They say...

They say (now, don’t ask me who ‘they’ are) that whatever you do on the first day of the new year is exactly what you’ll do all year long. With that in mind, one should never work, fight, cry or otherwise perform/engage in acts that you would prefer to keep to a minimum all year long. This includes, but is not limited to, hangovers, bodily injury, hiccups, bad hair days and nail biting.

I say avoiding 3 out of 5 is not so terrible. Can you guess to which of those I fell victim? Nail biting... a given. Doesn’t take a genius. And the second... drum roll please... bodily injury.

January 1, 2009 started out fine. No hangover. Hair turned out decent. I finally got over the hiccups the night before when I surrendered my Canadian beer to Rob (still not sure if he actually drank it or slowly poured it out as we passed rose bushes along the walk around World Showcase in Epcot).

My brother (in town for his birthday – Dec 31) and Rob and I decided to have our New Year’s lunch at Golden Corral... the lunch of champions, ya know. Actually, the massive buffet of heart-attack choices played a major role in satisfying yet another “they say.”

They say (in this case, my parents are ‘they’) that you have to eat greens and black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day. If you eat greens on Jan 1, it brings you money for the rest of the year. So, I ate turnips, collards and spinach... covering all my bases. And the dreaded black-eyed peas (yicko) is to keep Pellagra away (we pronounce it Pilagry). Do not ask me what Pellagra is – nobody really knows. But apparently, it’s even more dreaded than the black-eyed peas. So each year on Jan 1, I force down a few spoonfuls of the nasty little gray suckers.

After lunch at the Corral, we decided to practice a little putting at the Fantasia Fairways at Disney. It’s not your average putting course – no castles or dinosaurs. It’s a very challenging course even for the most seasoned golfer (which I am not).

In the 20 minutes until our tee time, we decided to visit the arcade.

A few quarters, a round or two of air hockey on a smaller-than-regulation size table and welcome the bodily injury part of my New Year’s Day.

Seconds after the puck struck (ha! poet and didn’t know it), my middle finger turned a lovely shade of blue followed by an immediate swelling between the knuckles. My finger looked like a pea pod and boy did it scream! Youchy. Hurt like a son-of-a-biscuit!

Now comes the best part of my New Year’s Day – oddly enough, a direct result of the youchy. As we drove home, my Rob sat in the back seat carefully folding a piece of paper he’d found on the floorboard. Then, he said, “Hope this makes your finger feel better.” I looked to the side of the head rest where his hand (stretched from the back seat) held the following.

Sometimes the smallest actions mean the world.



So, if what ‘they’ say is true, then I’ll get flowers all year long!!!!

You can’t suspend me for open-back shoes!

Current mood: refreshed

A few weeks ago, while rummaging beneath my bed for last year's Christmas ornaments and the tangled mess many of us call a string of lights, I stumbled upon a plain black binder that I didn't recognize. I brushed a bit of dust and under-the-bed mystery fuzz from the cover and opened to the first of the many handwritten pages inside.

My journal.

Forgetting the bare tree in the living room that awaited my return, I was unable to resist reading a paragraph, then a second and a twelfth. Soon, I was smiling at the description of my senior prom dress, giggling about the time I thought the world would end because Mr. Yates had given me a B minus on a writing assignment and spitting-nails mad as I relived the time I was suspended for wearing open-back shoes. I mean, it was sooooo stupid! The principal apologized as she handed me the suspension and said she wanted to make an example of me for others who would follow my lead. Oh, yeah? Well, my mom got the parental okay for my best friend to skip school and we spent my day of suspension tanning by the pool and listening to music. Gotta love Tag Team, Boyz II Men and Ugly Kid Joe. But that's an entirely different story.

My point in writing about finding my journal is this – even more than I love journaling, I love reliving a moment in my life. When I read verbatim my thoughts from high school, the hair-brained ideas I concocted during college and the emotions I felt when I decided to leave California... well, these are all significant pieces that ultimately make me who I am today.

I've decided to end 2008 and begin 2009 by returning to my love of journaling. In 2003, when I moved to California, my journal became a public blog which enabled me to update friends and family with career happenings, relate the craziness that is Cali and make new friends as my blog gained readership. This year, however, I slowly gravitated away from my computer. I never lost interest... I simply reasoned that I no longer had time.

