Really, did I just say that?

When I’m tired, I’m pretty much useless. Understand this before we proceed. Got it? USELESS. Annoying. Unable to function or process anything relatively quickly. Understand? Yes, well, let’s move on then.

Yesterday I pretty much woke up tired. I had fallen into a deep sleep right before I needed to get up (and had this crazy dream about me and/or the lead character who I was never quite sure WAS me, was investigating a disappearance of a girl at a college by pretending to be said girl—I didn’t say it made sense!). Anyway, I’d fallen deep asleep right before I need to get up, so when I did wake up, I wasn’t really happy about it. If you’ve ever woken up out of a deep sleep, you know that you’re usually a bit grumpy and it’s hard to get things rolling. So, I simply stumbled down the hallway of my parents house, had some breakfast, and attempted to wake up.

Later, I had to drive back to Nashville. Let me just say this: driving alot in one day also makes me tired. As I was driving into Nashville around 6:30 p.m., I thought it would be nice to swing by Qdoba and get a burrito and some chips to take home with me and eat while watching the Cardinals play the Cubs on ESPN. I stopped in, ambled up to the counter and ordered. And had to ask the guy preparing my burrito several times to repeat what he had just asked me because frankly, I just sort of spaced out. At one point, I actually called him “ma’am.” Yeah, that’s how it went down. As he was ringing up my order, he asked me if I was tired. Geeze, I thought, even he can tell. Then my brain said this: well, yeah, he can tell. You called him ma’am. You’ve been a complete space cadet in this restaurant. At that point, I simply paid for my food, told him to have a nice night, and left. Almost running. Because, really, what else could I do to salvage the situation. Nothing. Getting out and fast seemed to be the best response!

So raise you coffee mugs with me this morning and toast to me having it more together today!

 

To whom it may concern: the rambling and ranting edition

Dear Mr. Brad Paisley:
I live in Music City, USA, but I’m not what you would call a huge fan of country music. At least modern country music. Unless, my dear, when it comes to you. I think you’re great. I think you’re hilarious. I think that you would be absolutely so much fun to hang out with. I think that your song “Then” and “No” on your album that I just bought are great. I think it’s wonderful the way you love your wife and kids. I think I might even have a slight crush on you, but that’s beside the point. You’re awesome, and your songs generally help put me in a better mood. So keep up the good work!
A devoted fan but NOT a stalker in Nashville

*************************************

Dear shirtless man on the balcony of your high rise condo in downtown Nashville:
PUT A SHIRT ON! I don’t care what you’re doing—drinking coffee, taking in the day, gazing toward the “beautiful” Cumberland—you can do it with a shirt on.
Just saying that I really didn’t need to see that.
Trying to recover my sight at work,
Mandy

*************************************

Dear Discovery Health Channel:
I don’t know why, but I’ve sort of become obsessed with you. I mean “Mystery Diagnosis” is great. I completely get sucked in, then am simultaneously grossed out and intrigued by the mysterious ailments and conditions these people have. (Also, I hope to never have any of these things, God willing!) “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” is also a pretty interesting show, except that it’s DISTURBING! But still, I can’t rip my eyes away when I happen to see that it’s on. I mean, how do these women not realize they’re pregnant? But, if you could, please, please, please warn viewers a lot if the baby is going to be delivered on the toilet. I can’t stand the pics or vague visuals you use that suggest a baby is floating in the toilet. PLEASE! But last night, my love/obsession/unhealthy fixation with your channel took a disturbing new turn when I was watching “Vanished Twins.” At first, I thought this would be about “twinless twins” for some reason. (Elvis Presley was a twinless twin and that’s primarily a theory about the psychological effects of being a twin when your twin is stillborn. I did a paper on this in high school, seeing that it’s thought my mother had a miscarriage while pregnant with my brother and me.) Anyway, this was NOT about that, but a grosser, more freaky thing that happens in utereo when one fetus absorbs the other. I couldn’t rip my eyes away even though I was highly disturbed. So, I’m sorry, Discovery Health. I may have to take a few steps back. Because while you’re incredibly interesting, you also freak me out a bit.
Promising it’s me, not you,
Mandy

