It’s good to get out of the country ever now and again. And by country, I’m not just talkin‘ about the rural south, y’all.

If you’ve never wallowed around in a cabana under the sun, drank mango margaritas and chowed down on some chips and guacamole while on a beach in Mexico…add that to your list of things to do before you die. It. Was. Glorious. I’m broke as a joke, but it was fun while it lasted.

A day I wouldn’t mind doing over.

Blogging from Mexico, y’all. Life is good.

Well, the plane touched down just about 3 o’clock
And the city’s still on my mind
Bikinis and palm trees danced in my head
I was still in the baggage line

Concrete and cars are there own prison bars
like this life I’m living in
But the plane brought me farther
I’m surrounded by water
And I’m not going back again

I got my toes in the water, ass in the sand
Not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand
Life is good today. Life is good today.

From “Toes” by Zac Brown Band

___________________________

I’ve been up to my neck workin’ 6 days a week
Wearin’ holes in the soles of the shoes on my feet
Been dreamin’ of gettin’ away since I don’t know
Ain’t no better time than now..for Mexico

No shoes, no shirt, no problems
Blues what blues?
Hey I forgot ’em
The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand
With no bottom
No shoes, no shirt, and no problems

From “No Shoes, No Shirts, No Problems” performed by Kenny Chesney

In searching for old photos of my dad for his 70th birthday party (which was a surprise, by the way…and it didn’t occur to me that surprising someone at that age might have negative consequences until the day of), my brother found this old photograph of my dad and his “crew” growing up:
That would be my dad on the far left, with the super rolled up jeans and the hat on. His twin brother is on the far right.

It never ceases to amaze me how shocked I am when I see something like this and realize (yet again) that my parents had a life before me.

Recent snippets from my cell phone make my friends and I look like child haters and alcoholics. Before you go hatin’ on us, we are neither.

Text Messaging with Cecilia:
Tuesday night…
Me: I may or may not have had wine for dinner. Guess which?
Cecilia: I am going to go with door number 1.

Saturday…
Me: Baby showers. If you ever have one, I’m drinking before, during and after. You have been warned.
Cecilia: Um, yeah. Are y’all playing pin the tail on the infant yet? Oh, and my personal favorite…’everyone who is not artistic decorate a onesie.’ Right now I’m working on some chicken salad and about to hit up the pool. Holla at your childless girl.

Blackberry messages from a friend:
Today…
Friend: Babies R Us…the sixth circle of hell.
Friend: The people in here appear to be very unhappy…just sayin’…
Friend: I’m starting to itch! I think I am allergic.

Our book club (which I have dubbed ‘Good in Bed,’ much to the chagrin of my mother) is reading Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia. If ever one could fall in love with a book, I’ve done so with this read. I have scraps of sticky-notes all over it, marking yet another favorite part. At times, I feel as though the author went into my brain and stole my thoughts, insecurities, love for travel and experiences with men and then wrote a book about it. How lovely/rude of her.

Reading this book has been a little bit like therapy for me. (But way cheaper, y’all. I got it at the Junior League Attic Sale for, like, $4.) I can relate to many of her ups and downs and soul searching moments. As ridiculous as this sounds, I might just leave it on my nightstand permanently. You know, just in case I have a fleeting moment of self-pity or something. I will have it right there, within reach, so that I can flip to the sticky-note pages and instantly feel better because someone else has been there, too.

There is something deeply comforting about knowing someone else has been in your shoes. That you aren’t the only one who has had a certain surgical procedure, or has been laid off, or who couldn’t find a job for months, or has a friend or family member they miss, or got married and subsequently divorced. Knowing that someone else feels or has felt the same way at one time, well, it can mean the difference between losing it and pulling it together. I wish someone would’ve shoved this book into my hands circa January of 2009, but I guess just like any other love – it was probably worth the wait.

The following quote made my sticky-note list:

“I have a history of making decisions very quickly about men. I have always fallen in love fast and without measuring risks. I have a tendency not only to see the best in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of reaching his highest potential. I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the highest potential of a man, rather than with the man himself, and I have hung on to the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own optimism.” — Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia)

Do you ever have those days when your give-a-damn is busted when it comes to clothes?

I frequently put on an outfit for work rapidly (as I’m usually running behind), and most days I do pretty well (if I do say so myself). But, today…today, I look a lot like Johnny Cash. Black pencil skirt, black top, black earrings and mostly black heels (they have tiny white polka dots on them).

In other news, I just realized a plus side of my long distance relationship! As long as I look good Friday-Sunday, he’ll never know that some days I end up looking like a Project Runway task gone wrong.

I had an unusual upbringing in that the “home” I grew up in was also a funeral home. Yep, we lived there all the time and, no, I’m not sure if it’s like Six Feet Under because I’ve never watched that show.

