Home Sweet Home

We're finally experiencing some beautiful fall weather here in Nashville...and all I can think is, "God, I bet it's gorgeous in Oxford".

It's funny...by spring semester I was ready to get out and move to a big city. I was tired of going to the same bars and restaurants and was more than ready for a change of scenery. Granted, I still had fun and lived it up there while I could, but I was constantly itching for something new.

Now that I've been in my beloved big city for six months and have gone to more restaurants and bars than I can remember...I'm really starting to miss the unique beauty of Oxford. Some of the best memories of my life took place in that town. I met some of the most wonderful people who I'll cherish forever in that town. I suffered heartbreak and fell in love in that town. I learned incredible life lessons in that town. I morphed from a homesick girl to a confidant young woman in that town.

I know that I can't live in Oxford forever...I love city-life too much. But Oxford has shaped me and turned me into the person I am today. As a result, Oxford will always hold a huge piece of my heart. It will be the one place that incites both laughter from memories and tears from longing.

God...and what I wouldn't give for one more $2 Martini Night at Pearl Street and the requisite hangover-food from the Beacon the next morning...

Q: Why is a Pumpkin Better Than a Man?

A: Because you know from the start that his brain is only mush!

Haha! I am so excited that Halloween is almost here! I think it's one of the greatest holidays EVER. First, there's lots and lots of candy and who doesn't like candy? Second, it's the one day of the year that you can dress up like a crazy person and no one will bat an eye. I'm going to 3 costume parties on Saturday and can't WAIT.

My costume idea requires an 80s-style prom dress (the tackier, the better) so last night, Jennie and I went to Goodwill in search of the perfect specimen. And boy, did they have some 80s crap. It was like stepping back in time. I found several great dresses (complete with toulle and sequins)...but they were all at least $30. WTF? $30?!? I mean it's Goodwill, people. Nothing should cost more than $4. The entire purpose of the store is to help clothe the destitute and provide fun Halloween and swap costumes. Not to turn a serious profit. Needless to say, I did not purchase the hella-expensive (for a tacky two-decade-year-old) dress. I'm going thrift-shopping after work and am determined to find one for no more than $5. Come hell or high water.

After rejecting the overpriced dress, we went to Kroger to stock up on trick-or-treat candy. (I am so excited to actually have trick-or-treaters this year!) We were talking and walking into the store...when I managed to completly shove my foot in my mouth:

Me: Oh look! Those pumpkins are on sale!
(We start getting closer to them)
Me: Holy shit...those are the ugliest pumpkins I've ever seen! No WONDER they're on sale.
(A young guy turns around with a hurt look on his face...and he's holding one of the ugly pumpkins)
Him: Ummm, thanks.
Me: (As I'm turning red) Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean your pumpkin! Your pumpkin looks lovely!

Jennie and I just managed to make it into the store before colapsing onto the floor laughing. Sheeesh...next time I'll think twice before voicing my pumpkin opinions in public! You just never know who you might offend...

Oh No He Didn't

It's my first day of my real-life job! I have my own office with my own window with my own desk. And most importantly...my own fat paycheck. Hell yes. Shoe stores need to watch out because I'm now packing heat.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to like the job. Everyone is wonderfully funny. I get to have all the office supplies that I want. I get to do a little traveling. Plus I found about 12 bottles of Bacardi and Jack under the kitchen sink. Any place that buys liquor in bulk has got to be fun.

Speaking of liquor, I was out on the town Saturday night and got one of the worst pick-up lines known to man. A rather sleazy-looking guy wearing a Predators jersey approached me at a bar and said, "I think you lost your smile." So I gave him a polite smile and prayed he'd go away. He then said, "Looks like I just found it for you, Darlin'". How lame is that? (Then I said, "Sorry...but I don't talk to guys who wear jerseys to bars.") Guys eventually need to realize that pick-up lines just don't work. Especially the cheesy ones.

I'd Rather Nurse a Hangover

Jennie and I found out yesterday that one of our best friends from high school (who we've sadly lost touch with) had a baby. It's strange that we've just found out after the fact...but apparently no one (including her mom) knew she was pregnant. She surprised everyone when she went into labor. Now HOW can you be 9 months pregnant and not look it? I just can't see that that's possible. (There most have been some serious cases of denial going on.)

I can't imagine having a baby right now. First of all, at 22 I feel way too young to even think about being a mother. I'm enjoying being young and carefree. I love meeting people out for dinner, drinks, and dancing. But not if I had to find a babysitter first. Ughhh.

Don't get me wrong...I definitely want to have kids some day. Babysitting is one of my favorite things. I love to play dress-up, make up games, read stories, color, make messy kid food, etc. But at the end of the day, I also like to party like a rockstar and then sleep till noon. You just can't have it both ways.

