Sad Day

Normally on Tuesdays, I'd be writing a flippant Bachelor recap... but today is not a normal Tuesday.

This morning, as I turned on the morning news and proceeded to get ready for work, I heard the report that an Air Evac flight had crashed nearby and the crew had been killed. My heart sank immediately. I just had "that feeling" that my friend, Kenny, would have been piloting the helicopter.

And soon after, my fears were confirmed.

Kenny (right) and the other crew members involved in the crash.
News story here

I met Kenny when I was in college. He was dating my suitemate and good friend, Angie. They were the kind of couple that made you roll your eyes and make gagging gestures. They were that in love. And it was completely genuine. They married. They moved to Japan, where Kenny - a Marine helicopter pilot - was stationed. They had beautiful kids. I remember being so happy when they were stationed stateside again. By that point, David and I had married. He and Kenny became fast friends. When he left the Marines and took the position with Air Evac, we were thrilled they would be less than an hour away. They were our board game buddies. They were the friends we hung out with for an evening and then laughed and said "Hey, remember the other night when..." for a week or two after. They were our example.

There are so many stories I could tell... like the night we played cards with his whole family and laughed harder than I've ever laughed in my life despite the fact that half the conversations were in Japanese and I have no idea what was said... or how David agreed to have a medical procedure partly to prove he was a tough as Kenny... or how we thought it was cool that David and Angie had the exact same profile on the Myers Briggs and Kenny and I had the same profile. Just random little stuff like that. And for every story I have, I know there are people with so many more. Like you always say when tragedy happens, we didn't spend as much time with them as we should have.

I told myself I wasn't going to use this post to eulogize. So, I'll wrap it up. Just know this: Kenny was a servant. Foremost, a servant of Christ. That alone permeated every other aspect of his life. A servant to his wife and children. The kind of marriage he and Angie had is the kind of the rest of us strive for. He was a servant to his country. To the sick and injured. To everyone he met.

My heart breaks for Angie, their kids and the rest of the family. It was an honor to call him a friend. It's a comfort to know I'll see him in Heaven some day. I'm not sure about much in life, but I'm sure about that.

A couple of years ago, Kenny took us flying with him.
We'll never forget that day or our dear friend.

Movie Review Monday: Camp (48 Hour Film Project)

I know what you're thinking... "Camp? I've never heard of such a movie!" Or some of you are thinking "Camp? You mean that movie you and your friends made last weekend? You're really going to review it?"  YES, I AM!!

Okay, "review" suggests some objectivity... of which I have none. So how about I just tell you about the project?

Back in the spring, Kelli asked me if I would be on a team with her for the 48 Hour Film Project. I didn't really know what it was, except that Kelli had done it in the past, but I said "Sure." Then I said "So what is it anyway?"

Basically, it's a movie made in a weekend. Obviously you assemble a team beforehand but, to prevent early work, you have no idea what movie you will actually be making until Friday night. Then you have to turn it in by Sunday night. All total, the film must run between 4 and 7 minutes (with 1 extra minute for credits.) Friday night, you draw for a genre of movie (horror, romance, film de femme, etc.) Then you are given a character, a line of dialogue and a prop that must all somehow be worked into the movie.

At first, I thought it would be some sort of Blair Witch Project / ragamuffins with a FlipCam type thing. However, it became clear when we had an initial team meeting a month or so ago that this was a legit group. People who run cameras and edit movies and do sound effects for a living. And me. Kelli had drafted me into service as a writer. (I know, right?!) We even managed to round up some fantastic actors and actresses!

So, Friday night came and we drew comedy. The character was to be Geoff or Georgia Cooke - a camp counselor. Prop: a wheel or tire. Line of dialogue: "Here we go again."

Kelli getting punched by
a disgruntled chicken

The team got together at Kelli's house and threw out suggestions for the movie. When we got comedy, we knew the movie had to be based around the giraffe costume Kelli's husband owns and uses when educating school children along with his dentist brother. We thought "Hey, wouldn't it be fun if we could get some other costumes and do some sort of mascot training camp thing?" And then we thought "Yeah, because our friends just hoard mascot costumes... he he he." But, by the power of Twitter, we learned that our friends do hoard mascot costumes. In one hour's time, we secured a child giraffe costume (thanks, Kerri), a dinosaur (thanks, Katie), 2 chickens, a bull, and a rooster. And we secured an amazing real camp facility.

Kelli and I stayed up most of the night writing. And laughing. And writing. And questioning our sanity. We grabbed a few hours sleep and then headed to the camp site at 5AM to start filming.

Rigging the stunt giraffe

It's August. It's Arkansas. People were wearing mascot costumes. It was a long day. But, everyone was incredibly good sports. Zachary, the cool guy who "supervised" our use of the camp facility even joined in, playing Geoff Cooke... wife of Georgia, the mascot trainer. And when we mentioned needing a "final challenge", he not only offered up the ropes course... but he agreed to "giraffe suit up" and DO the ropes course!!!

Sure, after a while, I thought maybe the combination of no sleep and high temperatures was making me hallucinate and see chickens and dinosaurs everywhere - but no, it was actually just all part of making movie magic. 

David made a dog shadow puppet
on screen at the theater. *Facepalm*

So, my friends, if you've ever wanted to watch a short film about grown ups who leave their real-world jobs in search of the chance to become a big-league team mascot, Camp is the film for you. You heard me say we had a "stunt giraffe" 35 feet in the air, right?

The film was screened this weekend. Awards will be handed out next weekend. Stay tuned! And look out, Spielberg! 

And if there's a 48 Film Project in your area... DO IT!!

Kelli's blog about the experience can be found here.

Easy on the "ma'am"...

Yesterday, one of my local bloggy friends wrote a great post on getting older and being "ma'am-ed".  My response to her was as follows:

I grew up in the North. In most cases, adding "ma'am" or "sir" to the end of a response was perceived as being sarcastic. And, in most cases, adding "ma'am" or "sir" to the end of a response was being sarcastic.

