Revenge--The True Holiday Spirit

Tis the season . . . for revenge. Not an evil type revenge and not on any person, but on our pets. It all started a few weeks ago. First, Binny, our cat, got tired of falling off the washer trying to get to her food. It was bad enough, to begin with, that she took over as my alarm clock. Whenever she decides it's time for me to wake up and feed her in the morning, she clamps down on a hunk of my hair and yanks. It's like that fly you just can't get rid of. No matter how many times I try to cover my head, she keeps finding hair to pull. No matter how many times I push her off the bed, she comes back, walking all over me and howling. And yes, the noises she makes can only be described as howls. She's so loud, it just echoes through the house.

Her morning wake-up techniques were bad enough--until she refused to jump onto the washer anymore to get to her food. Okay, so hse has gotten a "tiny" bit fat, and maybe the floor does shake a little when she jumps down (no, I'm not exaggerating). Anyway, she apparently jumped and slid off the front of the washer one too many times. After that, she simply refused to try anymore. Jeremy and I both tried the "tough" love approach, but really, you can only listen to those howls for so many hours in a row before you just give in. Thus, after weeks (okay, maybe it was only days) of listening to the howls, then conceding and lifting her to her food, we finally gave in. Now she eats on (yes, not at but on) the kitchen table, where she can easily jump onto a chair then onto the table. Jeremy says having the cat eat on the table is just another sign of our slippage into redneckdom. It does make conversations a little difficult sometimes when there is a gigantic cat in the middle of the table obstructing your view of the other person. However, since Binny is the Queen of Manipulation, she also now comes and begs for us to lift her into our laps, and half the time, she uses us so she doesn't have to jump onto the chair to get to the table.

Then there's Audrey. Audrey has some sort of vendetta against our bedding lately. I came home from work a few weeks ago to discover tiny little feathers all over our bedroom. Apparently, she somehow snagged her claw in the down comforter and, yep, feathers everywhere. Every time I tried to sweep them up, they'd just start floating through the air. The worst was the fact I have absolutely no sewing skills. It's sad to say, but I only learned how to sew a button back on a few years ago. So poor Jeremy is stuck using this teeny tiny sweing kit that I still have from Freshman (high school that is) home ec class to sew up the tear. Let's just say, it's not very pretty, but if left up to me, I probably would have found a roll of duct tape and then been very pleased with my "ingenious" repair (much to Jeremy's chagrin, I use this repair technique for a multitude of things, including hanging Christmas lights and moving cds without removing them from the cd stands).

However, Audrey was far from finished with the bedding. Every so often, Audrey will have seizures. We have no clue what cuases them, but they are typically very infrequent--sometimes only one per year. When she does, though, we all have to make sure she can't hurt herself, then leave the room because when she comes out of them, she's very disoriented and thinks everything is a threat. So, Audrey has a seizure around midnight. For about ten minutes, Jeremy and I are stuck in the freezing kitchen, our two sources of heat (a small, electric heater and a large kerosene heater) stuck in the bedroom with Audrey. To top it off, she has it on the bed, so one entire set of bedding, including the newly patched comforter, is now quite stinky (to put it mildly) and quite unusable. We spend about half an hour cleaning up the bedroom--pulling off bedding, washing things as best we can, scrubbing spots on the floor. Two hours later, she has another seizure. This time, I didn't even manage to grab my glasses. Once again, we're huddled in the kitchen, freezing our butts off. Jeremy then asks me where something of his is on the table. Like I can see anything--not even my breath--without my glasses. We finally get back in the bedroom, and yep, another set of bedding down. I pretty much decided that Audrey thought we needed new bedding. She's never been known for subtlety, but I can think of much better ways to indicate this. I'm prepared now though--two new sets of sheets, two new pillows, and a new comforter later.

Finally, there's Jack. Jack who will eat anything. Somehow, he managed to knock over the garbage can. I always know when it's him because he runs whatever "treasure" he's found back to his pillow. This time, he really made out: empty cheese wrappers, a bag of potato peelings, an empty container of cottage cheese, and various other "delights." During his little romp through garbage wonderland, he also managed to disperse a ton of coffee grounds all over the kitchen floor. So, when I walk in the kitchen door, there he is, just laying on his pillows, surrounded by all his luscious snacks, tail thumping, and looking so proud of his "hunt." I just sighed and grabbed the broom. At least it wasn't plumber's putty this time, so there wouldn't be dog yak to clean up later.

Now the revenge comes for all the wonderful pets. For Audrey and Jack, I bought antlers. Audrey's slide around her head when she moves. Sometimes they're on top of her head, sometimes they stick straight out the side like a weird growth, and other times they're just stuck under her chin, making her look like she has a tiny pair of arms sprouting out. Jack's stay in place much better, but I keep accidentally putting them on backwards, so it looks like he has little, red devil wings sticking off his head. Both of them have tried pawing them off, but they fit so snugly that they don't budge. Eventually, they just give in. I have to say, once resigned, they both have an expression similar to that of the dog in "The Grinch that Stole Christmas." I would feel bad, but. . .

For the cat, I bought a Mrs. Santa dress made for a small dog. I looked at it and thought it might be a little small for Binny, but I seriously misjudged her girth. We can get it on her, but can't fasten the velcro underneath. Instead of looking lik a Mrs. Santa dress, it looks more like a kitty corset (or, as Jeremy calls it, kitty shapewear). It's not that it's squishing her, but the front of it fits appropriately, making her look somewhat trim and svelte. The mid section to back of it is another story. That's where it starts to look like everything is just sort of oozing out of the dress. Then when she waddles around in it. . .

So, I'm getting my little revenge this holiday season. The only thing I still need to do to make it complete is somehow get all the animals with their holiday wear into a photo with Bob the Skeleton. Great, just as I'm finishing this, Audrey has gotten one more bit of revenge on me. She just farted and now I'm evacuating!

Happy Holidays!

Shopper Delight: November Edition

I realize I got a little behind in updating you on the glorious items (and creatures) for sale in our local shopper. I also realize how thoroughly I have disappointed you through my negligence. Therefore, I bring you the latest round of delights.

September 22

FOR SALE: Puzzles, that are already put together, mounted on paneling to be frames as pictures

I don't even know where to begin! I could comment on the person's grammar. I could comment on the editors editing. I think I'll just leave it at that. Ah, redneck decorating at its best. How could anyone resist perfectly matted puzzle art? I hope it's "Dogs Playing Poker!"

NOTICE: Will the people who sold the wooden picnic table at the yard sale, please call me. I can't find your house to pick it up.

Umm, it was bought at the yard sale? How could you not figure out where you bought something? This might indicate some sort of yard sale addiction. Stop. Seek therapy.

September 29

FOR SALE: Rabbit pen, 6 ft. tall, x 81/2 ft. wide with closed in section, $50. Also for Free 2 female rabbits to person buying pen. For pets.

What a bonus! Buy a pen and get 2 free pet rabbits foisted on you!

