White Space
Did y'all notice I've been really quiet lately? It's surely not because I've been boring, because it's been quite the opposite lately.
I've been extremely busy. I've done some really cool things, like going to Kenny Chesney's birthday party. I had some real moments of self-realization. I may have even posted my profile (complete with an adorable picture of me I forgot I had!) on an online dating site.
Let's see, what else? Oh, I got a clean bill of health from my doctor this week. I don't have to go back until July 10th. That's pretty good.
Why haven't I mentioned any of this before?
Because I've had a massive case of writer's block. I got my ass in big trouble at work because a story I've been working on for months ended up being four days late, and I was holding up the whole magazine.
Believe me, I'd rather not have been stuck for the last few days. I don't think it's so much that I couldn't think of what to write. Over the past several days, I've had a half-dozen drafts.
My problem, my friends, is that I am extremely critical of myself. (I know you've all been reading for ages, and you all just said "duh," all at once.) I am my own worst critic. I wrote this article four times only to erase it and start over. Every lead, every paragraph, every line, it's all been changed a half-dozen times. I worked on it for hours yesterday, and I came to work this morning and erased the whole damn thing. I labored over it for hours today, with my boss getting increasingly aggravated as the day went on.
And when I finally printed it out and handed it to her after hours of rewrites? She thought it wasn't too bad, but it just needed a little beefing up. That was kind of funny, because it wasn't until Wednesday that I decided not to just focus on one member like I'd planned all along. So, I have to interview two more people, who've yet to call me back. I may need to start stalking them soon.
Why do I do that? Why do I second-guess everything I do? Why do I slave over something, decide it's total shit and start over, when I know I don't have time to do that?
Will I ever wake up one day and realize that the work that I'm doing is good, and that I don't suck. Because I know you all think I'm a good writer, but there's not a day that goes by that I don't think I'm the worst writer ever. (OK, maybe not the worst. I did mention that I signed up for an online dating thing this week, so I've seen bad.)
It amazes me that y'all read this blog. It amazes me that anyone cares what I have to say, and they think I say it eloquently. I don't believe I'm entertaining. I'm not Hemingway or Plath, that's for fucking sure.
I do believe that good writers are born and it's not something you can learn. And I know that I have a gift that others do not have. I went to the second-best journalism school in the country. I learned a lot while I was there.
But I also felt completely and totally inadequate while I was there. Even though I did well in my classes, I'm not working at a big PR firm like my classmates. I don't have a Peabody or a Silver Anvil. I don't need awards, but I sure as hell don't need to miss a deadline because I feel like I'm a shitty writer either.
Yet, every time our newsletter goes to print or I hit publish on this blog, I worry that it's finally going to be the publication where someone says "Do you know that you suck ass and can't write?" Every time I write, I wait for that day. Hell, when I interviewed for this job I told Kay, "They seem to really like me, but my writing sample sucked ass." They loved it.
I know other writers read my blog. Do you ever get past this performance anxiety? Does it ever get easier? Because I've been writing since I was six years old, and I have spent two dozen years waiting for someone to call me out as the fraud that I feel like I am...
And that's the only part of my job that fucking sucks.
Star struck...
I have a big day tomorrow, and I'm not yet in bed, so this will be a quick post.
I have met a lot of celebrities. I've met the President of the United States (not this one), sports figures, musicians and even a Miss America. And I can't ever recall ever being starstruck.
So tonight at work, imagine my surprise when my boss mentions that my absolutely, postively all-time favorite singer, Miss Tanya Tucker was there, and I started to get wobbly and I was so nervous because I was finally going to get to meet her.
Oh. My. Goodness. I just heard her give an interview on the radio this morning, and in just a few minutes I'd be talking to her. I couldn't even think.
As you know, I have trouble recognizing celebrities outside of their natural habitat. Had I seen Tanya before I heard her, I may not have realized who it was. But after 27 years of listening to her music, I recognized her voice when I heard her talking to my boss.
Oh. My. Goodness. I'm going to make as ass of myself. I can feel it.
Next thing I knew she was standing there. Wow. She's right in front of me. Take it all in. Mental picture for the memory book.
All along I was praying that she would be as nice as I'd always hoped she'd be if I met her. Because if she was an asshole it'd devastate me. I've loved her music since I was a little girl.
So, I rang up all her stuff and as she's getting ready to pay, I said: "Miss Tucker, I am not going to make a fuss about you because I'm sure you don't want that, but I wanted to let you know that you're my favorite singer."*
She said that really meant a lot to her and thanked me.
Then we talked about her interview on the radio today, her new CD that's coming out and just life in general. She was as sweet as pie. She was everything that I expected her to be. I've gone through a lot of shit at that job over the last 9 months, but honestly meeting her made it all worth it.
* I don't want you to get the false impression that my comments came out nearly that eloquently. That's what I said, but I choked up a couple of times and kept stammering. I'm pretty sure that Miss Tucker walked out and said "How nice of them to give that nice stupid girl a job."
App-hell-bee's
I had a traumatic experience at Applebee's today. This is the letter I sent to their corporate headquarters:
I have been eating at Applebee's for several years. I have gone to this particular Applebee's several times for take-out since I started working in the area. I am really hoping that you can make this right so that I'll want to go back, but I'm just not sure after the experience that I had today.
I went with two co-workers for lunch today. We had planned ahead of time, so we didn't have to look at the menu too long. When the waiter asked us if we wanted to order our food with our drinks, we did so hoping to beat the lunch rush, because we only get an hour for lunch.
Our drinks came back rather quickly. I wish I could say the same for the food, but we never did see our food today. We waited and waited. People who came after us got their food after us. We watched them bring out dozens of entrees and still we waited. Realizing that our lunch hour was almost up, we stopped our waiter and told him we only had a few minutes left and could he please just box our food up so we could take it back to the office and eat it there. Our waiter said he'd check on our food, but not before he stopped and took his tips off his other tables. Even after we told him that we'd waited a long time and were in a major time crunch.
After several more minutes of not seeing our food or our waiter, we stopped another server and told her to get the manager. The manager, Erynn Hawkins, arrived at our table and told us that it "would not even be worth our time" to wait for our food at this point.
That's not what I wanted to hear. She needed to make it worth our time. We'd ordered 45 minutes prior (which we'd told her) and other people who were seated at the same time or after us had eaten and were leaving. I'm not sure what happened to our order, but we didn't have time to leave and go somewhere else, and we were still hungry.
