My dad is/was a choir director, so Christmas has always meant music to me. I sang all through high school in the Serenaders--a show choir at school. We did 30 performances between 12/1 and midnight at 12/24. We sang at Kiwanis, DAR, elementary schools. The week before Christmas we sang every single day at one of the local banks at 11am and then at McDonald's at 12pm. Our last performance was before the midnight mass at the Catholic church on Christmas Eve.
Far and away, my favorite performance every year was the men's prison Sunday school class. However, it wasn't our performance that was the highlight; it was the prisoners' performance. We would sing for them, they would sing for us, and then we would all sing together. My pediatrician, Dr. Harrison, and Mr. Mac taught the class and arranged for us to come. Mr. Mac would lead the group singing. They had a songbook that everything from "Amazing Grace" to "If You're Happy and You Know It." Hearing the beautiful harmonies and voices that filled that room and imagining what led those men to this place would always make me so thankful for what I have. It also made me hopeful. I would look in their eyes and hear their stories and believe in the power of redemption. And isn't that what Christmas is all about?
When I lived in DC and while in law school, the song "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" became a big joke with Leslie and me. Her parents were pretty recently divorced and mine soon temporarily lost their minds. Spending the holidays shut up with these people who clearly did not like each other (in my case) or ping ponging back and forth between them (in Leslie's case) was clearly "the most wonderful time of the year." Anytime one of us would start complaining, the other would just break out into song (well, I broke out more than Les. She's not the breaking into song type). I always missed all of the singing that I used to do and thought maybe that contributed to my scrooginess.
This year, between my community chorus commitments and church choir commitments, I've felt like I'm back in the Serenaders. However, I told my mom on Sunday that I still felt like I was missing out since I hadn't been to the prison. I was talking to another Serenader this afternoon who is 8 years my senior. We never sang together, but when he mentioned lacking the Christmas spirit, I said, "we need to go to the prison." He knew exactly what I was talking about.
I know Dr. Harrison is getting very old. I'm pretty sure Mr. Mac passed away (I sure hope they sang "if you're happy and you know it wear a smile--TEE HEE" at his funeral). I just hope that someone is continuing that wonderful tradition that has touched so many lives and set the standard for the Christmas spirit for us all.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
They're Gone
and all I have to show for it is this lousy parking ticket.
They must be planning on coming back, though. The Maritime Travel Agency has the sign that dangles from the side of the building back up, but the window still says it's a vet office. Also, the same day they were filming, a little old lady came across the street to the children's consignment store about the same time I did. As the owner of the store and I were talking about it, she mentioned that they would be back in two weeks. It's been quiet this week.
I think I was bemoaning the fact that I missed Etta's chance at getting discovered. Who wouldn't love that face? They dog that they had for the shoot was cute--in the way that all dogs are cute. Really, he was a shaggy black mutt. And entirely too well behaved to be going to the vet. Etta, with her gentle leader on, would have given a much more believable performance.
Little buddy had his first overnight stay away from his mom on Saturday night--and everyone survived. Unfortunately, he was sick, and his Aunt Sissy is an idiot who gave him his medicine at 9:00pm. Therefore, he was ready to go from about 12:30 to about 3:00am. Etta really wondered what in the world we were doing awake at that hour. So much so that she didn't really seem to mind when Will followed her under the covers. She always tolerates him very well, but she didn't even move while he crawled all over her. Luckily, he's feeling better now.
Got to get to work on the Thanksgiving meal. The only firm request I've gotten is sweet potato balls. Nanee's dressing is a given, though. Hope everyone has a great holiday next week!
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
There are famous people outside my window
UPDATED TO ADD: Now the famous person is gone. They turned this building across the street into "K[something I can't read] [something else I can't read] Vetinary Care" and she walked in the fron door about 4 times. There was one guy propped up against the wall reading a magazine or something for the first 2 shots. Then they added in another guy who crossed in front of her before she went in the door. Finally, they shot her coming out of the building. Then she hopped in a white van and left. Then they shot some lady with a shaggy black dog walking out of the door twice. Now, they are shooting a truck parked on the street. Now, everyone is packing up their orange leaves and heading to the next shoot. Excitement.
end of update
Famous is a relative word, I guess. The "October Road" crew is setting up a shot (complete with a guy carrying those confounding orange leaves around) across the street from my office right now. In fact, they are all congregating in front of the window I used to stare out of all day before we moved across the street (ah, the things I've seen out of that window). I never watched "That 70's Show" so I wasn't sure I would recognize the most famous person in the show. I saw a girl in scrubs under her camel color coat, and from behind, I thought it could be her. My secretary confirms that she is the one. I can't wait until they start shooting.
When I was in Prague, Janey, Nettie and I went to dinner one night for our farewell dinner at a restaurant right on the river. As we were walking back home, Janey gasped and kind of took off running. She spotted a horse lying on the sidewalk. It was a prop for a movie they were filming right under the bridge. Nettie got very excited because she had never seen anyone famous. She figured if she were with Janey and me and there was a movie being shot, she was sure to see someone of importance. About that time, Gerard Depardieu walked right by us. We stood on the bridge and watched them film for a while. Maybe this will be more exciting.
end of update
Famous is a relative word, I guess. The "October Road" crew is setting up a shot (complete with a guy carrying those confounding orange leaves around) across the street from my office right now. In fact, they are all congregating in front of the window I used to stare out of all day before we moved across the street (ah, the things I've seen out of that window). I never watched "That 70's Show" so I wasn't sure I would recognize the most famous person in the show. I saw a girl in scrubs under her camel color coat, and from behind, I thought it could be her. My secretary confirms that she is the one. I can't wait until they start shooting.
When I was in Prague, Janey, Nettie and I went to dinner one night for our farewell dinner at a restaurant right on the river. As we were walking back home, Janey gasped and kind of took off running. She spotted a horse lying on the sidewalk. It was a prop for a movie they were filming right under the bridge. Nettie got very excited because she had never seen anyone famous. She figured if she were with Janey and me and there was a movie being shot, she was sure to see someone of importance. About that time, Gerard Depardieu walked right by us. We stood on the bridge and watched them film for a while. Maybe this will be more exciting.
Monday, November 06, 2006
They're Back
Several months ago, a TV crew chose my hometown to shoot a television pilot for a show called "October Road." The show is set in the Northeast (I live in Georgia), so the crew had to do some work to make the scenery work. I was zoned out and driving home one afternoon and wondered aloud (to myself) what kind of tree is that that turns orange in April? It's the Hollywood kind.
