A Day in the Life of Me

Palmyra Missionary Baptist Church Cemetery

2011-09-25T20:27:00.000-07:00

I've spent a lot of time lately wandering up and down Highway 17 and exploring the marshy corners of my home state. While I find it to be mosquito and snake infested, I love it and I think it is beautiful. In my explorations I have stumbled across historical gems of colonial times, places that are not unknown, but that I haven't read about or discovered yet.
My first exciting discovery was the Midway Cemetery. Be reminded, there is nothing new about it, I had read about it numerous times in my studies, I just hadn't made the connection in my head as to where it was. Midway is on Highway 17 just North of Riceboro.
For whatever reason, I took Highway 17 instead of I 95 to get home. I think I had a large piece of furniture hanging out of the back of my car. Yup, the hall tree. Off subject. I noticed the old church and across the street was a rather old cemetery that was surrounded by a brick fence. So I stopped to check it out. The people buried in the Midway Cemetery were some of the first settlers in the area. There is a rather large variety of gravestones, even the old death's head, if you know cemeteries, they later evolved into cherubs. Death shouldn't look so scary, right?
As soon as I got home I looked up the history. Ahhhh, I knew about this place. These were the people of The Children of Pride, friends, family, acquaintances and relatives of the Jones family of Liberty County. I got it.
After this discovery I started poking around the area. I'm focused on African American Archaeology, and Plantation Archaeology. I am absolutely fascinated with the idea that a group of people could be yanked out of their homes in Africa, brought here, put to work on the rice, cotton, and indigo plantations of the South, and held onto such large parts of their African Heritage.
So I started looking for more African American centered sites. Let me tell you, there aren't many. There is Sapelo Island, The Geechee Kunda Center, and a few other interesting tidbits around the area, but you really have to go LOOK to find anything interesting.
People in that area probably think I'm nuts, driving around, stopping in churches and tooling around graveyards, that kind of thing.
Today, I decided to check out Sunbury. I was curious about a graveyard that had some interesting gravestones. I wound up in the Sunbury Cemetery, where I thought I would find African-American graves, but that was not the case. These were some of the first settlers in the area also. While it was what I was looking for, I did notice something interesting. A majority of the graves were those of people that were younger than 18. I would say at least 60% of them. I would imagine many of these young people succumbed to Malaria, Yellow Fever or some other sort of "swamp miasmas", as the early settlers called them. (They hadn't figured out that the diseases were coming from the mosquitoes yet, early in the learning curve for the settlers of the area.)
So, after swatting at mosquitoes and scratching at every uncovered part of my body, I took off. I followed the ribbon of sand that is Sunbury Road, and headed back towards the interstate. I noticed a tiny church with a small cemetery on the eastern side of the road. So I stopped.
Palmyra Missionary Baptist Church. Small church. Small graveyard. The neat thing was that some of the markers were hand carved. And there were pieces of glass placed into the tops of the headstones. Cool stuff. Haven't found out what this means yet, but durned if it isn't cool. The hand carved graves appear to be pretty old, some from before the turn of the century. They are hard to comprehend, but I want to know more. Who were these people? Where did they come from? Was this a branch of another church in the area? I didn't take pictures, simply because I felt like I needed permission from the church to do so, but man, it was neat.

When things just 'click'

2011-08-16T13:31:00.001-07:00

I haven't written in a while, after a rough move from NOLA and a stressful first year of graduate school, I had to set the blog aside. School is my number one priority, and it is rare I have the time for recreational (or therapeutic) writing. I am currently half way through the first part of my thesis, have had an entire pot of coffee, it's blazing hot in my house and I need a break.

Coming back to my hometown has been a challenge, being in school has been a challenge, dealing with new people has been a challenge, and mostly, being broke all of the time has been a challenge. I know that this is just a stop along the way in my life, and I just have to keep plugging through. I have straight A's (3 semesters of straight A's), I have some great friends around here outside of school, and am quite settled into a routine.

I love school. I drink up everything I can find on my subject matter. I read constantly. I cannot get enough! Somewhere over the summer, something has just 'clicked', as my father puts it. I have realized the level of my intelligence. I have come to understand what kind of person I am, and how I can be a better person. I am not so angry and aggravated a lot of the time, and generally, I am just a lot happier. It is a nice feeling.

I don't know who or what to credit this to. I don't know if it's the therapy, the medicine or me accepting myself. I think the latter is the most important part. Self-acceptance. Seriously, somehow it just clicked into place. I'm fine. I like myself. I don't need a lot of validation from others to feel okay about things. Life is good. It is tough, but it is good. I have a roof over my head, I have food to eat, a comfortable bed to sleep in, and have a job.

All is well.

Back to the whole dating thing

2010-12-23T01:13:00.000-08:00

So, as we all know, I have been attempting to date. I hate dating. It is no fun when you are a 30-something working on your MA. It is particularly frustrating when you are surrounded by a bunch of 20-somethings (I know, I know, I was one once) who are much cuter, more in shape, better sense of style, etc. that have no clue what they are doing and creating quite a bad name for women in general.

I ranted a month or so ago, I gave a list of 'what not to do'. It was a compilation of complaints from several men (not really sure if they even deserve to be called men to be honest) that I have dated over the last 3 years. Some on my list were just minor infractions, some were major. I think my most recent dating disaster tops them all.

Let me tell you something guys. Let me lay it out. Don't tell a girl you don't want a girlfriend because you have "been burned". That can mean any number of things, and to be truthful, it makes you look like a big pussy. I've been burned. Big time. In some pretty major ways.

When you inform a female around my age, single, divorced, separated, parent, no kids, whatever, that you have 'been burned', we think it is a cop out.

I can almost promise you that most of us ladies have been burned much worse than you have, and probably many more times.

Here's the doozie. When you have an affair with a married woman, you run the risk that she is going to choose her husband over you. So, her dumping you for her husband who has recently returned home from Iraq does not constitute 'being burned'. It means you got to have sex without commitment. It means you got to bang some poor soldier's wife. The entire time he was overseas, fighting for your freedom he was probably thinking of her and how he couldn't wait to get home to his loving, faithful, loyal wife. You did not 'get burned' here. The poor guy who thought his wife was sitting home waiting and longing for him did.

Let me tell you what getting burned is.

Getting burned is dating someone for a few years, talking about marriage, talking about meeting each other's families, him breaking up with you, then when he finds the girl he's going to marry, him calling you to tell you how much like you she is.

Getting burned is finding the man that you have dated for 5 years and lived with for 4 on the back porch banging a 19 year old 2 months before your 30th birthday.

Getting burned is having someone lure you into a conversation about marriage, and then making fun of what you believe in. In front of your neighbor.

Getting burned is not getting rejected by a woman who was married to someone else. Particularly if you knew about it the whole time.

So guys, try to avoid the excuse, "I've been burned" with the ladies. If you are out there dating, be up front. Say to whomever you are spending your time with "I'm not ready for a relationship, but we can hang out".

And DON'T use the internet as the way you are going to break the news to someone if you aren't interested in dating them. Tell them to their face. Have some balls and courage. And don't lead the ladies on. It's not nice.

The money order incident

2010-12-21T17:10:00.000-08:00

I have this job dog sitting, and I get paid via handwritten check. This is fine because it's a local small business and this company is able to put money back into the local economy.

Now, it's hard for me because I have a non-local bank that I have to mail my check to.

So a few days ago, I took my check, cashed it, spent half of it on groceries and bought a money order with the other half to deposit into my checking account. Via mail.

The day after I bought the money order I realized that $30 wasn't enough to get me through the week it would take for the money to show up in my account.

So I took the money order back to the place I purchased it (an evil place that will remain unnamed) they wouldn't cash the money order and let me purchase another one. Huh? I had the receipt and the stub. BUT, I got a resounding NO.

According to the business where I bought the money order, I would have to send said money order to the company I bought it from and they would mail me a check. In 6 to 8 weeks.

Absolutely not. This is my only income, my only money, and I cannot wait that long to get it back. Unfortunately, this would be the only way to get my money back.

So I stuck it in my pocket and forgot about it for a day.

HUGE mistake.

I spent a day or so looking for it.

I ransacked my car. I ransacked my house. I ransacked my school books and notebooks and desk in the lab. No money order.

Yesterday morning I was unloading the dryer. I noticed little bits of paper in the lint screen when I went to clean it out.

Guess what the little pieces of paper were?

I wouldn't recommend money orders to anyone. I would say, always, always, always buy a cashiers check.

That's my advice to you readers for the day.

On Being a Grad Student

2010-11-09T20:43:00.000-08:00

This first semester of school has been hard, scary, fun, eye-opening, educational and challenging.

I have made some new friends (and probably by accident and enemy or two), I have learned how to write a good history paper, I can break down journal articles and scholarly writings and think about them analytically and I can completely rewire myself as far as sleep is concerned. You sleep when you have time. Sometimes I say I'll sleep when I'm done with school. Or over Christmas Holidays.

I have learned strange little things about the culture of my geographic region that surprised me. I have two favorites.
The first one is about the word 'tote'. I read in many journal articles about African assimilation into European culture about this word, so I feel like I can state this as common knowledge. Tote is an African word. It means 'to carry'. If you want a reference then email me.

Another one is about the CDC. That's the Center for Disease Control for those of you who aren't sure. The reason the CDC is in Atlanta? Malaria, Yellow Fever. Yup. These diseases were brought over from Africa by slaves. These Africans that had been captured and forced onto ships brought over the diseases of their regions. Kind of like the Europeans the Native Americans and smallpox. Because of the environmental similarities of the regions, the diseases flourished in the Low Country and Malaria and Yellow Fever bacome problem diseases.

Karma is a bitch white man. A real bitch. Yes, I am aware of the fact that I am white.

So, they put together the CDC to investigate and try to control malaria and yellow fever. White people/Europeans had no resistance to these diseases, so they had to figure out how to control them, even eradicate them.

Interesting, huh?

I thought so.

I am really enjoying school, and I look forward to finding out what else I will learn over the next year and a half.

This is really fun. I'm not just learning about archaeology, how to do research and how to write a budget, I'm learning about myself.

I can do anything I put my mind to.

Oh, there's one more that I got a kick out of.

The Pledge of Allegiance was written by a Socialist. Look it up if you don't believe me. The guys name was Francis Bellamy. Helen Keller was a socialist too.

Just sayin'.

I'm perfect. I swear.

2010-11-01T23:51:00.000-07:00

So, I wrote a top 10 a week or so ago. It was out of frustration, not just with recent dating disaster guy, but guys in general. And Mistake of all mistakes, I (THE HORROR!) posted it on Facebook. I generally share my blogs on Facebook, because when I do, people read them. That's why I write them, so that people will read them. That's the joy of writing if you ask me.
It was immediately brought to my attention that I was a horrible person for posting it and that I was at fault too.
I never once said I wasn't at fault. But really, I am perfect you know. Guess I should have sent out that memo. If you didn't get it, let me know and I'll send it your way.
Here are some of my faults. This isn't going to be so much a top 10, but more of a list of stupid shit I do, personality flaws and idiosyncrasies. Just to prove to all of you out there that when it comes down to it, I am perfect.

1. I bite my nails. I cannot help myself. I don't know why I do it, but I do.

2. I am overly sensitive. ESPECIALLY BETWEEN THE 30TH AND 5TH OF EACH MONTH.

3. I am defensive. Because I'm perfect. I must defend myself.

4. I think I'm always right, and when I'm wrong? Rarely, I'll admit it. Otherwise? I'm perfect. And of course, always right.

5. Sometimes I wait 2 weeks before I change my sheets.

6. I wear my jeans 3 times before I wash them. When they get loose, it makes me feel skinny. It's a thing. Silly, I know.

7. I have a short temper. Yup. I said it.

8. I am impatient. Usually I lose patience with really stupid things, like people who have to count out change to the cashier after I have waited in line at Wal-Mart for about 30 minutes because they couldn't find their coupon for baked beans or they went over their budget and start deciding what they aren't going to buy.

9. Sometimes I don't shave my legs for weeks at a time.

10. I hate paying my cellphone bill. I'd rather have a mortgage.

11. I am cheap. Mainly because I'm a grad student and I'm poor, but really, I'm cheap.

12. I hate to lose at any kind of game. Particularly if it requires intelligence to play. I don't like to be made to feel dumb. I think I'm pretty smart.

13. Sometimes I pick my nose. Mainly when the netipot hasn't done it's job.

14. I think I have perfect hair. I do. Really.

15. I like to argue if I think I will win.

16. I have a short temper. Did I already say that? It's true.

17. The inside of my car looks like a trash can.

18. I procrastinate. It's easier to get things done that way. We all know that. Panic is a wonderful motivator.

19. I have a short temper. Just trying to get my point across here.

20. I am abrupt. Sometimes, even abrasive. (BUT, I do have social skills)

21. I will hang up on you if you call me while you are eating.

22. It's really really easy to make me cry.

23. I think the world revolves around me. And my short temper.

24. I may not forgive you very easily, but I expect you to forgive me easily.

25. I absolutely positively HATE being told what to do.

26. I get mad easily. That goes back to the temper.

27. I put sweaters on my dog.

28. Sometimes I get drunk and post music videos on people's facebook walls and don't remember doing it until it's too late and then I look like a total ass. It's true.

29. Short temper.

30. I have a potty mouth.

31. I'm bossy. I'm the first one to sing on the track.

32. I'm one of those obnoxious people that posts oodles of pictures of my dog on Facebook cause I think he's really cute. If you insult him, I get mad.

33. really short temper.

34. I like to talk shit sometimes. It makes me feel better about myself I think. I am generally of the school of thought that if I am talking shit about you that you deserve it.

35. I do not like to have any of my faults pointed out to me by other people. I know what they are because I'm perfect.

36. This list is getting really long, and making me rethink the idea of my perfection.

37. I like beer a lot. Not as much as some, but more than most.

38. temper.

39. I like to make lists.

40. I think this is enough.

I think you get the point. I'm perfect.