I don't know where the breakdown in communication was. She made excuses. She said it was busy. And we understand that, but there's really no good reason it should take 45 minutes to get your food at any restaurant. Especially not when people are on their lunch breaks. Anyhow, we told her that we needed to eat and we didn't have time to go anywhere else. She said that she'd expedite our food and we'd have it in 10 minutes and she'd box it up so we could eat it at our desks. She also took our names and said that our next meal (not the one we were waiting for, but our next visit) would be on Applebee's.
Ten minutes came and went. We still didn't have any food. After 20 minutes, we finally just left. We ended up stopping at Burger King on the way back to the office. Not exactly a great ending to a special trip to lunch with our co-workers that we'd been looking forward to all week.
I have gone to restaurants where my order's gotten lost or they were out of an item or something else, and I've never been treated this way before. The waiter was unattentive and unapologetic. The manager just chalked it up to being busy. This just wasn't acceptable. The least she could've done was offered us an appetizer or something while we'd waited. Actually, no. The least she could've done was refreshed our drinks which were warm and almost empty and no one seemed to care. We were hungry and we thought we were going to have to go back to the office hungry. It amazes me that I was treated better ordering $3 worth of food at Burger King than I was ordering $20 worth of food at Applebee's. I've just never seen a manager who was so dismissive and not interested in making it right so we'd have a great experience.
Not only was it inconvenient to not get any food after waiting for almost an hour and having to go elsewhere, it was embarrassing. The other guests had all seen us wait there for all this time. A woman at the next table said to me, "I was just going to take this home to my dog, but you can have it if you want." as she attempted to hand me her to-go box. That's humiliating. No one else waited as long as we did. The table next to us turned over and the second family had ordered their food and ours still had not been delivered.
The manager did offer us that free dinner for next time, but that'd require me to go back to that store, and I just can't foresee that happening anytime soon. Perhaps if they'd been more apologetic and more anxious to fix the situation. When we ended up leaving without our food, we tried to find someone to tell them that we no longer needed our order, and there was not one employee available. I understand there's a lunch rush, but that's ridiculous. This was easily, hands down, the absolute worst experience that I’ve ever had in a restaurant. Ever.
And as for the manager who told us it wasn’t worth our wait? She needed to make it worth our wait. But right now, I feel like she is very, very correct. I won’t be wasting my time at Applebee’s anytime soon.
Organized chaos...
In case you haven't noticed by now, I'm a writer. I'm a journalist. My natural habitat is the newsroom.
Have you ever been to a newsroom?
I stole this picture off the Internet from someone who works in a newsroom so y'all could see what they look like. It was a challenge, because when I worked in newsrooms they'd make us tidy up before they took any type of official photo. Thank God for camera phones and people like me who blog when they're procrastinating on a deadline, or I might not have this gem to show you.
I've never met a journalist with a clean desk. Ever. I think it has something to do with the type of brain that you have to have to be a good journalist. I think we're all a little cluttered inside. I know that for me, a lot of it has to do with the fact that I am a visual learner. I have to have everything spread out in front of me to work on something.
I'm also a bit of a perfectionist, and I know that's going to sound odd, because I'm a bit of a pig. Yes, I'll admit it. I hate to clean. But the fact that I'm messy drives me nuts about 80 percent of the time. When I'm on deadline, I couldn't really care, but generally the second I'm done with a project, I'll straighten up. My mother and her sisters helped me with the big Veterans Day gala when I was at the Paralyzed Veterans. This was a project I worked on for nine months and the last month before the gala, it consumed my life. They almost died when they saw my office. Because "deadline desk" is so much scarier than my normal everyday desk. Combine that with having been in the same office for two years, and me saving everything for story ideas, and it was almost a fire hazard. My mom hates that I'm messy, but she knows that the closer I get to a deadline, the less visible my desk is.
So, the perfectionist thing (because I know you're still not getting it!). When I do something, I am meticulous about it. I may do it last-minute and I might fly by the seat of my pants, but if I do something and it's not perfect, I go nuts. I come from a family of OCD people, so I am used to it by now. But being OCD is why I'm messy. I can't just tidy up. I have to full-on clean. It takes hours because I literally throw everything in a pile and dig my way out. And then it's perfect. If I tidied up a little everyday just for the sake of tidying, that's not perfect in my eyes.
I'm like that with everything. I did laundry last night. Why? I was out of clean clothes. Completely. And now I'll do laundry until I have a closet-full of clean clothes. And then I'll repeat the cycle. Yes, I know it'd be easier to do a load of laundry every few days when my hamper gets full, but my brain doesn't work that way. Maybe someday, because I really am working on it.
But maybe not.
My former co-workers called my office organized chaos. Really, my life is organized chaos. I know where everything is, even if it might not look like it. I'm sure I drive my roommates nuts, because I always seem to end up living with OCD super-clean types. One time I had a roommate who cleaned my room while I was away for the weekend. I'm sure her organizational style works for her, but it made me want to kill myself. There were things I never found until I moved out of the apartment two years later.
I don't know what it is about journalists. I had a professor in college and I'm still amazed the health department didn't shut her down. There was a guy that I worked with at the paper who had been there for 30 years. He probably had press releases from the Nixon administration on his desk.
People wonder why I'm a pack rat. I'll give you an example. I sat down today to write a story that I've been researching for almost six months. Yes, it's due at 5 p.m. today. (Shut up. I love the pressure of deadlines.) Anyhow, I sat down to do it, and I'll be damned if I can find the background materials for it. And no, wise ass, it's not because I lost them in the clutter. I cleaned a few weeks ago and recycled stuff I thought I was finished with. I'm guessing that's where they went. I can probably do the story without them, but that's not the point. At all. The point is that when I throw shit away, I always end up needing it. So much better to just have piles...
I like working with other journalists. They get my thought process and know why my desk looks crazier and crazier closer to deadline. In fact, this is an actual picture of my desk, taken yesterday. It's definitely deadline desk. I had a press release, four magazine stories and one newsletter story due this week. Plus all my other work I do everyday like compiling news clips, designing brochures and updating the mailing list for the publication that I'm responsible for.
That's really not that bad for my desk. I have to keep it relatively clean because our maintenance guy supposedly dusts once every couple of weeks. And besides, I've only been here a few months, and apparently I recycle shit that I need, so that helps with the clutter.
