The Dogs of Tuscumbia

Found on truck near fire and police station:

 

Admired in special display at Ivy Green (Birthplace of Helen Keller):

Comeuppance

I see no reason why it’s wrong to wish bad things on other people.  Thousands of perfectly kind and productive humans get murdered, maimed, and cancerfied every day. Why can’t I try to suggest some better options for the Fairy of Horrible Fate?

You know why? Because many people are afraid of their thoughts and foolishly believe in karma.  My legitimate suggestions for disbursing harm and bad-luck put  giant cracks in their wall of repressed desire and bring reason to their retarded, avoidance-based interpretations of eastern religion.

You know who I respect? The pre-teens that called B up and told him that his Justin Bieber review was stupid, that he was old, probably couldn’t dance, and that he should get hit by a truck. That’s the kind of healthy, albeit not really in proportion to the offense, expression we all need to return to.

So, to the nurse who not only made me suffer through two ridiculously base conversations over the course of three hours, but never called me back to help me out with my migraine meds while I paced, suffered, and watched the zags go by – I hope your dinner tonight includes a parasite that toils inside your small intestine for six months, six months that you spend in the bathroom while your first born child learns to walk and you can’t see it even though you are only a room away, but your face is in the toilet, and you get a sore on your face (probably in the shape of a toilet) that never heals and is extremely painful and you run out of pain meds and no one ever, ever helps you and your husband never comes home from going to the store to buy butt salve for your ugly face. 

Even though the answering service is closed for the night (that’s how I know you aren’t going to call back), I hope you get this message because I am thinking it. All powerful thinking!!

The Bench Warmer

Huntsville, AL

Home from the Rickyard

This is how they make the charcoal for the Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey mellowing process. Do you see the metaphor? A mile-high flame later contributes to a mellow experience.

I’ve been out of town. Before I went out of town I saw the transformer (as in the power supply box thing) blow up like a thousand dollar spree at an Arkansas fireworks outlet and all of the power go out on our block a few minutes before midnight. Seems everyone can’t be running air conditioners full throttle in hundred degree temperatures in 2010 – we should have had a block meeting and formed a cooling station in one our carports. It got crazy nutso hot in here. But that is enough about that – see my alternate blog titled “Hotter than the Hottest Sin” if you want to talk about Memphis heat.

While I was out of town I saw many things but the only thing sticking with me right now in the moments before sleep, aside from the Lynchburg Rickyards, is an overheard conversation between a Cracker Barrel waitress and the uglier half of an old couple. The woman (who did not appear to be of discerning taste - at least about fashion or hair-combing) asked the waitress several times how the baked potatoes were that evening and insisted that she was really, really picky about baked potatoes and could not, in good health, tolerate the sight of a grayed baked potato.

I would not order anything that I was that fearful of myself, but I guess age gives you that kind of courage.

I hope I can sleep. I hope I can get it out of my mind; grey baked potato, grey baked potato, grey baked potato, grey baked potato what color should you really be?

Wet Air Hot Heat What?

It might have been the moistest hottest day in Memphis yet. I wrote that sentence yesterday and I am glad I didn’t publish it until today because today might have been the hottest moistest day ever. This blog is about accuracy and this week is about a heatwave of tsunamic sweat proportions.

Last night I saw a (hilarious) comedy show in a bar with no air conditioning and that wasn’t even the funny part. I believe it is too hot for air conditioning to work anywhere there are more than four people gathered. So far, MAC-Donalds (that’s how they say it here so don’t trip), the post office, and my office are proving me right.

I talked with people all day about the weather because it is so interesting how more of us aren’t dropping dead.  One of my sweet senior citizen volunteers called me and when I asked her how she was handling the heat down there in the Delta she said “oooh Sara, I was out at my grandbaby’s school and it was so hot I got angry with myself – don’t you know I’m about to put myself in heaven!” Lord above I could listen to her read the numbers on a thermometer and be entertained for hours.

Hot and Busy

Nothing new.

• I haven’t decided yet if I am going to try and see these g-d racing boats on the river today. We went yesterday and boiled in our pants and saw a trickling of jet skis and two people wearing life jackets setting up a giant bouquet of American flags on a little corner of Mud Island.
• Makedas Butter Cookies
• I’m following this minor league moniker madness contest. Hawkins Gebbers has my vote. But I do love Sharlon Schoop and Sequoyah Stonecipher (both in the same tough bracket).

