I took this pic out my kitchen window....

Seriously, WHAT is wrong with my neighborhood?? 

Personal Space

While home for Thanksgiving, I was talking to Geoff about the politics of hugging… My impulse is to hug people back home that I haven’t seen in awhile, but every once in awhile I hit someone that will have none of it/obviously prefers not to have a Marciariffic squeeze. I tell myself it’s not just me, they are not huggers—and I’m guessing for the most part that is the truth.

But the opposite of this occasional anti-hugger is the person that has no need for personal space no boundaries whatsoever. Such as the guy who sat next to me on the plane that had both arm rests AND decided his newspapers belonged under my seat. Yeah. He totally shoved his newspaper UNDER my seat … under my butt really, without so much as an acknowledgement. I spent most of the three-hour flight practically flattened against the window so as to avoid contact with this overly comfortable flyer. It was weird.

At least I thought it was weird. Yesterday, I got a mid-afternoon caffeine fix in the form of a Coke. Since I didn’t finish it, it was still sitting on my desk this morning. Our office runner guy came through to bring me some interoffice mail and saw my soda… and said OH can I have . I asked him what he wanted… a paper towel? My proofs? Some oatmeal perhaps?

Nope, apparently he wanted the tab on my can, which he reached over the top of my desk around my monitor and snapped off and said something about saving them for a house … I think he meant Ronald McDonald House. Now that is a GREAT cause, and I am all for his enthusiasm in saving tabs for them but … what if I was still drinking the soda? It was sitting right in front of me! I just don’t think I’d have the nerve to touch the top of someone’s can where they are about to put their mouth without their permission.

So …. Is it me? Are my personal space boundaries too high? Or do I give off a push-over vibe? A vibe that says “No really, my 14 inches of airplane seat, is your 14 inches… My soda is your soda!” I’m very confused and somewhat amused….

What might tomorrow bring?? :-)

Dear Gershem Kinney,

So lovely to hear from you today. I trust your wife's rapid weight loss has gone well and that your marriage has more sparks than ever thanks to those little blue pills.

I appreciate your email today offering to sell me
V / A G R A

C / A L l S

V A L / U M

and at

Extra Low P R / C E S! to boot!

Wow, I am truly honored to be chosen to receive these unsolicited extraordinary savings!

However, I think I'm all stocked up right now. You can let your hundreds of friends that email me each and every week--including Fechi Kinztel, Ingunna Lodvika and the always charming Shachar Luadreux that really does have the best deals on ROLeXXes--that I will contact them should I have any future needs.

If you run into Inger Marcella, please please please let her know that I haven't received my PS3 yet. I sent my credit card number two weeks ago now, but I just want to make sure little Timmy has it to play on Christmas morning. I suppose it will arrive any day! Mysteriously, that same credit card is now maxed out with charges that don't look familiar... Hmm. Oh well, probably nothing to be concerned with!

Well, I hope you have a lovely Christmas! Toodles!

XOXO,
-marcia

Frozen Pupsicles

When I went up to ND for Thanksgiving, Max and Zoe the Wonderpoodles decided to stay with "grandma and grandpa" until Christmas. The weather was fairly decent while I was up there, but as fate would have it... it snowed just two days after I returned to the sunshine state. The pups have never seen snow, and they are not loving it according to my mom's regular puppy updates...

Today's Update:

Max had to go outside in a big hurry. He ran out and got up to his neck in snow before he realized what was happening. I had to go get him.
His need froze and he used the indoor facility (they are pad trained).

Dear Management,

I appreciate your efforts to make my transition to vacation in North Dakota next week seamless. I am guessing that is the reason why it is so cold in my office that I am currently forced to run my space-heater at full blast while wearing socks, a heavy sweater over my long-sleeved shirt and tank top, and gloves ... when it is a delightful 85 degrees outside.

What you may not know is that we do actually have heaters in North Dakota--both in our homes and cars--and there is really no need to freeze out everyone in the building on my behalf.

