminds me of last year, when the shootings went on at Virginia Tech. It freaked me out on a level I wasn't aware existed. It shook me. That's the only way to describe it. I was shaken. I sat in front of my TV and computer that day and just watched. I was experiencing this heightened state of fear, shock, sadness. . .all of it. It took me a week to pull myself out of that and, again, it didn't involve me. Sure, I knew people at VT, but I also knew they were fine. This is what this reminds me of, the way this makes me feel.
So I've been freaked out ever since I found out about this and, of course, being that I'm in the industry I'm in, I've heard about it constantly.
Cut to yesterday. I don't typically get e-mails of opinion in my inbox, because there's very little you can have an opinion on when it comes to weddings, births, school awards, and special events going on at the hospital. I got the following e-mail in my inbox that infuriated me almost to the point of tears. I'm going to post it exactly as I received it, typos and all, but I'll change a couple of names and stuff:
To whom it may concern,
As I read the Amesville and Whitaker paper today and see all the stories about Mr. Blanton's tragic death I have to wonder if anyone else died and who's missing them. It truly is a shame that anyone is killed at work doing the job they chose to do.My heart truly goes out to Mr. Blanton's family and I'm sure he will be missed. Going through the obituaries in todays paperI thought I would pick a random name and see how much coverage they recieved. The first name I cam to was Martha Baker. Ive never met Mrs. Baker nor did I attend Benjamin School. In 37 years as manager of the school cafeteria I have to wonder again as to how many lives she touched. That has to be an amazing number but where is that story ? I also see she was the chairperson for the Benjamin Community Cemetary Committee, she also had a pretty extensive family who I'm sure will miss her very much. Looking at the attached picture I can see she had a very warm smile and Im willing to bet her family will miss her homemade biscuits each Sunday as they get ready for church. How did someone as loved as Mrs. Baker's death not make the front page of your paper. Where is the story of how many students she touched, how many friends she made,how many people in her church have great things to say about her. I see she had a service at Weaver Funeral Home. Does that mean Benjamin School couldn't afford to rent the Civic Center for the service.Apparently Haddis County School system doesnt have as deep pockets as the North Carolina Highway Patrol.
Really? Really?
That infuriated me in a way that few things have in recent memory. Martha Baker died at 86. She worked in the Benjamin School cafeteria longer than Trooper Blanton was alive.
After getting permission from Vi to respond to the e-mail, I sent this:
As the Life Editor, I don't typically have much to do with the stories that run on the front page of The Peak, and I certainly don't have any say in what the Times puts on their front page. Despite this, I feel compelled to answer your e-mail.
Yes, it is always a sad occasion when someone dies. As the person here that deals with obituaries day in and day out, I'm more aware of that than most. However, I feel that at a certain point, while incredibly sad, it's not altogether surprising when someone dies. Death is a natural occurrence, especially as one grows older, and while the deceased leaves behind a host of family and friends that will miss them terribly, when the person in question is older, as Mrs. Baker was, loved ones, I'm sure, at some level, know that every day with the person is precious and they will not live forever.
I believe that there is a marked difference between sad and tragic. It is sad that Mrs. Baker passed away because, although I didn't know her, from the obituary provided, it seems she was a wonderful person. It is, however, tragic that Trooper Blanton was killed, because he was only 24 years old (an age, I'm sure you'll agree, doesn't often bring to mind thoughts of death), because he was a brand-new father, and because he was killed in the manner he was. I'm certain if Mrs. Baker had died because she had been shot twice while doing her job, she would have received the coverage you feel she should have. Had someone turned a gun on her during her time in the Benjamin School cafeteria, it most certainly would have been a front-page newsworthy event. Luckily, though, that wasn't the case, and she was given the opportunity to have a long, full life. Trooper Blanton was not given that option. He was killed in a hideous manner and, as I'm sure you're aware, untimely, premature, tragic deaths are often newsworthy.
I don't mind telling you that your e-mail infuriated me. A man who, by his very job description, put his life on the line daily, was killed unnecessarily by a convicted felon at the age of 24 (the age I, myself, happen to be turning this year), leaving behind a young family. He will never have the opportunity to work anywhere for 37 years as Mrs. Baker did. He will never know the son who will miss him, much less get the opportunity to meet any grandchildren or great-grandchildren he'll have as Mrs. Baker did. Mrs. Baker's children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will have the memories of their dear mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. Any of Trooper Blanton's descendants will not ever get to be that lucky.
That, sir, is why he got front page coverage all over North and South Carolina. And if you have a problem with the Haddis County School System not giving Mrs. Baker a large funeral at the lake(that's where Trooper Blanton's funeral will be - not at the Civic Center), I suggest you take it up with them. I have a feeling it has less to do with not having deep pockets as it does with a young man being taken far before his time.
I would also encourage you to submit this letter as a letter to the editor at for publication. Then you'll have the opportunity to voice your opinions to the entire county, and you can see if you get any responses that take the views you have.
As always, we here at The Peak thank you for your time in writing to us.
I'm hoping he writes back. I'd love if he wrote back.Later yesterday, CousinCasey told me this woman downstairs said it was good for her that Trooper Blanton had been killed, because her husband had gotten a ticket from him earlier, and it's being dropped, because the trooper can't come to court.
People nauseate me. They really, truly do.
I've got more to say on the subject, but I feel this entry is long enough. And I've got a wedding to cover today.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
And I know, and I know, it just doesn't feel like a night out with no one sizing you up.
I was randomly thinking about something this morning, and since I seem to record my every thought here, I thought I'd continue the trend.
(Occasionally, I feel like I'm doing this:)
I was thinking about my business cards. I've been here almost 8 months, and they won't give me my own business cards. I had to use the ones CousinCasey had (since she had my job before I did) and I have to white-out her name and put my name in there. They're really, really ghetto looking and, quite frankly, they're embarrassing to give to people, but I have to, because I don't have any other way of giving people something with which to get into contact with me. Derek made his own and said I could do the same, but I'd feel a little weird not having the same card as everyone else.
Then again, I don't have the same card as everyone else now. Because no one else has their name written in pen over white out.
Then I remembered that when I was back in school, I was a member of the Residence Hall Association (RHA) and I held the position of Vice-President of Programing and Public Relations, the VP³R, if you will. (The president, an on-again, off-again friend of mine, was on this crazy power trip and wanted everything to sound all official and whatnot. Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, there is nothing professional-sounding about a 14-syllable title. Or the aforementioned shortened version he came up with.
Anyway, I had this really awesome name tag. They were held onto people's clothes by a really strong magnet so you didn't have to pin holes in your clothes (Plus, bonus! I never lost it because I stuck it on the fridge when I wasn't wearing it. I don't think the president had that problem because I'm pretty sure he wore it everywhere, including class. Like I said. Power trip.) They'd already had the name tags engraved when I "took office." The guy before me had quit, with good reason, as it turns out, because I ended up doing the same thing, but really because I took the presidency of another group. Long story.
Since they didn't want to shell out the bucks for a new name tag, they took one of those label makers and typed out my name (in all capital letters, I might add), printed out that label, and stuck it to the name tag. It might not have been so bad if the label weren't white and the tag weren't navy blue, so it stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a really cool, official-looking name tag. . .and my name was on there in all capital letters from a label maker.
I'm wondering when my name is going to be good enough to take up permanent residence somewhere. I do have an "official name tag" from when I was a camp counselor (the two weeks I lasted. . .another long story) that I kept, because I have a weird love for name tags, not of the sticky Hello! My Name Is. . .variety. I can't stand those. Hard plastic, official-looking ones.
I've gotten a little off track. I guess what it all comes down to is that I feel like they don't think I'm important enough for my own business cards, despite the fact that Vi keeps telling me my section is the "lifeblood" of the paper, the "section everyone reads." If that's the case, why do I have to hand those people who read that section a business card with white out and my own handwriting on it? Two months ago or so, they got everyone new business cards. . .but the general manager refused to get me any. I understand that The Peak has a high turnover rate, because the pay is lousy and the hours can be long, but 8 months is long enough to "prove myself," isn't it?