Witness This

Michigan people do not speak like people from Minnesota and Michigan people, NOT Wisconsin people, own the right to use their hands as a map.

My mom scanned this and sent it to me.

My Crew in Overton Park

I won’t be walking the Old Forest Trail alone in Overton (again) if only to avoid a contact high from the other people (that don’t much look like they are out for their constitutionals – the hand-rolled cigarettes being a tip off).  I also want to avoid snakes, men with golf clubs, women in high-heels, giant trees hovering overhead on quite seriously - their last limbs, mosquitoes, and dive-bombing dragonflies (all present on the trail).

Of course, there is the option of forming my own vigilante crew, a dream I have had since childhood (not Overton Park specific – just the Vigilante Crew part).  We would be the Park Patrol Posse or the Old Forest Trail Blazers and probably wear green satin jackets emboridered with a map of the trail and green kerchiefs to blend (but also shine) amongst the trees and bags of grass. We’d carry nets to catch mosquitoes or offer to walk alongside walkers/joggers while holding torches of citronella. Maybe we’d walk a few yards ahead of em to throw rocks into the trails to scare of the snakes. And no doubt we would specialize in hooker/John mediation.  Because our motto would be; No one has to get bugged out in the woods.

Counters, Waiting, Watermelon, and Lucy’s

1) When we got off the Staten Island Ferry, there was a guy in a jean jacket repeating “lucy’s, lucy’s, lucy’s” over and over (that’s what repeating means I guess) and I thought, How interesting, selling acid (my interpretation was some kind of bastardized Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds code) right off the Ferry – is there that much of a demand for psychedelics on the commute?

Then my friend told me, They are loosies. Like a loose cigarette. And I was like oh, yeah, LOOSIES. I get it. Excuse me if they didn’t have a big loosie market when I was a smoker. I would have been buying loosies all the time.

And then she bought one. It was a Newport. She needed to it help her think where we should go before we went home.  Cigarettes fire up the synapses.

While she smoked, E and I watched a a toddler in (only) a pajama top play with a rat while his mother sat on an overturned bucket and I thought, that loosie is already working.

2) I was buying my standard grocery list at Schnucks:  bananas, apples, miniature ice cream drumsticks (the brand with the Chilly Willy looking character on the front), some La Croix, and some frozen pizza (this should also explain my malnutrition-chic look to those that know me) well anyway, unbeknownst to me, the pizza rang up at the wrong price. I didn't know this until I had been standing there re-swiping my debit card for about ten minutes.

“Naw, I gotta change the price. I need a manager.” The clerk tells me.

And I said, “Oh silly me – I thought it was my card – because I had been swiping it. Like a hundred times. But I am sure you saw me because we have been standing here for ten minutes which is a unusually long time for one customer in the express lane, no?”

And instead of answering she pulled out a Womans Day from the side of her register and opened it flat out on the scanner. Opened the magazine and started to read.  Just reading a magazine while I held my wallet, waiting. I thought about taking off or packing up my stuff and going over to the register next to us – they seemed to be moving well enough. But maybe I was flattered that she was comfortable enough with me to sneak in a break with me. Maybe I was impressed  that she was prepared with reading material (something I pride myself in, even though I left my book in the car that day).

After a few page turns she called the manager again. And a several more pages after that the manager showed up with the urgency of a crock pot meal. She punched in a few numbers. The magazine was returned to the side of the register and my debit card was approved.

I saved three dollars on that frozen pizza.

3) I was in the drugstore (the one I always stop at on my way home from work if I need Bud Light Lime or Raisinettes or Advil or Calamine Lotion) and there was a line out to West Virginia so I used my old trick – check out in “Cosmetics” where it doesn’t smell as much like an adult diaper as the rest of the place.

There were already two old ladies in line helping each other buy bottles of Eucerine and they were being hounded by a crazed sunburnt hippy girl wearing cutoffs and a blue floral spaghetti strap tanktop asking them to tap her watermelon. I didn’t even know this place had fruit so I was deeply confused, but still determined to ring up and get out without falling for any fruit scams. 

It was a miniature round watermelon and she kept tapping it and saying: “It’s on clearance, I hope its good. How do you know if it’s good?” As soon as I got in line she started in with me, “Do you think this is good?”  Shake shake tap tap.