Always indebted to your sensitivity in watching out for my unfelt needs,

-Marcia

Rollerskating in 2006: A Photo Essay

Sneaking a photo before the ref throws us out

Amanda was having flashbacks

mmmmmmmm raspberry slush puppie--as deliciously disgusting as I remembered

uhhh smoking at a roller rink? alrighty.

mmmm giant pickles, nachos and "suicides"

our poor little feet were so happy to see the light of day

good bye little skates, good bye!

That darn cat

Almost three years ago, a friend and I launched a 20-somethings group at our church. It's morphed several times since that time, and now consists of two weekly Bible study groups that get together regularly for fun events and service projects.

Anytime a new ministry is started from scratch, it's a struggle, and this group has been no exception. But finally over the last couple of months, we've all gotten into a groove. The groups have been growing closer and we’ve enjoyed each other’s company and friendship.

Enter the cat.

I'm deathly allergic to cats. I've had allergy tests twice, and I've assured the doctor poking me with the allergens that the cat one need not be tested. However, when they test for cat allergies anyway, the sample swells up so much that it is off the charts/other doctors and nurses gather around to gawk at the freaky allergic girl.

No one suspects my debilitating allergy since cats aren’t something I run across in every day life. But anytime I'm invited to a house for a church activity, bridal shower or a new friend's for dinner, I have to ask the dreaded question that sounds so much like I'm trying to get out of something: "Do you have a cat?" If a cat has so much been in the vicinity, and if I don't feel like being hospitalized that day, I have to decline attendance.

That's why it was such a shocker that after three years, I had to step down from Bible study. Our leaders—who also host the group—got a cat. Obviously I can't begrudge someone for getting a pet, and the leaders are good friends and great leaders. So, I let them know about my allergy, and sadly would need to find another group. I won’t lie—it sucked. I like my group. I started thinking about the process of finding another group within our church of over 1,000, and it about my nauseous.

However, after many emails back and forth with the leaders, they said the group would be meeting on the porch to accommodate me. I tried to argue that that was asking too much, but they would have none of it and it was a done deal.

Wow. Talk about guilt. As I showed up for the group, eight other people are sitting outside in the heat, in the dark, with bugs flying around … because of me. It was truly humbling.

As a single person, I know that I don't often have to make that many sacrifices. The biggest sacrifice in my average day is going to lunch at some place I don't prefer, cleaning up after my dogs (yuck), or meeting a friend on her side of town instead of mine. Not exactly major life adjustments.

But, the flip side of that is I don't have to receive sacrifices either. Not goats slain at my door (thankfully) … but other people adjusting their lives on my behalf. It hit me that while everyone talks about how marriage is full of sacrifice, I don't think of accepting someone's gift of sacrifice. I think of married people accepting thoughtfulness—receiving flowers, attending a sucky event together, remembering to ask about a certain occasion. Lovely, happy things that make both parties feel better.

But, let me tell you, sacrifice—receiving and giving when it's not convenient—is a learned art. It is hard knowing that other people are giving up their comfort indefinitely for you. It’s truly, truly humbling to remember once again I’m not super girl … and that I need people to do life together with me.

So, thank you to my dear friends—in Bible study and beyond—that care enough about me to adjust their lives for me. And for helping to teach me a little more about what sacrifice really means.

Lessons from a five year old

As I was sitting at the chiropractor's office last night, waiting (and waiting) to be called back to the little room, two kids whirled about in the waiting room. God bless her, one of the nurses came and put on The Lion King for the kids.

The approximately five year old boy ran up to the TV and grabbed the only kiddie chair, put it an adequate distance from the TV and ... motioned for the four year old little girl to take a seat. Without even hesitating or complaining, he headed back to the "adult" seating, where he could barely see the TV, to settle in to watch the video.

The nurse and I stared at each other in disbelieve that a little kid, with no parents in sight, would be that chivalrous to another random little girl. Unphased, the kids just chatted on about what was going to happen in The Lion King.

