I didn't win the lottery

Yeah, I jumped on the bandwagon and bought a few Mega Millions tickets yesterday. I have only bought lottery tickets once before, about ten years ago, so I figured I was due. Anyway, while I didn't win, you can bet your bottom dollar I had a good bit of that half a billion dollars spent by the time the drawing happened last night.

The first thing I'd do is give my parents half. I'd give my grandfather, each of my four aunts and uncles and my eight cousins something.Then I'd pay off my debts; I don't have much, but I'd take care of that, obviously.

Next, I'd help myself to some different living arrangements. Bye-bye, Unabomber Cabin! I'd probably buy a beach house somewhere, probably in Charleston or somewhere between Charleston and Florida's northeastern coast. I'd also probably get a little place in the mountains somewhere. And depending on where my parents were living, I'd get a house near them. If they stayed where they are (and my mother claims she would), I'd probably get a place inside the perimeter. And, of course, each of those houses would need a car - I'm an SUV kind of girl - and a pool big enough for swimming laps. I'd probably also buy a boat because that's something I've always wanted, even more so than a beach house.

Honestly, the next thing on my list would probably be adoption. It's something I've thought really seriously about for the last couple of years, but I don't want to do it until my financial situation is more secure. I guess that's about as secure as I would ever get, so I'd probably start that process.

Also, I'd probably adopt another dog or two. And really, I've always wanted to start a no-kill dog rescue. 

I'd probably hire a cook. As we all know, I hate cooking and don't really do it very well. For this reason, I tend to eat out way too much, which is not healthy or good for the waistline. If I had someone who could cook nutritious, tasty meals for me almost daily, and maybe throw in a personal trainer, I could finally achieve my goal of being hot. Ha!

I'm not much of a shopper, but a book-buying spree (in which I replace all the books I got rid of a few years ago, plus buy all the new ones I've wanted over the last decade) would possibly be in order. I'd also like to buy one of everything from the MAC store, and I need new clothes. Finally, I'd go on a tour of every antique and small shop I've ever wanted to visit but didn't have the time or money, so I could properly decorate my three houses.  

And the sports fan in me would probably purchase some seasons tickets for my favorite teams. I'd also love to take up SCUBA diving. 

I seriously doubt I just spent half a billion dollars there, or even a portion of that considering the government would greedily hog about 40%, but those are the things I truly want. Other things I'd consider include going back to UGA to finish up my degree, traveling, investments and charity donations. And maybe, just maybe, I'd make a donation to a presidential campaign. I wouldn't want a bunch of flashy cars or to be able to sit around and eat bonbons all day. I know it's cliche, but I don't want a life like that; I'd prefer one in which I can help keep everyone in my family comfortable and happy and one where I can help a few kids and dogs who don't have families.

But I guess all of that will have to remain a dream for now. Honestly, I was telling someone yesterday, winning a whole bunch off money would be nice, don't get me wrong, but it also almost seems like a let-down because you spend so much time working hard to get to a place of financial security on your own.... 

Anyway, speaking of, I guess I'm going to go work on the final touches on my book.  Or figure out my numbers for next week...whatever. 

Where no Sarah has ever gone before...

Yes, that's right. Today, I ventured into an AutoZone.

I sent a text to my little car-savvy cousin today to ask him if he would be a kind soul and change my oil when he got off work. I'd planned to take it somewhere this week, but I thought I'd save myself a little cash. He wrote back and said he would if I'd go and buy the necessary items. I said "sure" and asked him what those necessary items were, but he was at work and didn't respond right away.

I happened to be driving by an AutoZone right after this exchange took place, so I pulled in, determined to figure this out on my own. I grabbed my owner's manual and started to flip through it, but that book contains lots of words and diagrams, most of which I do not understand.

I then developed a second plan: go inside and head towards the oil aisle.

I've actually been in an AutoZone before, but I was there to interview the manager when I was playing journalism girl, and honestly, after looking around to see if any of the employees were hot, I didn't take in the rest of my surroundings.

Turns out, the whole place looks like "the oil aisle."

Some faceless individual from some other area of the store asked how I was, and I shouted back to them that I was fine, but they didn't offer any help. In an effort to look like I belonged, I took the owner's manual out of my purse and started flipping through it as I walked around. I swear to you every bottle in that store has the word "oil" on it. And it's all so orange. Like everything in the store is orange. And not a pretty pumpkin orange; it's more like a garish red-orange. 

Finally, a very charming, nice-looking young man approached me and said, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

In an effort to keep this PG-13, I'll spare you what I was really thinking. Instead I blurted out, "My cousin told me he'd change my oil if I bought all of the supplies. Could you possibly tell me what those supplies might be called?"

"Oh," he said, as if he was suddenly bored with me. "Hey, Jen. We've got an oil change out here!" he shouted.

Jen? There are other women in this store? Maybe I can ask her why everything is so orange, I thought. But then "Jen" appeared from behind some of those orange shelves and started typing on a computer. She didn't even look at me, and I'm not totally sure she was a she.

"Year," she grunted.

"Excuse me?"

"What year is your car?"

"Ohhhh!" I put on a big smile and told her the year in my best fake, singsong voice.

She typed it in and then she glanced up at me. I smiled again, waiting for her to ask me something else.

"Well?" she asked after an awkward bit of silence. 

"Well what?"

"Make and model?"

I wanted to bark at him/her that I was not a mind-reader, but instead I told her what kind of car I drive.

"EX, LX, DX, or SE?" she asked. 

"Come again?" 

"Is your car an EX, LX, DX or SE?"

"Um, uh, I..." I looked out at the parking lot, half hoping the car would send me some vibes because apparently, when it comes to car info, Jen don't play. I felt like I was back in school and some professor was asking me a question about some book that I hadn't even opened and didn't plan to because I could get a higher buy-back rate at the school bookstore. .

I looked around for the cute guy, but he had disappeared to help someone else. Finally, I pulled my owners manual back out of my purse. The answer wasn't on the cover, so I started to flip through it. I had no idea what I was looking for.

 Needless to say, Jen sighed extremely loudly. Again.

"Let's try it this way," she said. "Two-door or four?"

Oh, oh, I know this one!  "Four!" I practically shouted.

Jen continued to type, and I stared at her name-tag, wondering if Jen was short for, like I don't know, Jason or Jeffrey. Finally, she said, "Do you want the [something something something?] You get all that stuff up there for [some ridiculous price.]"  Seriously, I only caught every other word of whatever she was babbling on about.

I looked to where she was pointing. There were big cellophane-wrapped packages that looked like Easter baskets for mechanics. "How much is it again?" She repeated the crazy price that was more or less twice what I've ever paid to have my oil changed at a place that is not my cousin's house. "No, I just need to stick with the basics." 

"You don't want it?"

"No."

"Okay, do you want [some other special offer with some car-related words I didn't understand?]"

"How much is that?"

