Good Things

-Two Chik-Fil-A chicken biskits for breakfast.

-Keaton Simons' song, which I bought yesterday, contains these lyrics:

"You are my Undertow... caught in a Riptide... and I am Currently in love with you."

I love the ocean. And blues. And love songs. Triple threat, right here. It's called "Currently".

I listened 3x before work. 

-Bypassed the Shell station ($1.82) in hopes of cheaper gas down the road. Found gasoline right next to work, for $1.79. Filled the tank. When I left for lunch? It had gone up to $1.89. Triumph.

-Got to work on time. Early even.

-Bobby Wayne came in for lunch and left me a great tip.

-The sight of my newly nearly-black hair is still a bit shocking-- but I like it.

-Plane ticket purchased for under $400.

-Many sweet calls and messages from friends.

-81 degrees.

-Ate a big ol' BBQ Pork sandwich for lunch.

-Pre-dinner line up outside, in the midst of the glorious 81 degree-ness.

-Spent majority of dinner shift laughing at Vinny and/or looking at sexy furniture.

-Reheated delicious leftovers that I cooked yesterday and ate them for dinner.

-New issue of Real Simple came in the mail, so I won't be real bored at work tomorrow.

-Talked to my ridiculously handsome boyfriend on v-chat. And even though he tried to stir up some sauce, and make me mad-- he danced his way out of it. ;) Won't be the last time, I'm sure.

-New facewash.

-New mixtape for the car tomorrow.

-Going to sleep sans big comforter and with the windows open.

-My Hero, no longer bound by a broken body, met Jesus earlier yesterday morning. Finally, she is whole. And home.

Day-By-Day Play-By-Play

Today, I spent my entire morning doing silly grown up things; Rearranging bank accounts, cutting off water service, changing my address on things, tending to my vile student loans, figuring out where to get my oil changed and emailing people who are supposed to give me writing work.

As I made my way through the tyranny of forms and deadlines, I listened to the baby triceratopses thundering about. (apparently there are 2 of them. male. both 18. and a mother as well who works at the police station. Last night, we waited, shrouded in hoodies and frustration, and confronted her when she finished walking the dog. She was surprisingly not surprised to hear the complaint and promised she'd get onto them for being noisy when they play their video games... AT 3AM.) But they're rather silent tonight, thank the Lord.

*"WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS?!?!"

(*This is Holly's new catchphrase. She rolls down her window and yells it at teenagers who are in her way while she's driving. I mean, sometimes they're not even in the way... but it's still really funny.)

After the grown up things... well, really before them, I read a book. Sold by Patricia McCormick. Very realistic and relevant YA Fic Lit. It's about a 13 year old Nepalese girl who is sold by her stepfather into the sex trade in India. The whole heartbreaking story is written from her perspective, in tiny chapters that are more like diary entries. I knocked it out in about two hours. Excellent book, very well written and story captivatingly told. I hope they're actually reading it in schools and talking about it, making kids aware that people their own age are living across the world, going through unimaginable horrors.

Finishing the book made me late in finishing my writing, which made me late getting ready for work, but... oh well! It was worth it.

Got to work at 4 and before shift started, Stephen made a pasta that I wasn't super keen to try because it was wicked spicy. But he brought it up to the bar where I was, and when I inquired what it was, he nudged it toward me. "No, it's okay..." I said. He nudged it closer. "Try it," he says "I'd push it with my nose, but that could get messy... and there aren't any meatballs in it anyway."

Outwardly, I grinned. Inwardly, I melted. Just a little.  :) Oh, and the pasta was good. But spicy.

Tonight was the weekly wine tasting and it went well. Holly brought part of her cast from the ship and they had a good time. The wines were meh but the company was good.