***************************************

Dear Powers that Be:
I understand the desire to be good stewards of our corporation’s money. I understand not being wasteful and frankly, I’ve been doing recycling/reusing in my office since before you told me to. Recently, though, I took something new upon myself: buying all my office supplies I use to do my job. It’s just, well, easier. Why? Because you made me feel guilty for asking for pens or paper or a desk calendar. Because paper clips are now under lock and key and I can only have as many as I’ll need for whatever task. Well, let me tell you this: when I’m doing contracts, I need ALOT of paper clips. Two months of contracts and I’ve used a box of paper clips. I’m not complaining, because I understand that we’re trying to keep fixed costs under control and I do think we should be careful with the way we spend the company’s money, even held accountable. But I think we may have gone just slightly overboard.
Trying to keep everything in perspective on the 4th floor

***************************************

Dear Bongo Java:
I used to buy your Mystic Brew roast from Plumgood Foods when they were in business. But now they’re gone and I haven’t really bought your coffee beans since. I’ve been on this wild ride of trying lots of different kinds of roasts and brands, and let me just say this: nothing compares to you. NOTHING! (I sort of want to sing you a Sinead O’Connor song at this point, but I’m refraining). So, I’m planning to get back on the Bongo Java bandwagon and buy some Mystic Brew! I’ll see you at Fido or online. Until then, know that I have never forgotten you.
Smitten in South Nashville

 

I salute you

This past Sunday, as the JBC choir has for the last who-knows-how-many years, we sang the “Salute to the Armed Forces,” a medley of all the songs for the different branches of the armed forces. I personally love singing this song. The songs are fun, the words and rhythms are so different from anything else I have the opportunity to sing, and for some reason, singing that medley just makes me happy.

But my favorite part, above all, is when the men and women who have served in the military hear the familiar chords of their song and stand up. Some of them sing along. Some of them smile back at us. Some of them jump up and down (like Chuck, our lone Coast Guard guy .  . . until this year when some other younger guy also stood up!). Most of them seem a little taken aback by the applause that always happens when they stand.

This past Sunday, as I stood there singing those words, looking those former soldiers in the face, my mind wandered to what they’d been like as young men. Most of them are older now, veterans of World War II. There are a few who served in Korea and Vietnam, maybe some Gulf War vets, and a few who served during peace time. But as I looked out over the crowd and sang the Army’s song (Over hill, over dale, we will hit the dusty trail. . . ), I thought about my veteran, my Grandpa Marion who served in World War II somewhere in France.

I think about how he used to tell me that his hair got shot off in the war and I believed him. I think about the young, dashing man I see in the pictures I have of him during his training and enlistment, the framed newspaper story I have about him and his 2 brothers, the only sons of a divorced woman, all serving in various capacities during the war: Grandpa in Europe, Calvin in the Pacific (I think), and I have no idea where Henry was. I think about the young bride and son my grandfather left at home, the house she bought while he was gone, the house that sits empty now, except for all the memories that fill it. I think of the love letters he sent to her from his foreign battlefield—letters she tied up in ribbon and hid in his army footlocker in their crowded attic. Letters she burned some years after he died and before her first stroke, I guess because she wanted to preserve those special memories, to keep at least that one part of their relationship between them, private and safe. I think about all the things I wanted to ask him about his service, about life, about everything—and the conversations we might have had had he not died when I was 13 years old. I think of his request in those final days for the pastor to read from Revelation, about a God who would wipe away every tear and a place where there was no pain and no death. I think of the woman who stood by his side for more than 40 years, my grandma, the one person who ever told me that I took her breath away. I think of how proud I am to say that my grandpa served in the Army and fought in that war, which soon turns to thoughts of how grateful I am to every man or woman who has ever served.

The older I get, the more I understand that freedom comes at a cost—one I probably don’t fully comprehend. So, thank you to all who have served and those who will.

