Kiss My Bass

In addition to the cast of characters we have seen here in Orlando, we also took in some sights. I skipped the theme park stuff, and hit the outlet malls yesterday while Todd was working. I took the trolley line and on the way there, i had the pleasure of being surrounded by a bunch of German conventioneers. i have no idea what they were saying, but it doesn't really matter, as German accents always sound sinister to me, even when they are laughing and smiling. As if they are going to give me one last cigarette before they make me turn around and shoot me execution-style into the grave I have just finished digging for myself. On the way back, I met a stereotypical large Irish family, replete with mischievous sons. The mom loved the Simon and Garfunkel that looped on the trolley, over and over. The driver on the way back was from Chicago, and he was new, and he didn't know where he was going. It is not a good sign when you have to tell the driver how to drive his route.

After I got back to the hotel, Todd and I went to Outback, mate. Seems that everything in Orlando is themed, franchised, and a chain. Todd and I competed in a contest against one another for who could come up with the most Australian words (bonzer! Billabong! Didgeridoo?); they must be pronounced with an Australian accent, of course. Anyone who knows my husband knows that he killed me in this game. If there is anything Todd loves, it is slang. He also loves to make me do any kind of accent or sound effect, because I am exceedingly terrible at both. If you want to illicit giggles from the both of us, the way to do it is to get me to do a machine gun sound effect, or get Todd to do R2D2 imitating Chewbacca. Good stuff. Chains are lame, but don't worry, I managed to choke down a prime rib and a bottle of wine. I will survive.

After that, we headed back to the mall (Orlando is basically one big mall with some roller coasters thrown in for good measure.) Todd had a balance left over on a $500 gift certificate a client gave him last Christmas to Bass Pro Shops. Todd doesn't really hunt, so we have been stretching the gift certificate for years now.

Bass Pro Shops are just awesome. There is so much stuff that you don't need in there to catch a fish! There are also knives, guns, ammo, live fish tanks, and camping stuff. Did I mention the bird calls and cute dog toys to teach your lab to retrieve dead birds? They have huge boats in the parking lot and ATVs on the showroom floor inside. They also have really nice Columbia clothing that makes me want to go camping. By the way, ladies, if you are ever stranded in a Bass Pro Shops megastore, just go to the electronics section and get the cute young Irish boy to show you how the GPS works. You will have no idea what they are talking about, or if you do, just act like you don't, and he will keep on talking. In that accent. Until your husband comes and finds you and breaks the two of you up. (Actually, i really did want to check out the GPS, because I am fascinated by them and want to try Geocacheing. But I wasn't about to tell Patrick the Irish boy that.)

One more thing about Bass Pro Shops? You can play these fun target practice games. It is fun as shit, and old, grizzled hunter types think you are really cute when you whoop and holler when you hit the targets and make the bells and whistles go off. What I'm saying, girls, is Bass Pro Shops is a great ego-booster. You are so much cuter than the other wives in there, with their "Kiss My Bass" shirts on.

Okay, so after that, we went back to the hotel bar to have one last drink, because I was really tired, but we ended up drinking with a bunch of tire salesmen from all over the southeast until about 2 a.m. One of them looked like a cross between Al Sharpton and Morris Day. (See picture of him from across hotel bar.)
I felt a little doodieish this morning, but still managed to get out for lunch and to go with Todd to drop off Ronnie at Universal Studios. It was a real live backlot for a film studio, and I saw absolutely no famous people. Tonight? Dinner and a movie. Home tomorrow to kiss my babies, whom I miss very much, not that you can tell it from anything I've written here.

Darth Maul!

Unfortunately, Todd would be a shitty paparazzo; When he had the opportunity to snap a picture of Ray Parks at the breakfast buffet this a.m., he totally choked. Or maybe he just didn't yet know how to use his new Treo. But yes, we had breakfast with the actor who played Darth Maul. He was there with wife and child, who was a bit of a cutie with her pink Pumas. Not cute enough to make me miss my kids, though. I slept in, drank coffee over the newspaper, and am now on my way to run. This afternoon? Outlet malls, and maybe a movie. Ahhh, the life of a non-Mom on vacation. Sheer bliss.

Road Trip! Ronnie! LeatherFace!