“Watermelon on clearance at a drugstore is always good.” I told her. I could barely look in her direction, her skin looked like the dark end in a pack of those florescent Crayola crayons. I was getting radiated just standing next to her.

“I hope it’s good.” she said and then told us that she was “On the road.” Code for adult runaway. I know it well.

The other item she was buying was a can of cooling spray for sunburns. She told the woman ringing her up, “Oh I hope it’s the kind that sizzles down when you spray it on” and as soon as the clerk set it down Sunburnt Lady Kerouac open the bottle and sprayed it on her shoulders right there in the store. I saw smoke come up off her scalding skin and she sighed a bit of relief.  But not as big of a sigh of relief we all had when she recapped her purchase, bagged the watermelon, and left without further commentary.

Two to one that woman had a mangy dog waiting out side for that her. My only question was whether or not her dog would like watermelon.

The River, Two Ways

My parents were in town this weekend. First we went to Mud Island to walk the Riverwalk (a map and miniature lovers dream destination – it’s a wading pool style scaled replica of the lower Mississippi from a bit above Cairo on down to the Gulf) and then, after getting the big (miniature) picture of Old Man River we hopped on a riverboat in Tunica with some other tourists that were fine with being out in the 105 degree wet hot weather.

Just look at that finicky shoreline. There isn’t one. Reminds me of the video we watched in the River Museum – in an exhibit called “Theater of Disasters” where they play a video that lists all of the deadly disasters on the Mississippi and at the end of it the narrator says “Don’t go looking for trouble on the Mississippi, it is already lookin for you.” *

A metaphor for my parents visit perhaps?

*Or something like that.

My International Fans

I’ve decided to change my comments settings. Especially if these people aren’t going to at least give me a free pass to their skank sites.

Maps of Sweet Miss

Found this weekend. The second one is more abstract but I’m counting it towards my postcard map collection.

Warming the Bench at the Orpheum

I sat outside for a good portion of the Robert Plant show the other night. Many people took note of my performance art - I had three fellas in various states of intoxication and in varying degrees of being earlytwenty try to school me about music and rock concerts.

I assumed the guy with the soaked shirt was rolling or perhaps he had simply taken off his shirt, placed it on the ground, peed on it and put it back on, or maybe someone holding 12 overpriced ounces of beer in a plastic cup jumped up at the sound of Misty Mountain Hop and dumped it all over him, or it was possible he had been roofing all day, or crying backwards.

Whatever the reason for his soaked state and crazed blackball eyes, he wasn’t embarrassed to approach me and tell me that “Plants voice isn’t was it used to be, but if I opened myself up to the music I would see…see the beauty of the music.”  I told him I’ve already had that conversation – a lot. And I think it freaked him out.

Ruler Road Show

One of my favorite recent thrift purchases was this VINTAGE presidential ruler:

I used my expert appraisal skills to determine that this piece is from the mid-to-late 90s and worth ten times what I paid for it.

Coming Off the Tracks

The crowning moment to my birthday weekend was our visit to the Holly Springs Dragway. The smell of burning petroleum sent me back to my “Use Your Illusion I” days.  Forget the face-melting, eye-blinking, leg-spazzing, hand-jazzing aesthetics of Detroit Steel for a minute and just recognize - racing does not get old, ever.

In fact just last week I witnessed an old fashioned foot race down a street right off Airways Boulevard. Three pre-teens running down a road wearing jeans, t-shirts, and untied sports shoes for real. One guy called it using the ol arms up/arms down (probably short a hanky or checkered flag) to signal “go time” – I hadn’t seen such a thing in awhile, I waited through a whole stoplight to witness it. All of this racing and competition are certainly premonitions of interesting times ahead.

My take-away message from the Dragway? Corn dogs for now, coupons for next time, and this vision always:

The Renegade Age

Back around (in a sort of way) after my birthday weekend. I am now old enough to only have a couple of candles on my cake. I am old enough to check a different box on retail surveys and sweepstakes entries. And I am now the age of the women that used to fascinate me when I was just a young sh*t-job worker. They were in their thirties but young I guess, young because they were single or single moms, or young because they had nearly the same job I did in my teens and early twenties. I liked hearing their detailed stories about frightening things like chest hair and cheating ex-husbands during our lunch breaks. They seemed liked outlaws, complaining about things (like their children) that people too afraid of god would never mention. 

