our tree

We went big this year. And when I come home, it makes me smile as soon as I walk in the room.

so, we need a little christmas

Despite my pledge to avoid Christmas at all costs, I am now in the thick of it. We're heading out to buy a Christmas Tree today from the Boy Scouts (bless them and their coupons), I have fifteen pounds of assorted nuts to turn into presents, and I've even chosen the theme for my wrapping. And all of a sudden, it's Christmas.

I'm still hoping to go on vacation over the big day -- steering clear of overbearing families and unfamiliar traditions. I have not been on vacation since my honeymoon, and after the butt-kicking of 2009 and 2010, I want one -- no, I need one.

Luckily, K. has finally agreed (or broken down, I'm not sure which) and we've decided where to go if (oh, lordy I hope it's when) I get my Christmas bonus. In the meantime, he's actually helped finish a craft or two and will definitely be helping with the Great Walnut/Pecan/Almond Roast of 2010. I almost wrote "Nut Roast" but realized that might cause a certain, ahem, backlash.

Also on board for Christmas, helping out a certain Republican and one flag maker. I'm a little overwhelmed with it all, but - sometimes - I'm not sure what life would be like if my hair wasn't a little on fire.

can't be bought

I've already voted. I'll be traveling next week -- and today I mailed my ballot back to Ion Sancho.

I love voting -- my favorite professor and political mentor told me it was akin to communion. Voting was a sacred ritual with my government, and every cycle I take it very seriously. Of course, I had to wait until I moved to Florida to vote for the people that transition from candidates to elected officials. I used to think it didn't matter that my candidates never won, but it certainly feels better to go to a victory party that does actually end in victory.

This year, the races are tight (other than US Senate, I should add). I voted for Alex Sink. Not shocking considering the fact that I'm a Democrat and used to compare myself to Harold Ickes ("I'd put my hand over a flame for the Democratic Party").

I read tonight that Rick Scott has pumped $48.8 million of his own fortune into his campaign and is now raiding his wife's trust fund for more (naked truth here). I commend him for dedication and desire and all that -- but seriously, Rick Scott? What do you need to buy that you haven't already bought? I understand your competitive nature - we're close to the end and what's a few more million, huh?

A few more million might be the difference between a community center for a county and another round of ads in Orlando. A few more million provides travel expenses for volunteer advocates for several years. A few more million feeds, clothes, educates more Floridians than your ads will solicit votes.

If you really want to make a difference, don't talk at me about Arizona immigration laws and your "conservative" values. The political mentor I mentioned above told me I didn't need an office or a fancy strategic plan, I just needed to walk out my front door determined to make a difference.

I think Alex Sink will make that difference -- and I think she's proved it with successes and lessons learned as the CFO. Rick Scott has only learned that money makes things go his way -- I guess there's a flip side he'll (hopefully) learn about on Tuesday night.

Baby Boom

I have been having, night after night, dreams that I am having a baby. SPOILER ALERT: I am NOT pregnant, nor am I trying to get pregnant. They aren't stressful dreams, by any means. Instead, it's somehow peaceful and exciting. I'm showing my family I'm pregnant, I'm climbing a mountain while pregnant, I'm entertaining while I'm pregnant -- dude, I might as well be playing hopscotch. It's good times with a big ole pregnancy belly.

And instead of feeling anxious or nervous or flat out petrified of these dreams, I'm happy. Well, I was happy after I googled "pregnancy dreams" and found out that positive pregnancy dreams are much more about rebirth than about actual gestation.

Whew. I can work with that.

On Passing.

So yes, K. passed the bar exam. Both parts. First try. To say I'm a little proud would be a gross understatement of the elation I feel each and every time I take a breath.

K. said it was easy. Since I was watching the whole process, I can attest it was not exactly easy. It wasn't hard, necessarily, for to me support my husband while he studied. That was the easy part. The hard part was wondering if my husband would keep his word.

It was a little dicey. Unfortunately for K., he inherited a whole freighter's worth of dependability baggage. After having a life where there was no consistency (both environmental and quite frankly, of my own making), it seems it's all I crave. Dependability. Reliability. Assurance. Shit, I sound like an insurance commercial.

And you know what? My husband kept his word. He took the exam. He told me he would pass it - this time or the next, but that he would do it. He made a plan; he stuck to it. He studied hard. And that, my friends, was not easy. All summer, he worked and studied and tried to be a good husband, son and friend. He got most of it right, most of the time. And whooeeee, did it pay off. There is nothing he cannot do... And I can say that with a straight face.

There was this whole part of my brain that was sucked up into wondering about what was coming next - when that proverbial shoe would drop. And you know what? It will take a conscious effort on my part, but I think I can stop thinking about shoes dropping out of the sky on my life. Other than that very pleasant dream where Jimmy and Christian and Manolo decide that I have the perfect foot.

I feel so damn relaxed. I'm not exactly sure what being high feels like, but there's got to be some similarities. And then, today -- I found two heads-up pennies and my normal Chick-Fil-A girl (yes, I have a normal Chick-Fil-A girl - it's right across the street from my office) gave me a free Chick-Fil-A biscuit. She was happy about the bar results too.

HE PASSED.

Take that Florida Bar Exam.

Highly Obvious.

Last night I had a very active dream.  I dream every night, but I rarely remember them in the morning.  Even when I want to catch an interesting dream, it's gone -- poof!