My sister Lisa came to pick up the kids this morning. She and Mark took them to the Georgia Aquarium. Todd and I went to his office, picked up the Ryder Van and Ronald McDonald, and hit the road for Orlando. Yes, I said "Ronald McDonald." (I call him Ronnie. We are on first name terms after riding from Atlanta to Orlando all day. He likes classic rock.) He is starring in a shoot that Todd is working on in Orlando. Ronnie cost $10,000 to make. Unfortunately, I forgot my cord to upload pictures to the computer, so you will have to wait on pics of Ronnie. Suffice to say that his fucking clown feet are huge, and I got a little scared when the sun went down and it was just Todd, Ronnie, and me in the van.

Other gems of wisdom obtained by riding in a van for 9 hours with my hung over husband (Advertising Awards - who knew those addies were so wild?) and Ronnie:

• Mrs. Winner's biscuits are awesome, but the ones at Cracker Barrel are better. That being said, if you eat both, along with mac and cheese, fried okra, mashed potatoes and fried shrimp, you will feel sick. Especially while bumping along crappy roads in north central Florida.
• When choosing a ten cent peppermint stick at Cracker Barrel, just choose Butterscotch flavor. Other good flavors include: Cherry Cola, Strawberry, etc. Do not choose "Horehound" flavor, simply because it sounds like a good fit. You will spend the next forty minutes eating a stick of candy that you do not find that appetizing, and regretting your faulty choice while your husband sucks merrily away on his butterscotch one.
• Radio stations from about Macon, GA to Orlando suck ass, with the exception of the University of Florida station, which played Fugazi's "Suggestion," but neglected to play the next track, "Glue Man," which sucks for anyone who really likes the album, because it just ruins it when the tracks split. We then drove out of their piddly range. U of Florida itself, and the greater Gainesville area, also suck ass.
• The other exception to the radio rule is the awesome bluegrass show with a local doing the dj thing and giving shoutouts to the regular listeners, who are all named Mac or Bud or Bubba. "Wabash Cannonball" at sunset was rather nice. Also the song about letting the racehorse run.
• Another radio rule: If you come across a song you even remotely like, for instance, "I Just Called to Say I Love You," or ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down," just go ahead and go with it, because it is the best you are going to do for, like, an hour. You will spend the next ten minutes just scanning through the GodRock, scripture-readers, scary-talk, and new country stations. If you find a classic rock station, just leave the dial the fuck alone. If you, like us, manage to get a run of Van Halen, Pink Floyd, Neil Young, CCR, and Tom Petty with Stevie Nicks, count yourself lucky. BTW, that whole intro to Van Halen's cover of "You Really Got Me" is fucking awesome.
• Don't be alarmed when you enter Florida and are greeted by the Shoot First, Ask Questions Later signs. Or the "Repent Sinners!" signs. Or when you are cast in shadow by the frighteningly large Confederate battle flag by the highway. The people are so nice, despite the fact that they try to scare you with their flags and guns and bibles and gators.

Okay, so we get to the hotel (Doubletree Orlando, across the street from Universal.) We go in, get a bellhop/valet guy to help me with the bags while Todd secures van and Ronnie. I start talking to the guy - turns out it has been a wild weekend. There is a TNA wrestling event going on tonight and tomorrow night. I didn't know anything about this, but according to my awesome bartender Tony, they do it once a month at Universal, and everyone is totally cool, and a lot of the women are really skinny and have implants. I am so excited about my people-watching tomorrow.

That being said, the people-watching tonight wasn't too bad. I didn't see R2D2, as we missed him by about five minutes at the hotel bar, but I did get to see LeatherFace from the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and also the artist who did all of the KISS album covers. Awesome. Oh, and some gray-haired old guy who is in a Geicko commercial - Peter Graves, maybe? Other people who were at this nerd orgy: http://www.fxshow.com/guests.htm

More to come from the Starbucks downstairs in the morning. Will have camera and laptop in hand. Come on, hot guy from Eureka! Or The Greatest American Hero!

Give it Up, JL.

