Christmas in Dixie. No, really.

Time spent with my family is never dull.  Ever. 

That being said, my Christmas was fairly fabulous.  I expected nothing less, but still.  I’m glad that my expectations for a wonderful holiday with my family were met.

Having worked an early shift at Outback, I was able to arrive at my parents’ house around 10:30.  Generally, they are asleep by 8:00, so imagine my surprise to see all the lights on in the house when I pulled up.  I walked in the back door,  totally confused as to why the Grady house was still hoppin’ so long after the sun had gone down.

It didn’t take me long to notice the massive (and I mean MASSIVE) heaps of raw meat strewn about the kitchen table and counter.  Every level surface in the kitchen was covered in freezer paper, and bits and chunks of dead deer were absolutely everywhere.  Bless my little, German Momma.  She was up to her elbows in venison, cutting, washing, and packing it away.  Many a wife would be proud of her husband for killing such a fine buck. 

Not my Momma. 

I mean, she likes deer meat as much as the next person.  She just isn’t a fan of the packing a cleaning process. 

One time, Daddy killed two deer with one shot.  It was a complete accident, and if two other people hadn’t been with him to verify the story, I would have never believed it.  But it really happened.  Yeah.  Momma was NOT happy for him.  Not even a little bit. 

But aside from the murder of innocent creatures of the forest (that taste SO good), the weekend was uneventful and amazing.  My parents bought me an awesome new TomTom GPS, because they love me, and they know my limitations.  The citizens of Jacksonville should all be sending Momma and Daddy letters of thanks for the disasters that this marvelous piece of equipment will help me avoid.

Speaking of Jacksonville... I absolutely cannot wait to be there.  Holy Smokes.  I’m excited.  I wish with my whole heart that I could work it out to where I could move sooner rather than later.  But, realistically, it will still be April or May before I get to take the biggest step of my adult life.

Who wants to teach me to drive in a big city?

Rush hour in Florence, Alabama stresses me out horribly. Maybe I can hire one of those creepy middle aged men who teaches foreign women how to drive in America to teach me how to drive in Jacksonville?

I have a gut feeling that big city life really will make me feel like a foreigner for the first few months.  For all of you who live in a town bigger than Florence, feel free to throw pointers my way as to how to function in a place that has more than four lanes and offers options other than Walmart for buying groceries.

Goodnight, all.  Goodnight.

And so it goes.

As I mentioned yesterday, I am on a diet.  It is working very well, and I plan on sticking to it.

This diet, however, consists of replacing two meals a day with a smoothie consisting of spinach, fruit, and oatmeal.  When mixed properly, it really is next to impossible to taste the spinach.  Generally, I just feel like I’m drinking a strawberry/banana smoothie with somewhat of an odd texture. 

But, it looks like this.

And that looks like guacamole.  And guacamole looks like goose poop.

If you need to, feel free to go back and reference one of my first blog entries ( here ) and you’ll see why I have issues with foods that are green and creamy. 

This being said, I have had to force myself to somewhat overcome my fear of someone sneakily swapping out my actual food with avian excrement.

It hasn’t been easy.  It’s a process.  I can drink my smoothies without closing my eyes now, and I have even managed to eat a couple of fresh avocados. 

Progress, people.  I’m actually making progress.

So, this morning I wake up late (as usual), take a shower (unfortunately, that part isn’t as usual as it should be), and get ready for work.  Every day, the last thing that I do before I leave the house is make myself a smoothie, pour it in a foam cup, and then rinse out the blender.

It takes me about ten minutes to get to work, and if I time it just right, I’m generally finishing my smoothie right when I pull into the parking lot at the office.  This morning was no different. 

Until I realized that I hadn't turned off the sink before I left.

Sigh.

I’m not sure I have ever driven so fast in my life.  I just knew that as soon as I got back into the house, the whole kitchen would be flooded and that Joey (my roommate) would never speak to me again. 

And I totally would have deserved it.

The gods of renters insurance must have been watching out for me today, because when I frantically rushed in the front door, I wasn’t met with the tidal wave of built up water I had been expecting.  Actually, I was only greeted by the angry looks of Lionel and Jack (Joey’s dog and cat), unhappy I had woken them from their deep slumber on the couch. 

