tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43223423620474787582024-03-18T09:23:51.166-07:00...and now I'm a grown-upHeatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.comBlogger179125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-86819283586348583542010-05-05T07:57:00.000-07:002010-05-05T07:57:56.605-07:00Just wondering....Have you come to visit my new blog yet? Huh? Have you? Well.... you should. :)<br />
<br />
Just sayin'.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://nowimagrownup.wordpress.com/">Here I am.</a>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-55727339207984857112010-03-16T13:38:00.000-07:002010-03-16T13:38:27.486-07:00New bloggy home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ttwN65kERwNdeZZSuDOSRMzB8unvzEoVMqQDuEp8ii4IqCUkPGpJ7Ze0Jl2F9Y-jaiR3bh9ZXQCAUg-Acwdi5FuV1yEOhlQOa9-KkJcDEGmNyvSc69u6M6iRO8HDNHKXq3lQhm0mgwn6/s1600-h/moving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ttwN65kERwNdeZZSuDOSRMzB8unvzEoVMqQDuEp8ii4IqCUkPGpJ7Ze0Jl2F9Y-jaiR3bh9ZXQCAUg-Acwdi5FuV1yEOhlQOa9-KkJcDEGmNyvSc69u6M6iRO8HDNHKXq3lQhm0mgwn6/s400/moving.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I’ve been working on a project for work that involves building an e-newsletter and blog with coordinating themes. And (shockingly) throughout the process, I’ve decided that I really like the way that WordPress is set up.<br />
<br />
So…incase you can’t gather where this is going… I think I’ve decided to move. <br />
<br />
Okay, I don’t think. I know. I already have a blog set up over there. I guess that’s kind of definite, huh?<br />
<br />
To cut confusion, I’m going to keep my blogger account open – so if you can’t find me, you can always come back here and follow this <a href="http://nowimagrownup.wordpress.com/">link to my new blog</a>.<br />
<br />
I even kept the name the same. <br />
<br />
You better come visit me.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-52048567269526869292010-03-10T09:08:00.000-08:002010-03-10T09:34:07.871-08:00Almost rid of the winter blues<span style="font-style: italic;">Weekly writing assignment from Mama Kat: Share some photos and stories as well as what you love about spring.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnInL62OwLZW9NNSiHE8rcpVOVQzyfZ1LA0kWcMKYGVKwx_PP-UUeoQn5DwyMJ1VgTH3ffE0s0AqJmzMdZsZBZli7FgsCV2ljsHOunh1YI81wmuT2aZaxsHdXZPIj20CLZpuN89RAepPnr/s1600-h/pink+flowers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnInL62OwLZW9NNSiHE8rcpVOVQzyfZ1LA0kWcMKYGVKwx_PP-UUeoQn5DwyMJ1VgTH3ffE0s0AqJmzMdZsZBZli7FgsCV2ljsHOunh1YI81wmuT2aZaxsHdXZPIj20CLZpuN89RAepPnr/s320/pink+flowers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447053663975343714" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">(All images in this post are from <a href="http://weheartit.com/">weheartit.com</a>)<br /><br /></span></span></div>Each year, my heart warms with the temperature as the last bit of winter chill leaves the air in the South.<br /><br />The dull, gray mornings are replaced with brilliant blue skies. Bare trees bud slowly before blooming in various shades of beauty. Brown, crunchy grass begins turning a soft, lush green. And, of course, the sunlight that once faded by early evening stretches further into the day.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhtfWtmtYBcLLgp0slGpG5RnSljWg7o-dUwKSK9REqWBmLDMigOxm6_RLuziqxVEruBo1SDVcaLttXxlfe79jZH0-lIAQZEUgP3pFb2W2z_-X_v0y9ns9kWKDFHeWluXFy0xsjVLqJDO_/s1600-h/girl+on+grass.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhtfWtmtYBcLLgp0slGpG5RnSljWg7o-dUwKSK9REqWBmLDMigOxm6_RLuziqxVEruBo1SDVcaLttXxlfe79jZH0-lIAQZEUgP3pFb2W2z_-X_v0y9ns9kWKDFHeWluXFy0xsjVLqJDO_/s320/girl+on+grass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447053676246302370" border="0" /></a><br />Can you tell I’m ready for this?<br /><br />Over the last week, the air has been slowly warming. And despite my fear that it will backslide into frigidness again, I think spring might finally be here.<br /><br />Which makes for a very happy Heather.<br /><br />For me, simply speaking the word “spring” fills my head with images of sunshine, laughter, flip flops, singing birds and long weekend days outside.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnhWAJGMoH106kR-Hz1vi3P3QMyhhAZ9Bh1KRY7NzfCbz9nQILBN3CJAr3NuyyKw9jNLbdhu_-uwSpcLE8e1hHR6kLj0IMa2q7heiYVElFTF0rR3Rmfb_yU-DfUNp9xjmdaKrMz4_8OJtz/s1600-h/flip+flops.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnhWAJGMoH106kR-Hz1vi3P3QMyhhAZ9Bh1KRY7NzfCbz9nQILBN3CJAr3NuyyKw9jNLbdhu_-uwSpcLE8e1hHR6kLj0IMa2q7heiYVElFTF0rR3Rmfb_yU-DfUNp9xjmdaKrMz4_8OJtz/s320/flip+flops.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447053655393833570" border="0" /></a><br />Friends begin firing up the grill.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4A82-1RWxWEqjtiYV_NYE9jh5WLHhVHOqEo7YCxe1yOhrItoA6cmuYIbbMXWYAvwfoQNQmQsNTyLtj8EtX5ZfNXOxBVMf6Pjq90yF0-X0e0iZ21nDcDPrjuSG0C7caCCu3TveOmAJ-sZO/s1600-h/grill.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4A82-1RWxWEqjtiYV_NYE9jh5WLHhVHOqEo7YCxe1yOhrItoA6cmuYIbbMXWYAvwfoQNQmQsNTyLtj8EtX5ZfNXOxBVMf6Pjq90yF0-X0e0iZ21nDcDPrjuSG0C7caCCu3TveOmAJ-sZO/s320/grill.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447053660843173650" border="0" /></a><br />We spend days sitting by the lake. Fishing. Knowing it won’t be long before we can take the boat out and dive right into the cool water.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXnYia0N2GXHb1kaksH58XnXhULd8Tkp1iszv6bokfKJzbrS_noRrZdhNw6D7bxATxbgRskCVqwjnxjFCmNghkDt6zxZjyW9-h_EYZ_erP23dSKivzaIlEAcxX4h7u-NIdthorl49sd-G/s1600-h/lake.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXnYia0N2GXHb1kaksH58XnXhULd8Tkp1iszv6bokfKJzbrS_noRrZdhNw6D7bxATxbgRskCVqwjnxjFCmNghkDt6zxZjyW9-h_EYZ_erP23dSKivzaIlEAcxX4h7u-NIdthorl49sd-G/s320/lake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447053669759029778" border="0" /></a>Not only is spring fantastic in itself, it’s also the gateway to one of my very favorite things – the hot, sunny days of an Alabama summer.<br /><br />Which means even longer, warmer days on the lake and multiple trips to the beach. Barefoot days by the water. Ponytails and tan lines. Big sunglasses and lip gloss. Sun tan oil and Coconut Lime Verbena body lotion. And this year? Learning to wake board. Pray for me.<br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKozY84SRi1AVoZ1il09PRF2HANcT6XcH6f9N_mqG_fibRd6uEo0mwmNBZ6eMGpMwzCfJGlkzbwL0A3jGguKWxeI-V-3EpRFmj3ZSzFggln6dsvtcaBSacZ4w4Mtjfczy4k_O0ahS8w2kp/s1600-h/summer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKozY84SRi1AVoZ1il09PRF2HANcT6XcH6f9N_mqG_fibRd6uEo0mwmNBZ6eMGpMwzCfJGlkzbwL0A3jGguKWxeI-V-3EpRFmj3ZSzFggln6dsvtcaBSacZ4w4Mtjfczy4k_O0ahS8w2kp/s320/summer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447053893075899282" border="0" /></a>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-70073438806119639472010-03-08T06:14:00.000-08:002010-03-08T06:37:08.431-08:00"You stole my heart, I couldn't leave you if I tried..."Okay – so I know throughout the life of this blog, you’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ve</span> seen a few furry friends come and go:<br /><br />First, there was <a href="http://nowimagrownup.blogspot.com/2009/02/toby-tells-all.html">Toby</a> – a Jack Russell mix who held my heart in his little paws. For those of you who don’t know, he’s been missing since October. A friend of mine went to pick him up from the boarder’s house for me while I was at work and he ran away, never to be seen again – despite our best efforts with posters, radio announcements and door-to-door inquiries. I still miss the little fella.<br /><br />Then there was <a href="http://nowimagrownup.blogspot.com/2009/06/itty-bitty-kitty.html">Ollie </a>– the little orange kitten that someone dumped behind the building at work. I took him in for awhile. Then a man I know said his daughter’s cat had passed away and they were looking for a new kitten. Ollie now lives the life of a farm cat, chasing mice and such. Which is perfectly fine by me. I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ve</span> never been much of a cat person…but took him in because I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">couldn</span>’t stand the thought of him being homeless.<br /><br />Then there was <a href="http://nowimagrownup.blogspot.com/2009/08/call-me-crazy.html">Maverick </a>– the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">lovable</span> German Wirehair Pointer I took in and got healthy. When I got him, he had gashes on his neck and had to undergo <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">heartworm</span> treatment. Unfortunately, at three and a half years old, the indoor training <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">wasn</span>’t going so well. In fact, it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">didn</span>’t seem to be going AT ALL. I came home to a mess every single day for six months. And not just bathroom mess – which is bad enough. No, it was more of a “looks like my house was broken into and robbed” sort of mess. He destroyed EVERYTHING. Books would be shredded. Garbage cans scattered and plundered. Anything I was foolish enough to leave on the kitchen counter would be consumed. Crumbs everywhere. A friend of mine who lives in the country said he’d take him, so Maverick now has a huge yard to run and play in (with other dogs). And the great thing is I still get to see him any time I want.<br /><br />However… that left my house empty and pet-free for the first time in years. I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">didn</span>’t really know how to cope.<br /><br />So…………meet Maggie Mae:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJT7nw7xh8S7OR5AIveO-dLbp4JaiRo68_Pl3opVtXXvJBlY4WM5JFh1a3Fe2BESzmsdZ447FYPokdMm__kUrwSErWuEHIiIwcHR4KnuPFco5z3lUqgzXCPKqJEWcU435ZSF4GpBU9t6-y/s1600-h/Maggie+Mae.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJT7nw7xh8S7OR5AIveO-dLbp4JaiRo68_Pl3opVtXXvJBlY4WM5JFh1a3Fe2BESzmsdZ447FYPokdMm__kUrwSErWuEHIiIwcHR4KnuPFco5z3lUqgzXCPKqJEWcU435ZSF4GpBU9t6-y/s320/Maggie+Mae.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446269391826304482" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Maggie is a six month old Chocolate Lab/American Bulldog mix. Her owners had two other (much smaller) dogs, and wanted to find a good home for her. So, of course, I scooped her right up and brought her to my house.<br /><br />And ya know? She’s kind of perfect. I’m in complete shock, actually. She’s not had a single accident inside. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Hasn</span>’t chewed up the first shoe, or anything else for that matter. She’s calm, well-behaved, sweet and really good-natured. I can’t imagine anyone getting rid of her.<br /><br />We spent the day at the lake yesterday, fishing with some friends of mine and enjoying the nice weather. I see many, many more days like that in our near (and hopefully very distant) future. She’s already stolen my heart.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-16456557659251059912010-03-03T07:25:00.000-08:002010-03-03T09:11:22.843-08:00I think congratulations are in orderOh, the things you find out on Facebook.<br /><br />For example, imagine my shock when I stumbled across my ex’s new girlfriend. Only to see that her profile picture was a shot of her brand new engagement ring.