She pulled out a sales paper and pointed it all out to me, using pictures like I'd just rode in on a small yellow bus instead of my car.As I followed her fingers, I was thinking that it seemed like a lot of oil, but the price seemed okay after some very odd math I did in my head that included the sign at the gas station I'd just passed, divided by how much I generally pay to have my oil changed, times a little fact about oil that I remembered from a conversation that I'd had with my dad recently. Or something along those lines....

"Sure, I'll take that one."

"Really? You will?" Grumpy Jen suddenly transformed into relieved Jen. Either she was happy to be nearing the end of our transaction, or AutoZone pays one hell of a commission. Then she asked, "Do you know what weight you need?"

"What what?"

"Weight?"

I was just about to explain to Jen that I'd cut back on my low-carb eating plan this week, but I did plan to get right back to it after my trip to the mountains, so she could just mind her own business, when she sighed again and said "never mind" and started tapping on the keyboard.

"I'll just go right back there and get it all for you. But before I do, let me just tell you that you get $2 off a [such and such piece of car equipment thingy.]"

"I don't think I need that. But thanks."

"Are you sure? I'll just get you one anyway, and you can decide when you check out.  It's the time of year when..."

"I said no, bitch!"  (Okay, I didn't really say that, but I did insist that I didn't need one.)  

As she was gathering up all of these things, my cousin finally responded to my text. "You just need oil and a filter." And that was exactly what I had finally convinced my old pal Jen that I needed, so I was pretty proud of myself.

Until Jen came back with enough oil in her arms to solve some kind of national crisis. Mr. President, you say you can't fix gas prices, but I'm betting Jen at AutoZone can.

"Do I need all that?" I asked her.

"That's what comes in the deal."

Fine, I thought. I've got several out-of-state trips planned over the next few months, so I'll just be able to change my oil multiple times. Never mind the fact that my standard rule of thumb is to change it every 15,000 miles or when my dad looks under my hood and starts screaming about when the last time I got my oil changed was - whichever comes first.

After another little struggle about whether or not I wanted that $2 off item, and some cockamamie story about how I really needed some, I want to say it was engine cleaner (um, yeah, the engine is on the inside; no one cares if it's clean, but I might pay you to come vacuum out the floorboards if you are that desperate...), Jen asks me one last stupid question.

"Do you have an AutoZone membership?"

Finally, I had had enough. I dropped my fake valley girl act and said as matter-of-factually as possible, "Jen, do you really think I have an AutoZone membership?" She started to explain to me what it was and why I needed one, but I cut her off. "Jen, I have never shopped in this store before, and if I play my cards right, I will never shop here again, so please, shut up about the damn membership, put my gazillion gallons of oil in a bag and let me go back to my car that is either an EX, LX, DX or SE." 

Jen did as she was told, but not without a few haughty comments about car maintenance that meant absolutely nothing to me.

So, that was my trip to AutoZone. I'm sure it's a lovely place if you're into that kind of thing, but I prefer to pay people to do things like touch parts of my car that are not the door handle or steering wheel. Looks like I'm going to have to step up my bird diseases articles output. Or find a husband before I run out of all the oil I bought today.

A Bird in the House is Worth...?

Given my lack of gainful employment, I've decided to start doing some content writing. If you don't know what content writing is, well, be glad. It's basically researching and writing articles on topics you know nothing about for mere pennies. Compared to what I used to make to write an article, every time I sit down at my computer to do it, I want to cry. I'm trying to convince myself that all of this writing is good practice and will just help me grow. Or whatever.

So, today I chose to set up the laptop on a little folding table in front of my loveseat, so I could work and keep the sliding glass door open for the dogs. It's a nice day outside, and one of the dogs has a bladder the size of a pea. Most days, I spend more time letting her in and out than I do actually writing.

Anyway, after spending several hours writing about topics that make me want to shoot myself in the foot, I was making my way through an article on bird diseases (see what I mean?) when I glanced up and saw what looks like a bird sitting on my living room floor. I rubbed my eyes and stretched my neck. Surely, I was seeing things. Is there a disease that causes you to hallucinate when you've been writing a three dollar, 500-word article on birds diseases? 

But no, there was really a little bird sitting in my living room, right in front of the sofa. Apparently, it had flown in the open door. My ferocious warrior dogs were both sound asleep; one was on said sofa, just a foot above the bird's head and one was laying about two feet away from it on the other side.

I stared at the little bird for a few minutes, and he just sat there and stared back at me. It was as if he was saying, "Life sucks when you have to write articles about bird diseases practically for free, doesn't it?" Or maybe he was just mocking me because he gets to fly around do fun things all day while I sit in the house and write miserable, boring articles for three freaking dollars.

I expected him to move, but he didn't. I expected the dogs to jump up and freak out, but they were oblivious. I really didn't want to repeat the bat incident from last summer. I thought about getting up and chasing him out, but I knew if I got up, I'd find 800 other things to do, and it'd be another hour before I got back to my article about bird diseases.

So, I did what any normal human being would do. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I swear the bird's eyes shot open like some sort of cartoon animal and he turned around and flew right back out the door. The dogs both woke up and looked at me like I'd lost my mind. I went back to writing about bird diseases.

And that was my excitement for the day.

I actually had a pretty exciting weekend that involved a crime spree in my neighborhood, but I don't have time to write about that now. I've got a titillating piece on shopping for baby clothes to work on. And I really need to be working on that because I am going to the mountains later this week for some story inspiration and gas costs $8,000 a gallon. But I figure if I get this book finished, maybe, just maybe, I won't have to write about bird diseases for the rest of eternity.

Quote(s) of the Day - Bill Maher & Ann Coulter

"I have a better idea. Let’s have an amnesty — from the left and the right — on every made-up, fake, totally insincere, playacted hurt, insult, slight and affront. Let’s make this Sunday the National Day of No Outrage. One day a year when you will not find some tiny thing someone did or said and pretend you can barely continue functioning until they apologize. 

If that doesn’t work, what about this: If you see or hear something you don’t like in the media, just go on with your life. Turn the page or flip the dial or pick up your roll of quarters and leave the booth."- Bill Maher

and

"Can we please stop the fake 'offended' routine. [Please] explain what was allegedly offensive about DeNiro's joke."  - Ann Coulter 

Please don't think you've stumbled upon the wrong blog. I can't stand Bill Maher for multiple reasons, the biggest being he's just not that funny to me. But  that doesn't mean I want him taken off HBO. I just choose not to watch his show.

He's right, though. Coulter's right, too. They're both basically saying the same thing. Imagine that. Two of the people that many see as the most polarizing members of either party agree on an issue. There's hope for this country after all.

I thought I was having a bad week...

...but at least I didn't get traded to the New York Jets for a fourth round draft pick.


I know it's not a done deal yet, but that little bit of info about Tim Tebow made my day.