There was an article yesterday that hit the wires. I'm not surprised that journalists jumped all over this story. Apparently there's a new book out that says that messy people are just as productive, if not more so, than neatniks. I love the part where it says organized people actually waste their companies' time, because I worked with that girl. Never did a damn thing to contribute to our team, but her desk was spotless. She spent hours on it each day.
Anyhow,
this is the article. It's very interesting. I think I need to check out that book too. I'm sure it'd be nice to be organized, but since I'm not I hope no one forces it on me.
What about you? Are you messy? Clean? OCD? A little sloppy?
Oh, and I double dog dare you to post a picture of your desk. And no cheating and cleaning it up before you do it!
Assholes
I just read this article about how the anonymity of the Internet leads to people being assholes. When people don't have to take accountability for their remarks, they tend to be much more rude. They also tend to lie. People can be whoever they want online and say whatever they want and think they can get away with it.
Of course, it still makes them an asshole, and no one's really anonymous.
I have never left an anonymous comment anywhere on the Internet. I use the same username for everything (I assuming I can use it) and I stand behind everything I say 100 percent. I think the Internet is great, and really I have nothing to hide. I might get drunk and write a mean limerick about a friend who's pissed me off, but I just wipe myself off and apologize. I don't delete it and I don't take it back. And I didn't do it without putting my name on it.
I think people who leave anonymous comments -- especially rude or untrue ones -- are big, giant pussies and they need to grow a pair and take some responsibility in their lives.
I moderate all my comments here. I started doing that because there was a group of losers (who not-so-coincidentally also happened to be liars) who felt the urge to leave lies about me here. Of course, they did this anonymously. However I have a site tracker and when you used to be friends with someone received a bazillion e-mails with the same insipid comments, you know who it is.
I hate that I moderate my comments, and I think about shutting it off on a daily basis. I will let you know that I think there has only been one comment in the last year that I did not let through. It was from "anonymous," but I knew exactly who it was. And she threatened me. So, I just forwarded it to her university's IT department instead. It wasn't anything y'all needed to see.
I just don't get it. I didn't get it when former friends posted rude things here anonymously like I wouldn't figure out who it is. I don't understand when people who do not know my friend Andrea leave mean personal comments about her on her blog and her web site that she runs. And I really don't understand why someone would go online and leave rude comments about someone they didn't know on a newspaper's web site, which is what got this started in the first place.
I had a professor in college who said "Everyone has the right to free speech, but I also have the right to kick your ass if I don't agree with what you say."
If you have something to say, don't be a pussy and stand behind your comments. That's the only way they even matter.
And if you'd like to read about assholes who make fun of people, there's an article
here.
If ...
If I were still living in Detroit
and I still had a job (two very big "ifs," by the way), I would totally be buying a house right now!
Houses cheaper than cars in Detroit.
It makes me sad. The city that I love more than anything is having a really rough patch. I'm not sure there's anything they can do to recover as the auto industry bottoms out. I always wanted to be part of the urban revitalization, but in the end, I had to leave, too. My job there was no longer a place that I could work (remind me to tell that story some time), and there just weren't any new jobs for me.
There's an old saying that Michiganders are fond of: When the nation's economy gets a cold, Detroit gets pneumonia.
I hope that someone, somewhere can hurry up and save my city.
I'm really ashamed of myself for not being one of those people. How can I expect anyone to help when I got out before it got too bad?
ARRGGGHHHH!!!!!
I had a huge-ass run-in with "John," the stupid asshole special events person tonight. It was awful.
Here are the cliff's notes.
1. I sent him an e-mail calling him out for not doing his job, which, in turn, caused me to not be able to do my job.
2. He called me on the phone and lied to me and said he had sent an e-mail last week confirming the information that I'd asked for. (He hadn't. My boss and I looked in the deleted messages -- even the recovered ones. And besides, I'm not a moron.)
3. Then he called me a liar. And then he denied it when I called him out on it. So basically he accused me of lying about being a liar, too. Asshole.
4. He asked me how he could help me do my job. When I told him he got all defensive and told me I offended him. Ass fuck, you just called me a liar. I told you that it was not helpful to get an email telling me there was a conference call 36 minutes before the call took place. And that you should put your phone number in your e-mail signature. Get a fucking grip.
Anyhow, he made me cry and I finally told him that I wasn't talking to him anymore until I talked to my boss. And then I hung up.
I'm not sure what will happen, because I'm sure when Jerry hears his side of the story I'm going to look like an awful beast. But I've always kept my managers up-to-date about his performance, so hopefully that will help. I realize that crying was unprofessional, but I've never had anyone treat me like that before. And I have worked for some real assholes in the past.
I like planning events. We had a blast at the party Saturday. I love story time and crafts. I love the kids and most of their parents. I just wish I could do all that stuff without dealing with him. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do.
I hope I don't have to find a new job because right now I could use the extra cash.
Decisions...
A friend hurts you. How do you broach the subject? Do you? When you're dying inside and you really want someone to know how you feel -- perhaps feel it a little themselves -- what do you do or say? Do you just drop it for the sake of the friendship? Maybe you realize it wasn't a friendship at all and fade into black before they notice you're missing?
I've run into this situation more than once lately. Friends hurt my feelings and I just don't know if it's worth disturbing the peace. Will our friendship be OK in the long run if I put my feelings on the back-burner right now?
Every time, I respond differently. And every, single time, I'm pretty damn sure I've made the wrong decision.
Why do people we love hurt us so much? And are we truly the bigger person if we love them so much that we let them continue to do it in order to spare their feelings?
Song of the day:
Everybody Hurts by REM. In two interesting sidenotes:
Automatic for the People is my favorite REM album, and I've been a fan of theirs forever. The cassette was yellow. Secondly, this song was in one of my favorite movies,
When A Man Loves A Woman, with Andy Garcia and Meg Ryan. If you haven't seen it, grab a hanky and check it out.
Second sidebar: I found this picture on someone's MySpace recently. Now, when I think about whose MySpace it was, I find the whole thing slightly ironic, but I think I really need to hold the words to heart, even if the messenger needs to be sent off to a desert island.
Karma's a bitch, you know. I can't think of one time that someone's unfair actions didn't come back to bite them in the ass...
Hostile Irish Drunkards ...
... should not be allowed to log on to their blogs. Wow, I was mean and hostile Saturday night, wasn't I?
I only drank Woodchuck. Imagine if that'd been Jack Daniels-inspired rage. Yikes.
Well, aren't limericks supposed to be dirty? And seriously, I thought it was hilarious, and I still do.