For Mom

2010-10-26T05:21:00.001-07:00

The anniversary of my Mother's death is just a few days away. It's been two years, and it seems like so much longer. So much has happened in the time that she's been gone and there are so many things I wish I could talk to her about. Failed relationships, a crappy roommate, fantastic grades, an unquenchable curiosity about my thesis topic, and so far, a quiet fall in my hometown.
It's good to be here. I feel safe and warm, and most everything is familiar and comfortable to me. I feel closer to her here, maybe because she's buried here, or maybe simply because my best memories of her happened here.
I miss my Mom. I miss her great big laugh, the one that sounds almost exactly like mine. It used to spook my Dad. I miss the way she smells and the sound of her voice. I miss the sound of her bracelets clinking, and knowing she was coming because I could hear her sneezing. I miss her cold hands on my face when I'm sick. I miss her saying to me "aren't you going to put on some make up Marc? You'll look much prettier if you do!" Boy did that used to make me mad. I miss so many things about her.
Most days, especially the crappy ones, I just want to tell her what is bothering me.
In my mind I talk to her, and I think it has replaced praying for me. In my childhood she was a God, and now she is a saint. No one is perfect, and she wasn't, but she was damned close.
This month will always be slightly tinged with sadness for me. As each day passes, it gets easier, but the memories never fade. Not a day passes that I don't think of her and her kind heart, warm spirit and sense of humor. She was a great lady and a terrific Mom. She left this world much too soon.
So, around 930am this Sunday stop for a minute and think of her. You know she is peering down on us all and laughing that great big laugh.

Gentlemen, if you want to date a girl, some things to remember...

2010-10-22T13:22:00.001-07:00

I had a recent 'dating' fiasco. The guy was cute, well, actually, he was gorgeous. He was a couple of years older than me and seemed to be in about the same place as me as far as life is concerned. I learned a lot from this guy. The relationship was fairly short lived, and I'm going to give you gentlemen out there a Top 10-kind of a list of what not to do and what we are thinking. Take my advice or don't, I don't care. These really are mere suggestions.

1. We don't all think that we are princesses, and that some man is going to come whisk us away to fairy tale land where everything is perfect. We know better.

2. The girls that play dumb probably aren't dumb at all. They just want for someone to take care of them.

3. The way you talk to people-especially women-says a lot about how you view other people.

4. Arrogance will get in the way of your happiness. We do not find it charming, cute or endearing. Keep it to yourself, or amongst you and your guy friends.

5. If some girl fucked you over, forgive her. It's not our fault. Don't put the past on us.

6. Do NOT push us to open up to you. We can only share so much with you at once.

7. NEVER tell someone you have slept with that you weren't satisfied with the sex. It leaves them NOT wanting to have sex with you. EVER. AGAIN.

8. Think about what you are going to say to a girl before you say it. Some of us are a little bit more sensitive than others. Those of us that are sensitive don't forget the things that you say very easily. Walk a mile in our shoes before you open your mouth.

9. Most females between the ages of 23 and 40 that are single and dating WANT to get married. If it gets brought up don't say "it's all just a piece of paper, a way for the government to control us." We will drop you like a hot skillet. Seriously.

10. If we have an X-boyfriend that you feel threatened by, do not bring them up over and over again. He's an X-boyfriend for a reason.

So, guys, these are not necessarily rules, but something to think about if you are dating.

I do NOT like Wolf Spiders, aka Georgia Tarantulas

2010-09-21T21:49:00.000-07:00

I hate them. I hate them with an unnatural passion. They FREAK ME OUT.
I'm settled in to the new place on the outskirts of town. It is nice out here. There is a lot of wildlife, not much light pollution and it's pretty quiet. It's a really nice change of pace from being in the middle of a bustling metropolis. If you want to call Metairie a bustling metropolis. It is compared to Statesboro.
Being in a more rural area definitely has it's perks, and I love it. But there are the downfalls. These downfalls aren't that big, but when I see them crawl out from under my dishwasher, they become monsters to me. They are wolf spiders. Sometimes they carry their babies on their back.
I do not like them.
Not. One. Bit. No. Sirree. Bob.
Not too long ago my Dad was here for the weekend. I was up first and decided to get the customary pot of coffee going for our morning argument. I was getting cream out of the fridge when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. Otis scurried away when he saw it. I woke Dad up so that he could dispose of this horrific mutant in my kitchen.
What does Dad do? Smacks it with the fly swatter. I saw him grabbing it and I suddenly realized that this may not be a good idea, because it was a wolf spider. OH. HELL. NO. I tried to stop him, but a combination of fear and loathing turned my limbs to lead. The spider was dead, but it's babies were not.
I have seen this happen before, and I just KNEW it was going to happen again.
A long time ago, my X-boyfriend (then boyfriend) my friend Kayte and I lived in a beautiful antebellum home in Seale, Alabama. This place was so far out the Jehovah's witness couldn't find it. It was gorgeous, but rural.
One lovely evening, after hours of mindless TV, we started to turn in for the night. We left Kayte downstairs to turn everything off and lock up the house.
Just as I was crawling into bed I heard a hair raising scream, and about 2 seconds later she appeared. She was panicked. She stuttered out a stream of blabber ending with "s-s-s-s-spider."
My X decided to be the fearless male and take care of business. He disappeared down the stairs, as I watched after him and Kayte sat rocking in the middle of her bed.
We heard him banging around, then he started to scream.
"Bring me the RAID! Bring ME THE RAID! BRING. ME. THE. RAID!!!! NOW!!!!".
After about 10 more minutes of banging around and shouting he reappeared at the top of the stairs.
The X informed us that we were safe, and the problem had been taken care of.
I went downstairs to survey the damage.
In the corner of the room, about 10 boxes sat in a semi-circle corralling a LARGE spider. The worst part was the tiny black dots all over the walls. There were thousands of them. It was her babies. I'm pretty sure the X killed most them, but at the same time, surely there were some strays that escaped the massacre.
My friend Kayte was so traumatized she moved out within a week.
I generally am not afraid of spiders, but when it comes to wolf spiders, they get a pretty wide berth.
Here is my advice to you concerning these monstrosities. Do not ever, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES EVER attempt to step on or smash them. They will instantly multiply and even if you think you have killed them, there is one that lived. It is hiding under your dishwasher plotting its revenge because you killed its mother, brothers and sisters.
Take a cup and slowly, carefully place it over the spider. I am partial to clear ones so that I can see what the spider is doing. Slide a piece of paper under the cup, trapping the spider. Turn the cup upside down (keep the paper over the opening) and take it outside. Release it.
I really advise all of you out there not to step on them. You will regret it.

"You can come hang out with us Geeks"

2010-07-29T13:06:00.001-07:00

I was having a stupid day yesterday. I firmly believe my stupid day was a direct result of my own stupidity, and that of others also. I can't blame any of this on anyone, but damned if I don't want to blame it all on my passive-aggressive roommate and her foolishness.
I worked all day, and caught a severe case of the 'fuckits' around 2:30pm or so. In my mind all I could think was, I only have 2 more days to go. Just 2 more days. I can do this. I can totally do this. I know I can do this.
HAH!
I made it through the end of the workday and headed to the apartment. I have currently resigned myself to the fact that when my roommate is home, that I simply cannot be in the same room with her. I just can't do it. Every time I see her or pass by her, the venomous words that have been swirling around in my head for 3 weeks start pushing themselves to the forefront of my mind, and I feel like I need superglue to keep my mouth shut. I am still amazed that I have made it this far without saying anything rude, nasty or hateful to her. It has taken every ounce of self-control that I have to do this.
Over the weekend, while I was out the young and foolish roommate took it upon herself to move one her many boyfriends in. I don't think the plan is for him to actually live there, I think he just needs a place to stay temporarily, but boy, I got HOT about this. After all of the nonsense that occurred previously, I figured that two of us could quietly (meaning NOT SPEAKING TO EACH OTHER) live for the next few weeks without purposely trying to really PISS each other off. I'm not purposely trying to piss her off, but I have certainly had moments of wanting to be the exact opposite of the person my mother taught me to be.
I called several friends, ranted and raved, threatened my friends with any and all drastic measures I could pull to make this harder for her and was just generally just as immature as she is being. BUT, in my defense, I did a lot of threatening, but did not take action. Nancy can see everything I do, and this was not behavior she would approve of. Plus, despite the fact my roommate is being a jerk, the so-called boyfriend was being a sweetheart. I can't fault him for an argument that he was not involved in. This has nothing to do with him. And he was treating me with respect, so I would treat him with respect.
So, I didn't call the landlord and demand my deposit back on the spot, I did not try to damage her property, and last but not least, I didn't use her toothbrush to scrub out the toilet. It just goes against everything my mother ever taught me. I would suffer in silence. Once I leave, I'm done with her. GOOD RIDDANCE. I'm sure once I'm gone, she will still stew and fry over what happened. Although, I don't think she really had a clear picture of words exchanged between her friend and I. And it was mostly her friend who was rude, who called me a C U Next Tuesday. Obviously, my roommate cannot control her rabid friend.
So, a good (wonderful, amazing, perfect) friend called me to inform me that they had wired me some money to help me out. Since I have been holed up in my room for 7 days with no TV, I was thrilled for a reason to leave the house. Even if it was just to go to Western Union to pick up some cash.
I got to Western Union and filled out all proper forms, pulled out my passport and handed it to the cashier. She stared at my passport, stared at me and stared at her computer screen alternately for about ten minutes. Then she informed me that they couldn't give me the money. If you had been standing next to me in line, you would have heard a sound similar to a record needle scratching the shit out of a record and the music would have come to a screeching halt. My friend used my nickname "Marcy" on the money wire instead of the name "Marsha" which is what is on my ID.
I would have to wait til the next day.
I left feeling so defeated. I DID NOT, under any circumstances, want to go back to my house. I started to cry. When I say cry, I mean I started blubbering like a baby. I simply could not step foot back into my apartment in this condition. I could not give my roommate the satisfaction of seeing me this upset over something so silly.
So, I did what any reasonable person would do. I pulled into an empty parking lot close to my apartment, laid my head on the steering wheel, and cried my eyes out. Then I tried to call a few friends (sorry for the incoherent weepy messages I left guys) and no one answered.
I finally called my friend that lives over in the Irish Channel. Her husband answered her phone. I swear there was a conspiracy against me yesterday. I did not want to talk to a male who would interpret this as being overly dramatic. I was frustrated. I was overwhelmed. I was UP-FRICKIN-SET.
Conversation between me and friend's husband went as follows:
Friend's Husband: Hello Marcy!
Me: *GASP SOB SOB GASP* I don't wanna go back there! (note, I was wailing at this point)
Friend's Husband: Are you okay Marcy?
Me: *DEEP SHAKY DRAMATIC BREATH* NOOOOOOOOOO!! I DON'T WANNAAAAAAAAA!!!
Friend's Husband: Do you just want to come over and hang out with us geeks?
ME: I don't want to impose but yes (in very tiny sad voice)
Friend's Husband: I tell the little lady you are on your way.

Thank the LORD for good friends that care enough to let you come hang out.
My friend even went so far as to make me a yummy little chicken dinner with veggies and a baked potato. She's going to be a great Mom when she has kids. OR she can just adopt me.

Yes, to me they can be a little geeky, but then I'm not into video games, comic books or science fiction. All differences aside, I love these geeks. I love them dearly. They have been so kind and hospitable to me, I cannot thank them enough.

I'm glad I know good people.

When things go south....

2010-07-18T10:04:00.000-07:00

I just turned 35. Just a mere few weeks ago, and have discovered, I like this whole being a little bit older thing. Not so bad! Along with turning 35, I learned a valuable lesson, for the second time in my life. NO ROOMMATES! Now, I lived in Nashville and had several roommates, close to my age, that I got along with beautifully and generally am still great friends with all of them. I think it's age. I really do.
My current roommate however, has left a bad taste in my mouth. I don't think it's because she's a bad person, not at all. I just don't think she's mature enough to understand my standpoint on this whole thing. And realistically, I don't think it's something she'll understand until she's a little bit older.
So, in the next few weeks I'll be moving home and starting my Master's Degree. I have been warning my roommate that this may happen since February.
So, the roommate has a friend who is moving to Boston. Said friend sublet her apartment before she found another place. Said friend also has a VERY large puppy who has gotten better since his earlier days, but is still a bit much. My dog is small and afraid of her dog. (very important)
A few weeks ago my roommate informed me that her friend was going to stay with us for "a few days". I got a little freaked out, mainly because it was going to be at the end of the month and I would be loading a moving truck to get out and her friends dog would be in the way. He is HUGE. We have a very SMALL apartment.
So, the following day I emailed her friend, who I didn't really consider a friend, more of an acquaintence. I wanted to know the specifics of her staying with us for a few days and figure out how we were going to work out the dog situation.
My roommates friend then informed me it would be for 10 days and I would just have to "deal with it".
I don't think so.
3 girls, 2 dogs and 1 bathroom did not sound like my idea of a good time.
I TRIED to work something out with her. I really did. I made the point that we should get the dogs together and see what happened before we made any concrete plans.
She informed me that she could make it 5 days instead of 10, and informed me that was her compromise and wanted to know what my compromise would be.
Something snapped inside of me. I didn't really get angry as much as I just got aggravated. Why do I have to compromise? I pay rent and bills there. My name is on the lease. Now, my roommates name is on the lease also, but I felt this was something we needed to agree on.
I informed my roommates friend that I did not have to compromise because my name was on the lease and hers was not. She got mad. REALLY mad. And handled it like a tried and true person that had not taken into consideration anyone but herself.
First she called me a bitch.
THEN she called me a fat f*&king bitch.
After that she called me a greedy f*&king bitch (after I informed her if she was going to stay with us and bring her huge dog, she was going to have to pay 1/3 of rent and bills for the days she would be staying).
Last, but not least, she called me the worst word. My friend Emily calls this word C U Next Tuesday.
Now, at that point I decided that there was no need for her to come stay at our house. I don't have to tolerate this sort of thing.
My roommate was nice about it. When I came home she apologized for her friend and said she didn't want to be involved. I told her she wasn't and that I had no desire whatsoever to argue about it, and we should just drop it.
HAH!
The next morning I sent her friend a long email explaining that I did not have to take her into consideration when it came to the place where I paid rent, and that she should be careful about the types of things she sends in emails, because that is documentation of her behavior. I also informed her that I had spoken with a family lawyer and that my father had a copy of every email she sent. I was not going to tolerate her trying to bully me. It might work on my roommate, but it wasn't going to work on me.
Then my roommate got involved. She said she didn't want to be, but she sure as all that's holy did. She came over to my side of the office (yes, to make matters worse, we work together) and started telling me we needed to talk about this situation immediately. I, being INSANELY BUSY, told her no. This could wait until after work. Plus, my boss, and 3 coworkers were in the lab to witness the whole thing. This wasn't work related and didn't need to be discussed right then.
She kept pushing. I kept telling her it could wait. It came to the point that I asked her if we needed to step into the human resources directors office. She got really mad. But in my defense, I was busy, we were at work, and this could wait until after work! It was not something we needed to discuss at work. Period.
She then sent me an email that said some of the following things (and I will defend each of these things with logic and reason):
1. You make everything all about yourself!
-yup. Sure do. I don't have to take someone who doesn't pay rent into consideration when I make decisions about where I live. And I live my life for me. Not her friend who sublet her apartment before she found a place to live in Boston. NOT. MY. PROBLEM.
2. You have Histrionic Personality Disorder.
-nope. I do not. I don't always make the best decisions, but I live my life making reasonable and logical decisions. I speak intelligently, I make decisions based on what is best for me, and don't have any major issues concerning anything during my childhood.
3. You are a liar and I think you are stealing my stuff.
-no I am not. If I was stealing her stuff, it would just be more stuff for me to move. And I haven't lied to her about anything. Can't quite figure that one out.
4. I need to go through all of the boxes you packed because I am missing things and I think you are stealing them.
-now, this is just flat out passive aggressive foolishness. She has lost her $400 Iphone several times since I have been living with her. She has also lost her car keys and a number of other things. If she can't keep up with her phone, can she keep up with anything else?
5. You think you own the living room.
-it's the common room. I am allowed to sit in there til 3am if I want to.
It goes on, but what's the point in rehashing all of it.
I am moving on. I never have to talk to either one of them EVER again if I don't want to.
I think a lot of this foolishness from them is due to the fact that they are young. They'll learn some lessons, and grow up. Then they will look back on this and laugh, because it's that stupid.
Sorry for the "I'm annoyed" blog. I had to get it off of my chest.
NO ROOMMATES. EVER AGAIN.

