One of my favorite three-year-olds (I know, I love them all the same, blah blah blah) recently had to leave our preschool program. Last week, before this child's departure, the little boy that would take her spot and his mom and dad came to visit the school. When they dropped by my classroom I didn't have a class going on, so I got the opportunity to talk to him a little. He was very shy and a little intimidated by his surroundings, so to try and get him excited about coming to school I told him all about our upcoming Christmas program and how everyone in his class, including him, was going to get to be a shepherd. He just stared at me with trepidation and retreated further back to the shelter of his parents. Our Preschool Director continued to tell him about the program and all the songs that he would get to sing, and ended with "Would you like that?"

He paused for a minute and then replied, "I don't wanna be a shepherd."

Okay. That's fine. It didn't phase me much because most of my students already said they'd rather be Optimus Prime or a princess. So the family continued their tour and I went on about my day.

The next morning at carpool our director approached me to discuss the family's visit from the previous day. She had tried to talk to the boy one more time about how fun it would be to be a shepherd in the Christmas Program. And finally he told her why he wasn't interested:

"I don't want to take care of the sheep."

Fair warning

After three months of running up and down the stairs at Mauldin United Methodist Church, I finally read the signs posted in every stairwell:

Ribbons and Buttons and Bows, Oh My!

We've been busily making costumes for the youngn's at school, as this is the first time in, like, 20 years that they've done a new Christmas Program. We were having a hard time coming by gold poster board (angel wings) and since I live in Simpsonville, the preschool director suggested that I try Wilson's, which is in Simpsonville and right on my way home. I had seen the store before, but didn't think much of it. In fact, I kind of associated it with Wilson's the leather store, even though the two have nothing to do with each other.

The minute I stepped through the door my jaw hit the floor. Imagine a store like Fogler's or Ben Franklin. Now take all the stuff out of the store and multiply it by 10. Then fit all back into the same store. I felt a little awkward about taking as many pictures as I really wanted to, but I did manage to steal a couple of their ribbon aisle:

The first side...

...and the other side

They also had some on an endcap. They had EVERYTHING at that store in great supply: streamers, Christmas decorations, cards, gift wrap, toys, picture frames, crafts, balloons, school supplies, knick knacks, stickers, household items, candles, candy, puzzles, games, Halloween costumes...

They did not, however, have gold poster board.

I Give Up

I've tried to be sensitive about telling teacher stories. I realize that those of you who do not spend your days with rooms full of children could probably care less...but here's the reality: kids are just funny. As much as I want to entertain you all with some random bizarre tale, the truth is that a lot of the crack-ups in my life these days come from the classroom. So, here's a couple to take with you:

November (at least the first part of it) is tempo month in music class. We've all been experiencing fast and slow music in all sorts of different ways. The four and five year olds have even been learning some tempo vocab - Adagio (slow) and Allegro (fast). And because they are only four and five, we spend the first few minutes of each class reviewing those new words and what they mean. My last class went a little something like this:

Mrs. Palmer: "Who remembers what kinds of sounds we were talking about last time?"

Child with raised hand: "Fast and slow!"

Mrs. Palmer: "That's right! And who remembers our new really big words? Which one means very slowly?"

(Silence)

Mrs. Palmer: "A - da....."

All at the top of their lungs: "Adagio!"

Mrs. Palmer: "Yes! Very good! And which one means really fast?"

(Silence)

Mrs. Palmer: "Al - le..."

One Kid: "An Egg Roll!!!!"



This week, we've just started learning our songs for the Christmas Programs in all the classes. The story of our Christmas Program is about the Littlest Christmas Tree. Without going into all the details of the story, it's basically about the Littlest Pine Tree in the forest, and how it was so small that it couldn't hear or see any of the excitement going on (the baby Jesus being born). So the angels chose the little tree to be their gift bearer to the baby Jesus and that's how the Christmas tree got all it's decorations.

So, I was telling this story to the three year olds, in much greater and more animated detail, and I got to the part where the angels "scooped up the little tree from the forest, and set their gifts in her branches one by one, and then carried the little tree to the manger and gently set it down by the baby Jesus..." at which point one three year old boy interrupted.

"So she could pet Him!"