On Sunday I went back to church for the first time in a while, not counting Christmas. I went to
St. Patrick's on Sunday for their St. Patrick's Day mass. The Bishop was there and there was a packed house. Afterwards, we all joined in the parish hall for a corned beef and cabbage supper. I also connected with a singer whom I didn't know directly but was friends with another friend of mine who performs around town. So, I made a new friend. Everyone knows everyone in this town, I do believe. They call it a big city with a small-town feel, and I definitely think that as interconnected as everyone is.
Jon Bon Jovi sings a song called "Who Says You Can't Go Home." I feel that way about home, but I really feel that way about church. No matter how long I've been away, when I get back it's like I haven't missed a beat. I really liked St. Patrick's, which is one of Nashville's oldest churches. It was a big, old church just like I was baptized in and grew up in, although my knees still hurt from what I suspect were the original kneelers. Most people who know me know that I like big old churches with choir lofts and pomp and circumstance, although I'm a tad bit rusty on my Latin, especially my Sanctus and my Agnus Dei. I'll have to practice for next time I go there. I think I may go on Friday at lunch time for the Lenten prayer service and fish fry, as it's the last week for the fish fry and I haven't managed to get there once yet. It's near work, so it'll be a nice way to spend my lunch break.
I decided yesterday that I'm going to see what I want to get involved with at St. Ann's and in the diocese and tell Toys R Us that they'll have to work around it. You all know that I'm very active in church work and have been since junior high, so it's been very different for me not to even get to mass. I don't like it. I still pray and read my Bible daily, but it's not the same as being part of a faith family and contributing to the well-being of your community.
Faith has to come before work or honkytonks or anything else. I need to get back to my old rule that I could go out on Saturday night as long as my hind-end was in the church pew at 9 a.m. Sunday morning.
The last two times I've gone to church, this song has been one that we sang. I don't find it coincidental. And yesterday's gospel: The Parable of the Prodigal Son. Not that I've been gone that long or turned my back on my faith, but who says you can't go home?
You are Mine
By David Haas
I will come to you in the silence
I will lift you from all your fear
You will hear My voice
I claim you as My choice
Be still, and know I am near
I am hope for all who are hopeless
I am eyes for all who long to see
In the shadows of the night, I will be your light
Come and rest in Me
Chorus:
Do not be afraid, I am with you
I have called you each by name
Come and follow Me
I will bring you home
I love you and you are mine
I am strength for all the despairing
Healing for the ones who dwell in shame
All the blind will see, the lame will all run free
And all will know My name
Chorus:
Do not be afraid, I am with you
I have called you each by name
Come and follow Me
I will bring you home
I love you and you are mine
I am the Word that leads all to freedom
I am the peace the world cannot give
I will call your name, embracing all your pain
Stand up, now, walk, and live
In honor of St. Patrick's Day...
It's a limerick.
Melissa and I went out to have fried pickles and booze in honor of St Patrick's Day.
For weeks now, I had the beginnings of a limerick, but I didn't know where to go with it.
In the tradition of all good, drunken, Irish limericks, it's a tad bit dirty.
There once was a boy from Memphis
Whose comments were stupid and witless.
He's ignorant and dumb
and he never makes me cum,
and I'd kill him if there wasn't a witness.
Song of the day: "Stupid Boy" sung by Keith Urban and written by my friend Sarah. Totally unrelated, by the way. Ha ha.
A new kind of joke
What happens when
Jeff Foxworthy meets
Greg Behrendt?
You get this.
If you have to go to your girlfriend's house and drag her into town to see a lawyer and pay for her divorce, and then you celebrate by having sex in your car ...
... You might be a redneck and your girlfriend is probably not that into you.
And since that's not a joke, am I going to hell for laughing?
Mirage...
I was talking to some friends about my ideal man, and I thought it was too good to not share.
LJ's dream man.
He should have nice teeth. I'd say preferably all of them, but frankly I am missing one right now so who am I to talk?
He has to have strong arms and give good hugs. Non-negotiable because I love to cuddle.
Speaking of which, he needs to love to cuddle and understand that sometimes the best date is just sitting on the couch eating popcorn, having a drink and watching a movie.
He also has to like to go out, and flying kites in the park, walking the dog and bowling are non-negotiable.
He has to have a strong work ethic. Slackers piss me off. But maybe all things considered with the last two guys, he shouldn't be a workaholic.
He has to like to go out to the bar with me occasionally to listen to bands and drink whiskey. He'll be much happier at the end of the night if he lets me get drunker than him. If Keith Whitley comes on and he doesn't dance with me, he is going home alone. Bonus points if he sings in my ear while we dance.
Family and God have to be important to him.
He has to like Nashville, because I don't envision myself leaving anytime soon.
And speaking of going down South, he has to like that too.
So, if y'all have any single friends who fit the bill, feel free to give them my number!
Warning: This is TMI.
I never thought I'd be talking about my hoo-hah on the Internet, but here goes.
I wanted to tell you all about the "little" ring that looks kind of like a pony tail holder. Except that you put it in your hoo-hah and it keeps you from having babies.
It's brilliant really. Although all the men in America have been doing a great job of keeping me from having babies for years.
But, at least I won't have cramps now.
I'm really bad about taking pills, so if I ever did get the opportunity to do the deed again, it's good that this is pretty idiot-proof and 99-percent effective. And although I was intimidated at first (if I find the man who said it was the size of a silver dollar ... it's not), I don't even know that it's there anymore. Seriously, I keep thinking it fell out, but it hasn't. And I don't think it'll be hard to get out when it's all said and done.
My mother cracked me up when I talked to her yesterday. I understand that a 30-year-old woman and her non-self-imposed celibacy is a little hard to believe, but when I was talking to her she says, "Your pharmacist takes it too. She wouldn't do that if she didn't think it worked. So, that's good."
What does it need to work for, mom? Working for me generally means no cramps and periods that don't last a week. I was having a no-baby zone the entire time that I haven't been taking birth control for the last few months. Trust me, I'd rather I didn't, but what are you going to do about it.
And my best chance of ending the dry streak as of late was last spotted having sex with someone else's wife (not me, just for clarification) in his car. Still mesmerized why I care. I do believe this whole mess was God's way of keeping me from swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool.
So, if I were going to have sex, I could do it in just six days with no worries. That's nice to know. On the plus side, for some reason the girl at my insurance must've been mistaken because had it not been free, it would've been the same price as the $30 tic-tacs.