Last night I had a dream where K. and I were running a marathon, up a mountain that never seemed to crest.  We were waiting on bar results.  We'd keep running and he'd remember his bar number and I'd check the website to see if he passed.  It's amazing I could run and check a website all at the same time.  He'd pass!  Yeah!  We'd high five, and then he'd remember that his number was 12345, it was 54321.

I'd check that number and we'd be victorious again!  This pattern repeated the entire dream.

Um, yeah - I'm pretty sure it's easy to figure out what's on my mind.  Bar results are available tomorrow.  TOMORROW.  MONDAY.  sigh.  And we're both trying not to be too nervous.  That's like saying, hey dude - you're going to win a million dollars tomorrow, but hey, play it cool!  Ha.  Obviously you don't know me at all.

In other news, I did order a dress from www.lightinthebox.com (this one) - and it's on its way from China as we speak.  It better get here before Thursday.  Let's hope!

what net neutrality*?

Wa-waaaa.  And such was my attempt to watch the Gamecocks while at work last night.

dresses (final)

So - are you as bored about all this dress talk as I am?  Wait, who am I kidding?  I love talking about dresses.  I do.  I just do.

I finally made some decisions.  I purchased a rehearsal dress and a dress for the various weddings we have in September.  And I'm tickled by my choices.  Well, I actually want a different dress for late September.  I've been coveting a one-shoulder look.  Perhaps it's too much of The Rachel Zoe Project -- I die.

So, remember when I was whining about you, the internets, holidng out on me.  I found something fabulous -- www.LightInTheBox.com.  Somewhere in China, your dress will be made based on your specs, your color and fabric choices.  Shut your mouth!  It takes about two weeks, which means I will be cutting it close for the next shindig, but oh man -- will it be worth it (or maybe this one, or this one).  And, did I mention the prices?  Swoon.

This weekend, I'll get to see an old friend get married to her perfect partner.  It's amazing how these two get through the things life throws at them.  And, they've asked me to be a reader - which is incredibly sweet.  What does one wear when they want to look classy and pretty, but not in any way boobalicious?

Obvs.  Thank you, Nordstrom.  You save the day again!

Pride.

Yes, it's one of the seven deadly sins.  I get that.  But every once in a while - I just love seeing it. I was reading The Pioneer Woman today on my google reader (srsly, what did I do before google reader?  I know not).  She was writing about a rodeo competition her husband and family participated in -- did I ever tell you about the only rodeo I went to?  A clod of mud landed in my mom's coffee cup and it was hysterical.

Anyway, pride in one's family - it's lovely to see once in a while.  And while no one in my family is riding in a rodeo anytime soon, I am incredibly proud of K.  (No, I don't know about Bar results yet).

He worked on a local political campaign.  The candidate - in my words - was inexperienced, moody and pretentious.  He was also the best option to unseat a very popular incumbent.  Despite raising more money and having served for several terms, the incumbent only won by 1.4%.  Pathetic.  Lots more pathetic than K.'s candidate.

It was K.'s first campaign as paid staff - a fact I like to harp on whenever possible.    And he rocked it.  He worked hard and took it like a gentleman when the final results rolled in.  I hate the words, "mathematically impossible."

I'm proud of my husband.  There it is. 

Election Day!

Floridians will flock to the polls tomorrow to vote in primary and local elections.  One of my favorite people told me that voting was akin to taking communion.  It's important; it's ritual.

And this August 24th, I won't be voting.  Don't worry - I already voted...  for the first time I voted by absentee ballot.  And it was weird.  I missed the whole rigmarole of casting my vote.  I did love all the political mailers I got - I felt seriously popular.  Each day my mailbox was filled with full color, full bleed hope.

Yes, Ms. Dozier I am voting for you.  No, Ms. Headley-Purdue, I do not equate a vote for you with honoring WWII vets.  Yes, Mr. Minor, I thought your full page cash cow was impressive.  And I voted for you, too.  The Hons Aronberg and Gelber, I feel slighted that I didn't get one piece of mail.  Maybe you knew I  was all about Senator Dave?

I love the business behind elections, I love the dreams of candidates, I love every volunteer who wakes up early to wave signs on a street corner.  I have a dog in the fight this year - K. has been working for the Steve Stewart for Mayor campaign.  And, because of it - I took local politics a lot more seriously.

There's not a Democratic way to take out the garbage and there's not a Republican way to lower utility rates.  (I mean, other than the best way is usually the Democratic way).  (Heh).  I wish everyone luck tomorrow.  I hope the folks I believe in get the nod.  I hope the rain stays away.  And I hope everyone enjoys their communion with government.

Wedding Dresses 2.0

I have still not found a dress.  This could become epic.  Of course, I have yet to step one little (/waterski) foot into a store that actually sells dresses.  It's the downfall of having an online shopping addiction.

Well, that and a desire NOT to pay for overnight shipping.  So, I know people are out there.  Where do y'all shop?  Seriously - I feel like I'm overlooking something that could be perfect. 

Mrs. Complaint

If I wasn't complaining about something, I would probably stop breathing.  That could be an exaggeration for blogging purposes.  I do like to complain.  My diet-coke-with-light-ice has too much ice.  My diet-coke-with-light-ice doesn't have enough.  I'm equal opportunity about the side of the quarter or the water in the glass.

I've got to do something about that.  Maybe tomorrow.

Dresses for Weddings

I've got two weddings coming up in September.  And there's one thing I like more than browsing Crate & Barrel wedding registries...  buying a new dress for the occasion.

I will not be purchasing five new dresses in the next few weeks though (1 luncheon, 2 rehearsal dinners, 2 wedding receptions).  I already have the luncheon dress, which I once wore to cross a political divide.  But the other two?