It's funny how a little moment that no one else even thinks twice about can give you hope and sadness all in the same breath.

I was a little disappointed at the anticlimactic event that was our company picnic/Olympics. With Olympic events that included a rubberband shooting contest, coffee cup relay (complete with "tagging off" by dumping coffee in the next person’s cup), and task chair rowing (where six people roll their task chairs about 50 yards across the parking lot as a group)—the recipe for disaster was so delicious I could almost taste it.

I mean, the last time we had this so-called morale building event, one person ended up at the emergency room for cracking their head during the task chair fiasco, while another one was out for the count … so at the VERY least, someone should have snapped themselves in the eye with a rubberband.

But instead? Nothing.

I cheered on those that enjoy these types of humiliating events/those that were guilted into participating. We had BBQ chicken and rolls (sans dessert—the key missing ingredient to the day). We got out of over two hours of work and got to wear casual clothes to work for the first work day in two years.

DANG IT. Maybe I’ll have a better story next year.

But for now ... pictures:

When I left Nashville almost four years ago, Jack-in-the-Box (or as I affectionally call it, Salmonella Central) was advertising their new milk shakes with that annoying styrofoam ball head scary-ass clown. I didn't even realize I hadn't seen that annoying clown head bobbing about until today, while in Plano, Texas for a quick work trip, I saw the company's new commercial.

Now the fast food chain with an overwhelming plethara of toxic fast food choices that range from burgers to tacos to egg rolls is now advertising that their shakes come with whipped cream and a cherry. ta-da!

And the world turns. :)

Who's with me on totally loving Love bug season??


 

Pin the shorts on the hootchie

I got the new issue of Entertainment Weekly today at work. On the cover this week is Eva Longoria wearing fishnets and what appear to be some hotshort undies.

See exhibit A.


Since I work at a Christian company, often magazine covers with scantily clad women get ripped off. Well in an attempt to rescue the cover so that everyone could see Eva's haughty pose and the layers and layers of hair extensions that would make Paris Hilton jealous, I decided to make some shorts through the magic of a Sharpie.

See exhibit B.



Realizing that the Sharpie didn't quite do the trick, I decided Ms. Longoria needed to look a bit more fabulous for her EW cover shot ... And what could be more fabulous than some Post-it note 7 for all Mankind brand shorts? (A shout-out to Uhmanduh for fashioning her some pockets).

See exhibit C.




As I was showing off her lovely new outfit to my office-mates, my editor came wandering in and raised his eyebrow a bit at my afternoon activity of cut-and-paste. So, imagine my surprise when just a few minutes later he bursts into my office with a change of clothing for Eva--this year's hot fashion accessory, nonetheless--a gold rainjacket made from construction paper.

Why did he have construction paper in his office? I have no idea. But the jacket fit PERFECTLY even though he didn't have the magazine cover to use as a guide. Lets just say I laughed like I haven't laughed in a long time.

See exhibit D.


I hope Eva appreciates what we've done for ... It's all in a day's work.

I can't quite figure out what is going on in this delightful figurine, perfect for any home... but if I were to guess ... at first glance it appears that this nun got knocked up and is now caring for her newborn child while trying to lose the pregnancy weight??

But, maybe I'm completely off base here.

iWant One

Who's excited with me?



After holding myself back from buying the first Video iPod that came out last year ... holding onto my ghetto B&W 3rd generation model while all my friends laughed and pointed while toting around their full color sleek black or white models ... I think this may be my year.

Goodbye ghettoness ... Hello Gen 5.

Bahama Mama

I just got back from a four day cruise to the Bahamas with my mom. I'm so lucky to live in Florida near the ports. After all the s-t-r-e-s-s of late, it was really nice to relax on the boat.

They rerouted us so we did the cruise backwards in order to avoid a storm, and it worked--we had beeaaautiful weather almost the entire time. We enjoyed pigging out on the chocolate buffet (who knew chocolate bread pudding could taste like little bits of heaven?), watching the men's sexy legs contest with awards such as "Flamingo Legs" and "Hairiest Legs," and wandering around the aquarium at Atlantis and through the shops in Nassau.