I remember my mom recoiling against being "ma'am-ed". I was 7... which means she was 29. (Which, incidentally, is two years younger than I am now. Random, weird thought. Sorry.) My dad was graduating from the Illinois State Police Academy. We were walking through the halls of one of the buildings. We passed a group of cadets. Upon seeing us, they all snapped straight up. As my mom "broke the plane" of each cadet, he or she responded "Good morning, Ma'am." It was a gauntlet of "ma'am-ing". My mom kept it together so as not to seem disrespectful of their formality, but 20+ years later, she still talks about how weird it was. (By the way, now only the first cadet in line addresses someone when they pass by. Maybe Mom wasn't the only one who felt a little over-ma'am-ed.) Her reasoning for being weirded out? "I'm too young to be a ma'am!"

And now, increasingly often - both because of my age and my location in the South (though I'd like to assume it's 98% location-based) - I get "ma'am-ed" a lot.

Which makes me wonder: is there an age at which it becomes customary to be "ma'am-ed"?  I still view myself more as "the breezy, slightly-older-than-you-but-agrees-that-Zac-Efron-is-dreamy girl" and not as "person who has more in common with your mother than with you". So what if I carry ibuprofen in my purse and use my aching ankle to predict rain? I'm still pretty young. I mean, at least the "ma'am" should hold off until you're old enough to require a mammogram, right?

Don't get me wrong, respect is definitely under-practiced these days. Being "ma'am-ed" proves it's not a completely lost art. But I guess it's the same as why I don't like applesauce. I like apples a lot. But the texture of applesauce just feels wrong to me. The texture of "ma'am" just feels wrong to me.

When I have kids? When I am 50 or 60? How will I feel about "ma'am" then? Well, just last week I tried to convince David that our hypothetical child should just call us Audreya and David, instead of Mom and Dad. He didn't go for it. I plan to keep trying. So, suffice it to say, any "ma'am" education will have to come from him.

Instead, I'll be the one telling my child's friends "Call me Audreya. Mrs. Parks is my mother-in-law." To which the kid will likely reply "Yes, ma'am." 

(For the record, I don't generally tell kids not to call me "ma'am". If that's what they've been taught to do, I don't want to make them think it's wrong. With the waitress I mentioned earlier, we know her pretty well and tease each other about a variety of things.)

Wordless Wednesday

Even if it weren't Wordless Wednesday, there would
still not be any words for this...

Bachelor Pad: Week Three "Stupidity is rampant in this friggin' world"

Week 3 opens with everyone coming back into the house and doing "Tribal Council" style whispering about who flipped and "It was you, Nikki" and "I’m sorry. I just had to follow my heart" and other such crap. In front of everyone, Gia tells Kiptyn that he was the one who was supposed to go home but Nikki changed her vote and saved him. So then the Nikki / Gia arguing commences. Meanwhile, the Douchebag Triumvirate (Kiptyn, Dave, and Kovacs) have already determined that Gia is "on the chopping block".

Enter Chris Harrison in an unnecessarily pink shirt, with an unnecessary review of the rules of the game. This week's challenge: a kissing contest. Oh good. Because these people didn't have enough cooties already.

Everyone seems okay with this idea, except Gia, of course. She can't imagine her boyfriend will be very excited about this. The Weatherman, however, could not be more excited. "Line up a bunch of hot, blindfolded girls and I get to kiss them? I love the Bachelor Pad!" Note: If your romantic pursuits are limited to blindfolded girls forced to kiss you for money, you're really about one tick above "Creepy guy in a van with curtains". Other note: When did WxMan get so into the smoochin'? He started crying - literally - last season when he was supposed to kiss Ali.

Anyway, the spit-swapping begins. Elizabeth makes a bunch of fake "ooh" sounds. Tenley giggled through most of it. Natalie made herself sound even sluttier (who knew it was possible?) by saying she knew from past experience that some of these guys were good kissers. Ashley declined to participate on the grounds that she is a high school teacher and thought her students would lose respect for her. Um, really? I would think the whole fact that you are here would cost you some respect, but okay. Glad at least someone has the vaguest concept of their reputation. Kovacs, however, validly points out that Ashley flirts with everyone and wears next to nothing most of the time, so he doesn't see what the big deal is. Plus, it's a kissing contest. "We all did it in 6th grade". What kind of elementary school did he go to? Or was I just a late bloomer?

Anywho, Tenley found out her favorite kiss was from Kiptyn. Then she said "Aww, our first kiss. And I remembered it." There's something to tell the grandkids. "You see, little one, I had kissed 8 other guys the day I kissed your grandpa. But HE was the best!"

Now it's time for the girls to kiss the blindfolded guys. Natalie says she would "make out with everyone in the house for, like, 20 bucks". I'm sure this comes as a surprise to no one. Except maybe that she would hold out for 20 whole dollars. I think she would play tonsil hockey with anyone who brought her a shot of anything fermented. Her parents must be proud. Surprisingly, Tenley really went for it - shoving her tongue down many a throat. Not surprisingly, so did Elizabeth. Gia eventually was struck with a wave of conscience and dropped out. She didn't think "everyone was going to turn into porn stars". Yeah, okay.

Next up, the girls have to kiss WxMan. Needless to say he's "freakin' stoked". Natalie and Elizabeth both totally mouth rape him. He seems to enjoy it… and says he needs a second after each one. Classy. Oh, even classier - Elizabeth totally spit after she kissed him. Not that I blame her, but seriously? Next, Peyton says her kissing style is not to maul anyone to death, but to be gentle. Wes - after admitting he's a germaphobe and finds this all a little gross - says he liked kisser #7 (Peyton) because the rest were sloppy and violent, but that one didn’t "maul him to death"… HEY! That's exactly what she was going for! Oh, and he only likes mouth mauling if he's "absolutely hammered."