Luckily, both events are at the same time, with about the same formality level.  So, I've sort of narrowed them down:

I don't wear orange. It's a hard and fast rule -- but I like it for a rehearsal dinner. It seems casual, but still a little dressy. The Melissa Masse sort-of-zebra-print is a favorite. The back of it is very cool (see here), but is it a little too much?  The Katy Perry look-alike strapless number is super cute, but might be super cute on me minus 50 lbs.  The navy strapless dress could be stunning and is good for evening weddings.  Also - all of them, the ones from Nordstrom and Saks to the one from Macys, are all under $150. 


And why do I worry about this in such detail?  Because it's Sunday night after a completely relaxing weekend and I'm not willing to mentally prepare for Monday.  And why not go on a little online window shopping?  Don't get me started on shoes.

C25K

A hundred years ago (B.C.), I had a friend named Morgan. She was clever, smart and I coveted her hair color. She wanted to be a runner. And, um, so did I. She researched and I went along with it and we'd run in West Columbia along the river.

It was great. We used the Couch to 5K program (available online). Towards the end, it was a little difficult to keep up with Morgan. She was a much better runner than I was. I was saved by the oh-so-popular Whistle Song more times than one.

Even though I ran slow, sounded like a herd of elephants and panted more than a Pamela Anderson sex tape -- I loved the fact that I was running. I was one of those cool people who ran after work (we tried the whole before work thing and it didn't quite work).

I miss it. And so, I'm going to move my beastly form and try to run again. That's right people -- if you hear a herd of elephants around midtown, don't worry: it's just me.

Cable.

Oh. Holy. Shitake.

We have cable. And - please knock on wood - we're not paying for it. I have no idea what happened. All of a sudden, I turned on the television while cleaning and WHOA. We're talking Bravo, AMC and TNT. I can't believe it.

I feel - and yes, I'm embarrassed to admit it - connected to the world again. I caught up on Bethenny, Real Housewives of NJ and DC.  I watched Mad Men.  It was fantastic.

Dear Cable: don't ever leave me!

Grateful.

Y'all, I am so damn grateful.

My husband and I, the sometimes amazing, always ridiculous K., are about to land on the other side of the Florida Bar Exam.  Hallelujah.  Halle-fuckin-lujah.

He asked me last night, after the first day, if I would be mad if he had to take the exam again.  He didn't understand why I laughed hysterically.  1) I legitimately believe he's going to pass the exam.  2) He would be willing to take it again!  AWESOME.  My husband is  stepping up.

When I dropped him off at the test site on Tuesday (and a little bit this morning), I cried.  I was so proud.  My husband made a pledge and is living up to it.  And he was ready - he took preparation seriously.

And I am so grateful.  To the friends who heard me bitch about the Bar Exam.  To my family who supported us with love and emails and phone calls. 

To my husband, whom I believe in, again. Not because he's going to pass the Bar Exam (and he is), but because he took the damn thing.

Calm? I got your...

calm right here!

Yeah, we're T-minus hours until the Florida Bar Exam. And while I had the good sense to avoid a manicure (yes, I'm still a nail biter), I did not have the good sense to avoid a hair cut. I am now the proud owner of a disastrous new 'do that makes me look a lot like the Church Lady.

K. remains a bastion of calmness. He's been listening to BarBri on hyper-speed, and regurgitating information about Florida Homestead exemptions and evidence exceptions. He's sleeping soundly. And on Friday, he looked at me and said, "This is all coming together." Well gee, babe, I sure hope so.

I'm nervous - but not absurdly nervous. Appropriately nervous. And aside from the r e a l l y awful situation on top of my head, I am excited about driving to Tampa tomorrow. I am thrilled that my incredibly smart husband is here. At this spot. Ready. Prepared. He amazes me.

Gram, this is for you.

I never took a real spring break. Well, maybe "traditional" is a better word. I spent my spring breaks with my Gram in Punta Gorda, FL. It was great. We'd tool around in her best friend's golf cart. We'd play cards and eat pretzels with peanut butter. We'd drink highballs and sit in the sun and visit the weird and random around her community. We'd volunteer at her church. Those weeks were some of the best memories I have of my Grammi. I wish I had been able to do it as an adult -- or at least apologize for the stubborn, hard-headedness of my collegiate youth.

In addition to spending quality Grammi time, we'd go shopping. Gram, who hated shopping for herself, would encourage me to wear teal capris and sweetheart necklines. Never black. (I looked like death warmed over in black). I loved it. And I learned that sometimes, even though a t-shirt and jeans would make me more comfortable, sometimes the situation warrants a little more.

So next week, I'm wearing bright colors. I'm wearing a sweetheart neckline. I'll be wearing lipstick (which is also due to my mother's influence: always wear lipstick when you need to feel happy). And when I have lunch with Grammi's sister and brother-in-law (my favorite great aunt and uncle), I promise not to wear black.

I never had braces.

But that hasn't stopped me from tearing up at the iPhone commercial featuring a young tween and her dad. At the ad, the dad says, "You look beautiful." Oh people, do I lose it at that moment. Almost as much as the "faces" ad that features the soldier finding out he's going to be a father. Oh, Apple! You trixster!

If you haven't seen the ad, here it is:

Sunday Travel v5, among other things...

It's the Fourth of July - go eat some ribs, drink some cold beer and light a few (legal) firecrackers.  Do it for me.  Do it for your country.