I was going to post something about Peyton going to the Broncos, but I just haven't had time or really, the desire. Everybody in the free world knows I have loved me some Peyton Manning for over half my life, and I was hoping he'd at least go to a team I like. I've spent the better part of the last decade cheering on the Colts like I was born right there in Indianapolis or like my daddy was Johnny Unitas himself. Sure, it started as a Peyton thing (and being embarrassed by years of Michael Vick and Arthur Blank antics), but I came to love that team.

I doubt I'm going to become some kind of super Broncos fan (I've been dipping my toes back into the home team waters for the last year or two), but John Elway's actions as of late sure do make it a lot easier to want to try.

She said, I said...

$!#%&*$  #$!#@?$%

That's how I feel about what I am about to say. You probably won't care, so you can skip this one, and it won't hurt my feelings.

I'm going to rewrite my entire book, changing it from third to first person.

It's taken me a long time to write this thing. I first got the idea in the fall of 2007/spring of 2008 and didn't start writing it until September, 2010. It was officially finished around the first week of December, 2011. If I'm being totally truthful, I wrote over half of it between my October, 2011 trip to the mountains and Thanksgiving.

Maybe I'll write more about why it took so long and how the story came together later. Maybe I won't. I don't know. It's kind of neat. 

Anyway, a few days after I finished it, I started to read it over, and I just felt like something was wrong. There were parts I loved, but there were also many parts I couldn't stand. It felt repetitive. Despite my protests and desire to get it revised ASAP, I followed the advice of everyone from Stephen King to my gay cousin and put it away until after the new year.

In February, I finally got around to reading it again, and while I didn't hate it as much as I did when I first tried to read it all the way through, I still felt like something was missing. Every time I tried to go through and start fixing errors and incongruities, I would get hung up on various parts of it and never get anything accomplished.

Last weekend, I had a thought. I called my cousin (the only person who knows the whole story and has read most of it), and I said listen to this, and I started reading it to him in first person. I changed all the "She said" to "I said" and all of the "Holly's sister" to "my sister" and the...well, you get the point.

He was quiet for a minute, and then he said, "That's it! That's what it's been lacking!"

We talked about it for a bit, and I've asked some other people who I've let read some of it what they thought. My dad, who is one of the most literary-smart people I know, and I just had a long conversation about it. I've gotten lots of mixed reactions, but most people have supported my decision to go to first person.

Personally, I don't like books that are in first person, or at least I didn't think I did. A few days ago, I went to my shelves and picked out my ten favorite books that are closest to my genre.  Eight out of ten of them are from the protagonist's point of view.  I also read a very convincing paragraph from another writer who explained why many of the books in my genre are in first person, and it made a lot of sense. Honestly, I think I write better in first person, too.

So, I'm hoping it won't take very long. It may even be kind of fun. Oh, who am I kidding? No more blogging until 2013.

Actually, I'm hoping to get started tonight and work on it this weekend if time permits. So far, this weekend's already getting eaten up with a funeral and some babysitting I offered to do. Didn't I just say I was going to ban social media and family when I needed to write? Yes, yes, I think I did. (I'm so kidding if any of you are reading this.) 

This is not my 1,000th post

According to Blogger, this is post number 1,000, but I know for a fact that's a lie.

I've had this blog since...wait for it... 2004. That's about eight years and most of my 20's. That may also be the most committed I've ever been to anything in my life.

But I digress.

Anyway, named for some Dixie Chicks lyrics, this little piece of web real estate has served many purposes over the course of the last eight years. It began when a friend of mine started her own blog, and I, being a total follower without a mind of my own, decided I should start one too. At that point - I was in college - several of my friends and I used it to keep up with each other. We'd post about the mundane details of our daily lives. Honestly, it read like a 20-year-old girl's diary.

(Don't even try to go back and find that stuff; I did away with it long ago.)

I know it has sat empty at times due to my schedule or just an overall lack of interest, but being a writer at heart, I'd get the occasional desire to write some crazy little essay about something going on in the world or in my life (many of those are gone too). 

It's also served as my outlet for political rants, particularly during the months leading up to the 2008 elections. While that particular political season gave me a constant migraine, I had so much fun blogging and chatting with a few political friends almost every night as we watched debates and returns and our country go to hell.

Speaking of friends, I've made several through the blog. I've even connected with people I've written about.  I won't start naming names, but one of my favorite blog-related memories is talking Lindsey Buckingham, politics, and running over myself with Pat and her husband, Steve.

This blog has served for an outlet for the hard times I've gone through over the past few years, and it's served some professional purposes. In some ways, I could credit this blog with launching my writing career (Assuming it stays launched in the future, right now things aren't looking so peachy.)

It's given me an outlet to talk about the various obsessions that I wouldn't dare share with people I knew in real life, or they would probably think I was crazy. (Well, they probably already do, but whatevs, not the point.) I'm pretty sure I spent at least a year blogging about a great little show that I just knew would go off the air if it didn't get every little bit of support it could. Ironically, I don't watch it anymore, but for what it's worth, Red Eye w/ Greg Gutfeld is still going strong, and more importantly, the show's genius host is now on TV at a normal hour.

It's also given me a way to kind of keep up with my own life. There are many aspects I choose to keep private, but it's fun to go back and read about various things that happened over the years or to have a reference point for specific dates when those events occurred. It's also funny to go back and look at how some my opinions have changed.

Politically, I've changed a lot. I'd like to think my writing has gotten better. I've got one of the best damn quote collections in the world. (Well, I've got many of my favorite quotes here in one place - close enough.)

Anyway, I ramble on about all of this to say I've been thinking about revamping the blog. Part of me thinks it's a waste of time. When I get my book finished, I'll need a more professional site or something, right? (Humor me, people.) Part of me thinks it's a great idea, because it does give me an outlet to write about whatever the heck I want and maybe have a tiny audience.

If I do continue, some big changes definitely need to be made. I spent many late nights in 2009 trying to figure out this current, customized look, but not only am I over it, much of it is broken. I used to have ads and things placed around my posts so that I *might* could make a little money here. Over the last year or so, my traffic has really increased. It sucks right now but for a while I was getting many, many hits. Turns out, my links to those ads had broken and all of it was worthless. (Well, uh, what I mean is, I appreciate the traffic, I'd never do something just to make money!)

I'll put it this way, you can no longer click on the title at the top and go back to the home page. How does that even break?And the "Good blogs, awesome people" thing to the left? I don't even talk to some of those people anymore. (Actually, I did try to clean that up a few weeks ago, but I'd like to add some things.) 

There are more issues I could get into, but I doubt anyone but me is reading this now. So, I guess my point is that I'm really thinking of making big changes here, and if you'd like to see those, stay tuned. They may not happen anytime in the too near future - my weekend o' writing has already been ruined once again - but if I can find the time, I may play around with it.  Who knows, I may even self-host?  I tried that before with a political blog, but shortly after I started it, I became pretend journalist girl and never had time to work it out.