Peyton and Dave are the winners. Peyton thinks it's a cool title to have. Dave says he is a "passionate lover". Is it okay that the word "lover" creeps me out? I don't refer to my husband as my lover. I love him. And I understand the connotations of "lover", you know, with the naked stuff… but I just think it's a weird, skeevy way to describe someone.

My own sleep talkin' man...

This one time I was sleeping and...

I heard an also-sleeping David mumble something. I thought little of it and quickly fell back to sleep.

You see, David is a sleep talker. Actually, he's a sleep conversationalist. It doesn't happen every night but if he has a lot on his mind, if he's not feeling well or some anything along those lines, I'll hear him jabbering away on the other side of the bed.

The thing is, when I nudge him and say "Ssshh. You're talking in your sleep." he almost always says "I'm not asleep."  Then he will proceed to carry on a conversation. But it's in some weird half-asleep / half-awake state (which, now having seen Inception, makes me a little leery.) He will answer the questions I am asking him (yes, yes, I totally mess with him. He woke me up at 3AM. I'm entitled.) but in the context of his dream. Suppose I hear him "talking on his police radio". I'll say "If you're awake, tell me where you are right now..." and he'll say something like "I'm right here, with you, at our house. Remember we went on a traffic stop by your office and then came home for lunch?"

At some point, he'll usually actually wake up and say something like "Did I just say we were on a traffic stop together?" and we'll both laugh for a second and go back to sleep.

Most of the time, his sleep conversations are semi-normal. Nothing to rival Sleep Talkin Man. But, would I be writing this if they were always semi-normal? Of course not.

So, this one time I was sleeping and I heard an also-sleeping David mumble something. I thought little of it and quickly fell back to sleep. But I kept hearing it and it didn't sound like talking, exactly. Now awake and annoyed, I started paying attention to what he was saying.

In the squeaky voice of a parrot (which he would use for the ENTIRE conversation) he said:

"Caaaaaw! My name is Lola. My name is Lola..."

I elbowed him and said "David, you're talking like a parrot!"

"No I am not..."

Again, I said "Wake up! You're talking like a parrot!"

Parrot Man responded "Caaaaw! No I am not asleep!"

I said "Okay then, what's your name?"

"My name is Lola..."

(long pause)

"Maybe I am not awake..."

Two seconds later, he was out cold.

Never once did he break his parrot character. Unlike most times, he didn't wake up mid-way through and realize he was sleep talking. When we both woke up several hours later, I said "Do you remember talking like a parrot?" He said "Kind of. I told you I had a weird name, right?"  So I reenacted the conversation, complete with parrot voice, and called him Lola for the remainder of the day. Okay, fine, the remainder of the week.

But, am I honestly surprised this sort of material lurks in David's subconscious? Decide for yourself...

This post is part of Writer's Workshop.

I also liked the prompt about a time it was too hot, but I already covered that here. 

Guest Posting about my life as a Tri Kappa gopher

My bloggy friend Patrice is tied up with Rush Week and gave me the opportunity to guest post about my own sorority (*ahem* social club) experience. No, I don't know what she was thinking give me access to her blog... but it was fun nonetheless! You can check out the post here.

And, as long as I've got you here, how about a look into my own pledge book? 

Here's the biography page I had to make. Go easy on me... believe it or not, I haven't always been as cool as I am now! (Stop laughing. I can hear you still laughing.)

Bachelor Pad: Week 2 "It's like when you throw up in your mouth a little"

Well, it's Week 2 at the Bachelor Pad. Last week, Crazypants Michelle and skeevy Juan went home. This week opens with Natalie unsuccessfully trying to determine how many contestants that leaves. You know, 19 minus 2 is pretty hard math. After all, Chris Harrison had to bring in a co-host to help him keep up with it all. After subtraction class is over, everyone starts saying how nervous they are and, in one of the most overused reality game show lines, "This is a GAME! People are already PLAYING! I didn't think it would get this serious, this fast!"

Next, we check in with our resident couples. Kovacs and Elizabeth have another awkward conversation where she brainwashes him and he falls for it, declaring that being in a couple is a plus. (And by brainwashed, I mean another phrase… but I don't use that kind of language on my blog. Let's just say it's something-whipped.) Then Natalie says she came on the show to pay back her student loans - money well spent, clearly - but now she'd rather make out with Jesse Beck. So that's exactly what they do. And not only do they swap spit, but she never spills a drop of her drink whilst they are rolling around. I'm thinking it's not the first time she's done that.

Then begins the "Insider (Cool Kid) vs. Outsider" drama. Instead of just saying 'cliques', everyone in the house seems to go with Insiders (people who hung out prior to Bachelor Pad, have gone on the reunion cruises and trips, etc.) and Outsiders (those with no one from their season on the show or haven't done all the promo events since). Ugh. This is going to get annoying.

Fortunately, it's time for this week's challenge: a pie eating contest. Or, to show off his Dallas roots, "a pie eatin' contest", according to Chris Harrison. Incidentally, the table was covered in traditional checkered tablecloth material. As was Chris. Nice shirt, dude. Krisily tells Chris she can't participate because she had her gall bladder out a year ago and still can't properly digest fat. Huh? I don't know much about gall bladders, I just know my mom had hers out because she couldn't eat much of anything without getting sick and then after she had it out, she could. But, okay, maybe Krisily had complications. I'm not a doctor. If she says it will affect her health, that's her call. David Good, however, says she should have sucked it up. Well, thank you, Doctor Dave. I'm sure your medical advice means the world to her. After all, your liver can't process the amount of alcohol your regularly consume, but that doesn't stop you from powering through!

