My Life Is Currently Under Construction

I have not been blogging as much as I feel like I should, not that there is a quota to fill or anything, but soon I will hopefully have more to write about. A lot of changes will hopefully be happening in the next few months. (And for close family and friends, I am not referring to babies.) That's all I can say about it at the moment, but I will keep everyone updated as soon as a few steps are taken in this new direction I am headed in.

Sometimes, I just want to scream that things aren't fair.

Military Spouse Appreciation Day

     I did not know until an hour ago that today is Military Spouse Appreciation Day. My friend Jayde, a fellow Army wife, sent me the most beautiful text, which I will pass on to all my Military sisters here:


     "I am a military wife -- a member of that sisterhood of women who have had the courage to watch their men go into battle and the strength to survive until their return. Our sorority knows no rank, for we earn our membership with a marriage license, traveling over miles, or over nations, to begin a new life with our military husbands. Within days, we turn a barren, echoing building into a home, and though our quarters are inevitably white-walled and unpapered, we decorate with the treasures of our travels, for we shop the markets of the globe. Using hammer and nail, we tack our pictures to the wall, and our roots to the floor as firmly as if we had lived there for a lifetime. We hold a family together by the bootstraps, and raise the best of "brats," instilling in them the motto, "Home is togetherness," whether motel or guest house, apartment or duplex. As military wives we soon realize that the only good in "Good-bye" is the "Hello again." For as salesmen for freedom, our husbands are often on the road, at sea, or in the sky, leaving us behind for a week, a month, an assignment. During separations, we guard the home front, existing until the homecoming. Unlike our civilian counterparts, we measure time, not by years, but by tours -- married at Knox, a baby born at Portsmouth, a special anniversary at Yorktown, a promotion in McDill. We plant trees, and never see them grow tall, work on projects completed long after our departure, and enhance our community for the betterment of those who come after us. We leave a part of ourselves at every stop. Through experience, we have learned to pack a suitcase, a car or hold baggage and live indefinitely from the contents within: and though our fingers are sore from the patches we have sewn and the silver we have shined, our hands are always ready to help those around us. Women of peace, we pray for a world in harmony, for the flag that leads our men into battle will also blanket them in death. Yet we are an optimistic group, thinking of the good and forgetting the bad, cherishing yesterday while anticipating tomorrow. Never rich by monetary standards, our hearts are overflowing with a wealth of experiences common only to those united by the special tradition of military life. We pass on this legacy to every military bride, welcoming her with outstretched arms, with love and friendship, from one sister to another, sharing in the bounty of our unique, fulfilling military way of life." 
Author Unknown


     To all my military sisters, thanks to your husbands, but also, thanks to you!