THEN, after snagging some Wendy's on the way home, I walked into my darkened room, turned the light on, walked around for 10 minutes before coming face to face with the biggest cricket/grasshopper hybrid abomination I have ever seen. I usually have an eye for stuff like that, but this thing was perched on my wall for at least ten minutes before I noticed him. With his legs all spread out and his giant antennae all tweeched, he would barely have fit inside a Livestrong bracelet. Freaking huge nasty thing.

I'm really girly about bugs, y'all. I do NOT play. [Bugs--] Do not come in my house and force me to deal with you, it will be SO ugly for both of us.

I don't mind creeping bugs as much as I mind jumping/flying bugs that could zoom into your face if you try to sneak up and smash them. It's the not knowing that freaks me out! You cannot anticipate which way they'll dart or fly into your mouth or jump onto you and bite you or taint you or have babies on your skin.

Y'all. I spent 15 minutes. Staring at this bug. For part of the time, I had a Converse in one hand and a flip flop in the other. The rest of the time, (when I decided that smashing would be far too messy and scary) I had a plastic tupperware container and a hardback book, ready to deal with this creature somewhat humanely.

But then... I couldn't get close to it. And I knew if it jumped I would scream and wake up Jo... so I figured it'd be okay to go and wake her up anyway. She'd only been sleeping for like... maybe an hour?

:) "It's okay." I told myself. "You need her. She'll understand."

I crept over to her door.

"Jo?" I said quietly. 

"Jo!" I whispered sharply. 

"Mmmf."

"Jo?!"

No reply.

I opened the door. Jo is mostly passed out. At least an hour's drive through dreamland.

"Jo... there's a giant bug in my room. I'm going to kill it, but I'm probably going to make a lot of noise so... I'm sorry."

"What?!"

I repeated myself... and Jo, like the fabulous roommate she is, rolled out of bed and tromped down to my room to be moral support. She laughed at my tupperware and my book and my shoes and told me to just catch the thing and put it outside.

Ooo, I was scared. But I did it! Sort of.

I covered the bug with the tupperware. I did. But as soon as I did, he jumped-- and I thought I'd missed him and therefore thought he was gonna get ON me and so promptly shrieked and dropped the entire operation on the ground, freeing the abomination. It cozied up next to my printer cable on the ground.

My whole back hurt for a second from the adrenaline release. Not kidding.

(I've been laughing out loud as I'm writing this, just so you know. I'm aware of the fact that I'm ridiculous.)

But this actually created a fairly advantageous situation for me. I poked the bug with a coat hanger until it moved far enough away from the cables for me to spray it with Raid. Yup! "I fogged his Yeti ass!" Sure did! :) Then the cleanup. My other least favorite part. I hate seeing the freshly dead bug and I hate if I have to feel it crunch between my fingers. No sir. So forcing myself to look at his little corpse, I finally scooped him up on a piece of cardboard, and carried him gingerly to a swirly watery grave. 

And this whole process? Half an hour. Easy.

Hope YOUR day is awesome.  :)

I Got A Ticket.

No, not a ticket to ride to the other side on the J Train.

A citation.

For running a red light that I suppose I assumed was a flashing red light.

I just-- turned left. Didn't even think about it. It was around midnight and there was really no one on the road, and I was trying to find this place where my friend/co-worker was celebrating his birthday. I didn't even realize I'd done anything wrong. Didn't see the po-po till he sirened me, and even then I pulled over so he could get past. No idea what happened.

And no, hadn't had a drop of alcohol.

So I got a ticket. It sucks, I don't want to pay it.

But-- to be honest, I'm really not all that tore up about it. For a couple of reasons.

1) I've been pulled over approximately... 8 times since I've moved here, for various things. This is my first ticket. I guess it's about time.

2) This is where it's weird... Gave the po-po my license and insurance, he took it and ran it and comes back with the ticket filled out and gives it to me to sign and I sign it. I get it, finish driving to Beethoven's (which is where I was originally headed) and scan the ticket before I get out of the car.

The address he wrote on it? Not my address. Not even my old address. Not even close.  Completely different numbers, completely different street. I'm like, okay...