Okay, let the pie eating commence. Elizabeth, who couldn't be arsed to wipe the pie off her face before giving an interview, tells us the pie tastes like when you throw up in your mouth a little. Before long, everyone agrees and is gagging on the pie. Did the Fear Factor chefs cook this up or something? Or has it just been that long since any of these emaciated chicks had a pastry? At one point, Tenley coughed a little up on her pie… and then kept eating. Finally, Gia wins. Then everyone starts yakking into the buckets Chris Harrison provided. In fact, are we sure it was the pie? Maybe it was his vertigo-inducing shirt. Either way, I'm so glad I tuned in for Bulimia: The Bachelor Pad true Hollywood story.

Now it's the guys turn. Dave Good says he eats 6 meals a day and is physically fit, so this should be a breeze. Now, does he actually eat 6 meals a day or does he just chug the caloric equivalent of 6 meals a day? But, out of nowhere, Weatherman takes an early lead. Tenely decides to cheer on her Insiders by saying "Come on! Weatherman is getting some down there!" I'm pretty sure that's the only time those words have ever been spoken. Not to mention I think "getting after it" was the idiom she wanted, not "getting some", but I won't point that out for fear she'll start crying. So, WxMan wins. He does a solo dorky guy victory dance and pours water on his own head. Dave Good says "He's good at eatin' pie. So he's got that goin' for him!" Okay, that was a pretty funny line.

Oh, and then, as if on cue, my dog threw up and I had to pause the TV to clean it. Fun times. I guess Bruiser thought I wanted a 3D reenactment. Thanks, buddy.

Movie Review Monday: Eat Pray Love

Okay kids, circle this day on the calendar. With a big, red marker. Why? Because it's certainly the first - and maybe the only - time you'll ever hear me say this: I liked Eat Pray Love the movie better than Eat Pray Love the book.

And not just me. That was the majority opinion amongst the group of ladies I went with to see it. Book Club ladies. People who share my predisposition to always like the book better.

If you're not familiar with the story, it is a memoir written by Elizabeth Gilbert that chronicles a year of her life following a messy divorce and an equally messy rebound relationship. She plans a year-long trip to "find herself". First, she visits Italy. Her main objective there is "pleasure". She wants to learn the language, meet the people and consume as much of the food as possible. Eat. Next, she goes to India and lives at an Ashram. She spends the days meditating, working out emotional baggage, communing with God. Pray. Finally, she spends the last part of the year in Bali. There she learns from an old medicine man (whom she had met previously and he 'foretold' she would return to Bali for an extended period of time). She helps a local woman build a home. She meets a man. Love.

Maybe it's because I'm not an avid reader of non-fiction or maybe it's because I couldn't personally relate to many of her experience. Whatever the reason, parts of the book felt tedious to me. Not surprisingly, the parts I liked the most were the parts I could identify with the most. (Buying "last month in Italy pants"… because the pants you brought with you don't fit anymore? Yep, totally been there!) Overall, the book was worth reading and I liked it, but I didn't love it.

The movie people must have felt the same way. The parts of the book that left me underwhelmed were the parts that saw the most change on screen. Though I completely understood the author's decision to only discuss her part in the divorce and not the specific things her husband did to play into that, it did make it a little hard for me to see where she was coming from. At times it felt a little "Okay, well, I'm just done being married…" In the movie, the ex-husband was fleshed out. Showing him as flighty and irresponsible - while still wanting grown-up things like having children - made it a little easier to understand why she wanted to leave. Also, in the book, the India part was awkward for me. I'm not sure why. It was a very spiritual part of the journey and I guess it was a little hard to connect on that level with someone I only know via a book. There were parts that 'struck me', like the need to quiet your mind and not always be thinking about a thousand things. But, in general, I was kind of glad when she left India. Again, the movie made this part more enjoyable for me. Maybe the director knew you couldn't depict transcendental meditation without looking like an acid trip.

Overall, the book focused more on the Pray part while the movie focused more on the Love part. As far as scenery goes, it was a beautiful movie. I thought all the actors did a good job. I mean, when doesn't Julia Roberts do a good job? The story wove together well enough that I noticed but didn't miss some of the characters who didn't make the leap from book to movie or other changes that were made. And I'm glad I was still able to pick up a few Italian words even before the subtitles. Oh, and James Franco played the rebound boyfriend. I heart him. On the downside, there were some parts that felt kind of forced… like trying to squeeze particular lines from the book into the dialogue whether they fit or not.

So, I give it a B-. It made for a fantastic Girls' Night Out movie. It's one I will probably watch again when it comes to Redbox but not one I would buy and watch over and over. Still, even if you weren't a huge fan of the book, it's a movie that deserves a chance.

Don't be chicken!

(L to R) Me, my sister, my cousin Mikey

If you're thinking this picture looks like three kids "camping" in the bed of an old pickup truck, you're exactly right. And if you're thinking that this seems like it could be the set up for a story about the craziest reason I ever got in trouble as a child, you're right again. And if you're thinking "Hey, wasn't that one of the Writer's Prompts at Mama's Losin' It this week?" well, you're really good at being right! And, not to brag or anything (okay, fine, totally to brag), but guess who suggested that prompt to her? ---> This girl <---  (That's me, by the way.) Mostly I'm just excited because I'm such a Mama Kat fangirl (even if *gasp* she didn't know who Lou Holtz was). And also proof that if I get this excited over a blog writer, imagine what would happen if I met Jake Anderson. "Gee, Officer, I didn't know you couldn't lick celebrities. What if you really, really like them?"

Okay, where were we? The ill-fated camping trip... yes.  Except the craziest reason I got in trouble as a child actually happened on the way to the ill-fated camping trip. The camping trip would be a post all to itself.

It was the summer I turned 7. That means my sister had just turned 3. Two years prior, our cousins Mikey and Dena (and their parents, of course) had moved to Arkansas. Yes, the same Dena who is now my BFF. At the time, however, I was every bit the annoying little cousin who followed her around like a gnat. (Okay, I still do that... but whatever.) My parents decided a trip to visit them was in order. We had many other relatives and hadn't been to visit in a while, so why not, right?