FOR SALE: I have a perfect gift for the wife who is hard to buy for: a new 2000 psi pressure washer, gas operated, $200; 1/2" electric impact wrench, $100; six piece 18 volt, cordless drill tool set, $125; new 2000 watt 12 hp, 4 cycle generator, two 110s, one 220 AC outlet, $625; 10x10 pop up canopies, $65 each; 12x12 pop up canopies, $80 each; 19.2 volt, cordless, 3 piece tool set, $115; new Falcon 110 Four Wheeler, $850; 1990 Chevrolet pickup truck, cold air, everything works, $2895 obo, also 25" remote control TV, console, floor model, $80.

Hmmm. I have no idea what half this crap actually is, but I'm pretty sure I can't wear any of it. I'm also positive that very few women would be thrilled to open one of these "fine" items on Christmas Day. Therefore, I'm positive this man is divorced and bitter because if any man actual does buy his wife this these things, he's going to end up divorced and bitter.

October 6

BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND!!!!!!!!!!

Happy Birthday Jesus yard signs. They will be white with red letters size 18x24, the cost will be $10 per sign.

Sigh. No comment.

October 20

FOR SALE: pair of snake chaps, husky size, $30.

Ahhh!! The involuntary image emblazoned on my brain! Get it out of my head!

FOR SALE: '02 Kawasaki four wheeler 250, front and back racks, new gun rack, new tires, runs great, $1650.

Is there anything that doesn't come with a gun rack on it down here? I'm fairly certain if I designed a baby carriage with a gun rack, it would be a #1 seller.

FOR SALE: American Racing pigeon union, registered Homing Pigeons, a wonderful sport or hobby for the young and old, $25 per pair.

Yes! They're back! I didn't miss my chance! So, how exactly is a pigeon a wonderful sport or hobby? If I can train it like my future miniature donkey, I'm in!

November 3

FOR SALE: Kiddie train, 6 cars, easily pulled with lawn mower, golf cart or four wheeler, used as a Kiddie ride in Festivals, birthdays, etc., asking $75 each car or all for $400.

I so wanted this! Who would not want their very own miniature train! I could load the cat, dogs, miniature donkey (wait, still don't have one) and Jeremy all onto it and pull them around town with my golf cart (wait, still don't have one)! Once again, Jeremy did not think this was a good investment. He seems to think things like getting heat in the house are more important. Such a party pooper!

REWARD OFFERED: For information leading to the recovery of a green, Easy Go gas golf cart, stolen from Benhamin H. Hill Drive on Friday night.

It wasn't me!!!!

November 10

NOTICE: To the person who took the book out of my camper, please return it. I have you on surveilance camera, if not immediately returned, I will turn it over to the Sheriff's Dept.

I hate it when I'm camping and someone steals my . . . book. I'd hate to see what he'd do if someone stole something of value. That's probably when the AK-47 and Rambo headband come out.

PUBLIC NOTICE: Because of the number of incidents involving guns, alcohol and abuse of the Rochelle Community Center, the Rochelle City Council is considering banning all parties from the community center.

I never get invited to the good parties!

Golf Carts and Miniature Donkeys

There are very few things that I want, but since moving here, two things I feel I must have are a golf cart and some miniature donkeys. Yet, Jeremy persists in denying me these few things that could mean my complete happiness, and I have no idea why!

First, there is the golf cart. I admit, I have golf cart envy. You see, there's a town law that makes it legal, as long as you pay the $10 registration fee each year, to drive your golf carts along the sides of the streets. All year long, I watch people zip about town in their golf carts, running quick errands, running over to friend's houses, or just out for a little cruise. I want my own golf cart! I keep watching the shopper, but there have not been many used ones for sale that fit my budget (which is pretty much nil). Occasionally, I'll get excited because someone will be selling a go-cart or a dune buggy for cheap, but then Jeremy reminds me that the law only applies to golf carts, and I'm back at square one again. Jeremy even asked me what I would do with a golf cart anyway. I'd drive it around town of course! So, there really isn't that much "need" for a golf cart, but I so want one!

In fact, I have even been weighing my golf cart options. So far, this red beauty with flames is my favorite! Plus, you can even add different options--a stereo, cd player, ipod docking station, speakers, lockable glove compartment, and beautiful chrome bumper! I'm restraining myself right now and not posting all the different pictures of the option items, as I realize not everyone probably shares my enthusiasm over golf carts. While Jeremy just sighs every time I bring up golf carts, I did get him to admit it would be pretty fun to cruise around town in one. Maybe I'll wear him down on this one yet. Unfortunately, I think the particular model I have chosen costs much more than my current vehicle, so unless I can drive it to work (roughly 40 miles one way), I think it might be out of the question.

I'm also still working on him about the miniature donkeys too. Unfortunately for him, I just discovered that they are a herd animal, so we would actually need to get 2 rather than 1 so they can keep each other company. According to Jeremy, donkeys are just mean. He cites his boss's "problem" as an example. His boss, Brian, has a donkey in his yard, and the donkey won't let him leave for work in the morning until Brian gives him a carrot. Jeremy believes this shows just how mean donkeys are. I believe it's just a loving pet wanting to say good morning! Even an add in this week's local shopper that had two donkeys for sale said that they make wonderful pets. Now who's more accurate? Jeremy or the local shopper?

And I'm not even asking for full-sized donkeys, but the miniature ones. I mean, how could you not want a few of these! Just look at them! They are the cutest things ever, so tiny and fluffy. Of course, Jeremy had to ask what I would do with them. I would train them, obviously. They could fetch the mail, do certain tricks--maybe I could even start a traveling donkey show and showcase all the neat tricks they can do. (If anyone has any ideas for neat donkey tricks, let me know. I really haven't come up with any, but having a few in mind might strengthen my argument). As usual Jeremy just shook his head. I think I might have been swaying him a little on the donkey issue--that was until he asked where we would keep them. I told Jeremy I have the perfect spot for them already. Our downstairs hallway. It's huge! I've provided an arial view for your own inspection, but as you can see, we could easily house 2, if not more, miniature donkeys in that thing. But no, Jeremy is also denying me the miniature donkey happiness too.

But I'm okay for now. I might have found a new source of happiness--one that's even more useless and unneccesary than golf carts and miniature donkeys. Fainting goats. . .

Bob the Skeleton

Somehow, I managed to suck Jeremy into the whole Halloween thing after all. Well, sort of. He got it into his head that we needed a rather large skeleton to display on the upstairs balcony. And that's how we ended up with Bob.

The week before Halloween, we were back in North Carolina--Jeremy for work, and I for my dissertation defense (I passed, I'm gonna graduate, woohoo!!). There were several stores I wanted to hit that we don't have down here, including World Market. I somewhat grumblingly convinced Jeremy to spend half a day shopping with me, but he was well rewarded. As soon as we walked through the World Market doors, there was Bob, a four foot tall plastic skeleton. Jeremy was immediately enamored, and we left the store with Bob in tow. Bob was then propped up in the back seat of the car, Bob was taken into our friends', Marc and Jen's, home, where he scared the crap out of their little girl, Maya, when she woke up in the morning, and to hide Bob, Jeremy then stuck him in bed with me while I was still sleeping--not exactly the most thrilling thing to wake up to.

I would say Bob came to his final resting place on the balcony once we got home, but that hasn't quite been the case (more on this later). However, Halloween night, he was proudly perched on the balcony, overlooking the stampede of trick or treaters. Yes, stampede! Neither Jeremy or I knew what to expect for Halloween. I thought I had bought way too much candy. I quickly realized how wrong I was!