Atlas Scruggs

One more post for today... 

So, at some point in time I decided it would be fun to sign my parents up for Netflix. They flat out refuse to get two DVDs at a time, so every other week I have to hear my mom gripe about how my dad chose some kind of shoot 'em up mafia movie, and then I have to hear my dad complain because he was forced to watch, well, this last weekend's movie of choice was Dolphin Tale. 

And occasionally, unsatisfied with having just one movie, they'll ask me to pick them something up at the Redbox kiosk instead of paying the $2 or whatever it is to get two movies from Netflix, one for each of them, every freaking week. 

Anyway, as I mentioned, my mother's choice of cinematic masterpiece for this weekend was Dolphin Tale. She told me this when I took her to the doctor last Monday, and I asked her if she really thought my dad would watch it. She said, "Oh yeah, he wanted to see if you could get him that movie at the Redbox kiosk that y'all were talking about."

"What movie would that be?" I asked.

"Oh, I can't remember the name of it."

I racked my brain. "Was it the one where Billy Bob Thornton sells manure?"  

"No..."

"Is it the one with Brad Pitt? The baseball one?"

"No..."

"The Ides of March? George Clooney? Politics?"

"I don't think so."   

I couldn't think of any other movies I've discussed with my dad recently, so that conversation ended. Fast forward to Thursday of last week. We went somewhere else together and as she was getting out of the car, she says, "Oh, by the way, I remembered the name of the movie your father wants."

"Oh yeah, what is it?"

"Atlas Scruggs," she replied.

With a straight face.

Let's just say my mom is more into Anne Rivers Siddons than Ayn Rand.

Who knows, though. Maybe Earl had a cousin named Atlas who was also a fab banjo player?

Jeff Who Lives at Home

I promise this is my last post involving Ed Helms for a while - I'm almost annoying myself here. But I really am looking forward to seeing this movie, and I hope others will see it, too.

Jeff Who Lives at Home opens Friday, March 16.

The previews look great to me, and I've been looking forward to seeing this one for a while. It stars Helms, of course, as well as Jason Segel and Susan Sarandon. I mean, have you really ever seen a bad movie with Sarandon in it? I have a love/hate thing with Segel (admittedly, I just hate the fact that he looks so much like an old editor of mine, but otherwise, he's good). 

And, well, Ed Helms is in it.

Need I say more?

I know many people think of him as the funny guy from The Office/Hangover(s)/Daily Show, and he's great in those things, AND this is a comedy, but it is so much fun to see him play different kinds of roles (seriously, you should also see Cedar Rapids if you haven't). 

Moving on. I FINALLY figured out that despite the limited release, it will be in the ATL. Looks like it'll be playing at Landmark Midtown Cinemas on Monroe Drive (near Piedmont Park) and for the suburbanites amongst us, AMC Mansell Crossing in Alpharetta. For those of you in other states, find out where you can see Jeff Who Lives at Home at a theater near you.

Here's the trailer:


Now, let's all go see it!

Happy Anniversary, Maddie!

Yesterday, my dad called to finalize March Madness plans with me, and that made me realize it's the fourth anniversary of finding my parents' dog, Maddie. She may not live with me, but I almost feel like she's as much my dog as she is theirs. I know I've told this story before - both here and elsewhere, but for those of you haven't been with me since the pre-running over myself days, here's a little story for you.

Picture it: Atlanta, 2008. The weather was ridiculous on a semi-weekly basis. Nasty thunderstorms and tornadoes blew through town with some sort of irregular regularity from January through April. It was the day March Madness was to begin and my father, who gives Roger Goodell a run for his money when we make any kind of sports picks or play fantasy anything, insisted I have my brackets to him by exactly 3 p.m.

Like... he wanted my mom to call him at work to let him know I had dropped the sheet off. 

I went out to my car at 2:30, determined to make the deadline, but my gas tank had been sitting on the E for several days now. At this time, I lived in my cute, historic downtown home at the time, which meant I'd have to drive across town. Tornado sirens were going off everywhere, so I didn't think it was the best time to play chicken with my gas tank. I drove to the little gas station near my parents' house and got out to pump gas.

When I first got out of the car, I didn't see her, but as I slid my credit card through the pay-at-the-pump thingy*, I noticed a little dog wandering around in the parking lot. A van had just driven by, so I wondered if they'd dumped her. Either way, she looked lost. The rain was blowing sideways due to the wind, and trash and other debris was blowing around the parking lot.  I knew I needed to just get enough gas to get to my parents' house and go.

But I realized the little dog was just a puppy, and she was wandering in and out of the street. I've never been one to pick up stray dogs, but this little girl pulled at my heart. I started to put gas in my car and came to a decision. I'd say something to her, and if she came, I'd take her with me. If she didn't, I'd just get in my car and seek shelter before I blew away. I turned to the little dog, patted my legs and said, "Hey, baby,"and though she looked at me and cocked her head to the side, she didn't move even an inch towards me. I figured it just wasn't meant to be.

I'd just finished pumping my gas and was getting my receipt when I felt something on the back of my leg. I turned around, half expecting it to be a bit of trash that was blowing in the wind, but there sat the little puppy, smiling up at me as if she was the happiest girl in the world. I sighed. I had no time for a puppy, but I figured I could find a rescue group who'd take her. I just didn't want her to get caught up in the weather or get hit by a car.

I opened the car door, and she jumped right inside, as if that was where she was meant to be. Gabby was actually in my backseat, and I remember looking back and seeing her rise up on her hind legs as she tried to get as far away from the little monster that had just entered our lives. As I drove, the little puppy tried to play with Gabby until she found an empty Chick-fil-A nugget container to chew on (oh, shut up).

When we arrived at my parents' house, my mom came to the door and said something like, "What in the heck is that?" Despite her protests, she and Maddie curled up in a chair together and watched TV while we waited out the storm. Since my landlord was kind of weird and Gabby was not a fan of this little pup, my parents agreed to keep her for a few days, while I contacted every rescue group in the Atlanta area. I finally found one who'd take her if we made a $100 donation.

On the Friday after we found her, my mom and I loaded her up and drove her to another county to a veterinarian's office. She was going to be spayed and put up for adoption on Saturday. The poor little dog rode so happily in the backseat, as if she was a part of the family, and it broke my heart to carry her inside and place her in the tech's arms.

The next week was a sad one. The puppy wasn't adopted on Saturday, but the lady who owned the rescue assured me they'd keep trying every weekend when they went to the local PetSmart. For days, my parents talked about how sweet she was. The next Saturday, I remember sitting with my dad, watching one of the coveted basketball games, and I'm sitting there trying to figure out why my brackets had more losses than wins, when my dad says, "She looked like a little deer. That's why I liked her." 

"Who did what now?" I asked.

