You can put me out on the street
Put me out with no shoes on my feet
But, put me out, put me out
Put me out of misery
- The Rolling Stones

I’ve been meaning to tell y’all this for months as I know how much you love the randomness that makes up my life.

First of all, let me explain that somewhere along the way, I became flat out OBSESSED with “Beast of Burden.” Such a great, great, song. Lately the “put me out of misery” part seems to speak to me for some reason. Hmm…Anyway...

During football season, I typically go to Tuscaloosa the night before the game and stay with my parents in their RV. (They have a really nice one and color me surprised to learn that I actually enjoy it, despite my claustrophobia). Towards the end of the season I was finishing up getting ready and the RV next to us started playing “Beast of Burden” so naturally I got really into the song and had to sing along, loudly. My mother walked by and caught me doing something to my hair while singing:

You’re a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girl
Pretty, pretty
Such a pretty, pretty, pretty girl

She promptly patted me on the shoulder and said, “Yes, you are a pretty girl!”

Too funny.

And may all your Christmases be white
-- Hilaritas 1993-1995


Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy New Year, etc.

Let’s get to it.

Sunday afternoon I went shopping to try and find those last minute Christmas gifts. While I was successful on that trip, I’m sorely lacking in creativity points this year. But, as the tale goes – it is totally the thought that counts, right? Like the amount of effort I expended into thinking about these gifts is probably equal to the amount of effort it takes for an ant to move a bread crumb one city block. I’m just saying. Too bad the results are less than stellar.

Anyway, as always, anytime I venture into public I have a story to tell. The trouble is I don’t always get around to posting them. I’m going to try and be better about this sort of thing because I know y’all love a good Dabbs story. One that makes you say, “Only to you Amy Dabbs. Only to you.”

But first, some commentary.

It’s been literally 80 degrees around here and then last weekend the temperature dropped dramatically. This shouldn’t have been news to anyone. It was harped on all week – COLD WEATHER ON ITS WAY! GET OUT THOSE SWEATERS AT LONG LAST! If you didn’t happen to watch the news, flip by your Local on the 8s (which I heart with a passion), read a newspaper or look online, perhaps you would have heard a coworker mention it in passing. And by mention I mean, you would have noticed a coworker freaking out about it and/or getting excited by the chance of passing snowflake. (Didn’t happen. Never will again in this state. Too much hairspray use in the 80s.That’s my theory anyway.) So point being, on Sunday, it was 40 degrees.

So how is it possible that you wind up at Bed, Bath and Beyond to do your wedding registry on one of the busiest shopping weekends of the year wearing a sweatshirt and SHORTS? Let me just let all of you know right now that there are few things higher on my list of pet peeves than a sweatshirt and SHORTS. It just doesn’t make any sense. I’m sure this sorority girl (no offense….well, maybe a little offense) just wanted to show off her freshly applied Mystic Tan, but seriously? 40 degrees? Ok, so let’s just give her a break and say that she didn’t know the weather change had happened. You’d think somewhere between her front door and sitting herself down onto a cold car seat she would have realized, hmm… maybe pants are a good option today. Or maybe she would have picked up on that when her fiancée was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Maybe that Mystic Tan seeped in too much or something. And by the way, in case you are wondering – this ain’t no Flashdance and you ain’t Jennifer Beals, so don’t even front with the sweatshirt unless you have on PANTS, a skirt or some other item that at least gets within shouting distance of your knees. Seriously.

Second thing – never, ever is there a reason to be in a Wal-Mart on Sunday afternoon wearing a full on silver sequined Tina Turner-ish tank top. Just a thought.

So as I mentioned the weather got very cold and I bought two outside faucet covers, among various other items. As I was checking out the cashier lady says, “Yeah, I had to buy those today, too.” I assumed she was talking about the faucet covers. I replied, “Yeah, it’s so weird, it’s been so hot and now all of the sudden…” She cut me off and said, “Oh no, I meant THOSE” and she pointed at the box of Tampax.

How is that helpful?

Merry Christmas!

Can only make me stronger
I need y’all to hurry up right now
‘Cause I can’t wait much longer
-- Kanye West

Wow. This time it was really hard to come up with just the right opening lyrics because there are so many good choices right now. The other choice was:

You’re going crazy
Running on empty
You can’t make up your mind
You try to hide it
But you had to say it
Restless all this time
So completely drained from every thing that’s in your life
It’s so wrong but you had to scream every thought you kept inside

One minute you laugh
The next minute you’re slowly sinking into something black
I get the feeling that lately nothing ever really lasts
I keep trying to get up but I keep falling back
And you love
And you hate
And you wait
Cause one minute goes fast
-- Kelly Clarkson

But I figured if I led with that one the few of you that read this would freak again and worry. But I’m ok, y’all. So let’s get to it. What’s been going on?

