Birthday Braves Game

Birthday Braves Game
Originally uploaded by Dogwood Girl

Video of Rollie showing off his new Braves hat and shirt, and talking about his birthday gift - a trip to the Ted!

It was Tim Hudson bobblehead night at the stadium. Rollie got one for himself and brought one home to Tiller, too!

Rollie thought the seats were pretty good as he settled in.

Cotton candy! (And Dad even gave him some Coke. Note: this is not Dogwood Girl-approved parenting.)

Father and son, so All-American!

p.s. College football starts today. Dogwood Girl v. excited.

Time to Make the Pizza

I kind of thought that my brother-in-law was a really smart guy. He writes books about development languages and I think he is getting his PHd on the side, but i am not really sure, because he is modest and quiet and doesn't really talk about it. We would not have known he published the book if my sister-in-law didn't send us the Amazon link. Well, turns out that smart, shy, silent type brother-in-law also has a bit of a mean streak; He's not just a genius, he is an evil genius.
He's a Dogwood reader, and I guess he has seen the slew of nostalgic posts of late, and he decided to get in on the game. I give you to you, courtesy of my wonderful, brother-in-law:


I'm not really sure who these other people are, but sometimes there is a little collateral damage in the quest to humiliate family and friends. Life in the food web.

Because He's Still the Cutest Guy Around

I am in love

With goats. Todd makes fun of me, because I just love goats. I mean, first of all, they taste good. Second of all, they keep down weeds. I have loved them since I was a little girl, with their wispy, eccentric-looking beards. Those spindly legs. That funny, angry noise they make. They come in all colors.

I always tell Todd I want goats when we finally buy our big property (or what my friends James and Dana refer to as "the compound." Yes, we were saddened when the Putnam County, Georgia Nuwaubian property was demolished and sold off to developers; We had our eyes on its faux-Egyptian majesty for a while.)

I think, though, that Todd secretly finds my goat amour cute. This belief was cemented when he sent me the following link. I mean, how could a man who wanted to dissuade me from goat ownership ever expect to achieve his goal by sending me this cuteness?

Get out the smelling salts. Fainting goats. I am so going to have fainting goats on my estate and then I'll get rip-roaring drunk on tequila, and I will do goat fainting party tricks. It will be a dream come true. You are all invited.

What's For Breakfast

Coffee. Raisin bran. "Oh, yeah, I made out with T for his birthday."

We're a pretty open family, but I'm gonna need another cuppa coffee.

First Snow

A little video from our brief snow experience last night.

Pooped Out

I am so tired. Todd and I went to the EARL last night after his book club at Flatiron. Anna Kramer opened, and I loved her! Got this video of a new Band of Horses song they say they hadn't played before. Me likey. Their whole show was really great - I was impressed. I think they were much better than I thought they would be.

Must go to bed now - stayed up till 2:30 and woke up with kids at 7:30. I don't know what their problem is, always wanting me to get up and feed them and stuff like that. They are so needy.

Winning the Lottery

You probably would not know it, even if you know me pretty well, but sometimes I get depressed. It's never enough to make me unable to function (well, there was that one time after I had the baby, but that was just the hormones), but I just get down. Blah. Uninterested. Bluesy. I don't really want to leave the house. I don't really want to clean the house I don't want to leave. I don't want to do anything at all. It reminds me of when I was a kid, and it would be raining, and there was nothing to do, and I kept on driving my mom crazy, but whatever she suggested sounded like absolutely no fun to me, and the feeling was just pure frustration.

When I get this way, i think I hide it pretty well from everyone but my sister and my husband. God knows, Todd has certainly been seeing the ill effects of my recent melancholy in the sorry housekeeping I have been doing. But for the most part, I really try to overcome my down days, to find things to do to pull me out of the depression, or at least keep me busy until it passes. Which I guess means that I am not truly depressed at all, because I can still function, can still see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Well, it just seems like lately i have have been bored, depressed, whatever. Maybe it's the holidays, maybe it's watching both mine and Todd's parents deal with their own aging parents, when they should be enjoying their retirements and their golden years. Maybe it is feeling helpless at not being able to make all of the people I love just have it easier, or just get a damn break once in a while.

I am still feeling a little down, but you know what helps? When one of your oldest and dearest friends calls and asks if you can drop everything and help her out by going to New York with her for the weekend. All expenses paid. Because her husband was supposed to go with her and something came up with work and now she will have to go by herself.

Um, okay. I guess so. What? Hells to the yeah, I'll go! What depression? What boredom?

Who won the lottery?

I did. When I was born to the most awesomest, givingest Mama ever. When I started playing rec-league b-ball with Mealby "Take a Look at My Choices" Barron, and when I met the most understanding, laid-back, fun-loving, hysterical - and yet responsible - man EVER and made my smartest life move yet - Marrying his ass.

My Dad and sister and kids and cutest dog in the world? They are icing on my life cake.

Evening Alone

So, at first I was kinda bummed that Todd got to go the the EAV Progressive Dinner, but then I realized i would have unadulterated Tifaux to myself; I could watch Survivor after Survivor with nary a snide remark to be heard all night.
Then I realized that I had to get up and go get my own damn beers.

Fuck. This sucks.

This Little Guy

Has grown into a little boy who can sound out words. I almost cried last night, I was so proud of him. He sounded out "Volcano" and "Valley" and almost got "Village" in our Caribbean Alphabet book. (Thanks, Lissa and Addie!) He would have gotten "Village" right, but that whole hard G/soft G (oooh, sounds dirty!) thing threw him off, so he thought it was pronounced "villagh." I never realized how difficult and screwy English was until trying to explain the pronunciation of certain words to Rollie.