This morning as I ate my cereal, I flipped on the t.v. I was going to check the weather, because Todd and I are leaving for Orlando on Sunday, and I had seen a snippet of news that said there was a chance of snow Saturday or Sunday night. (I did not see anything about snow.) When I turned on the t.v., it was still on MTV from my fix of Road Rules last night before bed. I left it on, though, because there was a Silversun Pickups video on, and I really like them. (They were #3 on my Best of 2006 list.) I was also a little in shock that MTV still plays videos. Who knew?

Anyway, the video ended and before I changed the channel another came on. It was Jared Leto's band, 30 Seconds to Mars. Now, I had never heard them before, but all of us who were My So-Called Life fans love him to death simply for the fact that he was Jordan Catalano, Angela's crush/makeout partner. I knew he had a band, but frankly, every time I see him outside of the MSCL environment, I am struck by how completely stupid he seems, so I also assumed that the band would suck, too.

I was right. They suck. Their video (some kind of Japanese sword-fighting drama thing) seemed like it would never end, and purty Leto just couldn't pull off the rock star voice, or the ridiculous punk rock, jet-black-hair-with-eyeliner-and-black-leather look.

This got me to thinking: Poor Jared. No matter what he does, he will never be anything but Jordan to us. He was okay in Requiem for a Dream, I guess, but I don't want to see him rock, and I don't want to see him date actresses even more stupid than he is. I want him to lean against the Mustang in his flannel shirt and look sullen. I want him to make out with Angela in the basement while she is supposed to be in Biology. I know for a fact that there are a large number of men out there who enjoy watching the shit get kicked out of him in Fight Club over and over again, or to see him die, die, die in The Thin Red Line. Me? I just want to see what happened after Angela left Brian Krakow and got in the Mustang with Jordan.

I know. Random.

Ran 5.08 miles today. Yes, I have to put the .08, because I ran it, didn't I?

Will Run More. Or At Least Blog About Running More.

So, the new year is all about resolutions and that damned sticking to them. So, one of my resolutions was to run more. Haven't been so good at that - the kids and I have been sick for over two months, off and on, and we have been busy, blahblahblah. Enough with the excuses. I am going to try and be better. One way that I find to make myself better adhere to any resolution is to tell others what I want to do. It keeps me honest if everyone knows I am Eating Less, Drinking Less, Running More, Writing More. I wrote recently about overcoming my writing fear - part of that was saying on here, to lots of people who know me (and a few who don't) that I want to write more. Scary, but effective. I will now do the same with my running. I am going to start logging my runs, and my weekly mileage. Just to try and keep myself honest.

Today: 4.7 miles. Unfortunately, that is all i have done this week. Hope to do more before the yard sale on Saturday and my trip to Orlando on Sunday. (Looking forward to getting some running in while in Florida, though.)

Okay, now you know. There. I've said it. Help hold me to it. Guilt and embarrassment works.

The Lionhead Files

Lisa's Birthday, 1977
Originally uploaded by AnnieATL.

My sister, like me, had really curly hair as a kid. My cousins and I made merciless fun of her. She cried. Lots. Those were good times.

I have created a Flickr set of pictures of her as a kid when she was rocking the lion's mane. I call it The Lionhead Files.

The identity of the Lionhead has been revealed.

35

So. 35. I kind of thought it would feel different, but it doesn't. It feels like any other day. I guess when I was 15 or 20, 35 sounded really old to me. The reality of 35, though, is that I feel 25, with all of the insecurities and fears about the future that I always had. I don't feel like I have some kind of wisdom that I didn't have ten years ago. What i do have is one great husband (although I am thinking he may not be so into me lately - what is with "losing" the wedding ring?) and two awesome kids. Those are three things that I never imagined would be so fulfilling, or even a part of me at 35.

I am one lucky 35-year old hot mom, people.

You will have to take my word for it. I was going to put a picture of me up from today, but geez, i just feel fat - inside, where it counts, i am 25. The outside? Not so twentyish anymore. . . .

Instead, look at me on birthdays past! Or, at least the ones that I have photos scanned in for. And then there are a few birthdays where I was too poor to have pictures made, and then there was that one . . . well, let's just say that it is better that there were no cameras for that one.

Happy birthday, me!

p.s. This post would be so much better, if Todd wasn't walking around sighing and asking when I was going to finish up so that we can watch Battlestar. As if it's his birthday or something.


Mom and I the day I was born.



