Caldwell's Blog

2006-12-22T10:15:00.000-08:00

The homeless man living in our garage ...

Her car smelled AW (short pause) FUL. It was a nasty, sickly sweet smell. It might have been all of the Ricola (moment of silence for the lady in stockings with a big horn to come in and sing “Ri – co – la” … just like in the commercials) wrappers lying everywhere. But that was just the first thing I noticed as I opened the door; there was also a long muddied sock crumpled up on the floor of the passenger side and a plastic container, which I made the mistake of opening up. There was a lot of stuff in the back too (you could tell because from the outside of the car you could see things pressed up against the windows), but I was too scared to look back there ‘cause I had a sneaking premonition that poor old Richard was back there and probably the only thing worse than him being back there would be him knowing that I knew he was back there.

Richard was the name of the man that I had decided was living in our garage. Our garage door, one of the two garage doors that we had and never used, though many hours of work had been spent to make these never-used garage doors work with a remote control, and no one could argue with the fact that they were much easier to not use with remote controls. Our garage door kept on opening (and sometimes even closing) without our permission. It was the right door and the only way to open it was by using the button inside the garage or one of the two garage door openers. Since the two owners of the two garage door openers were certain that they were not opening the garage door, then it had to be Richard.

I had seen Richard once. We had just driven up to the house, parked parallel to the sidewalk, and found the garage door opened. As we walked towards it, there was a sound to our left – a sound made by a man closing our gate and then running away. Someone went to check on Killer, our ferocious guard dog who had hid in the bushes to watch the man run out of our gate. I went in the garage to check on it and maybe find some clue as to the opening and closing of the garage door. There was an old blanket on top of some old trash, which for all I knew had always been there, but it wasn’t the blanket that caught my attention so much as the shape of the blanket. It looked like someone had just been sitting on that blanket.

After closing the garage door with one of the openers, for I was one of the owners of one of the openers, I went inside and broke the news to my roommates that a homeless man was probably living in our garage. I didn’t tell them, though, about the blanket ‘cause I only wanted them to worry the appropriate amount that one should worry about a homeless man who might be living in your garage that you never use and I definitely did not want them to slide into that freakish over-dramatic kind of worrying that some girls do when they see a blanket that might have been used by a homeless man that might be living in their garage that they never use.

I also tried not to tell myself too much about the blanket because the shape on the blanket could have just as easily been a dog shape as a homeless man shape, but I felt sorry for the homeless man and wanted him to have a blanket and a warm garage that nobody ever used to stay in.

I named the homeless man Richard, maybe because he looked like a Richard or maybe because every Richard I’ve known could have passed as a homeless man at some point, or maybe because my knew favorite font to use at school was called Poor Old Richard and I was pretty sure that the homeless man would like the font also. Any how, I liked poor old Richard, and on some really cold nights I probably “unconsciously” push the button on my garage door opener … if not to help poor old Richard then at least to keep us wondering, “How does that garage door keep on opening and closing?”

2006-11-30T08:55:00.000-08:00

A Typical Drive from Chattanooga to Birmingham in my mind (usually from about 4:30 to 6:30 a.m.) …

“Who is the guy in front of me? And why can’t I get past him? And could he be going any slower? AND what the heck kind of car is that? It says buick … but it looks like that was just painted on the back of the car. Yeah, I’ve never seen a buick like that before … it jumps into the air at the smallest bump in the road; it’s jumpin’ like a bunny … and the back of it is practically dragging on the ground. Yep, it’s only clearing the road by about an inch. What could be in the back of that car? He’s probably a world champion weight lifter and carries all his weights in the back of his car … then in traffic he can lift weights …. or he has multiple dead bodies in the trunk … Dang! He’s in the mofia. I probably shouldn’t look straight ahead, so he won’t suspect that I know … no, this is awkward … and hold up a sec, he can’t be in the mofia. It’s a really, really old man … and he’s bald … Schaeffers? (long thoughtful pause) No, Schaeffers wouldn’t be driving a car like that …”

“Man, that was SO much fun last night … those people who think it’s crazy to drive to Chattanooga so much just don’t know … and I can’t believe Paige got me a t-shirt. How sweet was that? … or was it? Maybe she was trying to bribe me so I wouldn’t tell any more people about her wearing Feero’s underwear that time …”

(around 6:00) “Crap, there’s three other cars on the road … and man, there’s two more … and here come three more off the exit ramp. Oh snap, that car did not just cut me off … and now they’re going like 10 under the speed limit … stupid cars … i’ve been on this road since 4:00; who do they think they are? they think they can just wake up at 6:00 and then own the road. Unless you’ve been driving since 4:00 in the morning and are going at least 10 over the speed limit, then you shouldn’t even be allowed in the fast lane at 6:00 …” (which, by the way, is most likely a fabulous rule)

“Dang! This CD Cheney made me is SWEET!!”

2006-08-30T05:04:00.000-07:00

You are not a true Southerner if ...