Around 7 p.m., we had our first trick or treater, and the last around 9:30 p.m. It was a nice evening, so Jeremy and I decided we'd sit on the front porch and hand out candy. From about 7 to 7:30 p.m., it was a small but steady trickle. Then chaos! At one point, on top of the people walking, we had roughly 5 cars pulled up along our house. Plus, on the side of the house, a tractor pulling a hay bale-lined trailor with about 17 more children and all their parents pulled up. To top it off, a police officer was parked in his golf car near our house watching all the activity. It quickly became apparent that the $30 worth of candy I bought was not going to last the whole night.

In fact, by 8:30 p.m., almost all the candy was gone. Poor Jeremy was stuck running to Dollar General and the Piglet, clad in his fuzzy slilppers, where he joined a small horde of men whose wives had sent them on the same mission.

I was starting to feel a little guilty, though, because right after I frantically sent him out on the candy quest, the number of trick or treaters died down dramatically. Then, not one minute before he got back, I was mobbed again: one group of about 20 older kids trick or treating together and two more truckloads of kids--yes truckloads; they were all riding in the back end of the trucks. After another hour of this, they finally stopped coming. Once again, we were almost out of candy. At times, it was impossible to count all the kids, but we pretty much figured from what we could count that we had somewhere over 150 trick or treaters.

And this brings us back to Bob. Having spent the night delighting kids who walked up the sidewalk, it was no time to retire Bob for the year--or it should have been. Except that Jeremy discovered Bob's hidden potential. I came home from work earlier this week to find Bob dressed to go hunting, complete with hat and a rifle. On Wednesday, I bought Bob a santa hat. Yesterday I came home to find Bob dressed in the santa hat, a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt and my black, strappy high heels. I think Bob might be a little confused. On the other hand, this started my mind going. For President's Day, we can get Bob a beard, wig, and one of those tricorn hats. Valentine's day, some little cupid wings and a bow and arrow. Easter, bunny ears. . . The holiday possiblities for Bob are endless! I think for Christmas, I will dress him up some more, stick the antlers on the dogs, the little santa cap on the cat, and take a "family" photo for our Christmas card!

Town Drunks

Since moving into our beautiful new house, Jeremy and I have spent many enjoyable evenings talking and relaxing on the front porch, listening to the cicadas whir in the hot summer evenings and watching the wide variety of town drunks wobble by. Now, I know you're wondering how there can actually be a wide variety of town drunks--after all, aren't they all just drunk? But no. Each has their own distinctive variety of actions.

First, there is the peeing drunk. This particular drunk apparently took offense at the county sheriff candidate's sign in the neighbor's yard (or maybe it was the neighbor). As he stumbled past the sign, he had to loop back (this, in itself, is no small feat for a drunk, as a complete 180 degree turn requires for more motor skills than one initially thinks). Arriving back at the offending piece of cardboard, he then undid his pants and proceeded to pee on the sign.

Now, this was not the first drunk to take offense at said campaign sign (or possibly, it's just the fact that a sheriff, in general, would not please any particular town drunk). Earlier in the summer, another town drunk kicked the sign as he weaved down the sidewalk. It seems his anger grew during his amblings, for on the way back, he was audibly mumbling something as he approached the sign. As he drew up (or rather, staggered up) to the sign, he reached down and yanked it out of the ground (again, the motions of a drunk are not nearly as fluid as I just described, so actually grabbing the sign took him several attempts, body swinging somewhat wildly, and a close fall before success occurred). Yet, rather than trashing this "horrendous" sign, he instead proceeded to march wobbly down the sidewalk, carrying it like some sort of odd protester. He made it as far as the church next door before a cop pulled up alongside him. Interestingly enought, the cop did not arrest him, but simply drove beside him, "walking" him back to the yard from which he stole the sign. The cop then made the drunk replace the sign (again, no small feat), then let the drunk peacefully stagger off into the night.

Next, there was the bicycling drunk. I must say, I marvelled at this amazing town drunk. First, I have no idea how he managed to stay on the bicycle. Especially since he was barely pedaling fast enough to keep the bike upright, much less upright the way he swayed from side to side with each pedal. Considering his state of inebriation, the sidewalk was far from wide enough. At one point, I held my breath (well, actually, I was more hopeful and anticipatory, but that seemed a little mean) as I watched him head straight for a tree. On his return trip, he had figured out the sidewalk width problem and was now riding down the street. I had to admire his ingenuity in switching to this wider venue. The only problem is the street isn't so much a traficless little town road, but rather a fairly busy highway. Luckily, traffic slows down at night, so, hopefully, he did have the whole street to himself.

I have to say, I am somewhat baffled as to where these town drunks are headed and what they are doing. They always pass our house headed toward the convenience store. Now, at this time of night, the two convenience stores are the only things open. At first, I assumed they were headed there to buy more beer. They always pass by headed in that direction, returning roughly five minutes later. Time and again, though, I am befuddled, for none of them return carrying more beer. And it's not as if they could hide (or would really want to hide) a quart, a six pack, or any quantity of beer on their person. Thus, I have deduced that our town drunks are, in actuality, health nuts. Once intoxicated, there is some drive in them to get exercise, and they must exit their home (or mobile home) and get their heart rates up before passing out for the night. At least that's my conclusion.

There's also dumbass teenage drunk. This was the drunk who, in late spring, made the mistake of wandering into our house at about 3 am. Dumbass teen drunk got to have Jeremy pull a gun on him and swear at him a lot. I so wanted to open the bedroom door so dumbass teen drunk could also have a "proper" introduction to our dogs who, at the time, were not exactly pleased to have visitors or visitors entering the house in the way dumbass teen drunk did. Instead, I listened to dumbass teen frantically slur that he couldn't seem to get up. Tis a very sad day when the drunk walking into your house cannot do anything but sit on your floor and almost wet himself. I sort of felt bad for him. But not so much. Once he finally made it to his feet, he very quickly exited our house. Occasionally, we see him around town. He avoids looking at us. Hehe.

Finally, there is the neighbor drunk. Neighbor drunk wanders around at all times of day with a beer. Neighbor drunk is also extremely social and extremely hard to get rid of. So far, neighbor drunk has tried to help Jeremy move large appliances into the house, almost squashing him on the stairs. Neighbor dunk has also tried to slide down the old porch railing on the back porch and broken it off. Most recently, neighbor drunk stumbled over to our back door at 8 p.m. on a Friday night during our dinner. I let Jeremy handle neighbor drunk this time. Apparently, he had what he considred an antique sword or saber, which he was very excited about, and which Jeremy was fairly positive was a piece of junk. After about 10 minutes of pandering to neighbor drunk, Jeremy finally convinced him that he needed to return to his dinner. As Jeremy sat back down at the table, we both silently watched neighbor drunk, swoard and all, totter back home. Then, we just looked at each other.

Halloween

Last week, I made a quick stop by CVS pharmacy on my way home from work. When I got home, I handed Jeremy a Mt. Dew and a Caramello--yes, I was buttering him up. Then, I handed him a sack full of Halloween lights. I emphasized the point that I had gone much more "modestly" with the lights than normal also. And I did! I restrained myself, and only bought two strings of orange lights, a black spiderweb set of lights, and a black light for the porch fixture. He looked inside the bag and groaned.