It's Been a While

     Hello friends. It's been a while since I blogged last. I felt like I needed some sort of topic or theme to the blog, and so far, it's mostly been my opinions on things not really related to my life. But then I realized this is basically an online diary, and it doesn't matter who reads it, I'm just here to gets thoughts out of my head and on a page (or screen.) So to give an update on what's been going on, I'll start with my job.
     I LOVE my job. AND I'm up for a promotion. I have no idea if I will get it, but I have been working my tail off to show that I do deserve it. For me, this promotion is not about the money. I care about the company way too much to stay at the bottom rung. I don't want to talk too much about it and jinx myself, so I'll leave that alone for now, and hopefully I'll find out about it soon. 
     I got a card from my friend, Sara, today. She is a fellow military wife (though she chose Navy. Haha.) She and her family are in Hawaii, which I am so jealous of! She sent a picture of her TWO year old. I cannot believe Miss Reese is that old now! But she's gorgeous, and that's all that matters. :-) And my friend, Brittany, is dating a military man (also Navy; don't these girls know Army is the way to go?!) He's deploying soon, so I grabbed a little something for her and am going to mail it as soon as I'm off work at the same time the post office is open. 
     Cole and I are doing good. He had a birthday this week. He's 26 now, an old man! We both had to work on his birthday, so he took the day after off since I was off, too, and we relaxed, played video games, and ran around town. For his birthday, I got him a cookie cake, XBox points, and an antique Uncle Sam recruiting poster that I got framed for him. Uncle Sam took over Orlando Bloom's spot in the hallway, officially making the hallway Cole's "I Love Me" space. Though I was bummed to have to take down my Pirates of the Caribbean movie poster to make space for his Army stuff, I do have to say the hallway looks awesome now. 
     As far as adjusting to this podunk place, it is getting better. There are still days where I am like "What the heck?" For example, last weekend, I worked all weekend because the appliance store behind our Pier 1 was selling hotdogs for ten cents, so we were busy. Insert eye rolls here. But it isn't all bad. I've found ways to cope. For example, I do things to make me feel like I'm back home. I started buying lavender candles only because then it smells like my mother-in-law's condo (near the beach!) and makes me feel like we're all there, sitting on the front porch, chatting, and wining away. I buy handsoaps for the kitchen that either remind me of my mom or my aunt. I take the back roads when I drive home because then I drive along the river, and it reminds me of driving along the water back home. When I drive to work, I pretend I'm driving down I-26, and I feel a little better. It's the little things. Maybe I can fool myself into thinking I'm back there.
     Speaking of home, though, we did buy tickets to come back for a week! We'll be in Charleston in June! I could not be happier! I'm making sure to save up money so I can buy stuff at Margaritaville and Palmetto Moon to my heart's content. We're going back home for Father's Day and for my best friend, Mandi's, little girl's THIRD birthday. Rylie, when did you get that big?? I remember when Mandi was pregnant, and she called me crying because she wanted a McChicken or some cheesy fiesta potatoes from Taco Bell and either didn't have a dollar or a ride. And I'd go pick her up, and take her to McDonald's or Taco Bell to get the hormonal woman to quit crying. (Hmmm. That reminds me of when a certain Sara would call her husband at work and BEGGGGG him to bring her Cadbury Eggs. Haha!) But I seriously cannot wait to be home and see my family and friends and the wonderful city of Charleston! Brittany, you better be planning a beach day -- just remember Saturday and Sunday are a no-go; I already have plans those days!
     Oh, and my parents and brother came up for Easter. They drove and brought the dogs! Haha. It was so amazing having them here. Jordan is almost as tall as I am! They were so worried they would wear out their welcome because they stayed for four days, but I really wished they could have stayed longer! (And it was great seeing Jack and Porkchop!) It was so fun being out in public with them because my mom has a huge Southern accent, which brings mine out, too, and I never realized that my dad also had a Southern accent until he got up here! Everyone would ask us, "Where are you guys from?" Haha. Mom and I got to go shopping while Dad, Cole, and Jordan did a few mister fix-it jobs around the house. We finally finished decorating the house and hanging window treatments. We went to the Brice Prairie Pub that is down the street from our house (that we take EVERYONE to when they come visit!) My dad got to see the world's largest six pack downtown. We went to the Sweet Shop and the antique store downtown. We took them to Woodman's (one of the grocery stores here) so they could see the TWO LONG AISLES of cheese. Then on Easter, we made a frogmore stew and chilled around the house. I was an absolute mess when they left on Monday, but I am really thankful they made the two day drive safely! 
     That's about it for right now. Today, I went with one of the gals from work to get some lunch, and now I am going to finish up some laundry and get the house clean for the mister! But I promise to blog more, even if it is just about day to day nonsense!

Cake Icing

I'm off work today, which is exciting because I need to clean the house. I was off work yesterday, but it wasn't a house cleaning day. I'll start at the beginning.


I was at work on Monday, and we have to keep our purses in our lockers and keep the lockers locked. I always have my lock with me, but for some reason, I could not find it, so my purse wasn't locked up. I wasn't too concerned because I've seen the other girls not lock theirs up and (stupidly) figured it wouldn't be a problem. Our lockers are right across from the bathroom (that customers can use, too.) I worked 9am to 4pm, and when I went to leave work, I was going to buy something, and I noticed something strange. My checkbook was in the bottom of my purse. I always keep my checkbook in my wallet, so I searched through my purse, and I found my wallet was missing. I immediately panicked. When did I use my wallet last? When did I write a check last? Did I put my checkbook in my wallet? I used a card out of my wallet the night before, and I had written a check two days ago, and I know for a fact that I put it back in my wallet because I'm so proud of the fact that I finally have a wallet that a checkbook fits in, and I was showing Cole. So I searched around the lockers to see if maybe I dropped my wallet somewhere. No avail. 