I didn't realize, until I started this post, exactly how offended and slightly angry I was about this entire thing. And I am. My business cards embarrass me and they should embarrass the higher-ups there. But it probably doesn't. Because I work for the cheapest people in America. Besides Wal-Mart.
Oh! And I almost forgot. Since I take care of the community calender, Vi always forwards things to me that are sent to her via our (unfortunate) Web site. Yesterday, I got this notice about a Friends and Families of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgendered People support group. This, of course, grabbed my attention immediately.
I mean, this is Haddis County. Mayberry. If someone walked up to their friend and said, "Well, Ethel, I do believe that June Bug is gay!" Ethel would probably say, "Well good! I'm glad she's in a good mood! She and her roommate have been fighting a lot recently." That kind of thing.
So I e-mailed the woman who sent the calendar item and asked if I could interview her and/or her group, because I think that would make a super cool story. It's something different, and it has the added bonus of having the potential of getting the county riled up, which I'm always a fan of. My goal, seriously, is to have something in my section that causes outraged Letters to the Editor. I haven't done anything like that yet, but I'm hoping, hoping that the group agrees to talk to me and that I can start some kind of dialogue with the community about it. Or, monologue, really, because I can't answer the letters. But I think you know what I mean.
So cross your fingers for me. This could be a lot of fun for Liz, but I have to have the permission of the group members.
(Occasionally, I feel like I'm doing this:)
I was thinking about my business cards. I've been here almost 8 months, and they won't give me my own business cards. I had to use the ones CousinCasey had (since she had my job before I did) and I have to white-out her name and put my name in there. They're really, really ghetto looking and, quite frankly, they're embarrassing to give to people, but I have to, because I don't have any other way of giving people something with which to get into contact with me. Derek made his own and said I could do the same, but I'd feel a little weird not having the same card as everyone else.
Then again, I don't have the same card as everyone else now. Because no one else has their name written in pen over white out.
Then I remembered that when I was back in school, I was a member of the Residence Hall Association (RHA) and I held the position of Vice-President of Programing and Public Relations, the VP³R, if you will. (The president, an on-again, off-again friend of mine, was on this crazy power trip and wanted everything to sound all official and whatnot. Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, there is nothing professional-sounding about a 14-syllable title. Or the aforementioned shortened version he came up with.
Anyway, I had this really awesome name tag. They were held onto people's clothes by a really strong magnet so you didn't have to pin holes in your clothes (Plus, bonus! I never lost it because I stuck it on the fridge when I wasn't wearing it. I don't think the president had that problem because I'm pretty sure he wore it everywhere, including class. Like I said. Power trip.) They'd already had the name tags engraved when I "took office." The guy before me had quit, with good reason, as it turns out, because I ended up doing the same thing, but really because I took the presidency of another group. Long story.
Since they didn't want to shell out the bucks for a new name tag, they took one of those label makers and typed out my name (in all capital letters, I might add), printed out that label, and stuck it to the name tag. It might not have been so bad if the label weren't white and the tag weren't navy blue, so it stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a really cool, official-looking name tag. . .and my name was on there in all capital letters from a label maker.
I'm wondering when my name is going to be good enough to take up permanent residence somewhere. I do have an "official name tag" from when I was a camp counselor (the two weeks I lasted. . .another long story) that I kept, because I have a weird love for name tags, not of the sticky Hello! My Name Is. . .variety. I can't stand those. Hard plastic, official-looking ones.
I've gotten a little off track. I guess what it all comes down to is that I feel like they don't think I'm important enough for my own business cards, despite the fact that Vi keeps telling me my section is the "lifeblood" of the paper, the "section everyone reads." If that's the case, why do I have to hand those people who read that section a business card with white out and my own handwriting on it? Two months ago or so, they got everyone new business cards. . .but the general manager refused to get me any. I understand that The Peak has a high turnover rate, because the pay is lousy and the hours can be long, but 8 months is long enough to "prove myself," isn't it?
I didn't realize, until I started this post, exactly how offended and slightly angry I was about this entire thing. And I am. My business cards embarrass me and they should embarrass the higher-ups there. But it probably doesn't. Because I work for the cheapest people in America. Besides Wal-Mart.
Oh! And I almost forgot. Since I take care of the community calender, Vi always forwards things to me that are sent to her via our (unfortunate) Web site. Yesterday, I got this notice about a Friends and Families of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgendered People support group. This, of course, grabbed my attention immediately.
I mean, this is Haddis County. Mayberry. If someone walked up to their friend and said, "Well, Ethel, I do believe that June Bug is gay!" Ethel would probably say, "Well good! I'm glad she's in a good mood! She and her roommate have been fighting a lot recently." That kind of thing.
So I e-mailed the woman who sent the calendar item and asked if I could interview her and/or her group, because I think that would make a super cool story. It's something different, and it has the added bonus of having the potential of getting the county riled up, which I'm always a fan of. My goal, seriously, is to have something in my section that causes outraged Letters to the Editor. I haven't done anything like that yet, but I'm hoping, hoping that the group agrees to talk to me and that I can start some kind of dialogue with the community about it. Or, monologue, really, because I can't answer the letters. But I think you know what I mean.
So cross your fingers for me. This could be a lot of fun for Liz, but I have to have the permission of the group members.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
And I'm back where I started again.
Two days ago, I had a blessed, blessed day off. What you have to understand about my days off is that even on a day when I'm "off," I usually end up here. But Wednesday, I didn't even come within 50 feet of the building, and that was pretty cool. I helped chaperone (is that even how that's spelled? Spell check is telling me there's no E, but I think it looks weird without it.) a bunch of Girl Scouts on a field trip. We went here:
It was a good day. Hot as all get out, but good. The girls were basically well-behaved (there were a few exceptions, of course) but I'm glad I went. And I avoided sunburn! Really and truly, that's a feat. Remember how I mentioned I'm the palest white girl ever? I escaped the day without the slightest burn or tinge of pink. Forget managing not to lose a single Girl Scout and giving endless piggy back rides and keeping 13 ice cream orders straight. . .not getting burned is what I'm most proud of.
Yesterday, The Peak had an uproar. I'm going to attempt to tell the story without getting too specific. I came in and CaseyDownstairs told me to let her know when I knew what pages I had to lay out, because she had revisions for me. (For those not in the industry or who just don't know, the job that CaseyDownstairs does is put all the ads the Ad Ladies sell onto the page in the manner in which they are supposed to be placed. You know, not putting competing businesses on the same page, etc. Sometimes, the Ad Ladies get ads in late or something changes, and they have to add a new ad to a page, so they print out a new copy of the page layout on a brightly colored piece of paper and bring it to whomever is laying out that particular page. That's a revision.)
Anyway, we had a little breakfast given to us upstairs by someone that, apparently, we'd done stories for (I knew nothing about it, but I wasn't going to turn down a free, not to mention delicious, breakfast.) So I sat in Vi's office with CousinCasey, Derek, Kathy, Vi, and Christine for half an hour or so and had breakfast. Afterwards, I took the pages I'd been given down to show CaseyDownstairs.
As she was printing out the revisions, she said, "Now, I know you and Abigail (one of the designers) are friends, but I wanted to tell you my side of the story before she told you and I looked bad." I, having been sitting in a breakfast room, had no idea what was going on. She explained to me that someone, she wasn't sure who, had told the general manager something negative about Abigail and that the GM had yelled at her in the parking lot.
I say, ok, good to know, and start to head back upstairs. Derek is coming down the stairs as I'm starting to go up, and he goes, "You're not going to want to do that." I said, yeah, I know, thinking that Abigail was just in a bad mood. No, no. Apparently, there was yelling and crying and a whole host of other things going on. Apparently, Abigail had said she quit and was packing her things.
So I stayed downstairs for a while. I didn't want to be in the middle of it, and that's probably where I would have ended up.
The end of the story is entirely anticlimactic. After the yelling and everything else. . .Abigail is still working here. The end. Today, it's like nothing happened. Sometimes, I don't understand this place.
We're having a Last Day Party for CaseyDownstairs today. She's been here for 10 years and today's her last day. It'll be kind of weird without her here. They're not hiring anyone new, but instead, spreading her job among several people. Which really? I think is a little lame.