If I were traveling this weekend - which is a big if because I consider the Fourth of July one of the several holidays a year that call to the amateurs, New Years Eve being another example.  Well, since this is all imaginary anyway, let's go camping.  Yes, I said it - camping.  A tent, a cooler, some charcoal -- y'all, pack the bug spray.

We're heading up to Unicoi State Park, near Helen, GA. [Sidenote: if you've never been to Helen, you should go.  Deliciously cheesy, even the trash cans look like little German boys and girls.  It's Heidi Takes Gatlinburg.]

Unicoi State Park is a gorgeous state park - and whatever you want to do, they have it available.  I'll be planning some cowboy food and my Marlboro Ranch skillet will finally make an appearance.  There will definitely be s'mores.

And tubing.  We'll go tubing down the Chattahoochee River.  Which ohmygoodness is a lot of fun.  And I'm going to drag K. to the Cabbage Patch Hospital, only to see him beg to stay in the car.  So, no joke - we used to go there as kids.  It looks a lot different, but the whole Mother Cabbage in labor thing?  My brother and I used to LOVE it.

Camping, swimming, tubing - maybe even a little fishing?  Who knows?  It will be a lovely weekend, in the cool northern mountains of Georgia.  And K. can't handle the tent?  We'll def. stay in one of these: barrel cabins.

29+

Driving back and forth between work, I often listen to NPR.  I almost always learn something new.  It's like opting for a salad instead of a double pounder; sure, I could jam out in the morning, but I prefer the refreshing taste of interesting news.

Tonight, after a longer-than-necessary stop at the grocery store, I heard about Cassie Boorn (cassieboorn.com) (a 22 year old! gasp!) who collected letters written to 20-something selves.  You can read her letter here or read about the project here.  I loved the idea of it, even though I have yet to escape my twenties.  One of my friends calls them the "twenty-stupids" and I think he's very accurate.

Clearly, this is my favorite from Maggie Mason at Mighty Girl:
"Thank you for working so hard to put yourself through school. Thank you for eating potato chips for breakfast while you still can. Thank you for wearing the tight dress. And shut up — your ass looks amazing." 

Nearly six months away from trading up to the next decade, there are things I wish I knew earlier: the taurus was a fine car, rum was never my friend and maybe I should have taken a marketing class or twelve.  But, like Cassie writes - if I had been able to avoid any or all of these mistakes (dude, the credit card debt alone!) then I wouldn't be me now.

And I like me.  Spoiler alert: I like the person I am becoming.  I think once I get to 30 (or 35 or 95) I might still write the letter.  I'm hoping that I make it to 35, liking myself as much as I do now.  All the while retaining the lessons learned (please!).

a weekend at home (sunday travel v4)

After several weekends "away," I thought it was time for an at-home weekend.  There's nothing like staying in after running around like a chicken.

Don't worry though folks -- next week will be lovely.  It's the Fourth of July, after all!

wanted: 3/2 dream house (err, starter home)

As if there wasn't enough going on - what with Mr. Bar Bri droning during waking hours - K. started looking at houses.

Holy Squash!  The man who thought he wanted to rent for the REST OF HIS LIFE is sending me MLS listings?  Shut the front door!  It's super exciting and I got swept up into it and he got swept into it and suddenly we were looking at square footage and property taxes and starting to look for a mortgage broker.

Qualifying for a home, all on my own, wasn't something I expected.  Dude.  Seriously, me?  Are you sure?  And that's when it became just a little too much: a little too real.

So the house hunt?  It's on pause.  I can only do one major life thing at a time, and until September when results come out, it's all about the Bar Exam.  And all about the fabulous things happening in my career.  (Hopefully, soon I'll be able to share one of them).

Am I still browsing the MLS listings?  Yes. 
Are we signing another year-long lease?  No. 
Am I nervous as hell?  Definitely. 
Is this exciting?  Absolutely. 

Hours?

Hahahhahhahaaaaaa.
I totally meant days -- 36 days till the Bar Exam.

WOW.  Talk about wishful thinking.

Sunday Travel 3

I hate to say it... but I almost don't need imaginary travel this weekend.  It was an incredibly pleasant two-day break here in the bend. And while I feel like I need gills in order to breathe in the humidity, I haven't done a lick of work.  And it's been utterly fantastic.

But...  I'm committed to my weekend trips.  I hear New York and Boston calling my name, but I think instead we'll head over to Amelia Island.  It's been a while since I've seen the Atlantic, and there are some fabulous B&Bs I'd like to try out.  Like this one, or maybe this one, or perhaps...  this one.  Yup, it will be lovely and lush.

I'm thinking maybe a kayak trip around the old fort, some beach time, some time without a care in the world...  Well, except to make our reservation at Salt over at the Ritz Carlton.  And the french place - the one with duck seven ways?  Who even know you could do duck seven different ways.

I think we need a weekend of nothing but gorgeous linens and sunshine.  It's 36 hours till the Bar...  I cannot wait.

Sunday Travel 2

After spending a day at the beach yesterday, I think this week's plan must center on spending some more time on the coast.  So, let's plan a weekend away at the Coombs House Inn, yes?  I think we'll take the Biltmore suite -- so we can take George too.  (Dude, the dog loves the beach).


It's summer, so we'll skip the oysters at Boss Oyster, but still take advantage of the still-safe seafood.  Instead... I'm thinking the Owl Cafe.  You know, I've never been.


And then there's the beach.  Driving over to St. George Island, we'll rent two kayaks and paddle around for a while.  Once K. gets tired, we'll put up our umbrella, dig in the sand and fall asleep with the soft sound of the gulf.