When I got home, I searched everywhere, my car, Cole's car, and every room in the house. It was not there. Everything in my wallet could be replaced except for a little Mustang symbol that my dad had given me the night I went to pick up my own Mustang. The piece came from a Mustang he had had in the seventies, but the Mustang he had was a 1965, the first year Ford even made the Mustang. It was a irreplaceable piece, and I was heartbroken more about that than anything. All the cards could be turned off (and they were.) There was no cash in my wallet. My license is still an SC license, so I panicked about that for a minute, but I figured out how to order a new one online and have it mailed to my address here, so that was taken care of. But the Mustang thing was gone.


Cole had the idea to go back to Pier 1 and search in and around the dumpsters behind the building. Since there was nothing of value in my wallet, maybe someone just tossed it. So we looked, and we found nothing.


The next morning (yesterday) Cole had a doctor's appointment, and I went with him. On the way, I decided that I would call a few junkyards and look online to try to find another Mustang piece from a '65 model. I was starting to feel better about the situation. But I was still upset. I was calmer when my Jimmy was stolen in 2008. (I apparently have a horrible track record with things like this.) 


After his appointment, I went home to take a nap, and my mom called me. She asked if I had gone to Office Depot the day before. I said no, I hadn't. I was only at work then went straight home. She told me that a man had called her, looking for me. The man had found my wallet in the middle of one of the aisles at Office Depot, googled the address on my DL (my parents' address) and called their house. BRILLIANCE! So I called Office Depot and spoke to the man and explained that my wallet had been stolen and I'd be there in ten minutes to come get it. He was surprised to hear it had been stolen because no cards were missing out of it. 


When I got there, I had my passport on me for a form of ID, but he and the woman that had found it were like, "We know it's you. We were looking for a southern speaking redhead." Haha. So I got my wallet back, and the Mustang piece was still inside. They said they found it the day before between two and four. (I was at work, so obviously someone theifed it...) But all was well. The only things missing from it were four $10 gift cards to Victoria's Secret, but when I had reported the card stolen, VS said they would backdate my rewards certificates from the last four months, which means I should have about $40 toward VS coming to me, so I wasn't too bummed. 


It just really makes me mad that people do things like this. I'd expect it more in North Charleston than here, but at least here, no one tried to use any of my cards. (Once, I left my debit card at Taco Bell in North Chuck, and one of their employees went on a shopping spree at Walmart within an hour that the card was missing. But my bank took care of that.) When things like this happen, I feel used and defiled. Cole bought me a new wallet, and I like it, but it isn't nearly as big as my other wallet, but I don't want to use my old wallet now because it just feels gross. I don't know. I've heard before that you shouldn't hate people, only hate the devil inside them. But that is hard. This was kind of the icing on top of an I hate Wisconsin cake. 


But the wallet is back, my Mustang piece is back and in a safer spot now, and I at least have my DL. But now I have to wait a week for my cards to come in the mail, so unless I'm with Cole, I can't buy anything. But it's alright. Ain't nothin' but a thang.

     Snow is melting. Birds are singing. The sun is shining. Life goes on. The isolation, the frigid feeling that everything I once knew was over, it's vanished. These past few months, I wondered why anyone would choose to live in this desolate, bare land. Everything has been gray and quiet, almost as if life paused, only to begin again now. Maybe people choose to live here because the start of spring really is the start of a new beginning. Coming from a place that had two seasons, cold and summer, seeing the beginning of this new spring feels like a fresh start for all things. I know that it will still take a while to get over being so far away from the only home I've ever known, those I hold dear in my heart, and the ocean that I never wanted to move away from, but today feels like the beginning. We've been here for eight months, though when I stepped out my door today and heard the birds sing and felt the warmth around me, it felt like the first day in another new land. Today was the first time I felt not simply at peace, but happy to be here.

Some days, it really kills me that I'm twelve hundred miles away from my brother, missing out on him growing up.