Anyway, there was much excitement in Mayberry as the filming occurred in various locations throughout town. However, the pilot was not picked up and the excitement died.
Until--now there is a possibility that it will be picked up as a midseason replacement. As I was driving to work this morning, I was frustrated by the extension of my 3 minute commute. I could not imagine what was going on at the old courthouse building since all of the offices moved to the new "justice center" several months ago. When I returned from court in BFE a few hours later, the crew had the lights, etc set up and I figured it out. They're back!
I can't remember who is in it other than one of the girls from That 70's Show. Maybe you can hold out hope as your new favorites get cancelled that "October Road" can become you're new favorite. The scenery's nice, anyway.
Anyway, there was much excitement in Mayberry as the filming occurred in various locations throughout town. However, the pilot was not picked up and the excitement died.
Until--now there is a possibility that it will be picked up as a midseason replacement. As I was driving to work this morning, I was frustrated by the extension of my 3 minute commute. I could not imagine what was going on at the old courthouse building since all of the offices moved to the new "justice center" several months ago. When I returned from court in BFE a few hours later, the crew had the lights, etc set up and I figured it out. They're back!
I can't remember who is in it other than one of the girls from That 70's Show. Maybe you can hold out hope as your new favorites get cancelled that "October Road" can become you're new favorite. The scenery's nice, anyway.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Vegas Baby
I was a Vegas virgin until a month ago. My friend Janey always said Vegas was my idea of hell: (1) you never sleep; (2) everyone smokes; (3) and most people are drunk all day. My solution? Going to Vegas with a one year old. Solves all those problems.
We went in order for my sister to speak at a conference and to celebrate my dad's 60th birthday--2 years late. Julie was a ball of nerves waiting to board the airplane. We were flying Southwest and she was determined that we get the front seats so that we could utlize the one that face backwards. It's been a while since we flew Southwest, and they don't have those seats anymore. That fact combined with the fact that the flight was continuing and there were already passengers on the plane really threw her into a tailspin. She quickly recovered and we were on our way.
Will did fine--for the most part. As long as he had goldfish, he was quiet. Eventually, his overflow valve kicked in and he had to spit a few up to make room for the next pound, but all in all it was uneventful.
We stayed at Caesars and were lucky to get in there, so our room was below average. We took advantage of the buffet, the pool and the Shops. We walked the strip, ate at Bobby Flay's Mesa Grill and saw a Cirque de Soliel show. It's amazing to me that all of that exists in the middle of the desert, but I really have no desire to return. I wouldn't be opposed to it, I just won't put it on my calender for the near future.
Anyway, Will was perfecting his walking while we were there so it was fun to watch him do the Frankenstien shuffle. In addition, he developed the habit of just sticking his fist out at you. We have no idea what it meant, but finally decided to join him in the action. And no, those are not my legs behind the rest of the family. Those are Toni Braxton's.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
The Youth Center
I read an article in my hometown newspaper last week that the Youth Center may be closing. The Youth Center was a Mecca for teenagers in Mo-town on Friday and Saturday nights. You could begin going the summer after your 6th grade year and could continue to go until you turned 16. I can still remember what I wore for my first Youth Center Friday night--and I am not one of those people. I wore Keds with two pair of socks, some light blue shorts that tied around the waist, layered t-shirts--a yellow one underneath with a Guess t-shirt with a puppy on it on top with the sleeves rolled up, of course--my hair was 1/2 up with a big barrette bow. I was smokin' hot!
The Youth Center was just a great place for us to play all those teenage games. It had a pool table and a conversation area with a television, but if we were there, you can bet we were on the dance floor. We all fashioned ourselves dancers anyway--we were all part of the local dance company--but the Youth Center gave us the freedom to freestyle it on the dance floor. Of course, our friend Cathy choreographed special dances to songs such as "Rock Me Amadeus" and "It Takes Two." To this day, if you get a bunch of Mo-town girls in a room with music, we will not hesitate to get on the floor.
The funniest thing was the fire place. It had a hearth that was about 3 inches tall. When a slow song would come on, all of the established couples would line up along the fire place (being in the middle of puberty, there were boys and girls taking advantage of the 3 inches provided by the fireplace) to sway back and forth together. Miss Glenda was the chaperone and she would come along and make the boys put their hands back on our hips if they wandered too far down. The rest of the single girls would make a mass exodus for the bathroom when a slow song came on only to pour back out when the DJ corrected himself with the fast music.
Far and away, my favorite senior party when we graduated from high school was the Return to the Youth Center. It just made me so sad to learn that such a great, safe place for kids to practice being teens may not make it. Mainly because I really wanted to do that "Rock Me Amadeus" dance one more time.
The Youth Center was just a great place for us to play all those teenage games. It had a pool table and a conversation area with a television, but if we were there, you can bet we were on the dance floor. We all fashioned ourselves dancers anyway--we were all part of the local dance company--but the Youth Center gave us the freedom to freestyle it on the dance floor. Of course, our friend Cathy choreographed special dances to songs such as "Rock Me Amadeus" and "It Takes Two." To this day, if you get a bunch of Mo-town girls in a room with music, we will not hesitate to get on the floor.
The funniest thing was the fire place. It had a hearth that was about 3 inches tall. When a slow song would come on, all of the established couples would line up along the fire place (being in the middle of puberty, there were boys and girls taking advantage of the 3 inches provided by the fireplace) to sway back and forth together. Miss Glenda was the chaperone and she would come along and make the boys put their hands back on our hips if they wandered too far down. The rest of the single girls would make a mass exodus for the bathroom when a slow song came on only to pour back out when the DJ corrected himself with the fast music.
Far and away, my favorite senior party when we graduated from high school was the Return to the Youth Center. It just made me so sad to learn that such a great, safe place for kids to practice being teens may not make it. Mainly because I really wanted to do that "Rock Me Amadeus" dance one more time.
Monday, September 11, 2006
9-11-01
On September 10, 2001, I was a second year law student with an exciting week ahead of me. I don't think I had classes on Monday, but I must have gone to school for some reason because I picked up my first manuscript assignment for law review. It was due by noon on Friday. Nice. I knew I was going to hate this.