I set out with all intentions of hanging the lights myself. But as most know, my husband especially, if I'm dealing with anything long that can get tangled, it will end up tangled. After approximately 5 minutes of watching me try to untangle the newly tangled lights, he finally just got frustrated (see, I knew this would happen--a happy side effect of my ineptness), and took over. An hour later, all the lights were hung. Then he made the mistake of saying the porch, which is huge, could actually use of few more strings of lights. Luckily, dollar general also carried Halloween lights, so after a quick trip there, we were armed with 3 more sets of lights. As dusk approached, I excitedly turned on the lights and marveled at the beautiful, orange glow. But wait, there's a balcony upstairs above the porch that just seemed a little too dark. . . Fortunately for Jeremy, it was too late to run get more lights that night.

The next day, coming back from mowing the Warner Robins house, I suggested we swing by dollar general again. Wanting to simply run in, grab more lights, and run back out, Jeremy suggested (well, tried to insist) that I stay in the car. By this time, I'd already started thinking about other decorations that would spruce up the house a bit more. Thus, I insisted I go inside. I would guess we spent approximately half an hour in dollar general. I could feel Jeremy trying to suppress his irritation as I repeatedly scanned the autumn scented candles, trying to find the best valued ones. I could hear him mumbling under his breath as I debated on which rug to get for the front porch: a Halloween rug, or a more multipurpose fall themed rug. I could hear him groaning as I sorted through miscellaneous other Halloween decorations, pondering whether to get the glow in the dark window stickies (I did--3 different sets), the wind sock, or the skeleton or frankenstein wind spinner decoration (I settled on the skeleton). All the while, he is clutching the 5 sets (yes, 5 more sets) of orange lights he grabbed right away when we entered the store, when, in some sort of misguided thought process, he still assumed that was all we were getting.

Two hours later, all my decorations were hung, pasted to windows, and strung. Time to flip on the lights and delight in the beautifully glowing orange house. I stood in the yard in front of the house, I moved over to the side of the house, back to the middle, over to the other side, thrilled with my festive home. Jeremy followed me through the yard, more or less just admiring his handiwork in hanging all 10 (or was it 11?) sets of lights. Then, he turned to me, laughed, and said, "We live in the Amityville Whorehouse." Okay, so it might be a tad flamboyant (we have yet to spot anyone else in town--or surrounding towns for that matter--with Halloween lights), but I love my Amityville Whorehouse. Besides, it now makes it even harder to miss. hehe.

Peanut Festival

Saturday, Jeremy and I headed out to Plains, GA for their annual Peanut Festival. We were both particularly excited about this event, as Plains is the town where President Jimmy Carter was born, raised, and still lives. Each year, he does a book signing, so I made sure (probably almost a week in advance) that I had one of Carter's books set out, idealistically thinking it would be no problem to get it signed.

Our first stop was the Georgia Visitor's Center right outside Plains. Not that Jeremy had any desire to stop there, but I have a "slight" addiction to pamphlets and brochures. How can you not love them? They are concise, informative, and have tons of pretty pictures. You just can't go wrong with a pamphlet (at least that's my view). This particular visitor's center was a smorgasboard for me, with a section devoted to all the different regions in Georgia! I was ecstatic--worse than a child on chocolate and caffeine. Unfortunately, I believe I incurred the "ire" (that might be an understatement) of the older, genteel southern lady working there--though, in traditional, southern, lady-like fashion, she tried to tightly conceal her irritation. See, my view is that pamphlets are there for the taking, therefore, I'm going to take all the ones that interest me. And it's not like they will go to waste. I've already read about half, separating them into things to see/do sooner, and things to see/do later. Plus, whenever we have friends and family down, I can quickly produce a brochure on almost anything they would want to do. So, call me a bit obsessive, but yes, I love pamphlets (not quite as much as the weekly shopper, but it's close!). As you can guess, with such a wide and tempting variety of pamphlets, I couldn't resist picking up more and more. It's pretty safe to say that I was carrying around a book sized stack of pamphlets when the lady decided she must intervene. The next thing I know, she's hovering around me, disapproving look on her face, asking "Can I help you?" I think it was pretty obvious I didn't need help and pretty obvious that she really only wanted to help me out the door. Besides, she'd already insisted on helping Jeremy, despite his protestations, circling all the Carter related sites on a map of the town (and lets just say, the town is so small, and everything is so well-marked, it would be impossible to miss anything). I'm fairly certain she was not wanting to provide the same courtesies for me, and that, by this point, Jeremy had disappeared outside to avoid any further embarrassment I might cause.

Once I finally had my fill of pamphlets, we headed back to the car. On the way, I noticed a Bottle Tree. This really surprised me, as I'd never seen any outside of Mississippi before. They are fascinating things to look at. Basically, they are small, living trees with all the foliage stripped away, and bottles are shoved onto the ends of each branch. This one was particularly striking because it was decorated in a beautiful array of antique bottles that had intricate textures and unusual colors, such as pink, aqua blue, emerald green and so on. (I didn't think to get a picture of the actual bottle tree, but this one is a pretty good example of one that I stole from online.) The Bottle Tree's purpose is equally as interesting as its look. It comes from African beliefs/tradition (I forget which particular tribe) brought over during the slavery years. The colorful bottles were thought to attract evil spirits, that, once inside, were then trapped and unable to cause further harm. I've always loved the eccentric look these trees have. I think we should have one on both sides of our front steps at home--talk about a conversation piece as well as low maintenance landscaping! Needless to say, I did not bother mentioning this idea to Jeremy: I'm fairly, okay positively, certain what his response would be (the same response I got about putting a donkey in the hallway and purchasing various items, such as the immobile home made out of a bluebird bus, in our local shopper).

Next on the agenda was downtown Plains. While downtown is exceptionally small, they have done a beautiful job restoring all the buildings. And, since it is a tourist destination, the downtown has many delightful little shops, antique stores, and restaurants serving traditional southern fare such as fried chicken, collard greens, black-eyed peas, and sweet tea. Of course, all the stores were packed, so we very slowly meandered through them. In the first store, it was all I could do to resist buying either a stuffed 'possum or a stuffed armadillo, both of which were at least double or triple the real animal's size. I mean really, who would not want to have a giant stuffed possum or armadillo? In the end, I ruled out the possum. No matter how much they tried, they could not make the possum look cute. I was really debating about the armadillo, but Jeremy took it from me, flipped it on its back with its legs in the air, and pointed out "this is how we normally see them." Which is quite true. I don't think I've ever seen an upright, living armadillo--wait, I saw 2 of them once! Unfortunately, they were mating in the road, and it was right before I accidentally ran them over. So, the armadillo went back on the shelf.

We wandered through the rest of the stores, and I found a fairly large basket that I thought would be perfect for holding my ever growing cork collection (yes, it's just that--corks from wine bottles that are overflowing another basket. What am I going to do with them? I have no idea. I can't hardly reach my hand in a coat pocket either without pulling out corks. Corks in the car, corks in junk drawers, nightstand drawers. . .). Unluckily for me, I am quite clumsy, so there was no way for me to carry the basket around the antique stores without continually thumping it into things. Also, unluckily for Jeremy, that meant he was stuck carrying a very pretty basket through the rest of the stores, and 2 nicely priced antique vases I picked up later. In the end, the corks are still overflowing, but all my pamphlets fit perfectly into the basket! Jeremy just looks at it overflowing with brochures, shakes his head, and sighs. I just think perfect! I found a basket for my brochures!