Country Music: Effective & Affective

There is this local radio station here, CC 106.3, that I find myself listening to more and more. I started listening to it one night on my way home from somewhere (shopping, probably.) It's not too bad. During the day, they play some really old songs that I can't really get into, but at night, they have this radio host that is amazing. People will call in and tell her what's going on in their life and ask her to pick a song that would be perfect for them and the situation they find themselves in. Or they will request a specific song and give a story behind why they are requesting it. And the stories these people share along with the song chosen always makes me misty-eyed, if not all out cry. For example, one man called in and requested Brad Paisley's "Waiting on a Woman" and said it was him and his wife's wedding anniversary told the story of how on the day of their wedding, he was sitting on the couch watching music videos and the video for this song came on, and as soon as it went off, it was his cue to go shower and get ready to go to the church. And from that day on, he was "Waiting on a Woman." That one made me a little misty-eyed. Then this woman called in a few nights ago and told the radio host that it was a big day in her family; her uncle was celebrating thirty years of being sober and asked if the host could please, please, please pick a song that would be a perfect tribute to him. They played Kenny Chesney's "The Good Stuff." I've heard that song a million times over, but listening to it in that context made me bawl like a baby. It's a song about this guy who gets into a fight with his lady and goes to a bar, asks the bartender for the good stuff, and the bartender pours him a glass of milk and talks about the good stuff in life and the moments he had with his wife. It's a really sweet song, and it was so perfect.


I didn't listen to country for the longest time. When I was little, I knew two country songs and my three year old butt would run in the living room, with the whole family gathered, and tell everyone to "hush up" because I was going to sing for them. Then I would proceed to serenade my family in my off key, three year old voice with Wynonna Judd's "No One Else on Earth" or Billy Ray's "Achy Breaky Heart." My family still enjoys making fun of me for this; that, or Nana asks me to sing it again, which at twenty-two, is a little more embarrassing... 


I started listening to country a lot more when I was eighteen. I was at my best friend Mandi's house, and I was experiencing my first breakup and being all dramatic and depressed about it. And Mandi knew the cure. She put on some Joe Nichols with "Brokenheartsville," and that was it for me. Who knew there was a song for everything you could ever possibly go through?? Then she decided that the only way to get over a guy was to find a new one. We were going to go out that night and find some boys. I was in her room, putting my makeup on while she was showering. The radio was blaring in the bathroom, and I heard her scream. She ran into the room in a day-glow lime green towel, screaming that this was exactly what she meant, and she turned the radio in her room on and up! Steve Holy's "Brand New Girlfriend" began blasting through the speakers. To this day, when that song comes on, I have to laugh and call Mandi and make fun of her day-glow green towel.


Since then, country is my go to music. Some songs pump me up and get me energetic to start the day. Some are fantastic for cookin' out and throwin' a few back. And some still tug at my heart strings, especially being in this strange, new land. So I wanted to share some of these songs. Those of you who do not listen to country (or don't claim to), this blog will either be a waste of time for you, or you may walk away wanting to listen to it and see if it's something you could get into. 


Miranda Lambert's "The House That Built Me": This song, though newer, is probably my favorite song right now. Every time I hear it, no matter where I am, it makes me cry. It makes me miss home so much. Even when I did go home for Christmas, I listened to this song with my brother, and I still burst into tears, which confused my fourteen year old little ginger brother. The premise of the song is she is going back to the house that she grew up in and asking the woman who lives there if she can take a look around, all while telling the story of the house and the memories she took from it. Though the house that my parents now live in is not the first house I ever lived in, it is the house I grew up in. This summer, the house will be thirteen years old. My parents had the house built, and my family was the first to live in it. "Momma cut out pictures of houses for years from 'Better Home and Gardens' magazine. Plans were drawn, concrete poured, nail by nail and board by board, Daddy gave life to Momma's dream." That is exactly what this house was. And it kills me to think that one day this house will belong to someone else. And I know that one day, I will visit it and ask to look around. I know some markings my family has left over the years will be covered, but I also know the permanent ones and the ones that I will mention to give proof of my life in that house. Every amazing memory of my childhood and adolescence came from that house and the people inside it. So this song speaks to me in a way that I will remember and cherish forever, the same way my parents' house does.


The Band Perry's "If I Die Young": This song came out last year, and though I'm not sure exactly when, it did start playing on the radio a lot around September, when a friend of mine went on to be with Jesus, though he was only twenty. And though the song is about a girl, it makes me think of Austin. I only knew him for a few years. He lived in my cull-de-sac growing up, and he and his sister, Lindsey, rode with us to school in the car pool. He had a fantastic sense of humor, and there are so many things that he said that when I think of them, instead of tears, I find myself laughing. He was a horrible backseat driver, for example, and one day in the car, he announced that he hated backseat drivers. EVERY SINGLE PERSON in the car turned around and said in unison, "YOU ARE A BACKSEAT DRIVER!" And to this day, it cracks me up. He also introduced me to the music of Weird Al, so now every time I hear an exceptionally funny Weird Al song, I think of him. The timing of this song "If I Die Young" really spoke to me. One line says, "And I'll be wearing white when I come into Your Kingdom..." and a few days after Austin's passing, I had a dream that us car pool kids, me, Jordan, Lindsey, and Chacha, were able to see him and say our goodbyes, and Austin was in a white suit and he hugged us all and said not to cry and that he was Home. Writing this is bringing tears to my eyes yet also a bit of peace. Miss Lisa, if you are reading this, Austin is loved by MANY and thought of ALWAYS.