So, we piled into a 1978 Oldsmobile (with light blue velour interior, if I remember correctly) and made the 12+ hour drive from northern Illinois to central Arkansas.  It's a trip I'd made a time or two before and have made probably 100 times since. Each time, I find it just as tedious and tiring as the time before. But the difference between traveling as a 7 years old in the 80s and traveling as a 7 years old now is a world apart. There were no DVD players or handheld gaming devices or iPods. In fact, my dad is one of those rare breeds who doesn't even like the "racket" of the radio while he is driving. There were things like coloring books. And when you dropped your crayons under the seat, you were just out of luck. When you complained about boredom, you were told to take a nap. When you complained about the long trip, you got to hear stories about when Mom made the same trip with her parents... without air conditioning. And were then told to take a nap. And that was all just in the first hour. Push "repeat" for the duration of the journey.

Needless to say, 10 hours in, everyone was completely frazzled. By that point in the journey, we were near Walnut Ridge, Arkansas. I remember thinking that I wanted to look out the window for a while... like that would make the time pass more quickly or something.

I was too short to see over most of the big door panel, so I distinctly remember taking the pillow I'd been using for all my naps and putting it under myself for a boost.

And that's when it all went downhill.

"Lay an egg", my sister said, in her chirpy three year old voice.

I'm sure I made some sort of eye roll / contorted face thing and went back to looking out the window.

"Lay an egg," she said again.

"Ssshhh..." I whispered.

"Lay an egg!!"

"I can't," I assured her.

"LAY AN EGG!!!!!!" she screamed.

"Shut up," I scolded.

"LAY AN EEEEEGGGGG!!!!!!!" she squealed.

Of course, my mom had interjected a few "ssshhh"s and "hush"es here and there but hadn't gotten involved much. My dad - in addition to not listening to the radio while he drives, has the unique ability to listen to nothing while he drives. He's hard of hearing - completely deaf in one ear and assisted by a hearing aid in the other. On road trips - when the bickering, whining, etc. got too much - he would just turn off his hearing aid. Lucky sucker.

After a few more demands that I lay an egg, I was now shouting too. Mom did the famous thing that moms do where they whip around from the front seat so quickly that you can't tell if their whole body turned or just their head - Exorcist style.

"WHAT IS THE PROBLEM!?" she demanded.

The sudden breeze from her spin maneuver got my dad's attention.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?" he growled.

"Audreya's mean..." that little brat my sister whined.

Now my sister was in a full-fledged hysterical breakdown.

"I'm not doing anything!" I pleaded.

"Then why is she crying?" Mom demanded.

"Waaaa aaaa aaa... Audreya's mean... waaaa aaaa... she won't... waaa aaaa..."  my sister bawled.

"AUDREYA SUSAN!! I'M NOT TELLING YOU AGAIN... JUST DO WHATEVER IT IS THAT SHE WANTS TO SHE'LL STOP CRYING!!"

"BUT I CAN'T!!!!" I shouted.

"YOU BETTER!!!!" Dad said, with all manner of threats.

"She wants me to lay an egg!"

"THEN LAY AN EGG!!!!!!"

The egg laying fit continued for the remainder of the journey. I remember meeting up with Dena's family. My dad was clearly about to go on a murderous rampage. My mom, sister, and I were all red faced and tear stained. When Dena's mom inquired as to the problem, my mom said - in an utterly defeated voice  -

"AUDREYA" she began, shooting a killer glance my way and making it clear that I was Public Enemy #1...  "wouldn't lay an egg."

So that, my friends, is the craziest reason I ever got in trouble. But really, who among us hasn't gotten in trouble for the inability to raise her tail feathers and pop out an egg on command? Nobody? Just me, huh? Yeah, I kind of expected that.

And can you believe that just a day or two later, my parents still agreed to load us up and go camping? The trip down should have been an omen...

(It was later determined that - in the three year old mind of my sister - the pillow I had chosen to sit on was clearly a bird's nest... logically making me prized hen.)

*****

To learn more about Writer's Workshop or to link your post, go here.

5 easy steps to hell freezing over...

It's hot. It's crazy hot. Some people have even tried to persuade local media to describe it as "stupid hot" on-air.

I know what you're thinking... "It's Arkansas. It's August. Of course it's hot!" And you're right. But this summer has been especially brutal. Day after day of 100+ temperatures and oppressive humidity routinely driving the heat index into the hundred-teens. (Yes, that's a valid number.) I've heard it's the hottest summer in 20 years... the second hottest on record... all sorts of stats that may or may not be factual, but the bottom line is that it is definitely hotter than normal. It's "Oh my goodness, Audreya, if you threaten to move to Alaska one more time, I'm packing your bags for you!" hot. (Not that David has said that or anything.)

For her part, my friend Kerri has begun taking measures to ensure the hell freezes over. First, she signed up to be a room mother for her son's class. Since that didn't immediately cover the ground in ice, she's now tweeting her plans for a trip to Walmart. She's certain her presence there will extinguish the hellfire cast upon our state. And I say it's worth a try.

After I may or may not have threatened to ferry her to Walmart in the trunk of my car, I got to thinking "Why should Kerri do all the work?"

Surely we've all got a list of items that we're sure hell would freeze right up if we did. So, what are you waiting for? Go! Now! Do them! (Okay, don't commit any crimes or mortal sins and then blame it on me... but otherwise, hop to it!)

Off the top of my head, some of my "hell would freeze over if I..." items are:

• Wore a Michigan t-shirt / sang the Michigan fight song / participated in any activity that reflected something other than my abject hatred for the University of Michigan
• Ate a tuna fish sandwich
• Had a pleasant encounter with a goat
• Dressed up like a clown / spoke to a clown / participated in any activity that reflected something other than my abject hatred for clowns
• Made it to work on time (or really, made it anywhere on time)

I'd love to hear what's on your list... or, even better, I'd love a link to where I can see a photograph of you doing one of them (see: no crimes or mortal sins). Annoying Mother Nature until she gives us a break from this heat is everyone's responsibility. Please do your part. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm headed to the goat farm to check that one off my list. *shiver*

You know, on second thought - maybe it's not that hot...  