A big blonde ex-hippy used to work across from me at a small parts factory and tell me about the tv she watched the night before and the Led Zeppelin concerts she used to go to and the twenty-five cent raise that the manager promised her months ago. And then there’s the crew of partying smoked-out waitresses at the highway restaurant (where I worked hours that later got the manager cited for child labor infractions) that constantly talked about putting their lazy children to work on house and car repairs. So many repairs!

But my favorite was the twitchy bar-weathered hairdresser at the mom-and-pop salon where I answered phones and stocked shampoo. I think the owner hired her because they needed another pair of hands for back-to-school cuts. After overhearing a few of the stylist-to-client conversations, I knew she was not a good fit for our salon culture. This was a place where gentle senior ladies from the surrounding towns came in on Thursdays and Fridays to get their hair set. Teresa, actually her real name now that I think about it (and I have to use it because it might be the most descriptive detail I have about her) anyway- Teresa would slip kids a bit of Manic Panic on the way out the door even though their parents brought them in specifically to look as conformed as possible because there were SCHOOL PICTURES coming up and everyone knows school pictures are meant to document the influence your mother had on your style over the years. Teresa came to work late every day – like clockwork, had a boyfriend that never called her, didn’t particularly know how to cut hair (I saw more than a few botched Rachel cuts), wore faded black cotton clothing, and got these facial peels (more exotic than you can possibly imagine for the area) that would make her look like she was on fire in the face nearly all the time. Truly. Like she had been pulling pizzas out of a 800 degree oven and using her cheeks for oven mitts. Skin would hang off her face and she would pick the bits off between clients and tell me about her “newer, fresher skin” that was about to appear. She called me at home one day and said that the salon owner had fired her. She wanted to talk about it and I was so shocked and flattered that I did. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about but looking back I am appalled and embarrassed (for her) that she used me for information. It was no different than the kind of endless repetitive gossip-tinged analysis that I’ve been participating in since kindergarten, so I count that moment as one of many. I never got to see her newer, fresher skin because she never showed up again. And that is what I was fascinated by, being someone who grew up in a town where people stayed and stayed the same - these chicks were ghosts, shapeshifters, renegades.

I can only hope I am old enough now to impress someone with a life as unglued as my face.

On The Streetz

Be back soon!

Shore Do Love Maps

I made it to the New York Public Library just in time to see their map exhibition Mapping New York’s Shoreline, 1609-2009.

 

If it hadn’t been one of my first days in the city (and being unsure of how much needless crap I would haul in and need suitcase room from H&M and the MoMA store) I would have ripped most of the maps off the walls and run out screaming, “I’m taking this exhibition to Memphis!” And had I used one of the earlier maps, like from 1609, I would have accidently found myself in the Atlantic Ocean and probably on a pirate ship.

Amusement Parts By The Water

The best thing about Brooklyn is the last stop on the Q train:

Before the night falls:

 

After a death defying ride on the Wonder Wheel (the sign says no accidents in 89 years), we walked the pier with beers in hand and saw some fisherman pull things (occasionally even seafood) out of the water and their pants.

And speaking of food here’s some food – well, not just food but Beef Stroganoff I ordered that night- from Ocean View Cafe in Brighton Beach:

B told me afterwards that going to Coney Island and then to Brighton Beach for Russian food is exactly what they did on an episode of Bored to Death – I was like, hey man, if I wanted to be original I would get a snake or a lizard or a colorful squawking bird, put it on my head, and walk around Coney Island.

** Postcards from Lola Star Botique, Coney Island, NY.

Coded Clippings

I unpacked a few of the last boxes from the move and I found my valentine candy box with a bunch of half-eaten chocolates still in it and this Garfield comic strip I remember clipping but I don’t remember why --it is not especially hilarious, doesn’t involve lasagna, and I haven’t clipped a comic since:

I’m convinced there is a secret message or an intended recipient. I hope I find both.

I Declare!

I usually don’t allow myself to be photographed with children (one of my Norma Desmond rules) and my feet are kind of hogging the frame here but aren’t these RWB sandals real show stoppers?

Our patriotic footwear display was nothing compared to the Betsy Rosses and Abe Lincolns and Uncle Sams and dogs in mini hats in the annual Independence Day Central Gardens Parade.  Now I’m not sure of the official name but I can say that it was officially awesome.

Exactly.