Zac Brown Band's "Free": On our great trek to this midwestern state, this whole album was on repeat in my car. It's a wonderful album, and this song in particular is one of my favorites. "...Travel all across this land, just me and you. Just as free, free as we'll ever be. Jest as free, free as we'll ever be. Drive until the city lights dissolve into a country sky, just me and you." Cole and I did this. Just the two of us, we traveled over twelve hundred miles together to face the unknown. "And we'll end up hand in hand somewhere down upon the sand, just me and you." One day we will make it back to Charleston, and we will park our butts in the sand and reminisce about this journey we made together, just me and him. It's our Wisconsin song, I like to think, or possibly our Army song, as we don't know where we are bound next.


Miranda Lambert's "Heart Like Mine": Another song by Miss Lambert. She has a way of thinking the same way I do. I grew up with a religious background. For a few short years, I kind of rebelled against it. Though I never lost my faith in God, I veered away from Him. I think it had something to do with my Momma. She is the most God-filled woman that I know, and that is probably one of the things I love the most about her. When I went through my rebellious phase, I mostly rebelled against her (bless her heart for the patience she had tried to have with me!) Now, my Momma is one of my best friends. Everyone told me that one day we'd be able to have a relationship that wasn't just mother-daughter and that it would one day be mother-daughter-friend. I never believed it. But now, I can't imagine anything else. I used to keep everything from her, and now I tell her everything -- I probably even tell her too much! But this song encompasses how I feel about my faith now. I can have a relationship with God, I can have the loads of faith that I do, and I can still be me without worry. I have some habits that are not good ones, but I don't feel judged for them. I drink. I have tattoos. But I am still strong in my beliefs. (This song kind of reminded me of Big and Rich's "Somewhere Between Raising Hell and Amazing Grace," which I actually have a coffee mug with the lyrics to, but Miss Lambert's song was more personal to me.) In one line she says, "Daddy cried when he saw my tattoo but said he loved me anyway..." Now, my dad did not cry when he saw my tattoo; he high-fived me. But Momma? Well, she didn't cry either, but I knew she disapproved of tattoos in general (for anyone other than military men, so Cole's tattoos are okay...?) And she said she loved me anyway. The last stanza followed by the chorus are what make this song mean so much to me. "These are the days that I will remember when my name's called on the roll. He'll meet me with two long stemmed glasses and make a toast to me coming Home. 'Cause I heard Jesus, He drank wine, and I bet we'd get along just fine. He could calm a storm and heal the blind, and I bet He'd understand a heart like mine." This song makes me feel a peace about Jesus and my Momma.


Now there is a whole 'nother genre of country music, if you didn't know. It's patriotic country music. Growing up in a military town and being the wife of a Soldier, you know I love this genre. Toby Keith's "American Soldier" may be over-played in the Army, but it has not lost its meaning on me. And when Cole and I went to the ball in Fayetteville in 2009, I got to see the Army band and chorus preform Big and Rich's "The 8th of November," and it was such a magical experience for me. And though I am not a Dixie Chicks fan, their song "Travelin' Soldier" still makes me misty-eyed. I can't pick just one great patriotic country song; there are too many. I think that a line from Darryl Worley's "I Just Came Back From a War" sums it up pretty well: "I hope you cherish this sweet way of life, and I hope you know that it comes with a price." I love Soldiers; that's why I married one. ;-) Go hug one today!


To wrap it all up, these are just a few of the songs that have helped me celebrate or deal with a lot of things in my life. If you haven't heard them, you should go listen to them. Now, what are some songs that have an affect on you?

Slowly Adjusting: An Update

I am writing this on my phone, so I'm sorry for the lack of control over the font. The mobile version of this site is obnoxious to me, but I'm in bed and do not feel like getting up to grab the laptop. Though I am working on another blog at the moment that I haven't had the time to finish, I realized that I never gave an update on here about what's going on these days.


