Social Experimentation.

Tonight I am going to do a little social experiment.  You see, tonight is my Dad's law firm's party at our house.  My Dad is kind of like the boss man around there.  When all the young lawyers come to our house, they look like scared little fawns... until they meet my Mom and me.  They are in shock and awe.  They are SO scared of my Dad but are confused when Mom and I are so fun and well, for lack of a better word, nice.

So I'm going to do a little experiment mu ha ha ha ha ha! (That would be my evil scientist laugh)  I'm going to note (in my brain) how the youngsters act when they talk to Dad then how their attitudes change once they speak to Mom, and then to me.  When they talk to me they feel like they're in college again, which is funny.  These are a pretty tight-assed group of people and when they let loose, it's hilarious.  Especially when the young newbies get drunk and fall on the couch.  That happened once.

I asked Dad why they are so scared of him.  His answer?  "I don't have a clue."  Hm.  So I asked another.  "What do you say on their first day that nearly makes them tinkle themselves?"
"I just tell them I expect them to work."

Not at all what I expected.  So I have formed a theory.  I think there might be some urban legends floating around about Dad.  Like, that he once killed a guy using only a napkin.  Or that he cut a guy's legs off using a letter opener.  Or maybe, that he once looked at a guy wrong and his skin melted off his face.

For clarification: my Dad is a big ole softy.  He is my cuddly (even though he is skin & bones) friend.  He is silly and funny and a GREAT Dad.  But I wouldn't want to work for him.  I like to keep things casual when it comes to Dad.  Because he can be scary when he wants to be.  But then again, so can Mom, and I can too.

After I make thousands of mental notes, I will come back to each of you with the results.

Holiday Hookah... and Angels.

You know what I love?  CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  You know what I love more than Christmas?  Christmas movies.  My top Christmas movies:
The Grinch: "You're the, the, the-" "The, the, the... THE GRINCH."
The Christmas Story: 3 words: the Leg Lamp.
The Holiday
The Muppets Christmas Carol (Yes.)
The Santa Clause
Every single clay movie that is shown on ABC Family

Isn't the atmosphere what we all love about the holidays?  The smell of Christmas, the warm fuzzy (cliche, I know) feelings we get, the incessant need to cuddle, being with your family (most of the time), the religious mixed with the fantastical... It's like taking a big puff from a holiday hookah.  You get high from those feelings.  Oh wait, is that just me?

Reason #2 Christmas is awesome.  Let's take a walk down Christmas Drive.  Follow Saint Nicholas Day Lane to Christmas Eve Street, then off to Christmas Cove... Keep going.  What's that you see?  Anna's Birthday Celebration Gated Community?!!?!?!?  That's right.

Jesus blessed me with the best birthday ever.  His own.  But I wasn't born that day.  I wasn't ready.  So I waited two days; but my Dad was out of town.  So I came the next day with a vengeance.  December 28th is the day that will one day become a National Holiday.  Here's the bad news.  I'm going to be a senior citizen, aka 22 years old.  Oye vey!  Where has the time gone?  Guess I need to live it up these last 12 days (but who's counting) of freedom.

Reason #3 Christmas is awesome.  Christmas cookies.  I made some the other day for a few friends.  I showed the pictures to Dad.  The conversation that follows is an interpretation of actual events:
Dad: Those look great, Anna B!  You should make some for the folks at my office.
Anna: How much are you going to pay me?
Dad: How much?!  What do you mean how much?!
Anna: How much for the cookies?
Dad: I'm not going to pay you!
Anna: I need to make some money if I'm going to invest that kind of time.
Dad: Well, how much would you charge?
Anna: $50 for 4  dozen cookies.
Dad: Ok, sounds good.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Business is booming.  You think my Christmas cookies aren't work 50 big babies?  Check this out:

Good stuff, right?

Reason #4 Christmas rules.  FINALS ARE OVER.  Grades are in.  And guess who won the Medieval battle.  Yours truly.  After fearing for a C in an English class, or worse a D (gasp!) I was elated when I received a B.  An A would have been perfection but sometimes you gotta take what you can get.  

Now on to the sadness.  I'm depressed that I won't get to spend the holidays with the boyfriend this year. Last year was so magical, but this year is reality.  Magical > reality.  Boyfriend will be in Mississippi selling fireworks... but good news- he has been promoted!  I'm happy for him, but I am selfish and want to be with him during this special time.  Holidays we won't spend together this season: Christmas Eve, Christmas, my birthday, New Year's Eve, his birthday- wah wah wahhhhhhhhh.  Somehow, I think I'll get over it.  I might need a few hershey kisses though...

This is the REALLY sad part.  My roommate has a sister, her sister has a friend, this friend has twin babies.  One of them died.  The details aren't important, it isn't my story to tell.  I don't even know this family, for goodness sake.  What does matter, though, is that this sweet little girl has been taken away from her Mama, Daddy, and sister.  It just isn't right.  Every time something like this happens, I just look up to the sky and ask, "Why?!!!"  It has not and will not ever make sense to me.  As my mom says, "God wanted them."  That answer doesn't fulfill me though.  I have come up with my own theory.

These blessed people, that are always wonderful, that are taken from us weren't ever really human to start with.  My theory is that these people were really angels, not people.  God only gave them to us for only a short while so we could get a taste of what angels are like.  God knows that they are only going to be here for a little while, so He tries to get them to touch as many lives as possible while they are here on Earth.  Isn't it the strangest thing... their stories always travel throughout the country and the globe.  

I developed this theory after Susan died and I had nothing else to hang on to.  I think Susan was an angel who was given directions by God before she was born.  Unfortunately, she didn't remember this.  She didn't know she was an angel until she was gone.  She couldn't remember, or else she would blow the cover.  The thing about angels, is that they have to get a lot done in a very short period of time.  They have to do a lot of really great things, really fast.  They have to scratch off the things on their to-do list before they go, or else.  Think about someone you have lost that you thought was robbed of a full life... Was she an angel; was he?  I think I'm right.

The moral of my theory is to pray for people, even if you don't know them.  Your prayers might just be what they need.  It might help them get out of bed tomorrow or smile a bit tonight.  I ask that you pray for this family, who could need prayers more than a mother who just lost her 20 month old baby?  No one.  

I'm one of the lucky ones because I have so many angels by this point in my life.  They let me know when they're around, too.  It's funny; just look around and you'll see them.  You might even see their faces.  Sometimes, if you just close your eyes and breathe in, you can feel them right next to you.  That's what they want, because they're angels.  So let them love you, and let them take care of you.

Cracked.

Ever since I was a little girl, I have always been very sensitive.  If you do something mean to me, chances are I'll cry about it.  This is hard for me to admit because I like to pretend like I'm a big ole hard-ass (some of the time), but I'm just not.

When I was in the fourth grade, I met with one of my teachers for a conference and she told me I was too sensitive; that she could never give me constructive criticism about my work without tears welling up in my eyes.  That would be because I like to be the best at everything, especially academics.  If I don't do well on a test or paper in my eyes, I cry... which has happened several times this semester.  Clearly, finals week isn't my favorite time of the year.  I am like a baby in that if I am very tired, sleepy, or hungry, I am much more likely to cry.