One thing a cruise does make you appreciate so very much is your own bathroom. While you are pampered at every corner on a cruise like your standard deluxe resort--room service on demand, a stateroom attendant that cleans your room not once but twice a day, delicious food and desserts, a 24 hour pool ... the bathroom makes you feel like you are in an RV/camping. It's easy to touch both walls without fully spreading out your arms, and the shower is so small you can't bend over ... and the one inch lip doesn't quite contain the water. haha Now that I've returned, I feel like I should hold swing dance lessons in my ginormous bathroom.

My Bahamas trip was not only sandwiched by two weddings (Matt & Jamey's then Chris & Heather's), but also between two trips to Disney. The day before I left, I took two friends from N.D. that were in town for my bro's wedding to MGM. They had never been to Disney before, so we had a blast riding rides and laughing as we dashed through the steady rain. Then, on the very day we returned, mom and I took a quick nap before heading off to Night of Joy at the Magic Kingdom to meet Amanda & Sean and hit the rides, including the newly updated Pirates of the Caribbean, complete with a very realistic Captain Jack Sparrow.

After being out for 10 days, It was pretty hard going back to the real world today to an inbox of 370 emails and an office that was beyond stifling as the AC went out over the weekend (for those of you that are keeping track—yes Again).

However, it's always nice to be welcomed back by great friends. Even through my tired haze, I had a great time with S&A at Disney, then got to dance the night away with lots of friends at C&H's wedding.

So, here’s to O-town. :-)

Sporty Spice

My little 4lb toy poodle, Zoe, got up this morning and wasn't her usually jumpy Excited To Be Alive self. Instead, she got out of her little bed/cage and sat on my feet. Since my mom and grandma are staying with me, they kept an eye on her when I went off to work and said she was crying everytime she walked.

So, little Zoe had to go to the vet today. The vet said she dislocated her knee cap, and he had to pop both her back knees in. Now she is on prednisone. Yuck.

I'm really not sure what happened to cause this injury. The only thing I can figure is that maybe she's been playing too much volleyball while I'm at work. I heard murmurs of her wanting to turn pro, but she's been debating about holding out to play in the next Olympics.

I guess she threw that all away with this injury. Too bad. She had a mean spike too.

Yada, Yada, Yada ... I didn't get a lot of sleep last night

I met up with my friend Suz and her fiancee Tom after dinner to grab coffee and chat. We all got to catch up at the lovely Coffee Cafe, then went to my house to see their engagement pictures on my laptop.

Afterwards, still battling my ongoing sickness (we're at almost two weeks now kids!), I took a shower and went to bed. I read for a bit, eyes got droopy, rolled over to go to sleep and ... my mind was going a million miles an hour. I was thinking about friends, work, wedding, sickness, family ... AH!

I've been blaming my antibiotics (we're at almost two weeks now kids!) for the restless sleep I've been getting, but this was seriously ridiculous.

That's when it hit me. The nice little man behind the counter at the Coffee Cafe must have ignored that one little word that means so much ....

Decaf.

"I want to put DIAMONDS on my FACE!"

Sometimes I think the episode of Arrested Development where Lindsey wants Michael to spring for some face cream with real crushed up diamonds in it, is really not that much of an exaggeration.

My mom and I went to get our pre-wedding make-overs for my brother's wedding, so we did a trial run with the make-up artist, who is amazing and I love to pieces.

She put some high-end Yves Saint Laurent lip gloss on me and said "it's 24 karat gold!" Thinking this means it's the cutesy name for the lip gloss with a gold lid, I just smiled and puckered up.

When I went to look in the mirror I noted it had some gold shimmer to it. She said, "IT'S REAL GOLD! It has 24 karat gold in it!" This instantly worried me. "How do you not get poisoned consuming gold?!? Is there just so little that it's okay??"

She seemed none-to-concerned, shrugging and reiterating that It's REAL GOLD!