Bologna. Or... buh – LOW – nee. He he (some will get it)

For the past several months, my journal has been an inner monologue complete with moments when I laugh out loud (all alone) in the grocery store, backspaces and double spaces and random moments of subject drifting.

And yes, I'm still steaming a little about being suspended as an example. I have a new button on my desk (it's kinda like the Staples Easy Button) that when clicked says, "I'm surrounded by idiots." I've had it for a week now and I'm still waiting on the perfect opportunity to use it. Hasn't happened yet, but I feel it coming soon.

Coming soon... to an office near you... "I'm surrounded by idiots."

Subject drifting.

In 2009, I recommit to keeping a journal. I have lots to tell! Lots to rant about. Speaking of ranting.... nah, nah. Just kidding. I'll save it for later.

Happy Christmas eve!!!!!!!!!

cell phone etiquette - postponed

Current mood: stoked

Okay – it's true – I haven't been especially attentive to my blog in the past days... uh weeks. Thanks Jen and Dave for pushing my fingers to the keys.

I had a funny blog all lined up to write... about people who talk on their cell phones in the bathroom stall (there's a woman who does this regularly at work and I find it comical... during the act, during the flush, and even doing the shoulder-to-ear thing while she washes her hands).

And while my motivation for this blog still exists, it's being displaced by an even stronger vector in my world of motivation. So instead of annoyingly humorous bathroom-conversationalists, I am just going to write about what's on my mind right now... and has been for 33 days.

The fact is... one month ago, my world sorta flipped. Things that weren't, now are. Moments I saw in my dreams, I now see with my eyes open. Words are spoken, thoughts are expressed, looks are exchanged and the gentlest of touches are amazingly powerful forces.

Thirty-three days ago all of these occurrences came to exist... slammed into my being... sent me spiraling and my head soaring.

You see, a friend, a buddy, a pal, a sparring partner, my regular Friday-night rendezvous and Epcot cohort... well, he became so much more.

He touched my face, my lips, my fingers and ultimately my life.

And since then, even the smallest of gestures results in giant flip-flops of the ole ticker.

He challenges me, inspires and motivates me. (to take his king, to hit more Z-targets, to file through my mental thesaurus and one-up him)

He makes me laugh. He laughs at the stupid things I do... which also makes me laugh. He calls me out on dim-witted moves I make or silly jokes... which again makes me laugh. (anyone willing to share some clever jokes I can use to shock and awe him with my sudden wit?)

He calls my dreadful habits cute. (guess I can keep biting my nails for now)

When we're in public, he has absolutely no reservations about holding my hand. He understands me. He seems to read my face. He tells me what he's feeling or thinking and doesn't make me guess. He likes my dog. (potential deal breaker, you know)

We like a lot of the same things (except fish-n-chips) and he has aspirations that are in line with my own.

Even when the humidity has victoriously attacked my curls and the rain has washed away my makeup, he tells me I'm beautiful. (keeping the boy away from the optometrist)

Daily, I get emails or texts just to say he's thinking of me and that he can't wait to see me. Once, while I sat right next to him in the car, he sent a text with one word – "pretty." (gotta love technology)

He doesn't like to play games. (but he'll give you a run for your money at checkers)
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And the best part of it all? He's still my friend.
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So... yeah, that's why I've been MIA for the past month. My mind has been preoccupied. But I promise the sappy writing is done (for now) and I'll post regular blogs... and the first thing I think I'll touch on is cell phone etiquette – rule 1 – If I am on the phone with you and I hear a flush...

moments

Current mood: optimistic

Last night, for the first time, my mom spoke via phone with her half brother who didn't even know she existed. My mom is... happy. I venture to say that yesterday is a day my mom will never forget.

It got me to thinking about days in my life that I have yet to forget... and days I'll certainly remember with vivid detail forever. Days that have impacted my life in some manner and permanently hold a spot in my memories. They are moments that I can play in my head like a movie... remembering colors, smells, sounds, feelings, words that were said, facial expressions...

Here are a few:

1. The day my mom and dad finally brought home my baby brother from the hospital for me to meet.
-- I was three years old. Of course when Daniel grew old enough to torment his big sister, I wished we could send him back!