Bachelor Pad: Week 1

Bachelor Pad... The Bachelor franchise's answer to Real World / Road Rules / Survivor / Big Brother and, I'm sure, a few other competitive reality shows. Did I watch? Of course. Do I have any idea how to recap that hot mess? Not so much... but I'll try.

First, Chris Harrison tells us that "many have fallen in love, gotten married and even had families" after meeting on The Bachelor/ette.  Immediately, I was surprised that 2 couples married and 1 of those having had children equals "many", but who am I to question a man in such a stylish navy blazer and jeans?

So, now it's time to meet those contestants "who are still single and looking for love... and a quarter million dollars"

I'm not going to list out all their names... so it's these people:

The only ones I didn't recognize easily were Gwen (from Season 2) and Peyton from Andy's season. I wouldn't have recognized Krisily except she was recently on a "Behind the Scenes" kind of show about The Bachelor. Otherwise, pretty recent, recognizable people. FYI: Recognizable is not the same thing as awesome.

Anyway, the crowd starts arriving - beginning with Tenley. As usual, I was watching several minutes behind so I can skip commercials and any cheesy recap scenes. Dena had already texted me saying "Jarrod wants to know why Tenley is wearing a wicker basket around her waist."  Two things: A) Yes, we get our husbands to watch a little bit of this crap with us. I'm not sure how we do it, though I'm guessing the bikini-clad girls don't hurt. B) OH MY! It did look like Tenley was wearing a wicker basket. That is, after I realized it wasn't flesh. Belts the same color as your skin just look weird. And Tenley, a little sunscreen never hurt anyone.

Tenley, however, is as cartoonish and cheerful as ever. Jesse and his tattooed leg sleeve are back. Natalie (who, if you recall from Jason's season, likes bears) immediately gets all fluttery for Jesse. She also proceeds to be "that girl"... the party-crazed, tell us all about the reunions former contestants have had, generally sound like a stereotypical sorority chick. (Stereotypical... not well behaved like I was and I'm sure you were too.) David from Jillian's season declares that Jessie S. (aka the Canadian tattletale) is "bangin'".

The Weatherman arrives and tells us he hopes Craig M. isn't there. I like that, instead of his name, the caption says "Weatherman". I also liked when he said, about Craig, "If his hair shows up without him, great..."  Come on. Admit it. You can't completely hate the WxWoman because he gives such great (totally cliche) one-liners. Love it! 

In the meantime, Nikki (looks like Sandra Bullock) tells us she hopes Juan isn't there. Apparently they have a "history". A history which Natalie says only happened because Juan wanted to visit Chicago, needed a place to stay and hooked up with Nikki in order to stay with her. So Juan is a prostitute and Nikki is just sad. Okay, got it.

Lots of other people arrive. Lots of people squeal. Lots of people whisper. It reminded me of the first day of summer camp every year where you spend hours watching the entrance to see who will arrive next. Then you give commentary on each person... but it's all either "EEEEEE!!! It's so-and-so!!" or "Eeewwww. It's so-and-so." or "Who is that?" or "Who is that?"

Elizabeth - the "don't kiss me" chick from Jake's season is back - with brassy, icky blonde hair. Hmm, who'd have though Ali's hair would actually be better than someone else's on this show? Anyway, she proceeds to tell us how her and Jesse Kovacs are so in love. Jesse arrives and tells us they hooked up a couple of times but he's absolutely single and that "money is important than love".

Wes shows up. I like Wes. I thought he got a terrible edit on Jillian's season. He thought so too. So I'm a little surprised he was willing to come back on this show, but I like him. Period.

Michelle arrives. Someone describes her arrival as "This is bananas. She's the crazy one from last season." Wes says she has a hot body but you've got to worry she'll chop off your thing in the middle of the night.  Wes quickly forgets about Michelle as Gia arrives. In fact, all the guys forget about everything rational when Gia arrives. Too bad she has a boyfriend. And finally, Craig M. arrives. Tenley suggests the WxMan should hide. My husband suggests I call Craig M. "Barry Gibb" this season instead of "Derek Shepherd" like I did last season.

Cone of Shame

The day we brought our fur child home he was 10 weeks old, a little unsure of his new surrounding but brave enough to go nose-to-nose with David. That's when we knew "Bruiser" had been the ideal name for him.

Since then, Bruiser's life hasn't always been the easiest. I know given his extensive wardrobe, toy selection, lavish bed and various other amenities, this might be hard to believe. But the bottom line is this: Bruiser has special needs.  (I don't say that mockingly. He really does. Though I love him to the point that I can't even be in the room when David clips his nails because I will have a panic attack if he yips in pain, we learned a valuable lesson in raising him. Namely when the breeder offers to meet you somewhere to acquire your new pup, she might just be kind... or she might be running a small puppy mill, resulting in dogs that aren't usually in the best of health. Not that she got arrested for that or anything...)

Other than some normal dachshund issues (itchy skin, sensitive digestive system), Bruiser has an anxiety problem. Again, not uncommon in the breed. But, he takes it to a whole new level. Not just the amount of his anxiety, but in how he expresses it.

I don't want to embarrass my dear fur son too much, but let's just say that his anxiety issues have led to some OCD behaviors. And those behaviors have focused on a certain male-only part of his anatomy. There was some tugging. Yes, tugging. There has always been a lot of licking. And, now there's Valium. Since putting him on Valium, his OCD / anxiety and the whole licking issue have calmed down significantly... but he managed to create quite a bit of scar tissue "there". (Yes, even as I type it, I realize how bizarre it all is... and if I were one of those people with a filter, this is when I would probably say "Hmm, should I really discuss my dog's mister parts on my blog? Nah." Wouldn't it be nice if I had one of those?)