There happens to be a certain person among my acquaintances who avidly declares themselves to be a Southern. I, however, have always secretly doubted the validity of such a claim. The other day, all such doubts were completely justified when this person asked me what a scuppernong was. It was at this moment that I made an important decision (actually, I’m not so sure it was me making a decision as it was me realizing a fact that has been true since before the foundations of time) : If you don’t know what a scuppernong (or a muskadine) is then you are not a true Southerner.

If you are at this moment losing heart because you don’t know what a scuppernong or muskadine is and the reality that you are not a true Southerner is harshly gripping you, don’t despair ... Jesus still loves you. However, you are NOT a Southern; accept the facts and move on.

Also, you’re extra Southern if you know the difference between a scuppernong and a muskadine ... and definite bonus points for me for being able to spell them.

p.s. Microsoft Word is not Southern ... it doesn’t acknowledge muskadine as a word ... such a shame.

2006-08-15T11:54:00.000-07:00

Teacher by day, painter by night ...

(Dad enters through door into kitchen. It is obvious that he has just returned home from a hard day of work. On the other side of the room, his daughter is standing next to the pantry doors holding a paint brush in her right hand with her left hand underneath it to catch the dripping white paint.)
Daughter: “Hey Dad, what do you think?”
Dad (distractedly): “Oh, did you finish painting the doors?”
Daughter: “Oh. No. I just did the inside of one. I wanted to make sure that this is what you are wanting.”
Dad: “Did you get the color of paint I asked you to?”
Daughter: “Yes sir”
Dad (In an ‘impatiently frustrated, yet as encouraging as possible’ voice): “Well then I guess what I’m wanting is for you to finish painting the doors.
Daughter: “Yes sir”

Two weeks later ...
(Family sitting around the dinner table ... to chicken, pasta, and broccoli)
Dad: “Hey Emily, have you realized that the paint on those pantry doors don’t match the color of the kitchen cabinets?”
Daughter: “Yes sir”
Dad: “Why did you paint them different colors?”
Daughter: “Because I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Dad: “Why would I want them two different colors?”
Daughter: “I don’t know, you said glossy white, so I got glossy white.”
Mom (chirps in): “Oh, I added two drops of black to the glossy white that we used back when the cabinets were made.”
Daughter: “Well, I’m about to paint the cabinets anyway, so I’ll just paint them the same as the doors.”
Dad: “But then they won’t match the door frames … No, everything painted in glossy white must be repainted with glossy white plus two drops of black.”
Mom: “Or you could just throw to drops of black on the doors right now.” (a joke, which she thinks is very funny)
Dad (Looking at daughter): We both just made a mistake about the paint.
Daughter (thinking): WE?

2006-08-07T11:42:00.000-07:00

Welcome back to Briarworld …

I have recently determined that since I will be residing in the B-ham, the time has come for me to become more actively involved in a church. Step number one in this process is to find a Sunday School class to consistently go to. As I discussed this with my mom, she suggested that I go to the "Single’s" Class.

“No mom,” I said in my ‘What are you? Crazy?’ voice, “I’m not 'Single'.” For those of you who are thinking, “Emily, this is not an absurd suggestion; you are single”, let me just explain this to you real quick: I might be single, but I’m not "Single". What’s the difference? Well, let me tell you … "Single" (and I quote from my personal dictionary) = 1. really old and 2. extremely desperate (note: this dictionary reserves the right to change the aforesaid definition on an individual basis).

“Well, why don’t you try the Career and Graduate’s Class.” Now there’s a class that’s more on my level. Thus yesterday afternoon I found myself in a brand new Sunday School Class being bombarded with new people to meet … which was pretty exciting. It’s funny how you can go to a church for so long, leave a couple of years for college, and come back to so many new faces. One recurring theme in all of these faces, though, was that they did appear to be older than mine. That was okay though, at least I hadn’t stooped to the "single’s" class … where I was certain that the faces were ancient.

As my extravert powers were beginning to wear down, I ran into a girl that I happened to know was in the Single’s Class a couple of years ago. “Do you like this class better than the 'Single’s' Class?” I politely asked.

“Oh, this is the 'Single’s' Class. They just changed the named a couple of months ago to Career and Graduate’s because they thought the other was turning some people off.”

Well crap. They might be old and desperate, but they’re still sneaky … and I’m embarrassed to say that I fell right into their trap.

Emily Caldwell, current youngest member of the "Single’s Class" … but I must admit that the people seem pretty cool, and yes, I've even enjoyed it so far.

2006-07-29T06:39:00.000-07:00

Quick update on the crazy last couple of weeks …

- Europe – we’ll talk about this later

- My granddad died – He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known, and I’ll see him again.

- I got a job – I got a call on Tuesday offering me a position as a math teacher for tenth and eleventh grade. The downside is …

- I’m not living in Chattanooga – The one negative aspect of the job = it’s not in Chattanooga. After wrestling with this for a while and talking to certain people, I have decided to take it … which leaves me with mixed feelings. I’m so excited about this job, but I’m also so incredibly sad that it means I have to give up living with three of the most amazing girls ever. I’m going to come up every weekend I can, and all y’all in Chattanooga are welcome to come see me in the B’ham any time … it’s only 2 hours away.