The water, of course, was still blasting at almost full stream. But because Jesus loves me a lot today, the sink was only about a third of the way full, and the water was just circling down the drain, clueless to the potential it had to ruin the kitchen floor. And my life.

Maybe I should look into moving into one of those assisted living homes when I get to Florida.

I still exist.

My blog has been severely neglected over the past week—this I know.

This is not a complaint in any shape, form, or fashion, but I have been busy.  Super, super busy.

But, I’m also happy. 

In July, when he-who-shall-not-be-named left and when my suspicions about certain things were confirmed, I honestly never thought I would be okay again.  Ever.  There was no light at the end of my tunnel, and I thought that my life, as I knew it, was completely over. 

Ha.

When I think of who I was at the beginning of 2011 and compare it to who I am now, it blows my mind.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I would go weeks without laughing. The people who have cared about me and loved me for years, I pushed them as far away as I could.  I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with my life and my marriage (hindsight is 20/20, huh?), so I assumed that the way I felt, that was just real life and I needed to grit my teeth and accept it for what it was.  

Thank God I was horribly mistaken.

I work three jobs.  I hardly have time to breathe, but I’m completely fine financially. Though I may moan and whine a little bit, I look forward to going to work every single day.  That’s real life.

I’m taking care of myself.  After 9 years, I have finally quit smoking.  Within the past two weeks, I have lost over 10 pounds, simply by eating healthy foods and forcing myself to be active.  I still have 20 more pounds to go, but I already look better than I have in years.  I feel so much better about myself, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m starting to regain a little bit of the confidence that was stripped away from me.  That’s real life.

I have best friends again.  Don’t get me wrong… the last year or so of my marriage I still had friends.  But I kept everyone at such a distance, simply because I was so embarrassed about the truth of my situation.  Now, I have again allowed myself to have the type of friends who I can call while sobbing hysterically and having a complete and utter come-apart, and I know that they will still love me and think I’m awesome.  I have the kind of friends who know how inappropriate and crude I can be, and they think it’s totally okay. Actually, they kind of expect it.  Ha.  And most importantly, I have the kind of friends who have absolutely no qualms about calling me out when I put my head up my butt and try to shut everyone out.  That’s real life.

Last May, I was grasping for any straw that I could in order to save my marriage.  I think I knew deep down that I was fighting a losing battle, but for my own peace of mind I had to pour every last ounce of myself into trying to make things work.   This May, I will be living in Florida, 15 minutes from the beach, with my favorite people.  If everything goes as planned, I will be skinny, tan, and ridiculously happy. Ha.  Yes.  Sometimes I can hardly believe it, but that’s real life, too. 

It’s amazing how much can change in a year.  It really, really is. 

And it’s even more amazing that the most painful thing that I have ever experienced has become one of the absolute best things to ever happen to me.

I will try to get back in the habit of blogging more frequently.  Really.  I will.

Until next time folks… good day.

G'day Mate.

Friday evening, I left the office and headed to Walmart.  As I’m sure all of you are completely aware, Walmart this time of year is COMPLETELY insane.  I hurried in, bought the few things that I needed, and hurried right back out. 

On a whim, I bought some beef jerky.  Those dang displays right at the check-out line get me EVERY time. 

While walking to the car, I got SUPER excited about my purchase.  It was the Jack Daniels Steakhouse flavor.  And oh me… I couldn’t wait to tear into that beefy goodness. 

My head was down, and I was rummaging through my bags trying to find the beef jerky as I approached my car. I, evidently, was REALLY pumped about it.  Without paying much attention to anything outside of the contents of my grocery bag, I dug my keys out of my purse, put my key in the lock of the driver side door, and tried to unlock my car. 

And then I heard the scream.

What are the chances of another 2003 dark blue Ford Focus parking SO close to MY 2003 dark blue Ford Focus?  And, what are the chances that I would be so intent on digging in my bags looking for beef jerky that I don’t realize I’m trying to access the wrong vehicle?

And, what are the chances that there would actually be someone sitting inside, in the passenger seat, of the car that I was so intently trying to enter? 