But that's just me.
It was a good day. Hot as all get out, but good. The girls were basically well-behaved (there were a few exceptions, of course) but I'm glad I went. And I avoided sunburn! Really and truly, that's a feat. Remember how I mentioned I'm the palest white girl ever? I escaped the day without the slightest burn or tinge of pink. Forget managing not to lose a single Girl Scout and giving endless piggy back rides and keeping 13 ice cream orders straight. . .not getting burned is what I'm most proud of.Yesterday, The Peak had an uproar. I'm going to attempt to tell the story without getting too specific. I came in and CaseyDownstairs told me to let her know when I knew what pages I had to lay out, because she had revisions for me. (For those not in the industry or who just don't know, the job that CaseyDownstairs does is put all the ads the Ad Ladies sell onto the page in the manner in which they are supposed to be placed. You know, not putting competing businesses on the same page, etc. Sometimes, the Ad Ladies get ads in late or something changes, and they have to add a new ad to a page, so they print out a new copy of the page layout on a brightly colored piece of paper and bring it to whomever is laying out that particular page. That's a revision.)
Anyway, we had a little breakfast given to us upstairs by someone that, apparently, we'd done stories for (I knew nothing about it, but I wasn't going to turn down a free, not to mention delicious, breakfast.) So I sat in Vi's office with CousinCasey, Derek, Kathy, Vi, and Christine for half an hour or so and had breakfast. Afterwards, I took the pages I'd been given down to show CaseyDownstairs.
As she was printing out the revisions, she said, "Now, I know you and Abigail (one of the designers) are friends, but I wanted to tell you my side of the story before she told you and I looked bad." I, having been sitting in a breakfast room, had no idea what was going on. She explained to me that someone, she wasn't sure who, had told the general manager something negative about Abigail and that the GM had yelled at her in the parking lot.
I say, ok, good to know, and start to head back upstairs. Derek is coming down the stairs as I'm starting to go up, and he goes, "You're not going to want to do that." I said, yeah, I know, thinking that Abigail was just in a bad mood. No, no. Apparently, there was yelling and crying and a whole host of other things going on. Apparently, Abigail had said she quit and was packing her things.
So I stayed downstairs for a while. I didn't want to be in the middle of it, and that's probably where I would have ended up.
The end of the story is entirely anticlimactic. After the yelling and everything else. . .Abigail is still working here. The end. Today, it's like nothing happened. Sometimes, I don't understand this place.
We're having a Last Day Party for CaseyDownstairs today. She's been here for 10 years and today's her last day. It'll be kind of weird without her here. They're not hiring anyone new, but instead, spreading her job among several people. Which really? I think is a little lame.
But that's just me.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Hey, mister, where you headed? Are you in a hurry? (I need a lift to happy hour.)
We'll start this morning off with some random observations I've made since the last time I was here. So here is your Daily Dose of Things That Don't Really Matter But That Give You Something To Think About While You're Bored At Work.
Or
Elizabeth's List of Things That Make You Go, "Hmmm. . ."
1. You know the smell of nail polish fumes? It's a very distinctive smell. I'm a little concerned, because after I did my nails this morning (because I was down to worn black polish that really just screamed, "Teenaged emo angst!"), I brushed my teeth, putting my hand in the general vicinity of my nose, and I noticed that my polish didn't smell like normal polish. It smells like some combination of house paint and varnish. So I'm a little concerned that it's going to burn through my fingernails.
2. I? Am maybe the whitest girl in the entire world. I don't mean that in the "I dance and look like I'm having a seizure" kind of way (even though, incidentally, I do.), but I mean it in the "Oh my God, the sun is literally reflecting off of my skin" kind of way. I got into my car this morning, wearing a skirt, and so it hiked up a little when I sat down. It was then that I caught sight of, truly, how pale I am. I'm wondering if it comes across in a kind of delicate Victorian doll kind of way or in the, "Hey, that chick kind of looks dead" kind of way. All I know is that if I were back in the time when Native Americans were called Savages and the Europeans were being so irritating, commandeering land and everything so they got scalped for being white, I'd be the first one in line. Or maybe I'd be so pale, they'd think I was some kind of deity and make me their queen. I really can't be certain. Too bad the only thing the sun does to me is torch me to a crispy fried sizzle, so I can't do much about the lack of melanin. It's just my lot in life, I suppose. But if you're ever stranded on a deserted island and you're desperately looking for something to reflect the sun to catch the attention of passing aircraft? You'd better hope I'm there with you. That's all I'm saying.
3. Laundromats are some of the sketchiest places ever during the day. At night? They're downright terrifying. A large Hispanic population uses the one that I use. I have nothing against them. All I'm saying is that it's unnerving to sit and listen to people speak rapid-fire in a language you don't understand. I'm not so self-centered that I think they're sitting there talking about me. . .but what if they are? I'd like to know what they're saying. Actually, on second thought, no. I probably don't.
4. Running is good for you. Not having air conditioning is good for your electric bill. Going out running and then coming back to an apartment without an air conditioner? Not so good.
And those, ladies and gentlemen, are your Things That Make You Go, "Hmmm."
So yesterday, I finally met this woman, Nikki, who I've spoken to several times and for whom I did press for her ballet school. Every time someone from The Peak goes and talks to her, she mentions how much she loves me. And that always makes me feel good. So I went with CousinCasey to take some pictures for a story that she did and when CousinCasey told her who I was, she goes, "I LOVE you!" and gave me a big hug. Generally, I don't like being hugged by people I don't really know, but it was kind of awesome. I love being appreciated. She also gave me a little thank you card and it had a ticket to the ballet school's recital, which is being held Saturday. I will definitely be going, and I'm also going to write a story about it.
Also, I took some awesome pictures. So there's that. While I was doing that, I was thinking about how much I need a better camera so I can start taking real pictures and maybe one of these days do it professionally.
Oh, and a grad tab update. Something happened in pre-press, which caused ads to be shifted around and moved to different pages, and that, somehow, caused a page that was supposed to be in color to be in black and white. That wouldn't have been such a bad thing except it was a page with one of the big high schools' class pictures on it, and both of those were supposed to be in color. You'd have to understand the rivalry between these two schools to understand why this was such a big deal. Luckily, I was able to prove that wasn't my fault, so at least I'm not in trouble.
Also, there was an ad congratulating school #1 in school #2's section. Which, again, you wouldn't think would be such a big deal, but around this county, it's a huge deal. People are probably really, really pissed. Incidentally, it's not the students that care so much as parents and alumni. Go figure.
Finally, two of the ads said, "Congratulations to the Class of 2007!!"
I'm sure the Class of 2007 thanks them for the congratulations, but are probably also pretty confused as to for what they're being congratulated.
Or
Elizabeth's List of Things That Make You Go, "Hmmm. . ."
1. You know the smell of nail polish fumes? It's a very distinctive smell. I'm a little concerned, because after I did my nails this morning (because I was down to worn black polish that really just screamed, "Teenaged emo angst!"), I brushed my teeth, putting my hand in the general vicinity of my nose, and I noticed that my polish didn't smell like normal polish. It smells like some combination of house paint and varnish. So I'm a little concerned that it's going to burn through my fingernails.
2. I? Am maybe the whitest girl in the entire world. I don't mean that in the "I dance and look like I'm having a seizure" kind of way (even though, incidentally, I do.), but I mean it in the "Oh my God, the sun is literally reflecting off of my skin" kind of way. I got into my car this morning, wearing a skirt, and so it hiked up a little when I sat down. It was then that I caught sight of, truly, how pale I am. I'm wondering if it comes across in a kind of delicate Victorian doll kind of way or in the, "Hey, that chick kind of looks dead" kind of way. All I know is that if I were back in the time when Native Americans were called Savages and the Europeans were being so irritating, commandeering land and everything so they got scalped for being white, I'd be the first one in line. Or maybe I'd be so pale, they'd think I was some kind of deity and make me their queen. I really can't be certain. Too bad the only thing the sun does to me is torch me to a crispy fried sizzle, so I can't do much about the lack of melanin. It's just my lot in life, I suppose. But if you're ever stranded on a deserted island and you're desperately looking for something to reflect the sun to catch the attention of passing aircraft? You'd better hope I'm there with you. That's all I'm saying.