Ode to Beeker

Okay, this is a two-part crack-up. Let me preface crack-up number two with crack-up number one, Beeker (the Muppet) performing "Ode to Joy:"



I've seen this umpteen times and still laugh out loud at all the subtle details; the way he sets up each camera like in a real home movie, the way he's increasingly alarmed by the timpani playing...hysterical!

So, part two is (dum, da-dum, dum) a teacher story...I'm sorry! I know how annoying it can be to listen to people go on about their students, especially if you're not a teacher, but since this is kind of a piggyback on part one, I'll allow myself a teacher tale.

So I used this today in my four-year-old classes. We have been studying "high" and "low," and today's lesson was about direction of pitch. And since the melodic line to "Ode to Joy" is pretty simple and very linear, it's an easy tune for the kids to follow the direction of the melody. Therefore, part of today's lesson included us singing with Beeker (after having already watched it once to get the giggles out) and using our hands to show the direction of the melody.

A good sign that the kids liked the lesson is that when their classroom teacher comes to pick them up, they chatter to her about all the cool things they did in music. And usually they all talk at once, so you only hear bits and pieces of what they're talking about. Today however, it was very clear what their favorite music activity was, because all the way up the stairs the entire class serenaded their teacher (in miscellaneous keys) "mee, mee, mee, mee, mee, mee....."

Their teacher, I'm sure, had no clue...

Monkey HEAR, monkey do

When we moved here, I expected that everyone around me would be speaking with some sort of southern drawl and I'd be the odd ball. I thought that people would make remarks about my speech the same way I'd comment on someone's southern drawl in Illinois ("Oh, so where are you from? You don't sound like you're from around here...").

To my surprise, quite a few people speak "normally," that is, without the drawl, as this area seems to have attracted a lot of transplants from places like Florida, Ohio, New England (there's a dialect of a different color) and various other states east of Illinois. In fact, of everyone working in Josh's office, there's only one person who did NOT come from out of state. So, I have become pretty comfortable with the idea that my mid-western dialect has not stuck out too badly, as the locals here are pretty used to hearing a variety.

I was humbled today, however, in one of my Kindergarten classes. (Yes, it's a teacher story, but stick with me...) Today we played a new game which required the use of a large mat. I rolled out the mat, explained the rules, and then had the children find their places on the mat. In directing them to find their places, I told them to "go all the way around the mat." And I stressed "around," just a little, using my finger to follow the direction in which I wanted them to walk. I'm sure I was being animated, but I swear I wasn't trying to be funny. But as soon as I said "arouuunnnd," I had about three kids in unison mimic me:

"araaaaaaaaaound!" Like, all nasally and mid-western.

Thanks, guys.

I know they weren't making fun of me, because the only time they do that is when they think I'm being purposely silly. And apparently I naturally sound silly to them. So there ya' go. And I was worried that South Carolina would change the way I talk...

Bathroom Humor

I saw this bumper sticker on a truck the other day and about died. Since I was driving, I couldn't get a picture (I couldn't get close enough. Oh yeah...and that's just not safe...) so I googled the bumper sticker. The picture was copyrighted, so I cheated a little to get it, but if you want this bumper sticker, go to www.zazzle.com. (There. A free plug should get me out of trouble.)

False Advertizing

My favorite style of shirt, and the one I own the most of, is the simple collared, button-down-the front shirt, tapered at the waistline. It has always been the most flattering for my body type. And when I lost weight a couple of years ago, I decided that my money would be better invested in new pants and I could make the shirts last, as big pants could potentially fall off, and big shirts would just be roomy.

Well, two years later, I finally decided that my tried and true shirts were beginning to look sloppy, and have been looking for some sale items to replace the relics in my closet. Lo and behold, about two months ago, I did find a beautiful purple pin-striped shirt in the style as described above for only ten dollars! Here was the problem...after I lost the weight I had made my way into wearing a size small in most cases. Elated by that, I stubbornly refused to buy anything but, no matter how it really fit. And at the time I bought the shirt, I had just moved to Greenville after three months without living with my husband and having just been through the stress of the move. I had gained ten pounds. But I still bought the small, dammit. And didn't wear it for two months because it felt tight. (Duh.)

In the last few weeks I have slowly shed some of the weight I had re-gained, and felt brave enough to try the shirt. It looked great! It felt great! I put on a flattering pare of khaki's to match and pranced off to work, feeling fabulous, showing off my re-acquired waistline to anyone who might notice.