<br /><br />Now, ordinarily this would not have taken me by such surprise. Perhaps the fact that he had literally text me <span style="font-style: italic;">45 minutes</span> before and said <span style="font-style: italic;">nothing </span>about the fact that he was getting married threw me off a little. Nonetheless, I’m happy for them.<br /><br />A little confused – but happy.<br /><br />I mean, I devoted nearly five years of my life to this man and got nothing. No promise of forever. Nothing that lasted. Just a lot of hurt splashed with a few good memories. We’ve been apart six and a half months and he’s already committed to spend the rest of his life with this woman. A woman who, just months ago, he said would never compare to me. I guess he was right. In his eyes, she must be better.<br /><br />Please don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not jealous. I’m not bitter. I’m in a really good place in my life right now. I’m happier than I’ve been in a very, very long time and I sincerely wish them the best.<br /><br />But, since he made it clear yesterday that he has been reading this blog, let me take a moment say this: <span style="font-style: italic;">You said you wanted so badly for us to stay friends. You said you miss talking to me. That you’d love to hear from me every now and then and know that I’m doing well. That I’ll always hold a piece of your heart. As lovely as that all sounds, please know that it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to stay in contact with an engaged man. I don’t feel that it’s appropriate. If you want to know how I’m doing, just assume that my life is fantastic and that I’m happy. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Because it is and I am. </span></span>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-6059584713829263722010-02-23T12:58:00.000-08:002010-02-23T13:02:29.051-08:00These hips don't lieAn hour of pouring sweat. Completely breathless. Body shaking from sheer exhaustion. Yet somehow wishing it wasn’t over…<br /><br />I’ve become hopelessly addicted to the latest exercise craze.<br /><br />When my friend Cat tried to talk me into <a href="http://www.zumba.com/us/">Zumba </a>classes, I told her the painful truth: I have zero rhythm. No coordination. I didn’t want to make an idiot of myself in a class full of people who knew what they were doing.<br /><br />But then I gave in and tried it. And despite flouncing around like a total goober, I can’t get enough.<br /><br />The lights are low and the music is loud. And no one is watching you – they’re too busy trying to keep up with the instructor. With hops and shimmies and hip rolls, who has time to make fun of the rhythm-lacking fool in the back of the room?<br /><br />Before you know it, you’re drenched in sweat and the hour is over. I leave class in a great mood, pumped from the energy of the music, with an endorphin high like I’ve never experienced with any other form of exercise.<br /><br />It’s fantastic. I can’t wait until tomorrow night, when I’ll be back in that room full of mirrors, shaking it to Shakira.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-61608171009551718322010-02-16T06:11:00.000-08:002010-02-16T06:38:13.529-08:00Umm, excuse me... what's this fluffy white stuff?When they said that our small southern town was expecting 4-6 inches of snow last Friday, I have to admit — I was skeptical. I thought, if anything, we'd get a little dusting of white. Nothing to play in. Surely nothing that would stick around for any length of time. Needless to say, I was wrong.<br /><br />Here are a few shots from early in the day:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Wtv5XeRwfrRRytdyZHGcTJ0wI9n-YEhsQJ3HgBzo76TAG4Q4xT9rhlCqFNpHedYUN-K-9W9NxCA7QNzNFhFeLP582yquAGXZxl5ByMS01C0wXL7ETyb9GTRpq8S8DzCXcaersJ83Mh8j/s1600-h/barn.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Wtv5XeRwfrRRytdyZHGcTJ0wI9n-YEhsQJ3HgBzo76TAG4Q4xT9rhlCqFNpHedYUN-K-9W9NxCA7QNzNFhFeLP582yquAGXZxl5ByMS01C0wXL7ETyb9GTRpq8S8DzCXcaersJ83Mh8j/s320/barn.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438844868455417762" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Not really sure who's barn this is, but I thought it was pretty.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSwWNbAmSjPy22uxA2C0wwwMCFQvzEPoLQyV51271dDo763WdpmVhIb2Vr9lujYCR3DwqKrGLc0J-4PSxv4xU1lFsYbkmQyLUgSEiuFIJDE1USxGsWgr5v8PhUm-cFDntHqOdvIhS4UWv6/s1600-h/tree.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSwWNbAmSjPy22uxA2C0wwwMCFQvzEPoLQyV51271dDo763WdpmVhIb2Vr9lujYCR3DwqKrGLc0J-4PSxv4xU1lFsYbkmQyLUgSEiuFIJDE1USxGsWgr5v8PhUm-cFDntHqOdvIhS4UWv6/s320/tree.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438844872127468802" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">One of the many trees painted white by the unusual winter weather<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeupCIMbc52O6eKc7X3h_UY-T7pLL29Y_-95V2pqCnvmMa3-84QZMRh3HWmp_Xr-tEHVLg6J79F5R9ei6yNw83sDHK1_lZpJmN00sOdAQvk90wLg6AzRmsEhZ_ESahELAXLjyjDE4AkL1h/s1600-h/town+square.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeupCIMbc52O6eKc7X3h_UY-T7pLL29Y_-95V2pqCnvmMa3-84QZMRh3HWmp_Xr-tEHVLg6J79F5R9ei6yNw83sDHK1_lZpJmN00sOdAQvk90wLg6AzRmsEhZ_ESahELAXLjyjDE4AkL1h/s320/town+square.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438843975766365522" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Our town square<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkqwLcW9cieUYnVjK2y4hHNCf5ty_baXmX_KRvBVToxQCyHlXV_RqiBPPN3kS9smmVd4Ucuozp1i966LJA9thxpsumb8bHUEN1holSier0aJej0zjjWoIFx6w53R1joqzB2RSDUtD-lbtY/s1600-h/DSC00955.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkqwLcW9cieUYnVjK2y4hHNCf5ty_baXmX_KRvBVToxQCyHlXV_RqiBPPN3kS9smmVd4Ucuozp1i966LJA9thxpsumb8bHUEN1holSier0aJej0zjjWoIFx6w53R1joqzB2RSDUtD-lbtY/s320/DSC00955.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438843988885904786" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Our redneck snowman — notice the John Deere cap and Miller Lite eyeballs. Very classy. This is what happens when you build a snowman at a guy's house. Your choices of accessories are slim to none. As a side note, please excuse the way I'm squatting. It looks like I'm trying really hard not to pee my pants.<br /></span></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3g11TQLMPCskVeFe43h8prlKBZy14F1JTMIMua5gPyO02_xExaU6qDMMXRLcSmk5wqB4hAX3ydFlhN2OFm5igaHTUBmedJ8y-zP6nOic5-vjRY8ktFLyK_-aE2JO00M0FdrcB1Kz_gmr/s1600-h/IMG_3751.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3g11TQLMPCskVeFe43h8prlKBZy14F1JTMIMua5gPyO02_xExaU6qDMMXRLcSmk5wqB4hAX3ydFlhN2OFm5igaHTUBmedJ8y-zP6nOic5-vjRY8ktFLyK_-aE2JO00M0FdrcB1Kz_gmr/s320/IMG_3751.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438843982978058402" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Me and Cat at work Friday morning</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Most everyone cleared out of work by 1:30, and the city closed the roads at 2 - supposedly because us southerners aren't used to driving on ice. To my surprise, we still had snow on the ground in some areas throughout the weekend. And remnants of some snowpeople are still standing around town, which is strange, considering it was a warm, sunny 62 on Sunday. (Unfortunately, it's a frigid 25 today.)<br /><br />It has definitely been a strange winter, and I have to be honest here... I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">extremely</span> ready for the hot days of a southern summer. Bring on the sunscreen, boiled peanuts, flip flops and days on the lake. You can keep this cold stuff. It was fun for a day, but I've had my fill.<br /></div></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-58464520293242925142010-02-10T12:04:00.000-08:002010-02-10T14:21:52.957-08:00Someone thinks I'm sweet as sugarWell, apparently my lack of posting has been noticed…. In fact, I’ve just received an award because of it. Now, <a href="http://scarlethue.blogspot.com/">Scarlethue</a>, I appreciate the gesture, but are you sure rewarding me for my absence is really the way to go? I guess it’s kind of like positive reinforcement, though. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">“Here, have this award… but you’ll have to actually write a blog post to accept it. Gotcha!”</span><br /><br />But I do appreciate this little gem:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvpsKOa6JHKHLwTGEYSO37sJvi1DhhhHDKMfSP11ZGW8qtBHB5wUJW-Cp9pvFbCO7lAFHpJcSyTecvUMq_qPVnJ7BAQOT2V2RbbzLgtimCNLhlpHro0BROj-zQuTXkKHnvz5s58g53rYi/s1600-h/sugardoll.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436708535685970210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 220px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 280px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZvpsKOa6JHKHLwTGEYSO37sJvi1DhhhHDKMfSP11ZGW8qtBHB5wUJW-Cp9pvFbCO7lAFHpJcSyTecvUMq_qPVnJ7BAQOT2V2RbbzLgtimCNLhlpHro0BROj-zQuTXkKHnvz5s58g53rYi/s320/sugardoll.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Now, I suppose I’m obligated to tell you ten (more) things about myself. I think I’m running out of information – I’ve told you guys almost all there is to know! But I’ll see if I can squeeze out a little more.<br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><ul><li>I’m sick. And not just sick in the head… like really <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">sick</span>. I can’t breath, my voice sounds crappy and my chest feels like someone is sitting on it. I guess this is when most people go to the doctor… Instead, I’ve self medicated with enough Mucinex to drug a horse.</li></ul><br /><ul><li><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsFLyVe8TcVV6PTWOIy-TbTnDqJUyZNf6pifgt1TVS3itjSzoFy5XNCVK0JDc5eLU8-BoXZTqkQ0Mkg0RHnZxb0rbTWi9PTuGFXhcBiKrBHWuMXSZo78K5w2UFXaWX9UuW5HIzjCcqomv/s1600-h/mucinex_16806_6_(big)_.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436709089756791330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsFLyVe8TcVV6PTWOIy-TbTnDqJUyZNf6pifgt1TVS3itjSzoFy5XNCVK0JDc5eLU8-BoXZTqkQ0Mkg0RHnZxb0rbTWi9PTuGFXhcBiKrBHWuMXSZo78K5w2UFXaWX9UuW5HIzjCcqomv/s320/mucinex_16806_6_(big)_.jpg" border="0" /></a>My purse was stolen a few weeks ago. Sad but true. And I made it super easy for the blasted thief, too. Genius here left her purse on the floorboard of her unlocked car. Luckily, my debt card and driver’s license were in my ID holder on my keychain, which was in my pocket. Still, they got my checkbook, a few prescription drugs, my bottle of Burberry Brit Red, my camera and my old iPod (THANK GOD it wasn’t my pretty new 32 gig baby. I would have been sick.) OH, and it was my very favorite purple crocodile Nine West purse. My heart still hurts a little.</li></ul><ul><li>I’m currently addicted to this diva:</li></ul><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLQdAO8G7RqHyw2xSLXG-3vKvynpl6M-cuhcZJfuS1gUu_868amaoI6VtZKkV56pBesemqYIZxENmKFBfUw0nOZcN-JHmn_o1eBDylK1KiHlGtEpazqNarrGX97nLSOVzTy2urhvLog4id/s1600-h/adam+lambert.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436709228130090882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLQdAO8G7RqHyw2xSLXG-3vKvynpl6M-cuhcZJfuS1gUu_868amaoI6VtZKkV56pBesemqYIZxENmKFBfUw0nOZcN-JHmn_o1eBDylK1KiHlGtEpazqNarrGX97nLSOVzTy2urhvLog4id/s320/adam+lambert.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I mean, seriously. Check out that album cover. It’s straight up glam-rock. 80’s style. The songs are catchy, upbeat and they make me want to dance.