With the licking calmed down, the vet decided it was best to remove the scar tissue. So, for the third time in his life, Bruiser currently finds himself sporting the "Cone of Shame".

First, naturally, was the time he was fixed. (No pictures - because who knew it would become a regular event?)

Then, there was this time... when the licking led to a skin infection... and one of my favorite pictures EVER.

Followed by this time...

Oh, sorry... wrong male member of the household...

Okay, so now there is this time (present day) following the scar tissue-ectomy:

As you can see, as the years have worn on, he's grown less amused with incessant photo taking.

He also didn't enjoy my joke that tossing him a treat was like playing skee ball.

Either way, here's hoping he won't have to wear the cone much longer (not that listening to his revenge created by using the cone to fling the doorstop repeatedly in the middle of the night isn't fun) and that maybe this most-unique problem will soon be behind us. And that maybe, just maybe, Bruiser will learn to make better choices so I won't have to keep humiliating him on my blog!

But what can I say? Special needs and all, he still rocks my face off! Love that little guy!!!

What's a CheeseburgHer?

If you've been watching my Twitter stream over the weekend, you might be wondering what the heck a #CheeseburgHer is. Or, if you've been reading any number of blogs, tweets, etc., lately you might be wondering what BlogHer is in general.

BlogHer is an annual gathering of (mostly) lady bloggers. It's a weekend of learning, networking, socializing, swag-acquiring hi-jinx. It's always held in a major metroplex and it's great fun for those who attend. And, at one point, some of those attendees ended up eating McDonald's cheeseburgers and subsequently putting the bags on their heads. Thus, CheeseburgHer was born. And now, CheeseburgHer has evolved into smaller satellite parties (bag wearing required) for those who can't attend the "main event" of BlogHer.

That sounds like a lot of information. It boils down to this: Last night, I had the opportunity to spend the evening participating in a variety of shenanigans with some Little Rock-area bloggers... but more than that, some amazing women that I'm honored to call friends.

I could spend several posts detailing the awkwardness that comprises most of my social interactions, but I'll spare you. In short, I've never sat at the popular table. But, through a combination of blogging and Twitter, I have found a new community that "gets me", whatever that means. Like any good community, it's diverse and interested of a variety of topics and opinions. But mostly, it's a community of support, laughter, openness, and, did I mention laughter?

So, thank you! Thank you to the gracious organizer of the event, Kyran, for putting everything together and for inviting me. Thanks to all the sponsors, helpers, friends new and old. Thanks to the people who read and comment on my blog and encourage me to continue in my odd pursuit of therapy and TV recaps. And thanks to the Academy...  Oh, sorry, wrong speech.

While I know this post and the pics to follow might be a little "you had to be there", I hope you'll enjoy them nonetheless...

Bloggers featured in my slide show:
Savannah, Kerri, Kyran, Amy (seen celebrating her birthday),
Sarah, LaTonya, Stephanie, Kat, Natalie, Katie

Also, I had to duck out of the CheeseburgHer festivities a little early in order to swing by the festivities for another fabulous blogger / dear friend, Kelli, who was celebrating her 30th birthday. While I won't divulge too much of what ensued... I'll just let this picture speak for itself.  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KELLI!!!!

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: It's Too Hot For Harry Potter Jokes

Let's face it... no post of mine could ever truly be "wordless"...  but this one has less words, so that totally counts! Hopefully you can tell by the lack of punctuation and use of "u", that the white bubbles are David's replies.

(In the event that you are not a huge Harry Potter nerd, "You Know Who" is the nickname for Lord Voldemort, the villain of all villains, and Avada Kedavra is the killing curse. And I stole this joke from Twitter.)

The Bachelorette: Finale and After The Final Rose

Before I get to the finale, a few people have asked if I am going to do recaps for Bachelor Pad. I don't know. Am I? In other words, if you're going to be watching BP and want me to write about it, leave me a comment and let me know. I definitely plan to watch it next week. I'll decide after the first episode if I'm going to continue watching and if it's recappable. (Yes, recappble is a word... I don't care what spell check says.)

Ok, let's head to Bora Bora and see what Ali and the guys are up to. Ali, wearing a series of bikinis, revisits some of the highs and lows of the journey... I think. I fast-forward that sort of thing. Anyway, Ali rambles on about the two guys - how Roberto makes her feel like a woman and she still wonders if he's too good to be true. How Chris has been a steady uphill pace from friendship to something more. She said 'friendship', like, 10 times. For all intents and purposes, we could have stop watching right here.

Time for Roberto to meet her family. (PS: Loved the white and grey dress she was wearing!) Roberto says "Howdy" as he runs to spin her around. This guy is a catch! He speaks English, Spanish and Cowboy!!

Okay, Meet the Fedotowskys.  My initial thoughts:

Dad: Wax Sculpture of Mr. Bean

Mom: I see Ali got her fake blonde hair from her mom

Sister: Raya is a weird name

Brother: Looks like Pugsly from the Addam's Family (Christina Ricci era Addam's Family, that is.)

Raya is very proper in her greeting to RobHAIRto  (Ali says his name RoBERTo... Chris Harrison says it RoberTO. So, rest assured all bases are covered for ways to say his name.) Everyone hugs and laughs and then sits down to a meal. During the meal, Pugsly and Roberto talk about baseball. Ali informs us his favorite team is the Tampa Bay Blue Rays. Blue Rays? What the heck? Did Tampa and the Toronto Blue Jays merge to form one strangely named team?

Next up, it's time to divide and conquer. Mom and Roberto talk. She tells him to keep doing whatever he's doing to make her happy because it's working. My mom would never have said that. She'd have said "Keep your hands to yourself, Rob." Then she says she can't contain her joy over this experience. Again, my mom wouldn't have said that. She would have said "Look, pal, I'm only here because of the free trip to Bora Bora. Otherwise, I'm a little horrified my daughter is on this show." Then she speaks to him in Spanish... slow, rehearsed Spanish. She tells him she believes his heart is pure. He tries to smile politely as she hablas.