I keep looking and I get to the SSN box... and it's NOT my SSN! Not even remotely close!

I have no idea what happened. 

He ran my license. He got my license number right. And my name.

And the reason for the ticket.

But the rest is wrong.

Was he trying to let me off?

I knew somebody in high school who got out of a ticket because his name was wrong on it. I think...

What do I do? I have a court date, but I have to change it because I'll be in California on the one he assigned me. I think I'm just gonna go up to the station and be like... "Umm... this isn't me."

Suggestions? Comments?

From Left: Mickey, Matt, Jesse, Adam & James

Okay, so I was totally kidding yesterday.

Except that I guess I wasn't. I guess.

Maroon 5 ate at my restaurant tonight. Well, Maroon 3.5.

*Matt Flynn (drums) & James Valentine (guitar) did for sure.

The third party is technically still in question. I personally, am of the belief that it was NOT Adam Levine, because he had grayish blue eyes and a rattail haircut. He was also way more geeky than sexy and was actually terribly polite instead of being a cocky jerk-- which is what I expected. I was reassured by countless others who talked to them and looked at them that it was in fact Adam, but as much as I wanted them to be right-- I really just don't buy it. I'm like 96% positive it was Jesse Carmichael, the keyboard player.

Here's what happened... first of all, I would have waited on them myself, but our hostess sort of freaked out when they walked in and forgot what she was doing and shifted to autopilot. She apologized later.

Anyway, there were originally 4 guys at the table. The 4th guy, who could have been Adam, incognito, (He had the look, and the height and the dark hair and eyes-- but he was wearing this hideous fuzzy sweaterjacket and black glasses... like he was trying to be Clark Kent about it.), left before dinner and we didn't see him again. But the other three ordered and then talked to each other and to their stage crew who was eating at another table. I wasn't even sure it was them at this point, but curious, I took advantage of the fact that their food was sitting in the window and their waiter was nowhere in sight. I dropped off their salads and they seemed to be delighted and even happier that I asked if they wanted cracked pepper on said salads. I checked on them one other time, even though they were not in my section, and on their way out, while I was talking to another table across the restaurant, they walked past me and Jesse/fakeAdam caught my eye and said thank you again. I said "You're welcome, have a great show.", all cool-like. And he said thanks again and they left.

So there's no WAY it was Adam. Adam is a jerk. He looks like a jerk. I'm convinced you can't write songs like "Kiwi" and "If I Never See Your Face Again" and "Harder To Breathe" and "Wake-up Call" if you're not at least sort of an egotistical smart-ass. This dude was way too nice. And really, way too geeky to front a band with an image as sexy as Maroon 5.

So... Jesse Carmichael. Responsible for those great 80's sounding keyboard blasts in "If I Never See Your Face Again" & those staccato power notes in the bridge of "Makes Me Wonder".

Sweet guy.

Needs a new haircut.

And sometimes, I love my job. :)

* I'd just like to point out that while I do really like Maroon 5, I am NOT some crazy fan, and subsequently, had to google each band member's name and picture except Adam's in order to write this blog.

Inconsistency

I just want you to know that really do write on a regular basis. Unfortunately, it's just not here. :)

But today was mildly interesting and seeing as it's 10:34 and I'm not drifting toward exhaustion yet, nor do I have to work until tomorrow afternoon, I thought I'd share.

I woke up early. Like 6am. I didn't have to be up till 7:30, but I woke up in the middle of a dream at like 6:13. My room, which is small and devoid of curtains, was tinted reddish from the morning sunrise. It's been... August since I've seen a sunrise, but this glow was so eerily beautiful that a rolled out of bed and peeked out the blinds, wishing I had the energy to brave the frigid morning and enjoy what was sure to be a majestic sunrise. I stared at it for a couple minutes until I got cold and then jumped back into bed for an hour.