Graduate School

2010-06-26T16:50:00.001-07:00

So, I start graduate school in August. Not only am I excited, I am scared half to death. It's been 11, almost 12 years since I was last subjected to any kind of schooling. After months of studying for the GRE, and bombing it miserably (all but the writing part-big surprise huh?) I can't help but wonder how I will do. I have the life experience to know what is expected of me, and the common sense to know what I need to do-but what if I mess it all up? Cheez-it's help me...
I wanted to go to Middle Tennessee State University and get a Masters Degree in Museum Studies, but the program was 1 year too long. Which would entail 1 extra year of student loans, 1 extra year of being out of the workforce, and 1 extra year of who-knows-what. So, instead I have chosen to attend Georgia Southern University. It's a 2 year program, Master of Arts in Social Science with an emphasis in Archaeology. I plan on writing a thesis. Am I out of my mind? Maybe. I think it's the heat down here. It's hot. I could fry an egg on the sidewalk if I really wanted to be outside long enough to make that happen. Which I don't. Nor does most of the population of the city. The sad part? It's gonna be just as hot in Statesboro. I grew up in the heat there. Never really bothered me then, but as I have grown older I have grown less and less tolerant of the heat. So, suffer I must. But it's just 2 years.
I can do this.

I Swear I can write. Or can I?

2010-06-16T20:23:00.000-07:00

I've been somewhere between stumped and busy lately-haven't written much. Sorry.
I have loads of hilarious stories to tell and fantastic adventures to share-but when I come here to write, it all goes away.
Otis, he who which I blame everything I cannot explain on, is great.
Me? I'm just kinda ok. I think. Yes, actually, I am!
Ok is good.
I almost feel like that fog of grief that has surrounded me isn't so much foggy anymore. It's really started to turn more sunny with a slight chance of rain. If you catch my drift...
When I look back at my life (35th birthday is 14 days from the day this blog is written) I am much more fortunate than most. I had a wonderful childhood-almost enchanted. Teenage years? Charmed. Lucky lucky me.
College years? Well, dammit. I just WISH I could remember those 5 years.
Adult years?
RIFE with stress, money worries and such.
Wish I could be a child again.
Thanks Mom and Dad for giving me such a great life.
You guys did a good job. I love you both.
Mom-
you aren't here, but you are. I see you everyday when I look in the mirror.
Everytime I laugh, I hear you, and I hear your mother too. Dad hears it too! He says it's spooky. What a beautiful gift. Thanks Mom. Thanks Grandma. I love you both. You guys know it though, because you visit me in my dreams.

Dad-
YOU are my hero.
I am so sorry I'm poor. Thank goodness I'm smart. Let's see how far smart gets me.
Because Dad-if it gets me as far as I hope, we are SO IN THE MONEY.
Well,lets make it and give it to Carter!

The Umbrella

2010-05-19T10:05:00.000-07:00

After a pretty rough transition here things finally settled down. I can't say I like it anymore or any less, but at least they have settled down. Fall was rough, I was a wreck-I hate being so far away from many of my family and friends, and it was the anniversary of my Mom's death. After a lot of weeping, crying, blowing my nose and just being generally unhappy with the state of things I bucked up and decided to take on the world.
In this decision, one of the biggest promises I made was to celebrate my Mom's birthday. Back then (in October) it seemed a long way off and I put it in the back of my mind.
In the meantime, my Father has been going to our hometown and going through the microfiche at the library and pulling my Mom's old columns and printing them out. In her first year of employment at our small town paper she wrote a humorous column once a week. They ranged from poking fun at my Father for various reasons, questioning her own sanity-which I believe came from raising my brother and I-we tested her sanity at every turn, and making fun of whichever person just so happened to land in her cross hairs each week.
So, my Father printed out 48 columns for her first year. Think, she was employed there for 13 years, and generally had a column in the paper every Sunday. Year number one, she printed 48 out of 52 weeks. That's a heck of a legacy. Way to go Dad! 1 year down and 12 more to go!!
He sent copies of 3 of her columns. One was specifically written for me, and I had never forgotten about it. It was about an umbrella and me graduating from college.
Guess I'll include it to make my point-

The Umbrella
Nancy Jenkins Welch
Originally published in the St8tesboro Herald

I can hardly believe it. It’s time to buy the umbrella.

Some sixteen years ago my husband, who was completing his degree at the University of South Carolina, came home from class with a concerned look on his face. Our daughter, about 18 months old, was in her high chair babbling happily away and I was cooking supper. The man of the family put down his brief case and said very seriously, “We have to make sure she has an umbrella when she goes to college.”

I asked what in the world he was talking about. He explained. He said he was driving across campus late that afternoon when it started to rain. He stopped at a light and a young college co-ed crossed the street in front of him.

“It was pouring and she was getting so wet. She was absolutely drenched,” he said. “I felt sorry for her.”
Then I thought, “I have to tell Nancy. We have to make sure our little girl has an umbrella when she goes to college.”

I laughed hysterically at the time. There sat our cherub, munching on Cheerios and smiling at her daddy. His concern just seemed so silly.

Not anymore. The time is near, and it got here faster than I would have imagined on that rainy night.

In a short two weeks our 17-year old will don her cap and gown and walk down the aisle to collect her high school diploma. In just three more months, she will pack up boxes and assorted pieces of luggage, load up the car and move away. I know she will never be “at home” in the same way again.

We must find that umbrella.

But, it may be tough because not just any umbrella will do.

Her umbrella has to be the perfect shelter in every storm. It must be sturdy to weather heavy winds and rains. It should be bright so she can be seen at dawn, night or anytime she ventures out in the world.

I would like to find an umbrella with a portable phone so she can call us anytime the weather is too rough. No matter where she is or what time it is, we will find her and take her home.

The umbrella should probably have some rhinestones, fringe or lace. She likes fancy things and says they make her feel happy. Happy is important, even when skies are dark.

Her umbrella must fold down to fit in a pocket or purse. I wouldn’t want her caught unprepared for stormy days or nights.

Her umbrella must be lightweight. I never want her to carry too much of a burden.

I should probably have some important messages printed on the inside for her to see. Things she shouldn’t forget. Let’s see….

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth every morning and night.”
“Budget your money carefully.”
“Always tell the truth.”
“Study hard.”
“Have fun, but be sensible. Never let others influence you to do wrong.”
“Don’t forget to call home and when you do, be sure to speak to your brother. He misses you, too.”
“Get your hair out of your eyes.”
“Get homesick from time to time.”
“Say your prayers.”
“Remember you are loved and you always have a safe port in any storm as long as you can find your way home.”
“Call if you need Cheerios.”

NJW

This column came in time for my yearly fundraiser with Relay for Life in Bulloch County. Which happened to fall the week before her birthday-and then, again with my wonderful friends, I promised I would celebrate her birthday.
My Mom's birthday fell on a Tuesday this year. In a tradition that must have started when I was around 4, a tiara was a must. (I wanted to be Cinderella when i was 4, so I wore a tiara made of tin-foil)
On Mom's birthday I got home, walked the dog and dug up a tiara that belonged to a friend of mine.
As I donned my Tiara and poured myself a glass of wine there was a knock at the door.
It was UPS and the delivery was for me. I was baffled, because I couldn't imagine what they could be. I had no idea who it was from because it had come straight from Amazon.
When I opened the package, there was a bright red umbrella. No card, no explanation, nothing. Just this really cute, bright red umbrella that would fit in my purse.
I laughed and cried at the same time, it was too funny.
It was almost like she was right there with me.
I know now who sent it and I am not going to say names-just for the sheer fact of mystery. But, It made for a wonderful day for me, and I promise to always celebrate my Mother's birthday!

OUCH!

2010-03-02T01:29:00.001-08:00

So, the weather was kinda crappy today. ACTUALLY, it was gorgeous this morning, but by around 3pm, it got pretty dark out for the storm clouds. I kept watch and wondered what was going to happen with the weather this time. I have been regaled with stories of snow, ice and just generally miserable weather from my friends to the North. I have recieved pictures via picture messaging on my phone, emails and facebook. I love the snow, to me there is something magical about it. But, being in New Orleans, snow is but a distant dream! We have seen tiny bits of sleet and A LOT of rain. Which is exactly what happened this afternoon.

Around about 4:30 it started to rain. I stood outside for a minute and watched it drizzle and thought "Ugh, who wants to go out in this crap?" It was gross and the temperature was dropping quickly. I walked back into the lab and decided to go ahead and go home since I had turned off my computer. I considered staying for a few seconds and in all reality, the only thing that pushed me to go home was the fact that I had turned my computer off already.

About the time I got to my car? TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR. Figures.

So, I braved the crappy weather with my crappy tires. I made it home after driving through about 3 feet of water along the I-10 service road near my house. I sat in my car for a mere second and thought "Okay, it's cold, it's rainy. How the hell am I going to get Otis to go for a walk and go to the bathroom in this crap?"

I realized at this juncture that it had started to rain even harder. How was this possible? Where the hell is Noah with his fricking Ark? How the hell was I going to get into my apartment? Little voice in the back of my head said 'run Marcy run!!' and logic said 'don't run! You'll fall and bust your ass!'

And who do I listen to? Little voice. Thank you little voice. Thank you so very very much. I could punch you right now. I mean, who needs logic anyways? Life just seems like more fun when you listen to little voice.

About the time I hit the porch, I slipped. Out front is that slick pavement. Looks nice. You don't get much traction in Birkenstocks though. (okay, they aren't real Birkenstocks, but whatever)

I ate it. I wiped out in a major way. As my body slid sideways into the 1 foot of water on my front porch my ankle turned in a very very unnatural direction. It hurt so bad I thought for a second I was going to pass out and drown in a very shallow puddle of water in front of my apartment. How humiliating.

Somehow I managed to get myself up, unlock the door and got myself into my apartment. My 12 lbs. dog immediately started to jump on me. Now, typically the the force of this small dog hurtling himself into my legs doesn't even phase me. When he knocked me down I realized I may be in a bit of trouble. Thanks again little voice. You jerk.

My first instinct? Disrobe. I was drenched. I somehow got out of my wet clothes and into my room, small dog jumping, licking and just generally making things harder for me. I got myself into my room and into my bed-elevated the foot and picked up my phone (I have no idea how I even had it!). First and foremost, I called my darling friend Emily. No answer. Next? I called my roommate, surely she would help. No answer. At this point, I glanced at my ankle and realized I had really messed it up. It was turning a strange hue of purple and didn't look like it was facing the right direction. Panic set in. So what do I do when panic sets in? Call Dad. Dad has the answer for everything. Dad also lives 13 hours away, so I don't know what I thought I was going to accomplish by calling him.

Dad tells me to calm down and call someone who can come and help me.

I don't know why I didn't call Heidi, Steve or Lizzie, who are all close by. Oh, wait, maybe I was still being guided by that jerk we know to be little voice. Fricking jerk.

So, I called the office. If nothing, there had to be someone at the office that could help me, right?

I got my roommate on the phone. She came and got me and graciously drove me to the closest hospital-without my insurance card.

You know what they do with people like me on a day like this? Put you in a wheelchair and park you in the most inconvenient place in the waiting room, next to the thug that probably has swine flu-who is hacking and coughing ALL OVER YOU.

They got me into the triage and took all of my vitals and asked me some stupid questions-

Triage nurse-

"What did you do?"

Me-

"I fell"

Triage nurse-

"How did you fall?"

Me-

"I slipped"

Triage nurse-

"Where did you fall?"

Me-

"What does this have to do with my ankle?"

Triage nurse-

"oh, I was just curious"

Me-

"Can I have painkillers now?"

Triage nurse-

"Does it hurt?"

Me-

"Well, it's purple, 5 times it's normal size and is pointing in the wrong direction. What the f*&k do you think?"

(condescending look from triage nurse)

At this point, Triage nurse shoved a thermometer in my mouth and looks at me like she'd much rather shove it somewhere else. Guess I was a little to smart with her. Then for some added punishement, Triage nurse drops an ice pack on my ankle and wheels me into another waiting room where she parks me RIGHT NEXT TO THE DOOR. (never anger the triage nurse).