This reminds me of a story about two guys I was friends with in college - both of whom were from here in Arkansas. One from a teeny tiny town... and one from an average-sized town where I went to college. For the purposes of this story, we'll call tiny town guy Bill and average-sized town guy Bob. Bob, as it happens, is half Filipino. Born and raised in Arkansas... and over 6 foot tall... but definitely with a Filipino look about him. Bill's mom was a teacher at the tiny town school. One day, Bill took Bob out to Tiny Town for some reason and they stopped by the school. All the teachers were so polite to Bob. Except they all kept over-enunciating and speaking very slowly. "HELLO! It's. So. Nice. To. Have. You!"  "Welcome. To. Our. Town!".  See, it turns out everyone in Tiny Town thought Bob was a foreign exchange student. Boy were they shocked when he said "Thanks, y'all... it's sure nice to meet ya..."  (Okay, Bob doesn't sound like a Redneck and is an MD now... but he does have a Southern accent. He's definitely not a foreign exchange student.)  Anyway, when Ali's mom was speaking to Roberto in Spanish, it reminded me of that... like she didn't think he would 'get it' if she spoke to him in English.

Next up, Roberto and Mr. Bean have a chat. Roberto says he'd like to ask for Mr. Bean's blessing to propose to Ali. Mr. Bean says "Do you love Ali?" Roberto says yes. Mr. Bean says a few filler lines and then says "I don't see a problem wid it." Yes, wid. His accent is really strong... and strange. (Again, different than my parents. I think my dad's "blessing" to David basically went something like "Ha ha, sucker! Enjoy all her student loan debt!")

And somewhere in there, Ali talked to her family too. Finally, everyone is blessed and bilingual and it's time for Roberto to give salsa lessons.

Has Facebook killed the class reunion?

David's 10th reunion is approaching. Or at least the time in which a graduating class would typically have a 10 year reunion is approaching. I asked him a few weeks back if a date had been set. We are trying to plan our vacation in October (Wizarding World... eeee!!!) and I didn't want to schedule at the same time. He said he'd check and let me know. And by 'check', he meant 'consult Facebook'.

Last week, and then again today, he said only a few of his classmates had posted about it but nothing had been decided. Apparently the class president is MIA. The initial discussions are something Homecoming weekend (though no one knows when that is) that may involve the football game and assorted other festivities. Or it may not. Basically, no one knows.  Of course, those of you who know me know approximately how well I handle unplanned events. This led to me say "Oh good grief, do I need to plan this thing? Because I will..."

Today, he also declared he wasn't sure if even cared about going or not. I have the benefit of being 2 and a half years / 3 grades in school older than David. I have the unique perspective of having attended a 10 year reunion. Therefore, I am qualified to insist others attend, right?

"No, no. Attending a reunion is a form of torture that everyone should endure once," I said.

"Why?" he asked. "The people I care about, I keep up with online. I already know what's going on with them. Facebook is killing class reunions."

I had no rebuttal.

Middle school and high school were to me what Gigli was to Ben Affleck. Something you lived through but don't want to talk about. Through a unique arrangement to accommodate my parents' interfaith (interdenominational?) marriage, I was moved from a public school to a Catholic school when I started 7th grade. I'd changed schools a lot, actually (moves related to my dad's job) but it hadn't been that big of a deal. Public school to public school... not much difference. Public school to Catholic school... culture shock.

Immediately, I felt out of place. I didn't know anyone. I didn't know the Hail Mary. My new classmates had been together since kindergarten. And, I looked like this...

Nerdzilla... circa 1991

Add to this the fact that I've always been labeled as one of the "smart kids" (read: geek). Combine that with my general sarcastic nature and let's just say I was not fast-tracked to the in-crowd. None of this changed through high school, except - mercifully - I got contacts. My feeble attempts at being athletic failed. No one asked me to Homecoming. Ever. I didn't go to parties. I had a laser focus on graduating and leaving town. I had a few friends - friends I still talk to and can't imagine my life without - but all in all, the experience was stereotypically scarring.

Yet, when my 10 year reunion rolled around, I didn't give it a second thought. I booked plane tickets. The difference between now and 3 years ago - as my husband pointed out - is Facebook. 3 years ago, people had Facebook... but not to near the extent we use it now. Not on our iPhones. Not where our moms have it too. It was just emerging. 3 years ago, I had MySpace. I think I had one classmate as a friend. Social networking wasn't what it is now.  I joked (well, kind of joked but in a totally honest way) that I wanted to go to the reunion see who else got fat. Or went bald. Or if any of the fancypants girls who had to fight off the boys with a stick were still single. Unlike David, I had to see those things in person, not on my computer.

And, I also went because, 10 years removed, I realized I probably hadn't been the most approachable, open person. Maybe the reason I had the experience I had was partly my own fault.

Whatever the reasons, I got my answers. Some answers were better than I expected. Most were on par with my expectations. If you've read my "Popular Table" tab, you already know what happened. Long story short, I sat with my aforementioned good friends. Invited by no one to join their table, we occupied our own at the back of the room. A few people drifted by and said "hello". The evening was going ok... not great, not bad - just average. Then, towards the end of the night, a girl came by, surveyed the 4 of us (plus David) and said "So, how are things going here at the popular table?" 

And that was my cue to call it a night.

The popular table

Bottom line: I do think there are some really good people in my class that I never got to know as well as I should have. (We can change that, you know. Look me up on Facebook.) :-)  Even the "popular table" girl is not a bad person. The story is so classically 'high school reunion' that I had to share it. All in all, aside from a few people who reveled in their 12th grade glory days, I think most of us were just glad to make it out alive.

So, will I go to my 15 year? Will David go to his 10 year? I guess that depends on Facebook...

~What about you? Reunions... yea or nay?~