Professionally, things aren’t the best right now. I make it my policy not to talk about work on here, but sometimes I make an exception. The two colleagues that helped me with what I do both resigned and I’m all alone. My job is unique in that I can’t do it by myself, I have to rely on others and I don’t care for that. So I’m in a bind right now.

Personally, things are ok. Its football season and I’m having fun with that. I’ll be honest though, I am amped it is an off weekend for me this week. I’m pretty much planning on sleeping right up until kick off on Saturday. My house is in desperate need of attention so I’ve got to get cracking on that. To do lists are kicking my ass right now.

And now to the main event. Most of you know this, but for those of you that don’t, or for those of you that enjoy reliving my many, many misfortunes, here you go.

Back in early September, I went to a movie and got home around 9 on a Wednesday night. When I unlocked my door I heard a loud flapping sound over my head and something flew into my house. I freaked. I mean, I totally freaked out. I thought it was a bat at first. So I went in and saw some crap on my chair and realized it was a bird. We had a 5 minute standoff while I contemplated what to do. So I finally did what any self-respecting adult would do – I called my mom. My mom was sympathetic and offered suggestions involving brooms and loud noises, etc. These were suggestions that didn’t appeal to me and she passed the phone to my dad who thought this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard in his life. When he realized just how NOT amused I was, he suggested I go get my neighbor David to help.

Walking over to David and Sherry’s house, I stepped in a hole. And by stepped I mean stumbled into a hole, causing my right foot to twist completely back and underneath. I didn’t fall and but I did burst into tears. When I got a hold of myself I knocked on their door and they grabbed a broom and came back to my house. All David did was open the door and the dang thing flew right out. I thanked them and went inside to ice my foot.

I talked to my parents later and told them about the foot issue but assured them I was ok. By 11:30 I wasn’t ok and I called them again but they had gone to bed. By 2 a.m. I REALLY wasn’t ok and called my dad’s cell phone and they got ready and came to my house. My foot was swollen and bruised and I couldn’t put any weight on it at all. The doc in the box said it was just a severe foot sprain but no breaks.

Three days later it was still hurting and I had a friend of mine that works in orthopedics check out my x-rays. He managed to get me an appointment with a foot specialist. The resident on my case was Ryan Pflugner -- otherwise known as the kicker that was at Alabama while I was there. He was very cool and nice. The main doctor diagnosed the severe foot sprain and ligament damage in big fancy words which included “stretched bones and compressed ligaments which are difficult to heal” and put me in a little boot/shoe for a month. I’ll go back next Wednesday to see what we do next. So good times around here. How’s everyone else doing?

-- Lisa Loeb and Nine Stories

Do you ever stop and realize that you’re a performer? No matter how hard we try to go about life normally and just be an average person, at some point during the day, unless I’m crazy, which is highly likely, I think everyone goes into some sort of routine or shtick. Maybe it’s just me, but I think that most people do this. Let me explain.

Me for example. I’m kind of funny. I don’t say that to be boastful or egotistical AT ALL. Now that I’ve said it I may very well wake up tomorrow like Samson did after Delilah shaved his head and find my power gone. I just mean that the majority of my life I have been told that I am funny and I make people laugh and they enjoy reading what I write, or listening to me talk because it makes them giggle. I’m no Dave Chappelle or Alec Baldwin (Have you seen him on 30 Rock – seriously) I’m just a regular person doing my thing. None of this shtick ever really occurred to me until a few weeks ago.

I was introduced to a friend of a friend (FOF). My friend said something like, “Hey, I want you to meet Amy, she’s the one I was telling you about.” FOF says, “hey, nice to meet you, (friend) tells me you’re funny.” I stared blankly at friend and after a slight pause I retorted with, “hey, nice to meet you, (friend) said I’m funny? Wow, that’s NO PRESSURE AT ALL!” Friend and FOF laughed hysterically. Me, feeling encouraged, pressed on – with the full routine – exaggerated hand gestures, over use of the phrase “d’ya know what I mean” and ragging on someone else that FOF had just met. After friend and FOF were thoroughly entertained I sat down and as they left, I thought, what did I just do? I just performed like a little spider monkey playing a squeeze box on the side of the street! (Does that still happen? Did that ever really happen anyway?)