- A trip to the dump – Could a trip to the dump ever be more fun? Let me just set the scene for you: Paige, Shleigh, and I in a big truck, blasting Garth Brooks and the Allman Brothers. After we emptied the truck, we stopped at a state park, jumped in the bay, and then Paige treated us all to cherry-lemonade icies … Dang! I wouldn’t mind goin to the dump everyday.

- Matthew’s birthday – Nathan and I took him and a friend to Six Flags …
104 = the degrees of hotness
1 = the number of people who died … I’m not even joking. A man had a heart attack on the Goliath. They shut it down for a while afterwards.
2 = the number of people we saw pass out in line
4 = dollars to get any water to drink
349,662,152 = the number of people it felt like were at six flags
7,349,662,152 = the number of minutes it felt like we waited in line
We had a blast though. Happy Birthday Matthew!

- A car wreck – The only good thing I can say about this is that it wasn’t my fault. Someone smashed into my car, while it was parked in a parking lot, and just kept on driving … jerk. It’s not that bad, but the front right corner of my car needs replacing.

- Painting – I’ve pretty much become a professional by now; I’ve been painting in and out and around things that would practically make a normal person go blind … don’t worry though, sight is my strongest sense.

2006-07-05T09:41:00.000-07:00

Caldwell’s Travels – Chapter 2 …

On the 26th of June, I got a message on my phone from Cheney telling me that I could come to her house whenever my heart so desired. An hour later I was in the car on my way to Augusta, Georgia.

Some highlights: VBS - shout out to Crystal (did I spell that right?), Lydia, and all the other astronauts on team Vandor, may you all prosper with many successful Lunar Missions; Café 209 - lunch with Mr. Williams, possibly the best Southern food I’ve ever had from a restaurant; Shleigh came - fun times with Maria, Sonic, Bill Gates, and Settlers of Kattan … Feero, Allison and I still aren’t trading with you.

On the 29th of June, Shleigh and I depart from Augusta to Chapin, South Carolina.

Some highlights: Hand and Foot with Papa and Grandma Luther, a 6 mile run – bring it Pet Sites, watching the World Cup with Dadu followed by some jet skiing at the lake … Shleigh may seem all sweet, but put her behind a jet ski and dang! We flipped off, what was it? Three times?

On the 1st of July (probably the best month of the year) we went from Chapin to Roan Mountain, North Carolina. Spending a holiday with the Luthers and Harvels is always a good decision. Shout out to the McNottins, Almers, and Wolvers too … all of which are amazing families.

Some highlights: hiking the hardest trial on Roan Mountain which is definitely not 2.3 miles, kickball, telephone, the Appalachian trial, an amazing game of soccer, nights by the fire, and a life decision … I’m gonna hike the whole Appalachian; it’s calling to me … everyone’s invited to join … more plans on this to come.

Yesterday I arrived back in sweet home Alabama. And yep, it’s been confirmed: it is definitely good to be home. Today my sole job is to pack for Europe … which so far has consisted of me pulling out a new red suitcase from my closet (my last suitcase fell victim to one of my dad’s trips to Russia … the Russian airlines lose his bags a lot … I actually have a theory about that, but we’ll save it for another time). I have a feeling that the rest of the packing will take place sometime late tonight/early tomorrow morning and might possible involve a quick run to Walmart to grab some item that my mom has deemed necessary for the trip … like a twelfth pair of underwear (is it “pair of underwear”?) … and yes, we will only be gone for a week, but apparently once we leave the country we will change our clothes as much as possible. Another thing that has apparently been deemed worthy of suitcase space is a various assortment of nuts and apricots … to survive on just in case we some how get separated from our group … probably while we’re changing our clothes. Oh snap, this trip is gonna be fun.

2006-06-24T14:05:00.000-07:00

An email to the abiders of "The Duke's" ...

Below I have copied and pasted an email that I just sent out to Paige, Shleigh, and Cheney, but the thought just occured to me that even more people might be interested in being a part of our miracle. I'd appreciate any of y'alls support and prayers.

Okay, so I just had a major break through in my entire thought process ... I've been praying that
1. we will get the Mitchell House, a.k.a. "The Duke's"
2. I will get the job at Rossville Middle School on the exact same day that Shleigh gets the job with cha.
But that's not the breakthrough ... the breakthrough is that I just realized that while I have been praying for this and wanting it a lot, I haven't really been expecting God to do it. I know He can, but I don't expect it ... that is until now. Now I know y'all are very aware of this, but it just hit me afresh that God wants His beloved to ask and expect great things from Him, and He wants do amazing things for us, the best things for us ... so that's what I'm expecting. Just in case I'm making no sense, let me sum up ... I'm expecting what I have decided to call the "Miracle of the Duke" and the "Miracle of Jobs". (Remember, we've already seen the Miracle of Graduation and the SIP Miracle.) I think (and am praying) that any day now Paige will get a call that we've got the house and that on the same day, Shleigh will get the cha job and I will get the RMS job ... which will take a miracle. And if this doesn't happen, God is still good, but I think it would be fun for us to all pray for this and watch God work.