"That little puppy. She was shaped like a little baby deer.  I was going to name her Maddie because you found her during March Madness."

I think my mom was in the shower when he said this, and when she got out, I told her what he said.

"You're the one who said we had to get rid of her," she yelled responded.  She was not amused.

Long story short, I called the girl who owned the rescue and asked her if we could get her back. She told me we'd have to adopt her and if we could make it to PetSmart by 5 p.m. with the $100 adoption fee, she was all ours. It was like 4:15 and this PetSmart is about 30 miles away from my parents' house. I don't think I've ever seen my mother move so fast.

We sped through residential areas and ran red lights, and we made it to the store right at 5 p.m. They were packing all of the dogs up, but they let me fill out the paperwork so we could take her home.

They had her in a cat carrier, and she didn't even look like the same dog. She put her paw against the front of it as if she was saying, "Help me." I thought my mother might pass out. It was like the dog's spirit was broken. She was scared and still recovering from her surgery and the cage was much too small.

"Get her out!" my mother barked, and I did as I was told.

I carried her back to the car, and went by and got her a hamburger at Wendy's (as well as one for Gabby and my parents' other dog) and we went by and got pizza for all of us because my mother swore she was too emotionally drained to cook anything.

It took the little dog a while to realize she was staying this time and to regain our trust, but once she did, she was back to her little happy self, and she's been there ever since.

Four years later, Maddie is much bigger than we ever thought she'd be. Gabby weighs about 60 pounds and is the size of a small Lab - Maddie is a good bit bigger than she is. Maddie is a very happy dog, but she doesn't like strangers...or puppies.

Not long after they adopted Maddie, my mom found a stray kitten in my yard and took it home and bottle-fed it. I've told his story a hundred times, but Maddie mothered that little kitten like it was her own baby, and they became best friends. Sadly, he died, but when I brought my own little seven-pound bundle of fur home a couple of years ago, I just knew Maddie would love her.  Not so much.

When I took baby Sadie to my parents' house for the first time, Maddie began to foam at the mouth so badly that my mom wondered if she had rabies. It was the strangest thing.  After a few weeks, she got over it, and now they're the best of friends. Sadie is much smaller, but they wrestle and chase each other and adore each other. If I ever move further away, those two will be the most heartbroken.

As you can see, she no longer foams at the mouth when Sadie is near.

Maddie is also very strong. She can jump on you and knock you down and she can jump from the arm of my parents' sofa to the kitchen without flinching, which is about ten or more feet away. She can run to my grandfather's house in less than three seconds, and I have no idea what the distance is, but believe me, it's impressive.

Her new favorite thing to do is to visit my parents' next door neighbors' large Golden Retriever. He is a big boy and not very friend to other dogs or people, but Maddie goes over there and flirts with him every day. They stand at the property line (I think he has one of those awful shock collars) and lick each other and Sadie follows along but takes off running if the other dog so much as moves. I now call Maddie the neighborhood hussy!

Anyway, the point is, Maddie is a great dog, and every year when March Madness rolls around, my first thought isn't NCAA basketball, but it's memories of the little gas station parking lot puppy who was worth rescuing twice. 



*technical term

Weekend in the Dark

I sure do waste a lot of time.

I mean, I haven't really had a real job since October, yet I can't seem to find the time to get much of anything done, particularly writing. It took me about fifteen months to get my book written, and while some of that has to do with all of the traveling I did last year, some of it has to do with the fact that I just lack self-discipline.

For the last month or two, I've been re-reading my first draft and trying to get out a coherent second draft that I can share with other people. That's taking way longer than it should. It took me two weeks to read it, but in reality, I did it in two or three days - they were just really spaced out. I've been working on my second draft for over a week now, and I'm only on chapter four. I spent a great deal of time obsessing over the first chapter, but in reality...

I sure do waste a lot of time.

Every time I have something major to work on, I try to come up with 100 other things to do before I get started. With my book, I think part of it is that I feel like I should be looking for a job instead of writing a silly story.  But it doesn't even matter what the task is; it's like I can't  even go to the grocery store without checking Facebook five times, checking out the day's news, checking my email, etc, even though I just did all of that half an hour before...

These habits are getting me nowhere.

Anyway, on Thursday night I was actually working on my book. I'd just watched The Office and a B-52's concert on Georgia Public Broadcasting, and for various reasons, both of those programs brought my muse out, front and center. I got pretty far, but as I mentioned, I've been having issues with the first chapter, and really the first half of the book, so I started searching the internet for some sort of advice. One of my go-to places when I need some encouragement is the "For Writers" section at one of my favorite authors' website. J.T. Ellison has some great advice on everything from the actual writing process to trying to get published. 

I didn't find exactly what I was looking for, but I did find this: How Social Networking Kills the Creative Spirit. I almost didn't click on it.

Yes, I'll admit I spend a good deal of time on Twitter and lately, Facebook too. Call it boredom or wasting time, but I've gained a lot from these websites: jobs, friends, knowledge... I never really thought about it killing my creative spirit. But who am I to turn down free advice from someone whose writing has kept me up many a night? I decided I'd give it a try.

At 4 p.m. on Friday, I checked Facebook and Twitter for the last time. I signed my laptop out of any websites that would alert me to anything going on in the world. I vowed I would not click on the People Magazine website or the blog of the chick I went to high school with or this other really funny blog I like to visit. I turned off my TV that is tuned non-stop a news channel. I vowed to stay disconnected from the outside world until Monday.  (I did allow myself to check my email once a day but once and only once.)

It was difficult at first. Every time I had an inane thought, I wanted to post it on Twitter. I had to physically stop myself from grabbing my phone a few times. I had to stop myself from seeing if I had any Facebook messages. The people who really need to get in touch with me can do so by phone, email or in person.

One of the first things I did was to gather up several of my favorite books and read the first chapters. This didn't turn out to be as productive as I thought it'd be for numerous reasons I won't go into. I wasn't home on Friday night, so I didn't get anything done then either.

And on Saturday morning, just as I woke up with the intention to spend the day in my pajamas with my rough draft, my parents called me to tell me their computer was not working correctly, even though they'd already told me this the day before. And the day before that.  I can take a hint, so I threw on my robe and drove the half a mile to their house, where I spent about two hours fixing it. I was kind of irritated when I left, so I came home, made some tacos and watched Young Adult. About an hour after the movie, I found myself relaxing in my bathtub with Jen Lancaster. At some point I realized I was not getting anything accomplished.

It wasn't until 8 p.m. that I finally started working on my book, meaning I opened the laptop and pulled up the file. Can I help it that I just happened to see that The Hangover was on TBS? By the time I went to bed on Saturday night, I had re-written half of one chapter.

I didn't get much sleep Saturday night, thanks to the time change, my dog and my cousin, and then on Sunday I had to go to an impromptu family gathering for my uncles' birthday. (Next weekend, I'm banning family too.)  However, when I finally got home, I did get more work than I thought I would finished. I rewrote a few chapters, made some decisions about some things I was considering changing and did a great deal of research (real research - I can "research" in the name of procrastination like nobody's business).