Welcome to finals week.

Although I've only had one final (wait! don't let that fool you!) on Monday alone, I had 40 books to read, a 25 poem poetry file to do, and a research paper.  I had my final yesterday (I only had ONE hour of sleep and made a B, NOT okay), and today I had to turn in my 10-15 page paper.  Oye vey.  I haven't gotten more than 3 hours of sleep a night since last Friday.  I have taken a few naps here and there, but it just ain't the same (I know this is grammatically incorrect, but it is geographically correct, suckas).  I've gotta tell ya, this week has been very difficult for me to complete, but now I'm done!!! But I cried... a lot.  When I am under supreme amounts of stress, I'm much more susceptible to emotional trauma, and guess what?  It came.

So much has been going on in my life lately.  I am practically making myself sick about where I will be next year and what I will be doing.  Graduate school is my numero uno choice, but I don't find out about that until APRIL.  I haven't gotten to see my boyfriend much, and won't see him until January because of his work schedule.  Ugh.  Which means I won't get to see him for Christmas, my birthday, New Year's Eve, OR his birthday... joy to the world.  This has been my most difficult semester, academically, to note since I've been in college.  You know those classes that you spend most of your time on and only spend a few hours a few on the other ones?  I've been taking only those classes this semester.  I don't like making Bs and I have been.  I don't like Bs because they aren't As.

I digress.

Here's the situation: I am a sensitive lady.  I don't like to be made fun of;  IT ISN'T FUNNY.  So what happened this week?  You guessed it!  Made fun of.  I generally have a complete and utter emotional breakdown about once a year, sometimes once a semester.  Guess what happened yesterday?  BREAK.DOWN.

Sometimes all it takes is one little tap to send you over the edge.  But this wasn't a tap, it was a shove, except they didn't know it, they thought it was funny.  It is my understand that many objects of the male species find certain things funny that us females just don't.  Examples: the word "bitch," jokes involving sex or the sexual organs, physical violence, alcohol-induced stupidity, cheating, lying, cursing... you get the point.  I didn't grow up around boys, except for my Dad, and he's a deviation from the species, he's my Dad.  I grew up with my Mom and Dad, no one else in the house, generally.  They never told me I was ugly or fat or unintelligent or a loser.  Because they are great parents, and even greater friends.  Even after being in high school I guess I'm still not used to it.  In my mind, everyone loves me until proven otherwise.


Okay, I get it.  You've made your point.  You don't like me.  I'm sorry that you and your posse don't like me.  I really am.  I wish they did like me.  I've tried everything to be sweet, nice, friendly, and enjoyable to all.  I have tried to do everything nice (above and beyond that, even) that I can think of and apparently it didn't work.  But, like the Rolling Stones said, "You can't always get what you want..."

So, there you have it.  They cracked me.  I'm not superwoman, just a regular gal with tear ducts like everyone else.  Here's the good news.  I've become MUCH more aware of my actions and the things I say and do to others.  I never want to make anyone feel the way I have felt the past two days.  I guess all I can do is pray that they realize the hurt they have caused and learn not to do it again, to someone else.

Don't forget to love.

Insanity.

Even though I SHOULD be doing my mass amounts of homework, get ready for it...
40 book cards on, ta da! 40 books... of which I have only done 11.  Okay, that isn't exactly true.  This morning I had only done 11.  Now I'm up to 20.  Halfway done!
A 25 poem poetry file (poems that I have to relate to 25 books)... none done.
A medieval drama paper which has caused me more emotional trauma than middle school.  HOWEVER, I got a horrible horrible grade that actually made me cry (I'm so obsessive about my grades right now. Hello?! Grad school!)  BUT, I got my SECOND draft (meaning I wrote an entire paper on the same subject TWICE... 8 pages twice = 16 pages) of my paper back and I made a B!!!!!!!!! I have never been happy about a B on a paper in my life.  In fact, I'm usually pissed about a B; but in this miserable class, a B is heaven on a bed of whipped cream.  I have only written 8 pages out of 10-15.

Now that my pity party is over, I will give you the REAL information.  Yesterday I downloaded (and payed for) THE MOST AWESOME WORD PROCESSOR EVER.  Really.  I'm being serious.  It's so fancy, it was made just for writers.  Do you love it?!  I do.  There are all these different templates for different types of writing.  For example, there is one template for fiction, inside that template are more templates of which to choose from: novel, novel (with parts), and short story.  Are you dying?!!  Inside the template is another surprise!  You can organize your settings, characters, chapters, and scenes.  It's so awesome!!!!!!!!  It's called Scrivener.  You should buy it, especially if you are a writer.  Here is a pic.

Now I'm going to suckle down the rest of my 5 hour energy and read... some more.  Oy vey.

OH WAIT.  I forgot.

I got an email from the University of Arkansas that I got generally accepted into the Graduate School!  Which isn't really that big of a deal, but it's one step closer to being accepted to the MFA program.  Please keep saying prayers that my writing will shine in the eyes of the person who determines whether or not I am accepted.  My anxiety level is at an all time high.

Give Thanks.

Wow… That last post was interesting.  I don’t really remember writing that.  I must have been doped up from getting my wisdom teeth removed.  In case you were wondering, yes, it hurt.

The week of Hell I referred to was just that.  I spent nearly 12 lovely hours sitting in the ICU of the hospital waiting on a dear friend to come off a ventilator after a little too much to drink.  Luckily, he is fine, thanks to all the prayers of my sweet friends.  I met with my evil teacher again and she made me cry, again.  I re-wrote an entire 10 page paper last night.

Catch-up time is now over.

Even though it isn’t technically Thanksgiving anymore, I wanted to do a little post about all the things I am thankful for in my life.  I’m going to hit this in the most organized fashion, list-style.  Here goes…

I (Anna Beard) am thankful for:

-my precious kittens, Janie (Jane Austen) and Emmie (Emily Dickinson)

-my AMAZING friends, near and far; I just don’t think I could survive this hectic life without them

-my unparalleled family, they love me more than anyone ever can or will

            -this includes my Mom, Dad, sister, brother-in-law, sister-in-law, brother, nephew, nephew, nephew, neice, neice, grandfather… all of whom bless my life every single day

-my saint of a boyfriend, the love of my life, the yin to my yang

-my sweet Kappa D sisters

-my boyfriend’s wonderful family who has made me feel so very welcome

-my fully functioning brain (even though sometimes it lets me down)

-my ability to go to the best college not just in the world, but in the SEC (Hotty Toddy!)

-the many roofs that I have over my head at different periods in my life: home, school, lake

-the food that I get to eat, every day… and the food that I CHOOSE to stuff my face with

-my sweet roommates, who still love me even after living with me!

-my mom and dad (yes they were mentioned above, but I just love those cuties so much!)

-my phone… I know this looks bad.  But a girl’s gotta have her phone!  How else would I talk to my parents?

-all my books… I would be a sad girl without them

-my sense of humor

-the gift of knowing and befriending so many amazing people in my life

-being able to even know Susan was a gift that I am truly thankful for, she changed my life for the better.

