Everybody needs a mental break from the daily grind every now and again. And since I’m not particulary creative or witty or entertaining today (any day?), I’m going to suggest that you do that on another website (or two!). Enjoy.

Use your mental break by…

–>Downloading Poladroid, where you can turn any photo into an old school Polaroid one.

Here’s one I did of me and my friend Kristin in Paris last year:

–>Checking out this cool blog, about a girl who decides to use 365 dollars to create 365 dresses for all 365 days of the year. I love this so much that I’m sort of stalking her.

Involving me being quite tired from two bachelorette weekends in a row…

Gchatter:
Friend: So did you survive the weekend?
Me: Barely. I look like I’ve been punched in the face. I’ve been cuter, is what I’m sayin’.

Blackberry Messenger:
Me: Had a great idea for your wedding song yesterday.
Friend: What is it?
Me: It was “Can’t You See” by Marshall Tucker Band, which is a great song, but today I thought about the lyrics and it’s pretty much about a woman driving a man crazy. But on lack of sleep and a hangover, it was PERFECT for you. I’ll try again.

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
— Margaret Mead

I got some wonderful news today about a “project” I’ve been working on. It won’t change the world, but it has changed my world.

Stay tuned. I’ll share more about this when I can.

My dear friend Meigs has her Bachelorette Party this weekend, and her fiancé is worried that we’ll “hurt” her. We might ask her to do a few things on a checklist, but we aren’t going to haze her – geez.

What must guys do at Bachelor parties? Maybe they all turn out like this.

I got a call on Monday (not on my cell phone, mind you, that saga continues…) from my dad. He’s been assisting me with buying a car, a process that I’m not particularly fond of, but that he’s really good at. (This man can get a discount on his senior citizens discount, if you know what I mean.) In the past 6 years, I’ve managed to shell out a whole bunch of money on two Audi leases, and while I’m a little sad to see my luxury car go, the responsible 30-year-old side of me gave it a big kick on the bumper and said, “Good riddance!”

It was 4:45pm, and he told me to meet him at the dealership promptly after work. I did as I was told, and about an hour later, it was time to pay for the car. Much to my surprise, they didn’t reach for the financing paperwork. Instead, they asked us what form of payment we were planning to use. I’m certain that my face contorted to a ridiculously ugly expression of “huh?” when my dad pulled out his debit card.

My dad gave me an interest free loan. Sweet Jesus. I feel like I won the lottery.

The best part of the story (well for you – I got a car!), however, is when they asked my dad for his pin number – and he stated that the bank didn’t give him one. I explained to him that he would have chosen his pin number, and he shook his head no. (He then asked me how many numbers your pin contains.) While dialing the bank to try and sort this whole pin confusion out, the finance lady at the dealership asked my dad if he had a checkbook with him. “Well, I usually only carry around one check at a time, and I think I used it today.”

Who is he? Barney Fife? (In case your stepdad doesn’t repeatedly watch The Andy Griffith Show, Barney only carried one bullet for his gun.)

I am the proud owner of a new car with an awesome warranty…and one hell of a story behind it. I’m extremely grateful for both.

My cell phone has had some issues as of late. It stopped accepting a charge on Saturday, while I was out of town, so I had to take it in for service (or burial – to be determined) on Sunday.

Verizon closes at 6:00 on Sunday. I arrived a little before 6:00, pushing it for sure, but still there before they closed. As I walked through the door, a man rushed towards me saying, “We are closed. We’re closing, you’ll have to come back tomorrow at 9:00.”

I politely told him that I realized it was almost 6:00, but that my battery was completely dead and for some reason would not accept a charge. “It tells me that it’s plugged in and charging, but it doesn’t charge,” I explained. He all but physically pushed me outside of the store and said, “Yeah. You’ll just have to come back tomorrow. We’re closed. Maybe you can call customer service and go ahead and get a new one shipped to you.” I asked him how exactly he wanted me to call customer service, and he suggested I use my land line. I said, “Well that’s the thing. I don’t have a land line, and I live by myself and I really just need a battery – even if it’s for one night – so that my phone will work until I can come back here tomorrow.”

He suggested I go to a battery store located about a mile away, but added “I’m sure they close at 6:00, too.” He then repeated AGAIN that I would just have to come back in the morning. And at that moment, all my southern manners and charm officially left the building. “Oh, I’ll do that, hon. I will certainly do that. And, when I return, I will be sure to tell your manager how helpful you were. Count. On. That.”

Not only will I complain to his manager, I’m complaining to Verizon Corporate and anyone who will listen to me. Because here’s the thing: I am a loyal customer to Verizon. I didn’t jump ship when those fancy pants iPhones came out exclusively with AT&T. And also – because I know how annoying it can be when someone calls or appears at almost closing time and needs help with something. It’s no fun, and I’ve done my share of bitching about it before. But, if it’s 4:59 and someone walks in and needs my help – I help them. Because that’s the right thing to do. And also, it’s what I am paid to do. So, if a certain Verizon Wireless employee can’t help people out of kindness (while they are still being paid to), then perhaps they need another reminder called, “fear.”

It’s the talk of my town today that a Superior Court Judge shot and killed an intruder in his home. I admit that the story is a strange one, given the judge’s profession, but the shock that surrounds this story perplexes me. Is self-defense really that shocking to the rest of you? It shouldn’t be. Don’t let it be.

I have a close friend who was attacked by a masked stranger in her home while she was sleeping a few years ago. She survived that horrific incident because she fought back. Even after being woken in the middle of the night, she found the courage (and the strength) to fight for her life. The man who attacked her was a serial rapist, but he did not rape her. He ran out of her home when she wouldn’t “cooperate” – and he sits in a jail cell as I type this, largely because of my heroic friend. After hearing her story, I decided it was time for me to have a plan of action – and now I have one. I hope and pray that I’ll never have to use it, but if I need to, I will. Because not defending myself against someone who wants to harm me is just not an option.

As 8th grade as this is, it makes me laugh…

If you don’t live in Manhattan, you should not have an opinion on the mosque near Ground Zero.

Quick, huh?

I don’t typically welcome change very well. I blame it on the broken home. (Just kidding, mama! You know I loathe that term.)

My blackberry gave me a huge scare last weekend. I thought I had…wait for it…lost all of my “contacts.” For the few hours that my BB was on the fritz, it felt as if someone had stolen my purse. I kept frantically thinking, “How will I get all of my contacts back? How am I supposed to contact them if I don’t know how to contact them?”

Luckily my blackberry recovered, but when it did, I immediately started looking through my phone’s address book. I decided it was time to evaluate who to keep…and who I could stand to toss. Having had the same phone number (and same contacts list) since my freshman year of college, I found quite a few people who could be deleted, and one suspect “do not answer” number. (I’ve yet to recall who/why that existed.) There were times, though, that I’d see a person’s name and think that I could probably delete the number – but couldn’t bear to part with it. Sure, I don’t talk to one of my former colleagues that often (ok, at all), but deleting her just seems so…final. (And, one of the people passed away this year. Every time I go to delete the name and number, I just can’t do it.)

Maybe I’ll go old school and get an actual address book to write down the folks’ numbers I no longer use. Sort of a “gone out of my phone, but not forgotten” kind of thing.