<br /><br /><ul><li>I <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">loathe </span>the cold. I know I don’t have it near as bad as <a href="http://dianesaddledramblings.blogspot.com/2010/02/snow-snow-and-more-snow.html">Diane</a>, <a href="http://wildarschase.blogspot.com/2010/02/to-discuss-weekend-update-im-wearing-my.html">Andy </a>or <a href="http://mrsfligs.blogspot.com/2010/02/post-it-note-tuesday-toyotas-girl.html">Jenners </a>who are all battling some MAJOR winter weather right now, but this southern girl is pretty miserable in any temperature below about 65. Right now, it’s 41 with a wind chill of 32. We have a 70 percent chance of snow on Friday. SNOW. In Andalusia… Y’all, I live 20 minutes north of Florida. The Sunshine State. What’s up with the arctic wind that’s drying out my skin and chapping my lips?</li></ul><br /><ul><li>I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my mind, as is evidenced by the fact that I recently ordered Beachbody’s Insanity workout program. It’s 60 days of crazy hard, fast paced torture. I’m going to start it as soon as I beat this nasty cold. Pray for me.</li></ul><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiirdD4aLphCCzEJPTv1gHkKZpAyWNNNQ6mHX8SApiOzpcYKEuIfvSOrtr8Ypg_qixL_4ifj7NluI5O9ryM_WUzAnOJPPFkcpOoRKDOWL_q3vakFkVqSDVIoxQedFrnwVBQbi4MGoAHmuId/s1600-h/insanity2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436709681701218258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiirdD4aLphCCzEJPTv1gHkKZpAyWNNNQ6mHX8SApiOzpcYKEuIfvSOrtr8Ypg_qixL_4ifj7NluI5O9ryM_WUzAnOJPPFkcpOoRKDOWL_q3vakFkVqSDVIoxQedFrnwVBQbi4MGoAHmuId/s320/insanity2.jpg" border="0" /></a> <ul><li>I got my hair cut last week for the first time in over a year. Yes, you read that right. Scissors had not touched my very damaged hair in close to 14 months. Because the LAST time I got a hair cut, I was a little traumatized. Check out this whack job from last fall (as in Fall of 2008):</li></ul><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzDMW6s8OSGLGLs92Ljof_U5aHfbZJ29R4iOM_SHhDiXgYI4_HmIg9lH3rnxki9UxK5ULfWpSLESitaEjSbItCasBlw30e8pP4GxeuN0jtgvk32bx4GJSv-7beM6gjGF1fvAHYn0gZJcD/s1600-h/short+hair.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436709920194583362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 258px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrzDMW6s8OSGLGLs92Ljof_U5aHfbZJ29R4iOM_SHhDiXgYI4_HmIg9lH3rnxki9UxK5ULfWpSLESitaEjSbItCasBlw30e8pP4GxeuN0jtgvk32bx4GJSv-7beM6gjGF1fvAHYn0gZJcD/s320/short+hair.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Now, this is my hair a few weeks ago:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAEGdWQt19oCuzr2IsQsibsTSrDXthflCZSuMLnKfEoooS0UOk0xA4EErMKt9Bznz6O43PgZ5Jx7Teg_FJND77lPe1_PNnz4LfpLIafSDuBqmmGLWBzmFl6wvOxUkVdAnnVnMZ0a_0c8NG/s1600-h/long+hair.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436710130345675538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 145px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 220px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAEGdWQt19oCuzr2IsQsibsTSrDXthflCZSuMLnKfEoooS0UOk0xA4EErMKt9Bznz6O43PgZ5Jx7Teg_FJND77lPe1_PNnz4LfpLIafSDuBqmmGLWBzmFl6wvOxUkVdAnnVnMZ0a_0c8NG/s320/long+hair.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />See how long it had grown? I was so proud. I wanted to keep the length, but add a little sumpthin’ sumpthin’. This isn’t a great picture (I don’t know why it’s so grainy?), but here’s my hair now:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7EIo5jOPyYxMMEMw8DJHPi17EtB4DOQqrtut3mxmuLfSt__lGtlGD824ip2CZvnA6hwGaJA4oeu-gVAOnJT7PVHzBTLtis6FexfD4MHPTcATEH0KYS6GRp0Pt3xm9nBklkd8iIF3fcw0O/s1600-h/new+hair.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436710474754666050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 227px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7EIo5jOPyYxMMEMw8DJHPi17EtB4DOQqrtut3mxmuLfSt__lGtlGD824ip2CZvnA6hwGaJA4oeu-gVAOnJT7PVHzBTLtis6FexfD4MHPTcATEH0KYS6GRp0Pt3xm9nBklkd8iIF3fcw0O/s320/new+hair.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />You can’t really tell from this picture, but I have side bangs and layers now. I’m kind of loving it.<br /><br /><ul><li>I have an unhealthy addiction to Lay’s Kettle Cooked Jalapeno chips. They’re crunchy and delicious. And I could probably eat an entire bag in one sitting. Right… did I mention that I ordered a crazy hard workout program? I need it. I blame the chips.</li></ul><ul><li>I’m wearing Crest Whitestrips Advanced Seal while I type this post. I have a thing about teeth. My teeth are actually pretty white, as is. I just want to be sure they stay that way. I drink a lot of coffee and diet Coke and always stress that my teeth are going to get discolored. I don’t know about y’all, but one of the first things I notice about someone is their smile (right after their eyes). I just want to be sure mine stays presentable.</li></ul><ul><li><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPXMhokvE1BMcR6nkBikfgGcps140fdTBW2QJ0lL22INUrw_gvNAom3ZXmosMZ4qPUk-sl9cIHbpJ4FC7oJ5mvT3Ki9kTtzxIboocYvugUcFWWhWdF6fHVHy5FQUd0C1x7wlEbNOD4WqQ/s1600-h/teethwhiteningreview_crest_advanced_seal1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436710954388316882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 303px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPXMhokvE1BMcR6nkBikfgGcps140fdTBW2QJ0lL22INUrw_gvNAom3ZXmosMZ4qPUk-sl9cIHbpJ4FC7oJ5mvT3Ki9kTtzxIboocYvugUcFWWhWdF6fHVHy5FQUd0C1x7wlEbNOD4WqQ/s320/teethwhiteningreview_crest_advanced_seal1.jpg" border="0" /></a>I don’t understand people who can’t branch outside their normal clique. I’ve always had a wide variety of friends, spread over several different groups. It’s great, but the problem arises when I’d like to do something with ALL of them, but they don’t get along with each other. Then I have to decide who to hang out with and I get accused of picking favorites. We’re adults, people. Why can’t we all just get along?</li></ul><ul><li>I sorta maybe have a Valentine… maybe <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">more </span>than a Valentine, as that is kind of limited to one day. Details later…</li></ul><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlnxk2hwdJv3FqzwhwthnMcOQ_PGKo7W5ajsZAAJn-3wGlJBeNeWJBguUMylfDmOTwO_NOwFM8l7K7LQIizx23dybLYEA5wD-lkkJo882auRWonVw1ts_lwPAdT4CB9p0s6Jur6RSVXZf/s1600-h/love-21.jpg"><br /></a></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYL69-IiR3ks5HToE9P15fpD9uGzwyX9q32Y9d7mB5XUdBvGWbLZUiaqdMuf5xm8Q-mo_mcIyweihyphenhyphenepnJN_qft2zz-Q_Je3HCgmJ8vNN7ZwpPbfFLRSi2QihMRiZmJRN8-OfniwY0aIBL/s1600-h/3047247912_8f4f02cdff_large.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436719804300011602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYL69-IiR3ks5HToE9P15fpD9uGzwyX9q32Y9d7mB5XUdBvGWbLZUiaqdMuf5xm8Q-mo_mcIyweihyphenhyphenepnJN_qft2zz-Q_Je3HCgmJ8vNN7ZwpPbfFLRSi2QihMRiZmJRN8-OfniwY0aIBL/s320/3047247912_8f4f02cdff_large.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Well, there you have it – ten more random things about me. And now to pass the love along.<br /><br />I’m going to give the Sugar Doll award to <a href="http://brunchatsaks.blogspot.com/">Brunch at Saks</a>… because she is definitely a doll. And she posts some of the prettiest, sweetest things you’ll ever see.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-26628810323540712142010-02-03T06:57:00.000-08:002010-02-03T07:01:45.762-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Weekly writing assignment from <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/">Mama Kat:</a> A song you can’t escape.</span><br /><br />Call it fate. Call it a coincidence. Or call it plain ol’ annoying dumb luck. But shortly after me and The Ex broke up, there was one song that haunted me everywhere I went.<br /><br />See, right after the big break, The Ex called A LOT. He sent texts telling me he missed me. No one would <span style="font-style: italic;">ever </span>compare to me. I was the one that got away. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Yada Yada Yada.</span> I finally reached a breaking point and told him that I just couldn’t talk to him anymore. It was too hard. So, from then on out, he said the lyrics of this <a href="http://www.cowboylyrics.com/lyrics/lady-antebellum/need-you-now-28146.html">Lady Antebellum song </a>always made him think of me:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It’s a quarter after one </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I’m all alone</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And I need you now</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Said I wouldn’t call</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But I’ve lost all control</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And I need you now</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And I don’t know how I can do without</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I just need you now</span><br /><br />Up until then I’d only heard that song once or twice. Ever. Suddenly the song was on every damn radio station. Nonstop. I’d go into a store and it’d be playing on the speakers. I’d turn on CMT and the video would be on. I’d get in my car and it would be the first song I heard. I’d change the station and inevitably find it again. Do you have any idea how obnoxious that became? There I was, <span style="font-style: italic;">trying </span>to get over him, and every time I turned around, I had to hear some stupid song that he said reminded him of our situation. Then I’d have a weak moment and call or text him, and suddenly we were right back to that place I didn’t want to be in anymore. Trying (in vain) to be friends, when it was clearly impossible.<br /><br />But then – after a few weeks of talking to him nearly every day, I had a revelation: he didn’t need me <span style="font-style: italic;">then</span>... so why would he need me <span style="font-style: italic;">now</span>? Sure, I was the one who ended our relationship, but only because I felt a distance that I couldn’t shake. I didn’t feel wanted anymore. Definitely not <span style="font-style: italic;">needed</span>. So WHY would I let myself believe that anything had changed just because of some stupid song?<br /><br />As it turns out, he was already dating someone new during this time. He was calling and texting me, playing this song and telling me that I was the only one for him – while he was with her! Poor girl… I feel bad for her. She has no idea that her new boyfriend is a manipulative man who will try every trick in the book to mess with someone’s emotions.<br /><br />So I told him to give his new girlfriend the attention she deserves and quit calling me. I asked him not to text. I told him – once again – <span style="font-style: italic;">to leave me alone</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">.</span> And so far, he’s respected that.<br /><br />I still hear that song from time to time. But now – instead of feeling nostalgic – I just laugh and roll my eyes.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-79242703564340547152010-01-28T12:06:00.000-08:002010-01-28T13:51:22.902-08:00<span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Weekly writing assignment from <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/">Mama Kat:</a> Share one piece of great advice you’ve received from someone who knows stuff…</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Wow – it seems like I’ve only been posting assignments lately… I guess I haven’t taken the time to do much else. Sorry about that. Maybe I’ll get back to regular updates eventually. In the meantime, enjoy (or skip?) my response to this week’s prompt.