None of this would have been possible without the Best Bedtime-Story-Reading Daddy in the Whole Wide World, a Daddy who consistently reads to the kids almost every night, and does it with the most wonderful, sweet, indulgent temperament, when I am just ready to have the day be over, throw their asses in the bed fully clothed, and pour myself a glass of wine.

Parenting is a thankless job, but every once in a while, they throw you a bone. It is a nice day as a parent when you can say to yourself, "At least I know we are doing at least one thing right."

All Hallows Eve

Halloween was ultra fun. We carved the pumpkin (yes, I am a total slacker and waited till the last minute) and then went and had pizza at Grant Central. After that, we walked around East Atlanta Village for the Eav-O-Ween celebration.
All of the shop owners hand out candy to the local kids, and the people-watching is pretty fun. The kids were pretty cute, and I have to say that kids don't get hipper than those who trick or treat The Earl and The Flatiron. Nothing like seeing your little ones waltz right up to a bar for trick or treating. Definitely beats the toothbrushes we used to get from Dr. Grove, the dentist who lived down our suburban street growing up.
After that, we came home and Todd traipsed the kids down the street, while I stayed back to drink beer, er. . . hand out candy. There is something so heartstring-tugging about seeing your husband walking down the street, holding hands with the costumed kids, their other hands gripping the pumpkins so tightly and with such purpose. I had a lovely time talking with the neighbors and then Todd and the kids returned, the kids dove into the candy, and we sat around talking some more, while handing out candy. Halloween in the hood is a little different than in the 'burbs. The first few years, you are kind of put out by the older kids trick-or-treating (as one neighbor put it, if you are out on a date, you are probably too old to trick or treat) and the lack of discernible costumes, but you start to realize that it's just the way that folks do things here, and you get into the spirit and go with the flow after a while. And I dare say that this year, it seemed like more people dressed up and that they were trying just a little bit harder.
Todd hosed the children down from layers of stickiness and put them both down. About nine, we closed up shop (lights out, candles out), and Todd walked down the street to check out the Gay Superheroes. It seems that the money house (what I call the neighbor's house where everyone meets to party while handing out candy every year - a jackpot for the trick or treater) was doing a Superhero costume theme this year. I am sure they went all out and I should have sent the camera. Damn.
I'm drinking beer, fucking around with the Halloween photos, and listening to my Creepy mix. Decemberists' Leslie Anne Levine is on right now. Awesome song. Awesome holiday.

The Strut

That's the name of the festival in my neighborhood. I miss the days when we lived within walking distance of the village, where we could come and go throughout the day, drink as we please, and not worry about it. I also miss my nanny. Oh, wait. We've never had a nanny.

Todd and I woke up at 6 a.m., in time to grab a snack and a coffee, get the kids going, and break up a cat and dog fight, before leaving for the 5k. We thought we were running late, and we were so early that they gave us numbers 10 and 11 - Gotta love my slacker neighborhood. It was nice to be in a small race, with neighbors and people I know. It was Todd's first race, and we were both pleased with the weather, and the fact that we both beat the Dachsund running the race. It's the small things. Also, the shirt is the coolest!

I wasn't happy that we had to head over to Grant Park to get brunch, but we hit Ria's for a brunch without kids. Awesome. Love me some kid-free meals.

Afterwards, we headed back home to start the grill, put on the beans and hit the showers. My sister and Mom were around after watching the kids for the morning. (Best sister EVER for coming over at 6:15 a.m. to watch the kids.) Matt, Ned, Nessie, and Scarlett showed up, and we started the margaritas at about noon, then watched the Auburn game. (Yikes.) I listened to Larry on the radio while the kids ran around. Afterwards, mom and Lisa went home and we all went up to check out the Strut. I got an supercool, ultra cheap creepy shrinkydink necklace for 3$! And a handmade bib for my niece Luci. V. pretty.

Amazingly, i had two margaritas and one beer all day until after bringing the kids home and putting them to bed (they were pooped.) I'll be honest. I could have really tied one on. But these days, I am more likely to drive my kids safely around (okay, except for the mailman roadie incident!) and then pound some beers on the couch.

I know. Totally glamorous.

Seriously. It was a good day.

A Few Things I Learned this Past Weekend

[Lisa, and anyone else who is familiar with it, please cue Urban Cowboy soundtrack in your head.]

* Beer upon beer upon beer + free Patron shots = Big headache + much shenanigans.
* Damn, I look good in a real cowboy hat. Not that straw shit, either. I mean the sweat-stained, dark, cowboy-like-John-Travolta, Texas cowboy hat.
* My husband can ride a mechanical bull. So can all the other Auburn boys. And a few of the girls.
* Cowboys are hot, even if they aren't that hot. If you ask them, "How'd you learn to ride the mechanical bull like that?" they reply with a laughing look: "I ride real bulls." Women swoon.
* I think I may have done something dirty with a sprinkler on Saturday night at around 5 a.m. Actually, I remember the sprinkler. The sprinkler and I were on our best behavior, despite some unsubstantiated reports otherwise; it's everything that came after the sprinkler that I'm a little fuzzy on.
* Despite rumors of sprinkler sex, I am more modest than I thought; Evidently, I was the only girl in East Alabama on Saturday night who wouldn't ride aforementioned bull because of wearing a skirt. I know. East Alabama is probably not the gold standard, but admit it, you all are reading this and thinking "I cannot believe that she didn't ride that bull." I wanted to ride the bull. I will never go to Alabama again with a skirt on, for fear of coming across a bull that I might happen to wanna ride. Cause I'm a lady like that.
* My Mama is right: I can drink too much, or I can stay up too late, but I cannot do both (well).