So, I sat in agony for about 2 hours and watched as two children walked in with those germ masks on. I remember thinking, I wonder whats wrong with them? Then the two children take the masks off. And proceed to sneeze, sniffle and cough, ALL OVER ME.

I hate you little voice. I will never listen to you again.

During the two hours that I sat by the door, my foot was bumped about 13 times, various children, adults and strangers hacked, coughed and sneezed on me and I had to beg triage nurse to let me go to the bathroom, where she forced me to take a pregnancy test because I was getting and X-ray. Never mess with the triage nurse. Seriously. That was mildly humiliating.

After my X-ray I saw the Dr. Conversation went as follows-

Dr.-

"Does it hurt when I do this?"

Me-(imagine Satan speaking to you from the depths of hell)

"Don't touch my foot there"

Dr.-

"How did this happen?"

Me-

"I fell"

Dr.-

"It was wet wasn't it, you fell because it was wet, right?"

Me-

"yes, I was running because it was raining and I didn't want to get wet"

Dr-

"Well, did you think you were going to melt or something?"

Me-

"Shut up Captain Obvious"

Dr.-

"It's not broken, but you need to stay off of it for a week, and you need crutches and a boot. It's really going to hurt"

Me-

"No Shit Sherlock"

Dr-

"Well you are just full of piss and vinegar aren't you?"

Me-

"No, jerkface, I am in pain"

So, after 4 hours in the emergency room I got a boot, crutches and a note saying I have to stay off of my foot and out of work for a week. YEAH RIGHT! I mean, I'll be more than happy to stay off of my foot. For longer than a week. But out of work? So not happening.

My poor roommate is going to have to drive me to work until my ankle heals enough for me to press down on the clutch in my car.

And I'm up at 4am watching BBC America because it hurts so bad even the painkillers aren't helping me sleep. Plus the damned dog won't leave me alone.

Wish me luck with this, I may be on crutches for 3 weeks or so. If I have the same kind of luck with the crutches that I had with running the 10 feet from my house to my car, the outlook is not good.

Pray for me, to whatever God you believe in.

Oh, and can somebody bring me some cheez-it's?

Yup, I'm mad.

2010-01-31T16:12:00.000-08:00

Not at anyone in particular, or maybe at everyone. It's true, I'm mad.
I know why. I can tell all of you exactly what my problem is. My Mom died. I had to watch her die a very slow and painful death, and now, where I am in the whole process of grieving-ANGER. BIG TIME.
Let me share with you how mad I am-
If my dog barks for no reason I get mad.
If my friends don't do something I want them to do, I get mad.
If I accidentally drop something and break it? Anger.
Sometimes I feel like all I do is spew venom.
I know why though.
That obviously is not enough. Knowing.
I need therapy, a good dose of antidepressants and maybe some xanax for when I'm being irrational or get panicky. I'm aware of the fact that I'm being irrational, I just for some reason can't stop myself.
I try not to whine and bitch too much, but sometimes it just overcomes me and I cannot stop. Try and point it out to me? Venom spews forth. Watch out.
The worst part of it? I can't really afford to see a therapist. My job doesn't really pay much-despite the fact that I've been doing this for 11 years. I have insurance but I have to meet a deductible first-which means I get to pay someone a nice chunk of change for the first couple of times I go. My friends say "Budget for it". I can to an extent. That means no going out, no taking the GRE, no grad school applications, no meetings with schools, etc. Not that I go out that much, really I rarely go out. When I do go out its for some sort of special occasion-birthdays, Mardi Gras parades, those sort of things.
I'm generally (not) content to sit at home and watch TV.
Why the Not?
Because I am NOT content with much of anything. I'm glad I moved into a cheaper place, it's nice to have a roommate.
But at the same time, it's hard.
It's hard for me to let someone see this much of me-because I am so unhappy.
In the beginning it was pretty tough, just because I was so sad. No anger yet, just great big sadness. And now, I'm just mad as hell.
So bear with me guys. Grief sucks, and this is part of it. I promise I'll see a therapist within the month.
And don't start emailing me stuff about free group therapy. I'll just get mad (harharhar). I think I need some one on one therapy before I do group.

The Air Conditioning War

2010-01-24T12:24:00.001-08:00

When I first started working at the Hxrmatige, my boss and I shared an office. It was small space with brick walls and no insulation. The floors were made from asbestos tile and the roof was metal I think. I'm not really very sure about the roof.

It was pretty cold when I started, but my boss and I managed to keep it warm with a space heater. It was bearable and I don't remember having much of a problem with it at first.

It was once it got hot. Before I arrived at The Hxrmitage, my boss had the AC taken out of the office. I learned after working with him for a short time that this guy and his wife were socially responsible and green. This man was determined to leave as small of a carbon footprint as possible. He would go to great lengths to do so.

When it was cold out, the AC in the window (yes it was a window unit) was unnecessary. It just kept light from coming in. And in the winter, I think we could all use a little bit of extra sunlight.

This was something I later came to agree with him about. Hate to admit it now, but it is true.

Now, once summer rolled around he had a remedy of sorts for the lack of AC. He put a fan in the old coal cellar of the building, and a line of fans up the hallway leading from the basement/boiler room. And to be honest, it worked for a short time.

Then my boss put together a sort of 'living exhibit' which I was to be a part of. This was pretty cool, I must say. It had its frustrating moments, but I rather enjoyed doing it.

I would sit outside under a tent and analyze artifacts behind the mansion. It was a way for people who visited the site to see what happened after the artifacts came out of the ground. It was a way for us to show that excavation wasn't the only part of archaeology. It was pretty genius. And again, I rather enjoyed it-until it got REALLY HOT.

At the end of each sweltering day, I would carry all of my equipment in. This included my computer, references, artifacts from whichever context I was working on, etc. IN THE HEAT.

Then, my boss would want to know about my day. Sometimes I would be more than happy to talk to him about what I had done, seen and talked to people about that day. But sometimes, it was just too damned hot and I was out of patience and tired. And my car had an air conditioner.

Many an afternoon I would start bringing my stuff in to find him sitting at his desk, in a long sleeved shirt, sweating in the heat of this OLD building-just as happy as could be. I never understood. (bear in mind, I understood the point of what he was trying to do, just, I am from the deep south. I have suffered through this kind of heat most of my life, and see no reason to continue to do so)

At some point, sitting outside underneath this plastic tent just became unbearable. I think around late June, when the temperatures soared up into the 100's and the heat index was even higher.

Each afternoon the interaction with my boss was the same. I would come in, drop things onto my desk and say to him "Sheesh, I just don't know how you stand it".

His response? "What? It feels great in here. You should be used to this as an archaeologist!"

Good point. But really the temperature in the office was usually hotter than it was outside. As the days went by the drought got worse, things got drier, hotter and I got even more miserable.

My poor boss. Miserable me is not fun to deal with. I will whine, complain and just generally am a pain in the ass. I would come in and whine about the heat, outside and in. I would tell him he was going to suffer from a heat stroke, I would beg for an air conditioner on rainy days when I had to be inside. I may very well have given him an inkling of what it was going to be like once his soon-to-be-born child turned 2.

Then finally one day I hit a wall. It was 110 outside and I had to go over to the center to get something from someone. They had AC over there and it was COLD. And it felt GOOD. It was 110 and it was only 11:30am. I remember walking into the offices and almost immediately starting to cry. It was so nice inside and I just couldn't stand it anymore. It was so hot I couldn't even think. I just wanted to curl up under an unoccupied desk and go to sleep in the nice cool air. Someone saw the whole thing go down.

After I ate lunch that day, I stopped back by the office to tell the boss man something and was informed that I was to stay inside until the drought abated a little bit. and there was a brand new Air Conditioner in the window. Oh how happy I was. I know my boss wasn't very pleased with me, but I firmly believed at that time that in order for me to be productive, I needed to be comfortable.

Now here's the funny part. I have pretty much lived alone for the last year. I have learned to adjust temperatures of my home to suit me, and have even learned to NOT turn the AC on until I absolutely can't stand it any longer. I have recently moved to New Orleans where the weather is weird at best.

It's been freezing down here, which is not the typical climate for the area. I moved into a new place and even in the freezing weather we didn't really have to turn the heat on. Now it is warm. As soon as it got to 70 degrees outside, my roommate hit the AC and turned it on.

I don't think it's warm enough to turn on the AC. I find myself padding around the house in a sweater, socks and long pants because I think it's freezing. I think my old boss taught me a lesson. Not only did he teach me a little bit about leaving a smaller carbon footprint, but he taught me that you really can adjust to the temperature. Once you get used to it, you notice it less. Although you will NEVER catch me in a long sleeved shirt when it is 110 outside.

The Compass

2010-01-02T16:04:00.000-08:00

After Christmas, as soon as I returned from my time with the family, I had to start moving into a new apartment. I've been pretty excited about this for the sheer fact that it will LOWER my cost of living. I have been packing and schlepping things across a few neighborhoods for several days and I am almost done. Just a few small things and my house plants.

When you move, you always come across a few things here and there that had been tucked away into a corner, pocket, suitcase or envelope. These tiny things you usually keep or tuck away for a reason. I know that I always put them in a place that will save them from being completely forgotten or thrown away.

My Mom died a little over a month before Christmas last year. She was aware of what was happening and had decided to make sure that my brother and I got something very special from her. Something each of us would take with us everywhere we went. A special tidbit from her that would remind us of her and that we would hold close to our hearts forever.

My mom gave me this beautiful old fashioned mariner's compass. It came in a simple and elegant wooden box and had my nickname, Indiana Jane, engraved on it. I always make sure to keep it out somewhere that I can see it often and think of what she would want me to do as each day passes. It is my reminder of her, of her hopes and dreams for me, of what she has seen me accomplish in the past and what she wanted for my future. It is my moral compass.

As an archaeologist I have often used a compass while working. I have spent hours and days on end in the woods. My compass would lead me in the right direction through my day. It guided me as I worked, taking me to the endpoint of each line of shovel tests. It guided me through thick underbrush and sparse woods. Open fields and head-high fields of corn. Through military bases and state parks, from Pennsylvania to Louisiana. It has been steadfast and reliable, always there to guide me in the right direction.

Even though my mother wasn't physically there with me last Christmas, spiritually, she most certainly was. She is with me everyday, and becomes so clear and focused to me every time I look at this compass.

Along with the compass came a card from my Father. It was written in his typical handwriting-all capital letters sitting at a forward angle, almost an anticipation of what he is about to write.

The card was tucked away in my computer bag along with some brochures and the user's manual for my computer. Somewhere where I KNEW I wouldn't throw it away. I knew I would stumble across it again. It would remind me of what was important.

This is what the card from my father read:

Dear Marcy,

When your mother and I were in the hospital in Asheville our conversation turned to "what to get you for Christmas", I sensed that she wanted each of you to have something special, that you could take with you and remember her by.

So that's what I did. In the writer's part of your mother's mind you will always be Indiana Jane, and to thousands of your mother's readers you are Indiana Jane.

I had this engraved with that in mind. So, if you are ever in the woods don't be without it.

So here it is, consider this to be directly from the hand of your mother and think about it every time you use it.

Your Mother and I love you very much.

Dad

Tristan asked me to write a blog about him

2009-11-19T11:43:00.000-08:00

He really did. Tristan is a coworker of mine who WAS in the field, but is currently stuck in the lab with Emily and me.
"Why is Tristan in the Lab?" you ask??
Well, let me tell you.
Tristan was working in New Mexico and he hurt himself.
"How did Tristan hurt himself?" you ask?
Well, let me tell you.
Tristan has a hernia. I am currently referring to it as his third ball. Not because I have seen his testicles, but because the rumor going around was that his injury was something of this sort.
Tristan's explanation of this injury is this-
"It's not a hernia. All the blood that flows into your testicles stops flowing normally and sits down there and pools. Causing a great deal of stress, aggravation, pain, awkwardness, just I don't know, just doctor it up and make it look pretty."
Doctor what up Tristan? I have no desire to doctor up your testicles. That's what your Dr. is for.
Poor Tristan.
Needless to say, Tristan has provided us with much entertainment while he has been here with us in the lab. The guy is hilarious.
And, all of us ladies agree that Tristan is easy on the eyes. We don't mind having him around.
Tristan will have surgery soon. We hope that he is fixed up real nice and that he can get back out there and dig, or do Pedestrian Survey, or be the safety officer, because we are sure he is currently as bored in here as we are.
A quote from Lia about Tristan-
"ummm, I don't know (pensive look) ummm, uhhhhh, hahahahahahaaaaa, he's a mudslinger. That is all"
A quote from Emily about Tristan-
"Tristan sucks and I hope he leaves the lab soon."
me- "That's it Emily?"
"yeah, that is it. cause you know how nice I am to the people I love"
(which in general means the meaner I am to you the more I love you)
From Heidi-
"Whenever I see something really disgusting and morbid -- the kind of thing most people would prefer to never see -- my immediate response is to tell Tristan about it. We both really like that sort of thing. For awhile, we were doing our best to gross each other out."
From Tristan-
"I don't know him. I hear he's a bit of a dick though. I'm sure he's rather charming."

We hope you get fixed up real nice Tristan, although, we are rather enjoying having you in the lab with us. You keep us all entertained.