-the existence of Disney… think about what life would be like if Walt Disney never existed…

-my boyfriend’s grandmother, G, she is one amazing lady and bring joy into my life

-the chance to know all of my grandparents, even though all of them are dead except one (Pepaw), I was given this gift and cherished every moment of it

-Pepaw… even though he’s turning into a looney tune, he is a kind and compassionate man

-the fabric that clothes my body and keeps me safe

-my current and continuing education
-CHRISTMAS, Christmas decorations, and the month of December in general (my birthday month)

-my best friend "Charlotte," she is my female counterpart, we are two peas, without her I would not exist

-ALL the gifts God has given me, I am amazed everyday!

That’s all I can think of for now.  Stay thankful for all the gifts that we have been given in our lives.  And keep your hearts open.  

Ouch...

I REALLY wanted to write today about this past week... also known as The Week of Hell.  However, I got my wisdom teeth taken out today.  And it really hurts.  I haven't eaten or had anything to drink since 7:00 pm last night so I think it's safe to say I'm a little cranky.
So I guess my interesting post will have to wait for another day.
I have to remove my bloody gauze now.

Senior year fun? HA!

Hello friends.  My deepest apologies for not writing in over a month.  This just in: Senior year isn’t easy OR fun.  Here’s a little update of what’s been going on over the past month:

I applied to the University of Arkansas for a MFA in Creative Writing (PLEASE say a prayer that I get in)

I’ve been reading approximately three/four books a week

I became a godmother

I went to a wedding

I cried

I laughed

I danced

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I can tell you the real story.  As I stated, I applied to the University of Arkansas.  I’m constantly sweating and panicked that I’m not going to get in and what I’m going to do if I don’t get in.  But then Jake rubs my back and reminds me not to stress.  I just have to remember that if I don’t get in then that wasn’t the plan for me.  Right?...

The real fun was this past weekend.  Jake and I went to his brother’s wedding.  It was ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL.  Might I add that I was totally jealous?  There were so many happy couples there.  I want to spend my life just like they are.  It seems that their lives are simple but full of happiness.  What more could a person wish for?  Life has been beyond amazing lately in my relationship with Jake and all I want to do is spend the rest of my life with him.  I know, I know; we’re too young, we don’t have ANY money, and we aren’t ready for that kind of commitment.  But, have you ever been so in love that all you want to do is start your life with that person as quickly as possible?  I have.  And for all you characters that think I’m here getting my “MRS degree” consider this:

Before I met Jake I told my dad to get rid of the money he and my mom had saved up for my wedding.  I’m serious.  I told him to buy himself something nice.  I had totally give up on love and then one day in our African American Studies class I changed my mind…

That’s enough mushy stuff for now.

Am I the only one have a miserably intense senior year?  I thought it was supposed to be full of boozing and cruisin’?  Wrong again, ghostwriter.  My classes are unbelievably difficult and I have recently developed a bit of a throw down with one of my teachers.  She’s a real bitch.  The main reason I don’t like her is because she has given me bad grades.  In a perfect world, I would get nothing lower than an A but this woman has actually had the ballz to give me a 0 on a 10 point quiz WHEN I WAS THERE.  The nerve!  THEN, I went to visit with her during her office hours and she attacked me like I was a communist.  I can’t handle it.  To top it all off, I have a 15 page paper due in her class tomorrow.  Oye.  I can’t wait for this semester to end.

The GOOD news is that I will be going home for ELEVEN days on Wednesday.  Bliss, pure bliss.  I will probably have to get my wisdom teeth taken out, but those babies are getting on my nerves anyway.  Oh no, I just realized my grades will probably be worse next semester without my wisdom teeth.  Ha.  Ha.  (Get it?)  I made a funny.

I’m ready for Thanksgiving and I believe I will do an extra special post for that wonderful holiday.  I’m now off to stick my face in another book (Can you believe it?!!?!?!)  Saveeeeeeeeeeeee meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.  Help me, Tom Cruise!

Keep your hearts open.

Oxford, Mississppi: my life, my love, my home.

“On Friday nights before Ole Miss home games, Oxford’s courthouse square becomes a mini-New Orleans.  By 9 o’clock, the sidewalks are filled with students and alumns.  Sorority girls in cocktail dresses and high heels stroll from bar to bar, while frat brothers whoop it up in front of Proud Larry’s, Rooster’s and other noisy hangouts.  Later, a few of the more literary types will be visiting nearby St. Peter’s Cemetery, where spilling a shot of bourbon on Faulkner’s grave is an honored tradition.  It’s ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ meets ‘Animal House,’ part fashion show, part pep rally and part hangover in the making.”

These are the words of Bill Thomas in the Washington Post after his visit to Oxford, Mississippi.  (I intend to shoot him an email about a few of errors in his piece.)  There it is.  I can’t keep it a secret anymore!  I go to Ole Miss.  Loud and proud, I proclaim my loyalties.  The University of Mississippi, that school, Ole Miss: whatever you call it, we all know it is a cultural phenomenon.  Whether or not you like it, you have to admit this as fact.  Because it is. 

The first time I saw what is now my home; I was a mere fifteen-year-old girl.  I even remember what I was wearing.  Is that weird?  I came with my best friend and her parents, they went to college here.  Right when we drove onto campus I said, “This is where I’m going to college.”  And I did. 

I could talk for days about how awesome Ole Miss is, but I’ll save you the time.  What really makes Ole Miss so special is the atmosphere; from times to come and times past.  I began studying African American studies my sophomore year in a class where I met Jake!  I have gone on to unofficially make it my second minor.  Where could be a better place to study African American history?  I once went to the special collections section of the library and read folders upon folders of negative and positive letters written to James Meredith when he came to Ole Miss.  There was a lot of negativity from white folks then, but you should see the positive letters.  They are astounding. 

I have walked the same streets as Archie and Eli Manning, Barry Hannah, Willie Morris, James Meredith, William Faulkner, Barack Obama, and John McCain.  How many people can attest to that?  Not many. 

William Faulkner is everywhere.  You can see him and read him and feel him.  I was not originally a Faulkner fan, but now I am a bit obsessed.  Have you ever been to his home, Rowan Oak?  If you’re a fan of Faulkner, and even if you aren’t, you need to go before the end of your lifetime.  You can just feel him lurking around the halls, irritated that people are using his house as a spectacle for a bunch of weirdos.  You can even see his handwriting on the walls of his office turned bedroom when he could no longer make it up the stairs.  I believe he died in the room, and I knew he was there when I walked inside.    

The food in Oxford is to be envied by many.  We all know Southern food is far superior to any other but these guys have really got it down.  It’s so good it will make you want to slap your momma.  Food + wine + Oxford = Enjoyment.  People really know how to live down here.  Coming from Little Rock, I was quite manic and high strung when I came down here, but that ended real quick.  People drive, eat, drink, and talk slow.  Don’t let that fool you for one minute that we aren’t as smart as those up North.  In fact, I’m certain many of my teachers are better than those at Ivy League universities.  They are great because they are actually writers.  Therefore they actually know what they are doing.