</span><br /><br />Why is it that we rarely take advice from people who have obviously had more life experience than ourselves? Or is that just me?? I’ve always been a “learn as I go” kind of person – and while that has provided some interesting (though sometimes painful) memories, I could have spared myself many headaches (and a lot of heartache) if I had just listened to some of those golden tidbits that had been passed my way over the last 25 years.<br /><br />One of the greatest pieces of wisdom ever shared with me came from my mother. Growing up, Mama told me (on numerous occasions) that “friends will come and go but family is forever.”<br /><br />I never really paid much attention to it – naively believing that the people I called friends would always be my friends. While a select few have remained a part of my extended family, the vast majority of people I once considered friends have, indeed, come and gone (sometimes multiple times over the past several years).<br /><br />I had to learn the hard way that some “friends” are actually mere party buddies – there for a good time, but suddenly unavailable in the face of a crisis. You can call them at 2 or 3 in the morning if it’s to invite them out or suggest a bar crawl, but not to have a meaningful conversation if something is truly bothering you.<br /><br />And that’s fine as long as you understand the dynamic of your friendship and don’t start counting on them for anything more than a fun night out.<br /><br />The last part of her statement has also proven to be so very true: family is forever, or at least mine is. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve screwed up over the years, or the number of screaming fights I’ve had with my parents. I’m sure I’ve embarrassed them, let them down, stressed them out and generally driven them crazy. But when it comes down to it, I’m always forgiven and loved all the same.<br /><br />And I’m so thankful for that. It’s good to know that at any given time, no matter how late or inconvenient, I can call my parents (either set) and spill my heart to an open ear. It’s a wonderful feeling – knowing that no matter how bad things get, I have four people who are always, always on my side. Always proud of me. And always just a phone call away.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-78771334813109760182010-01-21T08:55:00.000-08:002010-01-21T09:07:34.827-08:00Seven houses in five years...is that a record?<span style="font-style: italic;">Weekly writing assignment from <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com/">Mama Kat:</a> “How many homes have you had? Write a journal entry about ALL the places you’ve called home in your life.”</span><br /><br />Look, let’s be honest here…if I were to write about ALL of the places I’ve called home in my life, you’d still be reading this time tomorrow. I’ve only lived in five different cities, but have had a multitude of houses in each one. Four or five in the Mobile area, two in Madison, MS, two in the Birmingham area, seven in Troy and three since I’ve been in Andalusia – so we’re up to nearly twenty, right? Yeah… we’re not going into all of that.<br /><br />What I will do, however, is give you a brief overview those seven, short-lived college homes: the good, the bad and the absolutely crazy.<br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Hamil Hall: </span>My freshman year, my friend Christen and I decided to do the dorm thing together. We packed up our belongings and crammed them all into a little 10x10 cinderblock room. A few short months later, I was trying everything I could to get out. We shared a community shower with the whole hall, including the entire girls soccer team, who repeatedly washed their muddy cleats in the sink and shower stalls. YUCK. The heat NEVER worked. And then, of course, there were the bugs. No thank you. Next home, please?</li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >The Paden House:</span> Unfortunately, since we were freshmen, we were required to live on campus for our first year. Luckily, a room came open in one of the school’s on-campus houses. Think of it as a sorority house for girls who decided not to go Greek. We had a formal dining room, work out room, living room, kitchen, big back deck and semi-private bathrooms. I spent the second half of my freshman year here. Then I met Kailie – a wild child who quickly became my very best friend. By the beginning of summer, we were looking for somewhere off campus. Somewhere we could have… large study groups. *Ahem*… So, bring on home number three.</li></ul><br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Park Street:</span> Imagine our delight when we discovered a brand new, two bedroom, three bath townhouse less than a mile from the <strike>fraternity houses</strike> school. The house was great – we had a big back deck and covered front porch that we shared with our very cool neighbor, Clint. For my grades, this house was the beginning of a long downward spiral. We never slept. There were people at our house nonstop. By happy accident, we discovered that the window in my room offered easy access to the roof. We had cookouts, bonfires, card games… all of the necessary social events for college students went down at our house. It was all going along swimmingly until Kailie found out she had a little bundle of joy on the way. So mommy-to-be packed up her stuff and high-tailed it back to her parents’ house – leaving me with no living room furniture. Queue Brooke – long time bestie from back home. Less than a month later, she moved in and the party resumed.</li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Troy Place:</span> At the end of our lease, Brooke convinced me to move into an apartment complex with two other girls. Now, I’m not sure how many of you realize this, but FOUR girls sharing ONE apartment… not a genius idea. In fact, it could possibly be the worst idea in the history of the world. Brooke and I lived with Erica, a grad student from Oswego, NY, and Julie, a general screw up from Nebraska. I don’t say that lightly, as I typically get along with pretty much everyone. But y’all…this girl drove me insane. My parents came to visit one day, and she answered the door in a pair of boyshort underwear and a bra. In front of my step-dad and then nine year old brother. It’s not her fault, really. That’s pretty much all she ever wore. As she laid around the house eating candy and bossing people around. The girl would call you ON THE PHONE when you were a room away to ask you to get her a glass of water because she didn’t want to get off the couch. And she hocked lugies in the kitchen sink…Anyhow, three short (yet waaay too long) months later, I was desperate to get out of that apartment. So I packed up and headed to home number five.</li></ul><br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Forest Acres:</span> My friend Jennifer had a three bedroom trailer and graciously offered to let me stay with her for awhile, so I could escape the crazy. My goal was to find a one bedroom apartment somewhere close to the school, but there was a waiting list. So for about six months, I lived with Jen. It wasn’t horrible. She was a sweet girl, even though she and her boyfriend would get into screaming fights and slam doors, stomp around and cause general mayhem on a regular basis. But it was fine for the short time I was there.</li></ul><br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Thomas Circle: </span>Finally, a one bedroom apartment came available and I was once again on the move. This place was SMALL. And old. And generally not very well taken care of. But it was MINE. And I loved it. Downstairs was a tiny little living room and even tinier kitchen, all in one room. The stairs led straight up into my bedroom – no doors, just a railing that looked down to the stairs. I had an itty bitty little bathroom. And two closets. I stayed here for awhile – until the rampant street parties that took place in front of my building were taking a toll on my sleep and making me pretty irritable. By this time, I’d been through my party phase and was in the “graduate and get the hell out of Troy” phase. </li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >South Brundidge Street</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >: </span>And for the finale: House number seven! It was an old home near “downtown” Troy with a huge front porch and even bigger back deck. I lived here with two of my best friends, who happened to be sisters. The house had…. Charm. You know: sloping floors, unfinished baseboards… but it didn’t matter much to any of us. The deck was perfect for sunbathing, and there was a doggie door that led to our fenced in back yard, so the puppies could come and go as they pleased. Oh, I almost failed to mention that I lived in the living room. It was only a two bedroom house, but the living room was really long, so I built a divider and made half of it a bedroom. It was pretty cool actually. I bought a few unfinished doors from Lowes, a handful of hinges to connect them all, and a gallon of paint and got to work. Then I found some of those nifty wall transfer things with the words “Live long, love much, laugh often” for the side that faced the living room. It turned out pretty cute. And waaaaaay less expensive than any room divider I could’ve bought. My roomies were great, I liked the house and everything was finally feeling normal.</li></ul><br />Then I started my internship and moved to Andalusia.<br /><br />There are SO many stories I could tell you about each of these homes and my five long years in Troy – but this post is already ridiculously long. Aren’t you glad I didn’t attempt all twenty? You’re welcome.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-65632012916642464002010-01-15T13:24:00.000-08:002010-01-15T13:42:01.388-08:00Interesting... or notThe extremely sweet mommy-to-be, Trudy at <a href="http://weightbgone07.blogspot.com/">Third Time’s a Charm</a>, has bestowed this lovely little award upon yours truly:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGANV9vSR-xCE0Lca0HPlTjEpKwqHKtqYZdVALWaYvq_jJ3omcuNI2TlKCKkWwM4p2lcR_r6AS1ByLLjrMe6lKf0xMU3XkWryWTWcoEpp4oVjvBaT2bZlvbCbM39Fo3j3BjBnl02letNP/s1600-h/beautiful+blogger.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGANV9vSR-xCE0Lca0HPlTjEpKwqHKtqYZdVALWaYvq_jJ3omcuNI2TlKCKkWwM4p2lcR_r6AS1ByLLjrMe6lKf0xMU3XkWryWTWcoEpp4oVjvBaT2bZlvbCbM39Fo3j3BjBnl02letNP/s320/beautiful+blogger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427080851860470818" border="0" /></a><br />In order to accept, I have to share seven interesting facts about myself. Unfortunately for all of you, the word “interesting” is loosely interpreted as “random” in my book. So – interesting or not, here are seven things you might not already know about me:<br /><br /><ul><li>I’m double jointed in my left thumb. You would think this makes me a killer thumb-war opponent, but it does not.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>When my feet are cold (which is pretty much all the time), I get insanely excruciating cramps in my toes and up the side of my foot (from the big toe back through the arch). I’ve been getting them since I was a kid. I vividly remember sitting on the floor of my room in elementary school and crying because I couldn’t make my foot stretch back out. Now I feel it coming and know to stand up IMMEDIATELY and start stretching my toes.