I had dropped my resume with four big firms in Atlanta. Four. That was it. We all laughed about it at the time, but I knew that if I didn't get a job with one of those four, I didn't want to work in Atlanta. My first on campus interview was with King and Spalding on Tuesday.
Tuesday dawned bright and early. I got up and showered and put on my new black skirt suit (I hate black skirt suits) with a blue top from Harolds. I had Civ Pro class at 8:30. I was watching the Today show as I got ready, but was safely in class by the time the first plane hit.
We must have gotten out of class early. The law school has one long hallway and at the opposite end of the hallway from where our class met was the student lounge. The other half of the 2L's had Civ Pro at the same time we did with a different teacher. Then, we all had an hour break before we all had Tax at 10:40 a.m. I walked into the lounge with Autumn and Darrell met us in the doorway. I don't really know why; it's not like Darrell was one of our best friends at the time. He said, "Two planes flew into the World Trade Center. At first they thought it was an accident, but now it looks like they were hijacked." We walked over to the TV to watch. There was one regular size TV mounted in the corner of the room and there were probably 75-100 people in there watching it.
I went and sat next to my friend Meredith on the side table that connected the 1970's pleather furniture together. We were watching CNN and there was suddenly a news flash on the bottom of the page that the Pentagon was on fire. In the next second, the ticker said that the Mall was on fire. I looked at Meredith and said, "My God. It's Armageddon." I then got up and walked to the back of the room to try to reach Leslie, who's office is located in the Smithsonian Castle on the Mall. As I was walking to the back of the room, I passed Bo Chambliss. His dad is a Senator and my former boss (as well as a good family friend). I said, "Have you talked to your dad?" He said, "Yeah. They're OK."
I tried to call Leslie. I tried to call Sherri--who's office is very close to the Pentagon. I tried to call Saxby's office. I couldn't get through to anyone. I called Lana to see if she had heard from Tiffany--her daughter who had just moved to NYC. She said that she had talked to her and that she was OK. She asked how I was. That's the point that I started crying. "I'm scared, Lana."
The next hour or so is kind of a blur. I finally went upstairs to the computer lab and tried to e-mail a few folks. I really just wanted to be by myself. I really just wanted to be in DC. I remember my friend Garth walking through and asking if I was OK. What do you say? Teresa called me back about that time to let me know they evacuated and were all Ok. I can only imagine how scared they were. Where do you go? We all lived in VA, so do you get on the roads and drive back to VA? At that point, we didn't know the attacks were over. We didn't know what their next target might be. Would it be the 14th Street Bridge? Would it be the Memorial Bridge? Should we risk it? Or do we stay in DC?
I remember talking to my friend Ashley later on. She was working for the Secretary of Energy then and said that the Secret Service rushed in and carried him out. She was in his office and looked out the window--I can't remember now which monument it was, but one of the monuments was right there and she thought: "Target?" Then they heard reports of an explosion near the State Department which was very close to their building, so they left and went to a hotel and watched TV in the bar. She finally felt safe enough to head out later that afternoon. When she finally got on the road, everything was deserted. There were National Guard troops posted on the bridge who asked to see her ID. She showed him her government ID and the man looked and her and said, "Ma'am, drive quickly home and stay there. Do not leave again." It was her birthday.
While a select few of the leadership in the house and senate got whisked away by the Secret Service, the majority had no where to go. Several members of Congress live in their offices since they are only up there a short amount of time each week. Saxby saw several guys standing on the lawn of the Capitol as he was driving to his apartment and had them get in with him. It really was chaotic.
My friends that were in the White House said that the Secret Service came tearing through their office screaming, "Run! Now! Get out! Run!" My question, "Where did you go?"
Back in Macon, I went back down to the lounge to find out that one of the towers had fallen. Nathan met me with that news. Several people came up to ask me if I had talked to any of my friends. Autumn remembered that our friend Christy was returning from her honeymoon sometime early that week. I had talked to Teresa, so I really felt OK about them for the moment, but I still had not heard from Leslie. Sherri had sent out a mass e-mail that she was OK.
At 10:40, we all looked around and decided we may as well go to class. I guess we didn't really want to leave because we needed to feel a part of the community that morning. I sat in the front since my interview was at 11:00 a.m. I asked Aimee to sit with me. I left my phone in our locker and prayed that I would have a message from Leslie when I got back to it.
Our professor, who was new anyway and still on trial, came in and started class like nothing was going on. Nathan interrupted him and said, "Sir. Do you not know what's going on?" He said, "What? The World Trade Centers? Aren't those the same buildings they bombed a few years ago?" Nathan: "They've collapsed. The entire buildings are gone." Prof: "Well, if anyone is personally affected, you may be excused." Poor Krishna who's uncle was an ER doc at Beth Israel and who's cousin worked in one of the towers left in tears. The rest of us just sat there in awe.
I snuck out and went to my interview. No call from Leslie. This was the interview I had been waiting for since I decided to go to law school. This was the place I had decided I wanted to work. One of the interviewers I knew from undergrad. The other, I had gotten the scoop on from a good friend who practiced at the firm. They invited me to postpone the interview, but we went ahead with it anyway. And it went well. And I felt good about it. When I left, I checked my phone again and had a message from Leslie--she was fine. That was really it before the phone cut off.
I had to spend the afternoon and evening in the library with Charles working on our law review manuscript. I'm the type who would have been absolutely glued to the TV if I had the opportunity. In fact, I'm still a little bitter that I didn't have the opportunity. The rest of the week was more of the same, more on campus interviews, more class, more manuscripting. I found out on Wednesday that I did not get a call back to K&S. Charles and I finished the manuscript Thursday night--me through swollen red eyes. I had called my mom to give her the news on the way to a reception hosted by another firm. I had a car full of classmates and just bawled to my mom in spite of my efforts to control myself. They all consoled me with the fact that I had gotten a call back from K&S's biggest competitor in Atlanta. A firm that by most accounts is a much better place to work. A firm where I spent the summer in 2002 completely miserable.
Finally, Friday morning, I didn't have class. I had some time before my last OCI and I watched the memorial service at the National Cathedral. I sang along with the choir through my tears and stood up in my kitchen when they said the pledge. I wanted nothing more than to drive to NYC to stand on the street and cheer those firefighters along with everyone else.
They took our innocence that day. They attacked two of my favorite cities including the city of my heart. But they did not succeed in their mission. They did not make us afraid to continue living our lives as Americans.