2. The day I was at home from school while sick with a bug laid out on the couch with a wet cloth on my forehead, a blanket draped across my legs and a trash can strategically placed next to me on the floor. Cartoons played on the television. My dad came home from work carrying a baby blue hat that he'd brought for me to wear saying it was baby blue for his baby girl.
-- I was seven years old. I still have the hat.

3. When Michelle and I (who had been best friends since we were bald-headed babies at the nursery together) met Angelique. It was the first day we entered middle school and we were riding the bus home. Angelique sat in the school bus seat in front of us. Michelle and I, having been relatively sheltered, were shocked by the foul language used by middle schoolers and we asked this Angelique girl in front us, "Hey, you there, do you cuss?" Rather definitively, she answered, "Yes... no... maybe." That was it. We all instantly became sister-like, lifelong best friends.
-- I was eleven years old (21 years with these girls and counting). And if you are wondering, to this day there is very little cussing.

4. The afternoon my pawpaw (grandfather) forced me to reel in my own first real catch on the banks of a lake in north Georgia. He shouted encouragement and gave me pointers, but he never once took the pole from me as he wanted me to do it on my own. This is my favorite memory of all the time I spent with my pawpaw, who died eleven years later.
-- I was six years old; the small-mouth bass was 3 pounds, 1 ounce and set a record in the Atlanta area for my age group.

5. My first kiss. I'd grown tired of how loud the party was and how ridiculous my tipsy friends looked as they were laughing and rolling about, so I walked out onto the balcony and sat in a plastic lounge chair to enjoy the sounds of the waves hitting the shore and the warm night air. Moments later, he joined me on the balcony stating he'd wanted to kiss me all night. I was terrified. Truthfully, it was awful – he smelled of cigarettes and alcohol and half an hour later he was passed out on the bathroom floor. I never saw him again.
-- I was seventeen years old. No laughing! Guess I was a late bloomer... parts of me are still waiting to bloom!

6. The morning I was driving my brother to school and tail-ended a half-ton Ford pickup that was sitting still in the road. The two-lane, backwoods road that ran between our house and the middle school was hugged with trees that allowed the morning sunlight to stream through in bright, blinding rays. I realized the truck was stopped at the same time my brother did. He yelled my name; I hit the brakes. The front-end brakes made the car nose-dive below the bumper of the high-sitting truck pushing the car's hood into our laps and bringing my windshield within mere inches of the truck's steel bumper and trailer hitch. The police officer who responded said that if I'd braked any sooner, allowing the car to slide even further beneath the truck, then we might have suffered severe injury or been killed by the impact that the windshield and our bodies would have made with the truck's bumper. The black skid marks that remained on the road for months were a constant reminder.
-- I was sixteen years old. My parents made me drive Daniel to school the very next day, taking the same exact path. I had whiplash for a week and I have a broken Dodge hood ornament in my jewelry box to this day.

7. My first puppy. Tinkerbell was a little black mutt with the biggest heart and soul. She was given to me on Christmas morning. When my parents brought me into the living room where my surprise waited with a red bow tied around her neck, Tinkerbell sprinted across the room and lunged at me with licks ready to go... as if she knew she were my Christmas present and I was hers.
-- I was four years old. Tink died on Christmas morning twelve years later.

8. The first day I arrived in Los Angeles, fresh-faced, naïve, and chalk full of determination. I stepped off the plane, bucked up my chest and welcomed LA to hit me with its best shot. The air was cold for April, the traffic was at a standstill all around the airport and I encountered my first familiar celebrity face within the hour. I knew no one... but I knew me and that was enough. I hit Venice Beach, The Getty, Rodeo Drive, In-n-Out Burger and the local curb store to get an apartment guide book. I'm certain everyone I bumped into knew I was a newbie, an LA-transplant who, along with hundreds daily, had arrived in search of the dream. My first day in LA was filled with colorful hopes, shameless drive and unshakable resolve.
-- I was 27 years old. I stayed three years. I still have the same hopes, drive and resolve... but it's been redirected.

9. Three days ago, as we walked into Magic Kingdom with intent to battle it out for the highest score on Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin, a friend (not yet certain what else to call him) took my hand in his. The gesture was small, but the moment left me surrounded with a sort of comfort that was novel and exhilarating yet distinctly tranquil. Sure, it's a rather recent experience to add, but by sheer description of this list it deserves a spot as I doubt my mind's eye will soon forget the light rain that fell around me, the sound of the boat gently knocking the dock behind me, the smell of popcorn that slowly invaded or the word he muttered... "Weird?"
-- I was 32 years old. I felt sixteen.