I love you all,
caldwell

2006-06-19T09:33:00.000-07:00

One More Soul Lost in the War of Technology …

My brother, Matthew, just bought an ipod … a nano to be exact. This makes my mom and I the only two members of the Caldwell family without an ipod and Matthew and I the only two without a laptop. Thus I have been left behind on a little island of sanity while the ocean of technological insanity is currently luring my family into a deathly swirl of dangerous computer-like stuff. Don’t think, though, that me being less technologically advanced is a negative thing … while they maybe further advanced in technology, I’ve decided that I’m further advanced in life … or at least in wisdom. One day when a giant ipod takes over the world, people will be asking themselves, “Why didn’t we listen to Emily Caldwell?”

Anyway, I’ve started to call my brother a Nano-ite. He’s pretty proud of this title and has been eagerly listing off to me all the advantages of owning an ipod. Apparently there’s even a calendar on it where he can keep track of the multiple things on his crazy 12-year-old schedule. In fact, and I quote, “it has everything on it!” Right now he’s nano-ing as he does some chores … which are apparently much easier to do as a nano-ite.

As to the ongoing discussion of ipods being a force for good or for evil, I told Matthew that maybe if Jack Bouer gets one then I will consider moving “ipods” off the evil list. Other things on the list of evil forces include: computers, Starbucks, the Italian that made McBride bleed in the World Cup on Saturday, President Logan, the Yankees (the baseball team), Hilary Clinton, spiders, and job applications.

2006-06-14T15:42:00.000-07:00

The Art of Winging it ...

For the last week, I have inhabited a different location almost everyday.
Wednesday: Birmingham, AL to Chattanooga, TN to Augusta, GA
Thursday: Augusta, GA to Annapolis, MD
Friday: Annapolis, MD to Washington DC
Saturday: Washington DC to New York City, NY
Sunday: NY to ... well, let's just say that when the day ended we were pretty sure that we were in Baltimore, Delaware ... is Baltimore in Delaware? I don't think so, but for some reason we went through Baltimore about four times that night ... did I say night? yes, that's right. the drive from NY to Augusta was made from 9:30 pm to 9:30 am ... was this part of our plan? no, we were winging it.
Monday: "Baltimore", DE to Augusta, GA
Tuesday: Augusta, GA to Lavonia, GA
... you can just call me a traveling goddess.

It all began on Tuesday when an old college roommate of mine (Patricia Cheney Williams) and me decided to take a road trip. Sometime Wednesday night in Augusta we planned it out ... and thus we traveled to the above mentioned places starting on Thursday. I had to part with her yesterday to go see my grandmother in Lavonia, and on Friday I head back to Chattanooga. Will I ever see my sweet home Alabama again? I don't know, but I sure hope so and soon ... the Heart of Dixie calls.

Shout out to all y'all who were amazing hosts this weekend: Rachel, Sparks, Tina, Gilli, and the William's family. I miss y'all already. And hats off to my amazing wing WOman this weekend ... it was pretty much the best wing ever ... may many hazmats fall upon our enemies.

2006-06-05T08:04:00.000-07:00

The Punishment for Working on the Sabbath …

Involves three dead mice, hundreds of fire ants, a bed of baby snakes, a broken shoe, a hornet’s nest, a lost set of keys, one very long car ride, and a whole lot of guilt.

Due to certain bills that must be paid, I added up some different numbers and decided that I needed to earn some where around $300 as soon as possible. Upon discussing this with my mom, she very generously suggested to pay me for various odd jobs that she had been meaning to do herself. Thus for the last couple of weeks, in between doing "life-job" stuff, I have been put to work doing things such as spreading bark, killing weeds, scrubbing baseboards, washing blinds, etc, etc.

On Saturday, my mom asked me to blow off the driveway. However, due to myth-breaking day, I wasn’t feeling the best so the driveway was left neglected. When Sunday came, I had some spare time and so decided to it then.

The day was beautiful, perfect weather, and I was thoroughly enjoying my time with the Vomtex Vacuum-Blower System. I was just beginning to think that maybe it would fun to get a job blowing off people’s driveways when a series of disasters took place …

1. I was off in another world, a world where I got paid a whole lot of money for my expert driveway-blowing skills, when suddenly I felt something on my left leg. My left foot was right in the middle of a huge fire ant bed … and I was wearing flipflops.

2. Several minutes later, I was back to work using my left hand to scratch my foot while my right held the blower. At the back of my house there are some air conditioning units, behind which a whole lot of leaves had accumulated. I began to attack these leaves, when I suddenly saw something fly into the air (don’t doubt the power of the Vomtex) that resembled a huge earth worm. It was kind of pinkish and just longer than a foot ... it was a baby snake. As I continued to blow it away from me, I saw something else moving in the leaves. There were two more baby snakes in the leaves ... three total.

3. Since I was standing in the snake-harboring pile of leaves, it occurred to me that mama snake might not be far so I moved away from the leaves as quickly as possible. Somehow, though, in the process I tripped a little and broke my flipflop.