I'd like to finally make it Petunia's this time -- and find something unique for George.  I am craving fried shrimp, more sun and smell of sunscreen.  And we only have a few weekends left before the oil comes.  Lovely.

BEACH!

So, I'm kidnapping K. and we're headed to the beach.

Y'know, before the oil gets here.  Thanks again, BP for ruining my summer...  for the next ten years.

I've made pressed Cuban sandwiches, the beer and lemonade is packed and I have a perfect beach book: Remembering Blue, by Connie May Fowler.  I first read it the summer of 2004...  and promptly loaned it out to all of my friends.  It's warped from being read on the beach, and the lake, and the boat.  And it's perfect for today.  I hadn't picked it up in a while, but the couple in the book -- one of their first dates was walking around Lake Ella.  Lo and behold, so was mine.

Even though K. is frustrated by the campaign and anxious about the impending Bar Exam, we need a day at the beach.  He needs the water, I need the sun.  We need a day off.  We need a day together.  Hope you have a lovely Saturday too!

On Mr. Greene

Dear South Carolina: WTF.

I mean, seriously.  I could yell and shake my fist at the voters, but really...  Honestly...  Where was the leadership?  Folks who work at 1529 Hampton (whoa, I almost wrote Blanding), where were you?  Obviously asleep in the ergonomic and expertly arranged cubicles.  WAKE UP! 

Screening candidates for things like felony convictions isn't exclusive or rude.  It's good practice, heck, one might even say it's a best practice.  Shhhh, I won't tell.  Run background checks.  It's easy, fast and will save us being the punchline on The Daily Show and leave it for the folks who really need the boost -- the SC GOP.

And also, Mr. Greene: who are you kidding?  This isn't high school.  Do you really feel you could represent the people of South Carolina?  You're not running for Prom King, dude.  You can't string syllables together to make words to make coherent sentences.  Stop the charade now.

Sunday Travel

For the past several years...  I've been fortunate enough to take vacations.  Short, weekend jaunts that sort of help alleviate the drudgery of living in the smallest village in America.  During the summers I think it gets worse because all the students are gone so there's no one to hide behind...  Seriously, you can't blend in.  One trip to the local Publix is more like a fashion show/job interview.

So.  I realize I feel down in the dumps -- not only are we not going anywhere, I don't get to plan anything.  Well, color that little problem fixed.  I can plan just about anything -- especially when I don't need to worry about a budget or vacation time request paperwork.

Chrissy's Imagination Trip #1:
Disney World 
(and no, I'm not even the least bit embarrassed)
(but please return next week when my focus will not be quite so obvious)

Three-Day Weekend...  we'll leave Friday after work and drive down to Orlando.  I prefer to stay on property, so we'll check in to Disney's Yacht Club Resort.  Room service for dinner, obvs...  I've never been to Universal, so I think that's got to be it for Saturday.  A full-on play day.  And Sunday, we'll go to Magic Kingdom because - well, because.  Perhaps dinner at the French place on Sunday night at Epcot, and then Monday we'll slowly make our way back Tallahassee.

Next week?  I'm thinking beach.

How many days?

K., don't read this.  I appreciate that you have me on your feed -- but really, this isn't to guilt you in any way.  So.  Stop.  Reading.  I am going to be super whiny.

HOLY FRENCH TOAST!  It's fifty days until the Bar Exam and I cannot wait.  I simply cannot wait.  So blah, blah, blah I 'm so supportive and I love making snacks and doing all the chores.

Except that I don't.  I don't really like making snacks and doing all the chores.  And I especially don't like the guy who's droning on and on about Florida law.  I knew I could get through a summer.  Well, I thought I could -- but really, let's be honest... this is getting through a year.  I hate (with full fury) that I don't get to leave Tallahassee this summer.  I hate it.

I hate that I don't have cable.  I hate that my husband is so worn out from studying and working that he doesn't have a whole lot of energy left over for me.  I hate that I'm some kind empath for his stress level and that I'm starting to have nightmares about taking the Bar.  I dropped out of law school, gosh darnit.

And I hate that I hate it.  I hate that I've lived through three weeks of it and I already feel like jumping ship.  Does he really need to be a lawyer, I find myself asking...

Yes, yes, and yes.  And I know this is just a moment of weakness.  And boredom.  Because of the cable.  And I know that tomorrow I'll be right as rain.  Or, let's be honest, as right as I'm ever going to be.

The Next Two Months...

I'm working on changing my life.  I've been married three years - and despite some really lovely long weekends, those three years were spent on surviving.  Making it.  I would live every day again, if it meant I arrived here again.  (Maybe with a little less bruising).  Yeah, yeah - I write about that all the time.

The first year I moved to Florida, I spent my time recovering.  It would not be an overstatement to say I learned how to breathe.  I know it's cliche - but hot french toast, it's true.  I arrived in Tallahassee with so much baggage, it took a U-Haul just for my issues.

So, now I'm on year four.  And the next two months are presenting an amazing opportunity.  Will I get bogged down in barbri or Florida Civil Procedure?  Heck no!  I don't have to take the Bar Exam!  Instead, I get to support my husband.  This is an opportunity!

And instead of letting this golden opportunity pass me by, I'm planning on grabbing this thing by the nuts.  (The horns are only good if you plan on being gored).  I'm planning on healthy dinners, and a sparkling clean house, weekly lunch meetings in the sun and becoming the Mayor of the Appalachee YMCA.  Heck yeah.