But it worked. A ha! That’s my thing – that’s my routine, my shtick. I’m Amy Dabbs and apparently, to some people, I am funny. Armed with this knowledge I unfortunately have become self conscious about it now. Any funny person will tell you the key to being funny is to NOT TRY. It has to come naturally – if you put it on, it’ll be noticed and people will just roll their eyes. After the above incident, I met someone else a few days later. This someone was Grace’s boss. (Sorry, didn’t see the need to withhold your name). Now, admittedly I knew Grace had told her boss a few things about me – I’m a lyrical gangster and they refer to me as Hip Hop Amy around their office. Again, NO PRESSURE AT ALL. The lovely Grace introduces me and says, “This is Hip Hop Amy!” Boss replies with, “Nice to meet you, I’ve heard so many funny stories about you!” Thanks Grace. And then, automatically, the routine started. I may as well have a string to pull tacked on my back, y'all. I went through my paces, and waited for a laugh or chuckle. When I got one, I was ready to reel it in and go back to average, boring Amy.

What about you other superheroes out there? What is your secret weapon? What role do you take on? The Intellectual? The sweet one? The sarcastic one?

Or am I crazy?

Don’t answer that last one.

Baby, I hate it
-- Rascal Flatts

So it’s been a long, long time. I’ve just been – (pausing to think of new word to add to the English language, can’t think of one that would do it justice) – busy.

I’m tired. I haven’t slept well in days and days and days.

I’m done. So done, like, proverbial fork in my arm, done.

Despite all that, time keeps on rolling, so I’m here. Nothing worth mentioning other than telling the 3 of you that don’t know yet – I dropped my cell phone. In the toilet. In a multi-toilet unit called “The Crowd Pleaser.” At 10:00 at night after spending around 8 hours mostly in the sun, working. But you know what? It’s all good friends. Knock on wood – the phone seems to have dried out and is working – for now. Keep your fingers crossed. And yes, I thoroughly cleaned it – you know I’m a freak about germs, so rest assured, it is as clean as it can possibly be. And by the way, many ups to Andrea for a wonderful, amazing and awesome event! And much love to everyone who worked it – I love when work can actually be fun!

Second thing, because I don’t have good luck, my Jeep window broke in the down position on Sunday. Of course it did. So phone, then window. Good times for me. I just love spending money on something like a broken window.

I had to go 18 rounds with my mortgage company. This whole house thing has really caused me to just speak my mind without much fear. Those people can bite me. Sorry, that is harsh I know, but how is it possible that when you work in the same company you can’t give me a number of another department, or better yet, transfer me? Are people nuts? How can you not find a number for me?

So I’m working through a lot of issues right now, none really major, but I’m hoping a week off will cure me of some of these. I do intend to take one day and pretty much sleep all day. I’m not going to check email and I’m not going to update my site while I’m gone – it’s just something I need to do – I need to disconnect from some things for a while. But we’ll see how long that lasts. Those of you that need me, know how to get me.

Peace --
dabbs

But I'll never better bridges that I'm bent to burn
And dreaming doesn't do no good
Cause I don't wanna lie
That I'm okay and I'm alright
I'd rather take it and forget it
Consider this a warning
‘Cause I'll start another fight
And you'll say its all alright
I'll wait for the day when you find I'm too much for you, baby
-- Anna Nalick

We need to talk about Anna Nalick very soon, folks. But not today. Let’s talk about yesterday instead. I was tired, so very tired. It has been a long week and I’ve worked some extra hours and I was just done. So I went home and chilled for a little bit. I’ve been on a cooking kick recently (I use that term loosely) but I wasn’t feeling all Rachael Ray awesome so I decided to venture back out for dinner. I ended up at KFC to get some wings just as the wind started swirling and the lightning started flashing in the distance. All I wanted to do is get the wings and make it back home before it started raining.

Let me pause here and let all of you know that as a child I had red hair. I really was saddened to see it start to fade the older I got. In the spring and summer, if I’m outside enough, my natural highlights perk back up. And there’s always a bright red line of baby, curly hair right around my face. Anyway, all that to say this, I do believe it’s true that red heads are fiery. I do have a temper but I also keep it in check most of the time. But as my momma taught me, “don’t let anyone walk all over you, Amy, stand up for yourself, tell them what’s right and don’t take anything from anyone, don’t be rude or mean, but don’t let them run all over you because they always will try.” So I keep that in my back pocket at all times (along with my certified bad ass card in my wallet).