3. Laundromats are some of the sketchiest places ever during the day. At night? They're downright terrifying. A large Hispanic population uses the one that I use. I have nothing against them. All I'm saying is that it's unnerving to sit and listen to people speak rapid-fire in a language you don't understand. I'm not so self-centered that I think they're sitting there talking about me. . .but what if they are? I'd like to know what they're saying. Actually, on second thought, no. I probably don't.
4. Running is good for you. Not having air conditioning is good for your electric bill. Going out running and then coming back to an apartment without an air conditioner? Not so good.
And those, ladies and gentlemen, are your Things That Make You Go, "Hmmm."
So yesterday, I finally met this woman, Nikki, who I've spoken to several times and for whom I did press for her ballet school. Every time someone from The Peak goes and talks to her, she mentions how much she loves me. And that always makes me feel good. So I went with CousinCasey to take some pictures for a story that she did and when CousinCasey told her who I was, she goes, "I LOVE you!" and gave me a big hug. Generally, I don't like being hugged by people I don't really know, but it was kind of awesome. I love being appreciated. She also gave me a little thank you card and it had a ticket to the ballet school's recital, which is being held Saturday. I will definitely be going, and I'm also going to write a story about it.
Also, I took some awesome pictures. So there's that. While I was doing that, I was thinking about how much I need a better camera so I can start taking real pictures and maybe one of these days do it professionally.
Oh, and a grad tab update. Something happened in pre-press, which caused ads to be shifted around and moved to different pages, and that, somehow, caused a page that was supposed to be in color to be in black and white. That wouldn't have been such a bad thing except it was a page with one of the big high schools' class pictures on it, and both of those were supposed to be in color. You'd have to understand the rivalry between these two schools to understand why this was such a big deal. Luckily, I was able to prove that wasn't my fault, so at least I'm not in trouble.
Also, there was an ad congratulating school #1 in school #2's section. Which, again, you wouldn't think would be such a big deal, but around this county, it's a huge deal. People are probably really, really pissed. Incidentally, it's not the students that care so much as parents and alumni. Go figure.
Finally, two of the ads said, "Congratulations to the Class of 2007!!"
I'm sure the Class of 2007 thanks them for the congratulations, but are probably also pretty confused as to for what they're being congratulated.
Monday, June 9, 2008
But she miscalculated. (She didn't want to end up jaded.)
For most of my life, people have either been telling me I look like I should be named Rachel or accidentally calling me Rachel. I remember this one time in college, this girl I knew, Callie, saw me in the Atrium, and I remember hearing someone yelling, "Rachel! RACHEL!!" but I didn't respond because, you know, my name's not Rachel. No part of my name is Rachel. Even though Elizabeth isn't technically my name, it's at least part of my name. Rachel has no bearing on my name except that it was my mom's second choice for a girl's name.
Even people that have never met me seem to think my name should be Rachel. This woman, someone who works for an animal shelter here in the county, sent an e-mail to CousinCasey because she was taking us to lunch, and she referred to me as Rachel, despite having never met me.
Anyway, Vi was interviewing someone for the reporter's position we're trying to fill today (He was, incidentally, a really nice, cool, not-so-hard-on-the-eyes guy. I'm just sayin'.) and she was pointing out all the different aspects of the office. She pointed out our arts and entertainment supplement office, the sports office, and then she gestured in my direction and said, "And this is Rachel in the Life section."
. . . . . . . .
Really? I've worked here for 7 1/2 months. I mean, it didn't make me mad or anything; I thought it was extraordinarily funny. As soon as she left the room, I heard CousinCasey pick up her phone and I knew she was going to call me. I picked it up and said, "Yes, she did." And CousinCasey just laughed. We were going to keep it up, since The Peak paid for lunch for everyone, including CutePotentialNewGuy, but I told Vi what she'd said, and she re-introduced everyone to CPNG. It looks like she may hire him, so that would be cool. We had conversations over lunch about what he's into and stuff like that, and he seems like an interesting guy.
I think I have, officially, become a blogaholic. Which is a shame. Since I hate the word.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
So here I am, grown up at 23. Won't someone tell me what it takes to be happy?
I know I've already posted today, but I had a follow-up to the Vi story and a comment about something completely unrelated.
I spoke to Chad, the sports editor this evening (I just left work at 9:30) and he said, "I'm almost proud. . .no, I am proud" of me for going in to Vi and telling her that I didn't think what she said was fair.
I spoke to Chad, the sports editor this evening (I just left work at 9:30) and he said, "I'm almost proud. . .no, I am proud" of me for going in to Vi and telling her that I didn't think what she said was fair.
What you have to understand about Chad is that he doesn't say anything he doesn't mean, and he says whatever he thinks. It was a huge compliment to me to have someone like him say he was proud of something I'd done. He's one of those guys that you want on your side. I kind of wish he was maybe my uncle or something. I think he'd be fun at family gatherings.
Also, I tried these fake corn dogs for dinner. By "fake" I mean meatless. I really, r
eally love corn dogs, but I'm also aware all the crap they have in them, and that they're probably not the best thing for me, so I bought MorningStar brand and they. . .weren't bad. I mean, they obviously weren't the full-of-fat-and-God-knows-what-else variety I'm used to, but I also didn't hate them. If you would have handed me one and said, "Here, have at it," I wouldn't have thought they were anything more than low-fat hot dogs being used.
eally love corn dogs, but I'm also aware all the crap they have in them, and that they're probably not the best thing for me, so I bought MorningStar brand and they. . .weren't bad. I mean, they obviously weren't the full-of-fat-and-God-knows-what-else variety I'm used to, but I also didn't hate them. If you would have handed me one and said, "Here, have at it," I wouldn't have thought they were anything more than low-fat hot dogs being used. The only problem I have with them is that they're so blessed expensive, and with gas prices going up the way they are, I can't afford to eat stuff like this all the time. I've, on more than one occasion, considered trying to be a vegetarian, because I don't really eat red meat and I like the idea of being healthier (I also thought it would be cheaper) but, as it turns out, organic, vegetarian, etc. stuff is a lot more expensive. Plus, I could never be a real vegeterian because every now and then, yes, I need a good hot dog. I mean, I lived on them for like two weeks when I moved here. But that was my experience. If you're looking for a corn dog but don't really want to contemplate what goes into a real corn dog, I'd give these a try.
And isn't this exactly where you'd like me? (I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know.)
Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Elizabeth has put on her big girl panties and faced a problem head-on rather than ignoring it and hoping it would go away. And I feel much better now.
Here's the scenario:
The grad tab. I finished it last night. I thought that cover looked awesome and I put everything together the way it needed to be. . .a job well done, I thought. And a job well done it should have been, since I spent 7 1/2 hours here yesterday. Saturday.
(I've forgotten the meaning of a full weekend.)
Anyway, I come in today and my boss Vi tells me she's "very disappointed" with the thing. Partially because it was up until today that it took to get it finished (well, yesterday, technically) and partially because the biggest high school failed to send me a principal's letter to include on the pages. She completely chewed me out, saying she clearly can't trust me to do things, that I'm doing this, that, and the other wrong, and that she's going to have to be on top of everything I do from now on, because clearly, I am the biggest screw-up to ever walk the halls of The Peak, and possibly the entire earth.
Here's the scenario:
The grad tab. I finished it last night. I thought that cover looked awesome and I put everything together the way it needed to be. . .a job well done, I thought. And a job well done it should have been, since I spent 7 1/2 hours here yesterday. Saturday.
(I've forgotten the meaning of a full weekend.)
Anyway, I come in today and my boss Vi tells me she's "very disappointed" with the thing. Partially because it was up until today that it took to get it finished (well, yesterday, technically) and partially because the biggest high school failed to send me a principal's letter to include on the pages. She completely chewed me out, saying she clearly can't trust me to do things, that I'm doing this, that, and the other wrong, and that she's going to have to be on top of everything I do from now on, because clearly, I am the biggest screw-up to ever walk the halls of The Peak, and possibly the entire earth.