So, while my weekend in the dark wasn't a complete success, I can definitely see where it helped. Being away from social media wasn't all that difficult after about 24 hours or so. Being away from news and politics was a little harder, but I'm so fed up with bickering and bitching from all sides of most issues lately, that it wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. (What happened to arguing over politics and being friends at the end of the day? Gah!) And even though my family sort of commandeered much of my weekend, I'd much rather spend time with them than staring at a screen.  

It may seem silly, but it's almost like I felt more, like my senses were more alive than they normally would be. I was forced to exist a little more than usual, and I can't say it was a bad thing. I also found that I had more time to read, which is something I've really been slacking on lately, and I know I write better when I'm engrossed in a good book.

As for the future, I doubt I'll completely ban myself from social media. I've been on Twitter once today, and I've checked Facebook several times (mostly to help with some local animal rescue), but I am going to start being more aware of how often I'm there and forcing myself to block off more blackout time.  Maybe I'll just do it a few days a week?

And as for my book, well, I'm going to try to make myself work on it for at least an hour every day. I'd love to be able to work on it all day every day, but the mind-numbing writing and resume rebuilding I'm doing to pay my bills right now gets first dibs on how I spend my time. Unfortunately... 

Quote of the Day - Laughter

Have a good weekend, everyone!

Charleston Bound

Well, in 50 days but who's counting?

It seems as if I've been trying to get back there since I left last summer, but life has not been on my side lately. 

It started with my desire to see Alison Krauss and Union Station in concert. They aren't coming to Atlanta, but they will be in several other local cities this spring. Columbia, South Carolina is not exactly my idea of a good time, but I decided it'd be fun if we went to the concert and then drove down and spent a few days in Charleston. And then I lost my last bit of regular income and decided I should probably hold of on shelling out money for concert tickets.

So, the other night I'm watching The Colbert Report and one of the actresses from Porgy and Bess was a guest on the show.  I had no idea that Porgy and Bess took place in Charleston, but being that Colbert grew up in Charleston, on the Battery, they began to discuss one of the greatest cities in the world, and I felt myself growing a little homesick.*

Concert or no concert, I needed to get to Charleston. And quick. 

So, unless something crazy happens (you know, like I get a job like the one I did last spring/summer), you can bet your sweet ass I'm spending my pre-birthday weekend in Chucktown. It will be nice to go and not have to spend my time working or feeling guilty when I do something fun because I should be working. There are still some nosebleed section concert tickets available, so I'm not sure what will happen with that yet.


*Assuming one can grow homesick for a place that will one day be their home.

Adventures in Voting

Adventures being the key word.

I've mentioned this before, so I won't rehash the whole story, but a few years ago, I was involved in a series of incidents (yes, the running over myself thing) that led to me having a little back and knee issue. Said issue seems to pop back up every once in a while, usually at rather stressful times in my life, and it involves back spasms, the inability to move, a knee that gives out when I walk, and other fun ailments. It usually has me out of commission for about one to two weeks and happens about twice a year. I could talk at length about the trials and tribulations it puts me through (eight hours writhing around on the floor, anyone?), but I'm sure I have posted it all here before at least twice.

So, yesterday I'm taking a shower, and I bent over to get a washcloth, and the pain was unmistakable. It feels as if someone is grabbing my hips and ripping them apart from the top of the area where my body is already, uh, "cracked" (sorry), to the small tattoo on my lower back (I know, classy and original).

 I tried to stretch, to walk it off, to stuff myself full of ibuprofen even though it makes my heart race, but that old familiar feeling was back, and I quickly imagined myself spending the next two weeks on my sofa. (Which is really kind of funny, because I'd just made big plans to start regularly working out again this week after finally recovering from the last time around.) I had to take my mom to the doctor, and then I ran by the farmer's market to stock up on fresh fruits and veggies, and by the time I was home, I wanted to die. I took more pain medication and tried to take a nap, but I couldn't get comfortable. I spent the rest of the evening acting as though it didn't bother me. Maybe if I ignored it, the spasms wouldn't come. I bathed the dogs, cleaned the kitchen, and went for a little walk in the dark to see if I could find Mars.

When I finally went to bed last night, I resigned myself to the fact that I just  wouldn't go vote today. I mean, I don't even like my candidate that much, and everyone says Newt's gonna win Georgia anyway, and some unwashed individual is just gonna go vote for Ron Paul and cancel me out, right?

Damn my civic-minded conscience.

If you'd told me six months ago that I'd be voting for Mitt Romney, I would have laughed in your face. If you'd told me six months ago that I'd go through hell to get to the polls to vote for Mitt Romney, I'd be signing you up for a one-way trip to the looney bin.

After a hellish night of not being able to roll over, breathe (I went to sleep with the heat on high and couldn't really get up to turn it off), extend my knee, and, well, sleep, I woke up with a new, unexplained determination: I will go vote for Mitt Romney today, and I will like it. (OK, I didn't exactly like it but whatever.)

I forced myself out of the bed and found that I could walk better than I thought I'd be able to. So what if I was stooped over like those little old ladies with osteoporosis? It was early (I'd been waiting for the first sign of daylight), and I had great plans to get dolled up, put a pork roast in the crock pot, and get to the polls pretty early. 

The first problem was with the pork roast. I've cooked pork maybe twice in my life, which, compared to how often I actually cook, I guess that isn't such an odd number, but my mother, the vegetarian, is always screaming about parasites, and it's made me overly-paranoid. There's also the fact that this particular pork has been sitting in my fridge for a week and a half, but it has a freeze or sell date of like March 12, so I figured it was good. And then I opened it and it didn't smell so nice. I called my mom, texted my aunt, Facebook messaged a few friends and asked all of my Twitter followers what to do. I wasn't convinced this was a "bad meat" smell, but it definitely wasn't something that was appealing.

After lots of mixed advice, my aunt, a guy in the meat department at Kroger and this random person on Yahoo assured me that it was okay, so I got it cleaned up and stuck it in the crock pot with my favorite, easy BBQ ingredients. That whole process took about two hours.

My next plan was to get all gussied up to go vote, but to be honest, I was so tired after Porkgate that I had little desire to put on make-up, much less shower. Truth be told, I don't get dressed up because I feel some sort of pride in my civic duty; I get dressed up because I vote at my old elementary school, and it's like stepping into Mayberry. Everyone I've ever known in my life is either volunteering or voting.

Luckily for me, no one likes these candidates, so the school gym was like a ghost town when I finally hobbled in like the Hunchback of Notre Dame Atlanta. With the exception of my late grandmother's best friend who was sitting at the front door handing out pencils and doing a word jumble, I didn't really know anyone else. Seeing as how she's probably in her mid 80's, I'm hoping she couldn't tell the current state of my appearance or hygiene. I chatted with her for a bit - she asked if I still lived in my adorable little downtown house, and I told her I didn't. She asked if I still had my job, and I told her I didn't. Come to think of it, maybe my sad sack story and the state of appearance matched up quite well.