4. Throughout the day, I uncovered three dead, probably 70% decayed mice. Thankyou Hector.

5. I was on the home stretch, when the Vomtex, in all its glory, hit a hornet’s nest. Luckily I only got stung once.

6. Finally I finished, and though I had some wounds, the driveway looked amazing, and I was slightly proud of my work. My mom came home, and I was bragging over my adventures of the day, when someone said the word “keys” and a horrible thought hit me. Earlier I had gotten my dad’s set of keys (which he keeps here when he goes out of the country to be certain that they are safe) from my mom to move the cars and then use the power of the Vomtex on the garage. When I finished with the keys, I vividly remember setting them on top of the back of Whitney’s car … and she had driven away about an hour ago to go to a party.

7. Though my mom was extremely nice about it, I could see the anger and worry seething inside of her. We jumped into the car and drove over the route that Whitney’s car had taken. This involved my mom and I in her car driving down the highway at about 20 mph with our heads out of the windows looking for the keys. Needless to say, there was a trail of extremely frustrated cars behind us.

8. We still haven’t found the keys. Included in this set of keys were the keys to everyone’s car but mine, our house key, and a few other keys that I have know idea what are for but I’m sure are very important. Worse case scenario: someone else found the keys on the side of the road, and within the next week we will be robbed of everything we have except for my car … ouch, the guilt. More likely scenario: I will have to pay to replace all the keys … which comes to an extremely ironic sum of $300.

2006-06-03T16:46:00.000-07:00

Cheers for the beginning of the Caldwell family ...

Today is my parents 28th anniversary; congratulations Mom and Dad.

Due to the fact that my Dad is still in Russia, he called me last week, told me where he had hidden a present for my mom (it was in his closet ... always a good hiding place), asked me to give it to her today, and asked me to get some flowers for her as well. Thus yesterday, the day before the big day, I waited patiently for the time when I could sneak out and get her some flowers. The time finally came when at about 3:00 my mom realized that she was missing an ingredient for the chicken dish that she was making. I jumped on the opportunity and offered to run to Walmart and grab the one m.i. (missing ingredient), which happened to be chopped dates.

However, before I had made it out of the door, my family had put together a list of “necessary” items that were needed asap, and Whitney came with me so that she could drop off something at a friend’s house, promising that this would involve no socializing. About forty-five minutes later, thirty of which I spent in the car in the blistering heat while Whitney “quickly” ran something to her friend, we arrived at Wal-Mart. I was determined that this would be a quick trip. Thus before we had walked through the entrance, I had mapped out and explained to Whitney the quickest route which would allow us to get all the items on our list in the shortest amount of time. It was Mission Wal-Mart, and I was positive we could make it out in less than five minutes.

We stuck to the “map” and were on schedule for a total of about 30 seconds. The first stop on the “map” was the flowers, which I soon found was bad planning on my part. As I whisked down the aisles, the flowers began to look more and more fragile. This combined with the fact that it happened to be Wal-Mart’s rush hour caused me to have to slow my normal “quick-trip-speed” down a considerable amount. Add to this Whitney’s constant thinking of things not on the list that we “needed”, and we might as well have not even made a mental map. One of the things that Whitney thought we most desperately needed was some flavored water. Now let’s be honest, has anyone in the history of mankind ever needed flavored water? However, she was insistent so we wasted a good 5 minutes staring at the different flavors of water. After this time had passed I made the decision that no such amount of time should ever be spent looking at water, flavored or not. But as Whitney had only been able to narrow it down to her favorite four flavors, we compromised. We would get a case of each of the four flavors so long as we could leave right then.

Finally we were on our way to the checkout stand, when we came upon a big rubber-like tube laying on the floor. Since it looked like rubber, I decided to pick up the pace and that when the cart made contact with the tube, the tube would just flatten and we would role over it. Well, the tube was found to be more resilient than expect, and my speed-up plan resulted in me and the cart bouncing off the tube in the opposite direction of the checkout lines. After several other attempts to cross the tube, a Wal-Mart worker kindly came up to me and explained that the tube was running all the way across the store and that the only way to get passed it was to pick up my cart and carry it over the tube. The Wal-Mart employee then proceeded to walk away as I picked up the grocery cart, packed with four cases flavored water and other items that my family was in desperate need of, and climbed with it over the tube.

By now I had given up all hope on our quick trip; Mission Wal-Mart had failed. But the checkout lines were in sight so that the thought of being able leave outweighed my frustration. At that very moment, when we were so close to the end ... I could see outside and almost feel the wind on my face ... at that very moment, I realized that we had forgotten the dates ... the dates that were the original reason we were here, the dates on the other end of the store, several aisles past the evil tube and past hundreds of slow-walking old people ....

Today my mom got her flowers and her present, and she loved them both. And for lunch, the whole family ate her favorite chicken dish ... with a plentitude of chopped dates. And now, I think I might just go have myself a flavored water. Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad; I love y'all.

2006-05-28T18:19:00.000-07:00

Myth-breaking Time ...

Every once in a while I like to go out of my way to prove that a certain myth is not true, to shed light on a truth that is being squelched, to save the people of America from the bed of lies that many would have them rest on.