My first birthday: Me with Daddy.



My second birthday.



My fourth birthday: Farrell's Ice Cream Parlor.



My fifth birthday, with Scott Gage.



Sixth birthday, with the neighborhood kids and my cousins. I am also wearing a homemade crown that they gave me at school. The dress I am wearing was long and I thought it made me look like Laura Ingalls, which totally rocked my world.

The Suckness

I don't really like to feel sorry for myself, but I would be lying if I said i didn't feel like a complete fucking loser sitting at home on the Saturday night before my birthday, sipping on my fifth beer, waiting for Saturday Night Live to come on, while my husband is out drinking beer with the guys at The Local and my sister and parents are living it up in Vegas.

This kind of sucks.

Stay Away From My Skinny Jeans!

For those of you who don't know Todd and I in person, we have both been on a years-long mission to lose weight. We have made an effort to eat healthy and to exercise more. It has paid off for both of us: I have lost over 35 pounds (still have more to go) and Todd has lost. . . well, I don't know how much weight he has lost, but he has gone down quite a few sizes. He looks great, and I am very proud of him. I am not proud of him because he looks good, but because he is healthy, and I think I might want to keep him around for a few more years. I say, "I think" because yesterday morning, Todd came downstairs wearing this:

He came down the stairs with a cat-ate-the-canary look on his face, with a touch of sheepishness, and would not meet my eye. You may see nothing amiss. That is because the shirt fits him just fine. What is wrong with this picture? The shirt is mine.

It is my Hank Williams Disgraceland shirt, by Yee-Haw-Industries. Sure, it is way too big for me and I wear it with flannel pajamas around the house, or with shorts while working out in the yard, but it is mine. No husband of mine should be wearing my clothes. As my sister and I said over dinner at the EARL last night, where the fashionable and young hang out in their skinny jeans and Flock of Seagulls hair: I don't want to be with a man who is skinnier than I am.

Todd, I still can't fit into skinny jeans, but if I ever do, you better stay the hell away from them. I do not sleep with boys whose thighs are smaller than mine.

Fear of Finishing

I am a procrastinator. I am a failed perfectionist. I cannot finish things, because finishing them means putting them out for review, and review deals with stuff that freaks me out like approval, disapproval, praise and criticism. In addition to coming from wild women, I also come from a line of people who are nearly incapable of praise, and downright professional at criticism. Even the slightest bit of approval must come with a dab of "but you didn't." To be fair, the last generation is making a concerted effort to focus more on the positive, but it is obvious by the strained and stilted manner in which this new praise is given that this tack goes against the grain of the wood from which my family is made. We are knotty pine, not tiger maple.

All of this is my way of saying that while I do not give a shit what the public say about me as a whole, I care very much what a select few people say about what I choose to create.

I mentioned that one of my new year's resolutions was to write more, but what I didn't say was that by "writing more" I meant: Write and finish more fiction, and then let someone who isn't me read it. It is that "finishing" part that has always been tricky for me. I have countless files laying around my computer unfinished. Snippets of dialog that I overheard, ideas for stories left only as placeholders, half-stories written but never gone back to out of fear of. . . what?

That is the question: What am I scared of? That my fingers will type something on a blank page, thereby making it no longer blank, and that someone will ridicule me for that? Which is funny, because I have so much respect for those who put forth the effort in the first place to create something out of thin air.

I told Todd over beers a few weeks ago that I was actually enjoying writing again, and that I felt so much more confident because of what I had written on Dogwood Girl, and on Metblogs, and by merely clicking Publish and putting my words out into the ether for all to see. It has been freeing. Very rarely have I received a negative word about my writing and in a few instances, I have received praise that has done wonders for my confidence in my ability to string a few words together. I am eternally grateful to those who have bothered to say, "I liked that" or "well-said."

All of this has worked to give me the push I needed to start writing again, and to really try to finish things. Then what? Well, I haven't figured that part out yet, and really, I will just be happy to finish a project and let those few whose opinions I value see what I have been up to lately.