My doctor's visit...
So, I went back to Dr. Martin today. It didn't go badly. I really like her.
My blood pressure is still high, so we upped my medicine. She gave me this nose sprayer that I can use for my allergies since I'm not allowed to use over-the-counter stuff (except Claritin) because they can raise your blood pressure.
I need to lose weight, but we all knew that because I'm a giant moo.
She thinks I might have sleep apnea. I have to go back again in two weeks and if my BP is not down then I will have to go to a pulmonologist and maybe a sleep disorder clinic to be tested. I really don't want one of those bullshit breathing machines since I'm already so sexy people are afraid to sleep with me. That might just be so crazy I wouldn't know what to do.
Last, but not least, we seem to have progress in this hormonal craziness I've had since they took away my $30/month tic-tacs. First of all, I've been a crazy lady and everything sets me off. And things that normally set me off are uber-huge now. I'm just a big mess of nerves.
And not that I want to be graphic and tell you all about my "female problems" because while I'm pretty open about things like that, it just doesn't seem right to post it all over the Internet, I will share the following information.
- I am now on the third migraine of my period today.
- This may be partly due to the fact that my period is on its 6th day with no signs of slowing up.
- I had cramps so bad Sunday that I thanked God I could lean up against the service desk so that if I passed out I might not hit the concrete.
- I am super bitch to the point that I seriously considered getting in my car and going to rip someone's balls off, stopping only once for chocolate and Diet Mountain Dew.
So, Dr. Martin asked me how things were going without my pills. I told her that I'd like to kill myself and/or others because I am moody, on day 6 of my period and in perpetual pain. I am way too busy to be incapacitated for days on end.
I can't take my $30/month tic-tac because she's worried about it increasing my blood pressure, so she gave me this new thing. As soon as I figure out how to do whatever I need to do with it, it sounds like it'll be easier for me. And it sounds like if I ever find someone silly enough to sleep with me that I'll be much less likely to get pregnant, which is always an added bonus.
The only bad part is that it costs $60/month and the only way my insurance will pay for it (and then it's only half) is if I order it by mail. I needed it today, so I went to Walmart (where it's $44 for some reason) and I had a free trial coupon. So, it won't hit my pocketbook until next month.
Allegedly I ordered new contacts today, too. We'll see... I had doctor drama with that, too!
Anyway...
I've loved this song from the minute I first heard it...
"Anyway" by Martina McBride (Martina McBride/Brett Warren/Brad Warren)
You can spend your whole life buildin'
Somethin' from nothin'
One storm can come and blow it all away
Build it anyway
You can chase a dream
That seems so outta reach
And you know it might not ever come your way
Dream it anyway
God is great
But sometimes life ain't good
And when I pray
It doesn't always turn out like I think it should
But I do it anyway(Yeah)
I do it anyway (yeah, yeah)
This world's gone crazy
And it's hard to believe
That tomorrow will be better than today
Believe it anyway
You can love someone with all your heart
For all the right reasons
And in a moment they can choose to walk away
Love 'em anyway
You can pour your soul out singin'
A song you believe in
That tomorrow they'll forget you ever sang
Sing it anyway
Yeah, sing it anyway, yeah yeah
I sing
I dream
I love anyway, yeah
Cell phone fun
Take out your cell phone, look at the keypad and prepare to laugh.
Do you have that predictive text on your phone? Where the phone thinks it knows what you want to say, so it suggests words for you.
I do.
And whenever I try to type a certain person's name, my phone always suggests a certain word for me.
Bastard.Such a smart phone, that girlie phone.
Maybe ...
Maybe someday ...
I'll be thin enough.
I'll be pretty enough.
I'll be funny enough.
I'll be smart enough.
I won't be too young.
I won't be too old.
I won't be too liberal.
Or maybe I'll be liberal enough.
Maybe I won't be too loud.
Maybe I won't talk too much.
Maybe I'll speak up when I need to say something.
Maybe I won't be flaky.
Maybe I'll take myself less seriously.
Maybe I won't drink too much.
Maybe I'll cuss less.
Maybe I'll go to church more.
Maybe I'll be in the right place at the right time.
Maybe I'll just take life by the balls.
Maybe someone else will, just in case I can't.
Maybe, just once, I'll be worth it.
Clarity
Clarity and inspiration
Happiness is a destination, that's hard to find
It may take some time
In my mind there's something more
And I'll open up a brand new door
And find the strength to close the ones I left behind
-- from "The Road and The Radio" by Kenny Chesney
Last week,
I told you about my "voodoo candles." This morning, I lit my candle and said my prayer for the last time this week. After that, I was supposed to wait two days to see if God gave me an answer to my prayer or at least put me closer to a solution.
He did.
You see, I prayed for clarity. And I got it. A big fucking dose of it.
All the answers I never wanted, all in one place.
I had to close a door tonight. Close it and lock it. I don't ever do that. There are people that I dislike, that were extremely shitty friends, and if they extended the olive branch right now I would take it. My biggest regret in the last few months was how I treated Cindy when she did tried to touch base with me, even though it was not something that I did flippantly. I agonized over what the right decision was, and ultimately I shot from the hip because I was hurt. Because someone I loved like my mother, and actually treated better than my mother for a period of my life, said things about me that were awful. I reacted by trying to hurt her as much as I'd been hurt.
The door is not locked -- it is not even closed -- for many people. But tonight, I think I locked it. And I locked it on someone that I loved, at least as a friend, if not more.
And that fucking sucks. I'm not sure I would wish clarity on my worst enemy.
I was going to post all the gory details, but I don't really want to.
I just wish I knew why and when I ceased being "worth it." However, I think the answer might be simpler than I think. I suspect, looking back, that I meant a lot less to him than he let on. I'm beginning to think that perhaps he kept me entertained while he was here so I wouldn't quit and leave him in a lurch at work. He made himself irresistible not because he wanted me to love him, but because he didn't want me to quit my job. I'm sure he prayed every night that I wouldn't get the idea to quit so that he and I could be together.
He told me once after he left that if I'd have quit, he would've taken it personally and seen it as me quitting him.
Yet, when he decides to quit me, I just have to sit by and take it.
Oh yeah, because life isn't fair.
Sometimes people are sent to our lives for a specific purpose, for a specific period of time. They serve that purpose and they move on.
I'm guessing that's what's happened here.