So she leaves, and I sit there, angry as I can be, wondering how long it would take me to find a job and, therefore, rent money if I were to just up and quit.
After a little while passes, I go back into her office. I tell her I've had a little while to think about what she's said, and she says, "Yeah, I've thought about it, too." Then we had a pretty good conversation, actually, about how I am here all the freaking time and if she's going to be saying I don't care about what I'm doing and how I'm taking the lazy way out all the time, then that's just not fair.
Then she completely blows me away. She says that she knows how hard I work, she doesn't actually hate me as much as it appears she does (Her exact words were, "I really, really like you.") and that she was partially so completely angry at herself.
The thing you have to understand about me and this job is, had I not known someone here (CousinCasey, my actual cousin), I probably wouldn't have known about the job, let alone gotten it. And I'd probably still be living with my father, unemployed except for the temp jobs I worked. So when I got here, CousinCasey was the person that, for all intents and purposes, did all of my training. Vi told me things here and there, but it was pretty much CousinCasey that taught me everything I know. And I came in here with no experience whatsoever, except from writing for my college newspaper. But I was in the news department there for a semester, and then I wrote a column. That kind of "training" is hardly enough when you jump into being an editor/writer/photographer/layout person/copyeditor. So, essentially, no experience.
Vi proceeds to say that she's never felt like she "connected" with me, because she wasn't the one who did the training, so I don't do things exactly like she wants them done, because she wasn't the person who taught me how to do them.
There was more to the conversation, but that was essentially the gist of it. So she apologized for being bitchy, I apologized for not doing things the way they needed to be done.
I know that was kind of a Cliff's Notes version of the entire thing, but you'll just have to believe me when I say that I felt a lot better after the conversation, and I think that maybe, just maybe, she'll cut me a wee bit of slack when things aren't done exactly as she's like them to be done sometimes.
Or maybe not. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.
Everything aside, I think the grad tab turned out better than I expected, and I'll post a picture of my supremely cool cover on here after it prints tomorrow.
I didn't "run" yesterday. I probably should have, but work took over my life. Maybe I'll be able to get out tonight. Then again, maybe not.
That's the thing about this job. By the time I finish my work every day, I'm too exhausted and oftentimes drained to get out and move around. I know I need to just do it, but that's not as easy as it might sound.
I'm also probably chaperoning a group of Girl Scouts Wednesday for a trip they've been talking about taking. Vi told me to take some time off tomorrow, but I told her I'd rather do it Wednesday, since by that time, I'll have racked up enough time to have my 40 hours covered and be able to have a real day off. (Our weeks go from Wednesday to Wednesday, which is really one of the weirdest things I've ever heard of in my life.)
Saturday, June 7, 2008
One night and one more time; Thanks for the memories (even though they weren't so great)
Confession: I am a wee bit obsessed with those "surveys" you fill out online. You know the ones; a lot of questions about what makes you tick that you answer because you may or may not be some kind of exhibitionist. I love them. So after I make a real effort to say something intelligent, I'll put one here. Awesome.
I did end up going running last night at the dark track. It was kind of awesome. I really wish I had a longer amount of time I could run without feeling like I'm going to die, but I'll work up to it one of these days. I just like knowing I'm getting actual exercise while having the opportunity to listen to whatever music I want however loudly I want without worrying about bothering someone. Running, I guess, could be a group activity, but I see it as kind of a solitary thing, you know? I don't have to talk to anyone and I can just do my own thing. I'm looking forward to when I can get up to "going for a run" rather than "hobbling on a run."
Secondly, I found this thing in a Cosmopolitan magazine that really disturbed me. I don't read Cosmopolitan as a general rule, but my best friend Nate was up here earlier this week and we like to buy them and read them while laughing at how asinine some of the stuff is.
But really? I think I've found one that takes the cake.
Apparently, there's this. . .what's the nice term for them? Marital aid? There's this little, egg-shaped marital aid that women can place in their. . .area in which a marital aid would be used. And it just kind of stays there. But the kicker is, the thing vibrates whenever a cell phone within 10 feet of the user rings.
Really? Really?
That disturbed me so much. And that's not even really the best (worst?) part.
The best part is that, me being me, I decided to go to the Web site the magazine provided to check this thing out for myself. (Don't worry; it's nothing immediately obscene.) Holy hell, you guys. It goes so much further than just the phone-activated kick in the pants (so to speak.) They also have ones activated by calls made to and from your particular phone or, and this blew my mind, ones you can attach to your iPod. Yes. That innocuous little provider of music? Is now a sex toy.
I'm appalled. I'm never going to look at my iPod the same way again. Or anyone answering a cell phone. Technology is a scary, scary place sometimes. And that place? Vibrates.
On to the survey!
((Survey))
Have you ever kissed anyone whose name started with J?
Yes. At least 2 people.
Has anyone ever told you that they want to spend the rest of their life with you?
Yes. Lies, incidentally.
Are you moody?
Incredibly.
What's bothering you right now?
The fact that I have to go into work in a little while to finish this effing grad tab.
Do you believe that you can change for someone?
Why would you want to be with someone who wanted you to change? I mean, sure, you could probably do it, like if your person wanted you to stop smoking or something. But the question still stands, why would you want to be with someone who requested you change? Are they changing for you? Also, if we're just talking about changing clothes, then sure. I would change.
Do you drink coffee?
Absolutely.
Do you get along with girls?
Less than I did 3 months ago, more than I did 10 years ago.
Do you crack your knuckles?
Occasionally.
Do you like surprises?
Not generally. I mean, if I were to walk up to my desk one day and there was a big bouquet of flowers then I'd be like, "Whooooo!!!!" That's an acceptable surprise. But I don't like the unknown, so when the unknown springs itself on me, I'm not a fan. I also don't like people jumping out at me. Blame that on childhood trauma.
Plans for this weekend?
Working. Cleaning. All those lame grown-up things you don't take into consideration when you're dying to graduate high school and college.
Have you ever been to California?
No. I'd like to, though. My brother lived there, and my S-dad visited him a few times, and I was really jealous.
Who was the last person you laid in a bed with?
Nate.
Have you cried this week at all?
No? No. . .I don't think so. I may have been on the verge at one point, but I don't think I ever did.
Where were you at 8:00 this morning?
Sleeping in bed.
What were you doing 3 hours ago?
I think I was still asleep.
What is your brother's name?
John.
What color is your hairbrush?
Two of them are purple and one is green.
Are you ticklish?
A little.
Are you typically a jealous person?
Yes. It has, in the past, proven to be a problem.
What’s the next concert you're going to?
No clue. I may go see Roger's wife perform tonight, but that's not really a concert, per se.
Are you afraid of falling in love?
Afraid of it? No? I don't really know how to answer this question.
What’s your current mood?
It's fairly good.
Do you like anyone?
I hate this question. Are you asking me if I have fond feelings toward people or if I'm interested in anyone? Because the answers, respectively, would be not usually, and yes.
What color is your room?
Generic Tan.
What was the last thing you ate?
Leftover fries.
Who was the last person you hung out with?
Well, I was at work ALL DAY yesterday, so if you want to be technical about it, the last people I "hung out" with were co-workers.
Do you think you're approachable?
You know, I think I am, but I also think other people don't think so. I think that once people do approach me, they realize I'm approachable, but I've been told that I give off a "don't mess with me" vibe, so people might not realize that I'm not actually that bad.
Regret doing anything in the past week?
No. . .it was actually a decent week. There are things I regret NOT doing, but it's been a good week.
Do you have a dirty mind?
I do. I'm not proud of it, but despite the Christian school upbringing, I have a surprisingly dirty mind. I just don't usually share what I'm thinking with people because, for one, it might freak them out, because I don't strike a lot of people as a dirty-minded person and, for another, due to the aforementioned upbringing, I have a really hard time talking about "dirty" things. It's like a mental block. It's not that I can't find the words; I just can't make myself say them. But I do say "That's what she said" a lot.