It amazes me the number of young girls I see drooling over babies and wishing they already had one. Maybe they don't realize how huge of a sacrifice it really is. Once a baby comes along, your entire life shifts and will never be the same again. You have to be ready to give up a significant part of yourself and your life.

I'm sure that our friend's baby wasn't exactly planned, but he's here all the same. I just pray that she's coping okay.

So, to Baby Jack: welcome to the world! Please be easy on your mom...she's still very new at this.

Shake ya Tailfeather

I've recently realized that I am a dance whore. After several drinks, I'll dance with anybody, anytime. If the "D" word is even mentioned at a bar, I light up like Christmas. My inner black girl suddenly surfaces and I'm dropping it like it's hot faster than you can say "Roshanda".

I'm "that girl" who likes the wild, trashy bars with the light-up dance floors. And if they have a DJ, oh it's ON. If the DJ takes requests, I'm in heaven.

The hard part is...most of my friends don't like to dance. Which means that on the dance floor, I'm pretty much forced to fly solo. But my moves are definitely not resticted to a dance floor per se. I'll shake it just about anywhere there's music. Including cars.

Last night, Jennie and met some friends for $3 pitchers at Pizza Perfect where we steadily drank beers for at least two hours. The trip home inspired us both to roll down the windows and rock out to Britney Spears (who is an embarrassing trashball, but admittedly fun to dance to.) But car dancing is trickier than it seems. Your butt and legs are stationary so you have to get creative with your arms and shoulders. Which is why it's good to be tipsy.

We definitely got some funny looks from people who obviously don't know how to have a good time.

The Sexy Ballet Man

In my opinion, everyone's sexual preference should be instantly apparent. It should be completely clear upon first meeting which team they bat for...mainly because it's awkward to be left guessing.

Case in point (pardon the pun): The Sexy Ballet Man...

My firm handles the PR for Nashville Ballet and I spend a lot of time touring media people around the studios. As a result, I've gotten to watch many fascinating rehearsals (where I inevitably find myself wishing I hadn't given up my ballerina aspirations at the age of 5). The girls are lithe and graceful and the men are, well...HOT. It's true! You'd expect them to be girly la las...but oh, no...they're some of the sweetest hunks of man-candy I've ever seen. And incredibly, about half of them are STRAIGHT.

It's pretty easy to pick out the guys who like guys...except for JP, who is the hottest of them all. He's about 6'4", dark hair, blue eyes, washboard abs...and let's just say he looks damn good in a pair of tights...and leave it at that.

I am utterly confused as to which way he swings. He gives off mixed signals. At first, I pegged him as gay. The main clues being that a) he used to bartend at a gay bar, b) he owns a turquoise thong and c) once admitted to me that he "would kill for a martini". Seems like conclusive proof, right? WRONG.

JP threw me for a loop. He suddenly started winking at me (and not "playful" winking either). Then he started catching my eye and giving me slow, seductive smiles. Then last week, he told me that it makes his day to see me at the studio. It's the most anti-gay interaction I've ever had with a supposedly gay man. I can't figure it out. I get flustered now when I see him because I don't know how to act. I'm on the verge of just coming right out asking him if he'd rather date Jude Law or Angelina Jolie.

But maybe I should get him drunk on martinis first...

He's probably NOT your soul mate if...

He's 79 and has a plethora of other young girlfriends.

Last night, instead of starting the work week off right with a full night's sleep, Jennie and I sat glued to late night reruns of "Girls Next Door". This new E! reality show features the lives of Hugh Hefner's 3 main girlfriends: Holly, Bridget, and Kendra. It's disturbing...yet irresistable.

The crazy dynamics present in this relationship could keep psychologists occupied for decades. These 3 beautiful women all live in perfect harmony with Hef at the Playboy mansion and essentially take turns fulfilling his desires. Yet there isn't an ounce of jealousy present (but certainly truckloads of Viagra).

The statement that really made me laugh was when Hef's "head girlfriend" Holly said that while people may laugh at their relationship, it was only because they don't truly understand what it's like to have a "soul mate".

HA! Call me a cynic, but I have a hard time believing that a crusty old man (who lived through the Great Depression, WWII, and Watergate) has much in common with a blonde bimbo 55 years his junior who's main accomplishment in life is filling out a D-cup. WHAT do they possibly talk about?!

Sadly for Holly, her "soul mate" status will easily be replaced by a younger, perkier model who will gladly change Hef's diapers for a brand-new Mercedes.

The moral of the story is: ANY man who encourages you to wear "pasties" to parties should be considered anything BUT a soul mate.