Most of you know from Facebook that I started working at Pier 1. For those who don't know, I worked at the Pier 1 in North Charleston for three wonderful, hard, crazy, ridiculous, long, short years. I grew up there. I went from dating 90% of the male customer/employee population to finding a wonderful man (outside of the Pier) and getting married. And I grew so close with the wonderful women I worked with. One of my old coworkers, Sam, was a bridesmaid of mine, and most of my other coworkers were in attendance that day. I have an emotional connection, a love, for that store and the women who worked there with me. Did I mention I also worked with my mom? Uh, hello?! I worked with Pammie J. Be jealous.


When we found out we were moving here, I immediately called the store here, not for a job, but to see if they had a piece of furniture in stock. (Once you purchase something over the phone from Pier 1, you have two weeks to pick it up; that's about all the notice we had to move here. A little exaggeration -- we had three weeks notice.) Long story short, I ended up speaking to the manager, Eugene, when I called about the furniture. I told him what was going on, and he told me a bit about the town (and yelled at me for calling him "sir.") He told me that once we moved, to come in and talk to him because he was hiring.


So I did. Our second day in town, I went in to talk with him. And I actually turned down working there. For multiple reasons. I didn't want to take the job right away for fear that the adjustment with the move would be tougher than I anticipated (uh, duh.) I turned it down because I didn't want to go into it, knowing I wouldn't be able to give 100% on the job. I turned it down, too, because I was so scared of snow that although we moved here in July, I wanted to wait and get a job after I learned to drive in the snow; you can bet your behind that I would have called work in December, saying, "It's Leslie. It's snowing. Is the store closed today?... No?... Well, I can't come in.... Why? Because it's snowing!" And that would probably have been the end of my Pier 1 career.


As it so happens, I was in the store shopping last month, and I ran in to Eugene. (No one else will find this strange but me. I shop there a lot. And I NEVER saw him in the store until this particular time, and now that I work there, I wonder if he ever goes home!) Anyway, Eugene is very direct. He simply said, "Why aren't you working for me yet?" I gave him the most honest answer (and the least crazy) and told him I needed that time to adjust and I knew I couldn't make work my top priority. He told me that he was hiring again, and asked if I wanted to work there, and he gave me the weekend to think about it and call him back.


I called him the next day and interviewed that Monday. I did think about it. And this is the conclusion I came to: I'm still adjusting to this place. I'm still not Wisconsin's number one fan, and I may never be. But Pier 1 means a lot to me. Sure, they (we) sell great product and yada, yada, yada. But I have an emotional connection with Pier 1. I grew up there. My mom and half my friends still work there. In a different building halfway across the country, yes. But this new store is my slice of home. It is my constant. If I have nothing to talk about but am dying to hear my momma's voice, I can talk about work with her, and we can talk for hours. I can give this job 100% because it isn't just a job to me; it's the one thing that makes me feel like I'm not a million miles away from everything I've ever known.


I've worked for a few weeks now, and I love it. I'm meeting people and enjoying socializing, and I very much look forward to the new friendships I am making. Everyone is so sweet.


And if any of my girls from North Charleston are reading this, none of you will ever be replaced, and I miss you all like mad. And Michelle, I have no one thus far to bond with over Jimmy Buffet and margaritas :-( and I'm the only one here with a badass car. ;-)

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

     I am very much a fan of Pirates of the Caribbean. I love pirate stories and the Depp, so obviously the love child of these two things would make me happy. I have the original movie poster from the first film mounted and hanging in my hallway (much to the distaste of my interior designing mother) and have seen all three movies countless times. I am a huge fan of Johnny Depp, and though I haven't seen a new Orlando Bloom movie in years (you're cute but stick to LotR and PotC) I enjoy watching this piece of man candy on my tv screen. 

     The first PotC, The Curse of the Black Pearl, was perfect, from my point of view, at least. It had a full story. Sure, it got a little lengthy at times, but beginning to end, it was everything I had hoped for and more. And the soundtrack was to die for. The ending of this first film left enough to the imagination; it could have a sequel, or they could have left well enough alone. But we know that when Jerry Bruckheimer and Disney produce a money-maker, they milk it for what it's worth. And I have no problem with that for the most part. So they gave us Dead Man's Chest and At World's End.