One of my friends chastised me for investing so much emotionally in a guy. It wasn't about a relationship. I'll admit, I really wanted to have sex with him, but I can have sex without being emotionally invested. That's not really an issue for me. I was emotionally invested because in a short amount of time we grew very close and he was one of my dearest friends. I was emotionally invested in him just like I'm emotionally invested in the friend who said that to me. For better or worse, I give my friends a lot of love, and sometimes I get burned by that.
I just need to go to sleep. I don't even think I make sense, which is ironic because this post is called "Clarity."
All you need to know is that I prayed for clarity and I got it. And even though I've spent 3 hours traipsing back and forth trying to make sense of the last five months of my life (holy fuck! five months!) I'm not going to go into it here. Some things are just not for everyone.
I still wonder if I'll ever be worth it. I'm not particularly hopeful after this experience. To be so close, yet still so far away. I'm not sure I've ever felt like I did this time around. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still see how he looked at me or think about things that he said that made me laugh.
And that's both a blessing and a curse.
Just like clarity.
Today's song:
"Why They Call It Falling" by Lee Ann Womack.
I get to go to Dr. Martin's office in about 6 hours. I'm sure that'll go great. My stress is very manageable right now. Sure. Oh well, at least I'll have something else to bitch about tomorrow.
Fueling up
I had to get gas today. Two odd things about my gas-pumping experience.
First of all, I always fill up, regardless of cost. Unless gas is cheap, I usually drive until I barely have a drop left. Then I fill up. I reset my tripometer and make a mental note of my fuel efficiency. Every time. I never go and get a couple of bucks to get me to my next stop. I always reset my trip. Do other people ALWAYS fill up when they get gas? Is anyone else a little OCD about seeing how many miles per gallon they are getting.
Second odd thing. I don't back up at the gas station. Ever. You will never see me put my car in reverse and back up. Why? Because once in high school (yes, 20 million years ago), I was backing up and some doofus came speeding in to the gas station and slammed into my car and did $3000 worth of damage (in 1994 dollars, no less!). Although he was cited for the accident (although I hadn't actually started backing up, but he told the cops he saw my back-up lights and that I "backed right into him"), my dad still gave me this huge lecture about backing up at the gas station. This lecture included lots of yelling because it was really my mother's car. Anyhow, to this day I am terrified of backing up at gas stations. I will sit there and wait for the car in front of me to leave before I'll back up.
In a slightly-related side note, I'm also terrified of car washes because I got trapped in one in high school. It was traumatic, and it wasn't until this year that I could drive through them again, and most of them are still too scary. And my friends know that I always talk to one of them or have one of them in the car with me when I go through.
Anyone else have any bizarre driving habits or car phobias?
Stalkers?
According to my ticker, it is 6 months, 3 weeks and 4 days until our trip. All I really know is that I just wrote the biggest check that I have written since college.
Anyhow, I wrote the big, giant check, and then I photocopied it. As I was walking back to my desk to put it in the envelope I looked down at it one more time.
As I looked at the half-naked man sitting on a boat staring back at me, I thought: "Oh, shit." There was no time to run out and get new checks. If I weren't buying some time until paypal put the money in my account for the last two deposit checks from my fellow travelers, I'd have rushed off to get a money order.
Yes, this situation was just that serious.
You see, I opened my bank account around the first time that we ordered cups, and I had tons of checks from people all over America, all big enough fans of the Pretty Princess to order cups to take to their tailgate parties. Anyhow, a lot of people had those checks with pictures of the Pretty Princess down in paradise. The paradise where he lives half the year. The paradise where we're going on vacation.
The girl at the bank and I joked about the checks. And when she pointed out that I could order some, maybe it was deliriousness or maybe it was because she had Tim McGraw checks and made it sound OK, but next thing I knew I was the proud owner of my own Pretty Princess checks, and it was all a joke. Hee hee, funny, funny. Pretty Princess checks.
The Pretty Princess and the locals are not big fans of folks who come to paradise to stalk him, and rightly so. I will say that my interest was piqued after I saw the beautiful pictures down there from his visits. The CD that he sang didn't help.
Let's make one thing clear: I don't stalk the Pretty Princess. Not one little bit. In fact, when I saw him at the grocery store the other night, I didn't say a word. You know me and my celebrity sightings: I'm always on slow-mo. I saw him, he smiled nervously and I went on my way. He was long out of the store before I realized who it was. But if I were going to stalk him, I'd do it here rather than spend thousands of dollars to fly thousands of miles away and waste a perfectly good vacation.
Yet, with my stupid ass, ha-ha Pretty Princess checks, I felt like a super stalker. I felt like those crazy assholes who do fly down to the Virgin Islands and only hang out in his hang outs and try to snorkel in to his private development where his house is. None of that appeals to me. Once again, this is my agenda for vacation.
1. Wake up
2. Morning run on beach
3. Float in pool and take in rays, preferably while drinking
4. Go to beach with book, iPod full of Marley and Buffett (no Pretty Princess), and rum
5. Eat, preferably seafood
6. Go to bar and dance with hot boys, preferably while drinking
7. Sleep
Repeat daily.
Notice that my agenda is very full. No time for stalking of any sort.
Maybe Peggy will just see my check and chuckle like most people do. I'll pretend I was not mortified and blame the temporary check-selection delusion on the booze.
And if I am a stalker, I sure hope that he comes by this hammock right here and makes it easy on me, because that's where I'll be all week.
Wow. I'm such a lazy stalker.
211 days! (I think!)
Alexis is in charge of our countdown and she seems to be missing. I think we're at 211 days.
Regardless, in a few months I'm going to be eating breakfast right here.
Memphis in May...
As y'all know, I am dying to go to Memphis. My birthday is in May, and it just so happens the weekend before my birthay is the weekend of the
World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest. So, my friends and I were thinking that maybe this would be a great weekend for us to head West and check out the sights.
Currently the plan is to visit the following places:
GracelandMemphis Zoo (I see from their Web site that you can have birthday parties there. Hmm...)
Beale Street Saturday night
and then probably
The Lorraine Motel before we head back on Sunday.
Anyhow, if you'd like to join us for the fun, let me know. The more the merrier!
Brilliant...
This might be the best thing I've ever read.
Kay, get your pencil out. You'll want to take notes.
Haggard, whiskey and tits.
Seriously, I should have more sex if that's all I need, right?
It gets closer everyday!
Can you imagine drinking mai tais with this view of the sunset? From the pool?