It wasn't until I got home and looked in the mirror that I realized what people may have been staring at. You know how sometimes you miss those little stickers that come attached to your clothing? Yup, I had one of those. Unfortunately it was a size sticker: the letter "S" was affixed to the dead center of my left breast.

Of course.

Yes, it's nice when people notice that my features are smaller, but I certainly don't need a label for people to see that I'm not well endowed.

How do you take YOUR coffee?

A couple of weeks ago when was assigned to work at the Carolina First branch in Greer, I passed a new little retail building on the way to the bank. There were only two spaces in the building. On one side, a Dunkin' Donuts had found a home. On the other side, a liquor store had set up camp. What's so funny is that the liquor store doesn't even have a name of it's own yet, just a little sign in the window to let people know what's goin' on. So with Dunkin' Donuts as the only logo on the building, it looks like they're selling a little bit more than coffee with their pastries!


I like to call it... (wait for it...)



DRUNKIN' DONUTS!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!

(I know, that's aweful.)

WTF?

We were at a party tonight with our church friends and a conversation started about specialty license plates and what it takes to get one in SC. Here, if you don't order a specialty plate, they otherwise are printed as part of a series. For example, my plate came in the "A" series (see the ADD blog). Each series ID consists of three letters and three numbers. Apparently North Carolina prints their non-specialty plates the same way. However, North Carolina ran into a little problem with their series numbers...check out this article:

North Carolina DMV To Replace WTF License Plates For Free

On the Internet people know what WTF stands for but it takes local DMVs a little longer to catch on. Now that they have caught on the North Carolina DMV is offering to change license plates for free.

Officials learned last year the common acronym stands for a vulgar phrase in e-mail and cell phone text messages.

The DMV recently realized the same letters appeared on the sample license plate on its own Web site. Officials are trying to remove the plate from the site.

DMV officials got word of the plates last July when a 60-year-old technology teacher from Fayetteville complained about the plate after her teenage grandchildren clued her in.

DMV officials said they try to keep up with the latest acronyms, and that anyone who has an issue with their plate can contact their local DMV office to request a new one.

There are about 10,000 North Carolina drivers with WTF plates according to the WXII12.com news story. This WTF license plate "problem" appears to be countrywide.

Posted on June 26, 2008 on http://www.driversdrive.com/cgi-bin/ddblog.pl?ddblog=626081

(P.S. For those of you who aren't quite up to date on your text-messaging lingo (Mom), WTF stands for "What the F***?" and if you're not quite sure what the "F***" stands for, gimme a call. )

Adventures in Home Improvement

This situation could have gone one of two ways: cranky or funny. I decided to go with funny.

Last night at about 7:30, Josh and I, for lack of anything better to do, decided to make our weekly trip to Lowes to pick up paint, this time for the hallway we are painting this weekend. A couple of months ago during one of our trips, we stumbled upon a free-standing yard swing that we really liked, but at $150 decided to hold off for a sale. So, we've been checking on this swing week after week for two months, and last week we found it on sale for $80. Halleluia!

It was sold out.

Josh had them call the other stores. No luck. So this week, defeated but hopefull, we checked lawn and garden one more time on the off-chance that some had been shipped in or one had been returned. No swings, but a different treasure awaited us. Before us sat a stack of patio chairs at 50% off, less than $10 a piece, and a patio table, again 50% off, for $35. Coincidently, we had eaten our first meal outside this past week on the patio set that came with the house. The rust had practically flaked into our food as we ate. So we decided that $75 for a table and 4 chairs was a fantastic deal and loaded them onto a cart (or "buggy" as the South Carolineans call it).

A little after 8:00, we picked up our paint, visited the register and headed toward the car.

Hm. The car.

People who are truly handy own handy things and have handy ways of transporting their handy items. For example, my dad has a large truck with a hydrolic lift on the bed. He also has a trailor, a mini-van, and a tractor to use as he needs them for his handy endevors. We own an Eclipse and a Civic. We are not handy. And we left all of our handy family and friends in Illinois, so we're not even handy by association anymore.