One reason that I have been slow to post of late is that my Internet has been sloooowww, too, and I like to illustrate my points with pictures and video (such as Todd riding the bull), but I sit around and pray and pray that God will increase my internet connection speed and he just isn't listening. I am just kidding. I don't pray for internet speed. That is silly.

Wish you could see the boys on the bull, though. I will try to post more. I promise, Nat.

A Sad End to an Idyllic Aerie

Things came to a sad end here this morning. A few years ago, we planted Evergreen Clematis at the base of our porch, and trailed the vines up the pillars and along the edge of our porch roof. As evidenced by the name, the vine is evergreen, giving us green foliage right out our window, all year long. The Clematis blooms, with big white flowers, once a year, for an all-too-brief period of time.

The plus to this Clematis has been the unexpected families of birds who have set up shop in the vines. Clematis is strong, and it is strong enough to hold a nest where it runs across the corners of the porch. At one time, we had three nests, all bustling with birds. Okay, it isn't all zippity-doo-dah; The birds occasionally swoop at us as we try to get in our front door, but it has been more than worth it to hear the babies chirping in their nest as we sit in the rockers on the porch at day's end.

This morning, as Todd was leaving for work, and I was being roped into a game of trains with Rollie, Todd knocked on the window from the porch, a disappointed look on his face, and then pointed down at the porch floor.

"The Birds?" I asked?

Todd nodded. He held two fingers up.

Just Saturday night, Todd and I were sitting on the porch, having a couple of beers after the kids went down, and before Todd went out to see bands (lucky bastard). We sat in the fading light, and as we did, a bird kept swooping in the side of the porch, a worm in its mouth, then flying back again to sit on the fence next door. She would sit there, trying to look nonchalant about not being able to get us to move. We took pity on her and moved to sit on the porch steps, away from her nest.

It wasn't readily apparent what happened to our birds. The two babies were just lying on the ground, and they had been there long enough that the ants, who also live around and in our porch vines, had come to take what was there, swarming all over them. There was no sign of Mama Bird. My heart hurts for her. I wonder if she has moved on, this once idyllic aerie no longer holding any joy for her.

We brought Rollie outside to see the scene, and talk about what happened to the birdies, and how they are going to Bird Heaven, where they can fly fast and forever, without having to come down for a rest, where the worms are plentiful, and the nests are safe.

Playing Catchup

I had no idea so many people actually READ what I was writing here, and I have been scolded up and down numerous times for not keeping updated. So, here goes. This will probably be very scattered and random, just like I have been feeling lately.

Huntsville was fun, and I think my Cat-in-Law, Oscar, is probably out of therapy after living with the two Dementors for a couple of days. Hopefully, my SIL is also recovering from the nasty virus we unleashed on her. That will teach her to take us to the E Coli-infested Rosie's Tacqueria! My only disappointment with the trip was that it rained every afternoon after I realized there was a cool-sounding hiking trail just minutes from their house, and I never got to check it out. Kudos to Madison, AL for setting aside what sounds like a lovely greenspace.

I am still enjoying what any sane person (read: Non-History Nerd) would find the very boring, The Stevenson Story, a history of the town of Stevenson, Alabama. If only every county I am researching had commissioned such a thorough and engrossing history of their area. Most fun discovery: Early pioneer ancestors - Total rolling stones! Lived in four states! Least heartening discovery: They totally stole that land from the Indians.

Uh, let's see. When last we left off, I was leaving for Hilton Head with the other Moms. You can read Nat's very detailed summary at The Negative Split, but let me sum it up. Margarita, beer, sun, vodka, raw oysters and steamed crab (Dad, you were right: I am still going to eat crab, even after watching latest guilty pleasures The Deadliest Catch). 80's music, dancing, drunk dialing (not me!), tequila rape (if Nat ever approaches you with a coffee cup and a lime, run for your life), puking hangover, recovery, turkey sandwiches made the right way, US Weekly, choked-down first beer of the second day, and uh, trivia and psychology do not mix. I am the Queen of Fraggle Rock, motherfuckers! Hmmm. . . what else. A nice run. A gator will scare you past the blisters. Beach until the lightning strikes and the lifeguards order your [very sober] asses out of the water. Makeovers, and photo shoots, dinner with the drunks, including the New York Jews (their term, not mine), and the unfortunate sinking feeling upon realization that the nice older couple sitting next to us during our drunken, raucous dinner are actually old friends of the family, and the parents of my cousin's best friend. Managed to keep them distracted while Natalie had herself thrown out of the restaurant (see pics on The Negative Split). More drunkenness and a much more manageable hangover the following day. If anyone reads this who knows Chris Herron, I need his email address, as we ran into someone he knows. Said person gave me coffee and bagel and I love him for that. Last thoughts: Dublin, GA sucks. So does the Claxton exit. Regrets: None, other than not getting photo or better, video, of Carrie dry-heaving at gas station. Good times.

Natalie, as you can see, I did not post awesome picture of your bare ass in the alley, but I am tempted, so if you get a wild hair, let me know, and it might even get it's own post.

Let's see, what else. Am being good with diet and exercise and lost six pounds last week. Fucking miracle, or at least probably a water weight miracle, which is like, totally recognized by the Pope.