As weird as it may sound, I never thought anything of it. It was the only thing I knew, and I was accustomed to my dad leaving in the middle of the night and bringing someone back with him. My parents kept me away from things children shouldn’t see, of course, but I did answer the phone and report to our small town “inquirers” who, exactly, had passed away. I’d rattle off the arrangements like an obituary column. “Visitation will be held here on Tuesday from 7-9 and the funeral will be Wednesday at 3:00 at the Methodist Church, with a graveside to follow at Overbrook Cemetery.” Even at 5 years old, I knew the drill when it came to a funeral. My dad worked on the body, then he and a helper would bring him/her in the viewing room where I would promptly climb up on a chair and check them out. (I was nosey from birth, I reckon.) The flowers would start to trickle in, and visitors would come in and out to sign the book and pay their respects.

My brother and I had to play quietly during this time, especially during visitation. We had hardwood floors upstairs in our playroom, so it was required that we skip the shoes, and instead only wear our socks during visitation. Every now and then, people who hadn’t seen us in a while would ask if we were around, so down the stairs we would go to hear Mrs. So-and-So talk about how big we were getting. When it came time for the funeral, we often went with our parents and played in the cemetery or the church while things were prepped for the service. Chad, my older brother, once slipped on a tombstone and cracked his head open. I don’t actually remember this occurring, only the stories of it, but I’m sure my mom and dad were not amused.

As we got older, our duties during funerals changed. My brother started helping my dad bring the bodies home, and I greeted people during visitations and drove the family’s car from time to time. (Yes, at our funeral home, it’s still old school – we have a “family car” and members of the immediate family are chauffeured to and from the funeral. Because, really, who wants to drive when they’re upset about a loved one passing? Some things just shouldn’t change with the times, you know?) But, my favorite “job” at funerals was being in charge of the flowers. Nowadays most people request charitable donations be made in lieu of flowers – but back then, wow – flowers were a big deal. (One time my mom told me that you could always tell how many friends the person had by the number of flowers at the service. She then gave me these instructions: If I die, and people don’t send a lot of flowers, just order a bunch and put fake names on them.)

Placing the flowers at the service certainly wasn’t hard, but I took pride in doing it. I wanted things to look nice for the family. Getting the same flowers to the cemetery before the family arrived after the church service was, however, stressful. As soon as the family exited the church, I’d ask random men in suits to help me toss the flowers into a van and off I’d go – breaking every traffic rule in the book to get there, with the blessing of our local police officers. (They knew to look out for me on funeral days.) When I got to the cemetery, I slung flowers out of the van at the speed of light. By the time the hearse and family car arrived, I had to have the flowers out and placed, van moved and be ready to greet people as they walked up. It was exhausting, but he paid me pretty well. (And I really didn’t have a choice.)

Growing up answering the question, “What does your dad do?” was kind of a bummer. Other kids had “cooler” responses like banker, policeman or doctor. My response was always an instant downer – and got retorts like, “Ew, gross!” (And, as I got older, the looks on the faces of guys who asked me out was one of horror. I’m pretty sure he enjoyed this.)

My dad had the same experiences that my brother and I had growing up, because he was also a funeral director’s kid. At 70 years old, he has been around death his whole life. Being a funeral director wasn’t the career path I chose, but I have a lot of respect for people who have. I’ve seen my dad calm mothers who have lost young children, or people who have just lost their spouse of 40 years. Going into a family’s home after they have just lost one of the most important people in their lives cannot be an easy thing to do. You walk in when their world is falling apart and help them plan something they have either dreaded for years or have never given a whole lot of thought to. My dad doesn’t save lives, fight fires or crime – but he does bring comfort to people when they’re hurting.

Being a funeral director’s daughter isn’t all that common, but I guess it’s pretty cool after all.

Confession: Glee. I watch it and I love it, ok?

We didn’t have a Glee Club at my high school. We had Chorus Class, which I took, but it was nothing like the television show. We sang R. Kelly and tunes from Grease – I know, right? And, we had about 40 people in the class, half of which (myself included) couldn’t sing worth a lick.

Watching Glee makes me wish we all burst into song every now and then. Just think about it: If your entire office broke out into a Lady Gaga song right now, wouldn’t that just make your Tuesday?

If you’re a straight man, don’t answer that.

I think it’s sweet that my co-worker goes to lunch almost every day with her husband, and that he comes to pick her up at the office. I love watching people greet each other at meetings/restaurants/pretty much anywhere. I like it when people thank you (even in mass) for the birthday wishes you gave them on Facebook. I think I listen to song lyrics more closely than I do directions. In fact, I know I do. I love watching old episodes of The Office and Seinfeld on TBS. I probably give too many compliments, but I really do mean them all. I have a small obsession with traveling, and I’m currently obsessed with making a trip to Ireland happen. I don’t get my hair trimmed as often as I should. (For no particular reason – I just don’t make time for it.) I have a dog who can make any day better. I like to read billboards, and if you are in the car with me, I will more than likely read them aloud. I say “hon” a lot. (Yes, short for honey, which isn’t a long word. Inexplicable.) I love looking at old black and white photos.

Here’s a quick post that’ll save you money. My daddy would be so proud. If he knew how to use the world wide web/what a blog was/that I had one.

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