We spent a decent amount of time studying the car (Eclipse), imagining possible scenarios for this furniture to fit, like those tests in grade school where they made you flip shapes around in your head. Josh swore up and down that it wasn't going to fit in his little car. I knew that it all was, so we started with the table and he humored me. To his surprise, after adjusting the seats and such, the table squeezed in. Hooray! The chairs, however, would never fit with the table. No problem. I'd wait for him with the chairs while he took the table home and got my car, which is bigger. Good deal. I pulled my "buggy" full of chairs over to an empty pallate in the outdoor garden and had a seat. To kill time I called my sister, who also needed to kill a little time as she was holed up in her hotel room in Maine (she's a pilot for those of you not in-the-know).

We waxed philosophical for a while until Josh returned with my car. Back to our puzzle. Now, you would think that with my car being bigger, the stuff would fit better. However, after another 20 minutes of jamming chair legs into places they don't belong (including out the sunroof), we knew that the Civic was not going to work. The openings were too small. Exasperated, Josh drove off again, this time to unload the table by himself from his car and bring the Eclipse back. I became very disappointed at the thought that we might just have to return the chairs. Then realized that this would not be an option tonight, as Lowes had just closed. It was 9:00. Then I panicked a little. We might have to leave the chairs for dead! And since I had long removed the chairs from the "buggy" to try and load them up, the buggy was gone. So I sat alone for another 20 minutes in the middle of the Lowes parking lot under a streetlight in my new patio chairs and called Ashley again.

Here came Josh and the Eclipse, this time armed with plenty of twine to tie down his hatchback in case it wouldn't close. And, thankfully, after another 10 minutes of maneuvering, we got the chairs to fit! We were even able to close the hatchback, sans twine. There was, however, a catch: Because we had to fold the passenger seat all the way forward, the only way I was getting home last night was to curl up behind the chairs in the "trunk." I felt like an idiot climbing back there as all of the Lowes employees vacated the store for the evening. To make matters worse, Josh closed the lid and then snapped a picture through the window.

We made it home a little after 9:30, people and items in one piece, having identified the exact location of a mysterious grinding over his right rear wheel. And, having ridden as a passenger in my husband's trunk, he may never comment on the condition of my car's interior again. I was FILTHY getting out of that car, thank you very much. But, it was all worth it to be able to relax with a tastey meal in the great outdoors of our backyard without having to worry about contracting tetanus.

You are what you drive?

Getting your car registered here in South Carolina is much more of a process than in Illinois. Just having to deal with the DMV and their limited hours was traumatic enough. But here, not only do you have to register your car, you have to pay property tax on it, plus you have to have all sorts of documentation to prove that you are who you are. I was able to get as far as paying the property tax within the week or two after I moved. But in order to get a SC driver's license I needed a copy of my birth certificate, and, lo and behold, that document evaporated in the move. So, because there is only one driver's license facility open on Saturdays in the entire county of Greenville, I decided to wait until I got my birth certificate in the mail to go back and get both my plate and my license, thus killing the proverbial two birds with one stone.

No big deal, right? But then there's the state of Illinois, from whom I had to request the copy of my birth certificate. To pay for it on line with a credit card, it would have been at my doorstep in about a week - for a total of about $40. But to snail mail a check and a hand-written form would only cost me $10, and I'd have it in 5 weeks. Makes no sense to me why the easier option for everyone is 3 times more expensive, but as I had just purchased a new house, I decided to take the $10 option and wait. This, my friends, is why I have been here for two-and-a-half months and just got my license and plate.

To have special plates made here is extremely expensive, unlike in Illinois where you get to make a request and as long as there's at least one number it's no different than getting regular plates. Therefore, as sad as I was to give them up, I sacrificed my ICTUS1 plates for the pre-printed South Carolina plates. In fact, they hand you your plate right at the counter from the top of a stack of ready-made plates, the numbers painted on instead of stamped in (looks kind of cheap, but whatever). So we got home and Josh excitedly replaced my old plates with my new one, making me an official South Carolinean.

So I've had the plate for a couple of weeks now, and it wasn't until the other night when we were out getting some ice cream that Josh commented on it:

"Hey, is that last letter a "d" or an "o?" he asked.

"I think it's a "d," I replied. "Why?"

And then I took the time to actually pay attention to the ID number that the State of South Carolina bestowed unto me:


Ha, ha. Very funny.