Ooooh, and my sister gots herself a little lovebug at the Humane Society yesterday. Emily is smallish, cute, and wire-haired. I tried to steal her when I left Lisa's yesterday, but was caught at the door. Will be trying again today when they visit. Will also post pics of her majesty when they become available. Cannot wait to humiliate her by making her wear outfits. I myself did not leave with any four-leggers, despite the admirable efforts of cute dog-loving Humane Society worker who put the hard sell on me with the Dog of the Week, despite my truthful protestations that if I bring another being into our (love-filled) household, my husband will force me to give an existing pet or child up for adoption. Cute Dog Guy's suggestion? Get rid of Husband. So tempting, but he has finally learned that the way to my heart is through unloading the dishwasher on occasion, so I am going to keep him around for a while.

No trips planned for the foreseeable future, so you just might see more of me in the coming days.

Oh my God. I am old and boring, but you are up-to-date.

Annie Tour 2007

Get your t-shirts now.

I just got back from visiting brother-in-law, SIL, and CIL (cat-in-law) in Huntsville. We had a great time (three words: "Space Ice Cream.") I also was able to indulge my guilty history pleasure and take a day trip to beautiful Jackson County, Alabama, where a couple of my dead folks are buried. I was pleasantly surprised at the beauty of the area, and to find that my guy (Archibald) and his wife were early pioneers in the area. Which means, of course, that they took Cherokee land. Sad. They came from Kentucky to northern Alabama by packhorse. Yikes. I can't imagine how many arguments Todd and I would get into traversing the mountains of Kentucky, Tennessee, and Alabama by packhorse, with two kids, much less 6 or more. There was a wealth of information on the family and the area they settled (Crow Creek Valley). The cemetery where they were buried was remote, just plain beautiful, and a little scary (lots of crows), just like I like'em. My only disappointment was a dearth of snake handlers. (See National Book Award finalist: Salvation on Sand Mountain.) I guess they only do that on Sunday. I don't know what I expected - People walking around the cornfields carrying rattlers?

I arrived back yesterday afternoon, and now I am off this morning to Hilton Head with the Georgia Hotties. That's what we call our Mom's group - It used to be called Georgia Mamas, but one of us thought we were way too hot for that. I agree. I have written about how my brother-in-law snidely calls us "Girls Gone Mild." He obviously doesn't understand the hurricane of maternal drunkeness that is about to beset Hilton Head Island.

Life as Competition

I've been really slack about the blogging of late. We went to the beach, and for some reason, summer in general makes me want to be doing stuff, instead of writing about doing stuff. Which then makes me feel guilty because I'm not being the blogger I want to be.

I'm not being the runner I want to be, either. On the running front, I have been a total slacker the last week. To be fair, the workout after my 7 miles was yucky, and then ever since then, I have been having both knee and ankle pain. So, I felt guilt and more guilt about not running while I was at the beach, but then ran 4.02 miles today in my normal 45 minute workout. That is the fastest pace I have finished it in, so interesting that I could take almost a week off and come out and do better than I thought I would. The other weird part was that I walked parts of it because it was so sucky, and then I ran faster than normal on the running parts. Also, no knee or ankle pain, so maybe the days off were for the best.

Other stuff going on: I meant to blog about it, but didn't. I finally read Life of Pi, which came out years ago, but has been on my to read pile for ever. Holy shit was that a great book. Instant classic, and a book that really sticks with me. I think about it probably once a day, in some way or another. If you haven't read it, i highly recommend it.

Also on my rec list: The Shadow of the Wind. Amazingly fun read and the most enjoyable book I've read in a long while. It is like a love letter to literature, a little fantastic, but in that space of fantasy that is real enough to seem plausible and tangible. Daniel, the protagonist, is lovable and endearing. His foibles (damn it, Sarah Silverman!!) are so everyman that you feel like they happened to you while you are reading. Maybe they did happen to you. Or will. Very difficult to describe what i mean by that, but the line between the novel itself, The Shadow of the Wind, the characters in the novel, the book by the same name that is its own character in the novel, and you the reader is all very blurry; While reading it, you feel as if you are a character in the novel, and in a way, you are. It is a fun and smart book with memorable, personable characters, not the least of which is the City of Barcelona. (Must. go. there. now.) Thanks to Mike for mentioning it. Now I am in that state where i wonder if it will become a movie, then realize what foolishness that would be to hope for, and then start thinking to myself who the cast should be.

Now I'm reading The Crossing, by Cormac McCarthy, because I was the one who loved All The Pretty Horses first, Todd. I told you and told you to read it, and you wouldn't, until McCarthy pulled the old apocalypse novel card, and only then was it considered cool enough for you to give it a whirl. Of course, for you and your ilk, that coolness has now been canceled out by virtue of McCarthy being an Oprah pick. Ha! The cruel hands of fate. . . Anyway, point being, Todd finally picked up All the Pretty Horses, and I can't let him get ahead of me in the race.

Yes, everything is a competition with me.

Happy Mother's Day

To all the Moms in my life, and especially to my own Mom. I never knew just how much work it took to raise such perfect children. You did a good job - Lisa and I rock. [wink]

Moms, make sure your peeps are being good to you today. As Todd told Rollie this morning:

"It's Mother's Day. That means we have to be nice to Mama."

Amen.