The shopping is great here too.  But I’m not talking about clothes or make-up (though we have that a-plenty).  I’m talking about BOOKS!  Square books, to be exact.  You see, Oxford, Mississippi is the playground for the literary.  Ole Miss led me to find my way as a reader and a writer.  How could you not enjoy such things down here?

Then, there’s The Grove.  Football is like religion down here.  But not to me.  You know what I like about The Grove?  The drinks.  Mimosas, specifically.  I find it strange that everyone doesn’t dress up to go to a football game.  We have a type of attire here called “Grove Wear.”  If you don’t dress right, we sure will stare at you funny.  They say the most beautiful women in the world go to Ole Miss.  It’s a tough life out there with all the competition.  But I don’t know if we are actually the most beautiful.  I think instead we are the most detail oriented in the vein of beauty.  We work pretty hard to look so nice.

Why do I love Oxford and Ole Miss so much?  I think it’s because they gave so much to me.  Friends, lovers, tears, laughter, and so much more.  But I think I owe Ole Miss most for the lessons it has taught me.  How can a place teach lessons, you ask?  Well, why don’t you come down and see for yourself?  I can make a believer out of you.     

Seven years bad luck.

I am almost 100% positive that I have been hit with 7 years bad luck.  A few weeks ago, I broke my favorite mirror, one that my dad gave me several Christmases ago.  It’s so sweet and little and says, “Daddy’s Little Girl.”  LOVE.  It is all glass and only a piece of the handle broke off.  But still, as Winnie the Pooh said, “7 years bad luck, oh bother.”

Literally the day after I broke the mirror I found out that several people had been saying less than favorable words about me.  Then I ran out of deodorant.  I’m compulsive about putting deodorant on, as I put it on about 5 times daily, and this is a huge problem for me when I run out.  Then I got sick.  Then my grandfather fell down and broke his ribs.  Then my friend didn’t win in an election yesterday.  THEN I got a B on a test.  Oye.

7 years bad luck?  This is going to be a long 7 years.

However, the whole election thing pissed me off more than usual.  You see, I am a bit jaded in the whole election/campaigning process ever since Jake ran for Vice President of the student body last February.  I have never hated anything as much as I did those few weeks.

Unfortunately, very few of the people that said they would help Jake…didn’t.  I was forced to do a lot of the heavy lifting.  I put his name out there and campaigned like it was nobody’s business.  And guess what?  He lost.  I was so pissed I cried.  It’s hard to accept that someone doesn’t like the person that you love more than anything in the world.  It’s even harder to realize that people don’t like you enough to click on your name.  It’s a tough world out there.

In any event, I hope this bad luck doesn’t last for a whole 7 years.  If it does I am in for a bumpy ride.  I have been trying to figure my life out (as usual) and I think I want to teach preschool.  How am I going to survive on this salary, you ask?  I have no clue.  Hopefully my parents will find a pocket of love in their hearts to help me buy groceries.  The thing is I don’t know how to maneuver this dream of mine.  In a few months I will have a BA in English and I need some sort of degree in Early Childhood Education.  Oh brother. 

Any life suggestions would be wonderful.  In a perfect world, I would teach preschool during the day and then write at night.  No rhyme intended.  I would also cook a fancy dinner every night for Jake.  My obsession with food is only on the rise, thanks to Food Network… and Sonic.  I know this is sick but I LOVE LOVE LOVE Sonic.  I recently have developed a new obsession for French Toast Sticks from Sonic.  I dislike French toast very much but these are nothing like that.  They are like… sticks of funnel cake.  Or deep fried cake.  Or buttery pancake sticks.  It’s just too much.  I’ve already had them twice this week.  If only I had my dad’s metabolism (which I used to have until college, aka Papa John’s) I could eat butter-filled products on a daily basis and never gain a pound.

I have found myself wanting to cook different things recently.  Nothing that I could cook on any regular day.  I want to discover different flavors and use them in crazy ways.  Like using nutmeg in macaroni and cheese.  What?  Can it be done?  Yes.  I am delving into the adventure that is known as French cooking.  Jake loves French food and I am currently taking an independent study French class (which I haven’t done anything for, yet) so I say go big or go home.  Send me recipes and then formulate my life plan of how to become a million-heiress or better, a billion-heiress.  Also, if you read my blog follow me!  I only have like 12 followers and I find that really embarrassing.

Love y’all.  

My fears.

I have so many fears.  My mom said I was a bit of a scared child, but she was too.  It must be genetic.  One of my biggest and socially weird fears is that I am deathly afraid of mentally retarded people.  This is weird, I know.  But I have a reason.  (I am NOT being insensitive to those with mental problems.  My cousin is mentally disabled.  Don’t even think about it.)

When I was 3 I used to always go with my grandmother to the Methodist church with her to pick up flowers and then take them to the hospital to congregants that were ill.  When she would get the flowers in the kitchen I would sing hymns on the stage into the microphone.  I’ve always been a bit of a drama queen.

One day, Grandmom and I took the flowers to the hospital as usual.  I think we were on a psychiatric floor or something because I remember a giant man in a hospital gown run towards me as Grandmom was speaking with a patient.  “How are you feeling?” she asked.  The man doubled over and grabbed my little three-year-old body and went running with me.  HE TRIED TO KIDNAP ME.  True life, this happened.  I was screaming and crying as he clenched his fists on my scrawny arms.  I remember looking back and seeing Grandmom come after me, with a look of terror in her eyes.

In the end, the man was tackled and the hospital staff recovered me.  That was a close one.  Ever since then, I have been cautious around those that are mentally handicapped.  I didn’t realize this was the reason until recently.  The reason I am fearful of them is because you never quite know what they’re going to do.  It’s strange because I have no problem with any type of children, but adults that cannot handle themselves in a social setting makes me shake in my boots.

I’m trying to be as politically correct as possible so don’t say I’m prejudiced or rude or anything.  This is a legitimate fear and that is all I am sharing.

Maybe this instance was why I have always been paranoid that I am going to be kidnapped.  Lucky I got out of that one.  I have always been so completely scared of someone breaking into any house I am in and quietly taking me away.  This fear was put on steroids when a girl I knew when I was little was kidnapped and murdered.  Her name was Casey.  She ran out of gas on the highway and was only a mile from a gas station.  A man offered her a ride to the gas station.  Then, he murdered her.

Ever since this happened my paranoia has been on full blast.  I am wide awake if I hear a noise.  I check 3 times to make sure the doors are locked.  Oh boy…

I had a lot of death in my life when I was little.  When I was 7 my great-grandfather died.  When I was 10 my grandmother died.  I miss her so much.  When I was 14 my grandfather died.  When I was 15 my great-uncle died.  When I was 18 my grandmother died.  When I was 18 a girl that I went to school with, one that I looked up to tremendously, committed suicide.  When I was 19 my great-aunt died.  When I was 20 Susan died.  This is a lot of death to deal with in just 20 years.  Ever since Susan died I have been obsessively paranoid that someone even closer to be is going to die.  Day and night I think about it.  Sometimes I even tear up thinking about what I would do if my mom or dad died.  Why am I so fixated on death?  I’m not a psychologist.  All I know is that I pray everyday to keep the people around me just one more day. 