Have you been pressured to do anything recently?
Not in a bad way. I was working and Allison "pressured" me to go out for a couple of drinks instead. (It was after-hours. Don't worry.)
Do you think it's OK to live with your parents as an adult?
Sure. You probably shouldn't do it for your entire life, though. I had an aunt that lived with my grandparents until she died a couple years ago, and I just never understood it. I mean, I can't judge, because it's not my life, but, much as I love my parents, I don't think I'd want to live with them into my 50's. I'm also pretty sure they wouldn't want me to be around all the time into my 50's.
Do you like your name?
No. Both my first and middle names are tragically boring, and few people can correctly pronounce and/or spell my last name on the first try. I've had some really interesting variations, though.
Do you hate anyone?
I have some people that I have a great, great deal of disdain for, but I'm not sure I would go so far as to invoke the "hate" word.
Did you go to college?
Your mom goes to college. (Stupid movie references aside, yes. I did.)
What's your worst habit?
I have a whole plethora of bad habits.
Are you listening to any music? What song?
Yes. "Over You" by Chris Daughtry.
Do you still talk to the person you last dated?
I do.
Do you love someone?
There's another one of those questions. I love choice family members, how about that?
What would you do if you found out your ex is engaged today?
Two of my exes are married and the other one, I don't really have an opinion as to what he does in terms of marriage. He just got out of a three-year relationship, though, so I don't think he's going to make that jump any time soon.
What is your favorite color?
I can't pick just one. They are purple-red-pink-black. Like Valentine's Day.
Do you like competition?
I don't like it necessarily, but I'm an extraordinarily competitive person.
Would you ever stay with someone, just because you didn't want to break their heart?
I'd like to say no, but I've not been in that situation, so I don't know. I did end a dating-thing with a guy once (we weren't in a relationship, but we went out fairly regularly) that I knew was really into me. So I guess I wouldn't stay with someone to break their heart. No, I don't know. Next question.
Have you ever taken anyone/anything for granted?
Every day, probably.
Do you hate being alone?
I'm not fond of it, but I'm used to it. I adapted.
Has anyone ever broken your heart?
Yes.
Who was the last person to send you a text message?
Someone from work, telling me that my boss really liked something I did.
Last time you went swimming in a pool?
Probably last summer.
How do you feel about your hair?
I have an extreme, antagonistic, love-hate relationship with my hair. I love how it looks when it's cooperating, but in order for it to cooperate, I have to put forth effort, and I'm extremely lazy. Dilemma.
Last time you were hugged?
Yesterday.
AIM or MSN?
AIM.
Do you miss anyone right now?
When I throw things at them. I have bad aim.
I did end up going running last night at the dark track. It was kind of awesome. I really wish I had a longer amount of time I could run without feeling like I'm going to die, but I'll work up to it one of these days. I just like knowing I'm getting actual exercise while having the opportunity to listen to whatever music I want however loudly I want without worrying about bothering someone. Running, I guess, could be a group activity, but I see it as kind of a solitary thing, you know? I don't have to talk to anyone and I can just do my own thing. I'm looking forward to when I can get up to "going for a run" rather than "hobbling on a run."
Secondly, I found this thing in a Cosmopolitan magazine that really disturbed me. I don't read Cosmopolitan as a general rule, but my best friend Nate was up here earlier this week and we like to buy them and read them while laughing at how asinine some of the stuff is.
But really? I think I've found one that takes the cake.
Apparently, there's this. . .what's the nice term for them? Marital aid? There's this little, egg-shaped marital aid that women can place in their. . .area in which a marital aid would be used. And it just kind of stays there. But the kicker is, the thing vibrates whenever a cell phone within 10 feet of the user rings.
Really? Really?
That disturbed me so much. And that's not even really the best (worst?) part.
The best part is that, me being me, I decided to go to the Web site the magazine provided to check this thing out for myself. (Don't worry; it's nothing immediately obscene.) Holy hell, you guys. It goes so much further than just the phone-activated kick in the pants (so to speak.) They also have ones activated by calls made to and from your particular phone or, and this blew my mind, ones you can attach to your iPod. Yes. That innocuous little provider of music? Is now a sex toy.
I'm appalled. I'm never going to look at my iPod the same way again. Or anyone answering a cell phone. Technology is a scary, scary place sometimes. And that place? Vibrates.
On to the survey!
((Survey))
Have you ever kissed anyone whose name started with J?
Yes. At least 2 people.
Has anyone ever told you that they want to spend the rest of their life with you?
Yes. Lies, incidentally.
Are you moody?
Incredibly.
What's bothering you right now?
The fact that I have to go into work in a little while to finish this effing grad tab.
Do you believe that you can change for someone?
Why would you want to be with someone who wanted you to change? I mean, sure, you could probably do it, like if your person wanted you to stop smoking or something. But the question still stands, why would you want to be with someone who requested you change? Are they changing for you? Also, if we're just talking about changing clothes, then sure. I would change.
Do you drink coffee?
Absolutely.
Do you get along with girls?
Less than I did 3 months ago, more than I did 10 years ago.
Do you crack your knuckles?
Occasionally.
Do you like surprises?
Not generally. I mean, if I were to walk up to my desk one day and there was a big bouquet of flowers then I'd be like, "Whooooo!!!!" That's an acceptable surprise. But I don't like the unknown, so when the unknown springs itself on me, I'm not a fan. I also don't like people jumping out at me. Blame that on childhood trauma.
Plans for this weekend?
Working. Cleaning. All those lame grown-up things you don't take into consideration when you're dying to graduate high school and college.
Have you ever been to California?
No. I'd like to, though. My brother lived there, and my S-dad visited him a few times, and I was really jealous.
Who was the last person you laid in a bed with?
Nate.
Have you cried this week at all?
No? No. . .I don't think so. I may have been on the verge at one point, but I don't think I ever did.
Where were you at 8:00 this morning?
Sleeping in bed.
What were you doing 3 hours ago?
I think I was still asleep.
What is your brother's name?
John.
What color is your hairbrush?
Two of them are purple and one is green.
Are you ticklish?
A little.
Are you typically a jealous person?
Yes. It has, in the past, proven to be a problem.
What’s the next concert you're going to?
No clue. I may go see Roger's wife perform tonight, but that's not really a concert, per se.
Are you afraid of falling in love?
Afraid of it? No? I don't really know how to answer this question.
What’s your current mood?
It's fairly good.
Do you like anyone?
I hate this question. Are you asking me if I have fond feelings toward people or if I'm interested in anyone? Because the answers, respectively, would be not usually, and yes.
What color is your room?
Generic Tan.
What was the last thing you ate?
Leftover fries.
Who was the last person you hung out with?
Well, I was at work ALL DAY yesterday, so if you want to be technical about it, the last people I "hung out" with were co-workers.
Do you think you're approachable?
You know, I think I am, but I also think other people don't think so. I think that once people do approach me, they realize I'm approachable, but I've been told that I give off a "don't mess with me" vibe, so people might not realize that I'm not actually that bad.
Regret doing anything in the past week?
No. . .it was actually a decent week. There are things I regret NOT doing, but it's been a good week.
Do you have a dirty mind?
I do. I'm not proud of it, but despite the Christian school upbringing, I have a surprisingly dirty mind. I just don't usually share what I'm thinking with people because, for one, it might freak them out, because I don't strike a lot of people as a dirty-minded person and, for another, due to the aforementioned upbringing, I have a really hard time talking about "dirty" things. It's like a mental block. It's not that I can't find the words; I just can't make myself say them. But I do say "That's what she said" a lot.
Have you been pressured to do anything recently?
Not in a bad way. I was working and Allison "pressured" me to go out for a couple of drinks instead. (It was after-hours. Don't worry.)
Do you think it's OK to live with your parents as an adult?
Sure. You probably shouldn't do it for your entire life, though. I had an aunt that lived with my grandparents until she died a couple years ago, and I just never understood it. I mean, I can't judge, because it's not my life, but, much as I love my parents, I don't think I'd want to live with them into my 50's. I'm also pretty sure they wouldn't want me to be around all the time into my 50's.