USA Birthday Celebration Day Two:

And later, in Germantown:

It Starts and Ends With This Bear

In true travel tradition, I am not prepared or nourished or rested enough to properly post about my visit to New York CitaY. In less than a week there I encountered (and involuntarily rubbed up against or held hands with on the subway) more human beings than the entire population south of the Mason-Dixon line. I had trouble sleeping at night because as soon as my head hit the pillow I kept thinking this city isn’t sleeping, why are you sleeping?  Or I would just obsessively, mentally replay the sites of Coney Island (like blubberly bodies in swimsuits, freakshows, naked toddlers grabbing live crabs out of white paint buckets while their parents ate rice-a-roni out of a giant tupperware popcorn bowl, the Wonder Wheel, and the pier dance party for starters).

I can bookend the trip with this, the unnamed bear I won with my dart skills (and five dollars) at Coney Island:

He came back to Manhattan with us and later ended up as a distractor element for my lack of cash to tip housekeeping when I left the hotel:

He looks blue because Sportscenter is playing up above.

Now, I know he ended up somewhere because I had to return to my room only five minutes after I thought I was leaving for good (I forgot something very important – I had forgotten to indulge my fear of leaving something behind) and when I came back – the lock was fixed out like housekeeping does when they are getting ready to clean the room and the cash and the bear were gone!

I wonder where he is now, I wonder where he will go next.  Like many other things this week, he was released from the plastic bag of carnie oppression and sent out on an endless, or at least, unpredicatable New York adventure.

Chinese Doctors are Real Doctors

E came to NYC with a bad headcold and it wasn't improved even after taking Aleve Cold & Sinus D (which we insisted not only would work like magic but was what truck drivers use to help them make good time) so we spent the afternoon (after a healthy dose of confrencing) looking for some kind of clinic, pharmacist, or witchdoctor that could cure her.

We stopped in a homey looking pharmacy and the woman told E that she probably didn't need antibiotics if she didn't have a fever but there was a Chinese Doctor around the corner, "he's a real doctor." She assured us.

And he was. He gave E a half (torn) piece of lined paper and told her to fill out her name and address and then he took her into his office. She did indeed have a fever! She left with an RX and hope for the future. We both agreed if we lived here he would be our regular doctor.

After that we ate Lombardi's Pizza!  It is as good as the sign says - the best in the world. And after that I tried to buy a water at a street vendor with a twenty dollar bill and the guy looked at me like I just showed him a naked picture of his mother. 

Small bills. Tomorrow I will carry more small bills.


S Kaye

Connected by MOTOBLUR™ on T-Mobile

Conferring

(I leave the motoblur notification on the bottom of these posts so that my adoring audience will know this is a mobile/no spell check situation)

Nothing like reviewing powerpoints in an enclosed space with burgandy tablecloths. City of Dreams!

S Kaye

Connected by MOTOBLUR™ on T-Mobile

Steps and Swag and Swaggerin Steps

I'm a really good new yorker because I have no patience for a line or a wait of any kind and because I feel like peeing everywhere.  I waited a total of three minutes to check into the conference (I'm at a conference for do-gooders as an ethnographic research stunt because I am not a do-gooder - I hate waiting after all) and the freebie bags that everyone was un-do-goodygrabbing for included a cocacola pedometer. This is where I stand for the day so far:  5507 steps.

S Kaye

Connected by MOTOBLUR™ on T-Mobile

Wrap My Head Around being Thrown Under The Bus

Facebook status updates in the last minute featuring the term “wrap my head around it”