So, yeah ... for about $25 a tube, you too can have GOLD on your FACE. :)

Happy Birthday to Me

I've discovered that the best part about being reminded that you are officially old is that assorted companies have figured out they can win over customers/talk them into spending money that they weren't planning to spend under the guise of Birthday Gift rewards.

So far I have received the following:

DSW Shoes: $5 off
Gap: $15/off with $60 purchase
Victoria's Secret: $10
Express: $15 off (this one expired before my birthday so that one is dumb)
Hallmark: $4 off (I guess so I can buy my own card in case I'm feeling bad about the day?)
Kohls: 15% off

I haven't received birthday greetings from my State Farm insurance agent yet though, so that kind of bums me out.

The test

I recently went to a wedding dress fitting for my sister-in-law-to-be. She bought her dress at the same place where my friend Jen got her dress and I had heard tell from both of them of the guy that worked there and how it was hard to tell if he was gay. In my mind, I couldn't figure out how a guy could work at a wedding dress place without being gay, but then again I have a straight-and-proud hair guy, so you just never know.

So the test began the moment I walked in the door to the non-air-conditioned shop in downtown Orlando. I had to find out. Why I cared about a stranger's sexual preference, I don't know, I guess it was something for me to do while I waited.

The very flamboyant man that greeted us at the door had a bit of a rustic lumberjack beard and pretty brown eyes. Not bad looking, but was wearing some sort of old, really bad semi-Hawaiian button down type of shirt with some Wal-mart-esque jeans.

As Jamey headed back to the dressing room, the radio was blaring. I guess it was the Pussycat Dolls as he asked me if I was familiar with the group. I said I'd heard of them. But he wanted to know if I KNEW them... I was like "Well they are strippers right? They are strippers that formed a pop group."

My stripper accusation seemed to miff him a bit as he went off on how he had seen them live and they were ever-so-talented and just as beautiful as their pictures. Hmmm I can't imagine any of my straight friends singing along to the Pussycat Dolls (except Matty of course), but I can't imagine a gay guy going on about the beauty of female stripper-slash-singers. The puzzler continued.

Back to Jamey: He told her she needed to get some color. She agreed; we all discussed different fake tan or fake bake options.

Then I hit the jackpot.

Wedding guy said he had been at a nightclub recently and one of the male dancers was trying to help define his six pack by putting fake tanner on in streaks to outline the abs, and that it looked just ridiculous. Stripes on the male dancer's stomach. Oh the laughing. Oh the confirmation.

They don't call me an investigatory journalist for nothing.

The blood.

Last week, I was going over the work schedule with someone at our company, and mentioned that one of my favorite freelancer's mother died after a long battle with cancer, and that we needed to give her some grace in getting her work into us. Her response?

"Oh we need to cover her in the blood!"

Not one for discussing or mentioning blood myself (it kind of grosses me out really--the visual of literally covering someone in blood), I supposed that this was just her way of saying we needed to pray for her, so I agreed and moved on.

At least twice since then, she has said the same thing: "we need to pray the blood!" or "we just need to cover them in the blood."

Today I returned to work, admittedly a little grumpy and still not feeling great after my eardrum rupturing incident on Thursday. She blazed into my office, raised her hands in the air and declared "the blood" over me. With my boss standing over my shoulder, I muttered a snippy reply under my breath (which she didn't hear) as she left.

I would bet that she read a book or heard a sermon on the importance of Christ's blood and how it holds the power to answer prayer. For the next two or three weeks, the blood will be of utmost imporatance ... until another pastor or author or radio DJ comes along and tells her something ELSE is the most important, and she focuses on that for a spell.

It's funny how we in the Christian community find these little things and just latch onto them, grasping at any way to better connect with our Lord. Some are great, some are life changing .... others seem to just get in the way of what is important.

Doesn't Jesus/God/Holy Spirit hold the power? Are things like praying the blood getting her closer to God? Or is it just refocusing her attention, making her feel good about her prayer life?