These are my fears.  Are they irrational?  Maybe for you, but not for me.

Wishing, and hoping, and planning, and dreaming...

I am beyond ready for fall and winter.  As we all know, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.  It is wonderful for countless reasons but most notably because of… MY BIRTHDAY.  3 days after the birthday of our old pal, Jesus.

I’m tired of all this hot weather.  Nobody looks cute wet from sweat (no rhyme intended).  I’m ready for scarves and jeans and boots, oh my!  There’s always a feeling in the air when the temperature gets cooler.  I find myself suffering from giddiness.

The cure for giddiness is more cowbell.  After more cowbell comes cabernet sauvignon.  Something about the icy wind chapping my cheeks makes me crave turtlenecks and red wine.  I’m not a red wine drinker (pinot grigio, please!) but during winter I just can’t help myself.  I am constantly red faced and purple toothed.  It calls to me.

I have always liked to be embraced and cuddled.  My parents were always very cuddly with me and just because I’m a quasi-adult female I’m supposed to not like it anymore?  Nice try, society.  Winter is the perfect time for cuddling.  A blanket is much warmer with two bodies under it instead of just one.  In my opinion, winter is the worst time to be single, not spring.

My absolute favorite thing to do during the Christmas season is to go to this garden right by my lake house to see the Christmas lights.  It sounds lame but the lights are AMAZING.  They have already started setting them up now, if that gives you any kind of idea.  That's where we always take our Christmas card, which is usually just me.  Awkward.  Thankfully my mom has started employing my brother and sister's children so I won't be a lone ranger in the picture.  The best part of the lights (besides the lights themselves) is that that serve hot apple cider, hot chocolate, and marshmallows for you to roast on the fire.  How enchanting! 

The winter I turned 13 there was an ice storm that shook central Arkansas right to its core.  We went without electricity for 10 days.  It really sucked.  The line at Home Depot to get a generator was out the door, literally.  I slept with my parents the whole time because the downstairs of our house gets really creepy at night and during power outages.  I remember lying in bed awake one night, next to my mom, and heard a huge burst of thunder followed by a blue light.  It was a transformer blowing outside.  It really gave me the willies and I shivered with fear and cold.  I wasn’t the only one who wanted to be held that winter.

There were more babies born in September (count it, 9 months after December) that year than Arkansas has ever seen.  I know this because our next-door neighbor is a baby doctor.  He didn’t get to see one razorback game that year.

The moral of the story?  No one likes to sleep alone, especially when it's cold...

A hair-brained idea.

I am currently in the middle of an existential crisis.  Why you ask?  Where is my life going?  I do not know.  Does my life at its current stage have any meaning whatsoever? 

I am struggling between a few completely different directions in which my life could go.  Do I want to have the wonderfully artistic lifestyle of which I have always dreamt (being a writer)?  Or do I want to be the power suit wearing, ball busting, career woman I know that I could be?  Or should I choose my dream of dreams: teaching preschool (eating canned beans for dinner and living in a cardboard box, literally)?  This is my crisis.  Where is my life going?!?!!?!?!?!

Am I the only one feeling this way?  Hello out there…….. I feel like I’m floating in outer space yelling into the blackness that is the universe.  Can anyone hear me?

Since my whole “Writing for Children” plan of graduate school didn’t work out I’m looking elsewhere.  I never believed that I would say this, but I’m thinking about going to the University of Arkansas: the old family stomping grounds.  Turns out they have a really great creative writing program so I’m going to test the waters.

Every time I go to Fayetteville I feel as if I am somehow more connected to my father.  He went to Arkansas and apparently was quite the party animal.  Maybe that’s where I get it (even though I didn’t go out this weekend, sleeping is higher on my list of things to do).  One of my favorite things to do is hear of stories of crazy things my dad did whilst living the collegiate life.

My Mom lived there too supporting her loser of an ex-husband through law school.  She got lucky meeting my dad because from what I heard around town, this guy was a real champ.  And by champ I mean Freak with a capital F.  Not to mention a lying, cheating, adulterer.  But that's neither here not there. 

My Mom has thousands of interesting stories from when she was between men (i.e. time between her ex and my dad) but one of my favorites is this one (this is for you, Charlotte):

This huge creep asked my Mom on a date.  Being the lady that she is, she accepted (I wouldn’t have).  Before the date, one of her friend’s husband’s came and knocked on her classroom door (she taught sixth grade) and told her that this fine specimen wanted to take her out to a Razorback game (woo pig sooie) and had just bought a new leather flight jacket.  Not only is being single after 9 years and 49 weeks of marriage bad enough, this guy was awful, just awful.  Clearly.  That night, when my Mom gets home from school her phone is ringing.  It’s Tommy.  He says, “So, I heard you want to go out with me.”  Wow.  Then he continues, “I want to take you out.”  Mom says, “That would be nice, Tommy.  I would like that sometime.” 

“No, I want to take you out tonight.” 

“Well, I’m sorry but I teach a class until 9 tonight.”

“I’ll pick you up at 9:15.”

 So this guy rolls up in one of those half truck half car, you know what I’m talking about.  He asks Mom if she likes his jacket.  Before she knows what is happening, they are at Shoney’s.  What a wonderful and romantic place for a date, right?  He tells her she can order anything she wants.  Gee, thanks.  What a big spender.  The waitress comes over says hello and asks, “Would you like the usual?”  The manager then comes over and Tommy stands up.  They take turns looking at my Mom until Tommy says, “Isn’t she beautiful?” he says about my Mom.  Sweet, but creepy.  Then, he holds his bangs up and says, “Can you tell I’ve had a hair transplant?”  My Mom relates his head to that of a Barbie Doll. 

And that, my friends, is why to never date a man with hair plugs. 

Should we go to Lynwood Correctional Facility tonight or Nobu?

I haven’t always had a problem with authority; it only blossomed when I developed a bit of an attitude.  Puberty wasn’t good to me.  I was given a pimply face, a chunky exterior, and a sizzling attitude.  In retrospect, I feel horribly bad for my parents.  I was such a bitch, simply put. 

There is where it all began.

My problems with authority have only gotten worse with age.  As my mental capacity increases, so does my attitude.  Sometimes I think I know more than other people and that seems to be a problem.  I am what I like to call feisty.  A feisty feline.  I was never really into the whole team sports thing and then I really wasn’t once the terrible teens arrived.  I have never liked it when someone told me what to do and they weren’t willing to do the same.  This especially goes for physical activity.  I once told my tennis coach to run a mile and then I would.  Literally.  Then he threw a tennis ball at the back of my head.  He was a ginger, enough said.

I’m a stubborn gal and when someone tells me that I can’t do something, it makes me want to do it more.  Just call me Scarlett O.