We are so blessed to have found this home. I cannot wait for my vacation, even though it's gorgeous in Tennessee today.
213 days seems soooo far away, yet it will be here before we even realize it.
Really, you'd think that the fact that my part-time job is paying for this would totally make up for the fact that I work in hell. Really, you'd think it would.
Maybe it does. Everyone's favorite cheerleader for team TRU is trying to convince me to stay, of course.
I really wish he'd thought I was cute enough to let me quit. Then I'd be getting screwed in a totally different way.
It'll be here soon enough!
I'm ready. Only 215 days. It'll be here before we know it! So much to do.
This is the sunset from our villa.
Who do voodoo? You do!
I got a text message yesterday. It read: "I got your voodoo doll."
My friend Michelle went to New Orleans this week. (Well, she was "Down in Mississippi and Up to No Good" and then took a side trip.) I know this sounds odd, but every time someone goes to N'awlins, I ask them to bring back a voodoo doll for me. Until now, no one's gotten around to it.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do with the doll (although I currently have a short list of ideas), but it got me to thinking about voodoo.
Most specifically, about my voodoo candles.
Yes, I have voodoo candles, and I started using them again this week. It's not really voodoo, but we'll get to that in a minute.
A few years ago, my friend was having some major relationship issues and for kicks and giggles, she went to a psychic.
The psychic told her to get some voodoo candles to improve her relationship energy. Actually, they are any type of candle, but they have to be one red one for passion and the pink one I think is for love. But you burn them together for seven days. While you do that you just send good thoughts up to heaven and concentrate on what you want in a relationship. It's always worked for her. And the last time I did it, I ended up on an adventure with a boy. I have always gotten a job when I did the green and orange candles. Green is for money. Orange, I think is for opportunity.
OK, so about New Orleans voodoo. Yes, it has its roots in the voodoo from the West Indies and Africa that people brought with them. However, New Orleans voodoo also has strong roots in Catholicism. Marie LaVeau, the Queen of Voodoo, was a very strong Catholic. Perhaps that's why my "voodoo" is really just me lighting the color of candle that voodoo says to use and praying to specific saints. Really my "voodoo" reminds me to pray. And because I'm Catholic and believe that saints are powerful intercessors, I bring them into the mix.
I had a friend who was into a lot of spirtual/psychic stuff, and she told me that the candles weren't voodoo. I didn't know at the time, I just called them that because my friend who told me called them that. But it is. The way I found out was because after Hurricane Katrina, everyone burned green candles to make their FEMA checks come more quickly.
So, figuring that I have nothing to lose, I'm going to see if I can conjure up some good relationship energy. St. Anne is on the case.
God knows a few extra prayers never hurt anyone.
Random Thoughts...
The black bra I have on -- under my white shirt, no less -- makes my boobs look like they are fake. I love the engineers at Bali. They are probably all men.
My bridesmaid's dress is beautiful, and it fits perfectly, despite the rude bitch heifer sales person -- not the person waiting on me, just one in the dressing room -- suggesting that perhaps it was not zipping, not because the zipper was stuck, but because it did not fit. However, nothing about arm flab is sexy. And I'm sure that everyone in the church will see plenty of it because I'll be standing in the front -- in front of, well, everybody. A tan would probably help, and then I remembered that my new meds have put the kibosh on the tanning days. Urggh.
It's 70+ degrees here today, and it's beautiful. It'd be a great day to play hooky from the Land of Misfit Toys. But I look silly wearing my black tights even though I think a black skirt with black tights and black shoes looks great with a brightly-colored top.
No matter how many times I listen to Keith Whitley on iTunes, I will ALWAYS get excited when I turn on the radio and "Don't Close Your Eyes" is on.
I had a nightmare about
the jackass last night. In my dream, I went to work and he locked me in this room and I had to do crafts with him. When I found my boss Jerry to ask him to help me, he was wearing a bathrobe and sitting outside his office on the floor. Very odd.
My medicine seems to be making me tired. Consensus among those who know me is that it is just slowing me down. I'm ready for bed by 9 p.m. every night, and I still can't get up before 7. This is just not going to work for me. Perhaps there's some sort of solution.
I feel like I'm at a personal crossroads in my life. Professionally, I am at the top of my game (except that I'm still getting caught up financially and need a part-time job), but personally I've hit a stalemate. And it's not just with romantic relationships -- I'd given up on those years ago and I just get occasional glimmers of hope. It's all my relationships. I just feel like I'm floating out in limbo. I'm terrified that one day I'll wake up and realize that I am completely and totally alone. Maybe this is part of realizing that life is finite, maybe it's just growing up. Maybe it's total irrational fear. No one really knows, do they?
Song of the day:
"In This Boat Alone" by Kenny Chesney.
Boiling Point...
Everyone has a boiling point, and at some point they reach it and it ain't pretty.
My friends, I do believe that I have reached mine.
As you all know, when I got my full-time job I tried to quit at the Land of Misfit Toys. At the time, there was this cute boy there who I was absolutely head-over-heels in like with and he told me no, so I didn't leave. When he left we were in the throes of the Christmas season and it seemed rude to leave. And besides, I was spying for formerly-mentioned oh-so-adorable boy in case a job here opened up so he could come back and we could live happily ever after. Then the new year came and there was nothing to do, so it wasn't much more than a blip. Now I'm getting hours but that's fine because I could use some extra cash with everything coming up in the next few months.
I was so busy trying to date my boss, spying and running the service desk at Christmas that I'd forgotten about the super-asshole special events coordinator.
But now he's back, and I can't take it anymore. I don't think I have enough disposable income to not have a part-time job, so I'm going to start looking elsewhere. The manager of Bath & Body Works asked me today if I'd like to work there.
You know what? I think I would. I think I'd rather work anywhere else on earth.
So, last Monday, special events asshole sends an e-mail that we're having a conference call on Tuesday. He never procrastinates. Tuesday was my only day off, so I pretty much said "Fuck no." I touched base with super-events asshole (That's a long name. Let's give him a clever pseudonym like Dear Abby does. We'll call him "John" from here in, OK?) and I told him I couldn't be on the call. I asked him to keep me up to speed, and he assured me that he'd be touching base soon.
Here we are one week later. It's pretty much mid-March for planning purposes. "John" finally e-mails me today. First message: Call me at blah blah number. Dude, I'm not going to explain one more fucking time that I am not ever talking to you on my day off. You made me cry at a Disney Princess Tea Party, and you are simply not someone I talk to in my leisure time. So, maybe I'll call him tomorrow.