As we strolled outside, I continued to embarrass Jeremy at different locations. First, we came across the Planter's Nutmobile (and despite what Jeremy says, that is not the perfect vehicle for me! It's too big :P). Naturally, I had to make him take a picture of it (I also slightly wished I could get a picture of the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile to add to my collection, but alas, I guess I need to find a Weiner Festival for that). Just look at that thing! How could you not want your very own picture off a giant, yellow, peanut looking vehicle with a huge Mr. Peanut sticking out the back? I would so have loved to drive that thing around. Jeremy's probably very glad I didn't try to find whoever owned it so I could! The next picture-worthy item I found was actually a giant peanut! We were headed out of town to find Carter's church (nicely circled on our out of scale Plains map that makes the town look about 4x as big as it is) when I noticed Giant Peanut. Logically, I made Jeremy pull into the gas station where it was located and take a picture. Apparently, whoever designed Mr. Giant Peanut decided it wouldn't be at all creepy to give him and incredibly large grin and no eyes whatsoever. And look! Our picture also came with a complimentary family whom we do not know posing! What more could you ask for in a picture of a giant peanut? Of course, Jeremy had to take more "traditional" pictures. So one that he captured was of the old Plain's train depot, which was the headquarters for Carter's presidential campaign. Okay, so it is definitely a bit more worthwhile of a photo than the ones I had him take, but then again, I do have a very worthwhile agenda. I have decided to start collecting pictures of giant items (there's a coffee pot in Winston-Salem, a chest of drawers near High Point, and a chair in Thomasville that I can think of right offhand). Apparently, when it was announced that Carter had won the election, there were literally thousands of people in this small town (I'm guessing the total population is less than 1000 people). Bands had been playing all night, but the celebration just increased to the point where no one could even get in or out of town.

Near the depot was where Carter's booksigning was to take place. This is when idealism met reality. We arrived there around 1 pm, the book signing was not to start until around 1:45 pm, and already there were blocks and blocks of people waiting to get their books signed. So, sighing, I abandoned my quest for Carter's autograph. I just had no desire to stand in that long of a line for hours, making small talk with other people standing there as we roasted in the hot sun and worried that our deodorant was no longer working and that, if we did get to Carter, he'd get a whiff and pass out (okay, so maybe that was just me). Instead, we headed over to the old high school that's been converted into a museum. They have one of the most striking photographs that I have ever seen on display there--it's not just because it's Carter on the night he won the Nobel Prize, but the picture itself is just beautiful. I couldn't find the one they have on display that is just Carter alone, but this one of he and Rosalynn is equally as visually stunning. The museum itself is divided into different eras in Carter's life, which is wonderful. You basically see what and who influenced his life, politics, and visions from early childhood on. Although, I must say, I could do without the picture of the gigantic worm that infects people through water in Africa (that was in the room exploring the different causes, such as eliminating certain diseases in impoverished nations, that the Carters are devoted to).

Then it was off to Carter's boyhood farm. This really is a beautiful farm. On it, you can tour the house he lived in, the credit store his father owned, the farm buildings, view the farm machinery of the time and tons of information about what life and chores were like for Jimmy growing up as well as see the the different crops and livestock the family had. I will say though, despite the fact they had corn and a corn sheller so you could feed the goats, the horns curling round their heads made me a little trepidatious about actually approaching them. I'm pretty sure one was plotting his escape too, but hadn't made it any farther than wedging his head through the fence.

As we reached the parking lot, at the same time, we both noticed to very large and very black SUVs parked side by side. We looked at each other and instantly knew--Secret Service! Jimmy Carter was somewhere on the farm! I wanted to go back immediately, but Jeremy was a little nervous and embarrassed (I am, somehow, immune from embarrassment--maybe it's because I do so many stupid things, it just doesn't pay anymore). So, first we circled the one way parking lot, staring into the vehicles. Yep, definitely Secret Service. Jeremy was still leery, but as we drove out of the farm, he decided to take a right and head down the road a bit. Sure enough, from the outside front of the farm, we could both see an older man standing in a crowd of people all wearing blue shirts. Somehow, I managed to convince him to turn around and go back. He was a bit paranoid and embarrassed, especially since Secret Service had obviously seen us circle around and come back. I so wanted to take my book with me, on the off chance that I actually would get a chance to talk to him, but I figured this would be pushing it just a little much for Jeremy. Thus, we tried to nonchalantly stroll back into the farm. As soon as we got to the path leading in, there were secret service men. Sure enough, it was Carter and Rosalynn addressing a group of young volunteers (the blue shirts) for one of his organizations. We were probably not more than 30 or 40 feet from him! Plus, there were only about 10 or 15 other people standing back with us--far from what we encountered at the book signing. I felt a little giddy to be that close to him. I knew there was relatively little chance we would actually get to talk to him, but still!

All of a sudden, one of the Secret Service guys was motioning at Jeremy to take his hand out of his pocket. Jeremy hadn't even thought anything of having his hand in his pocket, but this made him even more uneasy. After all, when a man with a machine gun motions at you and has a ton of backup. . . Let's just say, Jeremy was not feeling comfortable at all when he realized the camera was in his pocket and that he needed to reach back in. But, we did get several pictures! In this first one, Carter (in the green t-shirt and jeans) is talking animatedly with the group of volunteers. As Jeremy noted, "great, we got a picture of the President's butt." The rather intimidating man with the white hat and greenish vest in front is one of the many Secret Service agents that were on hand. I can't help but wonder what Secret Service does for fun around Plains, GA. This next lovely picture Jeremy took is of the grass right in front of him. Secret Service had him a bit rattled, so yes, we ended up with a lovely picture of the grass on Carter's boyhood farm, which I'm sure is a major tourist attraction. This final one is probably the best (largely because professional photographers organized it, and it is not a view of President Carter's butt). So, we have this delightful picture of a professional photographer taking the group's picture. But, Jimmy Carter is in a picture we took! I know I sound like a little kid, but it was just so exciting! I was a little starstruck just standing there. It was so much better than standing in line for hours, worrying about how I smelled! And, it was completely coincidence. The icing on the cake was when, as he was leaving, he turned around and waved to all the rest of us standing back behind everything. He even said a few words to those who were standing closest to the exit, which I thought was extremely nice--he could have just had Secret Service rush him out. After the Carters and all the Secret Service left, Jeremy and I silently walked over to the car and go inside. Then we both got extremely giddy for the next half hour or so--we were that close to the President! I have to say, we regressed just a "tiny" bit, exclaiming over our luck. And see, if it weren't for my complete inability to be embarrassed, Jeremy wouldn't have even went back! It does pay off to do stupid things!

Shopper Delight

Every Tuesday, free in the mail, comes the local shopper for area counties. While you may wonder why I am so delighted when shopper Tuesday comes, never fear, for I will soon enlighten you, and you also will wonder at the shopper's marvels. Now, keep in mind, I am only drawing from the last 4 weeks of shoppers. This means you missed out on the racing pigeons that were for sale for many weeks. I have no clue what racing pigeons are, and let me tell you, I was incredibly sad when that ad disappeared from the shopper--I had completely missed my opportunity to own a (or a pair? Do they actually race?) of racing pigeons.