Living in the ghetto isn't always a bad thing

2009-11-16T21:23:00.000-08:00

Did I already write about this? I am sure you readers have been informed on a number of occasions that I live in the ghetto. It drives me nuts. Most days it drives me nuts. When I walk my dog, I often come across used condoms on the sidewalk. Well, actually, I have to pry these disgusting disease ridden things out of my dogs mouth (no he is not allowed to lick any one's face, not anymore) a couple of times.
Any number of my friendly male neighbors are asking me on any given day to "talk". I finally got so annoyed with this one afternoon while walking the mutt, I said to dread locked gold grill neighbor-actually shouted it up to the top balcony where he stood-"I'm right here, what do you want to talk about?" I didn't realized that meant go on a date-or go out. Whatever. It was very Romeo and Juliet, let me tell you. I told dread lock gold grill neighbor that I had a boyfriend.
Most of my neighbors are actually really awesome people and I like them a lot. Here's are a few reasons-
If I need anything, all I have to do is ask. The same goes for them. If I cook too much of something, I share. They do the same. If there is beer, food, grilling, anything of the sort going on, everyone comes out. It's great.
The best one by far-
When you lock your keys in your car, there is someone in the vicinity to get them out for you.
Yeah. I locked my keys in my car. I was bored, a little tipsy and super antsy one (F*&KING) humid evening, so I ran down the street to the store and bought myself some beer. I was gathering everything together to get out of my car, and thought I had my keys. I didn't.
When I hit lock, stood up and closed the door with my hip, I realized I didn't have my keys.
Nope. They were still in the ignition.
I called my neighbor Kerry and told him, and he and three of my other neighbors (the ones I really like) came down to solve the problem. They had my keys out pretty quickly and it was FREE. Yup.
Well, except for for Emily, who drove all the way over from Mid-City to bring me my extra house key. Of course, It got her out of the house for an hour, and a good story to taunt me with the next day at work.
So, living in the ghetto isn't always a bad thing.

Escapades in NOLA and other miscellanneous thoughts....

2009-11-08T22:12:00.000-08:00

So last month was pretty tough for me. Not because I moved, or because I can't seem to keep my bank account on the right end of the negative sign, but because I spend a majority of it torturing myself. I miss my Mom. Always will. I have to accept this and try to function like a normal person. Although consuming almost an entire container of cake frosting in the course of 3 days felt a lot like taking some xanax and getting some normal sleep to me.

I told you guys about my bout with the flu. It sucked. I still have a wee bit of a cough, of course if I would just quit smoking, the cough would have probably been gone a week after the flu went away. I love it when I wake up at 4am because I hear a whistling sound, only to discover the sound is coming from MOI. I swear the sound didn't start until I had the hacking caused by the Influenza. I swear. Now I'm gonna take a smoke break. Cause I only had one like an hour ago. cough cough wheeze...

Recently I went out with some friends and after friend #1 bailed to see a guy (can't say I blame her, things around here have been dull on the guy front-due to the parade of people that want to stay at my house) friend #2 and I decided to grab a bite at 230am. Nothing was opened in the safe part of town, so we wound up at a diner near my apartment in the ghetto. While dining there was a domestic altercation that escalated to a point that we found ourselves hiding in the bathroom while calling 911. I got so scared I even left my purse unattended on the table. Needless to say, we paid our tab, let the management that DIDN'T call 911 know that we had and bolted. Oh how I love this city. And I wonder why locals are paranoid. DUH.

So, right when I first got here, there was a random guy that I thought was cool. Stupid me. I probably wouldn't have thought much of the whole thing if my friends hadn't kept saying to me "he was flirting with you! Give him your number!" I found out *inadvertently* that he was single and figured it wouldn't hurt to try to get him to ask me out. So, gave him my number and basically said "think you are cool, seem like a nice guy, here's my number". Nothing more than that. Never heard from him and sort of forgot about it. Because I DIDN'T KNOW HIM THAT WELL. Just in passing really. Wound up somewhere where he happened to be and talked to him. I told him I had given him my number in said attempt to get him to ask me out. I got what I thought to be a mildly arrogant response, but got his number also. Found out another acquaintance also had a crush on him and just dropped it. It just wasn't that important. After I completely dropped the whole thing, got a face book message from him stating that he just wasn't interested in dating. I think I had already figured that out. Heard the day after I got the message from him that he had sent the same message to the other girl/acquaintance that was interested. I think maybe this boosted his ego a little too much. Needless to say, I got a good laugh out of it. Some guys don't realize that all girls aren't interested in getting into a really serious relationship. That wasn't quite what I was shooting for, I just was interested in getting to know him. Not so much now.

We've got some new field crew in. The ones I have had a chance to get to know seem like a pretty cool bunch. I've taken them out once (just three of them, there are about 20 I think) and if they stick around I think they will fit in quite well. They like the drink, which I think is a requirement for young archaeologists. I drove them and they drank. The couple got into a drunken fight, and I decided to let them have it out. They also had about an hour long conversation with a homeless man outside of the bar about the homeless man's bus ticket. I could've cared less about the homeless man's bus ticket. Generally I either ignore it, or give the homeless person a couple of dollars to either fuel their crack habit or get them where ever it is they need to go.

We have a hurricane on the horizon, probably making landfall on the Gulf Coast tomorrow. Everyone in my apartment complex is in an uproar. I forget a lot of them are from the Lower 9th Ward, so they have reason to get really anxious. It looks as though the hurricane, Ida, will not be hitting here, but probably hitting east of us. Also probably won't be a hurricane by the time it makes landfall because it is considerably cooler than it is in August and September (coulda fucking fooled me-I miss seasons) and it's the warm tropical air that makes these storms so dangerous. Jindal has had the foresight to declare a state of emergency just to have FEMA-because they are so fucking effective you know- and various other government agencies on standby just in case. I don't like Jindal much, but I have to say he is doing more than good 'ol Kathleen Babineaux Blanco did during Katrina. She was NOT effective. Funny thing is, I remember when Jindal ran against her and lost. I can't help but wonder if all the people that voted for her regret it now. She was a dud.

I need to sleep, but after stomping around the city all day yesterday, going to the quarter last night and having a guest all weekend I was tired today. So I slept a lot today. I feel guilty for not being up and about for activity but I am not used to having someone around 24/7, and I don't do well being on someone Else's schedule. Plus, all these people coming and going is draining the everliving crap out of my budget. New Orleans is expensive. And I hardly spent any money this weekend. Money stresses me out.

The dog has not been on his best behavior, I think because of the house guest. I've notices he barks more when there is someone besides me in the house. REALLY super annoying. He has also peed in the house twice in the last 3 days. He's been so good, I don't know if he's just being territorial or if he is just trying to embarrass me.

So, I need to try to sleep, work tomorrow. Despite the fact that I have nothing to do at work. So close to nothing that I actually left work a little early on Friday. I know I shouldn't have, but dammit I was bored to tears and just wanted to get home. I did have a great week this week, and a nice weekend. I hope this next week coming holds the same for me. Even though I know it's going to rain a lot.

New Place, New Politics

2009-10-20T10:56:00.000-07:00

So, I am working in a new office. Not really that new, I worked here before, but it is new in comparison to what I had been doing.
What HAD I been doing you ask? I was employed at The Hxrmitage, home of Prxsident Andrew Jackson. (note the misspelling, I did this on purpose) I was working on a grant from NEH and collecting data for a database called DAACS. A pivotal research database for Historical Archaeology around the country-but thus far mostly in the Eastern part of the US. We were very excited, we would be one of the first inland plantations to add data to their site, and we would be one of the first cotton plantations. People would be able to compare the lifestyles of the enslaved at a cotton plantation to that of a sugar plantation, among many many things.
I learned some really important things while working on DAACS. I had to learn, know and love the Harris Matrix, I had to understand stratigraphic relationships, I had to understand why you absolutely positively CANNOT under any circumstances fill in information for any reason. If it isn't there, it isn't there. I had to learn a very labor intensive system that taught me so much about historic artifacts it can be mind boggling for someone who isn't used to lab work. It can be mind boggling to someone who is extremely familiar with lab work. I learned how to have the resources to BACK UP WHAT I BELIEVED something was when there was confusion about an artifact. I learned so much in the two years I spent there, sometimes I think it felt like grad school.
So, now, I am back at the job I worked before I went to work in Tennessee. I love New Orleans and I love this office. In the time I have been gone a lot has changed, but I am glad to be back.
I have gotten to work on some interesting things, but thus far work has been slow at best. We are waiting for things to "pick up" around here. We have several big projects starting up, but there has been little to no historic cultural material found.
Why is this a problem for me you ask? Well, my boss hasn't let me do anything but historic analysis so far. I have done prehistoric analysis before, and lot of it. I am pretty familiar with chert types, tempers for aboriginal ceramics (mostly in Georgia, but I am familiar) and such things. I mentioned this to my coworker. I don't want to limit myself to historics, I would like to do both. I have had to train her, but I have not been given the opportunity to work with her yet.
I feel a little useless. Like I am only here to do historic analysis.
and today, the kicker was this-
My coworker Emily mentioned she could use the help and she could do a quick review with me and put me on a prehistoric project they have been trying to curate for quite some time. My boss looked at me and asked me "do you know anything about stratigraphy?"
REALLY???
I should never have been able to graduate from college with a degree in archaeology if I didn't know what stratigraphy was. I am not kidding.

Grief

2009-10-12T00:05:00.000-07:00

Grief is a funny thing. Funny how I can go for days on end and be fine. Then suddenly, something happens and it rolls over me like a wave. I can't help from time to time but wonder if it is grief or depression-or maybe a combination of both. When I stand still and look back over the last year, I am amazed at what I have managed to withstand. I can't help but wonder if I am really dealing with it or if I have just put blinders on and somehow managed to just barrel through it. I know that there are people out there who are going through the same thing and maybe I should try to reach out. But in my mind this pain is so private and such a painful process that the idea of sharing what I am feeling in my heart with someone else is almost unbearable.

Right now I feel like I am standing still while everything else around me is moving. I feel sometimes like I am living in a fog that is so thick that I can't reach through it. I want to crawl out of my skin and be someone else for a little while. Someone who still has a mother. Someone who has enough money to pay my bills on time and enjoy life. Someone who is generally happy with everyday life and isn't trying to find some self-destructive way to make it all normal again. I want to be like I used to be.

It is amazing to me how profoundly the death of someone you love can change things.

Realistically, things will never be the same. I will never have my mother back. This is my life now, I have to deal with it whether I want to or not. I have to accept the fact that there is a big empty hole where my mother used to live in my heart. She is still there, but I can say very selfishly, not the way I want her to be. I can hold the memories of her close and hope that there is a life after this one where I will see her again.

There is so much about her that I miss, so much that was taken for granted. I miss her laughter, even when it was scornful. I miss her smell. I have clothes of hers in my closet, and somehow, even now there is still a slight whiff of her that still clings to them. I miss how she used to fold her pretty hands in her lap and sigh when she was frustrated. I miss seeing her smile, how her eyes would crinkle at the corners and turn down, forming half moons. They seemed to twinkle at you in this mischievous way. I miss her candid way of looking at life and laughing no matter how tough times got.

We are quickly coming up on the year anniversary of her death and I wish she was here so I could talk to her about how I feel. I miss her so very very much. She was such a bright spot in so many people's lives and I know I am not the only one who misses her. My beautiful mother.

I know with time this will get easier, but today it seems almost more than I can bear.

My heart is heavy.

I miss you Mom. It seems like you should still be here, and I am mad that you aren't.

Taking a Trip Out of Town

2009-10-04T23:47:00.000-07:00

So, work sent me out of town. I was sent to our sister office in Maryland to help out with a pretty cool project that was said to have some really cool artifacts-exciting stuff.
I had every intention of getting a flu shot before I left, but got wrapped up in finding a dog-sitter, getting laundry done, working out the logisitics of the trip (with the help of a really fantastic logistics coordinator), and running to Baton Rouge with coworkers to do some last minute research at site files.
I was to fly in Sunday night so I could be in the lab in Maryland Monday morning because there was a big rush on this project, and would work the full work week, and fly back on Saturday morning. I remember thinking it would make for a bit of a long workweek, but was willing to take one for the team, and I knew the artifacts would be pretty cool.
So, I packed up, cleaned up my apartment, took the dog to my friend and hit the airport to catch my flight.
First leg of the flight was fine, maybe a little bit of turbulence, but otherwise, no big deal.
Second leg of the flight was mildly stressful.
Thankfully, the wonderful logisitics coordinator at work had already checked me in so I got on the flight in the first round of passengers. I got a window seat, and the single serving friend who seated herself next to me left the seat between the two of us empty. Gotta love that.
About ten minutes into the flight I noticed a middle aged woman sitting across the aisle was coughing. I glanced at my single serving friend and raised my eyebrows. She rolled her eyes and shrugged. (I have to say at this point, for the whole entire flight, my single serving friend and I never actually exchanged words, only "looks")
The woman across the aisle blew her nose and hacked a couple more times. I started to get a little bit uneasy. I couldn't help but wonder how sick she was. She looked pretty rough. She was pale, her nose was red, and she looked like she was sitting in a cold sweat. I got annoyed. I hoped that I wouldn't get sick. This was my chance to prove my worth with our sister office. I felt it was an important and pivotal trip for me.
The woman continued to hack and cough, and single-serving friend and I continued to exchange annoyed looks with each other.
As soon as our flight landed I was out of there and into the bathroom to wash my hands and face as quickly as possible. I picked up my rental, got to the hotel, prepped for the next day-studied if you will and got a good nights sleep.
I arrived at work the next day to meet up with Margaret, I was thrilled, I have worked with Magaret before and she's hellafun.
We had a great Monday, got the ball rolling and I am glad to say I grasped the coding system fairly well and made plans for the week ahead with Margaret.
By the end of the day I was feeling pretty rundown. I started to worry.
The next day I was tired and felt the tickle in my throat that is usually a precursor to a cold.
By the end of the day I was tired, coughing and my eyes felt grainy.
I grabbed some food after work and went back to the hotel to eat. I promptly threw up what I ate. Jerkface lady on the plane....
So, by Wednesday morning I was running a full on fever. I had to opt out on going in the the office and asked if they could send work to the hotel for me to do so as not to SPREAD MY SICKNESS TO OTHERS.
By Thursday I was positively miserable. Too miserable to work. I called around and found an urgentcare center where I could see a Dr.
I told the Dr. my symptoms and he concluded that I probably had the flu. He asked me if I would let them run a flu test on me. He wanted to make sure I didn't have swine flu.
Now, a rapid flu test was what I got. This entailed a very smug and masochistic nurse sticking a swab up my nose and practically touching my brain. She did warn me, but I wasn't expecting for it to be that bad. She handed me a tissue, told me to sit on my hands (good advice) and stuck the swab so far up my nose I started yelling. It hurt. I felt like my nose had been raped. I felt violated. As if I didn't feel bad enough already. Bitch. I swear she enjoyed it.
I passed the test. Meaning I did have the flu. Not the swine flu, but the flu. I was not allowed to work or fly until Oct. 6. AAAAAAAARRRRRGH!! To top it all off, I was stuck in a hotel room in a strange city and running a fever and dammit, I wanted my Mom. That of course, made a miserable trip even worse, cause Mom passed a year ago this month. I did a lot of crying and pleading with my office to find a way to get me HOME.
Needless to say, I wound up driving home instead of flying and I am not only still a little sick, but I am tired and I can't sleep.
My feelings on this whole thing? IF YOU ARE SICK, DO NOT GET ON A PLANE AND SPREAD YOUR SICK TO EVERYONE ELSE.