Being in a sorority doesn’t help with my stick-it-to-de-man-neosis.  When they tell me to do something I always want to do the complete opposite.  Sometimes I am able to drown out this voice but sometimes I cannot.  Sometimes I feel a magnetic pull to do the exact opposite of what those in charge tell me to do.  Why is this?  Maybe I am a rebel…

Through my rebellious ways, I feel as if Lindsay Lohan is a child after my own heart.  She just can’t seem to follow the rules, can she?  What is so difficult about not drinking alcohol when there is an alcohol-monitoring bracelet on your ankle; an anklet, if you will.  Oh, that’s right, I forgot, she’s an alcoholic.  If I pulled all the shenanigans that she has pulled in the past few years, you better believe my tail feathers would be locked up in a sobriety tank. 

What’s annoying about the whole Lindsay Lohan thing is that her parents blame each other instead of blaming the culprit: Linz herself.  It really isn’t difficult to not do cocaine.  Believe me, I’ve mastered 21 years of staying away from it.  Poor Lindsay just doesn’t know when to stop.  It all went downhill after The Parent Trap.  A smashing film that I still know every line to.

I will give Lindsay the benefit that her parents are both crazier than two parakeets locked up in a cage together.  Did you ever watch that show about Lindsay’s family on E!?  I feel bad for the brother.  He seemed quasi-normal and the rest of them need to be locked up.  I feel as if Lindsay is going in the Britney direction of things and I think we all remember how that ended.  Bald-headed and baby-less.

I also feel a semblance of a kinship with Alexis Neiers from E!’s Pretty Wild.  The girl just can’t seem to get a break.  Actually, scratch that.  She can’t get a break because she burgled Orlando Bloom’s home and got caught.  Um, DUH!  It is clear that these girls are exactly the next Bronte sisters, but I would have thought she was smarter than that. 

The best part about the Alexis Neiers saga is that she exclaims how innocent she is, time and time again.  This confuses me since she was in jail for one month, next to our gal pal Lindz.  Why must you not tell the truth Alexis?  Maybe she’s scared her sexy Spaniard of a lover will jump ship.  On the show, though, he didn’t seem to mind her future jailbird status, which is questionable. 

Has everyone in LA been to that jail?  I almost feel left out... ALMOST.

Lil Wayne, wanna be my boyfriend?

I have recently (in the past 3 years of college…I’ve been in college for 3 years?!!) developed a passion, nay, an obsession for rap music.  The other day on VH1 I saw an interview with a producer in the music biz.  He said that there is a completely new demographic that has developed for the rap/hip-hop genre: white kids.

21 year old, rhythmically challenged, booty shakin’ white girls.  This would mean: me.  I have never been much of a dancer, which I think is because I’m so tall and have such tiny feet (5’8”, size 6 shoe).  You know how horses sometimes get tangled within their own feet?  That’s me.  I was voted the least likely to know every word to “I’m Single” by Lil Wayne on Friday night by my friends.  But guess what?  I did.

I believe my obsession with rap music and all that it entails began my sophomore year of college when we were told that T.I. would be going to jail.  I didn’t really think anything of it until I started watching his show on MTV, “T.I.’s Road to Redemption.”  What a heart melter that show was.  I may or may not have cried once or twice. 

T.I. was arrested and sentenced to hardcore jail time because cops (aka high school heroes looking for balls to bust) found a few guns in his house.  Ok, there were more than a few guns but that doesn’t matter.  What matters is the story.  After a late night bar brawl in Cincinnati, some hardcore dudes followed T.I. and his besties in a bit of a car chase.  The bad guys were shooting guns in T.I.’s direction.  They were all ducking and covering but a few of the bullets hit Philant Johnson, aka Phil.  Phillly was T.I.’s BFF, personal assistant, AND a worker for Grand Hustle Records. 

T.I. became obsessed with keeping his friends and family safe after this horrible tragedy.  I know he shouldn’t have had the guns, but what’s a boy to do?  He was trying to keep his children and fiancé safe!  In addition to his 1,000 hours of community service, T.I. did 864 extra hours through his television show.

Guess where T.I. was in jail?  Forrest City, Arkansas.  This is a town that is only an hour or so from my hometown.  I begged my parents to let me go see him to no avail.  I wonder if I had just walked in there they would have let me chat with him.  I also though about writing him a letter.  “Dear T.I., I’m sorry you’re in jail but at least you aren’t Dead and Gone.  I hope they let you do Whatever You Like.  I hope when you get out of jail you can still Live Your Life.”  I never wrote this letter but have always been pleased with how clever I am.  He was in the federal, white collar prison so I’m pretty sure he did fine.

To further my obsession, a few weeks ago I watched the Behind the Music: Lil Wayne.  Oh. My. God.  Even though he’s a little shorty (I have a HUGE problem with short men, mainly because I tower over them and it’s awkward) he’s a cutie with a booty.  I could probably give you a play by play of the whole show.  He loves his weed, that’s for sure.  He was sucking on a bleezy aka a blunt the whole time.  He also discussed his love for purple drank, purple sprite, or sizurp aka cough syrup in a cup.  “You shouldn’t care what’s in my cup.  It doesn’t matter if it’s heroine in there.  It’s my cup.” 

What is so amazing to be about Lil Weezy is that he doesn’t write any of his lyrics down!  He used to, until he realized he was too good for those shenanigans.  The last time he wrote anything down, he recorded every lyric he had written in his notebook at the time.  Supposedly on the tape you can hear him ripping the pages out of his notebook as he continuously rapped for 45 minutes.  Holy balls, that is a long time.  After this, he never wrote anything down. 

For the love of everything sacred, even if you don’t like rap music, please listen to at least one of his songs.  He doesn’t write anything down.  Do you get that?!  He is a true artist.  He just pulls these amazing and sometimes hilarious phrases out of his head.  Might I make a suggestion of which songs to try out?  My faves are: A Milli (which Jake called A Thousand), Mr. Carter, Lollipop(Remix), and I particularly love his No Ceilings Mixtape of which my favorite tune is his re-do of I’ve Got a Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas. 

“Party on the beach,

Pa - party on the beach,

Party animal baby let me of the leash,

I got my weed from the west,

My pills from the east,

And 2 bottles of goose that's geese.”

He’s funny and what’s even better about Lil Wayne is that he knows just how clever he is.  Sometimes he even laughs.  I picture him being like, “Yeah, I’m that good.”  I wonder what Lil Wayne would say if he saw June and I getting ready to go out while listening to his tunes.  She throws out her favorite lines here and there while I virtually quote his every line.  I think he would laugh and think we’re awesomely cool ladies.  He might even take us out for a little drinkie.

“I was drinking when I came

When I got here I did the same

I don’t like beer I like champagne

So cheers to Lil Wayne.”

I like champagne too, Lil Wayne, I have a bottle in my fridge.  Wanna come over for a drink?  I’ll pop some champagne like we won the championship game.  Cause I ball hard, no bitch we ball harder. 

For Susan.

One year ago today we lost an angel that was bestowed to us on earth: Susan.  People say it gets easier with time, I find it gets more difficult.  With every milestone I find myself silently wishing, “I wish Susan were here.”  Sometimes I’m sad, sometimes I’m angry.  Why my friend?  Why did she have to be the one that was taken? 