I had dropped my resume with four big firms in Atlanta. Four. That was it. We all laughed about it at the time, but I knew that if I didn't get a job with one of those four, I didn't want to work in Atlanta. My first on campus interview was with King and Spalding on Tuesday.
Tuesday dawned bright and early. I got up and showered and put on my new black skirt suit (I hate black skirt suits) with a blue top from Harolds. I had Civ Pro class at 8:30. I was watching the Today show as I got ready, but was safely in class by the time the first plane hit.
We must have gotten out of class early. The law school has one long hallway and at the opposite end of the hallway from where our class met was the student lounge. The other half of the 2L's had Civ Pro at the same time we did with a different teacher. Then, we all had an hour break before we all had Tax at 10:40 a.m. I walked into the lounge with Autumn and Darrell met us in the doorway. I don't really know why; it's not like Darrell was one of our best friends at the time. He said, "Two planes flew into the World Trade Center. At first they thought it was an accident, but now it looks like they were hijacked." We walked over to the TV to watch. There was one regular size TV mounted in the corner of the room and there were probably 75-100 people in there watching it.
I went and sat next to my friend Meredith on the side table that connected the 1970's pleather furniture together. We were watching CNN and there was suddenly a news flash on the bottom of the page that the Pentagon was on fire. In the next second, the ticker said that the Mall was on fire. I looked at Meredith and said, "My God. It's Armageddon." I then got up and walked to the back of the room to try to reach Leslie, who's office is located in the Smithsonian Castle on the Mall. As I was walking to the back of the room, I passed Bo Chambliss. His dad is a Senator and my former boss (as well as a good family friend). I said, "Have you talked to your dad?" He said, "Yeah. They're OK."
I tried to call Leslie. I tried to call Sherri--who's office is very close to the Pentagon. I tried to call Saxby's office. I couldn't get through to anyone. I called Lana to see if she had heard from Tiffany--her daughter who had just moved to NYC. She said that she had talked to her and that she was OK. She asked how I was. That's the point that I started crying. "I'm scared, Lana."
The next hour or so is kind of a blur. I finally went upstairs to the computer lab and tried to e-mail a few folks. I really just wanted to be by myself. I really just wanted to be in DC. I remember my friend Garth walking through and asking if I was OK. What do you say? Teresa called me back about that time to let me know they evacuated and were all Ok. I can only imagine how scared they were. Where do you go? We all lived in VA, so do you get on the roads and drive back to VA? At that point, we didn't know the attacks were over. We didn't know what their next target might be. Would it be the 14th Street Bridge? Would it be the Memorial Bridge? Should we risk it? Or do we stay in DC?
I remember talking to my friend Ashley later on. She was working for the Secretary of Energy then and said that the Secret Service rushed in and carried him out. She was in his office and looked out the window--I can't remember now which monument it was, but one of the monuments was right there and she thought: "Target?" Then they heard reports of an explosion near the State Department which was very close to their building, so they left and went to a hotel and watched TV in the bar. She finally felt safe enough to head out later that afternoon. When she finally got on the road, everything was deserted. There were National Guard troops posted on the bridge who asked to see her ID. She showed him her government ID and the man looked and her and said, "Ma'am, drive quickly home and stay there. Do not leave again." It was her birthday.
While a select few of the leadership in the house and senate got whisked away by the Secret Service, the majority had no where to go. Several members of Congress live in their offices since they are only up there a short amount of time each week. Saxby saw several guys standing on the lawn of the Capitol as he was driving to his apartment and had them get in with him. It really was chaotic.
My friends that were in the White House said that the Secret Service came tearing through their office screaming, "Run! Now! Get out! Run!" My question, "Where did you go?"
Back in Macon, I went back down to the lounge to find out that one of the towers had fallen. Nathan met me with that news. Several people came up to ask me if I had talked to any of my friends. Autumn remembered that our friend Christy was returning from her honeymoon sometime early that week. I had talked to Teresa, so I really felt OK about them for the moment, but I still had not heard from Leslie. Sherri had sent out a mass e-mail that she was OK.
At 10:40, we all looked around and decided we may as well go to class. I guess we didn't really want to leave because we needed to feel a part of the community that morning. I sat in the front since my interview was at 11:00 a.m. I asked Aimee to sit with me. I left my phone in our locker and prayed that I would have a message from Leslie when I got back to it.
Our professor, who was new anyway and still on trial, came in and started class like nothing was going on. Nathan interrupted him and said, "Sir. Do you not know what's going on?" He said, "What? The World Trade Centers? Aren't those the same buildings they bombed a few years ago?" Nathan: "They've collapsed. The entire buildings are gone." Prof: "Well, if anyone is personally affected, you may be excused." Poor Krishna who's uncle was an ER doc at Beth Israel and who's cousin worked in one of the towers left in tears. The rest of us just sat there in awe.
I snuck out and went to my interview. No call from Leslie. This was the interview I had been waiting for since I decided to go to law school. This was the place I had decided I wanted to work. One of the interviewers I knew from undergrad. The other, I had gotten the scoop on from a good friend who practiced at the firm. They invited me to postpone the interview, but we went ahead with it anyway. And it went well. And I felt good about it. When I left, I checked my phone again and had a message from Leslie--she was fine. That was really it before the phone cut off.
I had to spend the afternoon and evening in the library with Charles working on our law review manuscript. I'm the type who would have been absolutely glued to the TV if I had the opportunity. In fact, I'm still a little bitter that I didn't have the opportunity. The rest of the week was more of the same, more on campus interviews, more class, more manuscripting. I found out on Wednesday that I did not get a call back to K&S. Charles and I finished the manuscript Thursday night--me through swollen red eyes. I had called my mom to give her the news on the way to a reception hosted by another firm. I had a car full of classmates and just bawled to my mom in spite of my efforts to control myself. They all consoled me with the fact that I had gotten a call back from K&S's biggest competitor in Atlanta. A firm that by most accounts is a much better place to work. A firm where I spent the summer in 2002 completely miserable.
Finally, Friday morning, I didn't have class. I had some time before my last OCI and I watched the memorial service at the National Cathedral. I sang along with the choir through my tears and stood up in my kitchen when they said the pledge. I wanted nothing more than to drive to NYC to stand on the street and cheer those firefighters along with everyone else.