The following delights were in the shopper for August 25.

FOR SALE: mallard & black magestic ducks $10.00 each, guinea pigs $10.00 each, rabbits $10.00 each. call after 4 p.m.

Now, I can understand selling ducks--duck, after all, is incredibly tasty. I also know some people like to eat rabbit. But Guinea Pigs? I have no idea. I certainly hope no one is eating Guinea Pigs. I'm not quite sure what the man was doing with all those different animals anyway or how he decided that Guinea Pigs would be a profitable venture.

FOR SALE: Young, jack donkey.

I have no idea what a jack donkey is (possibly just a male donkey?). I have no idea what use there is for a donkey. But for some reason, I would really like a donkey. I don't know why. Probably just because I find it incredibly odd that in every single weekly shopper, there is someone either selling or wanting to buy a donkey. So now I think I should also have a donkey. Jeremy didn't seem overly fond of the idea though, nor did he appreciate my humor when I mentioned that the hallways in our house are big enough to house a donkey.

FOR SALE: I have goats, call for details and prices.

Really, there was nothing out of the ordinary in this ad. I just found it humorous how quick he was about his ad. He has goats. It sort of sounded like some odd affliction for which he needed rapid antibiotics. I also like the fact that he doesn't bother to mention what kind of goats they are, how old they are, etc. Maybe it's some sort of weird game where you get a discount if you can guess the particulars about his goats.

FOR SALE: TY Beanie Babies and NASCAR Collectibles.

I cannot begin to describe the appeal of this ad. Beanie Babies that went out of fashion over a decade ago! And NASCAR crap! Like I said, can't even begin to describe the appeal.

FOR SALE: Dog, a good guard dog, and very friendly.

Ummm, just what I always wanted--a friendly guard dog. I'm sure that will keep the intruders away. If they're afraid of being licked or of tail waggings.

FOR SALE: Many items, some good, some not so good, needs work, car parts, bricks, and much more.

Oh, so many things here. At least the person is honest and basically says that he's selling crap. I'm not sure what exactly he's selling though that needs work. Maybe he needs work? And if car parts and bricks are the best of his items for sale. . .

NOTICE: Will the man who was looking at a car I have please call . . .

I would venture a guess that the man has no desire to actually buy the car.

FOR SALE: 1968 M151 A1 Willys military jeep. Excellent mechanical condition. Fording kit. Machine gun mount. Radio and antenna (for display). Two tops. Various other spare parts.

Okay, this man is especially proud that his military jeep has a machine gun mount, but I have no clue as to why a machine gun mount would be a special draw. I'm chalking this one up as a man thing, and hoping whoever bought it does not have a machine gun to mount to it.

FOR SALE: Rodeo Equipment. 1 set chaps, 1 vest, 1 helmet, 1 bull rope. Will sell individually or together.

What can I say? Other than I so tried to get Jeremy to buy this ensemble for himself! hehe.


Moving on to the shopper from September 1.

FOR SALE: I have a boat, call for details.

I'm very glad the man has a boat, but I really don't want to know about his boat.

FOR SALE: Men's nice Summer suits, size 32-34, $5.00 per suit.

Sigh. Once again, I tried to get Jeremy to call on this one, and he refused. Picky, picky! How could you go wrong with a $5 suit!

FOR SALE: Goats, sheep, roosters, baby chicks, Peacocks, hens, guineas and large GE freezer.

Given the list of things for sale, I was not expecting it to end with a GE freezer. I guess that's so you can store all the meat after you. . . well, you get the point.

FOR SALE: 6 month old Bumble Foot, gray stag and pullet game chickens.

I have no idea what a Bumble Foot, gray stag is, but I'm sure I want one!

FOR SALE: 1987 Chevy Silverado dually, $3500; also 3 mounted deer heads $100, $75 and $50.

Oh, I so must have the deer heads to line my hallways! What decor! I'm not quite sure why each one is priced differently. I sense a little deer discrimination going on here.

FREE BED AND BREAKFAST: I will buy your breakfast if you will come get this Futon frame bed.

Well, at least he's original. Not sure why he doesn't just haul it to the dump, but hey.


So the previous week's shopper had a slightly disappointing variety of odd things for sale compared to most. Thus, I eagerly anticipated the shopper on September 8.

FOR SALE: E machine computer monitor, keyboard and mouse $75; Gateway computer monitor $20, black spider ???? $75 . . .

Ummm, we have a lot of spiders too, and we don't know what they are either. Can I sell them for $75 apiece?

WANTED: I am looking for goats to buy, also grown female Boston Terrier, also Miniature Jack Donkey.

I do not want to know why this person wants all these things. But, I have uncovered a new obsession--a miniature donkey would be much cooler than a regular old donkey! Thus, I have begun persuasion techniques (amazingly unsucessfully at this point) to convince Jeremy we must get a miniature Jack donkey.

YARD SALE: September 5th through Sept. 12 at in Abbeville, GA. left no address.

I have to chalk this one up to the best waste of paper and the worst attended yard sale ever.

FOR SALE: A horse, make me an offer.

Once again, an add filled with lush details about the sale "item."

FOR SALE: Ducks $7 each, have Mallards, Black Magestics, Indian Runners; Grown rabbits $7 each; Grown Guinea Pigs $7 each. Buy in bulk and recieve a discount, serious callers only.

Apparently, this person has now realized the futility in trying to sell ducks, rabbits, and guinea pigs, for prices have come down 30%. I also had to wonder at the people buying "bulk" ducks, rabbits, and guinea pigs. What exactly does one do with them in bulk? I also had to wonder how many "nonserious" callers he had they he felt the need to specify.

Finally, and I know you're also sorely disappointed, the last shopper from September 15.

FOR SALE: Air compressor, also 2 horses, mother and son, and 1964 Ford.

I certainly hope he wasn't just cleaning out the garage.

FOR SALE: I am looking for a new or used casette player.

Umm, did this person sleep through the past few decades?

FOR SALE: 1970 model 14 ft. campter, $200.

I thought this was an absolute steal! Jeremy, on the other hand, poo-pooed the idea of this purchase, mumbling something about "do you know how bad that thing would smell?"

FOR SALE: 1990 full size, Blue Bird school bus, that has been converted to a camper. It has a full size bath with tradition house fixtures, kitchenette area, heat and air, carpet on floor, does not run, will need to be towed or pulled . . . must see to appreciate.

I didn't have to see this one to appreciate it! Again, Jeremy did not share my appreciation, so, I am sad to inform you that we will not be purchasing the immobile, yet fully decked out, Blue Bird camper.

FOR SALE: 8 year old quarter horse, Bay mare, English saddle and bridle included, $750, call Mojo Stephens.

How exactly does one come by the name Mojo?

FOR SALE: ECTC books, also hamster, books and accessories.

Okay, selling your college books, I can understand, but your hamster?

FOR SALE: Little girls pink John Deere boots, size 9, paid $65 on Christmas, asking only $20?

First, pink John Deere boots? Second, $65 for a pair of pink John Deere boots?