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>People have a hard time remembering my last name. It’s Irish and starts with an O. You’d think it’d stand out in their memory. But in the last few months, I’ve answered to O’Keith, O’Rook, O’Rourke and O’Malley. HINT: None of those are right. And it’s funny because all of them could have been avoided if people would just call me by Heather. You know, my first name. Instead, most people I’ve met here greet me with my last name. So it should go, “Hey! O’Quin!!” when I walk into a room. But it rarely ever does. Now it’s become a huge joke, so I doubt I’ll ever actually hear my real last name again.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>I used to check behind the shower curtain every time I went to the bathroom to make sure no one was hiding there. I don’t know why that used to worry me so much. Too many scary movies as a child, I guess. I still check the closet in my room before I go to sleep. Some paranoias never die.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>I have horrible veins. No one has ever (ever) been able to draw blood from my arm. Ever. I tell people not to even try anymore. All blood work must be done from the top of my hand. And even those veins suck. They’re tiny and they run from the needle. This had led to blown veins, which are about the grossest thing I can think of. Imagine watching the top of your hand swell up like a big blue golf ball of trapped blood. Then imagine hearing the nurse nervously laugh and say, “Oops, let’s try the other hand.” And then having it happen AGAIN. Yeah. Did I mention I had to have blood work done yesterday? New doctor. New nurse. Thankfully no disasters this time, but I still broke out in cold sweats from sheer anxiety.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>You can’t tell from my pasty-white profile picture, but I have an unhealthy addiction to sunshine. Even fake sunshine. I know it’s bad. I know it ages my skin. I know it can cause cancer. <span style="font-style: italic;">I know.</span> But it feels so good. And it makes me happy. So… bring on the UV rays.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>I am the most unorganized person I know. It’s borderline ridiculous. No. It’s past ridiculous. Every now and then I reach a breaking point and get everything super sorted. It usually lasts about two days before things are gigantic disaster again. The bad thing is that I KNOW what a mess things are, yet generally don’t take action until I absolutely cannot find something I’m looking for. Then I get frustrated, throw a mini tantrum and swear that I’m going to get things put back in their proper place.</li></ul><br /><ul><li>AND (An eighth fact! As an added bonus!) Yesterday, a friend told me that I don’t know how to be serious. He’s wrong, of course. I just generally choose NOT to be serious. I tend to answer questions that I don’t like with sarcasm. Shoot – I often answer the ones I do like with sarcasm. I smile and laugh a lot in person, and I tend to say silly things when I’m in a good mood. If that means I’m not serious, then I’m not sure it’s something I want to be anyway.</li></ul><br />So, there you have it. Don’t you feel enlightened now? Weren’t those facts just the most interesting things you’ve read today? No? I figured not…<br /><br />And now I’d like to pass this one along to Scarlethue at <a href="http://scarlethue.blogspot.com/">A Beautiful Truth</a>. Because I think she’s a pretty interesting chick (and I bet you would too!)Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-64789352452588036122010-01-13T11:33:00.000-08:002010-01-13T11:47:35.287-08:00<span style="font-size:130%;">Weekly writing assignment from <a href="http://www.mamakatslosinit.com">Mama Kat:</a> Welcome to the most shocking rose ceremony in writing prompt history. Please aw</span><span style="font-size:130%;">ard roses to the ten people (or items) in your life that you’d like to continue pursuing a relationship with.</span><br /><br />Shall we begin?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Vitamin Water 10 (flavor “Go-Go”),</span> you keep me hydrated and alert on days when I need an extra boost. The quirky wording on your label never fails to amuse me, and your delicious berry flavor never lets me down. Will you please accept this rose and remain my favorite morning (and afternoon) pick-me-up?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikcFvZHOJn5v0pbVr5kdKzNxJjcLVPIWXhslYBADyo_XtKUVemaM1HQhEw-aiiy7KWWsAU8MpbR5nBmo9eMZ9FdkEzaLR5ourqqyDQj4BtLXsfycSn_-X2dMtCWYtxe31Kqpy_H7JWD5d/s1600-h/go+go.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 75px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikcFvZHOJn5v0pbVr5kdKzNxJjcLVPIWXhslYBADyo_XtKUVemaM1HQhEw-aiiy7KWWsAU8MpbR5nBmo9eMZ9FdkEzaLR5ourqqyDQj4BtLXsfycSn_-X2dMtCWYtxe31Kqpy_H7JWD5d/s320/go+go.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426312552633526978" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sheldon Cooper (from the Big Bang Theory), </span>your complete lack of social skills — paired with your cynical attitude and penchant for all things nerdy — keeps me laughing uncontrollably every Monday night. Will you please accept this rose and remain my favorite self-centered theoretical physicist? P.S. I promise to sing “Soft Kitty” to you when you’re sick…<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6FyJmpuHE5RFvuRwQRZ7qYIjxkg3Sg6AipvQZWR7rMXamm3qlxoFCCSO_y678uFxfe0REer6h5H712CllK0Q3oSnkFFZoOL5E_WiM2SX6_S1ezO8zhja2YspMc-Yp1jF8IexguX1aSLU/s1600-h/sheldon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6FyJmpuHE5RFvuRwQRZ7qYIjxkg3Sg6AipvQZWR7rMXamm3qlxoFCCSO_y678uFxfe0REer6h5H712CllK0Q3oSnkFFZoOL5E_WiM2SX6_S1ezO8zhja2YspMc-Yp1jF8IexguX1aSLU/s320/sheldon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426312545676450178" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Burberry Brit Red,</span> you have been my favorite perfume for quite some time. Unfortunately, you were a limited edition, which makes you very hard to find these days. You can play hard-to-get all you want, but your long-lasting wonderful fragrance will keep me scouring stores and on-line perfume outlets to find you. Will you please accept this rose and continue bringing me compliments of, “Oooh, you smell good!”?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgut104iK3RYlVoxGIwsppmpWNObbYosUZDJx8YyH9Ihn-iCBEk1sTpRtO5fOJeOSnBRRmQnTOiH6wEUJnwNYOIGtT7spYIpX11_gkgBOMyxOBuKGAV65YSS2Woyto_uipInRp5nrVn0CID/s1600-h/Burberry+-+Brit+Red.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 277px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgut104iK3RYlVoxGIwsppmpWNObbYosUZDJx8YyH9Ihn-iCBEk1sTpRtO5fOJeOSnBRRmQnTOiH6wEUJnwNYOIGtT7spYIpX11_gkgBOMyxOBuKGAV65YSS2Woyto_uipInRp5nrVn0CID/s320/Burberry+-+Brit+Red.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426312540425572018" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Flintstones Vitamins (Plus Iron), </span>I will never be too old for you. For whatever reason, you are the only vitamin I can actually remember to take. Maybe it’s your fun character shapes or your tart, fruity flavors. All I know is you provide me (and anyone over the age of four) with 11 essential nutrients and 83 percent of my daily iron – that’s equivalent to five cups of spinach. Will you please accept this rose in the hopes that one day my iron level might actually be high enough to get me past the pre-screening part of donating blood? I’m tired of being turned away with the people who fail the “have you slept with anyone with herpesyphilitis in the last six months” survey.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7mXpejxSjUE6aXRTqyIs3NpiJ0f_WzJFaEIILRBmL67GCz3ceaXA2y7x_aBN-ZqvhE4HElVvKyaMphi2ZGxufXpiwJBwNwTNZbeHjhgePKS4k5yuRQCsjK9NlMxkJVL1LuJEU1BYcGaaH/s1600-h/vitamins.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7mXpejxSjUE6aXRTqyIs3NpiJ0f_WzJFaEIILRBmL67GCz3ceaXA2y7x_aBN-ZqvhE4HElVvKyaMphi2ZGxufXpiwJBwNwTNZbeHjhgePKS4k5yuRQCsjK9NlMxkJVL1LuJEU1BYcGaaH/s320/vitamins.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426312529135251394" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Luke Bryan, </span>I don’t care that your songs are waaay more country than what I typically like – you’ve had me hooked since you told me you could hotwire my tractor and plow up my land (And grow your own groceries and salt cure a ham. And wrestle hogs and gators with your two bare hands.). You ooze “good ol’ boy” charm – and that smile sure doesn’t hurt your appeal. Will you please accept this rose and keep me shamelessly singing along to songs about farms, hunting and all things country?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FdkqbsS4TabVfo5w6UuMQjhc4cSPpHGaSYVsfHqeHTLZ2opZNHf0tpb1bsk7qX_9AswvJVqD4Dur8-zy5xRDV4hMHI5Hac6jaDV2Ehpouu5ivZQyEitqZxEnalE-a918f8pA_e6IJIhd/s1600-h/lukebryan01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FdkqbsS4TabVfo5w6UuMQjhc4cSPpHGaSYVsfHqeHTLZ2opZNHf0tpb1bsk7qX_9AswvJVqD4Dur8-zy5xRDV4hMHI5Hac6jaDV2Ehpouu5ivZQyEitqZxEnalE-a918f8pA_e6IJIhd/s320/lukebryan01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426312533648412930" border="0" /></a><br />Well – that’s about all. I didn’t make it to ten, but I think I have my priorities in line. Vitamin Water, Sheldon Cooper, Burberry Brit Red, Flintstones Vitamins and Luke Bryan… what more do I need?Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-18560394325715600182010-01-07T14:20:00.000-08:002010-01-07T14:30:15.451-08:00Ten of life's most important words<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRRuylJf_bEVG2T07vz5EK5j9Ie2M09-WiLt7sl8nrKDeHEzZeJhyphenhyphentoeoTSjb36KMk8TWbsMNVBJeAO8dwjqtxQCbTbVkpNOyxN_ErZoIXvoUUpRmKbThI8DLMMPluhWMGwljQgiTU53i5/s1600-h/ring.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424126800691658146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRRuylJf_bEVG2T07vz5EK5j9Ie2M09-WiLt7sl8nrKDeHEzZeJhyphenhyphentoeoTSjb36KMk8TWbsMNVBJeAO8dwjqtxQCbTbVkpNOyxN_ErZoIXvoUUpRmKbThI8DLMMPluhWMGwljQgiTU53i5/s400/ring.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div></div><div>My parents gave me this ring at Christmas, and it’s quickly become a permanent fixture on my hand. </div><div><br />I love that – from a distance – it looks like a simple silver band. However, when you look closely, there are ten words inscribed that serve as a gentle reminder of the important things in life: </div><p><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Soul</strong></span> <em>“Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you.” <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">– Oscar Wilde</span> </span></em></p><p><em>“You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.” – C.S. Lewis</em> </p><p><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Wish</strong> </span> <em>“To a resolute mind, wishing to do is the first step toward doing. But if we do not wish to do a thing it becomes impossible.” Robert Southey </em></p><p><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Faith</strong></span> <em>“Faith is a knowledge within the heart, beyond the reach of proof.” – <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Kahil</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Gibran</span></em> </p><p><em>“Feed your faith and your fears will starve to death.” – Author Unknown </em></p><p><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Spirit</strong></span> <em>“Great men are they who see that spiritual is stronger than material force, that thoughts rule the world.