They took our innocence that day. They attacked two of my favorite cities including the city of my heart. But they did not succeed in their mission. They did not make us afraid to continue living our lives as Americans.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
One Year Ago Today
This precious child came into the world. Little did we know that he was love, worry, joy, mystery, frustration, and hope all rolled into one.
It has been so amazing to watch him grow over the past year--and even more amazing to watch how he has effected change in our family. My sister has become an incredible mother. My parents continue to prove that they will do anything for us. My grandparents have something to focus on other than their doctor's appointments. I've risked giving my heart to someone for the first time in a long time. And I have someone to buy me a house in the South of France.
From the day he was born, I've felt like he trusts me. Even on that very first day (and during that long first night), when I would talk to him, he would open his eyes to look at me. I can't tell you how that felt--to feel that connection with someone who depends on you for so much. To know that you are one of the "first responders" for this little life.
When he and Julie were living with me, I would wake up every morning and head into their room where I was greeted with a big smile. "Do you need clean pants?" We would head over to the pack and play changing table and Etta would lick his feet while I changed his diaper. He would laugh and smile and look out the window or talk to Frosty the Pimp Man.
We were so blessed to get to spend those first few months together. Nearly every night, he would fall asleep while I was holding him. On the nights that he was especially fussy, I would try singing to him. Nevermind that if I remember the tunes of the lullabies, it's usually Phi Mu rush song words that go with it ("now the moon has gone to rest, in the arms of the sky. May we softly say to you, you will be a Phi Mu.")
At the end of July, we spent a week at the beach. That's when we worked on the squishy face. He was already making it, but I could get him to do it on command. We spent lots of time at the pool where he would gladly go under the water and "kick kick kick kick kick." He also fell in love with Etta that week. When we would bring him into our bed in the morning, she would emerge from under the covers and he would say, "Et-ta." He was completely entertained by her chasing her ball and he loved to share his food with her and tried to convince us to let her share her food with him.
There is no feeling in the world like the one when he looks at you with recognition on his face and then breaks out either into a big smile or the squishy face, immediately goes into his crawl/sprint, and grabs on to your legs. Once you pick him up he starts making the "love noise" and gives you a big open mouth kiss--usually on the nose and often involving his one tooth, but we'll overlook that part.
Happy Birthday, sweet William. Every minute I spend with you is a blessing. It has been my joy and privilege to love you this year and I am so thankful that you are finally here. Never forget that you are loved all the world.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Why?
Why do people spray that god-awful flowery-musty smelling spray (and they are all flowery and musty smelling) after going to the bathroom? What does that help really? Doesn't that just make things doubly offensive?
Have You Seen These Guys?
These are the little league world series champions from Columbus, Georgia, and I'm in love. My dad got me hooked on it when he was at my house Sunday before last. I watched them play last week and they kept winning. My parents and I watched them win the National Championship on Saturday and were all eager for Sunday's International Championship game.
It got rained out, but they played and won on Monday afternoon. I had the game TIVO'd and just got the chance to watch it last night. These are some great kids. I think my favorite is Josh Lester aka Stump.
Before the game was even over, the Japanese players were in tears. There was a kid on first with two out and he was crying standing on first base. Then the pitcher threw a wild pitch and he had to run to second. Once the game was over, the Japanese kids just dissolved into tears. Once the Columbus team celebrated for just a minute, they immediately went over and shook hands with the Japanese team. Then, they asked the Japanese kids to run with them on their victory lap.
Needless to say, I was bawling my eyes out. Then the stupid lady working for ESPN interviews the Columbus team. By this point, they are all dissolved into tears, too. The coaches, the star players--no one could speak. Including little Josh who just said (while consumed with the ugly cry), "I'm just real happy."
Anyway, just wanted to proclaim my love for these great kids who have brought me some joy over the past week and 1/2 and have made me proud to live in Georgia.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Just a Few Helpful Hints
If you ever manage to slice your foot between the little piggy that had none and the little piggy that cried "Wha wha wha!" all the way home? And said slice refuses to heal after two weeks of stitches? And then your fat butt has to hobble around on crutches?
Just remember to wear elastic waist pants to work so that you can stuff whatever it is you have to carry from one room to the other down your pants.
Just remember to wear elastic waist pants to work so that you can stuff whatever it is you have to carry from one room to the other down your pants.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
So What do You Think Happened
SCENE: Eckerd's
12:30pm Monday
I entered to purchase a toothbrush since I left mine at my sister's. I walked in behind a very tan man with white hair who looked to be about 40-45. He was wearing jeans, a red t-shirt tucked in and boots. He was accompanied by a tall, very thin lady looking to be about 35-40. She was wearing some sort of monster truck t-shirt tucked in to some light blue cotton shorts, a sparkly wide belt and some high heeled sandals that had jewels on them. Her hair has been processed so many times, there is no way to discern its color although the roots are clearly black. She had it pulled back in a pony tail.
Something about them just did not go together. I have this talent for looking at couples and knowing whether or not they "go together." I voiced this talent to my family when I was in preschool and was later proven right by the divorce of all of the couples who did not go together.
Back to Eckerds--
They were both walking with purpose. No browsing in the makeup aisle or stopping to check out the latest glossies. Imagine my amusement when the lady entered the "feminine products" aisle and the man stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't like he was surprised, it was like there was a forcefield that prevented him from taking one more step. She walked to the end of that aisle and I turned right to head to the toothbrush aisle.
I was surprised to find them at the counter when I arrived. Whatever they were after, it took them less time to find it than it did for me to pick up a toothbrush. At this point, I began speculating as to their purchase. The Man was standing at the counter with the Lady just looking on as a bystander. I could tell that it was just one box and at first thought condoms. However, their body language was anything but amorous, so I quickly shifted to pregnancy test. I tried to get a clear glimpse while the man pulled the cash out of his wallet. At the same time, I noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring and she wasn't. She had a ring on every other finger, though. I finally saw that the box was Monistat 7. He gave the clerk his money, put the change back in his wallet and discretely handed her the bag as they exited. They climbed into his BIG Dodge Ram 3500 truck and rode off into the sunset. I was disappointed that his truck still had temporary tags from the dealer because I couldn't see if he was from a different county or something.
So, what do you think was going on?
12:30pm Monday
I entered to purchase a toothbrush since I left mine at my sister's. I walked in behind a very tan man with white hair who looked to be about 40-45. He was wearing jeans, a red t-shirt tucked in and boots. He was accompanied by a tall, very thin lady looking to be about 35-40. She was wearing some sort of monster truck t-shirt tucked in to some light blue cotton shorts, a sparkly wide belt and some high heeled sandals that had jewels on them. Her hair has been processed so many times, there is no way to discern its color although the roots are clearly black. She had it pulled back in a pony tail.