Life in the Biz

One of the fun things about having a husband in the biz is that after shoots, we get our pick from the wardrobe. Now, sometimes it is crap, but yesterday's haul was better than usual. Except that two pairs of the cute shoes were not even remotely big enough to fit me. These Vision Street Wear sneaks were, though!
The other fun part is that sometimes the crap is funny crap, which we then proceed to dress up* in. Like this Addidas track suit in Todd's size, and also the completely blinged-out Marc Jacobs watch. You can't tell in the picture, but it has huge rhinestone-like stones around the face of the watch.
*Big props to T for humoring me and dressing up in wardrobe, despite being late for sneak preview of 28 Weeks Later with Ned.

What Am I? Fifteen Years Old?

I got mad at my hair yesterday. I should say that over the past month or so, I have become increasingly dissatisfied with the gnarled knots I have to untangle every day in the shower. I haven't had a haircut in . . . well, I don't remember the last time I had my hair cut. I don't know why it is, except that one can't very well walk into a salon with two kids and spend hours having a cut and color, so I have just given up on my hair. My life is a constant vying of interests, hobbies, and duties for my precious time, and, well, I'm just not a very vain person. Proud to a fault, yes. Vain about my physical appearance? Not really. My hair gets short shrift every time. Not that I don't like having a new cut and color. I love it. But i hate the time involved in the process, so it gets pushed to the back burner and neglected for months on end.

Except that maybe I haven't given up at all. With due respect to my stylist, Robin, who is first and foremost my friend, I have to say that I didn't do a bad job with a pair of kitchen scissors and my own two hands.

Who is snickering right now?

The funny thing is, almost every girl I know has done this at one time or another, but most of them grew out of it in high school. Not me. I wait till the day before I start my period (coincidence? I think not) and then I grab the scissors. I don't know why, but i don't have a fear of my hair looking stupid. If anything, I kind of relish the thought of the change, good or bad.

It really doesn't look bad, though. I whacked off about three inches (I am guessing), and since I have curly hair, I can get away with it. Todd didn't even notice that I had cut it at first (men!) and then when he did, he didn't realize it was an autostyle. He is going to have to clean up a couple locks in back, but he has been doing my color in a box for the last 6 months or so. I think he can handle it.

And it cost me nothing. I am the master miser.

The Blazer Assuages Guilt

After my post on Wednesday, I started thinking: Wow, my husband might not be so jazzed about my discussing past smooches on my website, now that I am like a married woman and supposedly-upstanding citizen. It also occurred to me that the cheated-on ex might read that lovely little tidbit, but i am assuming that there is some kind of statute of limitations on how long after an incident one can still justifiably consider oneself wronged, especially when we haven't been together in almost ten years, and for the last six of those years the perpetrator (that would be me) has been happily married to someone else.

It's not like I've ever been fired for what I've written, but I have had a couple instances where people were not too happy about what I had written. Feelings have been hurt. People have worried that feelings would be hurt if certain people who don't read Dogwood Girl ever did come across it. Let me say for the record that I love my family and I love my in-laws, and truth be told, they are the absolutely most wonderful in-laws I could imagine having, even if they don't serve me wine on holidays. They are just very different from my own family, and it is in those differences that I often find humor and feel compelled to write about it. I am pretty open about what I say on Dogwood Girl, and I am not ashamed of anything I have written.

There are some things that I haven't written about, though; I am proud of the restraint I have shown in some cases. There have been times where it would feel really good to give someone a good razing, but diplomacy wins out, at least occasionally, with me. This is some great peak of maturation that I never thought I would begin to scale; I am not known for my tact. I am not known for my compassion, sympathy, empathy, sensitivity, or any pussy adjectives like that. I don't mean to hurt feelings, but I do mean to be honest and truthful and direct, and that often means that people get hurt. Oops.

Anyway, I was thinking about this when my husband came home from a work thing the other night. Todd is in advertising, and when ad people get together, they drink. Todd came in a little merry and I knew something had put him in a good mood. I wrote a while back about Todd's weight loss. (I am very proud of him.) Well, since he has lost the weight and started wearing the blazer, he is really starting to wrack up the female attention. Some of my married male friends have mentioned that girls come onto them more since they married than they did before. This is strange, but I can see it. Girls are bitches for the most part. Anyway, a friend of Todd's was talking to some girls at the party and I don't know the context of the whole conversation, but he said, "Are there any cute guys here?" Guess who one of them thought was the cutest guy there? Yep, that'd be my husband. I could tell Todd felt good about it (who wouldn't?) and maybe a little sheepish.

Me? I have no problem with it. I think he deserves every last bit of it and I like to see him feel good about himself. Also? It means that if he is at work parties talking to young girls (did I mention she was a young thing?) who think he is cute, then I can pretty much talk about whatever the fuck i want on here, with no guilt.

Our Weekend in Savannah: Part II

As I said, I felt like SHIT on Saturday. Nausea and splitting headache, which i think were due more to lack of sleep than quantity of alcohol. Complete and utter shit, all the same. I told Todd I didn't want to drink a lot, so that I would feel good on Saturday. He made me drink.

We woke up, ate some continental breakfast, then headed out to get a new digital camera. (Ours finally pissed us off enough to be retired.) Then we had a tasty sandwich at a sub place and headed back to the room for naps. I was disappointed that I was so tired on Saturday - I far would have preferred strolling the squares all day Saturday, but knew I must sleep or I would never make it through the wedding on Saturday night.




We slept for two hours, then woke up, had a snack and dressed for the wedding. The trolley (ring! ring! ring! goes the bell) was picking up at 5:40 for the 6:30 wedding. We rushed around getting dressed and got on the trolley. We picked up more wedding guests at the Mulberry Inn and the Desoto Hilton. I have never seen so many women wearing dead animals in my life.