FOR SALE: 14 kt gold Marquis diamond wedding set with 6 diamond wrap band, valued $1800, sacrifice for $800 obo, worn only one month.

Sacrifice? I'm guessing she really wanted to hurl the thing into a lake.

FOR SALE: Tatoo gun with foot controlled motor, all for $250.

Don't you have to have some sort of licensing to do tatoos? Let's just say, mixing rednecks, moonshine, and a tatoo gun does not seem like a good idea.

FOR SALE: 2 Livingroom Chairs. Very good and very cheap one. Pellet gum, practically new.

I definitely think I can pass on the "practically new" pellet gum. I'm assuming he meant pellet gun, but one can never be too sure around here.

FOR SALE: Evenflo select double breast pump. Automatic cylcking. Like new, used for 2 weeks. . .

I don't think I really have to say anything here beside ewwwwwwwwwwwww.


So brings us to the end of the past month's wonderful shopper sales. But don't be disappointed! Instead, eagerly anticipate the next round of delights in October!

Front Porch Views

Okay, so I was sort of worried that moving to a small town would be incredibly boring. It's not just that we moved to a small town, but one that has one stoplight and roughly 1000 people (they say 2000, but Jeremy and I are both pretty sure they're including the local prison population), it has a Piglet--no, not a Piggly Wiggly, but the store is actually called Piglet, as it is nowhere near big enough to be a full sized Piggly Wiggly--and is, at minimum, 20 miles from the nearest bigger town. On the plus side, we can head north, east, west, and south and hit one of these towns within 30 minutes. On the downside, that also means the major shopping venue in any of these directions is Wal-Mart (and you know how much I love Wal-Mart).

However, I have to say, life has been far from dull since moving to this town. I will now detail just a few of the things witnessed from our front porch. First, there are the cruising rednecks. These are the guys who have extremely large and loud trucks. I am not sure what they are doing or where they are going, but apparently, it's a huge sign of status to be seen endlessly driving around the town in a truck (frequently camouflage in color) that could easily run over most cars and that can be heard for several miles in any direction. A further status booster, apparently, is when they see a woman and rev their engines even louder. I'm fairly certain half the cruising was trying to scope out the women's rehab center across the street from us. Especially on hot summer days when they get into bikinis and hop into a kiddie pool (or at least they used to--more on that later). I'm also fairly certain that half the men who drive by the center think that it might be some sort of brothel or bordello or something, the way they all slow down and stare, often turning around to repeat (and oh does this ever add to the redneck charm). I'm pretty sure, though, that the women delighted in this misconception, since, much to the annoyance of the older and vastly more religious members in the community, they hung a bright red blanket in the front window as a curtain.

Now, you may think that dogs could never be entertaining. However, there are a large number of incredibly entertaining dogs roaming around the town. The first is the dog I watched spend most of an afternoon sprinting up and down the sidewalk in front of our house. I was completely baffled. First he'd go sprinting by in one direction, only to return again in 5 or 10 minutes. He repeated this process for almost 2 hours. Finally, Jeremy came out, and I asked him what the heck the dog was doing. According to Jeremy, the dog races after his owner's truck--anywhere the owner goes, the dog runs after. Of course, the first thing that popped into my head was why didn't the owner just put the dog in the truck to begin with? The next thing was what in the world is the owner doing driving up and down the street nonstop? My only conclusion was he was checking out the women at the rehab center.

Then there is Penny. Jeremy calls Penny Jack's (our 12 year-old lab rottweiler mix) girlfriend. Penny is pretty old and basically doesn't bend her back legs when she walks. So, she's very easy to identify, even at blocks away, when she's walking at night. And, everytime she walks by the house, Jack's ears perk up, and he often makes a little whiny noise. We have no clue what Penny's purpose is either, but every night, she slowly (and I mean slowly) ambles down the street (she doesn't usually bother with the sidewalks, and she'll make it across the road whenever she finally feels like it, which often means if there is no traffic, she just meanders down the middle of the road). Basically, I think she goes to the convenience store right down the road, then just ends up turning around and heading back home in the same, slow, stiff-legged walk.

Then, there's Scruffs, the dog the rehab center across the street adopted. Scruffs likes a lot of attention and does not like many other dogs in his territory (pretty much anywhere within a certain radius of the center). So, at night, when all have gone to bed, Scruffs barks, and barks some more. And when another dog encroaches on her territory, Scruffs barks and barks. This has tamed down since the "untimely" departure of the man who ran the center, but I think that's mostly because they never got Scruffs fixed and Scruffs went out and got herself "fixed." So, she's incredibly large and not so much into barking at the moment.

It's not just dogs trotting along the sidewalks though. I still find this incredibly bizarre, but at least once a week, a father and his two sons come trotting down the sidewalk on their horses. All you hear for blocks is the clip clop sound of the hooves, then, one by one, they all ride by--the father in front, then the oldest son, then the younger son on his little pony. On one particular night, Jeremy and I watched them trot past, making the usual comments about just how odd that still seemed. Roughly 5 minutes later, we hear a horse making a fuss. Suddenly, riderless, the pony comes galloping down the sidewalk, followed by the father who had quickly scooped up his youngest son and then the older son. We never did learn what had happened, but we had to chuckle a bit (though it probably wasn't the family selling it) when in the next shopper an ad appeared for a pony for sale (oh, and the Tuesday night shopper has been a source of pure delight! Soon, I will post a blog for this month's best ads so you also can marvel and delight in the variety of things for sale in our area).

Then, there was the morning we woke up to a parking lot full of flashing police lights at the center across the street. We soon found out that the co-owner and the man who ran the women's portion of the center (the men's was in another town) had gotten a wee bit upset when his new wife (a recovering alcoholic) got drunk and pulled over for a DUI. Now this particular man is also a recovering alcoholic, so his rational response, as sole authoritarian at a women's rehabilitation center? To go on a bender of his own and, supposedly, strip all his clothes off. So now, the women's center has much stricter rules (no more kiddie tub) and is much quieter than it used to be. And, the co-owner is back in rehab himself.

Probably the most annoying thing, though, is the rooster. Jeremy and I have no idea where in town the rooster is actually located, but we can only surmise that he is both blind and deaf. It doesn't matter what time of day it is, the rooster is crowing. At dawn, he crows. In the middle of the afternoon, he crows. 9 at night, he crows. I even woke up one night around 3 am, and yes, the damn thing was crowing. I'm thinking it's about time to have some chicken for supper.

Blah

Okay, so it's been a while since I last blogged, but this semester has been a little rough. I'll just give a brief rundown of how it's gone. In January, after my dissertation chair forcing me to do years of revisions (6 chapters totaling roughly 300 pages were finished in draft for by August of 2005. In February of last year, I cut 2 chapters out of the dissertation realizing there was no way we were going to get through all of them in time before my 7 years ran out--still leaving me with slightly over 200 pages of material and no conclusion), I assumed it would be no problem to do what should have been minor revisions on the entire thing, write a conclusion, distribute it to my committee, defend by the March 26 deadline, and graduate this May. I assumed wrong, as usual.

