I’m from the front pew of a wooden white church
A courthouse clock that still don’t work
Where a man’s word means everything
Where moms and dads were high school flames
Who gave their children grandmother’s maiden name
Yes it may not sound like much
But it’s where I’m from

Where the quarterback dates the homecoming queen
The trucks are Ford and the tractors green
And Amazing Grace is what we sing
Where the county fair is every fall
And your friends are there no matter when you call
Yes it may not sound like much
But it’s where I’m from

From “Where I’m From” by Patrick Davis

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Standing at the back door
She tried to make it fast
One tear hit the hard wood
It fell like broken glass
She said sometimes love slips away
And you just can’t get it back
Let’s face it

For one split second
She almost turned around
But that would be like pouring rain drops
Back into a cloud
So she took another step and said
I see the way out and I’m gonna’ take it

I don’t wanna’ spend my life jaded
Waiting to wake up one day and find
That I’ve let all these years go by
Wasted

From “Wasted” performed by Carrie Underwood

G-chatter…

AB: Why are boys so difficult?
Me: Because they are not as smart as we are.
AB: Good answer.
Me: So, another friend bites the dust, eh?
Me: Are you in the wedding?
AB: NO! Woohoo! I mean…I would be honored but we aren’t that close.
Me: Yesssss! We would always “be honored.”
Me: I told NM that under no circumstances would I participate in the “tossing of the bouquet.” And if anyone even suggested it, I would punch them in the face. Violent, yes. But it gets the point across.

I still look like Elvira. I’m growing tired of explaining how this was “an accident” – that I really did take a picture of what I wanted in, and the colorist just missed the mark, and it will fade, but I didn’t want to strip the color out because I was scared it would damage my hair, and really it is only hair, and it’s not like I’m stuck with it forever, and it could be worse.

Starting today, when every person who hasn’t seen me since the unfortunate goth hair dye incident says (with a puzzled look), “Hey, your hair is…different. It’s. Darker?”

I say, “Yep. It sure is.”

I really hope I don’t step on anyone’s toes with this statement, but what the heck:
Public engagements make me feel awkward.

I got a call the other day from a friend telling me that they had some workplace gossip. Now, seeing as how I love any kind of gossip (I’m from a small town, it’s what we do) I was all over that. I expected to hear that so-and-so was in trouble because of this, or maybe even that someone had lost their job. I did not, however, expect to hear that a woman had gotten engaged at work.

Oh-yes-she-did.

Call me crazy, but I don’t find anything romantic about an office cubicle (or paperwork, or files, or keyboards, or florescent lights). The job site is typically not a place of romance, and there’s a reason for that. It’s called a business because you conduct business there. You do not have a date there, you do not hang out there. Why? Because it would be weird, that’s why.

Why then, would anyone propose to a woman at work in front of her co-workers? Or her boss? Holy inappropriateness. I’m sorry, but if that’s all the creativity you’ve got, then you have issues. And, how unfortunate for the people who work there? I feel bad for them. I can see them now, just walking by from their restroom break, and BAM, proposal happens. Hello, uncomfortable? Is that you? I can see it now – fake smiles, and nervous laughter abound.

At any rate, romance is in the air with Valentine’s Day just around the corner. And, to get you in the spirit of love, I bring you:

1. The Notebook. Here’s a video montage, complete with music, that will make any relationship seem inadequate. (Don’t front – Noah and Allie had it going on, ok?)
2. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Another montage with music, and this one makes me want Kate Hudson and Mathew McConaughey-hey to date in real life. Cuteness.
3. Sweet Home Alabama. Watch Jake and Melanie struggle to find their way back to one another in this montage.
4. Love Actually. You know the scene I’m talkin’ bout…best love confession ever. View the scene here. Bet you can’t get through it without smiling.
5. When Harry Met Sally. This is the scene at the end, when Harry wins Sally over.