The wedding was at The Oglethorpe Club. Another beautiful house, right across the street from the original Armstrong College, where my father once attended classes. As we pulled up around the corner on to Bull St., we heard the piper playing. I swear to God, they had a bagpiper greeting the guests on the corner.

We got off the trolley, then proceeded up the stairs (festooned in beautiful greenery and white roses - I think they spent more on flowers than I spent on my whole wedding. There were white roses all over the whole house.) We checked my coat, then went up to the second floor for the ceremony. They conducted the ceremony in an upstairs, wood-paneled, long and narrow room. It was dark and candlelit. The bride wore a beautiful dress, and the the whole wedding party was decked out in Scottish tartan. The groom and his family wore their tartan; the bride and wedding party wore their own. Women wore a tartan sash with a brooch, including the bride. Nice, unusual touch. The piper piped as the wedding party entered. They also had a four-piece string instrument thing going on. The ceremony was very short, which was nice, because about half of us were standing in the back of the room.


After the ceremony, it was off to the bar. The Oglethorpe is a men's club. I was a little weirded out about things I have heard about it (no black members, no women allowed to walk up the front steps, etc.) All of that didn't matter - they could have made me crawl around on my knees as long as I could partake of the buffet.

I'm going to throw down the gauntlet: BEST. WEDDING. BUFFET. EVER. There were the usual carving tables, and an open bar, but the piece de resistance was the asparagus/cheese/tomato sandwich/oyster table. If you know me, you know they had me at "cheese," but if you throw in tomato sandwiches with the crusts (I still call them "the bones") cut off, I am yours. There were so many different kinds of stinky, blue-veined cheeses that I would have been sick even trying a bite of each one. Todd, meanie that he is, didn't think it was appropriate for me to put a whole chunk of cheese in my purse at the end of the evening. I am horrified at the thought of the cheese in a trashcan in the basement of the Oglethorpe Club.

Add in a bottomless pan of freshly-fried, hot oysters? Holy crap! I am surprised I didn't get sick. I spent half the evening hovering around the oyster dish with a bunch of old southern men, waiting for the next batch to come out. I think I impressed them with my oyster-eating prowess. I was so tired that night, that i took it easy on the drinking. Well, I did start at 7:00 or so and drink till 3 something in the morning, but i was a good girl. I felt fine on Sunday. One reason? I ate my weight in buffet. The reception lasted a long time, and people were pretty toasty by the end. I was pretty sober myself, having spent more time stuffing my face and looking at old weapons and pictures of Civil War generals.

In the end, the bride and groom came down the wide front steps of the club as we showered them with white rose petals. Both had changed: The groom was wearing ridiculous plaid pants, a bowtie, and a tam. The bride wore pants and sweater, along with a wide-brimmed hat and her tartan sash as a scarf. The "getaway" car was not a car at all - Definitely the cutest "Just married" getaway ever: They climbed onto a vintage tandem bike, complete with basket and bell, then rode off into Monterrey Square. (I think it was Monterrey Square). Adorable. I got a little choked up, and I don't even know them.

We took the trolley back to the hotel, then changed, and met people at the bar the wedding party had chosen. I am going to go ahead and say it was possibly the most hideous place I have ever been. Some kind of karaoke bar, attached to a bar that looked just like an Applebee's. I guess I am a snob, but I am picky. It is bad enough hearing the original versions of crappy rock songs (think Creed or one of those bands with numbers in their names), but hearing drunks butcher them even further was downright painful.

I drank PBRs with Kate (the bride's sister and Todd's friend), her husband, and her lecherous uncle from Bogota. They gave up the ghost and headed home. Todd was just kicking it into high gear (for those of you who know Todd, this is the part where he starts stirring his drink with his fingers, and then licking them merrily one by one) and so despite the fact that I was ready to fall into bed, I took one for the team and accompanied him for a few more hours.

We finally found a couple other like-minded guests who decided to venture with us to another bar, Hang Fire. My friend Donnie had recommended this place as having an excellent jukebox, and so when a fellow wedding guest mentioned it as a place where they might go, I jumped at the chance. It was pretty cool, but by the time we got there, everyone was wasted, and they had a band playing, so I didn't get a chance to check out the jukebox. I did get to see the shocked look on the face of the little South Carolina girl who had joined us, when she saw two girls making out in the corner and about ten guys taking camera phone pictures of them. That actually made the trip worthwhile. She then got into an argument with her date, who had somehow offended her by putting down "Carolina" and "the status quo in Columbia." They were a riot. We met a very nice Chicago girl who had been living in Savannah for a couple of years and tried to convince us that since we like Wilco we like jam bands. Ain't gonna happen. We finally walked back to the hotel with the feuding Columbian (of Columbia, SC) couple. I was asleep within five minutes.

I woke up feeling wonderful; Todd, not so much. Ah, sweet feeling of a Sunday morning without hangover or regret. We looked around in vain for somewhere neat to eat, then in desperation and hunger, I phoned my friend Jason, who recommended The Firefly Cafe, which looked awesome, but had a wait of what looked like hours (think Flying Biscuit waits). We went down the street to a J. Christopher's, which was actually really good, and had IHOP-style bottomless coffee on the table.