I wish I was in the UK.

Oh my goodness!  It's Diet Coke NAIL POLISH.  Seriously, I may have just died and gone to heaven.  Of course, it's only available in the UK.  Which is just absolutely ridiculous.  I might have to take a trip to London.  I wonder if I could write it off as a business expense.  Probably not.

Probably just as well. 

Canadians.

I think I could pass for a Canadian.  Other than the fact that I would mispronounce "about" and don't use "eh" in normal conversation.  I bet I look like the vast majority of Canadians.

And that's why this whole immigration legislation in Arizona is bonkers.  I understand that federal actions have left very few options for the citizens of that state.  And I can empathize with families that want to feel safe and secure in their homes.

Nonetheless, the last time we condoned a government asking for papers based on appearance, the world erupted in war.  I realize it might be easy to point to a Hispanic man and wonder if he's "legal."  But what about a blue-eyed blonde?  She could be a Canadian illegal immigrant.  (It's not a joke, it happens.)  Something needs to happen - some solutions need to be reached.

But Arizona, let me tell you: this is not it.
Also, I have nothing against Canadians.  Robin Sparkles, I love you.

Really Charlie?

I obviously need to start writing about my love for Kendrick Meek more.  (Perhaps first, I need to start having some deep feelings about Mr. Meek).  Or I could write a sonnet to Alex Sink or maybe even Rick Minor in his attempt to unseat Periwinkle? 

Why, you ask, do I need to start writing more about Florida Dems?  Because this ad just showed up on my site.  I'm not a Charlie supporter, think it was a bonehead move to go NPA and personally think he's a little slimy and/or drinks too much of his own kool-aid. 

I'm taking it as a good sign that his campaign folks don't know how to do a media buy.

Rabbit, Rabbit.

May, already?  I cannot believe it's MAY.  Here in Florida, the pollen is on its way out (which is reason to throw a PARADE!) and the students are on their way home.  I actually love summer in Tallahassee.  It's quiet, it's slow, it's hot.

I'm headed out to Vegas in a week - the second trip this year.  I believe it will have to make up for the fact that I'm not making it to the Big Apple this summer.  K. will be sitting for the Florida Bar - that's right, finally.  FINALLY, people.  It's good news all around - if only I could work remotely from anywhere other than here for the next three months, I'd be ecstatic.  As it stands, we're working out the details of how to get through both of us working and him studying for the test.  I know it won't go smoothly -- where's the fun in that, but I do think it will go better than the catastrophic scenarios running through my head.

I'm thinking about what to say about Charlie Crist and all the Republican ridiculousness.  Ehhh.  It's mostly already been said.  Florida's governor is toast.  And it's a shame - I've been doing some work on a project about the history of Florida.  Believe it or not, Florida's history is actually really interesting.  Go figure.

After the Weeds.

So no lie, I've been in the weeds. Luckily, here in Florida, the weeds have started to look like big, bright blooms.

My husband turned 30 over the weekend. We went down to the beach, ate oysters, made out like teenagers under the stars, flew a kite, and got wicked sunburns. It was perfect. I think I've finally figured out the delicate balance of doing enough to appease my sense of responsibility and not doing so much that it overwhelms the whole event.

K. is back home, and no matter how many times I printed out dissolution of marriage papers, I am glad he is back home. Nearly three years ago I started to believe my word was worth keeping. And I pledged to stay with my husband. Who knew I'd really keep my promise? Who knew that my on-the-side-of-scary-smart husband would have problems walking among mortals? We're all glad he keeps trying.

And the best part about it - we got through it. It was hard, but we're getting through it. It is hard, and it's worth it. How's that for a dialectic?

Just A Little Disappointed...

About the Census. I know, it's a silly thing to be "disappointed" about, right? Right? I know. Dude, I know. Here's the deal - I got our Census packet yesterday. I was really excited. It's my first Census as an adult - with my own household.

When K. and I were researching to see how closely our respective families were related before the wedding (v. important when there are enough freaky cross-overs in our families), I used Ancestry.com to track down relatives. My main sources were Census records. The records were great - more than just names, the Census tracked other information like occupation and heritage and birth place.

The form I got? It's race and name and whether I rent or own. THAT'S IT. Admittedly, my progeny will be able to find my facebook profile and twitter page to make a family tree, but c'mon Census. Where's the tradition? Where's the history?

Strobs.

It's the strangest feeling weekend, in that it doesn't feel like a weekend at all. It feels like I'm playing hooky from somewhere. And I like it.

My husband and I are heading to the beach tomorrow to soak up some sun and take advantage of the fact that we live in Florida. Well, that's what I'm telling him. It's actually because I need to lay in the sun - uninterrupted - for a while. I seriously botched some self-tanner.

Not, self-tanner per se... it was Jergens Glow Foam Moisturizer. I used it last year, and it was fine. Great even... But this time? Oh, this time, it was not like years past. It was not fine. Instead, I have strange, orangey strobs (streaky-globs). It's a disaster - and with all the fine weather we've been having in Tallahassee, emergency measures must be taken.

WHY FDA? Why did you have to take away my only other option, the tanning booth?

Back Waxing

I've never been a fan of back waxing. I think it's strange. Ridiculous, actually. Unless you have a pelt, deal with it. Why, you ask, am I talking about back waxing - a personal maintenance topic that has yet to debut on the blog?

Apparently, our governor has a problem with it. Which is interesting on so many levels - the most obvious being the well-founded rumors about our leader's sexual preference. Charlie went on FOX yesterday and made fun of his opponent for spending $135 at a barber shop.