As soon as I realized what was happening, I started apologizing very loudly (I wanted the poor lady in the passenger seat to be able to hear me) and very profusely.  Honestly, it takes a lot for me to get embarrassed.  A whole lot.  But my face was so red that I could feel my ears burning, and I was so flustered that I couldn’t get the keys out of the door. 

After the most awkward 30 seconds of my life, I finally freed the captive keys and started making the trek to MY car.  I turned around to wave apologetically to the poor lady who was sitting in the passenger seat, but she was already on her phone and waving her arms frantically as she told the story of the crazy girl in cowboy boots and a camo hoodie that tried to climb in the car with her and steal all of her money and Christmas cheer.

Really.  Who wants to follow me around with a video camera and just document my life for a month?  I promise you, you’d be able to sell it to some network and make lots and lots of money.

Speaking of money, I recently made the decision to pick up a third job.  I work an 8-5 job, I own a small business, and now, I work at Outback again. 

Yes, yes I do.  Actually, today is my first day back.

I swear, Outback Steakhouse owns a part of my soul.  It’s just a fact of life.

I have worked there on and off since I was about 20 years old and as much as I whine about it and talk about how ridiculous it is that I have a college degree and still wait tables, there is no denying the fact that I love Outback and I love the people with whom I work.  

Plus, every single cent that I make while working there will go to my “I’m moving to Florida” fund. So come in and give me money.  Ha.

My life is good. 

It really, really is.

Baby it's cold outside.

Yet again, I have on no socks.

I’m freezing.

It’s totally my own fault.

I’m not wearing a jacket, either.

And this has nothing to do with me being cold, but I just discovered that my belt is twisted.  Horribly. I also managed to miss two belt loops.  Sigh.

Um, where were those text messages reminding me to dress like an adult that I requested to be sent to my phone this morning?  I, evidently, needed them desperately.

Again.  Sigh.

Today, lots of people have been smiling at me.  I, of course, return the smile, but on the inside I’m totally freaking out.

See, a few weeks after I started working at my current job (administrative assistant/glorified secretary for a law firm that specializes in bankruptcy and divorce law), I had to prepare my first set of legal documents for a client to sign.  I was so, so nervous about making sure that everything went smoothly that  I got to work early and went through the stack of papers about a million times, ensuring that everything was in perfect order.  I even used the little post-it notes that say, “sign here” so that I would be less likely to screw up the process.

The meeting with the client couldn’t have gone any better.

All day, I was metaphorically patting myself on the back. 

I was even convinced that my good mood was contagious, because people I didn’t even know would look at me and break out into huge, cheesy grins.

Later on in the afternoon, I was walking to the local coffee shop to treat myself for my job well done.  I went to get something out of my purse, and I felt something poke me on the inside of my right arm. 

Oh yes.

On the right side of the lower part of my right boob (I feel kind of dirty using the word “boob” in my blog, but what’s a girl to do?), there was a bright yellow “sign here” post-it note.  Considering that I had prepared the documents for the client at about 8:00 that morning, and I decided to make my trek to the coffee shop around 4:00 that evening, I had been sporting this as an accessory (and invitation?) for a grand total of 8 hours.

Needless to say, I have checked myself repeatedly today in attempt to figure out why people are so seemingly pleased to see me.  My belt is now fixed.  My shirt is on correctly.  My fly is zipped.  I don’t have anything in my teeth. I have eye makeup on both eyes.  I don’t have pen on my face.  And I definitely don’t have a “sign here” post-it anywhere on my body.  

I’m thoroughly confused.

Maybe I will soon figure this out.

Until then, have a wonderful weekend, boys and girls. 

It's not just me.

Yesterday morning I got a text message from Alyssa telling me that she had a dream that there was a bat flying around in her room, and she woke herself up thrashing and flailing her arms.  She has a horrible habit of punching people in the face when she sleeps, even when no crazy dreams are involved (yes, I have been a victim of this), so I said a quick prayer of thanks for the fact that she had been sleeping alone at the time of the dream, made fun of her for being crazy, and went on about my day.