On the way, I caught sight of this guy who was carrying an interesting sign. I am guessing he strolls the streets every Sunday to put fear of God into Saturday night's hangover victims roving the streets searching for a cure; Everyone out on Sunday morning seemed to be a slow-moving student, or a well-dressed churchgoer in a fancy hat. It was Sunday, crisp and bright, and the people were walking their dogs with coffee in hand, and the church bells rang at noon. Lovely morning. Todd looked like death eating a ham sandwich, which only cast into relief my elation at having a sunny morning without kids or hangover.

Some things are indescribably perfect. We had a wonderful time (hard not to without kids), and I didn't even mention all the six degrees of separation, or the menage a trois come-ons (or so we like to flatter ourselves,) or the Episcopal Mafia. You can see more of our pictures from the trip by clicking on my Flickr link to the right. They should be up some time today.

Oh, p.s.! On Saturday, even with my hangover, we "discovered" an awesome artist at Chroma Gallery on Barnard. I posted about it here on Atlanta Metblogs, as the artist is an Atlantan. If you ever want to see what I am saying about Atlanta, there are links to my posts on Metroblogging Atlanta to the right.

Our Weekend in Savannah: Part I

We arrived in Warner Robins Friday afternoon, and dropped off the kids. We just about left skid marks on my parents after setting up the pack'n'play and saying hello to my grandfather. We took Mom's Honda Pilot, which drives great and is much nicer than our Honda Odyssey. Todd and I have decided that 75 South to Florida is far more boring than driving 16 to Savannah; 16 contains nothing of great interest to look at, but 75 contains a continuous string of eyesores.

We arrived in Savannah around six or so, and had to be at the cocktail party at 7:30, but the trolley (ding ding ding) was picking us up at 7:00, so no shower. You might think that I could get ready in one hour, but I wear it so rarely that I am nearly incapable of putting on makeup by myself. You can ask Todd; It really does take me that long. I would show you how horrible I am at it, but we deleted all the pictures for fear that they would give the children nightmares. Todd, however, looked great. (That's him at the left.) In fact, he looked so good that the groom's mother, upon seeing him, asked the bride's mother, "Who is that handsome man?" We are now working a scheme to knock off the groom's father, wed my husband to the widow, and put the kids and I up in a Savannah apartment until she kicks the bucket. I promise I am not going to end each paragraph in this post with someone dying off.

The cocktail party was held at The Harper-Fowlkes house, which is owned by The Society of the Cincinnati. I had no idea what this thing was, and I actually really dig genealogy and history: Seems that to be a member of the SOC, you have to be a first-born male descendant of an American or French Revolutionary war officer. Each officer can only have one descendant at a time represent them, so in order for a son to take his father's place, the father must kick the bucket first. (Left: The Harper-Fowlkes from the enclosed garden in the back.) The house was gorgeous and the food rocked. It was pretty cold, so people pretty much stayed inside, but the smokers (and me) spent a good deal of time on the back porch and in the garden.

At one point, I went to find a bathroom and entered the "off limits" upstairs of the three-story house. There was a really cool open area in the center of the 2nd floor hall that looked down on the entrance hall to the house. I was able to stand in this dimly-lit area and overhear everyone's conversations; unfortunately, it was mostly old people talking about boring stuff. I wandered around, looking at the oil paintings and weird Society "stuff" - old medals, books, and pins enclosed in glass cases. There were two bedrooms, impeccably furnished, with their own fireplaces, and a society library. The hallway was lit, but the rooms were not. I ventured into them, but frankly, I was a little creeped out. I also went to the landing halfway up the stairs to the third story, but could not see a thing further, and did not want to draw attention to myself by turning on a light. (Note to self: When going to parties in creepy old houses, make like Nancy Drew and bring along a spare flashlight in my clutch purse.) This was all even more disappointing when I spoke with a teenage boy, son of the host and hostess, who told me that he has explored the third floors, attics, and basements of every old house in Savannah - evidently, he has been dragged to a hell of a lot of boring society parties. (That's a picture of the bride and groom above.)

After the party, we went back to the hotel to change, then met other wedding guests in the lobby. We were kind of hoping to hit some off-the-beaten-path watering holes, but of course we ended up going to some "Irish" bar on River Street, because it was just plain easier than convincing people to go somewhere else and then getting them there. It ended up being pretty fun, and we had a whole upstairs bar to ourselves. (That's us on the left.) There were probably 15 to 20 of us. We knew two of them, but as the evening wore on, we met every Rhett and Scarlett in the place.

B.T. and Kate, with Todd. The only other two people we knew at the party.
No, I'm not kidding, one of them was really named Rhett. Okay, no Scarletts, but any other family name you can think of, there was someone with that name in the room: I met Rhett and Reeve, Dallon and Porter. Even the women with regular names had another name appended to the first, so that they became Kimberly Gay or Mary Ellen or Emma George. I felt so plain when I had to tell people my name: "Anne." They looked expectantly at me until they realized it was just that one syllable. I guess I should have been sticking that middle name on the end the whole time, just to not mess with their world.
I am joking, of course - they were all lovely people. One of the wonderful things about a wedding where you don't know anyone is that you get to meet so many great people, and learn such interesting things about them. (Geologists! Creative Writing PhDs! Lawyers! Insurance Salesmen!) As the evening wore on, we lost most of our party to sleep, and they closed the upper bar, so we headed downstairs for one more drink at that bar. On the way down, I met an audiologist (read: Hearing Aid Salesman) and his two coworkers, who were in Savannah for a convention. They were from Montreal, but one of them was a Frenchman from Lilles. I wowed him with my incredibly terrible French; No, all the alcohol in the world could not give me the gift of comprehensible French. He turned up his nose at my pronunciation until we finally hit upon a common bond - Our children are the same age and it seems that in any language, kids are a pain in the ass, and parents will compare pictures of them anyway.