Anyway, I did my thing, walked to the little booth, stuck my card in and looked over the choices. I cringed as I passed Rick Perry's name, and then I pressed the little square next to Mitt Romney's name. The machine responded by asking if I was sure I wanted to vote for Mitt Romney. I didn't see a space to explain that I wasn't sure, but I was going to do it anyway, so I just pressed "yes." And then the lady handed me my sticker, and I was out the door.

When I got home, I was seriously exhausted, so I thought I'd sit down, eat some lunch, stuff myself full of more pain medication and go back to bed. I went in the bathroom to get my pajamas (if I have to sit around all day, I may as well be comfortable) and just as I raised my right leg to step into the hole, my left knee (the one I ran over) gave out, and I hit the floor, literally landing on my ass with a big thud. Not gonna lie, it hurt. I hit my arm on the doorknob, leaving a big gash, and I scraped my right leg on my clothes hamper. Gabby came and sat in my lap and licked my face, and scenes from Marley and Me flashed before my eyes, which made me even more depressed.  And well, it took a little while to get up with my lack of confidence in my knee.

I blame Mitt Romney. 

I've voted in four presidential elections now. In 2000, I wasn't old enough to vote in the primary, but I did get to vote in the general election. In 2004, I voted for Bush, so there was no primary. In 2008, after supporting Fred Thompson for nearly a year, I voted for John McCain in the primary. This year, as mentioned, I voted for Mitt Romney.

I don't love the choices I've been given this year, but I do believe that one should vote when the opportunity presents itself, and it saddens me that many of my friends and family won't be going to the polls today. It saddens me that I was the only person in that school gym. I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't do it. What would I tell my future children? What right would I have to gripe and complain about the state of politics in this country?


*Update*  

So, I fell again. I've always been a clumsy sort, but I've never fallen flat on my backside twice in one day. I was heading out to go to my parents' house (my mom and I always watch The River together), and I realized I may have forgotten to turn off and unplug the Crock Pot. I turned around to unlock the door to go back inside, and then I started to go up the one step that leads to my doorway.

Before I know it, I'm flying through the air. I had no idea what was going on, and I landed back out on the sidewalk with a bang, flat on my back. For a minute I just laid there, hoping my landlord across the street didn't see me. The last thing I needed was a witness.  Or for her to come over and see how messy my house is at this moment.

I finally sat up, called my mom to tell her I was running late and hoisted myself back up off the ground, but needless to say, after two horrific falls today, I feel like I've been hit by a truck. My body aches from my shoulders to my toes. I'm pretty sure my knee gave out. Again, this is a recurring injury from the whole running over myself thing, so I'm used to it, but I've always caught myself before I hit the ground. Today, I haven't been so lucky. There were no warning signs, no sharp pains - just me, hitting the ground and wondering what in the hell is so "super" about this Super Tuesday. 

I still blame Mitt Romney.  

Taking life too seriously

A few weeks ago, I'd spent an evening on Twitter, discussing the GOP debate in real time. (Don't judge me. Most of the people I know in real life do not watch GOP debates..or any kind of debates for that matter.) So, 10:55 p.m. rolls around, and I decided it was time to hop off the computer, and since I find announcing to the world my every move to be amusing, I posted something like, "Getting off Twitter to go watch The Daily Show. Good night, folks."

Not two seconds later, some weirdo I'd never even talked to said (and I'm paraphrasing here, because I don't memorize nonsensical conversations), "Jon Stewart is a liberal shitbag."  (But she definitely said "shitbag." That much I remember.) 

So, I said, "Well, that may be, I don't personally know him, but he's a humorous liberal shitbag."  

And this crazy woman says...okay, I don't remember what she said, but it was full of profanity about evil liberals. I simply wrote back and said, "Well, that's classy."  She sent me another hateful message and blocked me. Okay...

So, here's the thing. Jon Stewart is indeed a very liberal guy. I am not (liberal or a guy). However, 85% of the time, Jon Stewart is pretty funny. I enjoy funny topical humor, so I watch The Daily Show about 85% of the time. See what I did there?

Sometimes, Jon Stewart makes fun of other liberals. Sometimes (more often than not), he makes fun of those of us on the right. Both instances are usually pretty hilarious. I love to laugh at the GOP. I love to laugh at Democrats. Bust most of all, I just love to laugh at FUNNY JOKES.  Every once in a while, I'll admit, he gets into preachy/not really making jokes, just laughing while he makes his own points territory, and not gonna lie, sometimes that annoys me, because I've come to expect funny from him, but on those nights, I just turn off the TV or flip over to a King of Queens rerun on TVLand. I don't get on various forms of social media and start calling people "shitbags."

Fast forward to last night. I didn't feel so hot, so I was in bed pretty early. I was watching Juno and trying to figure out what exactly Ben Affleck sees in Jennifer Garner when I realized it was 11:30 p.m. or time for Saturday Night Live. Lately, I don't find SNL to be too funny, but it has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with me wondering how I am unemployed but the people who write this show are not. They'd actually be doing well to add more political humor. And who in the hell decided Lindsay Lohan would be a good host? I mean, really...

Anyway, I'm so glad I caught the cold open. It was Bill Hader as Shepard Smith interviewing Mitt and Ann Romney, played by Jason Sudeikis and Kristen Wiig. Y'all know I love me some Shepard Smith, but Hader's imitation of him as a creepy, sassy, Norman Bates-esque type of guy was pretty damn funny. And then they brought on Romney's five adult sons played by various other SNL cast members in a Stepford-like manner. It wasn't the funniest thing I'd ever seen, but comparatively speaking, it had me laughing.

So, today I'm trying to tell someone about that skit, and I got online to look for a video of it to send them. I ended up on, I believe it was Mediaite.com, and I could not believe the comments. People were complaining about it being liberal propaganda. Excuse my language, but what-the-fuck? It played the Romney's as a very vanilla family. They are. It's okay to make fun of that. Just like it's okay to make fun of everyone else in the world. And if it's the Shepard Smith thing, I believe half the people who watch Fox News think he's too liberal, and the other half do think he's a little off, so what's the problem there? Hader has played Smith before and Smith himself makes jokes about it. Propaganda is when they put Mitt Romney up there speaking about how he plans to rape your wives and kill your children if he's elected, not one of the sons saying he's a "rebel" because he "eats sugar." Holy crap! 

Oh, and there's this show called GCB coming on tonight. It stands for "Good Christian Belles" (formerly "Good Christian Bitches"). Everything I've read or watched about the show has piqued my interest. Kristin Chenoweth, who is a well-known Christian herself, has even talked about how she'd never do a show that makes fun of her faith:

"I think people should give it a chance. You just can't judge a book by its cover. I certainly wouldn't do anything that would make fun of my own faith. This is just chocolate cake, and it's actually a love letter to Dallas.