I got to KFC and there were 4 cars in the drive-thru. Again, all I wanted to do was get home and relax because I was so tired. I made it to the place where you order and sat there, and sat there and sat there. I sat there long enough for a bird to come and land on the menu/order thing and mock me with his song. Finally a woman said, “Welcome to KFC, Can I take your order?” I ordered my damn wings and she asked me to repeat it – TWICE. The wind started picking up and I could hear thunder now. Grrrr…… I could feel the blood slowly creeping up into my face, but I didn’t want to find a spit wad in my food, so I kept quiet. I mean, I had been waiting for a while now and I JUST WANTED TO GO HOME. Another 2 minutes pass with nothing – no acknowledgement of my order, no total, no drive forward please, nothing. Another woman comes on and take my order AGAIN – 2 MORE TIMES. Then silence again. All the cars in front of me were long gone so I just went to the window.

I sat there and a lady did acknowledge me by saying, “So, uh did you want anything else?” At this point, I was done speaking and I just shook my head. I didn’t want to go to the trouble of giving them my debit card because I figured it would take 10 more minutes so I handed her a Hamilton. She came back with my change which was $4.02 just as it began to rain. I sat scowling as she dropped two pennies in my hand and then she released the cash into the wind. I looked at her. She looked at me. We looked behind the Jeep as the cash flew off. One dollar landed behind my back tire and the rest was out of sight. It began to rain harder. She looked back at me and laughed.

I didn’t laugh. And somewhere the words came out of my mouth before running through the filter in my brain. It was as if I was floating above the Jeep, watching myself. I looked at her, expressionless, and said in a very cool tone, “I am not getting out of this car to get that money.” She raised her eyebrows in shock. “I am not getting out of this car to get that money. This whole experience has been completely ridiculous and I’ve been here over 10 minutes. I will not be getting out of this car to get my money.” She muttered something under her breath. I chose to ignore it. I didn’t see what the big deal was, all she needed to do was have her manager open her drawer and give me my four dollars. They could get out there and dig around for the lost cash whenever. She shook her head in disgust and walked away. I didn’t know what was going on until I looked in my rearview mirror and she was picking up the money. Meanwhile, another lady came to the window and said, “hey baby what are you waiting on?” I pointed and she started to laugh. The lady rounded up my money, muttering, “I swear to God one of these days…” She handed it to me and I drove off.

To close, more Anna Nalick:
Driving away from the wreck of the day
And it's finally quiet in my head
Driving alone, finally on my way home to the comfort of my bed
And if this is giving up, then I'm giving up

--dabbs

I'm thirsty
I'm wild-eyed
In my misery
-- Stevie Nicks and Sheryl Crow

So, try as I did to avoid the millions of bugs going around, I did catch a little stomach flu last Thursday. Horrible, horrible, horrible. Just so you know I’m not making it up, I’ll let you know that I did throw up 9 times in a 3 hour span. And now you’re probably wondering what kind of person keeps up with that, but I knew the doctor would ask. Of course, I also count how many times I sneeze, and there’s no real reason for that other than it gives my brain something to do in the seconds that I can’t function while convulsing with sneezes.

So back to Thursday. All of the sudden I felt horrible and made the brilliant choice to try and get home quickly. I made it down three levels of the deck in my car before I had to stop and throw open the door -- it was not pretty – stuff on my shoes, my door, etc. It all went downhill from there and I’ll spare you (really myself) the horrible details. I must give props to Grace for coming and picking me up and numerous other things I don't remember and also to Andrea for support and phone calls and numerous other things I don't remember.

I hate being sick. And I was so proud because I hadn’t been sick all winter. I hadn’t been sick since I moved in my house – other than a bad headache or allergy issue here and there. So I’m good now, I better not get sick again until winter, I’m out, I’m done.

So I mentioned Sheryl Crow above and I’d be remiss if I didn’t send good vibes her way. She is hands down my favorite female singer on the planet (and falling inches behind is Stevie) and I wish her the very best with her cancer battle. Oh and Lance Armstrong? Yeah, there’s someone else on my I’m done list.

Hope all is well with my peeps. Peace out.

dabbs

-Pam Tillis

Hi, I’m Amy. Have we met? If not, let me let you in on a little secret – I don’t like to be told what to do. Yeah, I have a problem with that. Of course I am speaking (as always) on a personal and not professional level. The following will explain.