So my chair decides immediately in January that the dissertation is nowhere near ready to be distributed to the rest of my committee--it just has horrid problems yet. How it still had such "horrid" problems was beyond me as each chapter had undergone, at minimum, 4 revisions with him before being passed to another committee member, under whom it had underwent just as many revisions i.e. the were done. Instead, he had spend all of January endlessly revising my Introduction. I must have gone through that one 25 page section at least 6 or 7 times before he decided it was "good enough." Now, despite the fact the introduction had already been published in a scholarly journal the previous fall, I had really started to doubt my own writing abilities. And you can imagine how draining it is endlessly revising the same material over and over and over, while still trying to teach a full-time class load consisting of 3 composition courses (writing intensive, so tons of papers) and 2 different literature classes.

In February, things only got worse. We finally moved on to Chapter One (yes, that left me with less than a month to get through the revisions on all four chapter and write a conclusion, as the entire dissertation needed to be distributed one month in advance of the defense). He spent all February sending me Chapter One as not good enough. It is a 40 page chapter. In one week, I revised the thing 4 times!!! I was exhausted. I was getting no sleep, I was falling behind on all the grading I had to do for work, I was miserable, and I was thinking I must be the worst writer ever! So then I got fried. You can only keep up that pace for so long, and, doubting my own abilities, I handed the whole manuscript over to a co-worker who did professional copyediting in his spare time. Imagine my surprise when, during the last week of February, he handed back the Introduction and Chapter One with MINIMAL comments. Every problem he found was something slight--nothing major. In fact, a good chunk of the problems he found were places my chair had taken the "liberty" of rewording himself.

So now what? It's the end of February, and it's obvious this man is not going to let me graduate. On top of that, I'm out of time: 7 years is up. This forces me to file for an extension, and, yet again, pay for another credit hour in the fall (you must maintain one credit hour every semester until you graduate). I was fried, so stressed I could hardly function, and I had had enough. My chair had been dragging his feet for two years--for two years I'd been trying to get help from the department with this situation. My area has had constant change, so I lost two committee members before I even moved 2 years ago and took a job. Thus, you can imagine, living 8 hours from your campus and no longer knowing anyone in the department makes it impossible to find new committee members on your own, much less a new chair when there is hardly anyone tenured in your area anymore. Pretty much, I got the run-around every time I approached the department for help, leaving me stuck with this chair. Well, now I was out of time and out of options. I also needed to stop working on the dissertation so I could catch up with all the papers I was behind on grading (roughly 200) and get those returned to the students.

In the middle of March, I lined up meetings with all my committee members, head people in the department and the dean of student affairs at my college, taking an entire week off to try and get this problem sorted. After meeting with the dean, I was informed that it was the department's responsibility to see that I got through the program once I was accepted, and, that once I my extension was approved, (he had talked to both the head of the department and the head of graduate students in our department) the department would be more than willing to help me reconfigure my committee and remove the chair. I left after that week of meetings finally feeling hopeful that something would go right, that I could finally finish this damn degree, and that someone was finally going to help me.

That was until this week. Last week I got the notification from the college that my extension was approved. I eagerly contacted the department, ready for any and all help finding a new chair and a new committee member to replace the chair I was removing. Monday, I received my response. The response, in summation, said, "You are responsible for finding a new chair and a new committee member. Once you do so and receive confirmation from them, simply fill out the proper forms, submit them, and forward the confirmation emails to me." THE END. So, basically, they just stuck me right back where I was a month ago--right back where I've been stuck the past few years. Only this time, not only do I have even more limited time since I am on an extension, not only am I still 8 hours away from campus, not only do I still not know anyone in the department, but also the semester ends in LESS THAN A WEEK!!! Less than a week and most of the faculty are gone for the summer, leaving no possible way to reform the committee at all.

Yes, this is more of a downer blog than normal. Right now, I'm trying to grade roughly 100 paper revisions before I get 60 response essays and 60 tests at the beginning of next week, while playing phone tag with the dean of student affairs.

Any volunteers to do my laundry? I might be running out of underwear about now too.

Golden Moldies

I'm conducting an experiment with a half loaf of bread in my office. It's been there roughly since the end of last September. It has yet to grow any mold whatsoever. I'm not sure why, but I find this fascinating. I call it my "Wonder Bread." On a monthly basis, I update my co-workers on the status of my wonder bread. In fact the last update was only a few days ago when we returned to campus from the holiday break. Still no mold. I'm starting to wonder if my bread should have a special place in the Smithsonian Institute. I suppose bread is an odd thing to fixate on, but considering this whole mess with the dissertation process, it's really all about the little mindless things. Therefore, I largely credit my unmolding half loaf of bread for a big chunk of my sanity. Not that I'd want to open it up at this point and smell it. But then again, maybe it's just fermenting. Can bread turn into alcohol?

Unfortunately, the same can't be said for many of the things in my refrigerator. I opened it up the other day and realized half the containers of food had been in there possibly longer than the gestation period for rabbits. I opened up one container and discovered nothing but white fuzz. It took me a while to realize the container was actually full of sliced tomatoes I had cut for BLTs. That's when I remembered I had also bought lettuce. I opened up the veggie drawer. I never knew lettuce could turn into brown liquid before. That's when I noticed the mushrooms I had bought for the Christmas meal I cooked--also disgustingly liquified. I had used most of them, so the package was open. Unfortunately, I tipped the package as I took it out of the refrigerator and brown ooze dripped all over the floor and my bare feet, which sent me hopping around and more brown ooze dripping across the floor. I guess this is probably a sad commentary on my dog, but Audrey was anxiously standing by wanting to lick up the disgusting goo! Labs really have no taste buds whatsoever.

Cleaning up that mess, I decided maybe I should take a look at the milk. Jeremy had been complaining for several days (maybe a week) that every time he opened up the fridge, he could smell it. I had basically just been not breathing when I opened the refrigerator door, so I could never confirm or deny his claims. I picked up the jug, carried it to the sink and started dumping. I will just confirm he was correct in his assessment of the smell, and I will just note that it was --well--far from pleasant. Also, it didn't really pour from the jug so much as plop. And I'm fairly certain milk should never plop nor should you have to run the garbage disposal to get rid of it.

That done, I then discovered the leftover cheesecake I had made for Christmas day sitting in a container. It didn't smell bad, had no mold, but I'm fairly certain one month old cheesecake should not be eaten. It had been (at the time of cooking it) a chocolate turtle cheesecake, with the bottom layer a sticky mixture of carmel, evaporated milk and pecans. Somehow, that had bled through the crust and the thing was cemented into the pan. I decided it might be better to let it sit out on the counter and warm up before I tried to dislodge it. So, I set it down on the counter with all intentions of coming back to it a few hours later and tossing it. I forgot. Well, maybe not so much forgot as dreaded the whole scraping, prying process it would take to get the thing out. So, Monday passed, Tuesday, Wednesday. . . Every time I'd go into the kitchen, I'd look at the container on the counter, think, "well, it doesn't smell," get a soda, and then just leave it sitting. I finally got it out of the pan the following Sunday night. I'm not sure if it was a result of sitting for so long in both the refrigerator and on the counter or what, but I swear the thing gained mass. For something that's basically eggs and cream cheese, I'm pretty sure it weighed roughly five pounds by the time I got it into the garbage can. Maybe I should have saved it--it might also have been a candidate for the Smithsonian Institute!