Do you like your name?
No. Both my first and middle names are tragically boring, and few people can correctly pronounce and/or spell my last name on the first try. I've had some really interesting variations, though.
Do you hate anyone?
I have some people that I have a great, great deal of disdain for, but I'm not sure I would go so far as to invoke the "hate" word.
Did you go to college?
Your mom goes to college. (Stupid movie references aside, yes. I did.)
What's your worst habit?
I have a whole plethora of bad habits.
Are you listening to any music? What song?
Yes. "Over You" by Chris Daughtry.
Do you still talk to the person you last dated?
I do.
Do you love someone?
There's another one of those questions. I love choice family members, how about that?
What would you do if you found out your ex is engaged today?
Two of my exes are married and the other one, I don't really have an opinion as to what he does in terms of marriage. He just got out of a three-year relationship, though, so I don't think he's going to make that jump any time soon.
What is your favorite color?
I can't pick just one. They are purple-red-pink-black. Like Valentine's Day.
Do you like competition?
I don't like it necessarily, but I'm an extraordinarily competitive person.
Would you ever stay with someone, just because you didn't want to break their heart?
I'd like to say no, but I've not been in that situation, so I don't know. I did end a dating-thing with a guy once (we weren't in a relationship, but we went out fairly regularly) that I knew was really into me. So I guess I wouldn't stay with someone to break their heart. No, I don't know. Next question.
Have you ever taken anyone/anything for granted?
Every day, probably.
Do you hate being alone?
I'm not fond of it, but I'm used to it. I adapted.
Has anyone ever broken your heart?
Yes.
Who was the last person to send you a text message?
Someone from work, telling me that my boss really liked something I did.
Last time you went swimming in a pool?
Probably last summer.
How do you feel about your hair?
I have an extreme, antagonistic, love-hate relationship with my hair. I love how it looks when it's cooperating, but in order for it to cooperate, I have to put forth effort, and I'm extremely lazy. Dilemma.
Last time you were hugged?
Yesterday.
AIM or MSN?
AIM.
Do you miss anyone right now?
When I throw things at them. I have bad aim.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Why don't you pretend we were just a dream? It's cool baby; it doesn't matter anyway.
Day 2 on my quest toward daily blogdom.
Last night, I was up until approximately 3. Until. . .quarter of two? I was online, talking to my old friend Mark. He and I went to elementary school together and were quite the item. He was my kindergarten to 4th grade boyfriend. We "broke up" because I switched schools.
So we talked for hours and hours, and it was pretty awesome. You have to understand that I haven't talked to this guy in approximately 12 years, and we picked up the conversation like we'd been BFF for years. His girlfriend, incidentally, goes to the same school from which I graduated, so I have to wonder if, at some point in time, he and I were on the school's campus at the same time and didn't even know it. That'd be pretty crazy.
But it was a good conversation, and I look forward to continuing to talk to him. We have tons of stuff in common (including our bachelor's major of choice, among other nerdy things) and he seems to have the same kind of odd sense of humor I have. I laughed out loud a couple times, which is something that doesn't happen often in online conversations. (Incidentally, it's why I refuse to use "lol." Because more often than not, it's just a big, fat lie.)
So today. Oh, today.
I've been working on this thing referred to as a grad tab, which is short for graduation tabloid, which is short for giant pain in my ass. Basically, it's this special publication geared toward the graduating seniors in all of the high schools (and private schools) in Whitaker. Each student filled out this form telling what their favorite high school memory was in 25 words or less, and then the schools sent me lists of names of graduating seniors and photos of the seniors and stuff like that. Cute, right?
False.
I was under the impression that this thing was due Monday afternoon. I walk into work today and CaseyDownstairs tells me that, oh yeah, it prints on Monday - it's supposed to be finished today.
So I go upstairs in a panic and ask CousinCasey about it. She says, "Oh, yeah. I thought it was a little weird that you were saying it was due Monday. It's usually due on a Friday."
That? Might have been nice to know two weeks ago. So basically, I've finished between 3 and 5 pages of this 28-page tabloid that's supposed to be finished by the end of the day.
As it turns out, it's printing Sunday night, so I have tomorrow to work on it, too. That did not, however, prevent me from sitting on my ball all day (I sit on one of those exercise balls at my desk instead of in a desk chair. Unless it starts hurting my back. Then it's back to the chair.) and churning out most of the pages. Between the hours of 9:45 and 3:30, I stood up from my desk exactly 3 times. I hadn't eaten breakfast this morning, and I didn't eat lunch until 3:30 when Derek brought me back some Chinese food that I ate in approximately .7 seconds.
I'll have to some into work again tomorrow at some point, but I got most of it done, and that's what matters.
I was going to make myself "run" again this evening, but since it's dark outside and I have yet to leave the office, I think maybe it's a no-go for tonight. Unless I sketchily go out to the Rec park and run around a dark track. We'll see, I guess.
Last night, I was up until approximately 3. Until. . .quarter of two? I was online, talking to my old friend Mark. He and I went to elementary school together and were quite the item. He was my kindergarten to 4th grade boyfriend. We "broke up" because I switched schools.
So we talked for hours and hours, and it was pretty awesome. You have to understand that I haven't talked to this guy in approximately 12 years, and we picked up the conversation like we'd been BFF for years. His girlfriend, incidentally, goes to the same school from which I graduated, so I have to wonder if, at some point in time, he and I were on the school's campus at the same time and didn't even know it. That'd be pretty crazy.
But it was a good conversation, and I look forward to continuing to talk to him. We have tons of stuff in common (including our bachelor's major of choice, among other nerdy things) and he seems to have the same kind of odd sense of humor I have. I laughed out loud a couple times, which is something that doesn't happen often in online conversations. (Incidentally, it's why I refuse to use "lol." Because more often than not, it's just a big, fat lie.)
So today. Oh, today.
I've been working on this thing referred to as a grad tab, which is short for graduation tabloid, which is short for giant pain in my ass. Basically, it's this special publication geared toward the graduating seniors in all of the high schools (and private schools) in Whitaker. Each student filled out this form telling what their favorite high school memory was in 25 words or less, and then the schools sent me lists of names of graduating seniors and photos of the seniors and stuff like that. Cute, right?
False.
I was under the impression that this thing was due Monday afternoon. I walk into work today and CaseyDownstairs tells me that, oh yeah, it prints on Monday - it's supposed to be finished today.
So I go upstairs in a panic and ask CousinCasey about it. She says, "Oh, yeah. I thought it was a little weird that you were saying it was due Monday. It's usually due on a Friday."
That? Might have been nice to know two weeks ago. So basically, I've finished between 3 and 5 pages of this 28-page tabloid that's supposed to be finished by the end of the day.
As it turns out, it's printing Sunday night, so I have tomorrow to work on it, too. That did not, however, prevent me from sitting on my ball all day (I sit on one of those exercise balls at my desk instead of in a desk chair. Unless it starts hurting my back. Then it's back to the chair.) and churning out most of the pages. Between the hours of 9:45 and 3:30, I stood up from my desk exactly 3 times. I hadn't eaten breakfast this morning, and I didn't eat lunch until 3:30 when Derek brought me back some Chinese food that I ate in approximately .7 seconds.
I'll have to some into work again tomorrow at some point, but I got most of it done, and that's what matters.
I was going to make myself "run" again this evening, but since it's dark outside and I have yet to leave the office, I think maybe it's a no-go for tonight. Unless I sketchily go out to the Rec park and run around a dark track. We'll see, I guess.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
She's always living like she's running out of time. (Too much just ain't enough to keep her satisfied.)
So here is it. The odyssey that is me.
I've kept a livejournal for the last 5 or 6 years, but it's not the kind of thing I'd want to invite everyone and their mother to read. I started it my senior year of high school so there's a fair amount of angst involved. And angst? Is not a good color on me.
I've decided to try to keep a regular "blog" (Random fact about me #1: I hate the word "blog.") that doesn't involve me being all emo and angsty. I'm putting the minutia of my life out there for whomever to read because, as a writer, it's good to keep in practice, I think. I like the idea of my own little corner of the Internet where I can say. . .whatever I feel like. People can read it, people can ignore it, but the fact is, it's my life, and I'm sharing it. I'm long-winded sometimes, but some people are actually interested in what I say. (And that's a fact. I've been told that my journal entries are interesting to read. Actual people have said that.)