While talking to the Quebecois and Monsieur Lilles, I overheard the guy on my other side saying into his cellphone, "No, I'm in Georgia." He sounded like he wanted to blow his brains out. I said, in my bitchiest drunk voice: "Is it really that bad?" He met my eyes and looked like he was about to cry. I said, "Oh my God, are you okay?" Turns out that he and his sister were in Savannah for his sister's wedding, which isn't that odd, except that it is his half-sister, whom he had never met before. They have the same father, and they found each other on the internet. While he was at the wedding, he received a phone call from his home town of Portland, and was informed that one of his best friends was killed in a car wreck. So, he was sitting beside me at the bar, drinking to his dead friend, when he received a call that the whole thing had been a horrible mix-up; The friend was not dead at all. He was so relieved he was about to cry. I was drunk and gave him a ridiculously huge hug. He hugged back. Ah, the friendships I have made in bars. He ended up walking back to the hotel with us (he was staying there, too) and bitching about how Savannah didn't know their cocaine. We bid him farewell in the lobby, and he looked like a lost little boy. (That's him at the left.)
Anyway, perfect example of the fun and interesting conversations you have when you go to a wedding and hang with people you don't know. I should point out here that his sister who was married in Savannah is not the same as Todd's friend Kate's sister, Emily, whose wedding we were attending. That is how rumors get started.

All in all, a wonderfully fun evening, and did I mention that I felt terrible on Saturday? I felt terrible. Part II to come tomorrow!

I Know

I should not look a gift horse in the mouth, or be ungrateful, but when you leave the vacuum cleaner, broom and dustpan, windex, paper towels, and furniture polish all over the house, it is pretty obvious what you think of my housekeeping skills. That is okay - I will overlook the insult as long as you keep my kids. Even if you did stock my pantry with vanilla wafers, double stuff Oreos, two kinds of jelly with sugar (even though we had two sugar-free versions already), a tin of Hershey's kisses, Rice Krispies, and two new containers of pourable sugar (as opposed to the cheap bagged type I use). I mean, if I wanted my kids to eat that crap, it would probably be in the pantry already, but whatever. More with which Mama can sabotage her diet after 8 pm.

Seriously: I cringe at the thought of what has entered my children's mouths throughout the various times they have been taken care of by their grandparents. I know it will not kill them, and the free time is worth a cavity or two, but the worst part? I cannot physically bring myself to throw out those Oreos. A full bag? I cannot do it. They will sit there and slowly ruin my weight loss until Todd comes home on Saturday, when they will succumb to one of two scenarios: 1)Todd shows extreme willpower and kicks them to the curb. 2) Todd goes out for drinks with the boys, and then comes home, skulks around the kitchen as the rest of us sleep, then eats Oreos in one sitting with a peanut butter jelly sandwich.

I know this is our weakness, and not theirs. Why does it have to be so hard?

Kiss My Bass

In addition to the cast of characters we have seen here in Orlando, we also took in some sights. I skipped the theme park stuff, and hit the outlet malls yesterday while Todd was working. I took the trolley line and on the way there, i had the pleasure of being surrounded by a bunch of German conventioneers. i have no idea what they were saying, but it doesn't really matter, as German accents always sound sinister to me, even when they are laughing and smiling. As if they are going to give me one last cigarette before they make me turn around and shoot me execution-style into the grave I have just finished digging for myself. On the way back, I met a stereotypical large Irish family, replete with mischievous sons. The mom loved the Simon and Garfunkel that looped on the trolley, over and over. The driver on the way back was from Chicago, and he was new, and he didn't know where he was going. It is not a good sign when you have to tell the driver how to drive his route.

After I got back to the hotel, Todd and I went to Outback, mate. Seems that everything in Orlando is themed, franchised, and a chain. Todd and I competed in a contest against one another for who could come up with the most Australian words (bonzer! Billabong! Didgeridoo?); they must be pronounced with an Australian accent, of course. Anyone who knows my husband knows that he killed me in this game. If there is anything Todd loves, it is slang. He also loves to make me do any kind of accent or sound effect, because I am exceedingly terrible at both. If you want to illicit giggles from the both of us, the way to do it is to get me to do a machine gun sound effect, or get Todd to do R2D2 imitating Chewbacca. Good stuff. Chains are lame, but don't worry, I managed to choke down a prime rib and a bottle of wine. I will survive.

After that, we headed back to the mall (Orlando is basically one big mall with some roller coasters thrown in for good measure.) Todd had a balance left over on a $500 gift certificate a client gave him last Christmas to Bass Pro Shops. Todd doesn't really hunt, so we have been stretching the gift certificate for years now.

Bass Pro Shops are just awesome. There is so much stuff that you don't need in there to catch a fish! There are also knives, guns, ammo, live fish tanks, and camping stuff. Did I mention the bird calls and cute dog toys to teach your lab to retrieve dead birds? They have huge boats in the parking lot and ATVs on the showroom floor inside. They also have really nice Columbia clothing that makes me want to go camping. By the way, ladies, if you are ever stranded in a Bass Pro Shops megastore, just go to the electronics section and get the cute young Irish boy to show you how the GPS works. You will have no idea what they are talking about, or if you do, just act like you don't, and he will keep on talking. In that accent. Until your husband comes and finds you and breaks the two of you up. (Actually, i really did want to check out the GPS, because I am fascinated by them and want to try Geocacheing. Bu