Something about them just did not go together. I have this talent for looking at couples and knowing whether or not they "go together." I voiced this talent to my family when I was in preschool and was later proven right by the divorce of all of the couples who did not go together.
Back to Eckerds--
They were both walking with purpose. No browsing in the makeup aisle or stopping to check out the latest glossies. Imagine my amusement when the lady entered the "feminine products" aisle and the man stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't like he was surprised, it was like there was a forcefield that prevented him from taking one more step. She walked to the end of that aisle and I turned right to head to the toothbrush aisle.
I was surprised to find them at the counter when I arrived. Whatever they were after, it took them less time to find it than it did for me to pick up a toothbrush. At this point, I began speculating as to their purchase. The Man was standing at the counter with the Lady just looking on as a bystander. I could tell that it was just one box and at first thought condoms. However, their body language was anything but amorous, so I quickly shifted to pregnancy test. I tried to get a clear glimpse while the man pulled the cash out of his wallet. At the same time, I noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring and she wasn't. She had a ring on every other finger, though. I finally saw that the box was Monistat 7. He gave the clerk his money, put the change back in his wallet and discretely handed her the bag as they exited. They climbed into his BIG Dodge Ram 3500 truck and rode off into the sunset. I was disappointed that his truck still had temporary tags from the dealer because I couldn't see if he was from a different county or something.
So, what do you think was going on?
Friday, August 04, 2006
Sign of the Times?
Our secretary relayed the following conversation she had with a client yesterday. As M. was walking to the kitchen for a drink, the client (who was sitting in the conference room) announced that she had decided to go ahead with the gastric bypass. M. assumes she's speaking to someone in the conference room until the client yells out to her:
C: Did you hear me?
M: I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you were talking to me.
C: Yes, I've decided to go ahead with the surgery despite the bad press.
M: I didn't realize there was bad press about it.
C: Oh yeah, it's all over the news. I've just decided it is worth it.
M: Well, I hope it goes well.
C: Have YOU ever considered having it?
C: Did you hear me?
M: I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you were talking to me.
C: Yes, I've decided to go ahead with the surgery despite the bad press.
M: I didn't realize there was bad press about it.
C: Oh yeah, it's all over the news. I've just decided it is worth it.
M: Well, I hope it goes well.
C: Have YOU ever considered having it?
Friday, July 14, 2006
Never Leave Home Without It
After several glorious days in "The Land that is My True Calling," (a/k/a France), Sherri and I dropped the rental Mercedes minivan at the Hertz trailer (the train station was under construction) and "pulled" our rolling suitcases that were as big as she is through the gravel parking lot and to the luggage storage facility. We somehow managed to store the giant bags for the day and spent the day in Avignon. We took one of those trolley tours and sat behind the most beautiful blonde haired blue eyed girl you've ever seen.
After a full day in the HEAT, we went to check in for our marathon train ride. We were departing Avignon late afternoon and heading east to Nice where we were to change trains. In Nice we were boarding our overnight train (on which we had reserved a cabin in which to sleep) which would drop us in Munich the next day. We were to meet up with Leslie, Jennifer and Janey at some museum (whole nother story) for the day and head out the following night on another overnight train to Prague.
France had been everything I ever dreamed and more. Gordes was gorgeous, the market at St. Remy was heaven on earth, Aix en Provence was so quaint, the food was to die for, the linens were beautiful; in short, I felt like I might just spontaneously combust. And man, was it hot. Even though I was wearing what I had deemed my "nekkid dress," I vividly remember sitting on the platform waiting for the train to arrive and wiping my feet off with a wet wipe because they were so nasty from my sweaty flip flops and that was the only way I felt I could cool off. (At least I had not been wearing them for a month, but again, whole nother story) It was HOT people. It was an outdoor platform and I kept welcoming the high speed bullets that would come barrelling through every now and then because they let off a (hot) breeze. I had just made the decision to say good bye to the fake Kate Spade purse that Sherri convinced me to buy on sale 3 years ago and was looking so French carrying my new straw bag.
The train arrived and we boarded. Again, we had reserved seats, because Sherri and I will only rough it so much. At this point, we had mastered the luggage dilemma and I had learned how to board without breaking my neck. We took our seats among the very provencial (imagine) looking women, I mentally said my good byes to France, and we settled in for the beautiful scenery to unfold on the way to Nice.
At one of the stops along the way, Sherri became suspicious of some younger folks who boarded--they certainly did not fit in with the demographic in our car. She checked our things in the overhead and then thought she noticed them swiping a lady's purse. She mentioned it to me and we watched them leave the car, but we didn't see the purse, so she decided she imagined it. No one around us spoke a lick of English, so it was pretty pointless to try to point it out.
Sure enough, sometime shortly thereafter, an older lady comes walking our way looking distressed and chattering in French. Again, we don't know, but given the other people's reactions, we suspect that Sherri was right.
Shortly after this excitement, the train comes to a complete stop in the middle of the woods. Much like the occupants of the train, the conductor does not speak English. In Spain, the announcements were made in Spanish and English. Not so much with the French. It's in French and French only. Take it or leave it. So, when the conductor made some announcement, we had no idea what he said. Judging from the reactions around us, though, it was not good. Then the train is turned off (remember the heat?). And another announcement is made. More French groaning. As Sherri and only Sherri can, she pointed out that there was not one thing we could do about it stuck in the middle of the French woods. We let our windows down and settled in for the wait. At least we don't have the toddler like the lady next to us. What a nightmare. Might as well enjoy the people watching.
The saga of the stolen purse continued (remember, this is just our interpretation of what is going on. Although, I think I remember a cop walking through with the lady and Sherri trying to give them a description of the houligans). We also tried to help the lady with the toddler by entertaining it as much as we could.
After a few hours and several announcements, Sherri and I make an attempt to figure out what is happening. I bust out my trusty French/English dictionary and we are able to discern that there has been a wreck on the tracks in front of us. Nice one. At least it wasn't us.
We eventually got rolling again, but after a several hour delay, we missed our connection in Nice. Being only one year out of scheduling on Capitol Hill at that point, I immediately go into scheduler mode. This was equipment failure therefore it is the fault of the Eurorail--not some weather related delay, what are you going to do for us now?