     Now these two films had to be seen together. You could not watch Dead Man's Chest without seeing At World's End because the story was incomplete. And I understand the whole carrying on the story in the next film thing. Lord of the Rings is a perfect example. But the difference, you see, is LotR was made as one story in three films. PotC, on the other hand, had a single good movie but decided it was not enough and made two more films to tell one story, and may I add, it appears they used the same soundtrack from the first movie and just played it on random.

     I may be rambling, but all in all, you can watch just The Curse of the Black Pearl. To watch Dead Man's Chest and At World's End, you must watch them together. And if you are unfamiliar with the PotC story and characters, you need to watch the first film to introduce yourself to the whole pirate gang.

     But I found they are making a fourth film.  And I watched the trailer for this fourth film. 

     Now, I hate to say, I will go see this movie. But I will also say, I am very disappointed. The only major actors they brought back were Depp and Rush. And looking at this trailer, it seems only two supporting characters are returning, Mr. Gibbs (as played by Kevin McNally) and Captain Teague (as played by Keith Richards.) Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley will not be in this film. Thankfully, though, their characters Will and Elizabeth will not be either -- everyone on God's green earth hates the whole same character different actor thing.

     I would like to look at this film as just another chapter in the life of Captain Jack Sparrow. He can't be hanging around with Will and Liz forever. But. And I do mean but. This is going to end one of two ways, and neither will be good. Either the PotC sequels will end here, with a fourth movie that doesn't relate to the first three, or this will be the start of even more PotC sequels featuring either Jack's shenanigans and/or Penelope Cruz.

     That was my rant. I'm heartbroken and intrigued at the same time. We'll see how it pans out.

Dear Wisconsin Driver; The Post-Its Revolution

     We all know how people feel about South Carolina drivers. I've heard that SC statistically has the worst drivers. I believed that for a long time. (Someone think of a day where there was not a wreck at five o'clock on I-26 West heading from Downtown.) But after driving in Wisconsin for a little over six months, I have decided that if that is a statistic, which it may or may not be, as I have never read it but have heard it, then it is false. Wisconsin has horrible drivers. So bad, in fact, that I have decided to start the Post-Its Revolution. 


     The Post-Its Revolution involves me, in my car. I see someone driving like a jerk, and magically, they are headed to where I am headed. Once they park, I take my handy-dandy Post-Its and write them a sweet note, telling them how awesome (or not) their driving is. It also includes these sweet notes being left on people's cars who don't know how to park. I already have the Post-Its in my purse, along with a Sharpie that I picked out at Office Depot, only hours ago. 


     "What will these sweet notes say?" you might wonder. Well, obviously it depends on what the unskilled driver (for lack of a more offensive word) might be doing. But here are a few examples:

• Dear Wisconsin Driver: You may think the rearview mirror was invented for fits and giggles. Its actual intent was to be of help during the reversing process. Look behind you before you back up. If you fail to do so, chances are, my car and I are what you will probably hit.
• Dear Wisconsin Driver: I am not fully knowledgeable of the driving laws in this state, though I am sure that the turn signal is not optional. 
• Dear Wisconsin Driver: I am well aware that there is snow on the ground, covering half of the parking lot. However, there is not snow in this parking space or those around it. Kindly look at the lines. Then park BETWEEN them. Thank you.

     These are just three examples. Examples I thought of on my way home from the mall this evening because all three of these instances occurred in the thirty minutes it took me to get home. I used to leave notes on cars all the time back home. And I think it is time to leave my mark on this town and, at the same time, make this a better place to drive. I encourage you all to do the same, wherever you may be. Together, we will make the world a better place, one snarky Post-It at a time.

It's Fun to Stay at the YMCA

     We joined the Y. We get to do it for free since Cole is a recruiter and we are not affiliated with a post, so he does not have regular PT. The rule is we have to each go at least eight times a month for our membership to remain valid and cost free. We just found this out yesterday. But we signed up just last week, and we are unclear as to whether or not that eight times applies when there are only eight days left in the month. 


     We went and worked out all three days of the weekend last weekend. Then Monday, we didn't go, but I did the elliptical at home for forty minutes and the (don't laugh at me!) shake weight for the recommended six minutes. My body was hurting on Tuesday. But we had to go to the Y. So, being the sneaky couple that we are, we swiped our cards to sign in, then walked around for a few minutes, and walked out. Tonight we are going again, but we are actually going to work out. 