Of late, I keep hearing this myth about milk; apparently many naive people have been led to believe that it is impossible to drink one gallon of milk in the time period of one hour. However, I happen to know that this is not true. What are the facts that I have to prove this statement? Well, the short answer to this question is: “none”.

However, the longer, more interesting answer involves me and a severely shamed gallon of milk. Earlier today at exactly 12:46, I decided to attack this gallon of milk. You’ll be proud to know that before thirty minutes were up, more than half of the milk had been destroyed. … Then I got sick and could no longer continue the mission. Yes, I lost … but this was just a battle, not the war. Now that I know what I’m up against, I will be victorious in the end … which might not come for a while due to the fact that even thinking of milk makes me a tiny bit nauseous right now.

Just know that this lie, that Americans are being fed on a daily basis and that (dare I even say it) kids are being told in school, is not true. The truth shall soon be known.

2006-05-26T19:08:00.000-07:00

“A weekend pass is $12 and a day pass is $7” ...

I spent the better part of today taking up money for my little brother, Matthew’s baseball tournament. As cars pulled into the parking lot, my mom and I were waiting to exchange their money for an admission ticket. What should have been an easy job turned into somewhat of a hassle for several reasons.

1. The car-groups. When people drive to baseball games, they come in car-groups of five to seven. There would be about thirty seconds where there were absolutely no cars at all, then suddenly six cars would pull in at the same time. My mom would always take the first one, and I would run back and forth between the other five and take care of them … I pride myself in my speed with the tickets.

2. Counting change is hard. For some reason when I’m put on the spot and feel under pressure, I have difficulty figuring out the change … I tried to keep it under wraps that I’m a math major.

3. Birmingham is hot. It was like 100 something degrees today.

4. People can be just plain mean. First of all, I’d just like to thank all those people who were pleasant about the whole money-ticket transaction. For those of you who weren’t: shame on you. The money isn’t for me; I’m just an in-between person. Two of my favorites in this latter category … the first was driving probably one of the nicest cars I’ve ever seen in my life. He made eye contact with me, quickly looked away, sped up as he got closer to me, and passed by as if he didn’t see me. There’s so much I could say about this … so many negative thoughts … but let’s just move on.

The second (and this was my very favorite) actually refused to pay. He pulled over to the side and asked if he could sit there for a while and think about it. A few minutes later, we heard him make a phone call. About ten minutes later, his wife and mother came and pulled over beside him. They consulted together for about ten more minutes … the man, his wife, and his mother. Finally, the family must have reached a decision because he got out of his car, slammed the door, stomped over to my mom, rolled his eyes, gave the “if we weren’t in a public place, I would kill you and get in for free” look, shoved the money in her face, and snatched his ticket out of her hand. Hey, let’s not hate the in-between people.

5. Lots of people came to this tournament. There were points when I was holding hundreds of dollars … I don’t have a job … I don’t have any money … oh how painful to part with that beautiful wad of twenties … maybe I can get a job with the BPA.

2006-05-22T12:53:00.000-07:00

“You got it”/ Famous Pete’s Hotdogs, since 1920 ...

Woody, the last of my college friends to do the post-graduation B-ham trip (unless one of y’all are reading this and want to make the trip now … come on down), made it down this last weekend. On Saturday, after a little pingpong and pool, we decided to take a little ride downtown.

Now I’m hesitant to say this for fear of showing disrespect to the originators of this art, but the idea was for the ride to be similar to cruising. We started out at the Birmingham Courthouse (since I happen to be well-acquainted with this building) and from there on we just went where the road took us with only the cruisin’ rules to guide us. What are the cruisin’ rules? Well, there are two: 1. You can talk or you can’t talk. (If this rule confuses you, talk to Vroeg.) 2. There are no rules. I still haven’t fully grasped the power of cruisin’ rules, but I’ve just decided that you can’t question them ... they were made by those much wiser than I.

Well, the road happened to take us to Famous Pete’s Hotdogs. Woody and I were both hungry, but we had determined that we would only eat at what some might call a “hole in the wall”. As it happens, Pete’s was literally a hole in the wall. Things that are equivalent to the size of the entire restaurant include: a ping pong table, a tenth of one swimming lane, a Russian jail cell (the kind used for people who cheat on their taxes), a SIP spread out on the ground … okay, maybe not that big, the inside of a mini-van, etc.

As we made our way into the restaurant, there was an old couple behind the counter who had probably been standing there since 1920. The old man was so bent over that his face was practically soaking with hotdogs in the big vat of water. The old lady smiled and this is brief account of our conversation:
Old Lady – “Where is Valdosta State, honey?” (I was wearing my roommate’s t-shirt, from way back when I was in college, that had “Valdosta State” written in huge letters on the front.)
Me – “I’m not sure.”
Old Lady – “Okay, well you got it.” (Then she turned to Woody, who was wearing a soccer t-shirt) “Do you play soccer honey?”
Woody – “Yes ma’am”
Old Lady – “You got it.”
… a few minutes pass …
Old Lady – “Where is Valdosta State, honey?”
Me – “I’m not sure”
Old Lady – “Well, you got it.” (Then she turned to Woody) “Do you play soccer?”
Woody – “Yes ma’am.”
Old Lady – “You got it.” … etc.
The conversation continued in a similar fashion except that as it went on, the phrase “You got it” was heard more and more frequently.