Commandments

Josh and his chorus (Palmetto Statesmen) went to a special combined rehearsal with the Ashville Chorus the other night. As many barbershop choruses do, the Ashville Chorus rehearses in a church. Josh saw this sign in their parking lot and thought it might be blog-worthy. I agreed:

Oh, this is even better.

Okay. I promise I do not sit around in my free time waiting in front of the TV with a camera for the next greatest blog to show up. I also promise that "abc family" is not amongst my top ten most watched channels. But, there is the occasional Saturday morning when flipping through the channels I find an episode of "Full House" on "abc family" and decide to check it out. (It's like a moth to a flame. I know I'll be cringing the whole time at the corney jokes and bad dialogue, but I can't help myself.) Anyway, there I was Saturday morning at 9:00 a.m (traditionally cartoon time for the kiddies) engrossed in the sibling rivalry of D.J., Stephanie, and Michelle, and an ad for the new season of "abc family" original series "Greek" flashed before children's eyes everywhere:


Not only are they promoting frat life, they've made the show's logo none other than the Big Red Beer Cup! That's right, kids. Your new kind of family is your frat buddies. Drink up!

I'm Lovin' It!

Alright...this one's a little naughty, so make sure the kids are out of the room.

Josh has many friends at work, but his closest buddy would be a guy named "Bobby." (We don't want to embarrass him, so we'll just call him "Bobby.") "Bobby" is a super friendly guy in his mid-thirties. He's kind of quiet, and willing to do anything for anyone. He's a newbie to Greenville, just like us, and he's a little shy. Most of his friends are at work, and because he spends most of his time at work, he doesn't socialize much outside of work, and thus, has no girlfriend and hasn't for a while.

Anywho..."Bobby" popped out of the office to grab his lunch today and returned to the office red-faced. Apparently, he walked into McDonald's to find a very attractive woman behind the counter. He placed his order, she rang it up, he patiently waited, and she handed him his bag full of food. And then, upon accepting his bag-o-food, he politely thanked her and told her to "Have a nice lay!" He said he didn't know what he was thinking about or where it came from, but he was too stunned with himself to say anything. He just turned and ran out the door.

Local Ads

Recently Bon Secours St. Francis Hospital here has run a cute series of TV ads, each one promoting a different area of excellence within the Bon Secours St. Francis Team. This one struck me particularly funny, because of the little warning at the end of the ad. Look for the fine print on under the insignia about 13 seconds in:

Thou shalt not steal...or...wait a minute....

So, my grandparents just got back from California after visiting my aunt and uncle and their brand new baby. During their stay, my uncle came home one evening from work and announced that his car had been broken into. Of course he was annoyed and discouraged, and (because this is my family) the family was shocked and horrified.

"I know it was just kids because they took my entire folder of CD's," he told the family. He then added, "But that's okay, because every CD was full of our pastor's sermons."

God works in mysterious ways...

Josh's bedtime story

I have another guest star on my blog today. This morning the first thing out of Josh's mouth was a recap of last night's dream (not the first in a long series of off-the-wall dreams for him), so I told him that this one was definitely blog-worthy:

p.s. I know...it's not a shamrock. But for the purposes of this blog, it's an enhanced shamrock.

"So, I am in my Dad's bathroom. I have to go pee. I notice that the water level is too high: up to the seat. Uh oh! That should be fixed. I continue to go, and notice that the water level is staying the same (whew!) and I start to see a small squid! The ocean had creeped into Illinois, so this was to be expected. Now I notice more animals in the toilet bowl, which had become much bigger. One of the squids had a tiny tiny orange and white cat's head, except for no ears. At this point, the toilet looks like an spherical aquarium. I decide to use a plunger to fix the water level. After an exhaustive search beneath the toilet, I found the plunger and proceeded to start. There was a new problem. It was now a sink and I couldn't remove the little stopper in the drain, so I did what I used to do: open and close the drain repeatedly, with one hand on the stopper and one on the lever: phoom-phoom, phoom-phoom, phoom-phoom, etc. There were some unidentified bathroom cleaners, that I also sprayed in the water. Well, that all must of worked because the drain cleared right away and my sink-toilet was flushed. When I saw the white foam in there, I started to worry that I poisoned the environment. I didn't want to hurt the sea animals, after all."