I’m not in a good mood at all today. No particular reason why and at the same time, 18 very specific reasons why. (Hi, I’m Amy; I’m also a contradiction in the flesh). I was a couple of minutes later getting to work than I intended and in the process quite nearly ran over poor Patrick in the parking lot. No, no, he was in his car, I just happened to be taking up the entire 2 lanes, that’s all. It pretty much went downhill from there – when I was pulling into a parking place the person behind me got irritated and immediately swerved around me and made a point of speeding off. Yeah, keep going, friend – good thing I didn’t see who you are.

So I went to the ATM at lunch. My account balance pissed me off and of course I didn’t pull up close enough to the machine so I had to do the open the door hang out the window bit. Ugh. Left there and went to McDonald’s to get some lunch.

So the McDonald’s drive thru is a bit complicated, just trust me, it is. However, the parking lot is all brightly painted with tons of arrows showing you which way to go, where to yield, where to stop. Last time I checked, you had to know what all of these symbols meant before you could get a license, right? I pull to the dual ordering thing and ask for a McChicken sandwich and fries. The lady barks my total at me and I properly yield and then pull forward into the merging line. So the deal is, you have to stop and allow space for other cars to drive through the drive thru line. (I know, told you it was complicated). But it’s really not that big of deal because if you know how to drive a car, you know the stop sign means stop, so you stop. And you go when there is room so you can pull up next to the building and pay. Anyone licensed to drive a motor vehicle can and should comprehend the procedure. These McDonald’s folks have hired a freaking security guard to stand there and monitor the situation and direct traffic. Seriously?

So now I was really pissed. Don’t throw up that hand and tell me to stop and don’t point at me and tell me when to go. This isn’t a school crossing zone; hell, people don’t walk back here, period. We can read the stop sign and the big sign that hangs over the side that tells us to wait. The last thing in the free world I want to see is some woman, smoking a cigarette and talking on her cell phone in an “official” jacket stick her hand up for me to stop. So what did I do (besides silently seethe in my car)? I didn’t look at her AT ALL. That’s right. “No, no, you don’t own me. I’m young and free, young and free, you don’t own me.” I looked in the opposite direction and out of the corner of my eye when I knew it was clear I went. What was she going to do? Give me a ticket?

So I get to the first window and pay. While waiting for my change I look ahead and notice at the next window, my lunch is hanging out the window, flapping in the wind, secured by nothing more than a scrawny hand with fake nails. My head is about to explode. I take my change and pull forward – resisting the urge to gun it and see if the worker was paying enough attention to fear for the loss of her arm. I get to the window and before I stop, the bag is sort of tossed to me. I looked at her, boiling, and said, “I need some extra ketch—.” “IT’S IN THE BAG!” “No, I said EXTRA ketch—.”
And guess what my friends? SHE CLOSED THE WINDOW IN MY FACE. I uttered a dirty word and drove off. And believe me, I would have loved to park the car and gone in and ripped someone a new one. The only, and I do mean ONLY reason I didn’t is because I don’t have good luck and I knew that at least 10 people that work at the same organization would be in there having lunch.

Of course I got here and there were 2 packs of ketchup in the bag. Again, hello, I’m Amy, I’m a ketchup FREAK. I’m still mad. Oh well. At least I didn’t get out of control ridiculous on someone’s ass and act a fool. That’s one small step for dabbs today…

(Seriously – what is wrong with me? I have got to stop with the third person…)

And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
-- Keith Urban

I was on my cell when I got home yesterday. Of course I was. I was talking to Breezy and I went through my bedroom into my bathroom and was about to go into my closet and kick off my shoes. There it was – right in front of the closet door. A bug. Ok, no point in lying, not just a bug, a freaking roach. Ugh.

Now, because Breezy had to deal with my girliness and squeamishness about bugs in college, I was trying to play it all cool, you know, make her think I was so OVER the whole bug thing in general. So I said, “Well, that’s nice, here’s a bug.” And I kept talking. We continued our conversation as I went back into the living room and picked up the latest In Style and calmly walked back into the bathroom. Fortunately, the thing hadn’t moved an inch. I warned Breeze about the forthcoming noise and promptly dropped the magazine on it. It was a goner. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. Mental note – call tomorrow and schedule pest control service like your mother told you to do, oh back in September.

I hate bugs. Hate them, hate them, freaking hate them. I can’t get over it. I just can’t. That’s an innate part of the irrational fear structure in my brain. Sorry, I’m a baby. But at least I’ve learned how to deal with it and move on.

Or so I thought.

