The good, the bad, and the flippin' awesome!

Yesterday, I went to the grocery store to gather up the fixins for a spectacular Thanksgiving feast.

I opted to go to the store while on my lunch break, because that would save me the trouble of shopping with Ansley, which isn't as easy as it used to be (you know, back when you could put the carrier in the seat part of the buggy and they slept the whole time? Except, that was never really easy for me because I'm so short I couldn't see to push the thing).

Anywho, I ventured to the store, traversing through the wilderness that is our newly remodeled Walmart.  Sweet potatoes, check. Ham, check (yes, my family eats both turkey and ham on Thanksgiving. We like our food, yo). Brown sugar, egg nog, new cups, and rolls. Check, check check and check.

I made it to the checkout, and as the cashier started doing her thing, I realized I had two things of egg nog. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I just realized I got two of these, and only needed one. Would you like me to take it back?" She said not to worry, that's what the strong young men were for.  Then, it happened.

I started to get out my debit card. Hmm. Not in my wallet.  I stopped to get gas this morning, so I probably just shoved it in my pocket. ::checks pockets, with increasing anxiety:: Hmm. Must be in the car.

"I'm sorry. You are totally going to hate me. But I think my debit card is in my car and I need to run out there super fast. I'll be right back."

By this time, people were starting to line up behind me.  Luckily, having been a track star  team member in high school, I got out to my car in a quick fashion. Only to realize that my debit card was not there.

No worries. That's why there's a checkbook.

Yep. It was out of checks. Isn't that spectacular? So, I had to go back into the store, and tell the cashier that I did not have the money to pay. There were people lined up behind me, I was turning every shade of red possible, and it was awful.

That meant my debit card had to be in one of two places: a local middle school gym, or the gas station.

After a quick call to both locations, which proved fruitless, I was left with one option: call the bank and cancel the card. And, you know what thought went through my head? This means that I'll have to have the hubs with me when I go shopping on Friday so he can pay... Needless to say I grabbed a checkbook as soon as I got home.

When I called the bank, I didn't know my account number. And when the teller asked me my address, I fumbled!  I couldn't even remember my own address because I was still so flustered from the Walmart fiasco. After checking my drivers license and enjoying a few chuckles with the teller, we canceled my card and ordered another one.

I ventured back to Walmart last night, and despite removing the ingredients for a mocha cheesecake from my shopping list, I managed to spend about $2 more than I would have if my earlier trip had been successful.  Hmm.

So, the flippin' awesome?  Remember this?



Guess what??? I won the Modern Bird Studios giveaway from Harper's Happenings!  I found out as I was rummaging through my car for a debit card.  And, seriously, I almost peed my pants.  I am so EXCITED to get an original piece from them.

Time to make a decision.  Which picture???  Good thing the certificate doesn't expire for a year. Cause it may just take that long to make up my mind.

Unless...

Go away and leave me alone!

So, you know that game where you click the squares and use the numbers to help find the mines? It's called minesweeper, cleverly enough.

Anywho, if you aren't sure how to play, you end up just clicking squares watching that little smiley face at the top hold his breath as what is hiding behind the square is revealed. "3? Ok, that means this square is bordered by 3 mines."

The game isn't really hard. But, it is addictive. I mean, EXTREMELY addictive.

So, here it is, 10:30 p.m., and after a long day with a whiny baby (which, unfortunately, seems to be the norm as of late), I'm sitting here blogging about minesweeper. Because I can't stop. At.All.

I'm tired, my teeth are fuzzy, the house is a mess, laundry needs to be done, and I'm still dressed for a wedding that was 4 hours ago.

But I've just got to play one more game. Just one more, then I'll go to bed.

Southern Comfort

I freakin' love the south. No joke.

I mean, what's not to love? We've got sweet tea (THE nectar of the gods, btw), lightnin' bugs, Civil War battlefields and country music.

Only in the south can you make millions of dollars singing about your best friend, a dog. Plus, you can enjoy Nascar and monster truck rallies. We get to say "ya'll," and "fixinto" is part of our language.

I live in a beautiful part of the south. Mountains on one side, and a river on the other. This place is absolutely amazing in the fall. The temperature is wonderful, and the rich oranges, reds and golds brighten even the gloomiest of days.

I can walk to work. Downtown closes at 5 p.m. We're a dry county (no liquor by the drink, sorry). I can get across town in 10 minutes, if I'm stopped by every light.

We have one high school, and practically the whole county comes together on Friday nights in the fall, to help cheer along our football team. Got that? OUR team.

Children still play in their yards, dogs still sleep on porches, and you can leave your car unlocked at Walmart.

Many people don't seem to share the same sentiments. "You mean you have to drive 30 minutes to see a movie and have a good mudslide? And you don't have a Chic-fil-A?" Yes, my friends, tis true.

But I love it.

I love knowing that my kiddo will attend the same school through 8th grade. I love knowing that she'll have the accent of a good southern belle, and she'll understand the beauty of Gone With the Wind. She'll drink sweet tea, maybe take a hunting trip with Daddy, enjoy family vacays in a tent, and chase lightnin' bugs in August.

She'll appreciate a cold glass of lemonade, always say please and thank you, and learn that the AC doesn't come on before June.

We'll have biscuit and gravy for breakfast, and read our Bible stories in the hammock.

There's something special about the South. We aren't better people than our Northern neighbors, but we see things a little differently.

For instance, snow.

Right now, there is a beautiful blanket of white covering the landscape. Just last week, I was wearing short sleeves and enjoying me some 60 degrees. Don't get me wrong. This snow. Beautiful. Peaceful. But not last night, or this morning.

You see, one thing about the South that our Northern friends do not understand is our uncontrollable urge to rush to the grocery store with the weatherman's grumblings of snow. It can be sunny and 60 out, and if the guy mutters "snow" or "ice," you better believe there's gonna be a rush on those absolutely-must-have-or-we-will-die essentials.

Like bread. And milk. Dog food. And tampons.

I kid you not. Go to any grocery store or gas station right now and the bread and milk will be completely gone. Even people that have three loaves of bread already will go and buy even more bread.

It's like it's engraved in our heads. We mindlessly wonder the store saying "Must. Get. Bread."

And we forget how to drive. It doesn't matter what the weather is like, people. The gas pedal is still on the right. You can still go through a green light. It's ok to drive carefully, but that does not mean traveling 5 mph on the main highway.

But, even though it drives me crazy to think that I actually need to go to the store tonight (I really am out of bread. And milk. And dog food), I love it. I love that schools were canceled last night, and it didn't start snowing until 2 p.m. I love that right now, we're preparing to close 2 hours early, just because we can. And no one will blame us.

Because it is snowing.

And this, my friends, is the South.