What kind of family?

Okay...Josh and I just about died yesterday evening. We were eating our dinner like we always do (at the coffee table watching TV instead of at the brand new kitchen table and chairs we just purchased), and after flipping through several channels, we decided on the ABC Family Channel, which was airing "8 Simple Rules." We caught it toward the end of the show, but decided to keep watching, as "That 70's Show" was next in the line-up. I kinda thought about that for a minute...what's so "family" about a group of teenagers sitting around in a basement filled with an unnamed, yet obvious, smokey "substance?" But...whatever. Then we saw this little blip before the show:


It was kind of hard to get a picture, because it goes by so fast. But if you can't read it, it says "The following program contains material that may not be suitable for younger viewers. Parental discretion is advised."

Parental advisory on the family channel? That's like playing Alice Cooper on the Christian radio station.

But the last part is the real punchline: The ABC logo is missing because I couldn't get the picture at the right moment, but it says "ABC family: a new kind of family."

Fabulous!

Quote #1

It's been a bit since I've posted anything, so I thought that, in the interim, I'd leave you with one of my favorite quotes:

"I get my hair cut every two days. After all, your hair is your head-suit."
-Jack Donaghy (Alec Baldwin), 30 Rock

Church Bulletin Fun

Okay. We've all gotten the email forward about the church bulletin bloopers. Every time I get this email, I always wonder if they each really happened somewhere, or if someone made them up to be funny. Well, true or not, I've got a new one to add to the list. We found this in our church bulletin this morning and thought it was too funny. Check out the red boxed-in portion:

Now I know Jack

Since we've been in Greenville, Josh and I have made it a point to try a new restaurant almost every time we go out to eat. (If you're a faithful reader of his blog, you know this and are very familiar with his meals.) Thursday night, neither of us were in the mood to cook and we didn't have a lot of food in the house anyway. But we didn't want to spend a lot of money or time on a nice meal, so we went with fast food. Keeping with our new-restaurant committment, we went to Jack In The Box, as there are none in the Central Illinois area and neither of us had been to one. We prayed over our food that it wouldn't kill us (remember the JITB scandal from back in the day?) and took a bite. If people ever stopped eating at "the Box," it wasn't just because their burgers were murdering people. Yuckkkkkk! And we're not picky people (again, refer to Josh's blog-o-food). The staff was teenagery, there wasn't one clean table or chair, and there were boxes all over the place. However, the event was not a total loss, because they had these hillarious pictures on their walls. I know there's some light reflection issues, but you'll get the idea:

Jack, standing proudly in his high profile office against his mahogany bookcase backdrop.


Breakfast with Jack


Jack gone fishin'


Jack at home in his country estate

Miss Erin's Tea Party

On my lunches I like to take time away from everyone. So a lot of times that means I sit in my car and toast (I luuuuv it!) and do some journaling or Bible study or something. And to avoid questions from my co-workers about how I can sit in my car like that and fry, or why I just don't use the break room, I usually drive to a big parking lot somewhere and set up camp. So today I was on my way to the Walmart parking lot, when I spied a small coffee shop in a nearby mini-mall. Perfect! I pulled over and went inside.

Two people stood behind the counter, a girl, about 16, and a guy, maybe 17 or 18. The guy was obviously in charge in some way, because he asked the girl to take care of me so that he could get some other things done during the lull (I was the only customer to be seen). No problem. All I wanted was iced tea.

$2.46. For straight iced tea? Okay. Whatever.

First the girl handed me a clear plastic cup with a bubble lid. No ice. No straw.

"You have to make it yourself over there," she said, pointing to a counter of coffee and tea accoutrements.

Weird, but okay. I thanked her, thinking that all of that was available on the counter. I turned to find still no ice and no straw. But there was a big vat of tea, and it looked cold in its metal dispenser, and I really didn't need a straw, so I just went with it.

Having lived in "the south" for over a month, I have learned that the tea doesn't always come blank when you order it. So, in my great wisdom, I drained a little tea into my cup first to test it. Sweet, of course.

"Could I maybe get some non-sweetened tea?" I called to her behind the counter.

"Um, I don't think we have any unsweetened tea," she replied, even though I was staring at a box full of fru-fru tea bags proudly displayed on the coffee counter.