The answer I managed to get from the "nice little man" behind the desk who spoke not one word of English and was in no way shape form or fashion interested in looking at my French English dictionary was: "go see that guy over there."
Eurorail is NOT the Delta Capital Desk. Eurorail's answer was: "put your luggage in this sleeper car over here and we'll walk across the street and give you something to eat. Once you're fed, we'll put you in the UNAIRCONDITIONED cattle car where you will bunk up with the rest of these yahoos standing here all night." (loose translation of course since "the guy over there" didn't speak one word of English either. Not that I really expect them to speak English. I'm not one of those people. Just didn't want you to forget the communication barrier. There was a lot of "mange" while demonstrating shovelling food into his mouth which he thought would soothe my hurt feelings of trying to sleep in an unairconditioned cattle car with strangers).
At that point, Sherri and I agreed that our parents would murder us if we survived the night in that cattle car. This was exactly the reason her dad had upped his AMEX membership to Platinum before we left. This required a call to AMEX travel.
Then, and only then, did it occur to us that we were in the capital of the French Riviera at midnight on BASTILLE DAY. Holy crap, how were we going to find somewhere to lay our pretty heads for the evening?
Believe it our not, not only did AMEX travel manage to find us a room, it cost less than $200 a night. And best of all, we got to take a shower! And it was air conditioned! We showered, slept and headed to the train station the next day bright and early. We were not able to get a reserved seat, but fortunately, Nice was the first departure point for this train. We boarded and got some decent seats and watched amazed as the cars filled up as we headed up the coast through some of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. The girls sitting across from us were from Georgia and of course, Sherri recognized one of them from home (she remembers everyone she's ever met).
We changed trains again in Milan and got a reserved cabin this time. There was some weird little man in there, but it was a pretty uneventful ride through Italy and Switzerland. We arrived in Munich in time to catch our original train, albeit too late to meet up with Les and co. Ends up that's a good thing, but that's a story for another day. As is the remaining trip from Munich to Prague. The drama and intrigue of watching an Asian girl have a melt down and being accosted by the KGB might just be too much for one day.
All of that happened 5 years ago. Pre-9/11 and all the ill-will for the French that has become en vogue. In spite of all that, I really just can't bring myself to hate them. They just live in too beautiful a place for that. Happy Bastille Day!
After a full day in the HEAT, we went to check in for our marathon train ride. We were departing Avignon late afternoon and heading east to Nice where we were to change trains. In Nice we were boarding our overnight train (on which we had reserved a cabin in which to sleep) which would drop us in Munich the next day. We were to meet up with Leslie, Jennifer and Janey at some museum (whole nother story) for the day and head out the following night on another overnight train to Prague.
France had been everything I ever dreamed and more. Gordes was gorgeous, the market at St. Remy was heaven on earth, Aix en Provence was so quaint, the food was to die for, the linens were beautiful; in short, I felt like I might just spontaneously combust. And man, was it hot. Even though I was wearing what I had deemed my "nekkid dress," I vividly remember sitting on the platform waiting for the train to arrive and wiping my feet off with a wet wipe because they were so nasty from my sweaty flip flops and that was the only way I felt I could cool off. (At least I had not been wearing them for a month, but again, whole nother story) It was HOT people. It was an outdoor platform and I kept welcoming the high speed bullets that would come barrelling through every now and then because they let off a (hot) breeze. I had just made the decision to say good bye to the fake Kate Spade purse that Sherri convinced me to buy on sale 3 years ago and was looking so French carrying my new straw bag.
The train arrived and we boarded. Again, we had reserved seats, because Sherri and I will only rough it so much. At this point, we had mastered the luggage dilemma and I had learned how to board without breaking my neck. We took our seats among the very provencial (imagine) looking women, I mentally said my good byes to France, and we settled in for the beautiful scenery to unfold on the way to Nice.
At one of the stops along the way, Sherri became suspicious of some younger folks who boarded--they certainly did not fit in with the demographic in our car. She checked our things in the overhead and then thought she noticed them swiping a lady's purse. She mentioned it to me and we watched them leave the car, but we didn't see the purse, so she decided she imagined it. No one around us spoke a lick of English, so it was pretty pointless to try to point it out.
Sure enough, sometime shortly thereafter, an older lady comes walking our way looking distressed and chattering in French. Again, we don't know, but given the other people's reactions, we suspect that Sherri was right.
Shortly after this excitement, the train comes to a complete stop in the middle of the woods. Much like the occupants of the train, the conductor does not speak English. In Spain, the announcements were made in Spanish and English. Not so much with the French. It's in French and French only. Take it or leave it. So, when the conductor made some announcement, we had no idea what he said. Judging from the reactions around us, though, it was not good. Then the train is turned off (remember the heat?). And another announcement is made. More French groaning. As Sherri and only Sherri can, she pointed out that there was not one thing we could do about it stuck in the middle of the French woods. We let our windows down and settled in for the wait. At least we don't have the toddler like the lady next to us. What a nightmare. Might as well enjoy the people watching.
The saga of the stolen purse continued (remember, this is just our interpretation of what is going on. Although, I think I remember a cop walking through with the lady and Sherri trying to give them a description of the houligans). We also tried to help the lady with the toddler by entertaining it as much as we could.
After a few hours and several announcements, Sherri and I make an attempt to figure out what is happening. I bust out my trusty French/English dictionary and we are able to discern that there has been a wreck on the tracks in front of us. Nice one. At least it wasn't us.
We eventually got rolling again, but after a several hour delay, we missed our connection in Nice. Being only one year out of scheduling on Capitol Hill at that point, I immediately go into scheduler mode. This was equipment failure therefore it is the fault of the Eurorail--not some weather related delay, what are you going to do for us now?
The answer I managed to get from the "nice little man" behind the desk who spoke not one word of English and was in no way shape form or fashion interested in looking at my French English dictionary was: "go see that guy over there."
Eurorail is NOT the Delta Capital Desk. Eurorail's answer was: "put your luggage in this sleeper car over here and we'll walk across the street and give you something to eat. Once you're fed, we'll put you in the UNAIRCONDITIONED cattle car where you will bunk up with the rest of these yahoos standing here all night." (loose translation of course since "the guy over there" didn't speak one word of English either. Not that I really expect them to speak English. I'm not one of those people. Just didn't want you to forget the communication barrier. There was a lot of "mange" while demonstrating shovelling food into his mouth which he thought would soothe my hurt feelings of trying to sleep in an unairconditioned cattle car with strangers).