I think it's really funny. I remember growing up, it was always the same woman who got the solos in the church choir. And there's always the woman at the bake sale or the church dinner who wanted to outcook everyone. The thing is, just because you're a Christian doesn't mean you're perfect." 

That made me want to watch it even more, because I grew up in a big church in the South and had the same experiences with the same types of women. It had nothing to do with being a Christian and everything to do with being a bitch. I'm not going to let a show's title turn me away from watching it. It could very well turn out to make fun of Christianity, and if I decide it's tasteless or not entertaining, I won't watch it. If it does poke fun at my life a little bit, then so be it. If it's still funny, I'll watch. I'm not sure how that makes me a bad person, but according to a few people who responded to me on Twitter when I just posted that I couldn't wait to see it a few minutes ago, I should be kicked out of the club. Whatever that club is...

Anyway, I'm not just calling out the right, because the left does it too. (Everyone who jokes about non-white people or non-heteros is a racist or a homophobe dontchaknow?) That's just the experience I've had lately. I just don't want to live in a world where I can only agree with certain people or only be friends with people who I agree with. I have many liberal friends. They aren't bad people. They aren't even shitbags! We just happen to disagree on the amount of government involvement we want in our lives. I know many right-leaning people who I would never want to be seen in public with, because they are simply not good people.  I tend to prefer hanging around with people who don't get offended when I don't censor myself, because censoring yourself is no fun.

We all need to step back and laugh at ourselves from time to time. Once you lose that, you become the type of person that no one wants to be around, no matter who you vote for, and eventually, you become a shitbag who goes around calling other people names like, well, shitbag. 

The Most Depressing Movie Ever

I finally worked up the nerve to watch Marley and Me today. It's only taken me, what, three, four years? Most movies don't make me cry, but kill off a yellow lab, and I am toast. I believe at some point I was screaming, "But I don't want Gabby to die!" and blowing snot bubbles with my nose. Thank goodness I watched that one alone.

I doubt I'll ever read the book; I'm sure it's a lot better than the movie, and I'm sure it's a lot more in depth than the movie, and therefore, I'm sure it's a lot more depressing. I just can't handle the loss of a beloved pet. Have you ever read Lovely Bones?*  I was mostly unmoved throughout the novel (about child abuse, rape, death, murder, etc.), but there is a scene when the main character is in heaven, and the family dog suddenly comes running up to her after its death. I cried like a baby when I read that part. 

Anyway, I also watched Dream House today. I've been wanting to see that movie for a while, and I finally got a chance today. I was really hoping to be scared, but it didn't deliver.. There was, I guess, a twist at the end, but it wasn't a great one. It wasn't horrible, but I'd been hoping for better, especially considering it had three big stars.

Have you seen any good movies lately? 


*And I do mean "read." The movie was terrible, but the book was good.

RIP, Andrew Breitbart

I wasn't going to write anything, but for most of the day I've been sitting in my living room in pure shock, so maybe this will help. 

I woke up this morning and did my usual thing: let the dogs out, grabbed a diet coke, moved my laptop from the bedroom to the living room, and sat down to get busy on some work I needed to do. It was storming last night, so I'd unplugged everything before I went to bed, and while I was waiting for my wireless network to kick back up, I turned on the TV. Tucker Carlson was on Fox News, talking to Bill Hemmer and Martha MacCallum. I was still a little groggy, and my mind was heavily consumed with my own life, so I didn't understand right away.

Carlson was talking about Andrew Breitbart, and he was laughing, but there was an odd tone to his voice. I kind of laughed to myself and thought, good grief, he's talking about him like he's dead. I knew that wasn't possible. Hell, I'd just seen Breitbart on Twitter doing his thing mere hours before; it was one of the last things I saw before I went to bed. No one could die that quickly, that unexpectedly. The more I heard, the more it sounded like they were talking about him in the past tense. It took a while for me to comprehend. It took a minute of staring at the words "dead at 43" on the lower third for it to sink in that he was indeed talking about him in the past tense.

My first thought, once I realized it was true, was, "But his work wasn't done."

It took a long time for my computer to start up, but I was finally able to hop on Twitter and Facebook to see if others were aware of what was going on in our world today and honestly, to get the details. As someone who is (was?) so into politics on an almost daily basis, and as someone who leans to the right, I often find myself relying on social media for a sense of community on any given day but particularly on days like today.

So many thoughts ran through my mind. Was he ill? Murdered? Suicide? Did one of those crazy, violent rhetoric people who go after him decide to step out from behind their computers and walk the walk? I half had myself convinced he was just entering some kind of witness protection program or it was some kind of elaborate prank. Sure, it sounds crazy, but there is just no reasoning behind him being gone from this earth and our lives so soon. At least not one that I can understand...

My Twitter timeline is full of people who are not only mourning, but vowing to carry on his legacy. I won't get into the extent of what that legacy is; so many other have and will do it so much more eloquently than I can. As I said, he was a champion for freedom. He wasn't afraid to stand up against people who do wrong. He was a warrior for the things that millions of people in this country hold dear. In some ways, he managed to bridge some gaps between conservatism and other aspects of our culture, and he made it so that other people weren't afraid to follow his lead.

And now I see many others who say they will do the same in his name. I hope that's true. We need more people like that, more who aren't afraid to stand up for what they believe in. 

I can't say I knew Andrew Breitbart personally. We chatted via Twitter a few times and occasionally, he'd retweet me when I was heavily into politics. I watched at least once a week as he re-posted some of the most hateful, vile words that people threw at him. He was a constant in my timeline. I remember sitting in a hotel room in Charleston with my little cousin last year, watching Breitbart's part in the Anthony Weiner situation and trying to explain who he was to someone who is much younger and just getting a feel for politics. There are just so many memories from afar, yet it felt like I knew him. He was such a friend to those of us who fit into a collective group of conservatives and libertarians that it felt like he was a friend to all of us as individuals too. 

A few weeks ago, I made of fun of all of the people who were just so upset over the death of Whitney Houston. Yesterday, I even laughed at my own mom who kept calling me to carry on about the death of Davy Jones. But here I am, eight hours after I heard the news, sitting in my living room again, mourning someone I'd never met face to face.

Love him or hate him, agree or disagree, you had to respect the man for standing up for himself and others when many other people were too afraid. 

This is one of the best tributes to Andrew Breitbart I've seen today and believe me, there have been many. 

Also, I've seen one of my favorite people, Greg Gutfeld, speak eloquently about Breitbart on a few occasions today. I haven't watched Gutfeld's show, Red Eye, in a long time, but they say the entire hour will be dedicated to his memory tonight.  Might be worth staying up late.