I just sent Todd a short story I have been working on the last month or so. His instructions: To print it out, without reading it, so that I can see my work in print. (We have a printer, but right now, we are too poor to buy new print cartridges for it, so we are mooching from his office. Cue King Missile's Take Stuff From Work here.) I want to do an edit, and then I am going to start having some people look at what I've written. I am a little nervous about that, in the same way that I get nervous when I get a new haircut, or wear something that I wouldn't normally wear.

I think I know what the problem with my work is, or at least what I fear the problem with my work is: I am a decent writer with nothing much interesting to say.

There. I have said it, so maybe when I hear that from others, it won't sting quite as much. Or maybe since they have read it here, they won't be scared to tell me the truth. Either way, this fear of finishing is something that I am conquering.

To do: Find new fear. I know I had one around here somewhere. What did I do with it? I just had it. . . .

Danger!

I come from some wild women. . .



This was in my mom's family photos. The photo says "Mother 1870," but that seems a little early for this one, especially since the sign says something about auto insurance. Would love to be able to research the clothing to date it more accurately. We are also not sure who "Mother" is (she is the one third from the right), but have it narrowed down to one of the following:

• My Grandmother Vivian's mother, Ida Stevens Dunstan
• My mother's Aunt Zelma's mother who, do to an out-of-wedlock pregnancy and adoption, could have referred to her birth mother, who was my grandmother's mother (Ida)
• Ida's sister, Beulah, who adopted and raised Zelma.

Confused yet? Anyway, I love the picture and think it is just the coolest thing ever. They look like trouble. I think they are holding instruments, too. Nice twist.

This is my mom (right), with her best friend Judy in Daytona Beach.



Then there's Grandma and Aunt Dot. My cousin remarked that he thought this picture was staged. I don't think so. This is what family gatherings in my childhood looked like. Seriously.



I'll leave the wild woman pictures of myself for Matilda to blog. Plus, I ain't finished. Grandma and Aunt Dot were still doin' it in their 80's. I'm not even 35 yet.

Resolve is Made

To be broken. My new year's resolution was: Drink less. Eat less. Run more. Write more. I've done pretty well with the eating less, writing more. Drinking less and running more? Not so much.

The Little Champ

I forgot to document the girl's fifteen-month stats:

Weighing in at 26 pounds, 14.4 ounces (90-95%), measuring a lengthy 32 inches (90-95%), and with a noggin circumference of 46 1/2 centimeters (75-90%) . . .
Welcome, the Tillah . . . the Thrillah-from-Manila . . .

Matilda the Hon!!!!

How on Earth?

Wake up. Wake Todd up to feed kids so I can clean blood that stained my inner thighs during the night. Jump in lukewarm bath to rinse, then dry off and throw on clothes. Run downstairs. Make coffee, then pack backpack and diaper bag. Drink cup of coffee, poop (I mean, shit) and then put jackets on everyone, get them to car, strap in carseats, and drive 30 minutes to Rollie's school. Drop Rollie off. Go to local coffee shop. Drink cup of coffee. Get back in car with Tiller. 10 am meeting with todd to look at house. Leave there to go to grocery store. Go pick up Rollie, and then drive 30 minutes back home. Take kids inside, where todd serves them lunch. Unload groceries. Choke down microwave lunch. Put kids back in car. Drive to Sandy Springs for matilda's 15 month checkup. Dr. Jeff checks her ears. Ear infection. I ask him to re-check Rollie's ears. Ear infection. Drive back to East Atlanta, drop prescriptions off, take kids home, give them snacks. Do dishes from breakfast and lunch. Start planning dinner. Blog.

How on earth is it 5:39?

Why Cats are Superior

They know when to cut their losses. When things are going kinda crappy with the offspring, they just go ahead and eat the little fuckers.

My day started with hunger, because I am dieting, and then I am not allowed to eat anything until the lady gets here to take my blood and urine for the life insurance policy we are taking out on me in case (duh) I die, which of course doesn't give one a whole lot of incentive to fast, because what the hell are you going to get out of it, anyway. Todd is a sweetheart and got up with the kids so that I could sleep as long as possible and not have to sit around hungry. I got up at 9 a.m. (the high point of the day). I started my period.