First, the whole RPOF Amex Scandal has been overplayed. Republicans: heads up - we think you're corrupt. Now we have proof. The fact that your employees bled the coffers dry is a good thing for us -- it means we have the funds to go on the air, travel the state and ELECT GOOD LEADERS.

I just love it when they help us!

The thing about the back waxing comment - and CBL disagrees - it rubbed me the wrong way because I thought it was subtly racist. That's right, I said it: racist. Here's Charlie Crist, a wannabe George Hamilton, making fun of a hispanic man. I don't think Marco Rubio got a back wax - but I think it was inappropriate to make fun of it.

And all I can think about is that Charlie lost the vote of two-thirds of the men in South Florida. Manscaping is SERIOUS business down there.

And now for something completely different...

And because there's so much, let's go to bullets, shall we?

• I'm fat. No, no - before you start telling me that's a nasty word, I am. And it's okay. I've gone a lot overboard the last few years and I'm going to do something about it. I have a new doctor who, I am assured, is aggressive when it comes to thyroid issues. Considering mine is hovering at the 25% operational line, we're gonna get this under control. Because I am wearing this dress to one of the weddings scheduled for September. Well, maybe this dress, maybe not.
  
• I'll be blogging about losing weight. Don't hate me. This won't be a Weight Watchers blog or anything like that (unless WW wants to sponsor me: holla!). It will be about keeping me honest. Y'all hold me to it.
  
• Please disregard the look and feel of the blog. I am in the middle of a redesign and it's going to take a while to get it right... This is not it.
  
• Weddings and looking forward: I'm hopeful on the relationship stuff. Thank you for the support. I was surprised at the feedback - surprised and encouraged. Not that, like, I don't deserve it. It's just tough. People pick sides and I don't want to do that. Anyhoodle, K.'s two best friends, both of whom were in our wedding, are tying the knot in September. I am, at this moment, thinking that I will be a normal married couple by then. How's that for optimism.
• I cry while watching Grey's Anatomy. I'm embarrassed and I am seeking help. It's worse now that several seasons of Grey's are available on netflix instant. It's bad. And good. And emo.
  
• I love watching the RPOF implode. It's excellent. If I used my corporate card for personal items, I would be fired. Even if that is not the case at your office, legislators using soft money to fund their lifestyles is ridiculous. Wrong. Entitled. C'mon guys - the white landed gentry of Florida deserve better.
• I had the luck of finding a Good Samaritan today. I lost my wallet and not only was it found, but the honest woman tracked me down to return it. How did I get so lucky?
• While I was downtown today retrieving my wallet, I saw my first stripper heels of the season. Ladies - I realize you're under the age of 25 and just love strutting. I get that, we all did it at one time or another (thank goodness the style was the Roach Killer and not the stripper heel five years ago). Nonetheless, you're going to kill your feet. And - at some point - you're going to fall. The sidewalks are not your friend. Put the platform 6" heels away. It does a body good.
• And finally, Dear ABC: I hate you for sucking me in to The Bachelor. I have avoided every single episode until this season. I dislike Vienna so much. And Jake on Dancing with the Stars just doesn't fit (am secretly overjoyed to see Kate though, not gonna lie).

The Crypt Keeper

I have been rather cryptic lately, and I apologize. I've been nervous about letting it all out - my mother reads this blog. And the last last last thing I want her saying is "I told you so." (Or, y'know, sending some horrible missive about how I'm getting what I deserve.)

It's no secret that my husband and I met and quickly realized we were right for each other. Kismet. Soul mates. The joke is that neither of us was really ready to be responsible enough for marriage. Not that it stopped us - oh, no! We got married and thought it would straighten us out.

Ehhh, it didn't. Not that I would want to do it any other way... but it would be nice if my husband - of nearly 30 - had had a car payment before our joining. It would have been nice if I didn't massive trust issues. It would have been nice if my husband was ready to be an adult. We both have some growing up to do. Again, ehhhhh. Who knew marriage would cause my FIRST GRAY HAIRS? Plural people, plural.

My husband and I separated on Christmas night. We did it with the goal that we would figure out why we kept driving our marriage into a ditch. We did it with the hope that as we retreated to our safe corners, our epic love affair would sustain us. We prayed it wasn't, in fact, an epic fail.

And you know what, I love my husband. Heart my husband. Lurve my husband. And he feels the same way about me. This separation thingy is rockin' like gang busters. Yes, it sucks that we live across town. Yes, it sucks that we're still figuring stuff out. Pretty sure we're always going to do that.

But unlike some folks who separate, we realized that we liked each other... a lot, maybe even more than we realized. We're either crazy (totally likely), or we're crazy-in-love (uh oh uh oh oh), or we're a great story that's still being written.

So, my mom can be right. We're going to keep trying. And it's going to be one hell of a story.

Those hard decisions...

A few weeks ago I commented to my aunt that the landscape in front of me had changed. And no, I wasn't taking about the way spring suddenly lands in Tallahassee. Somehow - and all of a sudden - the choices that were in front of me were different.

They weren't "suck" and "sucks less." Somewhere I had turned a corner and the decisions I needed to make were clearer - and the "good" decision was finally on the table. It was so f'in odd -- it felt like putting on a really good pair of jeans that happen to have the added bonus of being a size smaller than you usually wear.

I am taking advantage of having the better option available. Pretty sure it won't last forever. After all, it's me we're talking about.