"Well," I asked, "can I just use one of these and make my own and just pour it over a cup of ice?"

I had stumped her.

"Uh...okay." She took my cup from me, filled it full of ice, and handed it back to me. Then she stared at me, wondering why I wasn't going back to my seat. Maybe she thought I had planned on rubbing my tea bag on the ice cubes and licking them.

"I'll need a cup of hot water, too." I coached.

"Uh...." At this point the other boy came back into the room to save her. "Where do we get the hot water?"

"From the coffee dispenser," he replied, referring to the red spigot that comes on all industrial coffee makers for just such an occasion.

She studied the machine. "Um, here?" She asked, pointing to some other silver button. The boy walked over to the machine and introduced her to the red spigot. She walked over to the stack of cups and grabbed a clear plastic one.

Oh, dear. I mentally slapped my own forehead.

"Not a plastic one," the boy instructed. The girl didn't understand why, but she got a regular paper coffee cup anyway. She then handed it to the boy to fill, because apparently this entire circus had shut her down.

I managed to sit down, make my tea (it was fabulous - green citrus), and journal for an entire half hour without cracking myself up.

God is calling...

Today I'd like to welcome a very special guest star to my blog. My good friend Lora emailed me yesterday with something completely blog worthy that happened to her, so I asked her if she'd mind sharing it with us. Take it away Lora!

"I took the kids (niece and nephew) to church Saturday evening. Peyton had never been to mass before. Jade has gone before. But Peyton is the one really curious about God and heaven, partly because he’s 4 and partly because his Daddy died and is in heaven. So we’ve had the talk about being quiet and good in church. Peyton loves my rosary book with all the pictures and knows what each picture means. He recognizes some of the same pictures in the stained glass windows and wall hangings and he explains each one in a loud whisper. But the funny thing is……..during the Eucharistic Prayer, when the priest is changing the bread and wine into the body of blood of Christ, the most solemn part of the mass, they ring the bells on the altar three different times. The first two times, this is what happened……

(ring, ring….ring ring) Peyton: 'I’ll get it! Hello?' with his little hand up to his ear."

Awesome.

Now I know my ABC's

Remember from yesterday my comment about finding a new liquor store? Today's story goes along with that comment, but first you'll need some highlights from last week's episode, so let's back up a bit...

Last Saturday night after Josh's show (Palmetto Statesmen Chorus) we both attended the afterglow. I was particularly excited to go to the afterglow, not necessarily to schmooze with chorus folks (strike one...), and not necessarily to hear some really good quartetting (strike two...). Being an experienced afterglow attendee, I expected a free wheeling, party type atmosphere with an array of libations to choose from. And it had been over a month since I had experienced my most favorite beverage in the wide world: THE MARGARITA. However, we arrived at the restaurant to find a Chinese buffet with beverage choices limited to water, tea, and Coke that in reality was probably something like "Tab" (Strike three!) So on the way home I begged Josh to pull off to a Bi-Lo (local large grocery chain) and I'd just pick up a bottle of pre-mixed margie and be on my way. He reluctantly obliged, even though we only had about ten minutes to spare, as in the County of Greenville it is illegal to sell any alcohol on Sundays, and we pulled in at 11:53 p.m. So I'm dashing around the store as they're making last calls from the register, and I can't find anything but aisles and aisles of wine and beer (see yesterday's post). Livid, I stomped back to the car and went margaritaless for another five days.

Flash forward to Thursday night. It's Independence Day Eve, we didn't have to work the next day, and we went on our margie hunt yet again. We tried two other grocery stores (not yet aware of the grocery store rule), two liquor stores, which were closed, and a gas station. Finally, not caring what anyone thought of our motives at this point, Josh just up and asked the gas station attendant, "Is there a place that we can find some liquor?" I about died. Obviously the persuit of anything harder than a spritzer in Greenville was the equivalent of looking for a "naughty lingerie" store. At that point we found out that it's illegal to sell hard alcohol after 7:00 p.m. on any night.

Okay...