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson </em></p><p><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Beauty</strong></span> <em>"Life is full of beauty. Notice it. Notice the bumble bee, the small child, and the smiling faces. Smell the rain, and feel the wind. Live your life to the fullest potential, and fight for your dreams.” – Ashley Smith </em></p><p><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Imagine</strong></span> “<em>Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.” – Albert Einstein </em></p><p><em>"Whatever you vividly imagine, ardently desire, sincerely believe, and enthusiastically act upon must inevitably come to pass.” – Paul J. Meyer </em></p><p><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Dream</strong></span> <em>“You see things; and you say, 'Why?' But I dream things that never were; and I say, 'Why not?'” – George Bernard Shaw </em></p><p><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Peace</strong></span> <em>“Peace is not something you wish for; It's something you make, Something you do, Something you are, And something you give away.” – Robert <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Fulghum</span> </em></p><p><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Hope</strong></span> <em>“In all things it is better to hope than to despair” – Johann Wolfgang <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">von</span> Goethe</em> </p><p><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>Love</strong> </span> <em>“And in the end, The love you take is equal to the love you make.” – The Beatles </em></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-33375888620402674302010-01-05T05:56:00.000-08:002010-01-05T09:03:11.626-08:00Different, yet somehow the sameIt’s funny how some people you think you’ll never hear from again can suddenly (and effortlessly) waltz back into your life.<br /><br />Over the course of the last couple of months – and more specifically, the last week or two – I’ve reconnected with someone I haven’t talked to in nearly six years: my high school sweetheart.<br /><br />The night of the Iron Bowl, I got an unexpected phone call from a number I didn’t recognize. When I answered, I was nearly floored at who was on the line. We talked for almost two hours.<br /><br />During our recent conversations I’ve learned that a lot has changed for him since we broke up in 2004. He’s been married and divorced. Joined the Coast Guard. Moved across the country and back again. And he’s lost his southern accent. (Although he says I’ve found it in abundance.)<br /><br />But some things have definitely not changed. He’s still the same good-natured guy he always was. He’s still upbeat and ridiculously funny. And he still has the ability to keep me talking for hours on end, like no time has passed at all.<br /><br />In some ways, it’s strange to talk to him now – but mostly it just feels really good to reconnect with someone who was once my very best friend. Enough time has passed that we can communicate without the tension or emotions of a fresh break up. I think it’s good. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed laughing with him.<br /><br />He’s known me for so long – he knows my dreams. The things I want to do in life. Places I want to see. And he readily pointed out that I haven’t really followed through with many of them. He asked me what I was waiting for and told me I was wasting precious time. I guess he’s right.<br /><br />I don’t know if we’ll continue talking, or if this rekindling of our long-lost friendship is only temporary – but I hope this is only the beginning. He meant so much to me for so long. It would be great if we could be friends now, after all these years.<br /><br />What do you think? Are any of y’all on speaking terms with an ex?Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-13980163456574866282010-01-04T07:42:00.001-08:002010-01-04T07:50:34.372-08:00...and now I need a napWhoa – what a weekend! It was face-paced, exciting, wonderful and tiring. Very, very tiring. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spent most of Thursday believing I had no plans for New Year’s Eve. Nonetheless, I went home from work that evening and got ready, just <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">in case</span> something came up. Luckily for me, it did. In a big way. In a last minute decision,<span style=""> </span>a friend and I jumped in the car and made tracks to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Destin</span> to ring in 2010 at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Baytowne</span> with some of our friends. It was fantastic.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVP44A5QFN2s7lhPS_SJZkh_w1dqPlRsl_4lQ20GbOWmpV_rocUdEYqOHg3Fhj2eW2CHY3GKxt7NDdfuoShyFsPjD1Z3NluSBN2ImfuPhwWnIh63OWfVSNO1fyYQKfyvIhqZ2jfWgeitOi/s1600-h/baytowne.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVP44A5QFN2s7lhPS_SJZkh_w1dqPlRsl_4lQ20GbOWmpV_rocUdEYqOHg3Fhj2eW2CHY3GKxt7NDdfuoShyFsPjD1Z3NluSBN2ImfuPhwWnIh63OWfVSNO1fyYQKfyvIhqZ2jfWgeitOi/s400/baytowne.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422911828166516594" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">(Imagine this, PACKED with people celebrating New Year's Eve... I forgot to take pictures, so this one I found through Google will have to work.)</span></span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If you’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ve</span> never been to the Village at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Baytowne</span>, let me help you out with the visual. It’s a cute little resort village that’s made up of bars, restaurants and shops. At night, you can hear a wide range of music floating from each venue as you walk down the lamp-lit streets. Dueling pianos at Rum Runners, an acoustic blend at Fat Tuesdays… and of course, my favorite: The Funky Blues Shack, which is where we all eventually wound up at the end of the night.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_mrDUZiUoP_c9Vm7oh3eIlwk5IstBXQlHsEUYFYvYUdKylydrYIrpnm0lLLL8ubDJzYlE4_Tp-QZFQQYtO3FoH_K-bRR8Aghj71yO1nNak-1pdWFFA8YainDVwL2LDa9pg3Kck_o4b0C/s1600-h/funky+blues+shack.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_mrDUZiUoP_c9Vm7oh3eIlwk5IstBXQlHsEUYFYvYUdKylydrYIrpnm0lLLL8ubDJzYlE4_Tp-QZFQQYtO3FoH_K-bRR8Aghj71yO1nNak-1pdWFFA8YainDVwL2LDa9pg3Kck_o4b0C/s400/funky+blues+shack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422912221601884754" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a late (very, very late) night, we drove back to Andalusia in the early morning hours so I could pack and make my way to Birmingham to spend a few days with my family. While I was there, I shopped (and shopped and shopped), had lunch with an old friend and went to our family’s annual holiday concert: Trans-Siberian Orchestra.</p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzkU3ihDTFJXEr0ux6_WpTll9WF_ieJ0jZMuNEj9MN8C-yCIigiQ8H75Q6YmHRZj2fCWrA8p10T5tWT4eCfTICaBJ_zdDcZjYcf-qqSp5007AP61gpv4hTrrNGhQwEaH1Tdki3Y3XY1OOz/s1600-h/TSO.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzkU3ihDTFJXEr0ux6_WpTll9WF_ieJ0jZMuNEj9MN8C-yCIigiQ8H75Q6YmHRZj2fCWrA8p10T5tWT4eCfTICaBJ_zdDcZjYcf-qqSp5007AP61gpv4hTrrNGhQwEaH1Tdki3Y3XY1OOz/s400/TSO.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422910736372541410" border="0" /></a><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">(A little rough, but taken with my phone... those orange blobs are fire balls. Gotta love the pyrotechnics.)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This year was my sixth time to see them, and I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ve</span> yet to be disappointed. Every year, I expect to grow tired of seeing the same show, but I never do. It’s always amazing, and I always leave with a smile, feeling as though I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ve</span> been thoroughly entertained. Our second row seats this year were pretty great, too. Those guys put so much work into what they do – and I know they must end each concert completely exhausted. They run around the stage with so much energy. And they do 70 shows in 60 days… which obviously means they often do two a day. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And now, after a very high-energy weekend, I’m back in my sleepy little town. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-67668657166755054632009-12-31T08:42:00.001-08:002009-12-31T08:47:45.106-08:00Life in a small townWhen you live in the middle of nowhere, recreational activities tend to be pretty limited. <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">While there is an obvious lack of bars, restaurants, theaters, museums, retail developments, coffee shops or anything else of much interest, there is an overabundance of pastures, farms and dirt roads. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To the bewilderment of most people who have access to other forms of entertainment, riding dirt roads is actually a popular pastime in most small towns. Trust me — when I moved here, I didn’t get it either. But now, I actually enjoy creeping down a dirt road at snail’s pace with some of my best friends — good music blaring on the radio, windows down (when it’s not too cold), laughing, with camera in hand. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The camera is an important part of the experience because you never know when you’ll have the opportunity to capture something that is a blatant reminder of just how southern you actually are.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tUNZA9u6WusrqA_7C0Voj7ail3HOlhaWSwkAUtER1b_XjPVGl4Fq0pmELIMuedvDbPeG-EllrFjkGtiQmmb6P9YCQogP89uAVD5a9D_d9Vq7-o4en6wSq5Wey93ZQ0oxLMJFzkRoY9lG/s1600-h/over+yonder.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tUNZA9u6WusrqA_7C0Voj7ail3HOlhaWSwkAUtER1b_XjPVGl4Fq0pmELIMuedvDbPeG-EllrFjkGtiQmmb6P9YCQogP89uAVD5a9D_d9Vq7-o4en6wSq5Wey93ZQ0oxLMJFzkRoY9lG/s400/over+yonder.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421441813759230498" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yes. That’s a real road. And yes, I was so amused, I made Willis turn the Jeep around so I could go back and take a picture. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Welcome to <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Alabama</st1:place></st1:state>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-73760770829575252242009-12-29T12:27:00.000-08:002009-12-29T13:14:24.206-08:00Oh... you mean it's not a joke?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GBZXclxU1rVjlaQnKlfD2V4Cd_cHsFuUCcPhIWqgHe7K_ueUDMavK08TWdYznPqsoxLRt-u2UhZwgJcoV1gaskmatvS53pAAwO5v5noKFG5mz_lyfkA-l2kwLyWiP5bLupEJwJdiz8f0/s1600-h/add.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GBZXclxU1rVjlaQnKlfD2V4Cd_cHsFuUCcPhIWqgHe7K_ueUDMavK08TWdYznPqsoxLRt-u2UhZwgJcoV1gaskmatvS53pAAwO5v5noKFG5mz_lyfkA-l2kwLyWiP5bLupEJwJdiz8f0/s400/add.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420759471250618482" border="0" /></a>For years I’ve joked about my focus problems – self diagnosed as ADD, my thoughts bounce from mundane to complete chaos and back again. Task lists are daunting. Prioritizing? Nearly impossible. I fidget constantly. I start projects with enthusiasm, then easily get sidetracked – never to return.