File Under Inaccurate

In an effort to do more things for me, I headed to the Florida Museum of History today. According to local legend, their Brown Bag Break series are not to be missed. It was a gorgeous day as I scurried from my busy office, excited to meet a friend and hear an interesting topic: Life and Times of Women in Tallahassee During the Civil War.

You know me, I love Southern history. And talking about women during the Civil War? I was stoked. I had never visited the Museum, never heard the historian and I was meeting a friend. How perfect? Right? RIGHT?

Ahem.
Y'all, I realize I can't trace my heritage to Lee's family tree. And I didn't actually use the word "y'all" until a stay in Hartsville, SC in early high school. But I know a little about the Civil War. I know a smidge about the feminism perspective in history. And I know when someone should stick to playing with their barbies.

Instead of a historian, we had a lady reenactor. One who questioned whether Citadel Cadets were involved with the whole Fort Sumter firecracker. One who flatly claimed women in the south never wore makeup. And one who couldn't answer any sort of question about women "below a certain means."

You may be wondering why I have my hoop skirt all twisted up. And there are a few things I feel snippy about and paying five dollars for parking is one of them. However, I'm upset about how - once again - women are marginalized. Instead of learning how to back up of the phrase steel magnolia, we heard about how women always (ALWAYS, y'all) wore gloves. We heard about how women "didn't work." We heard about ribbon bonnets. Thankfully, she didn't have a lot of information to share, since everything (EVERYTHING, y'all) was inaccurate. Well, maybe not about the ribbon bonnets.

Maybe my expectations were a little too high. Not the first time, won't be the last. However, I'm totally turned off by the museum (fail, people, fail).

I'll close with my all-time favorite quote about Southern Women from the estimable Florence King, from her collection of essays Southern Ladies & Gentlemen:

Novelists prefer complex women for their protagonists, which is why the Southern woman has been the heroine of so many more novels than her Northern sister. The cult of Southern womanhood endowed her with at least five totally different images and asked her to be good enough to adopt all of them. She is required to be frigid, passionate, sweet, bitchy and scatterbrained - all at the same time. Her problems spring from the fact that she succeeds.

Vegas, baby!

That's right - I'm headed to Vegas in a few weeks. To say that I'm excited would be an understatement. Yes, it's a work trip - and yes, I'll be working twelve hour days - and yes, it will be exhausting!

But I'll be in VEGAS! And since I'll be in Vegas, and I doubt my normal attire of jeans + t-shirt and cardigan (with flip flops, obv.) will just not work, I've been the ultimate online shopper.
Check that out? Like it? It's under $19.99 at Macy's - that's what I call supremo online shopping. And what do you call bargain basement prices when it's online? (Suggestions, please).

What do you think? Something about being a red head wearing red in Vegas - SIGN ME UP, BABY!

Confession #122

I have a confession to make (no, not that one). After canceling cable, I started watching Hulu with wild abandon. I discovered great new shows and one of them... One of them I am addicted to.

As in, have spent the last two weeks watching three seasons worth of one-hour programming. Y'all, the show is Greek on ABC Family. I'm not proud, but I'm not denying the love affair I have with Casey Cartwright and her nerdy brother Rusty.

I was in a sorority, and while it took me a while to warm up to the whole thing - this show brings back many silly, ridiculous and precious memories. I don't actually "recommend" this show - unless you need something to watch that is the equivalent of a twinkie or two-day old pizza. And since sometimes you need a twinkie-binge, now you'll know what to do. Enjoy responsibly!

Stacking Change

I had the best weekend. Y'all it was amazing. On so many levels - from a perfect drive through Atlanta to a perfect Zuni Chicken to absolutely perfect weather (yes, even with the rain).

There's been a lot of upheaval up in herre. Yes, that's correct - two r's. And what with husbands moving across town and paternal figures leaving nasty messages in the comment section (thank you, IP tracking), I deserved a weekend of nothing but fun. My Third Annual Aunties Weekend consisted of minimal email checking, lots of cooking and laughter that started the moment I woke up and followed me into my dreams.

Nonetheless, as I drove down the state of Georgia and back into Tallahassee, under the gorgeous hundred year old trees, I thought, "I'm home." And it was the best feeling of the whole weekend.

I miss South Carolina a lot. I've lived in Florida for three and a half years - it feels like a lifetime. A lifetime I'm proud of; a lifetime I'm glad I'm still living. I am from Greenville, South Carolina... and my home is Tallahassee. Guess it took starting my thirtieth year to gain that bit of perspective.

Four Years Later...

It's been four years since my first blog post here at me & my diet coke. FOUR YEARS. It's been sporadic, whiny, sometimes insightful - often not. I've written about boys, husbands and parents, weddings and relationship issues and my love affair with just about anything.

And I've really enjoyed it. Sometimes it feels like pressure - MUST WRITE BLOG POST - and other times I like the fact that folks keep in touch with me via this url. I appreciate it. Even though I might not talk with you each week - or in a quarter, it's nice to know you care enough to still check out how I'm doing.

Four years ago I was working on a Sunday, preparing for my 25th birthday and a trip to see my brother in DC. A lot changes in four years. I'm still at work - albeit in a different place, in a different career, in a different state. And tomorrow is still my birthday, the last one in my twenties. Twenty-nine. Can't wait.

I haven't seen my brother in a few years, but there's always hope that that awful fact may change. I have great friends - many the same, many more new. And just like January 8, 2006, I am overwhelmed at the possibilities of a new year. And hopefully, many more interesting posts.