(And thank you, God, that I don’t have to grieve as the world does.)

 

Dispatches!

Ah, yes. It is Wednesday. And the most exciting thing on my work schedule is department meeting, solely because there will be food. (The most exciting part of my day will be a birthday dinner with my friend Rachel.)

Anyway, it’s Wednesday, which for you loyal readers is synonymous with “Dispatches.” Get excited! Here they come!

• I forgot to wear my ring today. I always wear a 3-stone diamond ring my parents gave me (not huge diamonds, ya’ll) on my right hand. So, I kind of feel naked without it today. Which, oddly, is also how I feel when I forget my cell phone at home. That’s a bit strange for me, too, since I am old enough to remember when we did not have cell phones and instant access to each other, the Internet, or whatever. I mean, my brother and I used to call my mom and dad to come pick us up on pay phones! PAY PHONES! Do those even still exist?

• Last night, I lost my cell phone. OK, I didn’t know I had “lost” it. I had talked with someone, then sat it down while I read a book. I thought that I’d sat it on the table next to the couch, but apparently just sat it beside me on the couch. The phone somehow fell between the seat and arm of my couch, then worked its way to the bottom lining of my couch. I was unaware of this until someone tried to call and I heard the ring, but couldn’t locate the phone. It sounded far away and muffled, which is exactly how a phone should sound when covered by foam, fabric, and the other materials that make up my couch. That began the process of getting the phone out of my couch’s lining. I ended up having to practically turn the couch over and perform minor surgery. I also cut my finger somehow in the process. Oh, well, the phone was retrieved and a Hello Kitty band-aid made the cut finger feel better.

• (BEWARE: this comment may come off as a rant. I don’t mean it to be so.) Music City is still in shock over the untimely death of former Titans quarterback Steve McNair. The whole situation is just sad and upsetting. The police have been slow in releasing details, wanting to get things right, and the media has been covering this story from absolutely every angle. Here’s my problem though: the media—well, the TV media—has been trying to sugarcoat some of the details. Like the fact that the married McNair was shot and killed by or with (hasn’t been officially called a murder/suicide) a 20-year-old girl he was having an affair with. In all the local media coverage I’ve heard, not one reporter has said “McNair was having an affair.” The closest they came to actually saying it was this morning, when they reported that “McNair and his wife were not divorcing,” which I think was their way of saying he was having an affair without actually saying the words. And the fact is, McNair was married. I don’t care how many times the media tells me he loved that girl or that he was smitten, the fact still remains that he was married. That he had made a commitment to his wife that was supposed to last forever. That he had 4 sons at home, the oldest only 3 years younger from the girl he was having an affair with. Please don’t take this as me saying that McNair should be villianized by the media or publicly ridiculed. I don’t think that. From all appearance, McNair was a pretty good guy who was making an effort to reach out to kids in poor neighborhoods and give back to his community. It appears he simply made a bad decision that led to very tragic consequences. But what he was doing—having an affair—was wrong. There’s no getting around that. The media may not want to say that and we may not like the light it casts on someone we thought of as a hero, but it’s the barest fact and the most basic truth. It was wrong. (And believe me, I understand the feeling of disappointment when your heroes fall from grace. I remember how I felt when I first learned that MLK, Jr., had had extra-marital affairs; when Mark McGwire’s refusal to talk about steroids pointed straight at his use of them; and when my Olympic boyfriend Michael Phelps smoked marijuana at a frat party. It hurts when someone you think the world of disappoints you. But that doesn’t mean you IGNORE it.)

• On a happier note, I’m going to Missouri this weekend to see the family. My brother is officiating a wedding on Saturday, so I’m going to that and may have been roped into helping serve at the reception. I also expect to spend some quality time with the nephew.