I proceeded to drink black coffee until the nurse arrived at 10. The kids cried and whined and bugged the crap out of the nurse while she asked me about every runny nose I have ever had, and the name, number, and address of the doctor for which I saw each runny nose. She then tried to take blood from one arm, then the other, then my hand. It was awesome. I peed in a cup and there was blood in it and i had to explain to her that I was on the rag. Lovely. Did I mention she brought her own scale? It said I was 9 pounds heavier than my scale says I am. Fucking great.
Todd called to say that he wouldn't be home for lunch. By the time the nurse left it was noon. I put lunch on for the kids. I ate my crap diet lunch. I tried to watch Antiques Roadshow while the kids ran around pushing their cars and shopping cart and couldn't hear a thing. I shut off the t.v. and finished eating while staring out the window at a squirrel. I did the breakfast and lunch dishes, and put on dinner. I changed two poopy diapers.

Went upstairs, read to the kids, and then put them down for their naps. This consists of putting down Matilda, and then tucking Rollie in, shutting the gate, blowing kisses, asking him to please, please, please not wake Tiller because Mama will be mad, and please stay in bed, and don't make any noise, and maybe when we get up we will watch Curious George and eat snacks, Yes, raisins, and please? And then i hope for the best.

I laid down for an hour, and I could tell Rollie wasn't asleep, because he was talking the whole time, but it never occurred to me that he was up there taking off his diaper, putting the poop into the back of the remote control truck, and then taking little pieces and running them over with the treads of his monster truck and smushing them into the carpet, and running the truck roughshod over the books he had pulled off his shelves, which were now empty.

When I finally went up to check on him, he was standing naked at the gate, smiling at me. He went over and picked up two little pieces of poop, one in each hand, and held them out to me, palm up, as if in offering. When I opened the gate, he cheerfully walked around the corner and turned his palms over above the toilet, neatly depositing them into the bowl, then turning to me in expectation of approval.

I think he may be slightly retarded.

After that, I gave him a bath, put Batman underwear on him, and with the exception of the times when we are out, at school, napping, or sleeping, he will Goddamn be wearing them, until he is potty trained. So help me God, amen.

Tiller: 15 Months Old

I cannot believe it. It has flown by.

She still doesn't walk regularly, although she can. She just takes a couple steps, then crawls. I guess it is faster that way. She still wants to be held all the time. She is addicted to pushing things - her pushcart, a shopping cart, any chair that isn't nailed down. She has a hysterical laugh, and is completely and totally in love with Todd now. I think he likes her a bit, too. She loves playing peek-a-boo, and the first time she said "mama" to get my attention, it was because i had stopped playing peek-a-boo with her to answer the phone. She was not happy.

She is going to be on debate team next year, because she LOVES to talk. She doesn't really have a lot of words yet, but tons of babbling sounds. She does say, Mama, dada, kittykat, doggie, elmo, milk, cup, book, ball, bath, bear, and she has tons of funny repetitive sound effects. The funniest one is something she picked up from Rollie. Todd taught Rollie to say "redrum" and "rollie isn't here" in a The Shining voice, and Tiller can't say those things, but tries to do the voice. It is hysterical.

She smiles a lot, but when she is in a new place, she is very serious until she has checked everything out. She just today started screaming and screeching, just to hear herself do it, and hopefully that will be short phase, because she's got some pipes.

She eats an enormous amount. The other day, she ate two pieces of pizza in one sitting. Large, new york-style pizza slices. Her little tummy is so distended after she eats. It is cute. She will beg or take food if she is out and someone else has it. Her hair is starting to grow out and she looks like a girl, even when she is wearing rollie's hand-me-downs. Lisa and I cut her bangs last month, though, because they were in her eyes and she had a bit of a skate rat thing going.

She loves to read more than Rollie ever did at this age. He destroyed so many books. She loves the Sarah Boynton books and has a particular order she wants you to read them in at bedtime. She is no shrinking violet - she speaks up when she wants something.

She still only has five teeth, so i have plenty of those to look forward to.

At bedtime, she splashes like crazy in the tub, and we are having trouble disciplining her, because she doesn't listen to No. She knows it, but ignores it. We just have to take her out of the situation when she does something, and that is usually a big screaming fit. In the bathtub, when she splashes, we say no, and she laughs maniacally and keeps doing it. She is going to push my buttons hard in about 10 years.