My friend Emily

2009-09-02T20:41:00.000-07:00

She's funny. She's smart. She's REALLY funny.
Before I moved down here she was kind enough to loan me her daughter's bedroom floor to sleep on while I was looking for a place.
The trip down here was pretty tiring. I got up at 3am and left at 4am. I was in New Orleans by noon so I could have lunch with my friends-Emily and Heidi, and then hit the town to find an affordable one bedroom place. I looked at a couple of places and found one on Friday which was a blessing, I was exhausted. After that I went to Heidi's house to hang out with her boyfriend Steve, another friend of mine. I lasted until about 10 and headed back to Emily's place to hang out with Emily for a little while before going to bed.
We hung out for about an hour and I was ready to hit the sack, I was POOPED. We set up a makeshift bed on the floor of Allia's room and I was asleep within minutes.
Emily was sleeping in the next room with her baby daddy and her kids (who are super cute).
So, because I was in bed so early, I of course, woke up at 7am. And of course, when you wake up in the morning the first thing you want to do is use the restroom. So I got my toothbrush out and got up to hit the bathroom. I was the only person awake.
Just as I reached for the bedroom doorknob I noticed a VERY LARGE spider in the doorjamb above my head. Normally spiders don't bother me all that much, but because of the location of this one, I was not walking through that door without some backup.
I started out by texting Emily (in the next room) to please come help me. The spider was not budging and I was stuck. I continued to text Emily for about 20 minutes. I figured something eventually had to give right? Either the spider would move, I would wet my pants or Emily would come to my rescue.
Right.
After being completely unsuccessful with texting, I started calling. I could hear the baby, Kaden so I knew she would have to get up soon. After another 10 minutes of nonstop calling Emily finally answered the phone. I got a really sleepy "what Marcy it's 730am?"
I of course informed her that there was a very large spider, I was trapped and she needed to come help me.
Emily immediately came to the rescue and when she opened the door, Allia in tow, I pointed to the spider above her head as I cowered on the other side of the room. I did not see this ending well. I just knew the spider was prepared for some sort of attack.
She looked up at the spider. She started to laugh. I was incredulous.
She reached up and grabbed the spider as I completely lost it. This thing was huge.
And plastic.

Otis and the lip gloss

2009-08-22T19:42:00.000-07:00

So, you all know that I love my dog and he's my main source of entertainment. He's hilarious. He's also one of those "so ugly he's cute" kind of dogs. He has been described in previous blogs and I will randomly include pictures. Like the one above.
We've pretty much gotten settled in here in NOLA and he's been really good. We had a couple of bathroom mishaps in the house when we first got here, but since then we've gotten him into a routine and he's been great. He lets me know when he needs to go out and we have a good thing going. He had to go to the vet a couple of weeks ago, he got an ear infection, but he's doing great. He even seems to like the ear drops. He has started to roll over, tail wagging, as soon as he sees me take the little bottle of ear antibiotics out of the fridge. Guess it must feel good.

Last week he was feeling a bit mischievous. I think because I was a little blue, we are coming up on the year anniversary of my mother's death and I have been thinking of her a lot. I have noticed when I am feeling kind of blah about it all, he gets really animated and his antics are more dramatic and funny. I am not really sure if it's because I just need to laugh or if he senses that I'm a little down and decides to try to cheer me up. I like to think it's that he wants to cheer me up. I may spend entirely too much time alone with this dog.

So one day last week I was getting ready for work. Generally this does not include make up or lots of time in the mirror. I get up, walk him, shower, get dressed and am generally on my way. He's pretty cute in the morning. He's got that wire-haired coat that sticks up all over the place and has his own little doggie version of bed head. It's really funny to see.
This particular day he was out in the living room while I was going through my morning routine of getting ready. I was thinking he was being awful quiet, but I was running a bit behind so I just ignored the silence.
Finally, I grabbed my purse from the chair in the living room and glanced at him. We have come to the agreement that if he doesn't use the bathroom in the house, he doesn't have to stay in his crate all day while I am gone. He likes this.
I noticed he was chewing on something and leaned over to see what it was. I also, at this point, noticed he had something on his fur.
Lip Gloss.
My expensive, discontinued color, aveda lip gloss. He was happily chewing on the back end of the tube and wagging his tail. And it was smeared all over his little face. I was furious, this would make me late for work, but damn it was funny. He had managed to get it all around his mouth, so it looked like he was wearing purple lipstick.
Now I was pretty mad at him, but it was so funny I couldn't help but laugh. He also made me late for work. My boss was wholeheartedly amused with my 745am text telling him "I'm going to be late, my dog ate my lipstick".

The Big Move

2009-08-08T18:16:00.001-07:00

So, I got laid off, I am sure that was mentioned at some point, and if not, then well- I got farking laid off.
Not by a lack of skills or work ethic on my part, but by a lack of intelligence by the powers that be at my former workplace.So, about 8 hours into my unemployment (or rather "funemployment") I got a call from the job I had before I worked in Nashville.
My old boss. He says to me "well, I have good news and bad news, which do you want first?"
I told him "Bad news first, then good news"
He said "well, it's really hot down here, but if you want your job back we have work for you"
Never look a gift horse in the mouth. I of course took the job back and started planning for the big move.
Moving across four states is no easy task. You first have to find a place to live, then start packing your stuff, attempt to spend time with all of your friends before you go, find boxes, make lists, inform your landlord that it's either stay and get evicted for not paying the rent or move to a city where the work is. No easy task.
THEN you have to convince your crazy ass OCD roommate that it is a good idea to move and yes you can keep boxes in the living room if you fricking want to. (I was paying to live there too)
After all of these tasks are completed-you have to rent a U-haul. You have to load it. You have to find some wonderful guy Friend who knows how to hook a tow dolly up and put your car on it.
So much work.
Now, my problem with Uhaul-they don't listen.
I called and reserved this truck a week before I needed it. I told them where I lived, knowing that there was a U-haul place right down the street. NOW, you would think that if they had the reservation a week in advance, they would have plenty of time to move the U-haul truck you rented to the store by your house, right?
Wrong.
So on Wednesday before I had to pick the truck up, I started getting calls from a little old lady running the U-haul store. She wanted to know if I was going to keep the reservation. Now, I made the reservation, right? I did not cancel the reservation, did I? Nope. I would think that if someone had reserved a U-haul and hadn't cancelled the reservation, that they needed it right? So it would be unnecessary to call this person 12 times in one day when they are really busy right? RIGHT.
I finally get the little old lady on the phone and explained this to her. Then I tell her I will be in the next day around 4 to pick it up. Her response? We-ull hunny, we close at four-thuurty (with the most country accent I have ever heard). I explained to her that I had to have someone drop me off and that if I got there before 430, then all was good in the world of U-haul. She didn't feel the same way. She wanted me to come in early the next morning. Again, I had to give her a 20 minute explanation that if I came in in the morning, it would be at 700am. That didn't fly. We-ull hunny, we don't git heah until 9am. Can't you be heah the-un? No. I cannot. I can come when my friend can drive me out there.
Then I find out that I am talking to the U-haul store in Gallatin. This just so happens to be 50 miles from my house. Now, why do I have to drive 50 miles from my house to pick up a stupid U-haul when there is one down the street? Needless to say, I made her add 80 miles to my contract for the trouble.
I made it to New Orleans fine. This of course after discovering somewhere in Mississippi that you should not try to back a U-haul towing your new car on a dolly if you don't know what you are doing. I managed to run over 5 (yes, count them) plastic trash cans with my car, almost hit someone driving a cargo van, and almost ran out of gas going across Lake Pontchartrain.
So, I won't be moving again anytime soon. At least not anywhere that involves U-haul.
That was amusing, but it kinda sucked too.

I'm out Ya'll

2009-07-21T10:37:00.000-07:00

So, I got laid off. Laid off meaning, losing my job by no fault of my own. It certainly wasn't my fault, that's for sure.
See, I was working on a grant. A grant written by my genius former boss. It was a grant for half a mil. Now, someone who can bring in that kind of money is bank in my book. I would want someone like that working for me-wouldn't you? Particularly if said workplace was a NON PROFIT ORGANIZATION. Right?
Right.
According to the powers that be at said non profit organization, they could no longer afford to pay my former genius boss. Of course, part of his salary was a soft match paid by the non profit organization. Of course, the powers that be thought they would still be able to keep the grant by loading us down with work we didn't know how to do. Which created a bit of a problem.
So, they fired, or rather "laid off" my boss.
When they came to tell us this the first words out of my mouth were "well, that means we will lose the grant. We don't have anyone with the proper credentials to supervise us".
To which the powers that be responded "Grant providers love us! We won't lose this grant!"
I called bullshit on that.
Needless to say, a month later we got laid off and our work was outsourced to another museum.
SO, I am moving back to New Orleans to work for my old company. I am really excited about this.
I found an apartment on the second floor of an apartment complex that has a pool and laundry facility on sight. It's 2 miles from my office and I get to live alone. All is good in the world.
My big question right now is-
Where the hell is my unemployment check?

Something is missing

2009-06-22T22:30:00.000-07:00

Yeah, mom, you are missed. Dad and I spend each evening crying together because we miss you. I wish I had the class combined with balls that you had. You had this way of making all the world okay with a big laugh and wave of the hand. That wave of the hand was so utterly filled with style I cannot even try to explain it to anyone.
I have achieved so many goals, but none of the goals you had for me. I can only follow my own path. Along my path I hear your voice somewhere in the back of my head that tells me exactly what I SHOULD do. But I want so badly to just give the world a big 'ol piece of my mind. I want to say sooo much, but on most days I am at a total loss. I could never fill your shoes, I am not as amazing or beautiful as you.
You got more amazing and more beautiful as I got older, and were the most amazing and the most beautiful to me right before you left me. Maybe that is why we cling on to you so hard. I can't wait to see you on the other side. I know when my time comes you'll be right there to lead me into the next life. That's your job right? Isn't that how I got here? Didn't you bring me here?
I sit here on this Island, dripping with spanish moss and humidity and all I can think of is you. This is my vacation. I wish I could sit on the beach with you and talk about whatever boy(s) I like. I wish we could worry over bad hair, good manners and fashion with you.
I miss you Momma.
Dad misses you too. We both felt you until recently. You left us, I think for a much better place (don't let Grandma Jenks cheat at cards mom!) and we know you'll come see us when we need you. I sort of need you right now, but it's my own selfish need. I know you'll show at the right time. Whenever that time is.
I look forward to seeing you again Mom.
I hope I can be as smart, beautiful, funny, graceful and wonderful as you. I have some really big shoes to fill Mom.
I love you.
Marcy (Indiana Jane)

I haven't written much lately....

2009-06-16T22:27:00.000-07:00

I just haven't. I have a lot to write about, but there is so much I just can't say for so many reasons. Maybe another time, another day.
What's on my mind, you ask?
These things-
Why is my roommate so angry? She's not angry at me, but more angry in general. She has been this way since I met her, one of those people who always has that black could over her head. Her glass is always empty. Never even half empty, just empty and it being full is never in sight. And it's hard to deal with. Especially when you can feel as much as I can from other people. Sounds crazy I know, but I can feel so much of what other people are feeling. I can't quite figure out how to block it out. It's hard to filter out this kind of energy. I can feel her anger, even when she doesn't talk about it. It really makes it hard on the days when I am dealing with my own problems-and I have no shortage of those. She forgets sometimes that I am still grieving. I miss my Mom. What could possibly be worse than losing a parent? I understand that her work sort of sucks, I totally get that her house got broken into and her car got stolen, but who really lives in that neighborhood and thinks that nothing bad is going to happen? I most certainly don't. I'm no dummy. It's hard for me to feel sympathy for her when I am so lost in my own grief on some days.
I've tried to talk to her about it and it usually ends with her either screaming or whining about how awful her life is and how much everything sucks. Well no shit. I am living in this world too. I see what sucks about my life, but at least my cup is half full. At least my cup is not constantly empty with no chance of being full.

Another worry of mine, my Dad. I just want for him to be healthy and happy. Next week we go on vacation, 8 days of vacation at the beach. He called me today because he invited a lady friend of his to join us. She's not staying with us, but she will visit. My mother has only been gone for 7 months. (my itunes is on random and suddenly started playing tool. How fricking appropriate) Now he is asking me to be nice to some woman he may or may not be interested in. How am I supposed to react? I most certainly will not be rude to her, but I hope no one expects that she will replace my mother. Because no one will replace my mother. Not so soon. It's just too soon. I can't give much more of an explanation than that. I miss my Mom with a force that's greater than whatever it is that moves me forward each day. I don't even know how to explain it.

Next thing, my current fear of losing my job and not being able to find another one. This is not an economy that one with a degree in liberal arts wants to live in. There just isn't much out there. I have even gone so far as to consider the Peace Corps. Now this, for me is drastic. I have never been a person that has wanted to be away from my family. I don't have much family left at this point. I have my Dad, my Brother, Sister-in-Law, my nephew, a smattering of Aunts and Uncles and some really awesome cousins. Compared to most, this isn't much, but it's enough for me to want to be close. To wander to some far corner of the earth is a strange and crazy thought. But would this necessarily be a bad thing-to wander to some far corner of the earth and discover something amazing? Would it be such a bad thing to be fluent in some language I have never heard of? Would it be so bad to lose myself somewhere in this great big world and learn something really important and special? I worry so much that if I leave my typical world behind that something will happen and I won't be able to get back. I am the one that has always been there, no matter what. I feel like leaving all of this behind would be selfish. Would it be selfish? I don't want to preach the gospel (I'm just not that terribly religious to be honest) I want to really be able to help people. I think my life is so hard, but I know that someone else's life is harder than mine. Much harder. I have money and groceries and my Dad will help if I need it. I am lucky to live the life I live.