I woke up this morning to the following text message, sent at 2:14 a.m. (her time):  So the bat wasn’t a dream, and I’m not a crazy person! Bahaha

Evidently, there really was a bat.  And evidently, this bat stays hidden and quiet until Alyssa goes to sleep at night, and then it comes out to fly haphazardly over her bed and around her room.

She is at home visiting her parents right now, so she does what any grown woman would do in this particular situation… she goes and wakes up her Daddy.  After convincing him that she, indeed, was sane, and that there was, indeed, a bat in her room, they formed a plan of attack.  From what I could gather from our conversation, their approach to the situation was successful and her room is now free from flying creatures of the night.

I’m just glad that I’m not the only person in the world to whom this type of stuff happens. 

Maybe I should start a support group.

I’m almost scared to put this out in the universe, but aside from frantic text messages about bats invading bedrooms, these past few days have been blissfully uneventful.  I think God knew that I needed rest after the events that took place during my Virginia trip, so things have been pretty chill. 

I know.

I probably just ruined my life. 

Somebody please send me a text every morning before I go to work and tell me that I need to put on socks.  Maybe I should set a reminder on my phone to go off at 7:30 every single day that says, “Grady.  You’re 27.  Dress like an adult today.”

Actually, maybe I should set a reminder to go off every morning that says, “Grady.  You’re 27.  Try to actually BE an adult today.” (Yeah. Like that is going to happen.)

My friends, I will close with a joke.

Brace yourselves.  Many of you have seen me tell this in person, and you know how phenomenal it really  is. 

Knock Knock.

Who’s there?

Interrupting starfish.

Interrupting starfi….

You’re welcome.

Good day.

Back in Bama...

Oh me. 

I need 8 hours of sleep a night to function.  Really, I do.  My body hates me and shuts down if I get less than that.

Let me break this down for you:

Wednesday night:            3 hours of sleep

Thursday night:                 5 hours of sleep

Friday night:                       No sleep

Saturday night:                  7 hours of sleep

Last night:                           3 hours of sleep

I totally understand if you quit reading at this point.  Actually, I kind of recommend it.  I’m not sure that I’m alert enough to make any sense.

Highlights of my trip to Virginia (in no particular order):

·         Seeing my best friends. (Okay. I lied.  That one came first because it was the most important.  The rest of these, however, really are in no particular order.)

·         Being a part of Alyssa discovering that it isn’t a good idea to pour boiling grease into a plastic container.

·         Watching Brooke, the most awkward and least social person in the history of the world, ever, interacting with toll booth workers.

·         Seeing the NYC skyline for the first time, without even meaning to.

·         Hearing “Sweet Home Alabama” and feeling like a celebrity because I was the only person in the building actually from Alabama.

·         Looking down at my feet Friday night and realizing, after being at the emergency room for over three hours, that I was wearing one black Tom and one brown Tom.  (For the record, I was not in the emergency room for myself.  I was there waiting with other people for other reasons.  Being at the hospital was definitely not a high point of the trip, but the hilarity of realizing that at the age of 27 I can’t manage to put on matching shoes… that brought some laughs at a much needed time.) 

·         Traveling all over the east coast (five different airports and five flights in all) without any major mishaps.  I got a long talking to about not saying “bomb” or “anthrax” before I left.  I watched my words carefully, and I was successful.

·         Brooke and I saving a whole row of seats in Longwood’s auditorium by sneaking into the theater early and spreading out every single personal possession we had across the entire front row.  We got some ugly looks, but Alyssa’s family had the best view in the house.  And, I got to see Alyssa dance.  Really dance.  I have seen her “dance” when we are out, but seeing her completely in her element, doing what she so clearly loves… I really don’t have words for it. I just know that she is beautiful, and so incredibly talented.

·         Failing miserably at my attempt to utilize the armrest on my flight home.  With my hand still gingerly rested on his leg, I looked deep into the eyes of the shocked older gentleman sitting next to me and said, “Well, this is pleasant.”   

I have every intention of going to bed at about 7:00 tonight.  Hopefully by the time I get around to writing a blog tomorrow, I will have recovered from my lack of sleep enough to make a little bit more sense. 

Hopefully.