I have come to peace with the fact that I will never know what truly happened that fateful night.  All I can do is miss her and remember her.  Susan’s mom told us to never forget her… Is that even possible?  I don’t think so.  She was the light of our lives.

The day that Susan died my wonderful saint of a godmother called me.  This is what she said: “Anna, maybe God knew that Susan wasn’t going to have a long life.  Maybe he knew that she would be gone before it was her time.  He knew this and he wanted to let her meet and influence as many people as she could while she was still here.  Even though it was a short time with her, He wanted you to have that special time.”  I think she was right.

This is for her…

For Susan

            Her lips came together in the middle like a heart.  The outside of her lips curled upwards so it always looked like she was smiling, even when she wasn’t.  The color on her lips was always the same, a color that was like a hybrid between a peach bred with a coral.  It was her color.  Her skin was always a deep golden, even in January.  Some said it was her heart showing through her skin, others said she was just that beautiful. 

            Susan was everyone’s best friend, until she wasn’t anymore.  Until she wasn’t anything anymore. 

            Susan liked to dance and smile.  But more than anything she liked to love.  She loved him and she loved them.  All of them.  She showed her love like she showed her teeth when she smiled, wide and unafraid.  She wasn’t afraid to tell someone that she loved them.  In fact, she told everyone quite often.  If they didn’t say it back, she said it again, just to make sure they heard. 

            It was the summer.  The air was hot and thick like summers in Mississippi always are.  They baked in the sun so they could look like her: warm-skinned and glowing.  They roasted, sticky and wet.  They talked about their loves found and loves lost.  They didn’t cry, they just laughed.  They couldn’t cry, everything was too perfect. 

            They danced at night and laughed in the morning, remembering the beauty in their lives.  They ate pizza as if it had no calories, and laughed out loud.  Then they didn’t laugh anymore.

            The end of summer was near and they felt it.  It was their last bit of excitement before it all began again.  They lived harder than they ever had and knew it was all about to change.  They knew it was the best summer they would have for some time.  They took it all in, danced until their feet throbbed and laughed until their bellies ached.

            They all cried, some softly weeping, some loudly sobbing.  He sat with the family, where she wanted him to be.  They didn’t understand but they cried anyway.  It smelled of the roses they brought.  They were white.  She didn’t get to see them.

            Her parents stared at the casket before them as the tears flowed, just as they had before.  They had done it all before.  They were numb.

            They ate for the first time since it happened.  The ladies cooked them lunch.  None of them looked the way they thought they did.  Mascara slipping sideways.  They said “thank you” and left.  Where were they to go?  What were they to do?  No one knew.  They just drove.

            They cried for her.  They danced for her.  They sang for her.  They remembered her.  For a year there was a lump in their throats.  They tried to go on living, but wished she were there every moment.

            Susan was everyone’s best friend.

My wish.

I have come to a sad but true realization today: no one will ever love me as much as my parents do.  As much as I wish everyone loved me, it has become quite clear to me that they do not.  I like to say that I had an abnormal childhood- an abnormally awesome childhood.  My parents gave me everything I needed and more.  I couldn’t have asked for anything better.  They fostered my emotional, physical, and spiritual growth.  I’m pretty sure I was the luckiest and happiest kid alive.

I’m still lucky when it comes to my parents.  When I ask them for advice, they give it to me.  They don’t throw around possible answers, they are straight shooters, always have been, always will be.  They are not condescending to me and have always comforted me in my many moments of grief and confusion.  They have always told me to do what makes me happy, so many children are not given that opportunity.  I have faced very few restraints and have taken advantage of all the blessings they have bestowed upon me.  They have given me the tools to succeed.

But how could anyone love me as much as my parents?  They have loved me from my first moment on this earth and every day since then.  They have watched me grow and held my hand along the way.  Sometimes I wonder if anyone understands me as my parents do.  I have so many different facets to who I am as a person that sometimes it is difficult for one person to see every side.  I’m a dreamer, a thinker, a lover, a crier, a laugher, a writer, a reader, a trier, a dancer, a singer, a composer, a prayer, an eater, a swimmer, a listener, an artist… so many more things, too.  I don’t want someone to write me off as just one of these things.

For someone so young, I have seen a lot of love.  I have had lots of relationships that have allowed me to understand and develop different types of love.  I have felt the love of a sister and the love of a friend.  Sometimes these roles can be interchangeable.  I know it sounds silly, but being in a sorority has given me hundreds of friends that I never would have met.  It has led me to my best friends in college.  They love me for me, and that is something that is hard to find.  If you are against the greek system, that’s fine.  I only ask that you respect how it has helped me in my life overcome many of the personal battles I have faced.  I have felt the love of family and parents.  I have felt the powerful love of lovers, old and new.  I knew what soul mates looked like before I was 7.  What wonderful examples I was given.  Maybe that’s why I have always looked for so many distinct qualities in a man until I have found one that fulfills each and every one of my standards.

When I was in high school and struggling with boy problems mixed with friend problems, my mom told me, “Anna, this is the first time in your life that everyone hasn’t loved you for exactly who you are.”  Even after her words of wisdom I still struggle with my insecurities when I feel as if people do not like, or even love me.  So, dear reader, this is just one more insight to my life that you may not have known.  Please respect and take into consideration my words I have used to describe myself.  This is not required reading.  It is meant for a personal insight into my persona.

Ever since I was a little girl I have been sensitive.  Whenever I am criticized I can’t help but burst into tears.  Once, in fourth grade, I got a math problem wrong.  My teacher corrected me and my eyes welled with tears.  I couldn’t stand to be unsuccessful; I still can’t. 

I have always been scared and I always will be.  I was a bit of a nervous child and I am a nervous adult.  All I want in life is to be successful; successful in love, careers, happiness, and my relationships.  When I get close to the border of unsuccessfulness I become panic-stricken and go as far from that border as I can. 

I can wish all I want that everyone would love me as my parents do, but that doesn’t mean it will come true.  Perhaps in the end, those that do not understand me may make an effort to do otherwise.  Thanks for reading.

Turns out we're prettier, funnier, and we've got cute accents.

My dear friends, where am I even to begin?  What an educational week/weekend I had on my cross-country excursion to Boston.  For starters, my mom is hilarious to travel with.  She has recently developed low-level hearing problems, which makes it unable for her to hear/understand those with thick accents.  I was her translator.  She also has a tendency of walking right into homeless folks or those trying to sell useless items.  She isn’t intentionally doing these things; she is usually looking elsewhere.  When such an event occurs I am forced to act as her personal bodyguard and pull her away from the scene.

We all know the reason I went to Boston was to interview for my former dream graduate school. I am going to keep the name of the school anonymous to preserve the dignity and reputation of the school.  I have a lot of formers: former school, former love of my life, former car, former friends, former dreams… all of which I have been able to replace successfully.  Well, it looks like I’ll be replacing the former graduate school of my dreams.  Let’s just say… it didn’t exactly go as planned.