Another cute thing she does is the Nestea Plunge. She is so trusting of us, that if we are anywhere near her she will fall straight backwards and expect us to catch her. It is nerve-wracking, and I know she is going to crack her head sooner or later. We can't figure out how to teach her not to without letting it happen.

The best thing about her? She LOVES to hug. Over and over. She is starting to give kisses, too, but they are open-mouthed and wet. She will also pat you on the shoulder while you are holding her, as if to comfort you. The hugs, though? They kill me, they are so sweet.

I never thought that my heart could hold two. I thought it would explode with just one. I was so wrong; The heart expands to accommodate what you find to love.

More photos of the girl are here.

Mark and Lisa

Mark and Lisa
Originally uploaded by AnnieATL.

Congratulations to my sister and . . .ahem. . my brother-in-law, Lisa and Mark, on their one year anniversary. I can't believe y'all have been married for a year!

Love,
Annie

p.s. Sorry Rollie was such a shit last night. If you have a baby soon, you can repay me.

You Think You've Seen Some Shit?

My grandfather turns 91 today. You ain't seen nothin'. He's seen four wars (not including these two latest ones), the holocaust, the coming of electricity, running water, automobiles, the telephone, the radio, and television. I'm pretty sure he thinks the way a mouse operates is simply magic.

I wrote a really long post about him for his 90th last year. My mom thought it was cool. Yes, my mom reads my blog; Frightening, no? Just what you want your mama to read: This, or this, or this. She printed the post out and showed it to him. He read it, smiled, and was quiet for a few seconds, then said, "I guess she'll just put the death dates on later." He is a funny guy. Happy birthday, Pop! I love you!
That's us together in Christmas of '77: From left - Dad, Me, Grandma Smith, Pop, Lisa, and Grandma Palmer.

Change is Good

New year, new Dogwood Girl template. Okay, not really new, just tweaked the old one a bit, because I was tired of it. My HTML ability is almost nil, and my eye for anything artistic or graphic is non-existent, so this is the best i could do.

I like the cleanless of it, though. Like a clean slate for a new year, or a quiet blanket of freshly-fallen snow. Speaking of, God, send us some snow. My kids don't even know what it is.

New Year's Recap

Night started off slow, with me laying a base of soup and salad at the nicest Olive Garden ever. Todd's Mom says so, and she should know, because she lives in that mecca of fine dining that is Dadeville, Alabama. I also had a latte at Starbucks in an attempt to jumpstart my very hung over body while Todd chatted with the Turks. No doin' on lighting a fire under me; It wasn't until I arrived at Iain's and choked down that first beer that I started feeling a little better. I had grandiose plans of dressing up, even maybe wearing a skirt, but I was lucky to get there in one piece, much less to change out of jeans and t-shirt. I threw on my fluffy-fringey sweater in an attempt to give myself some style and just ended up looking like a Smashing Pumpkins' D'arcy wanna-be from 1991. You will notice only one picture of me in the whole New Year's set on Flickr. This is not coincidence.

Highlights:

• Black-eyed peas and greens and Iain and Annie's Crappy Cornbread Quiche.
• Todd drinking brown liquor is always a highlight. He starts gesturing with his hands more, and he likes to stir the ice in his glass with a cute little tinkle. He gets a bounce in his step that he only ever gets when he is drinking liquor. (Bounce has been known to morph into him falling backwards on his ass in the basement at Gravity Pub, but he was drinking vodka tonics that night, so we cannot blame that on the revered bourbon whiskey.)
• Watching people strip down and display body art and mutilation in the largest fucking bathroom in Alabama was pretty entertaining.
• No evening is ever complete until you have cleared the whole living room of furniture so as to perform a few numbers from Grease, replete with male and female parts, and dancing on remaining furniture.
• Finally, and this one is so obvious, but I will say it anyway: I am so cute when I am drinking. Everyone says so.

The only thing missing was the people that I couldn't be with this year, but they are always in my thoughts, and just as soon as I make that first million off Dogwood Girl, I am going to buy a farm and start a commune where we can all live together. Right after Lisa and I buy the Sea-Doo. It's gonna happen - 2007: The Year of Big Dreams. Who's with me?

Quote for January

Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut. - Ernest Hemingway (1899 - 1961)

Well said, Mr. Hemingway.