10. My high school, Dougherty Comprehensive High, was and still is a major rival of another local school, Monroe High. When I was a freshman, the tension between the two schools was at an all-time high as DCHS was experiencing an exceptional football season having gone undefeated. That Friday night, the air was thick... literally, as it was quite foggy. Minutes before halftime, my friends and I struggled to grasp the reality of what had just happened in the stadium bleachers. Gunfire. Merely feet from us. A Monroe student, determined to even the playing field, entered the Dougherty side of the stadium and opened fire. In a stressful situation, the brain/eyes process more frames per second than in normal situations which gives us the feeling that time is in slow motion. That's exactly what I experienced as I realized the "balloon popping" was a gun popping... when I looked to my right I saw hundreds of frenzied students and fans rushing towards me like an ocean wave at the slowest possible rate... I turned to my left grabbing my friends' hands and pulling them with me towards the exit. Still operating in slow motion, still hearing the ringing of the shots and hearing my own breath and heartbeat, I pulled them to the only place I knew might be safe and away from the crowd – the underside of the bleachers where the lawn tractors and field maintenance equipment was stored. To this day, I still see the darkness beneath the bleachers... I still smell the gas of the tractor I hid behind... I still feel Michelle's trembling hand... I feel the cold concrete wall I leaned against.
-- I was fifteen years old.

still giggling

Current mood: giggly

Opened a 7th to make it a lucky odd number (instead of the 6 I had before).

• 
  Your troubles will cease and fortune will smile upon you (in bed).

Still giggling.

Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do ya?

Current mood: lucky

Friday the 13th...

I started the day bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as I trotted off to work to bring good fortune to our STARS on what is traditionally known as a rather unlucky day. Weeks ago, when I realized a Friday the 13th was approaching, I arranged to have dipped fortune cookies available to pass out to our STARS.

In addition, I taped off a ladder with caution tape to ensure no one could accidentally pass beneath it. I permanently closed an umbrella, hung a white cat from the ladder along with a few horseshoes, placed a pot of gold beneath the ladder, marked a mirror as being Certified Unbreakable for 7 Years and strung several gold 7s and a four-leaf clover from the ladder. I put up a sign saying, "Start your Friday the 13th with good fortune," and stood passing out dipped fortune cookies to everyone as they entered work this morning... forcing them to walk around the ladder of luck.

I WILL reverse bad fortune and deliver good fortune to them... or else!

So, as I was carefully carrying the giant black pot filled with hundreds of plastic gold coins, the handle broke spilling gold coins in all directions all over the floor. Is that 7 years?

Then, as I filled my bucket with fortune cookies to pass out, I dropped two and broke them. Is that 7 years?

I lost the top to my newest writing pen. 7 years?

I may or may not have broken the rubber nozzle on the helium tank as I was filling balloons. And I ask, 7 years?

And it's only 10:30 in the morning... so I can't wait to see what else the day has in store for me!

But here's a bit of funny that made me giggle for a while this morning. So apparently, when you read your fortune from a cookie, you should always finish the statement with the words, "in bed." I was unaware of this "tradition," but my cohorts Tommy, Shawna and Aaron quickly brought me into the loop on this one. It's crazy how the simple phrase always works... and it can turn an otherwise boring fortune into something worth giggling about at the lunch table... again and again and again.

Over the course of the morning, I opened 6 fortune cookies (broken ones, unwrapped ones, etc). Here's what I got:

• 
  You will be a great success (in bed).
• 
  You have a reputation for being straight-forward and honest (in bed).
• 
  Cherish all your loved ones by keeping them very near (in bed).
• 
  You are open and honest in your philosophy of love (in bed).
• 
  Look around; happiness is trying to catch you (in bed).
• 
  A bold and dashing adventure is in your future (in bed).

Go ahead and giggle... I did.

"... this time more intelligently."

Current mood: enlightened

I was reading an article on CNN.com today when I stumbled upon a quote from Henry Ford.

"Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently."

I like that a lot. Personal endeavors, professional endeavors... I like it.