<br /><br />In school, I was a “doodler” – constantly moving my pen across my paper as I pretended to listen to whatever lecture was coming from the front of the room. I’d start class strong, but somewhere around the five minute mark, my mind would wander to something completely unrelated. “Hmm.. I need to do laundry when I get home.” Or “Oooh, don’t forget to get paper towels at the store later.” Or “I swear, if that girl smacks her gum one more time, I’m going to throw my shoe at her!” My notebooks were a jumbled mess of doodles and shopping lists. I got by. I made decent grades. But most of my work was done on my own. Usually at the last minute. With the aid of large amounts of caffeine.<br /><br />Most of my professors either didn’t notice or didn’t care about my inability to pay attention. The one who did notice caught me completely off guard and really hurt my feelings. My junior year in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Troy</st1:place></st1:city>, a certain bow-tied professor called me into his office after class and proceeded to tell me how “rude” I was. He told me that it was painfully obvious how little I respected him. When I asked him why he thought that, he told me that day after day he watched me stare into space or scribble on my paper instead of “actively listening” to his lectures. Despite my effort to assure him that I didn’t mean anything personal by my lack of focus, he chewed me out and told me that my disrespect would not be tolerated. He made me feel so bad, I wound skipping several classes just to avoid him. Despite my steady stream of A’s on papers class assignments, he gave me a failure to attend and I had to repeat the course. (I chose a different professor for my second attempt.)<br /><br />If you’ve read my blog for any amount of time, you might remember that my frustration with my attention issues had been building. It was affecting my work and causing some pretty extreme anxiety. Finally, after years of dealing with it, I saw a doctor and found out that my jokes about ADD were actually dead on.<br /><br />Now (with the help of prescription drugs) I finally feel myself getting a handle on things. It’s a work in progress – along with the medication, I’m having to train myself to do things a little differently. The doctor recommended a few different techniques for tackling those daunting tasks lists. And the great thing? My doctor has ADD. And he made it through MED SCHOOL. If he can do that, surely I can handle whatever I need to accomplish.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-47156822060602032572009-12-24T13:33:00.000-08:002009-12-24T14:01:07.386-08:00Bring it on 2010It's been a strange year for me.<br /><br />It feels like it's been a year of loss - first my mentor and college advisor passed away. Then my grandfather. I broke up with my boyfriend of more than four years, and even lost my little buddy - my puppy Toby. He's been missing since October. My dad's kidney disease has caused him to be pretty sick this year, and as I type this post, my little brother is laid up on the couch recovering from knee surgery.<br /><br />But, despite the heartbreaks and obstacles that this year has presented, I still know that I am so blessed. I've made some wonderful memories with my family, and learned to finally stand on my own in a town where I knew no one. I've made some fantastic friends, gotten involved in my community and moved into a new home. I guess there have been just as many <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">triumphs</span> as disappointments, and I feel as though I've grown tremendously in a very short amount of time.<br /><br />I look forward to seeing what 2010 will bring. I won't be <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">naive</span> enough to think there won't be more hard times - but I've learned that I'm more than tough enough to survive. It's a good feeling - knowing that I'm capable of handling whatever life throws my way. So bring it on 2010. I'm ready for what ya got.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-28436936500438288602009-12-22T05:56:00.001-08:002009-12-22T06:14:12.049-08:00I'm baaaaaaaack.....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb9xtanY-k9MgzhzhqBjM_isdYx-PRjBZ49zEHjeSh2l3qaFyO_-J7quVNr4hVPe4ctBk-nVgii7wNQbtziTH55HDMs_v1mNmhmJ8LeD-u2bmzWBT3QhZCe55SN0yEDQZxHMujumfnw5fd/s1600-h/hello21.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb9xtanY-k9MgzhzhqBjM_isdYx-PRjBZ49zEHjeSh2l3qaFyO_-J7quVNr4hVPe4ctBk-nVgii7wNQbtziTH55HDMs_v1mNmhmJ8LeD-u2bmzWBT3QhZCe55SN0yEDQZxHMujumfnw5fd/s400/hello21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418063515527228162" border="0" /></a><br />Remember me?<br /><br />Okay - so I kind of disappeared for awhile. Unexpectedly. And for that, I'm truly sorry. (Heck, what am I saying... I bet you didn't even miss me!!)<br /><br />My life has changed a lot over the last year, and as therapeutic as this blog had been, I think I just needed a break - some time to clear my head. Plus, I became so consumed in reading umpteen million blogs a day - it kind of lost its appeal.<br /><br />But I've missed having an outlet for my thoughts, so... here I am. Back again.<br /><br />If you're reading this, thanks for hanging in there... I guess that means you didn't unfollow me just because I bailed for a while. There are at least two possible explanations for that: 1) You had complete faith that I would one day return; or the much more likely 2) You didn't even realize I had quit posting. Either way... hello again.<br /><br />I hope you all have a very merry Christmas. And I'll be seeing you soon :)Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-60978316374011541562009-09-23T07:36:00.000-07:002009-09-23T07:42:44.406-07:00Busy, tired.... and thoroughly happyMy life has been a whirlwind of activity lately, and I have to say… I’m loving it.<br /><br />When I moved to this sleepy little town last year, I was convinced that there was NO ONE close to my age to hang out with. Ever. Anywhere. But I obviously wasn’t looking in the right places. Scratch that – I obviously wasn’t looking <span style="font-weight: bold;">AT ALL</span>. In any places.<br /><br />Over the last two months I’ve met so many great people. I’ve gone from sitting at home by myself every single day after work, to almost never having a moment alone. I’m weeks behind on my TiVo – and I honestly couldn’t care less. Who needs to watch TV when there are other things to do? For example:<br /><br />Last Wednesday night I went out with a few friends, stayed up way too late and had a fantastic time. Sometime in the wee morning hours, a long-time buddy from back home called and said he was going to come spend a few days on my couch. By the time I got off work Thursday and bought some groceries, Chris was well on his way to Andalusia. He, my roommate and I spent the remainder of the night with a group of people – playing cards, talking and just cutting up. Chris and roomie were both off all day Friday, so they were bums while I worked – then, as soon as I got off, we all piled in the car and bolted towards Montgomery for the Zac Brown Band concert with my buddy’s kids. After the concert, we dropped the kids off, then proceeded to enjoy the night. My head didn’t hit the pillow until nearly 5 a.m.<br /><br />Of course, the older I get, the less I can sleep – so I was up at 8:15, ready to go. Got a shower, woke up the other bums at my house and we got the grill ready for a long day of football. Throughout the day, we bounced between my house and two others – constantly surrounded by people thoroughly enjoying themselves. Sunday was much of the same.<br /><br />So far, this week’s been pretty low-key – just some down time with a couple of people each night. But tomorrow we’re leaving straight from work to head back to Montgomery for the Pat Green concert – which I’m pretty excited about. It’ll make for a long day Friday at work, I’m sure. But it’ll be worth it.<br /><br />In the coming weeks, we have trips planned to Troy, Birmingham and Mobile. Not to mention my meetings in Destin next month and a trip to north Georgia for an apple festival with my family at some point in time.<br /><br />I wonder sometimes how I made it so long without things to do here – how I let myself be so isolated and alone. At the time, I’m sure my reasoning made sense. At least to me. I didn’t want to rock the boat – I didn’t want to cause drama in my relationship. But now that the relationship thing is no longer an issue, I’m starting to loosen up and enjoy myself. And thank God for that.<br /><br />So if you’re wondering why there have only been three blog posts ALL month… I guess I’m just too busy having fun to stop and write about it most days. Maybe one day I’ll get back on track – or maybe this blog thing has run its course for me… I haven’t really decided yet.<br /><br />Either way, it has definitely helped me through some tough times over the past year – and for that I’m grateful. I had no idea how therapeutic it could be to spill my heart to a bunch of total strangers. You guys are awesome – and I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around this place sometime soon.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-6833714152031461302009-09-16T09:09:00.000-07:002009-09-16T13:49:32.968-07:00A ghost from the pastMy freshman year in Troy, I met Chuck. His warm personality and impeccable taste in music drew me in immediately. He had a contagious smile and a sense of humor that was out of this world. We were friends from the very start.<br /><br />As the school year drew to a close, we both found ourselves free from past relationships and we tried our luck at dating. We spent all of our free time together – cooking, laughing, partying and just enjoying ourselves. But the chemistry was never there. Don’t get me wrong – we adored each other. But we lacked the spark that is essential for a lasting relationship. By the end of summer, we decided we were better off as friends, so we ended things with no hard feelings. He met my next boyfriend and I became close friends with his girlfriend. We still talked several times a week and remained very close. <br /><br />As time went on, I began seeing a different side of Chuck. As happy as he seemed on the outside, he had his demons. He started dabbling in different drugs – always calling me for counsel when he started feeling guilty about it. He drank a lot, and often made bad decisions as a result.<br /><br />In July of 2005, I got a frantic phone call from his then girlfriend. Chuck got behind the wheel after way too many drinks. He had a horrible wreck that took months of recovery. He had to have reconstructive surgery on part of his face. He needed braces to correct the damage his steering wheel had done to his mouth. It was bad.<br /><br />I just knew that the wreck would serve as a wake up call – that he’d settle down some and surrender his keys when he wanted to drink. I was wrong.<br /><br />On February 12, 2006, I got another phone call. This time it was from Kevin (my then boyfriend and most recent ex.). He worked for the Sheriff’s department and had been called to work a wreck at two that morning. When he got there and ran the tag, he immediately called me. It was Chuck. Kevin didn’t know his status, but told me he’d call me back as soon as he did. Instead of a call, I got a knock at my door. I opened it slowly, vainly hoping for good news – but instead, Kevin looked at me with sad eyes and shook his head. I fell to pieces.<br /><br />I walked through the next few weeks in a daze. I went through so many different emotions. First, I was angry. I couldn’t help it. I was so mad that he’d do something so selfish and stupid – especially after his close call less than a year before. Then there was the overwhelming sadness of losing such a close friend. It seemed so unreal – so that’s when the denial started. I refused to acknowledge it for awhile – which of course just made it that much harder when I finally had to face the fact that I’d never see him again.