I should start with me. Liz isn't technically my name. It could have been, and, if you wanted to be technical, could be, but it isn't. However, since I work in the media, I figure that a lot of things I talk about should probably not be named specifically. You know, the paper I work for, the names of people around here, etc. If you really, really wanted to know, you could probably find out the little details fairly easily, but why don't you just take my word for it? I'm a journalist - you should be able to believe what we say, right? If you know me, you'll know what I'm talking about anyway. If you don't, you probably don't need to.
I'm the editor of the Life section of a little newspaper I'll call The Peak ('cause I live in the mountains. Cute, right?) I'm in charge of every little thing that goes on around here that would be considered human interest. I do weddings, engagements, anniversaries, births, school news, news about people who have quit smoking cold turkey after 42 years, news about ballet recitals. . .basically anything that wouldn't be considered hard news. I also do obituaries. The Peak covers the entirety of Haddis County, which is made up of 5 towns. I live in the biggest of these towns, Whitaker. I moved here from the Capital a little over 7 months ago, and it's been an interesting adjustment.
Now that I've got the introductions and niceties out of the way, I'll get on with it.
My day was long. A long and arduous day was had, but I'm not really interested in rehashing it.
I went for a run a couple of hours ago because I felt like a slug. Plus, it is hotter in my apartment (no air conditioning) than it was outside, so I figured if I was going to get all gross and sweaty, I may as well have something to show for it. I plugged up my iPod (beginning with loud, angry break-up music, as I went through something of a break-up recently) and took off. I'm fairly certain I look like a complete moron when I run, because I mouth along with whatever song I'm listening to and, if the mood strikes me, bust out with air drumming. I also tend to close my eyes when I do this, so I imagine people passing me on the street watch, waiting for me to run into something.
One of the biggest things that's different between the Capital and Whitaker is that I'm not as afraid here. I'm kind of a paranoid person by nature, but in Whitaker, I thought nothing of starting out for my run at dusk and getting back just as night fell.
I should mention that when I say "I went for a run" what I mean is "I went for a brisk walk punctuated with bursts of running until it feels like my lungs are going to explode." I'm not out of shape, per se, but running for long distances isn't something I'm able to do at this point. I'm working up to that.
Anyway, I ran to a little community in Whitaker that, I believe, used to be its own separate entity but was annexed or something, and while I was going, I was kind of struck by how pretty the area I live in is. I'm not going to lie - I'm still a little star-struck by the fact that I live in such a pretty part of the state. It's a little obnoxious now, because all the old Floridians are coming up to live in their summer homes for the next 5 months or so, but then I think, you know, a lot of people pay a lot of money to vacation in the place I call home. And that's kind of cool.
Somewhere between beating out the drum part to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' "American Girl" on my air drum kit and jazz handsing it through The Weather Girls' "It's Raining Men," I decided to start "blogging" for the world to see. And aren't you lucky?
It has something to do with the fact that I'm a writer and, as such, I like to be read. I'm working on a novel right now (very slow goings, especially since I keep losing the jump drive I've got the file on) but the only person who reads that is me. And there are a very limited number of people who read the livejournal. This way, I can write and feel like someone's reading me, even if it's only one or two people. Because really? I have no way of knowing. And what you don't know can't hurt you, right? Right.
I'll end with a concession I made recently. I don't drink beer. I don't like the smell and I don't like the taste. However, my friend Derek had a Bud Light Lime the other day and gave me a swig of it. It wasn't bad, and I find myself buying it now. I mention this because, as it turns out, a cold beer is pretty good after a run. I'd recommend it. Both the beer and the run.
I've kept a livejournal for the last 5 or 6 years, but it's not the kind of thing I'd want to invite everyone and their mother to read. I started it my senior year of high school so there's a fair amount of angst involved. And angst? Is not a good color on me.
I've decided to try to keep a regular "blog" (Random fact about me #1: I hate the word "blog.") that doesn't involve me being all emo and angsty. I'm putting the minutia of my life out there for whomever to read because, as a writer, it's good to keep in practice, I think. I like the idea of my own little corner of the Internet where I can say. . .whatever I feel like. People can read it, people can ignore it, but the fact is, it's my life, and I'm sharing it. I'm long-winded sometimes, but some people are actually interested in what I say. (And that's a fact. I've been told that my journal entries are interesting to read. Actual people have said that.)
I should start with me. Liz isn't technically my name. It could have been, and, if you wanted to be technical, could be, but it isn't. However, since I work in the media, I figure that a lot of things I talk about should probably not be named specifically. You know, the paper I work for, the names of people around here, etc. If you really, really wanted to know, you could probably find out the little details fairly easily, but why don't you just take my word for it? I'm a journalist - you should be able to believe what we say, right? If you know me, you'll know what I'm talking about anyway. If you don't, you probably don't need to.
I'm the editor of the Life section of a little newspaper I'll call The Peak ('cause I live in the mountains. Cute, right?) I'm in charge of every little thing that goes on around here that would be considered human interest. I do weddings, engagements, anniversaries, births, school news, news about people who have quit smoking cold turkey after 42 years, news about ballet recitals. . .basically anything that wouldn't be considered hard news. I also do obituaries. The Peak covers the entirety of Haddis County, which is made up of 5 towns. I live in the biggest of these towns, Whitaker. I moved here from the Capital a little over 7 months ago, and it's been an interesting adjustment.
Now that I've got the introductions and niceties out of the way, I'll get on with it.
My day was long. A long and arduous day was had, but I'm not really interested in rehashing it.
I went for a run a couple of hours ago because I felt like a slug. Plus, it is hotter in my apartment (no air conditioning) than it was outside, so I figured if I was going to get all gross and sweaty, I may as well have something to show for it. I plugged up my iPod (beginning with loud, angry break-up music, as I went through something of a break-up recently) and took off. I'm fairly certain I look like a complete moron when I run, because I mouth along with whatever song I'm listening to and, if the mood strikes me, bust out with air drumming. I also tend to close my eyes when I do this, so I imagine people passing me on the street watch, waiting for me to run into something.
One of the biggest things that's different between the Capital and Whitaker is that I'm not as afraid here. I'm kind of a paranoid person by nature, but in Whitaker, I thought nothing of starting out for my run at dusk and getting back just as night fell.
I should mention that when I say "I went for a run" what I mean is "I went for a brisk walk punctuated with bursts of running until it feels like my lungs are going to explode." I'm not out of shape, per se, but running for long distances isn't something I'm able to do at this point. I'm working up to that.
Anyway, I ran to a little community in Whitaker that, I believe, used to be its own separate entity but was annexed or something, and while I was going, I was kind of struck by how pretty the area I live in is. I'm not going to lie - I'm still a little star-struck by the fact that I live in such a pretty part of the state. It's a little obnoxious now, because all the old Floridians are coming up to live in their summer homes for the next 5 months or so, but then I think, you know, a lot of people pay a lot of money to vacation in the place I call home. And that's kind of cool.
Somewhere between beating out the drum part to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' "American Girl" on my air drum kit and jazz handsing it through The Weather Girls' "It's Raining Men," I decided to start "blogging" for the world to see. And aren't you lucky?
It has something to do with the fact that I'm a writer and, as such, I like to be read. I'm working on a novel right now (very slow goings, especially since I keep losing the jump drive I've got the file on) but the only person who reads that is me. And there are a very limited number of people who read the livejournal. This way, I can write and feel like someone's reading me, even if it's only one or two people. Because really? I have no way of knowing. And what you don't know can't hurt you, right? Right.
I'll end with a concession I made recently. I don't drink beer. I don't like the smell and I don't like the taste. However, my friend Derek had a Bud Light Lime the other day and gave me a swig of it. It wasn't bad, and I find myself buying it now. I mention this because, as it turns out, a cold beer is pretty good after a run. I'd recommend it. Both the beer and the run.
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