I got up at 7:30 because I had to leave the house at 8:30 to be at Shoney's at 9:30. Not for breakfast. To shoot a commerical. No lie. I was almost late because an Optimus Prime dropped a devastating amount of frosted plate glass ALL over the right lane of I-65N. Traffic was gridlocked and I was forced to drive evasively because apparently no one else (except for like 4 people!) in Nashville had anywhere to be! But Jade, darling little green spitfire that she is, made it quickly (and carefully!) out to Donelson Pike just in time. For the shoot, I spent 3 hours walking in and out of Shoney's with a fella named Chris. We pretended to be dating and delighted to be on our way to breakfast at such a delectable establishment. Chris is American Samoan and left-handed, which was cool. And the other 7 people on the shoot were cool too. Not a bad way to spend a morning off work.

(Actually, the other guy in the shoot, AJ (who was playing "The Single Guy") was also left-handed! When he and Chris sat down to fill out their paperwork, I glanced over and noticed them both scrawling southpawed. It was freaking adorable. I didn't tell them I thought so, but I grinned to myself and sent Kish a text message. And my infatuation with left-handedness continues...)

Anyway, the commercial is regional and will be aired on ABC somewhere in the vicinity of Wheel of Fortune... probably in the next couple weeks. And at about 12:45 we wrapped the shoot-- which must have been a little too fascinating, because while we were shooting, a car smashed into another car on the busy street right in front of the restaurant. Everyone was okay, but I felt real bad for the girl whose fault it was, cause her automobile was a piece of crap, and she looked like a student. I'm gonna guess her bank account is about to get drained. Pobre senorita.

I very carefully pulled out of the parking lot and since I was already really far into town, I traipsed around Opry Mills for a couple hours. After literally a year of searching and stubborn pickiness, I finally found a vest that I loved. I was delighted. :) I'll be wearing it on my berfday.

I headed home in the afternoon to chill out for a few hours before the girls got home. Then later, Jo and I met our bible study group at Chili's for dinner, where I sat by Emily (who also happens to be left-handed.) My cheeseburger was delicious.

All in all, today was good. Tomorrow? I'm going to meet Adam Levine.

Not really. But they are shooting the next CMT Crossroads concert featuring Maroon 5 and Sara Evans across the hall from my restaurant. And if Adam knows what's good for him, he'll drink a wicked superflous amount of water during the shoot tomorrow so that at some point in the afternoon, he'll have to pee so bad that he'll go careening out of Jamison Hall, looking for the bathroom, and smash into me on my way to the Sweet Shoppe. And then he'll be so utterly, cataclysmically, mesmerized by me that he'll forget all about his bladder and offer to buy me some ice cream.

Or a convertible.

Whatever.

Here's to tomorrow!

Leave The Pieces

I have no idea what I'm about to write... you're entitled to be slightly nervous.

I am.

I found something tonight... and upon examination of said mysterious thing, it got me thinking.

There was a point in my life where I fell in love-- i mean, really fell in love-- with a man who had secrets. Kept secrets. He did it to protect me. But he also did it because he-- didn't know what else to do.

One day, not so terribly long ago, he left me. I still don't know why. I never will-- and I can live with that. But if I allow myself the masochistic luxury of pondering, I find myself unsettled. How disorienting it is, to be abandoned, left with your heart in pieces, in the center of a complete mystery.

I wonder how long God is going to have to work on my heart before I truly forgive him and let it all go.

Sometimes I'm terrified that I still love him. I wonder how strong the love of the next is going to have to be to trump my investment in this man from my past. On one hand, there's no doubt in my mind that God is bigger than my judgment lapses, bigger than my ability to hold on to the past, and bigger than my fear of placing all my trust in His divine love and wisdom.