Some were left out that should’ve made the list (Walk the Line comes to mind), but I had to stop at some point. I was starting to seriously depress myself.

If you are a glutton for punishment, though, here are my two favorite scenes from The Notebook, and the Sex and the City Carrie/Big fight and reunion.

• What do you want?
• Get in the water!
• SATC

Remember how I said I was getting my hair colored today? Yeah, well…I was going for the Ginnifer Goodwin color (see post below), but what I got was this. If you don’t see the difference, it’s because Nicky Hilton is super duper tan. Yours truly, however, is not.

I look a little bit like I belong in the Addams Family.

That is what I learned by watching “He’s Just Not That Into You” this weekend. According to the book/movie, it’s simple, really. Men are not complex. If they want to talk to you, they will call. If they want to see you, they will make it happen. Period. The end.

Wow. How refreshing. Wouldn’t it be fun to be a man? They don’t spend time over analyzing an event or person, obsessing over what this or that means. For the most part, they just tell it like it is. A perfect example of this just popped in my head:

My girlfriends and I were discussing my “situation” (as it’s been dubbed), and I asked them a question. It had been four days, and I had heard nothing from the other person in said situation, so I asked, “What do you think that means?” I got a lot of lengthy responses, some (ok most), that were pretty snarky in his direction. But, then, I asked a guy the same question. His answer: He doesn’t care.

Yep, three words – and no elaboration. Yowza. I quickly told him not to work for a suicide hotline anytime soon, but that I appreciated his perspective. And, really and truly…I did. It was as if a light bulb went off in my head. Maybe things aren’t always as complicated as I try to make them.

What in the world will I do with all this extra time? Purchase clothing I don’t need? Probably.

Hollywood actress Ginnifer Goodwin always has to play the frumpy-dumpy character in movies. I hate that for her, because she’s really quite pretty. And, it pleases me that she doesn’t starve herself like some actresses I know (I’m talking to you, Keira Knightly, no one is naturally that thin).

Anyway, here she is at the “He’s Just Not That Into You” premiere:

It took a bit of research, but the dress is from Bottega Veneta’s Spring 2009 collection. I covet that dress. Without the accessories, though, it would be kind of blah for a red carpet event. The necklace, the clutch, the shoes (good lord, the shoes!) – it all works without being too matchy-matchy. Love this color on her (who doesn’t love “pumpkin?”), and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m way jealous of her hair and makeup. In fact, I just called my stylist for color, and have an appointment on Wednesday.

Check out the other ladies at the premiere here. I think you’ll agree that for once, Ms. Goodwin stole the show. Well played, GG, well played indeed.

I drive a German-made car. I won’t say what kind it is, but let’s just say it contains four letters, and begins with an “A” and ends with an “i.”

I love my car. The problem is, she does not love me back. What do I mean? Well, in a year’s time, I have taken her into the dealership for one problem or another 23 times. I have been there 23 times, and been on the phone with the dealership many more times than that. I know the people who work there by name. I know about their wives and kids, I’ve seen them get promoted, they knew when I lost my job, etc. It’s not their fault that my car is problematic, but after 23 attempts at trying to get her fixed, I’m a little over it. I’ve been sweet and friendly 23 times, but when another light popped on in my car, I decided that it was time for a different approach.

So last week, after spending 30 minutes on the phone with a customer care representative (explaining to my girl Tamara that I didn’t feel like I was getting much customer care at all), she made a phone call to the dealership and told them that my car needed to be tested for issues, and the tests should then be reviewed by a factory representative. Issues? I was a little insulted, but whatever.

Today, I took my car into the dealership (where I’m convinced that they are polite because they have to be but really hate me) and left it for the “testing of issues.” To my surprise, they offered me a loaner car – this has never happened before – so I gratefully took my VW Beetle and drove it on to work. After work, I drove 20 minutes to the dealership to pick up my problem child and hear what her diagnosis was. Only when I got there, I saw the look on Brian’s face…the look of “uh oh” was written all over him.