So Friday we walked about a mile to the liquor store entitled "ABC Package Store" (?) in the middle of the afternoon thinking that the exercise would do us good (not thinking about having to carry the heavy glass bottles back home, wearing the brown paper bags like a scarlet letter) and finally, finally acquired the elements necessary for the almost perfect margarita (as I can't bring myself to spend $45 a bottle for the "choice" elements). All this drama got Josh to thinking about the county liquor laws, so today he Googled it. And this, my friends, is the punchline to this soliloquy:

1) Grocery stores and gas stations can only sell wine, beer, and non-alcoholic beverages (which is why they sell the mixers, but not the stuff to mix INTO the mixers).
2) Liquor stores must close by 7:00 p.m. and they CANNOT sell beer, wine, or non-alcoholic beverages (which is why they DO NOT sell the mixers to mix with the alcohol).
3) No Sunday sales.

and the best one...
4) All liquor stores must call themselves "ABC Package Store."



Like it's a secret code name. Like people are going to think you're just taking your mail to be properly boxed before sending. Like when people walk into "Brown Bag Video" in Peoria, passers by just think they're picking up "Daddy Daycare" or something. Anywho...

We probably won't have to visit a "Package Store" for a while, as it's not like we toss back shots with every meal, but at least next time we'll know the rules to the game.

Vegas...the Sequel

So after last night's enthusiasm over my new blog, I began to wonder how well this idea was going to work, because, let's face it...it's not every day that something so funny happens that it's worth writing about. Sometimes weeks go by and nothing happens - or we're just too involved in our own lives to pay any attention. This afternoon, however, my worries were laid to rest, as hilarity waited for me right around the corner...literally.

I've been needing a hair cut for about a week now, and since the weather had cooled a little due to the recent rain, I decided that a leisurely stroll to the much acclaimed "Express Clips" would fit the bill nicely. Not knowing exactly where it was, I took a path that was slightly out of the way to get there, which was just fine. I went ahead and took the slightly shorter path home though, and I'm soooooo glad that I did, for two reasons: 1) I found another liquor store. (We're a dry county, see, which means that the grocery stores don't sell anything but wine and beer, and those of you who know me well know that I have a fondness for margies...) 2) On the corner of Fairview Rd. and Harrison Bridge Rd. stood not only a little girl with a blue bucket, but her big brother and her father, this time holding a neon pink sign that read in big black lettering "HELP ME DANCE IN VEGAS!" The movement had spread to my own town! And now the whole family was involved in making their little girl's dreams come true. It's like that Reba McIntyre song "Fancy," where the family is really poor so the mom turns her daughter out as a prostitute.

I held back the giggles and gave her a dollar.

What happens in Vegas...

Okay, so here it is...the inaugural event. So Josh and I decided that we'd brave the crowds and go to Downtown Greenville for the Fourth of July festivities. We'd never been, having just moved here, and since we're single and fabulous (we're a single married couple) we figured that this must be what the fabulous Greenville people do, so we went. And yes, it was very fabulous, complete with trombone bands in courtyards, rock bands in store fronts, restaurants and shoppes open later than usual. We found it to be (for the most part) a very family friendly atmosphere. Lots of young families with strollers and little ones. No fights or drama or unnecessary tomfoolery. Main Street was packed, but overall a lovely scene. So we're shuffling up Main Street packed in a people pod, and we're stopped by a little girl, probably 8 or 9, holding a small, blue, plastic tub containing a little bit of cash. "Would you like to donate some money so that we can go to Vegas and dance?"

Excuse me?

Then about 50 feet down the sidewalk another little girl called out to the crowd, "Help us dance in Vegas!!!"

Okay, the practical person would figure out right away that they are on some sort of little girl dance team and they have a big competition or something out that direction. But, how funny is it to hear eight year olds in Greenville begging for strangers to help them make it to Vegas? I laughed all the way up Main Street.

Intro

Hey, all...

I've been inspired by my husband's blog to start one of my own, so here I go. I tried to keep one a few years ago when I was trying to have a "summer of Erin" fitness push, but that one tanked quickly (surprise, surprise) so it's been a little while for me. I've actually pondered for a few days what in the world I would write about that other people would actually want to read, and then it dawned on me tonight...I see funny stuff happen all the time and have no one really to tell about it. I tell Josh, and he laughs, and the moment passes, and it's done. Lost in the abyss of moments untreasured. So here ya' go - chuckle moments from me to you. All for the low, low price of reading this little corner of the interweb.