Now that it's over, I don't even know what I liked about you.

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

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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, really 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.