     I hate working out. I hate sweating. I hate pain. But for the first time in my life, I am not working or going to school (though I am looking for jobs and thinking about going back to school - but that's a different post for a different day) so I am not as active as I used to be. Working at Pier 1 was a huge workout, walking around constantly, lifting furniture, unloading truck, etc. Being in school, my classes were always on the opposite side of campus from each other, so there was the quick walk to get where I needed to be at the time I needed to be there. But right now, I can only walk around my house so much. The only thing I am really lifting is laundry baskets. So needless to say, I've gained weight.


     I've never felt skinny. I've always felt like I was bigger. And compared to some of my friends who are a lot shorter than me and wear size 0 jeans, I was bigger. I'm tall and I have curves. I always have. But my curves have gotten a little out of control lately. I've weighed the same thing from the age of seventeen up until Cole and I started dating. My mom always says, "Love makes you fat and sassy!" And it is true. I finally mustered up the courage to weigh myself, and I found I had gained thirty pounds since meeting Cole. I look at old pictures (that I distinctly remember years ago complaining how fat I was in them) and I can't believe how skinny I was in them, how small my arms were, and how small I am not anymore. 


     I'm not fat, and I know that. This post is not about me being superficial and crazy over gaining a single pound. I love my body. But Cole and I have only known each other for two years. Thirty pounds in two years may not seem like much, but what would happen if I gained thirty pounds every two years? Eventually, that would make me extremely overweight and unhealthy. So I just want to be healthier again (and fit into my wardrobe again!) It seems impossible to have my seventeen year old body back, but nothing is impossible, especially since I am only twenty-two. I can do anything. 


     When I picked out the name for this blog, I thought long and hard about it. And it fits. It fits everything about my life. So here is to adjusting not only to the Midwest, but also to working out and living a healthier lifestyle. And hopefully to my body adjusting so it will look like it did when it was seventeen! :-)

It's a Start.

     So. We live in Onalaska, Wisconsin. You've probably never heard of it. He's from Georigia, and I'm from South Carolina, where we met, married, and moved from. We've been here for six months. I still have not adjusted by any means. Well, that may not be true. I've adjusted to snow and what I feel is isolation. I don't have many true friends here, other than my wonderful husband, Cole. And I'm so thankful that he is my best friend. He is the reason we are here, so obviously, if it were not for him, I wouldn't be here. But if it weren't for him, I couldn't make it here. He keeps me grounded and he keeps me happy. Not to say I do not have sad days. But because of him, I find a reason to be happy every day.

     Cole and I have been married for a year and two months. I am not sure if that means we are still newlyweds, but I thoroughly believe you are a newlywed as long as you act like a newlywed. So we will probably be newlyweds until we are eighty-seven and a half. We didn't live together before we got married. We were kind of nomads together, though. He lived with his mom out in Kiawah, and I lived with my parents in North Charleston, which was a good forty-five minutes - an hour away. That's not really that far, but we would stay the weekends at his mom's and the weekdays at my parents' house. I'm not sure that counts as living together, though. So it was a huge adjustment moving out of my parents' house and in with a boy. That one, I've almost completely adjusted to.


     Marriage? That one isn't too hard. Everyone said the first year would be the hardest, but that was a breeze. We make a great team. I tell people I know our marriage will last a lifetime because Cole and I are eternally six years old. So the marriage has been easy so far, but the domestication process, however, has not. I have a hard time doing housework (and an even harder time not calling housework "chores.") For example, right now, I should be taking the clothes out of the laundry machine and putting them in the dryer. Then I need to put Cole's workout clothes in the laundry machine and pray they will be dry by the time I meet him at work at five thirty so we can go to the Y. And I need to put the dishes from the sink into the dishwasher. And vacuum the kitchen. And make up the bed. It's not a lot. I am finding I am just not disciplined in housework. I did chores when I lived with my parents. But I had to be told to do them. I'm not dirty. I'm just not a neat freak. Our house is clean; it just may be a little messy. 


     So I went from living with my parents to getting married, moving out of their house, living with a boy, and moving half way across the country all in less than a year. It's a lot to get used to. But I'm working on it. I'm not writing all this, believing that anyone is going to read it. I'm not that important. But it's off my chest. It's a start. We'll see what happens.