So as the 10:00 news came on I picked up a stack of towels and went to my bathroom to place them in the linen closet and - wait for it, you know its coming and I know you know its coming – I opened the door and low and behold, behind door number one is freaking roach number two and spider number one. SERIOUSLY? A spider, too? The hair on the back of my neck literally stood up. I immediately grabbed the first thing I could and smashed the spider. Of course the roach went nuts and headed back into the closet. I was literally sweating now. “How is this helpful?? Are there more roaches in here? If I move this crap in the bottom of the closet will 718 more roaches come out?” I begin to panic. Literally panic. Jerry O’Connell popped into my mind. I could see his cute little face and remember the scary ass trailer for his movie Joe’s Apartment. It used to creep me out. I believe I actually had nightmares about it. I had a feeling this roach that was currently on the loose in the closet wasn’t about to talk to me but what if it had more friends in there with it? Oh lord, this would be so much better if Jerry O'Connell was here.

Now I was both sweating and having chills at the same time. “You’re insane Amy, you’re insane, it’s just a little bug, it can’t hurt you, kill IT!” I began to argue with myself – “But, but, they carry DISEASE don’t they? I can totally get sick and die from some roach illness and worst of all, everyone will say, poor Amy, bless her heart, if she’d only called the Orkin man like her momma told her, none of this would have happened.”

Sweating, swearing and chills – and no bug poison in the house, mind you, I grab the first thing I see in the closet – a can of Lysol. What are you going to do with Lysol, moron? I scan the back ever so quickly and convince myself it just might work because it kills viruses and bacteria. I’m sure the roach was a walking wad of both of those things. I begin spraying like a mad woman – the roach went nuts and ran between a box and a bucket thing that holds lotions, etc. I couldn’t catch him. Ok, so this is how you want to play? You want to play me this way?? I back away long enough to pull my hair back and get a pair of rubber gloves. I also picked up a duster thing on this pole that my mom gave me. Now, I’m ready, bitch, I’m ready to smack down the roach. Trouble is I don’t see him.

What do I do? What do I do? Thought of my mom again, “Amy, what do you want me to do? I’m all the way up here and you’re there. Stop worrying about it and go to bed.” That’s totally what she would have said. Then I thought of Grace. And how I had mercilessly made fun of her our freshman year in college because she spent an entire night awake, with the light on, bug spray in hand, because a roach appeared and then disappeared before she could get it. This is what I get. Pay back, well, you know what they say.

Wanting to puke, I realize I must move the stuff in the bottom of the closet and find him. I gingerly reach for the bucket and pull it out. No roach. I reach for the other box and pull it out. No roach. I sprayed the Lysol in the bottom of the closet. No roach. I sprayed the corners, even up the walls a bit. No roach.

Seriously? Where did it go? There’s no way it got past me and into my bedroom is there? OMG – tell me it didn’t get past me! More sweating and chills. Now I’m also getting high off the Lysol. I quickly scan the back and the only human precautions are skin and eye irritants. So my sinuses will be Powder Fresh or whatever tomorrow. So what? Maybe the little roach will die from Lysol asphyxiation. And here’s hoping I wouldn’t have to call in the following day with a Lysol induced migraine.

Disheartened, I reluctantly wave the proverbial white flag and begin placing the crap back in the closet. Oh, it’s not going to be a good night, what with visions of bugs in my head… Yuck, yuck, yuck.

My bug man is coming on Thursday morning to kick some bug butt. Here’s hoping their won't be another sighting in the meantime…

Stuck in the middle with you
-- Stealer's Wheel (also a rollicking version by Keith Urban on iTunes, have I mentioned my obsession with Keith?)

A few weeks ago on an average lunch trip with Andrea and Lee Ann we were stopped by the police. Yes, the police – how is that helpful?

As the rule goes when 3 women get together we were all chit chatting and not necessarily paying attention to our surroundings. Ok, it was entirely my fault. We were at the corner and I noticed the red light and stepped into the crosswalk, Lee Ann and Andrea followed. Half way into the intersection the light changed and we had to run the rest of the way. After we safely land on the sidewalk Lee Ann says, “And yes, there’s a cop.” I began to walk off – just assuming it was over. If you know me, you know my luck – which is to say, if not for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.

The cop turns on his lights and beeps the siren and stops on the corner. Do you believe this? We escaped with only 3 brochures detailing the dangers of jay walking – the number one is the $130 ticket.

Who else but me? Now I am super paranoid – I no longer jay walk. So much for my thought that if you were in the crosswalk itself you were cool. So fellow walkers of the world beware.

And watch out for the freaking hurricane, too. Have a good weekend!

dabbs