But the feebler, human side of me longs for something microwavable, something warm and instant to slap on my heart and soul that will heal it instantly and blur the hurt of the past into some charming impressionistic piece of art that I can sell on eBay.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, my writer's soul is scowling at me, chiding me for giving voice to the most blasphemous of wishes-- "how dare you-- a woman divinely deemed a raconteur, by the loving, generous, Almighty God-- even think of wishing to muddle the greatest gift and tool of your trade you've been given-- your memory? You should be stripped of your latest tale for even entertaining the thought!"

But the Lord understands my heart. He made it after all. And of all who have witnessed the pain it has endured, He knows better than any, its weaknesses and joys and how much pressure it can withstand.

And He does not rebuke me or love me any less for wishing my pain away.

But he shows me, in small, tangible ways, that my vision is dim and that my plans are nothing compared to those He has for me.

When you were a kid, did you ever actually attempt to carve up a puzzle piece to make it fit into the big picture?

Although I know that my life sometimes has a way of looking pretty together on the outside, some part of me feels that I've secretly made a lifelong hobby/habit of sawing away on puzzle pieces with little useless, plastic safety scissors*-- too stubborn to quit or admit defeat, too defiant to be patience and wait for the right piece to present itself at the right time.

So i guess tonight... I'm finally taking a good look at my retarded scissors.

And I'm putting them down.

No guarantees that I'll never try to touch them again... but I pray I'm wickedly convicted next time I even give their wretched plastic blades a second look.



Psalm 27:14 (New Living Translation)

14 Wait patiently for the Lord.
Be brave and courageous.
Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.



*I had a very specific set of scissors in mind while writing this. Plastic yellow ones with a blue and white sticker of a monkey's face right on the joint that connects the blades. At age 4 or 5, I snipped the single lock of hair off my Carebear's head with one such pair of scissors, thinking it would grow back. It didn't. Therefore, I think it's safe to say that plastic yellow monkey scissors will always spell trouble for me.

Two Peas?

Jade & I had a moment today.

If you know my car, you know she has personality. She's a little eccentric, very stubborn and very dramatic. She puts on a major show when her fuel tank is low and she acts all bubbly and saucy when you fill her up. She's picky about how her doors are opened, who drives her and whether or not she wants to allow you to see how fast you're driving at night.* She's my baby though, and I love her.

So I took her in for an oil change. Full service. We take care of each other like that. I also asked the mechanic to check the brakes out because they were making a scratchy noise last week. So I'm sitting in the office, letting Jade & the mechanic talk to each other, and I'm looking up at the service board with all the pricing on it;

Basic oil change: $25.00
Full Service: $32.00
Diagnostic: $16.50
Brake Check & Tire Rotation: $15.00

It occured to me then that since I asked the mechanic to check my brakes and give Jade a full service oil change, that he was probably rotating the tires as well. I could see Jade's bright green paint in the third bay, farthest from the door. So I headed outside, to make sure the guy was doing all I asked him to do.

As I'm walking over, I see the mechanic on the shop phone, walk into a storage closet or parts closet or something and vanish for a second. And as I reach the third bay, there's Jade. She looked exactly like any other car would in such circumstances, but because I'm a storyteller and she happens to be quite a character, this is what I saw/thought:

As I come around the corner, Jade's sitting there with her hood open, all four tires cast aside, looking at me like a mischievous high school kid caught in some devious act, with wide doe-in-headlight headlights. I cross my arms, look around for the mechanic and stare her down.

Me: Mmhmm.

Jade: Ummmm… okay. This is not what it looks like. I swear.

Me: Jade. I leave you out here with him for fifteen minutes and you let him take all your tires off, with your hood open for all the world to see?!

Jade: Look, he had a drill, okay? Well, it was a pressurized tire iron, really. I didn't mean to. But it just—it all happened so fast! I barely had time to think! You know you can't just leave me alone like that!

I shook my head at her, biting back a hint of a smile and thought,
"Well, I guess it could happen to anyone."


*Her dashboard lights are touch and go, and no longer respond to my Han Solo-esque knocking them into submission.