At that point, Sherri and I agreed that our parents would murder us if we survived the night in that cattle car. This was exactly the reason her dad had upped his AMEX membership to Platinum before we left. This required a call to AMEX travel.
Then, and only then, did it occur to us that we were in the capital of the French Riviera at midnight on BASTILLE DAY. Holy crap, how were we going to find somewhere to lay our pretty heads for the evening?
Believe it our not, not only did AMEX travel manage to find us a room, it cost less than $200 a night. And best of all, we got to take a shower! And it was air conditioned! We showered, slept and headed to the train station the next day bright and early. We were not able to get a reserved seat, but fortunately, Nice was the first departure point for this train. We boarded and got some decent seats and watched amazed as the cars filled up as we headed up the coast through some of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. The girls sitting across from us were from Georgia and of course, Sherri recognized one of them from home (she remembers everyone she's ever met).
We changed trains again in Milan and got a reserved cabin this time. There was some weird little man in there, but it was a pretty uneventful ride through Italy and Switzerland. We arrived in Munich in time to catch our original train, albeit too late to meet up with Les and co. Ends up that's a good thing, but that's a story for another day. As is the remaining trip from Munich to Prague. The drama and intrigue of watching an Asian girl have a melt down and being accosted by the KGB might just be too much for one day.
All of that happened 5 years ago. Pre-9/11 and all the ill-will for the French that has become en vogue. In spite of all that, I really just can't bring myself to hate them. They just live in too beautiful a place for that. Happy Bastille Day!
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
You Could Ring My Bell
What is it with bell ringers? I always hesitate for a long period of time before I ring a bell. Even if the sign says, "ring bell for service." Don't you feel like a jerk if you ring it just as someone is walking in? It just makes me feel demanding.
You can tell a lot about a person who rings the bell. We have a school bell on our receptionist's desk that is pretty much hidden from view. You really have to look for it to find it. If you've been in our office more than once, you should know that we also have a door chime, a creaky door, and a camera in the reception area that feeds two TVs upstairs so that we will know who has come in. There is absolutely no need to ring the damn bell. Here's a rundown of the ringers:
Without Fail:
S
S is "special", so it doesn't bother me when he rings the bell. He comes in every Monday to pick up some money for the week. His main concerns are having enough to buy gas and dog food. How can you not love him?
As an aside, it also doesn't bother me as much as it should when S comes in rubbing his belly under his shirt and the way that he repeats whatever it is he's "just trying to tell you" 14 times before he walks out the door. Clearly, I have a soft spot for S.
Old Ladies
God, I hope I don't act like these bitties when I get to be that age.
What His Name
My second day of work, our secretary asked if I had met What His Name ("WHN") yet. I said that I didn't think so. She said, "Oh, you'd know if you had. He looks like a black dough boy." That is the most dead on description anyone has ever given me.
WHN is a painter and comes in to the office in his coveralls. It doesn't matter if he hears somebody walking down the stairs, if no one is sitting in the receptionist's chair, he's ringing. He was a very frequent visitor/caller to our office for the first 2 1/2 years I worked here. He was introduced to me on numerous occasions. However, he insisted on calling me "What Her Name."
Preacher Man
New client who came in earlier this week and first tried just knocking on the bannister. Then he instituted the heavy sigh. It was only then that he noticed the bell. Since then, it's his favorite toy.
On a different topic about the camera, you might just want to pretend that there are cameras everywhere (you don't really have to pretend). I often forget myself when on an elevator or something in a federal building. Then I just wave at the security guards who have just watched me finally get that spinach out of my teeth. Last week, a couple was waiting downstairs. The wife is 7 months pregnant and upon our receptionist's departure for the upstairs, the wife gleefully stood up (I didn't say hoist) and dug her panties out of the hole to China they apparently retreated in. Clearly, that effort was not enough. Shortly thereafter, she stuck her hand down the front of her pants and properly rectified the situation. All while our secretary and receptionist watched on the tv upstairs. Nice one.
You can tell a lot about a person who rings the bell. We have a school bell on our receptionist's desk that is pretty much hidden from view. You really have to look for it to find it. If you've been in our office more than once, you should know that we also have a door chime, a creaky door, and a camera in the reception area that feeds two TVs upstairs so that we will know who has come in. There is absolutely no need to ring the damn bell. Here's a rundown of the ringers:
Without Fail:
S
S is "special", so it doesn't bother me when he rings the bell. He comes in every Monday to pick up some money for the week. His main concerns are having enough to buy gas and dog food. How can you not love him?
As an aside, it also doesn't bother me as much as it should when S comes in rubbing his belly under his shirt and the way that he repeats whatever it is he's "just trying to tell you" 14 times before he walks out the door. Clearly, I have a soft spot for S.
Old Ladies
God, I hope I don't act like these bitties when I get to be that age.
What His Name
My second day of work, our secretary asked if I had met What His Name ("WHN") yet. I said that I didn't think so. She said, "Oh, you'd know if you had. He looks like a black dough boy." That is the most dead on description anyone has ever given me.
WHN is a painter and comes in to the office in his coveralls. It doesn't matter if he hears somebody walking down the stairs, if no one is sitting in the receptionist's chair, he's ringing. He was a very frequent visitor/caller to our office for the first 2 1/2 years I worked here. He was introduced to me on numerous occasions. However, he insisted on calling me "What Her Name."
Preacher Man
New client who came in earlier this week and first tried just knocking on the bannister. Then he instituted the heavy sigh. It was only then that he noticed the bell. Since then, it's his favorite toy.
On a different topic about the camera, you might just want to pretend that there are cameras everywhere (you don't really have to pretend). I often forget myself when on an elevator or something in a federal building. Then I just wave at the security guards who have just watched me finally get that spinach out of my teeth. Last week, a couple was waiting downstairs. The wife is 7 months pregnant and upon our receptionist's departure for the upstairs, the wife gleefully stood up (I didn't say hoist) and dug her panties out of the hole to China they apparently retreated in. Clearly, that effort was not enough. Shortly thereafter, she stuck her hand down the front of her pants and properly rectified the situation. All while our secretary and receptionist watched on the tv upstairs. Nice one.
Friday, July 07, 2006
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