All this to say that it was a fun experience, and I’d definitely recommend it.

2006-05-21T18:35:00.000-07:00

The following takes place between 8:00 and 9:00 p.m. ...

I’m just going to go ahead and admit it: I have been watching way too much 24 lately. I’m addicted; please help me.

My sister, Whitney, and I just decided that if Jack had live in a different time, he would have been a cowboy. Let’s follow this line of thought for a bit …
- The Indians would have had such a deep respect for Jack that they would have all united and called themselves the Bouerites.
- There would have been no French and Indian War because Bourites don’t ally with the French.
- The American Revolution would have consisted of Jack Bouer merely looking at King George, who would start to cry in fear and immediately grant all of Jack’s wishes.

You’ve probably been watching too much 24 if …
- That’s all you do.
- Before you make a decision you find yourself asking, “What would Jack Bouer do?”
- When someone introduces themselves to you as Sheri, you vomit a little in your mouth.
- You begin to think that you would be in good hands with All State Insurance.
- You’ve decided that when you have kids, Kim is not a name option.
- When you have a nose bleed, you are immediately concerned that you have the cordola virus.
- You’re family has made up a game called “Jack Bouer”
- It becomes common to hear jokes like ...
If Jack Bourer was in a room with Sadum Hussein, Hitler, and Nina Meyers, and his gun only had two bullets, who would he shoot?
Nina Meyers … twice.
(This joke was compliments of my brother, Nathan.)
- When you reprimand someone, you find yourself shaking your head and saying, “Come on, Jack would never do that.”
Fellow addicts, please feel free to add more.

2006-05-17T14:31:00.000-07:00

Speaking of firsts ….

I just had my first win of my first law suit over my first wreck. The following is an extremely brief account.

(Note: I speak lightly of this now, but in reality it was very serious. I thank God that it's over and that I won.)

THE BACKGROUND: On Fall Break 2004, Christina McLoud and I were driving back from the Goodwill on 65S. It had been raining on and off all day so the roads were very wet. To make a long story short, an 18-wheeler jackknifed, the car in front of me slammed on its brakes, and I then slammed on mine. My car, however, slid on the wet surface and bumped into the car in front of me. There was no damage to the toyota in front of me, and Sarah (my old car, God rest her soul) had a crimped front hood and the left front light had been slightly pushed in.

The Lawsuit: Nine months after this, I get a notice in the mail informing me that I am being sued by the plaintiff (I won’t say her name) for physical and emotional trauma to her caused by the wreck. The amount? a quarter of a million dollars!

THE JURY: Sean Connery was almost a juror in my trial. He was in the B-ham courtroom yesterday for jury duty … or at least his identical twin was. Sadly, though, he was struck (along with 35 other people) and not chosen to be one of the final twelve jury members. I feel like he would have been a good asset to my case though, had he remained. Some of my other favorite jury prospects were also struck, but we still ended up with a solid twelve. A special thanks to the one lady on the back row who always smiled at me and gave a look of death to the plaintiff.

THE LIES: I’m pretty sure that I won this case due to credibility. Here’s my top 5 favorite lies:
1. Lie - The plaintiff claimed that she was picked up after the wreck by her boyfriend.
Truth – She was picked up by the police because there was a warrant out for her arrest.
2. Lie – The plaintiff claimed that this was her first law suit to be involved in.
Truth – She has been involved in 9 other law suits.
3. Lie – The plaintiff said that she did not contact a lawyer ‘til months after the accident.
Truth – She went to a lawyer with her boyfriend the day after the wreck and asked if there was any way she might be able to make money off the wreck. (The lawyer told her to run up as many doctor’s bills as she could. With the next four months, she went to over 40 different doctor appointments.)
4. Lie – The plaintiff claimed that her shoulder had hurt ever since the wreck. (She had surgery on her should over a year after the wreck)
Truth – In all of the over 40 doctor’s visits within the four month’s after the wreck, there is no record of her complaining of a hurt shoulder.
5. Lie – The plaintiff claimed that she had never hurt her shoulder, neck, back, knee, or leg at any other time.
Truth – There had been at least one hospital visit for each of those areas prior to the wreck.
Oh, and there are more. Sadly not even all of these were allowed to be mentioned in court. But let's move on.

THE TRIAL:
The witness = the policeman who had filled out the accident report, the plaintiff, the plaintiff’s adopted daughter, (drum roll please) me, a friend of the plaintiff, and one of the many doctor’s of the plaintiff. Brandon and Tracy (my lawyers, who were amazing by the way) called no witnesses. Closing statements were made, the judge talked for a long time, and the jury left. About ten minutes later they came back out with the verdict, which was …(another drum roll)… in favor of the defense. That’s right ladies and gents, I’m a free woman and owe the plaintiff no money.