It just worries me when people latch onto things like the blood, as if it is the good luck charm to get you in good with The Man Upstairs. I appreciate someone's effort to think of me in prayer, but I really don't like the idea of someone thinking they have the special key that gets their "prayer emails" pushed to the top of God's Inbox.

Prayer is serious business. Sure, it can be said quietly in your head in the middle of the street or outloud and a huge rally. God is always listening, but we are talking to the creator of the universe, the Savior of our souls ... not a genie in a bottle.

Praying is not wishing on a star or blowing out a birthday candle. Declaring the blood, or praying on a rosary and saying the magic Jabez prayer is not your ticket to get what you want when you want, compliments of God.

Next time she offers me the blood, I'm just going to have to ask why... and I know this will lead to a half hour one-sided conversation where she tells me about the latest book she read. Maybe I'll somehow find a way to tell her how I'm really thankful that God doesn't require magic phrase to unlock his ear. God give me grace. Thankfully, he's bigger than my little hang-ups, too. :)

Being sick sucks. Not only the feeling miserable, but the sitting around for days all by yourself and the consuming of more television than should be legal while becoming one with the couch ... It's times like this that one wishes they didn't live 2,000 miles from family. I guess I'll just enjoy my prescription pain pills laced with narcotics that the doc gave me yesterday (while they last).

A long time coming

Yeah. I'm totally a blog slacker. I have friends traveling across Europe that manage to post blogs at least once a day, and here I am, in front of a PC for 9 hours a day and I haven' t posted anything for a month. It's been a strange stressful time that has both rocked my world while at the same time seemingly nothing has changed. I feel stuck and on a fast track. It's weird.

A few things from the past month:

- Some of the girls at work and I have started doing Pilates twice a week at lunch. We call ourselves the Pontius Pilates. I'm pretty sure we're going to hell for that.
- My brother got engaged to one of my friends/is getting married over Labor Day.
- I have discovered Tab Energy Drink. This stuff is delish, gives a buzz and has 5 little calories. It tastes like a liquid Jolly Rancher or SweetTarts.
- My mom and I booked a cruise to the Bahamas. We found a super cheap rate so we just went for it! I'm excited ... and a little nervous to be on a boat with just my mom for that long. I think we will have a good and relaxing time though. I can't wait to snorkel!
- My friend Suz returned from playing missionary in the D.R. Hooray! We've been working on her wedding and I get to meet her fiancé next week!
- I got a filling fixed at 7 a.m. this morning (Again, thank God for Tab Energy ... zzzzzz). The dentist told me not to brush my teeth for at least 12 hours. I have NEVER heard the words "don't brush" come out of a dentist's mouth.

that's all for now kids ...
xoxo,
-marcia

The day Jesus came to visit

Friday was the last day everyone was in the office before our industry's BIG ANNUAL CONVENTION, which started yesterday. I was being left behind to hold down the fort, but everyone was a little loopy from trying to get XY and Z done before they left.

Lets just say that it was not a good day for us to get a six foot painting of Jesus lugging around a guy in Diesel jeans into the office. It was shipped to us as it was a winner in an awards show I oversaw, so we needed it for photographing purposes.

One minute I was sitting in my office, working away at my PC... and the next minute my boss was baracading me in with the monster painting. So there I was, staring at life-size Jesus and Diesel jeans guy. It's quite distracting, really.


So what was a girl to do but line up her Jesus action figures and snap photos? Little Jesus doesn't even come up to the toes of Painting Jesus!

L to R: Moses (with Shield), Angel, Jesus and Job (in his formative years--covered in boyles)

One of my dumber moments

So last night I got home from work/running errands and just had on my Adidas sports bra and my Reebok exercise pants. Yes, I was mixing-and-matching my sports brands--a huge mistake apparently.

I was cooking some corn in the microwave and pulled it out/didn't realize how much water was left in it... and somehow dumped it completely down my stomach. (Don't ask how, I really really have no idea.)