The final thing-when will I be able to stop crying over my mother's death? I go through peaks and valleys of missing her. Sometimes I feel like it's my fault she's not here. I really do know better, but I think this is just part of the process. I know that there are just some things that we have no control over. Some things just are, and nothing can stop it. Sometimes it is just out of our human hands. I can honestly say that I knew she was sick before everyone else did. I could see it or feel it -maybe it's that thing of not being able to filter some things out. They seep into my consciousness in this crazy way that I can't even explain. Maybe I can feel and see more than most. Mom told me when I was really young that I had a gift. She said I could feel more than most. I thought it was being too sensitive. I think this is what she was talking about.
I knew she was sick and we just couldn't convince the Doctors. I should have pushed harder, been more stubborn.
But then, she was so tired of being poked and prodded and tested and scanned. She hated it. I have been to the Doctor a lot lately, and every time they drew blood-my nurse wasn't so gentle-all I could thing was how much it must have sucked to have a constant pain in my arm, to constantly feel this aggravation of someone needing to find a vein. And her veins were in pretty bad shape from three years of chemotherapy.
She was so brave. She really tried hard to fight, but at some point the fight was one that was bigger than she was willing to fight.
It still bothers me that I couldn't save the woman that made every scraped knee, every failure, every heartbreak, every bad day, and every rotten piece of fruit better. I can only hope to be half of the woman that my Mother was.
I love you Momma. I miss you.

Otis gets bored too

2009-05-03T19:28:00.001-07:00

So I had to share this picture with the world.
My dog Otis really reminds me of a fraggle.
What would his fraggle name be? Anyone? I'm open for suggestions on this one.

Otis strikes again

2009-05-03T18:49:00.000-07:00

So, Otis has been fairly well behaved this past week. We have pretty much been stuck inside for most of it, so we have chilled, watched movies, read books, cleaned up and washed dishes (close your mouth, I actually did wash the dishes).
After four days of not getting out, by Thursday I had just about had it. I was either going to break something or go crazy. I left Otis alone in the house with strict rules-no pooping in the house, don't open the door for strangers and no parties while I was out. He promised to comply.
I went out and had a bite to eat with one of my friends, and we moved on to the Red Door East, my favorite watering hole. I had promised myself no alcohol for a month-I needed a "detox", but after being trapped inside for four days, I figured a few beers wouldn't hurt.
I ran into several of my favorite East Nashvillians and stayed out until late. Well, not too late, but late enough.
I also ran into a gentleman friend of mine. We all talked, had a good time, and I at some point decided to turn in for the night. I invited my gentleman friend over for a nightcap.
Thank goodness I had washed the dishes. My place was pretty well in a state of disarray, but, I figured it was late and it wouldn't really matter.
I didn't figure it was too bad, I mean, if I can stand it-it can't be that bad right?
Hah.
So, I had a lovely evening, my gentleman friend stayed for the night and all was good.
The next morning he hit the road pretty early after using the restroom and gathering his things (fine by me, meant I had the bed to myself for the remainder of the hour I had planned on sleeping) and I went back to bed.
I slept rather peacefully and woke up 30 minutes before I had to be at work. Dammit.
I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to take a shower and get ready.
Otis, being the dear that he is, had pooped ON my only clean towel. Shouldn't have left it on the floor.
This, of course, sent me scrambling. I had to shower, get my hair in order and get on the road.
After cleaning up his mess, scaring up another clean towel-yes I pulled it out of my you-know-where, I got ready to leave. I leaned over to grab Otis to put him in his crate and saw another small steaming pile of turd behind my papa son chair.
At this point I wondered if maybe I was being punished?
I showed him pile number 2, gave him a sound scolding and a pop on the rear and put him in his crate.
I walked over to my desktop to turn it off and LO AND BEHOLD, the golden steaming turd pile number 3.
Really?
Now at this point I realized that Otis may have been a little jealous of the gentleman friend taking his spot in my bed.
I pulled the little turd machine out of his crate and showed him pile number 3, scolded him and put him back in his crate.
As I was walking out the door, I couldn't help but wonder how many of those turd piles my gentleman friend noticed.
And then I also began to wonder what my gentleman friend must have thought about the state of my living space.
It wasn't all that neat. So, this is what I have sumrised-
He probably saw all three piles and now thinks I am a HUGE, GROSS, MESSY SLOB that won't clean up her dog's poop and doesn't bother with training.
How embarassing.

It's been raining since Tuesday

2009-05-03T15:38:00.000-07:00

I know rain is a good thing. I am aware that it waters the lawn, my garden etc. But for cryin' out loud it's been raining since Tuesday. It is now Sunday. I got so annoyed this morning with the rain that I actually went out and dicked around with my garden in the rain. Cabin fever my friends.
So, the garden. I planted a small garden on Tuesday afternoon. This was after I mowed the back lawn on Monday. I discovered (do not laugh at me) I really like yard work. It gives me something to do. Particularly when I am avoiding washing dishes. This is my least favorite task, as I have announced on several occasions. I will do anything to avoid it.
So, Tuesday after work, I hit Home Depot on the way home and bought some squash, zucchini, okra, pepper, oregano and tomato plans. I also bought seeds. And compost.
I got home, unloaded the car and started digging a hole in the yard. Added the compost, planted the plants and it was good.
The next morning I checked out my handiwork on my way out and it was good.
While at work, I mentioned to my boss man (he's from Berkeley, the hotbed of liberal ideology, and he knows everything) that I had planted some things in my yard.
Now, he keeps a garden, and a really awesome one at that. He also has a meat digester, compost heap, small greenhouse and a car that runs on vegetable oil.
He looked at me and said "You know Marcy, you might want to put some bird mesh over that. My friends that live over in East Nashville like you had their tomato plants decimated by birds over the weekend"
I didn't think anything else of it. He is always full of advice and ideas. I went on with my day.
When I got home from work I went to check out my modest plot.
Four of the twelve plants no longer had leaves.
And there were about 8 birds sitting along the top of the fence above the garden mocking me.
So, this was not good.
I went back to Home Depot (where I spent $100 the day before) and bought some bird mesh.
I put the bird mesh over the plants pretty close to the ground. I figured I would fix it later, put it a little higher up.
Then it started to rain. It hasn't stopped.
I noticed, that despite the fact I had put the bird mesh over the garden, the jerks were somehow still getting to the plants.
I no longer have any squash plants with leaves. Good thing I bought some seeds to plant also. That I will do when it stops raining.
So Have been waiting for a few days for the rain to stop. There appears to be no end in sight. I am not kidding. There has been enough rain, I have pondered building an Ark. I am sure Otis and I would do fine on a boat for 40 days and 40 nights.
So, the birds have all but decimated my plants. Except for the oregano, which has taken over.
I got out there in the cold rain and muck this morning and fixed the bird mesh.
Now all I need is a BB gun.
Don't get mad my animal rights activists. The birds are eating my summer grocery store. Something must be done.
I really like tomatoes, particularly ones from a small garden in someone's backyard. They taste better.

Otis Redding, aka Mr. Pitiful

2009-04-09T21:25:00.000-07:00

So I have this dog, Otis. I inherited him from my mother when she passed. I hated this dog when it was a puppy and didn't live with me. He barked, ate his own poop, always peed on the trash can, or anything plastic (I don't know on this one) and had the highest shrillest bark on the face of the planet. And he really likes the sound of his own voice.
He is an ugly dog. He can't help it, it's not his fault. His mother was a Chinese Crested Powder Puff, and his father was a Rat Terrier. The mixing of these two breeds leaves you with a very odd looking dog. Chinese Crested and Chinese Crested Powder Puff are of the same breed, one doesn't have hair and one does have hair. You may see where I am going with this.
He has hair,just not a whole lot of it. And it is white. His skin is a shade of pink that shows through his fur and he has a terrible underbite. I can fit the tip of my thumb between his lower teeth-which are the ones you see, and his upper teech, which are set back. Mom used to say that he needed doggie braces. And yes, it is my understanding that there is such a thing as doggie braces.
The worst part of it all is that he has cherry eye. I don't even know how to explain this to you. It looks as bad as it sounds.
When Mom started to get sick again, my Father asked me to help him take care of the dog. This meant he would travel with me back and forth from Nashville to Highlands. So, I started taking him with me everywhere I went except for work. I had to break him of the barking at other cars or trucks passing us on the interstate. Let me tell you, with his bark I had thrice times almost had a wreck because it was such a loud sharp jolt.
He became my 11 pound companion that farted openly, liked (and sometimes still does) to eat his own poop, always wanted to sit in my lap, tried to protect me from any and everything, made me laugh consistently, and was always ready and willing to listen to my complaints and tears no matter what. When Mom died Dad asked me to take on the resposibility of taking care of the dog. I did. Dad didn't ask me to do this because he didn't like the dog, he asked me to do this because the dog seemed to really like me.
So I moved out of my house on Holly and found a one bedroom basment aparment with a great big fenced in yard. Somewhere that I was allowed to have him.
Didn't take long for me to discover that the dog needed training. Actually I had an inkling the day of Mom's funeral when Otis peed in Leslie's best shoes. Despite the fact that he is a funny and entertaining dog, he was peeing on everything. And he was sneaky about it too. I crated him during the day and didn't let him out of my sight. He still would pee on things. It wasn't a "I-have- to-go-to-the-bathroom-mom-let-me-out" kind of thing. It was more of a "I'm-gonna-pee-on-your-suff-just-because-I-think-you-look-hilarious when-you-are-mad!". It seemed like a sort of gleeful defiance. His way a proving to me that he was a lot smarter than I was giving him credit for. Little pain in the rear that he is.
We fought about it. I would find a squirt, get him, show it to him, spank him, and then take him outside. He didn't get it because he was always ready and willing to pee on something. Outside, inside, didn't make a difference to him. The world was his toilet, and he was going to use it all.
There came that point when I had to draw the line. I took my eyes off of him for 2 seconds and while my back was turned, he peed on one of my goosedown pillows, my bed and my down comforter. One thing of mine that no one messes with-my bedding. I will drop some cash on sheets and pillows.
So he got a sound whooping and put into his crate. I called the vet and made an appointment the next morning to have his balls cut off. By god, he was going to pay for this one. I explained to him that because he couldn't control himself or the temptation of pissing on the garbage can, that mommy was having the family jewels, his manhood (and puppydom) removed forever.
This was the perfect solution. He was marking his territory, so he needed to be fixed.
He has calmed down a lot. He is a small dog and a terrier to boot, so he needs a lot of attention and even more exercise. Now the little dog that is so ugly that he's cute, Mr. Pitiful, has won his little place in my heart. He crawls into bed with me and curls up every night and every naptime. He wakes me up in the morning when he is ready to go out. He brings me his toys when he wants to play. His antics and sheer determination make me laugh, and I like having him around. He is my companion. His faith in me is undying and his loyalty just melts my heart. He is laying next to me right now with his chin on my knee and he is staring up at me.
He still barks though. He has to stay in his crate for the majority of any drive longer than 4 hours.
Last night around 430am when I was in the deepest sleep of sleeps, something went bump in the night. He let out the most shrill, harsh and loud bark. He woke me straight out of a deep sleep and scared me so bad I was hanging from the ceiling by my fingernails. I may have even peed a little bit. But I love the little fucker.
Spay and neuter your pets my friends.

From Untitled Album

http://www.fixyourpet.org/spayneutersign.htm

Self Sabotage

2009-04-05T10:10:00.000-07:00

This may seem silly or foolish, but to me it is very real. I have done this for years, so many times I can't even count. I don't do it in my professional life, but I most certainly do it in my personal life. Self Sabotage. I am sure we all do it in some way or another and we all do it for different reasons.
For me it is a defense mechanism. A way to shield my heart and keep myself from getting hurt. I think maybe it is a way of going ahead and messing something up really good before someone else can come along and do it for me. It hurts more when someone else messes something up for you, and less when you go ahead and do it yourself.
I have great big walls for people to climb over if they want to get to know me-for those that don't already know me really well. For those who have known me for a long time, maybe you have seen me do it. For those of you who haven't known me for very long, maybe, just maybe I have done it to you. Sabotaged the relationship I have with you. It's nothing personal really. Or maybe it is, for me anyway-not you.
I think especially right now, I am really vulnerable. My heart still aches from losing my Mom, it is all still so very fresh and raw. I think if someone did hurt me it might be a little bit more than I could handle. I am functioning, I go to work, I do my job, I come home and sometimes I get out and interact with people. But it is hard still. I get irrationally angry sometimes ( I call it unleashing the crazy) and it just doesn't behoove me to be out and around a bunch of people. And it is really hard for me to let people in, to let them get to know me all that well. If I show a weak place, then some people will take it and run with it. This is my way of protecting myself from that.
Over the last couple of weeks I have felt myself slipping into that attitude.
I have this idea in my head, this idea that if I go and ahead and screw this up ("this" being something personal that doesn't need to be pin pointed right now), then this won't be able to come back and bite me in the rear end. If this isn't meant to be then why bother? Why waste my time or have my time wasted? I find nothing more annoying than having someone waste my time.
I have had too many people come bopping along and walk into and out of my life with no questions and no regrets. I am then the one left standing, puzzled, holding my heart in my hands and thinking "What did I do wrong?". So why not just go ahead and nip it before I am left standing, puzzled and hurt YET AGAIN? It has happened so many times in the last 2 years. Not just with people I have dated, but with people that I thought were my friends.
So, why not go ahead and sabotage it myself? It hurts a lot less when I do it and a lot more when someone else does it.

What would Cheez it's do?