<br /><br />But then life resumed. It had to, you know? You get busy with your life and don’t have time to dwell on being sad. Over the past three and a half years, I’ve thought about him a lot. I stop by his grave and talk to him every time I pass by the cemetery, which isn’t that often anymore. I still think about him, but not like I did back then.<br /><br />That’s why last night’s dream hit me like a ton of bricks. Out of nowhere, he was there – so real and just as vivid as life. I woke up so confused. Here’s what I remember:<br /><br />I was lost – I know that much. I was wandering around the woods and came upon a group of girls sitting around a fire. There with them was Chuck. I can’t explain it, but I knew he was a ghost and that I was the only one who could see him. No one seemed to see me either, though. Chuck looked up at me and smiled. “I’m lost. I need you,” I said. He just nodded, stood up and walked over to me. He never spoke – but he put his arms around me. It felt so real. I could smell him – feel his embrace. He pulled away and looked at me, and although he still didn’t say anything, I knew what he meant. His look said, “Let’s go.”<br /><br />He led me by the hand through the woods. At some point, we were swimming. I kept getting pulled under, struggling to keep going. He got behind me and pushed me through the water. The next thing I remember, he was standing on the shore, pulling me out. I was sobbing and he just looked at me with knowing eyes and gave me a sad smile. I leaned into him, put my head on his chest and just as he put his arms around me – I woke up. <br /><br />What is that about? It was so random, yet it seemed so significant. I’ve been in a funk all day – I just can’t shake that strange feeling I woke up with this morning. <br /><br />I don’t always put a lot of stock into dream interpretation, but if any of you would like to take a shot, I’d love to hear your thoughts.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-1324120298256847772009-09-11T07:09:00.000-07:002009-09-11T07:14:24.374-07:00I'm still alive, I promise!<meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link style="font-family: arial;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Ccomhro%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} p.ecmsonormal, li.ecmsonormal, div.ecmsonormal {mso-style-name:ec_msonormal; mso-margin-top-alt:auto; margin-right:0in; mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Wow</span> – so it’s been awhile, huh? I don’t have much time, but thought I’d stop by for a quick update.</span><o:p style="font-family: times new roman;"></o:p> <ul><li>I’ve been staying busy as best as possible. While I don’t have any terribly exciting stories to share, I have made a wonderful friend over the past couple of months that I’m sure I’ll write about soon. I’ve become more convinced than ever that <span style="font-size:180%;">some people come into your life at precisely the right moment in time</span>. This is definitely once of those instances.
<br /></li></ul><ul><li>My focus and attention problems are getting worse.<span style="font-size:130%;"> I’m having a terrible time concentrating</span> on tasks and staying on top of projects lately. It’s one of the most frustrating feelings I’ve ever experienced — knowing exactly what needs to be done but being completely incapable of focusing long enough to accomplish it all. I make to-do lists like you would not believe, then feel extreme anxiety when I fail to cross items off. I’ve been thinking pretty seriously about talking to my doctor about it. I don’t know if my problem warrants medication, but I’m to the point where I feel like it’s worth looking into. My job requires concentration and I can’t afford to keep dragging my feet around here. People can only be so understanding. Speaking of doctors, I missed two days of work last week (like I needed to be any more behind) because I was out sick with bronchitis. Fun stuff.</li></ul><ul><li>I’ve been feeling particularly cold-hearted lately and I hate it. Kevin and I have been broken up for two months now, and I’ve pretty much cut all contact with him. I hear that’s what you’re supposed to do when you break up, but a part of me is having a hard time. I feel like we were friends for so long, so it’s a shame we can’t still talk. But the majority of me feels like it’s entirely too hard to try to be friends right now. It’s not that I don’t care how he’s doing – it’s just that <span style="font-size:130%;">I need time to heal and move on.</span> And aside from the occasional text, he’s respected that. I sincerely wish him nothing but the best in life. <span style="font-size:130%;">I’m just not ready to be best friends.
<br /></span></li></ul><ul><li>On a positive note, <span style="font-size:130%;">it’s FINALLY football season</span>. For me, there’s nothing quite like a Saturday filled with the excitement of college football. <span style="font-size:180%;">Can I get a <span style="font-weight: bold;">ROLL TIDE</span>?!</span></li></ul><ul><li>And more good news: <span style="font-size:130%;">Maverick is doing fantastic.</span> His neck is healing up quite nicely and I honestly could not ask for a better dog. He is sweet, gentle-natured and loyal beyond belief. He and Toby have become the best of friends and I’m so glad he’s become such a perfect part of our household.</li></ul> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="ecmsonormal">Well, I guess that’s about it for now. I plan on catching up on all of your blogs this weekend. I honestly have not even signed into blogger in over a week – so I’m a bit behind…</p> <p class="ecmsonormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Happy Friday!! </span></span><o:p></o:p></p> Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-89941484693363654672009-08-28T07:54:00.000-07:002009-08-28T08:00:44.598-07:00My new hero<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1G9a1tYwTTEMFv7TBxfjn3f6u6NojodsMdn65KsQyDnKPRgJUDswohng3KAby59OM2xoYSrvAqfyONQNuWsAFgpnHmBSGw8hACIjxL_p7o57rEE49lL81lNNFP_zqqtCHxUr8m_ThLl8S/s1600-h/dog_angel.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375029346975737474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 269px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 360px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1G9a1tYwTTEMFv7TBxfjn3f6u6NojodsMdn65KsQyDnKPRgJUDswohng3KAby59OM2xoYSrvAqfyONQNuWsAFgpnHmBSGw8hACIjxL_p7o57rEE49lL81lNNFP_zqqtCHxUr8m_ThLl8S/s400/dog_angel.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Ever since I rescued Maverick, people have been telling me that I’m his angel here on earth. But I think it might be the other way around. He might actually be MY angel. He most definitely came to my rescue last night when I was right on the verge of desperation.<br /><br />I spent the majority of the evening cleaning my house, doing laundry and replacing light bulbs (I swear, every fixture in my house had at least one blown blub). By the time I finally stopped to catch my breath, I realized that it was after 10. I figured I’d let the dogs out, finish the dishes and get ready for bed. Of course, things NEVER go as planned.<br /><br />Toby apparently thought it would be a terrific time for a late-night sprint – so before I could shut the gate behind him in the yard, he shot off down street. Now, if you’ve followed my blog for any time at all, you probably know that this isn’t such an uncommon occurrence. In fact, you’re probably wondering why I haven’t learned my lesson yet, or how the hell I keep letting that ignorant dog get away from me. Well – he’s MUCH quicker than you could ever imagine. Seriously – sometimes I don’t even realize he’s gone until he’s halfway down the block.<br /><br />Maverick, being the wonderful dog that he is, only trotted to the edge of the yard and quickly came back as soon as I called after him. I put him in the backyard and shut the gate before I took off down the street after Toby.<br /><br />After several minutes of running, he finally found a fenced in yard that looked inviting. I snuck in behind him and shut the gate, feeling better now that he was corralled in one area and not roaming along the highway. Unfortunately, the yard was huge and I kept worrying that the owners would eventually come out yelling (or shooting) at me for being on their property at such a late hour.<br /><br />We literally ran circles around this yard for twenty minutes. I was sweating and tired and on the verge of tears. He played deaf and refused to come to me, no matter how many times I pleaded. I honestly thought very seriously about leaving a note on the door of this house telling the people that they were more than welcomed to keep the dog that was now penned up in their backyard.<br /><br />Finally, exhausted and frustrated beyond belief, I sat down on the edge of a plastic slide, trying hard to keep my angry tears held inside. About that time, I heard a noise at the gate and I figured the owners had reached their breaking point and were coming to kick me out of their yard. Only when I looked up, I realized the noise had come from my new hero, Maverick. The little angel had managed to open the gate at our house and TRACK me two blocks down the road. He sat there patiently waiting for me to let him in this stranger’s yard. As soon as I did, Toby came up to us and I was finally able to pick him up and take his little miscreant butt home. Maverick led the way and was waiting at the door when Toby and I got there.<br /><br />I curtly told Toby that I was ashamed of him, for what good that did. He has been treated so well and spoiled beyond belief for the past two years, yet every chance he gets, he runs off. Then there’s Maverick – the poor dog has never been properly trained, yet he minds so well. And not only does he not run away – he follows my scent over a quarter of a mile to find me and lead me home.<br /><br />Maybe he can teach Toby a thing or two.<br /></div>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4322342362047478758.post-70183413313974722142009-08-27T07:08:00.000-07:002009-08-27T07:11:43.207-07:00Say what?!<span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Holy cow!!<br /></strong></span><br />I just realized that I now have 104 followers! Who are you people and why do you care about my little mundane life?! That’s incredible.<br /><br />When I started blogging, I had no idea what I was getting into. I thought I’d publish a few posts, then move along. But something amazing happened. I started getting comments from complete strangers. I started seeing visitors coming in from around the world: Australia, Spain, Romania, Japan, India, Germany, Canada, Mexico… I was hooked. I never thought I’d feel such strong feelings of friendship for people I’ve never met in real life.<br /><br />So thank all of you who take the time to stop by each day and read my random thoughts. If you leave comments, you have no idea how much appreciate your kind words – they get me through the day sometimes! And if you don’t leave comments… well, that’s okay too. But I’d really like to hear from you! Even if it’s just a short hello.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Don’t be a stranger!</span>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01783379570693055648noreply@blogger.com17