• I finished Made in the U.S.A. by Billie Letts yesterday. Basically, I hated the first half of this book and one of the main characters and the sleazy, immoral decisions she makes in order to support herself and her brother when they’re living on the streets of Las Vegas. But things turned around and the last third of the book was pretty good and classic Billie Letts. I do think she should have spent more time discussing Lutie’s (the character I disliked) “redemption” of sorts and how she changed from the embittered person to the one on the road to mental healthiness. Because, really, she just has one conversation with someone about the terrible things that have happened to her and the incident that made her hate herself and the world, and you don’t get over that kind of psychological hurt in just one conversation. Counseling would have been a more realistic option. . . . . Nevertheless, that book brings my current total of books I’ve read this year to 17. I need to buckle down to get to my goal of 50!

That’s it for today. Have a good one! (And if you get bored, e-mail me. I’ll do my best to entertain you.)

 

Job wanted?

So, I need someone to step up to the plate and help me out, because this morning proved one thing to me: I am completely unable to get out of my house in any sort of orderly fashion.

Let’s just talk a little about this morning. I slept badly and hit snooze one time, meaning I got out of bed at 5:24 a.m. I walked the dog, fed the dog, got the coffee pot ready and set it to brew according to the programmed setting. I put some cinnamon rolls in the oven. I read the Bible. I ran to check on the cinnamon rolls. I took a shower. I took cinnamon rolls out of the oven. I did my makeup, dried my hair (sort of), and got dressed. I got my breakfast together, poured the coffee into a travel mug, and realized I had once again not gotten my lunch together the night before. Today, I decided to just let it go and buy my lunch. At some point, I stumbled out of my house and into my car and drove to work. I got mad at a dude in an Acura who didn’t know about driving in his lane and only his lane. I spilled coffee on the carpet and myself.

So, obviously, I’m a mess. I need someone to help me along in certain areas. Here’s the job description:
Job includes helping Mandy M. Crow get out of the house on time or at least in a timely fashion most mornings. Job applicant should have skills in ironing, be willing to discuss the merits of which pair of shoes or jacket goes better with the outfit, and give honest feedback on said outfit. Applicants should be skilled in grinding coffee and setting Cuisinart to the programmed brew time, while also reminding Mandy that breakfast is the most important meal and that she should take her vitamins more often. Job applicants should be well versed in encouraging someone to do something without actually demanding or mocking said person (i.e. packing her lunch the night before). Skills that are not necessary but definitely useful: handy with the hair dryer and round brush, able to make the bed and place the pillows in the appropriate places, and able to entertain an 8-lb poodle whose morning hobby is barking. Pay is non-existent, but you will earn Mandy’s undying devotion and appreciation, plus work will appreciate her arriving in a more timely manner and in a nicer mood.

So, thoughts? Applicants? Words of encouragement?

 

Under my umbrella (ella, ella)

July 4 in Nashville is a great experience. July 4 was never a very fun holiday growing up since it falls in the middle of the busy season in farming and usually, taking the day off wasn’t an option. Even if my dad and the guys were simply irrigating, it meant them being gone for long portions of the day, often during the times you’d be wanting to have festivities. And a big fireworks show was basically out of the question in Southeast Missouri.

So, Nashville’s celebration on the Riverfront is a revelation for me. I went for the first time last year, and just had a great time sitting on the riverfront with friends, chatting, people-watching, snacking, and listening to the bands. This year, Mindy, Liz, and I braved the heat and crowds and got a place near the stage. It was a great place. We look happy, don’t we? (Yeah, I’m not sure what my face is doing either. . . )

And then, our new special friends showed up. The nicest way to say it is that they were kind of rednecks. They took our people-watching to all new levels. One member of the group, a woman obviously in pain, told us she’d discovered she had a broken vertebrae (or something) in her neck. She couldn’t hold her head up straight and I felt sorry for her because it couldn’t have been much fun to sit there like that. Then, after we’d been there awhile, some of the girls started pulling makeup out of their purses and doing their faces. Let me stress that we’d been there awhile. They were piling makeup atop sweaty skin. Eww. And one girl seemed to have learned eyeliner application in the Alanis Morrisette school of cosmetics.