2009-03-30T18:07:00.000-07:00

I like cheez it's. The addiction came with a former boyfriend who always bought them at the grocery store. It's an easy snack that I can grab a handful of and it will curb my hunger for a few hours until I have time to eat.
So, at my job at The Hermitage, one of the guys in charge of housekeeping will sometimes leave one of those giant plastic jars of cheez it's in the break room for all to enjoy. I love this. It usually results in several trips to the Administration Building for a snack break. An indication of how much I like these tasty little snacks-I hate leaving my office to walk up there, and I try not to go up there all that often.
Now, I have good reason for this. I always leave the breakroom fairly annoyed. I think those of us in my department are a fairly liberal bunch. We stay on the up and up with the news, we know what is going on in the world and how our government is reacting. Generally we like Obama, we are all registered democrats, and we are all under the age of 40.
Now, the people you will find in the breakroom? COMPLETE OPPOSITE. The museum is run by some pretty fantastic people and I think they are all pretty great. I know they have bent over backwards for me and done so much to make my life easier. The only big problem? They are religious. And they are republicans. I have learned NOT to get sucked into any political conversation with any of the interpreters that work in the mansion. There was one that even ended with one of the interpreters telling me, very earnestly I might add, That I needed to go ahead and get married and have children soon. She felt that then, my life would be complete. She is on husband number 3.
So anyways,I wandered up there one afternoon because there was rumor that a giant jar of cheez it's had appeared on the table. I wasn't going to miss out on any chance at a free snack. Particularly my favorite snack.
I walked in and grabbed a little styrofoam coffee cup to fill with cheez it's. As I was doing this, I looked at one of the interpreters, who was dutifully reading her bible (I am not kidding) and said to her "I LOVE CHEEZ IT'S!".
She looked up at me and smiled. What came out of her mouth caught me off gaurd. She said to me "I think it is so wonderful that you young people today go to church and accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior". She then went on to give me a 20 mintue lecture about how important church was, how in the grand scheme of things that Jesus died for our sins blah-blah-blahdee-blah. Now, I was so confused at this point that I didn't even know what to say back. Plus, I never talk religion at work outside of MY office with MY coworkers that are generally much like me. I think because I once told one of the interpreters that I was Catholic and she tried to convince me to come to her church (Baptist) and join the ranks of those out to save everyone and have them become born-again.
Now, I don't want to offend any one out there. I know that there are some of you who are very religious, and I love you for it. I just want for you all to understand (this is my disclaimer) that it is very personal for me, and it's not something I really feel comfortable discussing with other people. This was just too good to pass up. I had to share this story.
It dawned on me about halfway into her lecture that she thought I said "Jesus" when I had actually said "cheez it's". I was floored. I didn't want to be rude or disrespectful to her, I knew that this was what she believed and she was sharing with me. But after about 20 minutes of it, I needed to get back to work.
I looked at her, smiled and said "I said cheez it's" through a mouthful of those tasty little crackers.

When Mom Left (I wrote this on New Year's Eve)

2009-03-25T00:15:00.000-07:00

Happy New Year. It is 12:03 Central Standard Time.

After the year that has passed, I can’t help but wonder what the next year has in store. So much has happened. I have watched a pretty nasty stock market crash and an unnecessary recession. I have watched our government fail us in a way that we will never forget. I have watched my family shrink more than it could grow, I have suffered immense heartache and have struggled at my job.

When I look behind me, I question many of the decisions I have made, I observe the people I surround myself with, I try to understand the time that has passed. I am at war with myself just as the distant parts of the world we live in are at war with each other.

For the last week the middle east has intensified the fight that has been going on for the last 2,000 years and in the process has injured women, children, men, and some of the better parts of our world. Just because they can’t agree on land disputes or religious matters. For the last 6 months the world’s economy has fallen apart because the representatives of our world have gotten too greedy and power hungry.

All the while, I have watched my world come unraveled, it has been like watching someone peel away the paper thin layers of an onion. I cried the whole time.

I came to Nashville in May of 2007 with some big dreams. Like many a Nashvillian I came here seeking something great, something that would propel me out into the world. I was going to make a name for myself.

The difference between me and your average Nashvillian was that my career was in Anthropology, not music. I came here to work in a museum cataloging artifacts into a “state of the art” database that I can use but don’t understand the operation of.

I have struggled with my job, my boss and my personal life.

I was working for a fantastic company in New Orleans with good pay and great coworkers. I had a good reason for coming here and leaving something so perfect behind. Location. New Orleans was pretty fricking awesome, but Nashville was closer to my family, closer to my mother, closer and easier to get to.

Good thing I did.

About 1 year and 3 months after I got here my mom’s cancer came back. It wasn’t like the times before, when it came back in one little place and four months of chemo could make it go away. It came back. In full force, and everywhere. It was in her kidneys, liver, lungs and bones. And I think maybe her brain. Maybe.

I knew this was going to happen, I am still not sure, but somehow I knew that I needed to be close because it would creep up on all of us like a fox. And it did. I felt it way before the Doctors did. I know my mother did too. She felt it. She knew it was there. I think it scared her so much more than it scared any of us.

After a year of struggle for me, not just emotionally, but financially, I thought that at this point this year I was finally on the upside of things. I got a raise, some coworkers, a more feasible office…

Haha. Joke was on me.

My Mom made it through her 1 year cancer birthday. It was in late July, and I was so very proud of her. She had fought so hard and worried so much. I can only hope to have the strength and resolve that my mother had in my lifetime. She drew such amazing strength from such dark depths that I can only wish to understand what she was thinking.

Sometime after that second or third week in July, after my second year here, second visit to Monticello to study, she got sick. It wasn’t that “your cancer has come back “ kind of sick. It was one of those situations of sickness that we had been warned of. It was par for the course. But it was one that sent us all reeling and worrying. We worried that we would have to be tested. Our kidney might work for her. I have 2, I would have had no problem sacrificing one for my mom.

None at all.

They sent her home. It was okay. They had removed her bladder in December, just before. It was just a bodily filtering mistake. No worries.

Once they sent her home, when they called her better, we settled. After spending weeks in the hospital, wearing crazy socks to cheer her up, laying by her bedside for days at a time while she slept the sick off, We settled. My nephew would arrive in 4 or 5 months, life would move forward as it always does. And it did. Much more quickly than we expected.

Sometime after, somewhere between July and September we knew something bigger was wrong. She wasn’t hungry, her back hurt, her head was fuzzy, she just didn’t really want to get up. We should have known. It came so soon after her visit to the hospital that we thought she was still recovering from the acidosis.

I kept visiting, kept cheering her on, kept sitting by her side, kept checking to make sure that the doctor’s thought it was okay. She eventually stopped eating altogether. The doctor patiently prescribed marinol, medical marijiuana. It sort of worked. We took her back to the hospital and nothing had changed. They kept checking her kidneys and there wasn’t anything there.

Sometime in September she just stopped. I can’t explain it, she just did. We took her to the hospital, and they scanned her, and nothing turned up. Nothing.
We persisited with the doctors, we kept on. They hated us. They kept running the same tests over and over again.

Nothing.

Finally sometime in September they found something. My father took her to the hospital because she wouldn’t eat. They found miniscule spots on her lungs, her bones, her liver and her kidneys. Each organ was small potatoes, but all together it was a pretty big deal. They sent her to Asheville to make sure. They ran the tests again, and it showed something more than they wanted to talk about. It was cancer and it was back, and it was full force. Everywhere. There was nothing they could do.

I went back to work, asked for time off, did my thing at home, went back to North Carolina. Thank you LORD for the time I had. I don’t know why he found it in his heart to give me something so great, but I can tell you this, There is a God. He smiled down on me. My coworkers at The Hermitage, The Home of President Andrew Jackson, donated enough time for me to spend the last two months of my mother’s life with her, and then when she died, to spend time with my family. I am still amazed that people can care that much. It is so easy to forget that they can. It is so easy to lose faith in all that you know when you know that God is going to take away the person that gave you life.

I lost my mother two months ago on this day. I watched her die, a very slow painful and preventable death. She was so sick, all they could do was make her comfortable. You have all seen it on TV. When they tell the patient “we can make you comfortable”. That is what they did.

We kept her at home until the very end. We called her most important friends, and they made time and came to see her and made her laugh. The brought the most beautiful memories to her thoughts. They gave her such great love and such great comfort. And they even sometimes annoyed her as friends do.

The Monday before she died, I was left in charge of her. I was determined that she would get out of bed, brush her teeth and lay on the couch and greet her many visitors. She played along.

I woke her up pretty early, I knew who was coming by. Lots of people. I got her out of bed, dragged her to the bathroom and handed her a toothbrush covered in toothpaste. I sat her down on the toilet, seat down and said to her…. “now brush your teeth mom, people are coming over”.

What she said to me broke my heart.

“Oh, Mars. You are my baby, I am supposed to take care of you. You are not supposed to take care of me.”

I burst into tears. I knew she was right. I was her baby. I am her baby. She is supposed to take care of me. But, it was my turn to take care of her. She was so sick, and my dad had to work. Someone was supposed to take care of her. It was worth every second. For 2 months I was so lucky, I took care of her.

The day she died was strange at best. I had spent the night in the hospital with her. She had slipped into a coma over the course of two days. We were on the death watch, we had been informed. I had always thought that my mother’s death, or any close family members death would be peaceful. It was nothing of the sort. It consisted of a series of about 5 seizures.

I don’t know what seizure my brother and I saw, but it was enough for us to be brokenhearted. How could God make something so horrible happen to someone so amazing and beautiful? It hurt our hearts. We watched as each organ of her body slowly shut down.

Around 945am of October 31st, Halloween, my favorite holiday, my mom passed. I wasn’t even there to hold her hand as she left this world and moved on to the next. I had slept on the loveseat of the hospice room that they had her in and I was miserable, tired and hungry. I woke my father and my brother up to let them know I was going to run back to the house and eat, check my email and nap.

I was so exhausted I fell asleep fast and hard. I had told the hospital to call me if anything changed, same to my brother. When I was sleeping I had the most amazing dream. I was sitting with my Mom on the front porch and we were talking. She was so beautiful, she looked like Natalie Wood. She had always looked a lot like Natalie Wood to me, such a pretty lady. I can’t tell you now what we were talking about, but it was a good conversation that left me feeling very lighthearted and happy. I know that somewhere towards the end of the dream she looked at me very intently and said, you need to wake up and answer the phone. She kept saying it to me over and over again. I finally started to wake up and both the house phone and my cell phone were ringing. My brother was calling my cell phone and the hospital was calling the house phone.

I answered my cell. My brother told me I needed to hurry up and get to the hospital. By the time I drove the two miles to the hospital it was too late, she had already gone. I have never felt so guilty in my entire life. I felt that I was selfish for leaving just because I was hungry and tired. In my heart it didn’t matter that I had spent the better part of the last two months with her, I wasn’t there in her final moment.

I can look back now and know that she was with me. She told me long before she died that I probably had what she called “the gift”. What she meant was the ability to connect with the ones I love just before they pass out of this world. I was sensitive enough to feel her getting ready to leave.

What came after was the hardest. I was given the duties of having her body picked up, planning the viewing and planning the funeral. I had help from my father, I think. It seemed at moments like the blind leading the blind, but we leaned on each other and made it through. It is hard to have to plan these things when you are as brokenhearted as we were. It doesn’t matter if you know someone is going to pass, you are never prepared for the moment that they do, and you are never prepared for the grief that you feel after. It can be all encompassing and bottomless.
I know that as time passes that this will get easier, and I will not have to struggle so much to deal with my daily life. Right now I sometimes get angry that the world can keep going on even though she is gone. It seems like the world should stop for a moment and realize what has been lost. I know I want to stop almost every day and feel my grief. She deserves to be remembered. She was pretty amazing. And I have not been the only person to express that.

I don't write enough

2009-03-24T23:14:00.000-07:00

I don't write enough. I know I should, I know it's in me. I come from a father with an English Degree from University of South Carolina and a Mother with an English/Art Degree from Georgia Southern University. I have been encouraged to write since I was 8. But, for whatever reason I never write. I did pretty consistently in the past. I just don't now. I don't know why. So this is my practice.
Maybe I worry about living up to the standards of my Mother. I think I fear that no one will be here to correct my grammar or check my spelling. I hate spellcheck, I personally think it makes us all dumber, particularly the auto correct. I know for someone writing a dissertation or a thesis this is a wonderful thing. Really though, if you can't correct your own spelling and do your own spellcheck how will you learn or remember? How will you expand your knowledge of the English Language?
We all have the capability to do something special in our lives. For me it is to study the past. I can take trash from 200 years ago and tell you a lot about who it was that the trash belonged to. I can tell you how much money they made (if any at all), what they ate, what their children did for fun, and so much more. For someone else it may be to write a program that makes a computer run, or train a dog to not bark at nothing. If you are out there please call me.
We all have talents. But one thing we should never lose sight of is our mastery of our own language.
Once I was speaking to a friend of mine from Egypt and he corrected my English. Now that I look back I think "Sheesh, I must have looked so stupid!"
I can't even handle a participle? Holy cow!
My Mother taught me better than this. I should be able to diagram a sentence after living with her for 33 years of my life. But, I can't. We just aren't taught the ups and downs of our language like our parents and grandparents were.
We should stop using spellcheck and auto correct so much. We should rely on ourselves to get it right. We should also be more than willing to let more than just 1 or 2 of our friends edit our papers,thesis and dissertations.
It would make us all smarter, and remind us of how to use the English Language.

Starting Out

2008-12-26T23:39:00.000-08:00

I think, the purpose of this is really for me. I often have the urge to take my thoughts and write them down, so I figured a blog would do me a world of good. My mind is constantly ticking and I have a lot to say. So here I am, my first blog.

I have been through a lot over the last couple of years and thought I would share my struggles, triumphs, opinions, beliefs and general "what's going on with me" with cyberspace.

At the moment I am grieving the loss of my mother. She was a pretty fantastic lady and left quite a mark on the world. She was a journalist, wife, Mom, friend, sister and so much more. She has left behind many people who loved her very dearly and are very sad at her leaving this world. I have always been the type of person who is unable to keep my emotions completely inside so I will use this as a tool to not only help myself, but hopefully to show others that despite how lonely and tough grieving is, it is an important process that we will all go through at some point in our lives and we are not alone. I know I am not the only person who has gone through this, but there are days that I feel like I am.

Here is an article that was published about my mother the day after she passed. It was on the front page of the newspaper in our hometown of Statesboro. It'll give you an idea of what a wonderful woman she was.

http://www.statesboroherald.com/news/archive/16064/