Uh oh, we forgot to call you and tell you that your car is going to be here longer than we thought. We forgot to tell you that we don’t have the proper equipment to test your car, and we will need to keep it overnight and all day tomorrow. Also, the factory rep couldn’t make it here today, but he’ll be back on the 25th and can talk to you then. Would you like to keep the loaner car overnight, or can someone come pick you up?

Blood pressure. Through. The. Roof.

This was my response, as best I can remember: “You forgot? Ok, I’m going to make a small suggestion, and please, don’t take this the wrong way Brian, because I like you. But. GET a POST IT. And, no, no one can pick me up. My family lives an hour from here, and seeing as how you close in about 5 minutes, I don’t think that is enough time for them to get here. Unless you are suggesting that I stand outside in the cold. Is that what you’re suggesting? (Brian says, “no ma’am.”) Well then, I will be keeping that car (I pointed, for dramatic effect) overnight.”

I then proceeded to have one of the most boring conversations of my life with the service manager, who talked about oil consumption, scales, turbo and something to do with rings. Hey, I payed attention through “turbo” – what do you want from me? He apologized for the lack of communication and told me I’d have my car, and some answers, back tomorrow. I’m kind of hoping the answer will be, “We are so sorry for the year and a half long inconvenience – here’s a new one” but probably not.

• Does anyone else think that Whitney Port has taken the low lights a bit far?
• Does anyone else make it mandatory to dance in their car if this happens to come on?
• Does anyone else wonder who eats the Filet-O-Fish sandwich at McDonald’s?
• Does anyone else refuse to wear pantyhose?
• Does anyone else hate the word panties?
• Does anyone else wish that their commute to work was not so long?
• Does anyone else plan a curly hair day around who you won’t see that day?
• Does anyone else think that that girl on The Bachelor is way too tan?
• Does anyone else have friends that look like Barbies? Seriously, I need uglier ones.
• Does anyone else wonder why Michael Phelps is such an idiot? Who is that man’s PR person, for real?
• Does anyone else realize that Valentine’s Day is coming up and suddenly hate the colors pink and red?
• Does anyone else need to start working out because they saw the bathing suit section return to Target?
• Does anyone else inexplicably heart Anderson Cooper?

I’m currently downing a coffee the size of my head. Why? Because I am ti-red, that’s why. A long workday last Thursday, followed by an early morning (alarm clocks just should not go off at 5am) on Friday, followed up by a busy weekend (in which sleep was not a priority), has me ready to crash.

But, it’s Monday, and crashing is not an option. Aren’t Mondays a bitch? I know, I know – the resolution – blah, blah. I curse. I’m sorry. I’m working on it. Mondays always remind you that you’re a grown up, and I don’t know about you, but I’m really not fond of being reminded of that.

Remember in college when you would wake up, look at the clock, and decide – nope, not going. Life was so much easier when you could skip the parts you didn’t like and just get “the notes” from someone else. Wasn’t it easier when you could go out on Thursday night, Friday night and Saturday night, and recover all day Sunday…without feeling guilty that you didn’t go to church, or that you might have a drinking problem? Didn’t life seem less stressful when the biggest problem you had was that you hadn’t done your reading all semester, and had to cram all of the information you missed into your brain (and onto a note card) the night before the final? Or when your biggest relationship issue was deciding whom you should take to the ADPi formal, and whom you could get to take you to Old South?

Now, if (and that’s a pretty big if – Benton scolded me yesterday for being anti-social as of late) I go out one night, I’m done. Two nights is just not an option anymore, and three nights is laughable. My stress level is significantly higher now that I’m a responsible employee with deadlines and accountability and such. And relationships? No comment.

So, today, as I drink the last of my coffee and am already planning to pop open a Diet Coke, I’m missing the days of my youth. Not really because I’d like them back (I’m way cuter now, thankyouverymuch), but because they didn’t involve the Monday morning blahs.