Then, it rained. This opened up a whole new world of absurdity. To save their shirts, many members of the group decided to take off their shirts. That’s fine . . . if you look like, say, Andy Roddick. No one in this group did. And this one guy took off his shirt and insisted on dancing around (to shake off the rain), and when he would sit or squat down or bend over, we got to see WAY more than we wanted to. The girls in the group had bikini tops on under their shirts, so of course, their shirts came off too.

To make matters worse, I had an umbrella. I kept trying to share with Mindy and Liz, but neither cared that they were getting wet (and it actually felt kind of good at that point), so I was sitting under it alone. That’s when one of the unattached guys in our special group of friends noticed me and decided to make friends. Or hit on me. Or do anything to get under the cover of my umbrella. He kept calling me “Little Lady” or something like that. And at one point, one of the other girls in the group yelled at him that “he ain’t got game.” Classy. All the time.

Here’s a pic of us after the rain. Taken by my special Redneck Boyfriend.

In addition, our “friends” also snuck Natural Light beer into the park (not allowed, I don’t think) and were pouring it into a Gatorade bottle. And there was the smoking. And the Guy Who Nearly Mooned Us at one point smoked his cigarette part of the way, then shook off the ash, and stuck the remainder in his pocket to save for later.

The rain let up enough to let Gabe Dixon Band with special guest Jeremy Lister (wearing a straw hat) to perform. They were great and had apparently also waited out the rain, because they appeared to be a bit wet. Our friends, of course, stood through this performance and made me quite angry because seriously, Gabe and Jeremy were on stage and they were the one group I wanted to see!

(That would be Gabe at the piano and Jeremy wearing the straw hat.)

After that set, the crew started to set up the stage for Wynonna and the symphony and Fisk University singers led us in the national anthem. Then, Wynonna was announced. . . .and she wasn’t there. Even though it rained, she had a set performance time and apparently failed to show up on time. She finally got there after being announced 3 times and she was driven straight up to the stage in her SUV. I’m not a Wynonna fan, and she wasn’t so impressive to me. She sang “No One Else on Earth,” some song by Merle Haggard, and then launched into what would be her last song (the powers that be shortened the set in order to get the fireworks in before the rain storm hit). So what did Wy pick? “Freebird.” Yep, “Freebird.” It’s just not the same when it’s Wynonna singing it. And when a symphony is backing her. I wanted my time back. Our friends merely yelled things like “I love you, Wynonna,” “You’re beautiful!,” and some not nice things about the organizers shortening her set.

Somewhere right before or during Wy’s set, some more people had joined our friends’ group. They had a maybe 3-year old boy and a tiny baby girl. And the mother was wearing a bikini top with a bandeau top that she did not know how to wear correctly. These newest members of the little group also brought sparklers, which they set afire in the huge, crowded mass of people. No one around us thought this was a good idea.

After she left the stage, the fireworks began, and so did the rain. This was great for awhile and everyone was getting soaked, but then the weather went crazy! The wind was blowing, the rain was coming sideways, and I began to understand that I was not dressed appropriately. But then neither were the people in front of us. Shirts had come off again and the new girl took off her bandeau top, revealing tiny denim shorts that were too small and too low-cut when she bent over. It was not cool.

I missed a lot of the finale of the fireworks since looking up into the rain was a daunting adventure. So much water! So much rain! When the festivities were over, we packed up and hiked back to the car. Surprisingly, because of the weather tons of people just left their stuff in Riverfront Park. I’m talking chairs, blankets, etc. It was crazy!

All that said, it was a fun time. I’ll definitely go back next year. . . . with a raincoat, a backpack, and one small cooler. That’s it!

 

How did this happen?

It’s 8 a.m. on July 3. I have the day off. So, why am I up and eating breakfast? And more than that, why am I happy about it? Here’s proof:

Yep, that’s me a mere 15 mins or so after rolling out of bed, eating breakfast, and preparing for a run with my friend Alisha.