Okay guys, I'm trying to wrap my head around the latest shock World Cup scoreline - Portugal SEVEN DPRK nil??? What the hell is going on? Do you think Portugal were the better team lol? Somehow I'm inclined to think that. Looks like curtains for Ivory Coast! - pissed off no surprise, some fuckin people, cant wrap my head around em chillin with my baby - cant seem to wrap my head around this.. - So today, Dentist appointment, Job Interview, School work, then trying to wrap my head around the fact that I am actually going to miss one day of school for Tiffany's pagent!!! I guess for my daughter I will do anything, One day might just kill me though!!! - 2nd grade moving up is all finished. September my kid is in the middle school. She will graduate in the year 2020...hard to wrap my head around that one. - I love the misconceptions people have about everything and everyone. It is so stupid I can't even wrap my head around it, but kinda entertaining. - Cannot wrap my head around pro rating today...been gone too long. I am confusing me and pissing me off!!!! - is in need of a nap! I can't take anymore thinking right now. I have enough to wrap my head around and this is just crazy... Wow, I need a free vacation... ! - Sometimes life seems so unreal... Just can't wrap my head around it - Right now is one of those times where I can't wrap my head around it. - listenin to this chris brown & tyga mixed tape @ tonny house...by myself! lol tryna wrap my head around this conversation ijust had wit bonez ready to leave...36 days left...ugh hurry up July 27th! ireally wanna go swimmin!!! - i have yet to wrap my head around the distinction between pretentious and earnest. - Can't seem to wrap my head around all that has taken place in the past few days - is exausted, sad, angry, and totally disappointed with one person...just can't wrap my head around it...how can a mother keep her children away from the ones that love them!!! it's a sad sad world...... - can't wrap my head around this problem.. - can hardly wrap my head around the fact that on July 3rd, I will get to renew several friendships/relationships from the late 1960's--I am sooo excited & a tad nervous! - Trying 2 wrap my head around bull shit ppl keep talking be real (kayekilla note: this one written by a chick that looks ten) - This is a little late I know... I've had to wrap my head around a few things lately. I just want to say thank you to everyone who wished me a Happy Birthday.... I appreciate it more than you know. -  still tryin to wrap my head around WHY..my xbox account got suspended for a week...this is BULLSHIT - got some sleep, calmed down. still hard to wrap my head around this shit. - Finally feeling up to re-entering society at large. No Jammies before kids are in bed is a VERY difficult thing to wrap my head around. And today, I have a sore throat. Ugh. - ...wrap my head around... - I'm not starting work today. I was physically assulted and robbed. So I have to get my ID/ SS card & all that jazz before I start. Almost all my life I have lived in Cleveland, & never been messed w/. I'm just try'n to wrap my head around it. - is trying to wrap my head around this thing called LOVE... I'm just not understanding it right now! Why does it have to hurt so bad? - Trying to wrap my head around last night... woah - I am stressed, not ready to wrap my head around a new project so I am going to go take a 15 minute break by the creek. -trying to wrap my head around this divorce package!!!!!!!

Facebook status updates that feature the phrase “(thrown) under the bus” in the last minute:

It hurts wen those who r LOYAL get thrown under the bus nd the rats get all the LOVE ND GLORY im jus sayin smh.... - Sad faces, I wish I didn't have to get thrown under the bus and work a 15 hour shift. - JUST THROW ME UNDER THE BUS WHY DONT YA.......... - Ever try to help someone and wind up getting thrown under the bus?? No good deed goes unpunished. Anyway ... the book is nearing completion and the CD has a couple more songs in the works so that won't be happening very soon. The sabbatical keeps getting interrupted by ... life. Long story short ... if you need me ... message me. - getting thrown under the bus really sucks expecially when you had no idea - Don't be mad cause um on top right now and you under the bus. I told you every dog got it's day!!! (kayekilla note – this is a favorite use and admiral-able revival of this tired phrase) - Man the last week has been a nightmare so much stuff has gone wrong it makes me want to throw in my hand. I cant believe how someone you trusted and thought you were ok with would just throw you under the bus and back the bus up on you. Just goes to show what a person will do to save their own neck. Kinda makes me want to retaliate. - Love when people throw me under the bus ... does it make you feel better about yourself?? Going to fuckin bed. - If you throw me under the bus... I will hit you with a plane :) haha - YOU THINK YOU KNOW SOME ONE AND ALL YOUR LIFE YOU ARE ACTUALLY STRANGERS.THEY WOULD EVEN GO AS FAR AS SELLING YOU DOWN THE RIVER OR THROWING YOU UNDER THE BUS FOR THEIR WELL BEING..WOW AND THESE ARE SO CALLED SIBLINGS DANG FOR THAT WHO NEEDS ENEMY'S WOW................... (kayekilla note – this guy posted TWICE in a minute about under-bus throwing) - Not even being "thrown under the bus" today can't dampen my euphoria over our win in South Africa... - Yeah I'll admit, I was down to ride...Just didn't realize I'd be thrown under the bus so soon! No worries, I wasn't stuck for too long..Just flyinggg solooo :P - i luv bein the good friend thrown under the bus, it only enhances my focus on god and shows me the lack of trust from those around me. who can i call friend??? - I am getting so used to being thrown under the bus I am going to get tire treds tatooed on my back and the saying...you better make it count cause when I get up... - Obama's just throughing everyone under the bus. - I love how everyone on top chef just threw each other under the bus. lol hilarious - Don't you just love it when you are thrown under the bus by someone that is suppose to be your friend? - Ask and you shall receive ... i love when people ((try)) to lie to cover their own ass and ((try)) to throw someone under the bus in the mean time. Nice try, maybe tomoro ;) - Being thrown under the bus never feels good. - Loves bein thrown under the bus.. - general petraeus, prepair yourself to be throughed under the bus by the p.o.t.u.s! - I love it when my boyfriend throws me under the bus.... it just makes me feel so great (big sad face) :( even my friends have never done that. - cant stand it when people throw you under the bus for something they screwed up. So not happy at my third baseman right now. - What really irks me is people that love to throw folks under the bus...I mean come on let's try talking about someones accomplishments for a change. That's the problem today we as people are so quick to break someone down let's build them up - Wow threw me under the bus and it came out in my favor!! - So I had the best interview on Monday, felt good, just didn't know my references would throw me under the bus when the job called about me...grrrrrr - I just want to thank the wonderful girls who threw me under the bus today just to let ya know im still hearing sh*t talking thanks soooo much :) ......  - if anyone looks for me, check under the bus. I was thrown there this am. (kayekilla note – that update was by a soldier so he may not be being metaphorical)