O-M-G Pain of all Pains. It's like the kind of pain where your body completely goes numb and then you spend the next few hours feeling like your whole body is on fire.

Quite ironically, the nearest cold thing to slap on my stomach was the bag of frozen corn. when that needed to return to its rightful home on the freezer shelf, I slept on an ice pack.

Still this morning, it looks like someone took an extra wide paint brush and painted a sunburn on my stomach. It's one lovely brush stroke down the entire length of my tummy (from sports bra to pants line). I am now sitting at my desk with an ice pack under my shirt/waiting for it to go numb again (X-tra Hott. The Boys will come a-runnin'.)

Life Lesson: I would recommend wearing a shirt--perhaps two or three--even when doing something seemingly innocent like microwaving corn.

Friday on Monday

I hadn't eaten at Friday's for lunch in awhile, but since we had our department birthday lunch there today, I was up for an adventure.

Since there is such a big group of us, we order ahead and fax the menu over. I wrote down the Jack Daniels chicken with veggies and when noon rolled around, I was ready to dine.

It was pretty good, but my lunch bill was $18! EIGHTEEN DOLLARS FOR CHICKEN, ICED TEA and (included) GRATUITY!!

I wouldn't be so annoyed if I got two meals out of it, but it was two glorified grilled chicken strips with a teeny tiny side of Jack sauce.

Seriously, Friday's: You need to get a lunch menu immediately. Immediately.

Trimming the Tree: a photo essay
(by: me)

I have a huge palm tree in my backyard. It's Florida, it's pretty much the rule.

The problem with my lovely stereotypical tree is that it produces some sort of non-edible fruit. First, it grows these pokey, spiney branches (that look DOA), and then out pops some green acorn-grape hybrid things.






This is all well and good except that these acorn-grapes turn orange and fall on the ground. They pretty much instantly start molding and smell like a mixture of sweet and stink. Then, these little fruit fly things come out of the wood works and infest my yard. Sick.




Last year was my first year in this house, and I didn't realize the plight I would soon face. So, I got to pick up hundreds of smooshy-moldy-orange-fruit off the ground. Delish!






This year, I had a better plan: to chop down the branches before the fruit had a chance to stink up my life.



Here's me cutting the branch. Where's my non-existent boyfriend when I need him?? Hmph.

"I'm not sure if you lost your mind or something ... but we're kind of INDOOR people ... What are we doing out here?" --The Poodles





After getting stuck about a hundred times by prickley tree madness, I successfully filled a giant garbage can ... and now my tree looks BEEEE-autiful once again:


IT'S OVER!!

If Video Killed the Radio Star ... then I'm in trouble

I was fully prepared for another normal, uneventful day of work. Three hours worth of meetings in the morning with all going according to plan. It would a day not to be remembered.

But then... I got all brave and started going through email and answering the phone all willy nilly. That's when she called, asking if I would be the guest of the day on a syndicated radio program. She saw a press release I serviced on the upcoming readers awards I am coordinating for the magazine, and she wanted me to speak on the awards and summer book reads/trends in publishing.

Crap.

After a couple hours of freaking out before the fateful interview call, the interview came and went with minimal incident. If I’m really lucky, no one but no one I know listens to the Christian talk radio, and I won’t get any mocking emails in my inbox tomorrow morning.

One key problem is that a tape is being sent to me of the interview. This is a special brand of torture—listening to yourself sound like an idiot for millions (even hundreds!) to hear.

That's right. I'm a radio star. Watch out Leeza Gibbons and John Tesh … magazine publishing is so last week. It’s high time I hit the airwaves.

Wisteria Lane

I always thought Wisteria Lane was a huge dramatization, exaggerated for entertainment and shock value. Now I’m not so sure.

On Friday, I left work early because I had a killer headache and wasn’t sure if I was getting a cold or just had allergies. At any rate, I figured I wasn’t too busy and might as well try to sleep it off. I got home about 1:00, ate lunch and practically passed out on the couch after taking cold medicine and pain killers. About 5:00, I woke up feeling a little better, took a shower and left for my friend’s birthday dinner.