Yes, we’re going running. And I oddly think it’s the perfect way to start the holiday weekend. The question is: when did I become this person who thought running was a good idea?

Because I spent a lot of time hating running. I spend a lot of time while running hating running. But somehow, Running and I have forged a strong bond. And it’s something I WANT to do. Me, the girl who dreaded when we had to run the mile to complete our PE requirement in elementary school. Me who never ran 3 miles straight until a couple of years ago. Me, of the side stitches, red face, and wheezing. And don’t forget the sweat! Oh, the sweat!

But I’ve logged more than 200 miles since I got my Nike+ sensor over a year ago and I want to make it to 500 miles. I hear you can get a T-shirt to mark the achievement. And I will, folks. And wear it proudly. And you better comment on it when you see it. Or I’ll force you to.

So, life is good here. Running is helping me stay in shape despite my love for food. And more than that, it makes me feel good.

Have a happy start to your July 4 weekend.

(And remember: freedom came at a cost.)

 

Overheard

It’s “Fake Friday” as my friend Buddy is calling today for those of us who get Friday off for the July 4 holiday. And I cared so little about how I looked today that I actually came to work with my hair in a ponytail. And I tried to leave my house with my coffee cup on top of my car until a neighbor walking her dog alerted me (Scott, don’t tell me this is another sign from God to cut back on coffee. I’ll come to NOLA and hit you. You doubt me?!)

Anyway, all of that aside, my brain is pretty scattered and I’m unable to come up with something witty, insightful, or even interesting to say. So I’ll just give you some things I’ve “overheard” lately.

A conversation reported to me via Facebook between my dad and my cousin, Mallory:
Dad: I was pretty suave when I was younger.
Mallory: What do you mean? Like the soap?
(This conversation apparently then began a discussion about my dad’s leisure suit back in the day and his “Jack Tripper” haircut. I told Mal to ask my dad about the short shorts rage of the late 70s/early 80s. There are pictures in which my dad looks like he borrowed items from Jack Tripper’s closet. Oh, wow, what will the generations to come say about my fashions?!)

A conversation between me and Mindy:
Mindy: I’m not blind; he’s good-looking. His hair is cute.
Mandy: Cute is not the word, Mindy. Sexy is. But you can’t ever tell anyone I said that.

On passing the “Southern Store” outside of Travelers Rest, SC, which was displaying a rebel flag and other paraphanelia:
Mike: You girls want to stop in there? Get you a T-shirt? A flag?

At Falls Park in Greenville, SC, while watching a random dude serenade his date:
Mike (singing): We’ll have Coke and Mountain Dew, but nothing is as cute as you.
In explanation, we couldn’t hear the song and were making up lyrics. We then decided that he was singing the ever romantic “Sweet Home Alabama.”

Before getting into my car today, when a random dog strolled up to me:
Me: Hi, Puppy! You’re cute. What’s up? Where’d you come from? (Yes, I actually tried to have a conversation with a dog.)
Random Dog just wags his tail and stares at me longingly. Once in my car, he tried to chase my tires, which was a bit scary because I didn’t want to run over someone’s pet! But apparently, he’s gotten in trouble for that before because when I gave him a “Momma” look from the driver’s seat, he immediately sat on the ground and wagged his tail at me. I wish this look worked on: A)my own dog and B) other people in my life.

When working on cover tags for an issue of the magazine which features a story on the dangers of pornography:
Emily: You are a murderer of love!
(That’s actually from the movie “Dan in Real Life,” but Emily suggested some form of it, not seriously as the cover blurb for the infamous porn story. And I laughed, because really, I don’t think my sense of humor ever left junior high.)

On the day after Michael Jackson died, making a suggestion to coworkers:
Me: Let’s have a Moon Walk contest!
Coworkers: (blank stares and thoughts of “you’re a crazy dork” that I can clearly decipher from their expressions.)