So that’s my last three days summed up in a couple of paragraphs. I'm pretty sure that if I hadn’t won, I would have lost all faith in our judicial system … so for the sake of that relationship (and for the sake of my financial status right now ... and just because I like to win) I’m glad I won. It’s good to have faith in the system.

Moral of the story: 1. Car's are boxes of death.
2. Wrecks are never fun. Let's just all drive safely (esp. if you happen to drive a 18-wheeler).
3. Lies are never good, and usually they come back and bite you in the but.

2006-05-03T20:40:00.000-07:00

My first birdie ... in the car ... that I've noticed ...

Earlier this evening I was driving down the road in my roommate's car with the windows down and some Pearl Jam blasting. On this particular car ride, it was necessary for me to go through a tunnel to reach my destination. As my car delved into the beginnings of the tunnel, I took a deep breath and held my breath ... 'cause that's just what you do when you're in a tunnel.

So there I am driving along, not breathing, and trying to get out of the tunnel as quickly as possible. Suddenly the car in front of me slammed on its brakes forcing me to do the same. As it started moving again, there appeared to be no apparent reason for its extremely sudden stop. However, I decided to give the driver the benefit of the doubt ... perhaps there had been some cute animal or small child that I had not seen. As I'm considering reasons a small child might have for being in a tunnel (and I am still holding my breath), the car in front of me does the same thing again, and once again there is no apparent reason for it. Suddenly it hits me: they know that I'm playing the "hold your breath game" and they are trying to make me loose! Without thoroughly thinking this through, I gave the horn a little tap. Well, before the honk had even reverberated throughout the tunnel, the driver in front me had his/her window down and finger raised into the air.

Ouch, that hurt. Now there is some confusion as to what exactly giving someone the finger means; I have heard the issue debated on by many experts, but no absolute resolution is ever decided on. I won't go into the different possible meanings, but the point is that as far as I know, none of the meanings are: "I apologise for that sudden braking, and I hope that you still are able to be victorious in the hold-your-breath game."

So sad times that someone wished ill upon me, but not too sad ... because the important thing is that I beat the tunnel and held my breath the whole time, finger and all.

2006-05-02T22:12:00.001-07:00

First impressions ....
So one day I am sitting in the Great Hall with a wonderful group of girls from my hall, which is always a good decision. I am laughing, eating, and talking ... most likely all at the same time, for although third central is usually most proper and manner-conscience, there are times when even the best of us lose focus and slide just a bit. So as I said before, I am sitting at the table perhaps not displaying the most exemplary show of table edicate, when suddenly I notice that very near to me, an extremely attractive young man has sat down.
I must here confess to have noticed this certain person on prior occasions and to have been rather taken aback by certain attractive qualities that this aforesaid person possessed ... and I am of coarse referring to his attractive intellect and morals ... but as chance (or destiny) would have it, this extremely smart and virtuous person happened to be sitting very close to me. Thus for a few seconds I will admit to being caught off guard ... and by off guard I mean that I was staring in wide-eyed wonder at him with my jaw slightly opened. Don't worry though, I was very quickly brought out of this trance by a small clump of chewed food (which I forgotten was still in my mouth) that happened at that opportune moment to plummit from my lower jaw to my lap.
At a moment such as this, one doesn't worry about the rest of the food in their mouth, the stain that might possibly never come out of their jeans, or even if your friends saw this embarrassing display of eating. There is just one thought that is overriding all the others, and that thought is: "Did he see it happen?" So I slowly turned my head toward him, very smoothly but with my fingers crossed, to see if my blunder had been noticed.
Well, needless to say, it had been noticed. I tried to talk ... to say something, anything to take attention away from the blob of food in my lap. This was a bad decision, since in doing so I spewed yet more food out of my mouth. Thus, I found myself in a desperate situation and was forced to resort to the last thing that I knew of to do. Now let me say here that I have been told by certain guys, who I feel to be pretty reliable, that one of the number one appropriate ways for a girl to get a guy's attention is for her to "bat" her eyes at them. Thus, with dignity and grace gone, I clung to the last thing that I had (my eyes) and batted away. And it worked; I definitely got his attention.
Let me just go ahead and tell you right now that "batting" of the eyes is an art that apparently can take years to master and is not just something that one should try on the spur of the moment. So in the end, I was sitting there surrounded in regurgitated food, blinking my eyes frantically.
The moral of this story?
1. If nothing else, there is always a good laugh to be had in these situations.
2. My pride was hurt, and that's good for me sometimes.
3. The whole "chew with your mouth closed" rule that my mom continually told me child turns out to be more important than some might think.

2006-04-30T18:24:00.000-07:00

Well, in just "three easy steps" I have created my own blog. I must confess to being rather proud of this accomplishment since I know little to nothing about computers and yet created an entire literary world with just myself and Christopher (that's my roommate's computer) in only a matter of minutes.
So what is a blog? Well, it's hard to say ... and by that I mean that I really have no idea. I've really only read a blog by myself twice in my life, and it was the same blog. But I like the sound of the word "blog", and I've decided that it will be a good way for people to know how I am if they so desire. So we're currently on "blog trial" ... kind of like Anne with Marilla and Matthew in Anne of Green Gables ... and we'll see how it goes.