I started pulling down my street, but there was police tape blocking it off. Figuring there must have been some super-sized wreck on my fairly narrow suburbia street, I backed out onto the cross street and took the long way out of my neighborhood to hit I-4. However, when I returned after 11 p.m., the tape was still there. So were more cops than I knew our small suburb employed, all the news trucks and a huge Crime Scene Investigation RV.

A little frazzled, I got in to catch the end of the 11:00 news—the weather and the sports. Not helpful. Becoming more panicked, wondering WHAT was going on only a few houses down from me, I checked all our local news and couldn’t find a thing. Finally Google produced a small story with a huge punch.

Double homicide. One block down.

My neighbor apparently killed his wife, then chased his 11-year-old son across the street with a machete. As the son hollered for help to neighbors outside, the dad murdered him on the lawn across the street (two days before Father’s Day). A neighbor tried to save the little boy, but it was too late.

Thankfully, they caught the man. I supposed they had to block off both sides of the street for DNA evidence that stretched across the neighborhood.

I’ve never met this disabled Army veteran, who according to news reports has tried to commit suicide before. But now, 24-hours later, our middle-class sleepy little neighborhood where you often see people walking after dark, hanging out in their garages or kids playing in their yards, is still surrounded by cops, the family’s house is still encompassed by police tape and news crews continue to lurk. I even had a cop come ring my doorbell (that’s not disconcerting) to let those in the neighborhood know there would be a grief counseling session tomorrow.

How do you wrap your mind around that? Every time I go out now, get away from the tragedy for a moment, I am welcomed back to my house by cops waving me through and WFTV vans lurking around for a story.

I suppose I should feel safer than ever before with so much police surveillance … but I don’t. I don’t want to go outside. This whole scenario sounds like a bad Lifetime movie, not my block.

I don’t like seeing my street’s name on the top story on all three news stations two nights in a row. I don’t like helicopter shots of my house on the news. My heart completely breaks for this fifth-graders classmates and neighborhood friends. How do you begin to explain that to your kid? That the last thing this child knew on this earth was that his dad killed his mom and then came after him.

I can only pray for those kids and neighborhood families, that they’ll find God. I don’t know why this would happen. I know it wasn’t a surprise to Him. I know that God didn’t cause this to happen, but it’s part of living in a fallen world. But it still hurts and it still doesn’t make sense.

I can only think of the story of Lazarus … Jesus wept. He’s crying with us. In the midst of pain and chaos that makes no sense, sometimes that’s the only comforting thing someone can offer.

"To be a good writer, you have to be an avid reader."

I've heard that about a million times from people throughout my life--professors, fellow journalists, managers etc...

The problem: I hate to read.

I blame school. Being somewhat of an overachiever, school stressed me out. Reading equaled studying and retaining in my mind--and I studied a lot in college. My comprehension style was to totally get it or totally not. It was A's or F's and I preferred A's.

Since graduating, I've tried to ease myself back into reading, mostly with some light chick lit here and there. Really quality inspiration, you know. Oh yeah, plus I read/edit the entire magazine I work for about five times each issue. After staring at piles of proofs and my computer screen all day, I really really don't feel like reading to better myself once I get home.

Then I stumbled upon an interview in another magazine. It drew me in. The writer weaved interview and real-life scenarios to communicate the artist's story brilliantly. It reminded me of why I got into writing. I LOVE telling people's stories. Listening to their passions, their hurts and triumphs and communicating that clearly for others to be inspire by or learn from.

I've also picked up some delightfully well-researched books and even found some friends that speak from the heart through their blogs... and yeah, I have really been motivated to try and become a better writer by making myself become a better reader. haha All that advice was bound to sink in someday.

The magazine I work for is great, but in my position I don't get to write my own stuff very much. I have to get back to it...

So here I am, launching a grown-up blog, sending my thoughts out into the void, because I NEED to write.

So good night, sweet void. I'll write to you again soon.