A conversation with someone about a meeting I couldn’t attend:
Me: Who was there?
Other person: S. (this is a real person and I use just an initial.)
Me: Oh. . . .(concerned face). Was she. . . .chatty?
Other Person: Oh, yeah. But she was one of the more. . .(searching for the word). . . normal ones.
Me: Normal one? Oh, wow!

That, my friends, is all I’ve got for today. It’s a full day of work, then a run, then hopefully some dinner and maybe some fun!

 

Dispatches

It’s Wednesday, but feels like Monday since it’s my first day in the office this week. And to make matters worse, I’m tired and slightly grumpy. So should you get the pleasure of seeing me: WATCH OUT!

Ready for some Dispatches? OK, we’ll do that.

• I am back in Nashville (and thankfully, Central Time Zone). We did our track times with students yesterday, finishing up around 3:20 p.m. (Eastern). Then, we hopped in the car and headed off to Tennessee. I will say that since I was in the backseat and knew we were heading through the portion of the trip that might make me carsick, I pulled down the armrest in the middle and took a little nap. Well, I didn’t actually sleep, but I did prove that I can cram myself into tiny spaces.

• I also finished a book while I was gone. My reading pace has slowed considerably, but I am still hoping to read 50 books this year. I need to pick it up, though, to meet that goal! This book was called The Song Is You and was about an Irish singer and a guy who loved her music, thought life should have a soundtrack, and LOVED his iPod. Sounds like something I’d like, right? Um, no. I hated the pretentious writing style (the author was a Jeopardy! champ and spent a lot of time showing off with sentences that are too long, convoluted and contrived metaphors that are unnecessary, and big words. And then, the pivotal moment happens off-screen (or off-the-page, as it were) and you don’t really know how it happened, what Rachel said, what Julian did, how they repaired a broken marriage. And that annoys me! Next up is Billie Letts’ Made in the U.S.A.

• I wish I were at Fido’s in Hillsboro Village. Would someone like to buy me a mocha latte? Or something? I think I need caffeine intravenously today.

• I am slightly excited that I get Friday off from work. OK, more than slightly! A day off of work sounds heavenly. Now, I just need to know who is going downtown for July 4 so that I’m not forced to sit alone.

• Yesterday, the Powers that Be at my condo complex had new mulch put down in all the flower beds. Nothing smells quite like mulch in the mornings! The perfect way to start your day! (In case you are wondering, that, my friends, is sarcasm!)

Well, it feels like Monday, I have mountains of work to do, a meeting at 9:30 a.m., and definitely need to ingest more caffeine. Have a great day!

 

It’s a date.

I don’t say this very often: I think I could actually happily move to Greenville, SC.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to, that I want to leave Nashville at all (I don’t), or that I have plans to move to SC. It just means that Greenville (or at least the downtown part of it I saw) is pretty cool and I could see myself living there.

First off, something I didn’t know about Greenville: it’s the home of Shoeless Joe Jackson. That makes it cool in my opinion (forgetting about the ol’ Black Sox Scandal), and we all know of my love for the movie Field of Dreams.

Secondly, the downtown is cool. There’s little shops and it’s easily walkable (or runnable for all the runners we saw out there). It just seems fun and historical, a mix I oddly enjoy. I am the girl who will stop and read all the historical markers and plaques. Sorry, I like learning! I sometimes wish Nashville’s downtown was more like Greenville’s, rather than full of honky tonks, but I guess it wouldn’t be Nashville if it was!

Thirdly, if I ever happen to be in Greenville again and am going on a nice leisurely date, Falls Park would be the perfect place to go. It was so peaceful and beautiful, with the flowers, rocks, waterfalls, and the children’s theatre rehearsal going on at one end of the park. We watched a couple (obviously on a date) having a picnic (things got interesting when the guy pulled out a guitar to sing to the girl. It was sort of awkward. We couldn’t hear, but entertained ourselves by making up lyrics to the song he was singing. Ours was quite hilarious.) But seriously, if you wanted to just go low-key on a date and talk, this park is the perfect place to go on a nice summer night. But if you’re taking me, leave the guitar at home. I WILL laugh at you.