It was obvious that I was extremely nervous for said interview; I nearly tinkled my pants on several occasions.  I was first to meet with the program director for the course and the woman-like character that would be my primary professor.  When I entered her office she was sitting at her desk eating… get ready for it… cool whip.  Out of the bin.  I say bin because that’s exactly what it was.  It was more than just a container.  She was also eating yogurt, which I have a really big problem with.  It’s sour milk, that’s all it is.  Vomit.  Might I also add that she was not Twiggy.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  Cool whip?  Probably not the smartest choice.

Our interview began in the opposite way I expected.  “Let’s start off with some questions you have for me,” she said.  I soon realized there were not going to be reciprocal questions.  I had to think up good questions, and I had to do it fast.  Good thing all that studying I did (about myself) for this damn interview paid off…

Question after question I asked her.  She was quite rude and oftentimes answered with what “you have” to do to even be considered for the program.  She took her time explaining to me all the reasons I was not going to be accepted. 

“You should not consider our program if:

you haven’t ever written a thesis (are you kidding?!)

you haven’t had an extensive background in children’s literature

you haven’t been published

you haven’t written a good admissions essay

you want to primarily be published.”

There are so many more things she said, if only I could remember.

“I don’t care if you’re good with kids, that doesn’t matter.  We don’t care,” she said.

This was quite shocking to me.  I had the (obviously incorrect) assumption that it was necessary to understand children in order to write for them. 

The moment I walked into her office I knew things were not going to go well.  She immediately judged me.  My mom says it is because I am “pretty.”  Maybe I shouldn’t have washed my hair.  Or put deodorant on.  Then I bet she would have loved me.

It was immediately apparent to me that I was being faced by prejudice.  There are so many prejudices that we don’t think about on a daily basis.  Prejudice by the poor on the rich, the white by the black, the pretty by the ugly, the south by the north.  Of course there are the obvious stereotypes that we all know and are completely aware of but these are not the prejudices I faced.  I am not the minority and have never been treated with the utter disrespect with which this woman treated me.

She acted as if I was completely unintelligent and uneducated; of which I am the opposite.  I knew the moment I walked in there, right when she looked me up and down, I knew she wrote me off.  She rolled her eyes with every question I asked, she lifted her chunky hands to make her point perfectly clear. 

I got the message, all right.

To put this whole saga in laments terms, she was nasty and fat and ugly and mean- on the inside and the outside.  Now that’s a bad combination. 

I do feel bad, though, because the Dean of Admissions that I spoke with after the Bostonian Witch was very kind and actually asked me questions about myself.  Did I mention that?  The Witch never once questioned me about what I have done, or what I am interested in.  Witches never have been the most personable.  The Dean was a very nice lady who was willing to help me in every way possible.

What was interesting to me was that the Dean was telling me how overly qualified I was for the program.  I felt like I was interviewing for two completely different schools.  I would like to note, however, that immediately following the interview I told my mom about what had happened.  She was shocked by this.  “Maybe she was having a bad day,” I suggested.  I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.  My mom and my dad told me that if I didn’t immediately have a positive reaction to this woman, I probably wasn’t going to.  Especially after reading the financial information on this school of a mere 3,000 students, I knew it wasn’t for me.  No ma’am.

Whilst in Boston, I noted the numerous people that made comments on my accent.  I have never thought of myself to have a shockingly southern accent, but the Bostonians made it quite clear that I sounded very near to an alien.  I’m glad I’m not moving there.  They aren’t very friendly.

My mom and I tried to start up a conversation with just about anyone we saw or met, even those we didn’t meet.  After dinner the night of the Cool Whip Incident of 2010, my mom and I decided we would like some sweet treats.  We went to a candy kiosk and ordered, as my mom so eloquently put it, “two hamburger sized pieces of chocolate.”  Once in the elevator, with pinot grigio swishing in our smiling tummies, we noticed a woman in the farthest corner in the elevator from us.  Taking in every social cue beautifully, my mom says, “Don’t you try and take our chocolate!”  All the while saying this, she moves her body spread eagle, arms spread, in front of me.  The response was not exactly what we expected.  She merely looked at us, fake smiled, and pursed her lips.

Turns out those northerners are quite bitchy.  We were just trying to be friendly.  They just weren’t fun.  Thanks, but no thanks, Boston.    

If you had to choose, would you save a shark or LL Cool J?

There are so many things I want to write about but I can’t.  Jacques says I can’t be too revealing.  Jacques is my recently hired agent, editor, and manager.  He is a man that I have discovered through this blog.  He read it and thought I was brilliant and offered me a deal.  Since I can’t write about what I really want to write about I’ll write about what I don’t feel like writing about.  (Figure that one out, a little redundant, eh?)  I’ve been doing academic writing all day for my graduate school applications and want to do some fun writing.

This past Friday night was fun but not too fun.  Crazy but not too crazy.  Definitely not one for the books.  However, I was given knowledge by some of my single ladies.  Since it has almost been a year and a half since I’ve done the single pants dance, I have forgotten all the ways of reeling in a man. 

My friends reminded me that sometimes, you just have to use a guy to buy you drinks.  Being that I have a conscience, I never really did this.  Some of my friends have really mastered this art, and the boys totally fall for it…every time.  If I were a boy I would see straight through these shenanigans, but being that I am a woman, I am much smarter than most men.

Speaking of men, it’s shark week.  This is how enthusiastic I am about it.  It seems as if every male species on the planet climaxes for this stupid week.  I watched a moment of it just to see what all the buzz was about.  I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure they showed the same clip of a great white shark destroying a poor seal L 30 times. 

I didn’t realize this until today, but I’ve always thought all sharks were male.  Maybe this says something deeply psychological about me.  I have never thought of sharks (especially the mean ones i.e. great white attackers) as women until I realized today there had to be female sharks in order for the species to reproduce.  Biology never really was my thing, as I had to take it twice in college.  Think about it, what do you think when you hear of a sweet little boy being eaten up by a shark in Florida?  Do you think, must be a mommy shark, or it must be a mean alpha male shark?  The latter of the two, obviously.

The real thing that irritated me about these shark week antics is how the marine biologists are so concerned about the shark population and how we should embrace sharks rather than fear them.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!  Riddle me this, biologist: if sharks are so peaceful, then please take your time explaining to that surfer girl why a shark bit off her arms.  These people are just huge weirdos.  I may be a cat lady, but at least I’m not a shark lady.

Remember that movie Deep Blue Sea?  Where a bunch of idiots became “friends” with a shark and tested its smarts… and then it killed all of them.  All of them except LL Cool J.  He always survives.  This is exactly what is going to happen to all of these crazy cage divers.  It doesn’t seem like the cage is sturdy enough to keep a gigantor shark out of there.  I think a shark nearly eating your face off would even scare the hair off of Chewbacca.  Jake claims he wants to go cage diving but I think he just talks a big game.  I think he would pee his pants if he did such a thing.  But I guess it wouldn’t matter since he would be under water.

I’m too paranoid to watch Shark Week anyway.  I once watched the E! Investigates: Shark Attacks and didn’t swim in the ocean for 5 years.  I’m being serious.  I guess 5 years from now I will swim again.  That’s why the lake is king, there are no sharks, jellyfish, or mermaids.