But maybe not. Because his subsequent e-mails indicated that I have two mandatory events to plan before the end of the month. Not little events I can pull off quickly like that lame-ass birthday party last month, but big, giant events. Events that require extensive planning. Extensive planning requires time, and I am all out of that shit. So, his little events are so not going to happen. Not this weekend, probably not this month, and hopefully never.
You see, he makes my blood boil. He is an antagonistic moron, and I'm pretty sure he's trying to sabotage me. Of course, what he's forgotten is that I don't really care if he sabotages me, because I don't have any professional aspirations where the Land of Misfit Toys is concerned. In fact, I should've just quit, because since October my aspirations there have not really been much more detailed than trying to get in a certain person's pants. Of course, that didn't work out either.
I'm supposed to be lowering my blood pressure. I cannot get stressed out by a part-time job. I just want to shoot the items with the little gun. Beep. Beep. Beep. Have a nice day! That's it.
I can't deal with pulling an event out of my ass in three days because some asshole never gave me the information I needed. That's a waste of everyone's time. I just can't deal with him.
Everything's changed there. Yeah, they're always short-staffed and I'm a good worker, but I can go somewhere else and have a job that I leave there at the end of the day. That'd rock. When I worked at K-mart, no one e-mailed me at my home and expected me to work on my only day off. Of course, we didn't have e-mail back then. I just want something mindless. I like being a cashier. I like being at the service desk. The rest of the bullshit is simply that: bullshit.
Things are so different than they were last time I dealt with him. The reason I was there then is gone. That has become a complete and total non-issue, unfortunately. And with that, I am no longer spying for him, not that I think he'd come here if they'd build him his own fucking store at this point.
I have to decrease my stress level, and this is a perfect place to start. I'm not going to stress about it right now, but I'm going to quietly start looking elsewhere for something where I can just ring shit up and put it in a plastic bag. Maybe a place where I'd use the employee discount.
Because it's no fun when a stupid asshole makes you cry if there isn't a cute boy with strong arms to let you cry on his shoulder. And I just don't have that anymore. I was so worried about abandoning him that I stayed in a shitty job that I didn't want, and who's the one that's all alone in the end.
Maybe someday I'll appreciate the irony...
Leisure Reading
This article in today's Memphis Commercial Appeal explains a lot. I didn't really get everything about the big, giant mess that I ended up in until I read it.
Wow, I can't even imagine being so desperate for attention.
Go read it. Then come back, and maybe we'll discuss ...
(And if I have any lurkers left, you should definitely click on the link. It all makes sense now, and it could've been much, much worse.)
It's official!
We are going to be here in 216 days!
I've been kind of glum lately, so this is putting me in a good mood. I'm doing very good on my diet this week. I don't think I told y'all, but I gave up candy for Lent, and aside from a little indiscretion featuring a miniature Mr. Goodbar and 2 Hershey Kisses, I am doing great! I'm just sick of being overweight. And I need to do it for me. Not for vacation. Not for a bridesmaid's dress. Not to make some stupid boy jealous that he told me no. (OK, yeah, it's partly for that.)
I've been trying new recipes out of my Healthy Meals in Minutes, and I got a couple little cookbooks. Most of my stuff is in storage, but I need to start making all my meals and planning ahead if that's what needs to happen with my crazy schedule.
And my schedule is crazy indeed. I'm sure Joanne had a heart attack when she saw all my requests for time off that I've put in lately, but it's a part-time job and I'm only going to work when I want to. Right now, lucky for them, that's a lot because the stupid girl at Fidelity forgot to take out my state taxes when I cashed out those investments. So, I owe Ohio a little chunk of change on April 17.
Have I mentioned lately how much I love living in a state with no income taxes?
Remind me of that next time I'm bitching about our 9.25% sales tax. I still think that I'm making out much better in the end.
It's time to get back to work, but I wanted to check in so you knew I was alive.
Oh, and song of the day is
"She Only Smokes When She Drinks" by Joe Nichols. I don't know that girl. No, not at all.
If you want to order cups this year...
Hi all. Because everyone enjoys the cups and people ask me to do them again every year, here is the ordering information for this year's cups.
The cups will be 16 oz, and they are lime green cups made of see-through plastic. The ink colors will be baby blue and white.
This is a link to a demo of what the cups look like.
The cups will be $3 each, this includes shipping. (In the past, shipping has been extra. This amount covers all the costs -- cups, set-up, printing and shipping.) To order, send an e-mail to
chesneycups@yahoo.com with the following information:
1. Your name and screen name
2. How many cups you want
3. Address where you want the cups to be sent
4. How you are going to pay: Check or money order or Paypal (specify if you do check, transfer or credit card)
After you submit your order, you will receive a confirmation email with the e-mail address for paypal or my mailing address. I don't really want to post my address on the Internet.
If you would like cups, I must receive an e-mail by Monday, March 19. I know this only gives folks a week to order, but I am hoping that I'll get the orders out for the beginning of the tour. As long as the orders are in by March 19, we should have them in time. Also, if we don't have 250 cups ordered, they will not be able to print them. I will keep everyone posted.
Click on the thumbnail below to see the design for the 2007 cups. The green background is the cup color, and the writing will be white and blue. The white box around the flip-flops will not be on the cup, we just had trouble with the art and I couldn't make it transparent, but it will be on the finished product.
If you have any questions, please e-mail me. E-mail all your orders to
chesneycups@yahoo.com. Usually I get a lot of orders, so I can't keep track to orders that are only placed in comments. I don't want to forget anyone, so to ensure you get your cups, please send an e-mail!
Love, Pain and the whole crazy thing...
(Have I mentioned my new-found love for Keith Urban lately. Sidebar: He gets his tattoos at my place. I saw pictures.)
Anyhow, this is more than the name of Keith's latest album. It's also the current theme of the thoughts running through my head. (What? Do your thoughts not have a theme?!?)
I'm writing something in my brain and it'll be here soon enough. (Yes, this is a teaser.)
New post. Tonight after Nashville Star.
OK, that's odd. The promos in my head play back in Cowboy Troy's voice.
If you're dying to read real things written by me, I'm shooting to have a post with my prediction for tonight's winner before I leave work. Because otherwise it would be moot.
But for right now, I need to go do some stuff because people here at the office are also dying to read things written by me. Mostly because they pay me to do it.