Moist in a Glass Jar

I’m terribly backed up on documenting recent events so I will start with the more recent. First of all, my camera has started to really die – as opposed to just fritzing so it is now in digital camera Hospice. The last night I took pictures with it was at the craft gathering my pal and expert crafter Amie (instructional model featured above made by her) and I put together. And let me tell you it was pretty put together. Amie brought bags and bags and buckets of things to make terrariums with and I brought a purple folder of stuff I had printed out. Teamwork!

Some people and some teenagers with blackberrys showed up. It was totally fun because there was dirt involved. The containers I used were too small to contain my vision so the next day I was on a quest for larger terrarium -riendly containers. We went to a church rummage sale that we had to leave within a few minutes because the crowd was too intense for B. There were two older ladies pushing around a sleeping crusty-faced gent in a wheelchair and throwing items on top of him. Plus, it was a whatever-you-can-fit-in-a-bag-for-three-bucks type of sale so the mood was aggressive. I just shoved some polyester fabric in a bag along with a pin in the shape in the shape of Texas, paid the people in church aprons three dollars and left for an estate sale in Bartlett.

The estate sale was the home of a man who collected walking sticks and spoons and who was married to a creative woman who painted and sewed. Both obviously loved to travel.

I got a very strong psychic vibe not to buy anything or take any pictures of the artwork, but I found this one perfect lidded glass container shaped kind of like a giant apple.  Against my powerful psychic premonitions, I bought it for four dollars and wouldn’t you know it - thirty minutes later upon arriving home, “accidently” broke it while carrying it up the stairs. I am now probably cursed by the angry craft spirits. Dead peoples homes! 

It’s not always bad however, a few weekends ago, my pal Kimberly got hitched on the lawn of some fabulous dead people  – entry to follow about that later. It’s really more about rummaging through dead people’s belongings as they left them (who knows if these people were dead – they could have just bailed on their mortgage I guess) that gives me the jeeebies.

By the way – I am totally fine, if not obsessed, with cemeteries. So much like the people featured on hoarders, I believe in the imaginary emotions of objects.

Oh Ugh

When I am depressed I like to concentrate on and observe even more things that depress me. This week my melancholy has been compounded by: the site of silent couples hunched over hamburgers at the Belmont Grill, chubby ladies in scrubs ordering footlong sandwiches off a crumbly list (so so depressing, ordering subway for coworkers), the birdcrap stuck on my windshield, a billboard on Lamar for a reptile exhibit that took place some weekend back in May, thumb tacks, office family photos that feature children styled with hairspray, scuffed shoes and/or gummy worn insoles, and the several stacks of whatever that I can’t keep or throw away that I am staring at right now.

 

note: I know what you are thinking, “how can you be depressed when you have such a great postcard map collection?”  Let this be a lesson – it can happen to anyone.

Postcard Maps: Mississippi

Guess where I got this one?

I have a few other Mississippi Postcard Maps but I like this one for its simplified extra features: cotton, fish, magnolia, and the state flag.