It pains me that we live in a world where nobody's heard of Spearmint.

It’s been one heck of a busy summer. How do I know this? Well, for one…it’s October now. In other words, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and I’m trying to rectify that. So, here a few summer highlights:

June: Drinking around the World Bachelor/Bachelorette Party at Epcot 

As we descended into Orlando, so did Tropical Storm Debby. And while it made for a less-than-pleasant walk around the “world,” it did keep the crowds down…which was a good thing (for the absent crowd’s sake more than ours). J and I stuck to beer and split a drink at many of the countries, but we were in the minority. And by the time we reached Canada, our last stop, all of the outdoor kiosks were closed because of the weather, leaving only Le Cellier, the most sought after reservation in Disney World. And needless to say, they weren’t willing to let a herd of drunken, be-ponchoed morons inside for a quick Molson. Which lead to my favorite quote of the weekend, courtesy of a less-than-sober, less-than-dry guy in our group who had long ago shed his poncho, and who was both bewildered and angry at our Disney-fied friends to the North:

“Canada? F@#%ing CANADA??!!??”

July: We close on our new house. 

On moving day, I took the dog over to the new place so that J could deal with the movers. When we later returned to the old place to tidy up, J had of course already seen the house empty, but I had not. Our conversation as he unlocked the door to our old house for the last time:

J: “Are you ready for the weirdness?”
M: “Are you hitting on me?”

We love our new place, but the neighborhood has only one way in and out. As J put it, “When the Zombie Apocalypse comes, we are totally screwed.”

August: I made a trip to Conyers, GA with the women in my dad’s side of the family to visit my grandma’s hometown. 

I shared a room with my mom, which I hadn’t done in a long time, and we generally had a blast. One night the rest of the group went to tour Stone Mountain, but we decided to stay at the motel and walk to the Outback for dinner. Mom got tipsy on one glass of white zinfandel, and then we walked next door to Cracker Barrel to buy candy and giggle at the baby Halloween costumes in the shop. It was a great night.

September: Relatively quiet. 

Had our first cookout in the new house, dug out Tilly’s Clemson jersey for football season.

On the horizon for October: A new nephew, and my piano makes its journey from NC to here (since we finally have room for it)! And finally, I will refrain from sharing yet another picture of my dog, and instead leave you with this (because I am easy to amuse, and it makes me giggle):
 

Manliness is not all swagger and mountain climbing.

Another year at Brevard’s White Squirrel Festival (I wrote about last year’s adventure here). Believe it or not, people actually come from out of town to attend this thing. The most commonly overheard question is, “Are they albino?” Not something you generally hear a lot. (The answer, as any local will tell you (with a sigh), is “No, they aren’t albino.”)

This year, I had my niece and nephew in tow. They seem to have taken a liking to me, which is nice (most of the time…except for when I need a moment’s peace (or to pee)). A big highlight of any trip to Brevard is O.P. Taylor’s (yes, a Andy Griffith/Mayberry reference) toy store. There was an electric racecar track set up, which my nephew of course ran over to. There was another kid already playing, and when my nephew turned to him first thing and said, “Hey!” I thought, oh good, he’s being friendly with his peers! Turns out, not so much. What followed “Hey!” was: “Can you give Mary a turn?” As if the kid should bow down to the greatness that is “Aunt Mary.” (Needless to say, he gave my nephew a weird look and continued racing.)

Brevard is a weird town. There are (I guess because of the outdoor recreation available) a bunch of crunchy granola types. So you walk around the festival, and there’s the smell of barbeque and funnel cake…but also patchouli. Yoga instructors were walking the streets, trying to sell books. One of them came up to me, of course wearing a long, billowy skirt and Birkenstocks. After I explained that I “wasn’t a yoga person,” she said something along the lines of, “OK, man, cool! Peace.”

At the same time, there are a TON of retirees from all over in Brevard. My mom and I were walking the street, looking for my brother, sister-in-law, niece, and nephew. Mom said, “I just keep waiting for someone to call out, ‘Grandma!’”  Yeah, if a kid yelled for Grandma in Brevard, most of the town’s female inhabitants would turn around expectedly.

The kids really enjoyed watching the boxcar racing (a car modeled after the Titanic was a bit hit), but my favorite moment of the festival? The Transylvania County Tea Party booth. Because, in the 90-degree weather, they had a guy dressed up in a wool Revolutionary War-era uniform.  A public show of dumb-assery…sounds about right to me.

You don't get to touch me, ever!

My friends and I recently took another friend—a new foster parent—out for dinner. I went to pick her up, and so was briefly introduced to the kids. The 5-year old was chatty from the beginning; the 2- year old was a little more apprehensive. She was strapped into a high chair and had nowhere to hide from “the stranger,” so after a few frantic seconds, she ingeniously decided to hide her head inside her own shirt.

Later at the restaurant, I relayed this story to the rest of the group. Now, I have known all of these people for about 20 years…to say they’re familiar with me and my idiosyncrasies would be an understatement. Two of them had similar responses to the “hiding in her own shirt” story: “Well, you understand that feeling!”

Now, to be clear, I was not insulted by these statements in any way…I’ve always been the quiet one, and these friends have years and years of evidence to that fact. But while I’ll never be a social butterfly, it struck me that I don’t really equate myself with the “scared of people” persona anymore. Is it age? Wisdom? (Oh, who am I kidding…most likely, it’s the medication).

Anyway, fast forward a couple of weeks. I’m out with friends at a bar. Jeremy’s a few seats down from me, so it’s not clear that I’m with anybody. A man comes over and starts talking to my friend and me. He has an accent (although I’m not convinced that it was real), so I ask where he’s from. He answers with a (possibly made-up) country I’d not heard of…and at this point, I’m out of polite chitchat. I’m even several beers in at this point, and yet I got nothing. And it’s not like I need to chat this guy up—my husband is three seats away, for God’s sake! So what do I do?

I run away to the bathroom.

I mean, what is up with that? The guy came up to me; I had no reason to try and impress him; and yet I freaked out and ran for the ladies room. In my defense, I had no other choice—I was wearing a V-neck.

There’s really nowhere to hide in a V-neck.

Nobody knows anything about anybody.

So I’ll ignore my 3.5 month absence from this blog, and just jump right into things: J and I recently returned from a trip to Miami. I had never been there before, which is kind of strange since my Dad’s family goes back three generations there. Of course it’s completely different from when my Dad lived there, but here are my first impressions:

1. We were staying in Miami Beach, which reminded me of Vegas in a way. Lots of people with lots of money and ridiculous cars. However, it lacked the self-awareness of Vegas (Vegas seems to understand that it’s tacky and ridiculous…which is part of its charm, if you ask me). So, it was beautiful, with lots of great restaurants and nice hotels, but overall it was…pretty douchy.
2. Miami wouldn’t know a good beer if it bit it on the ass. I understand that no one wants to drink a dark beer when it’s 90 degrees outside, but can’t you do better than Landshark??
3. It was quite cold (for Miami) the first couple of days we were there…but I still think that winter hats and gloves are overkill when it’s 55 degrees outside.
4. I am a pasty, pasty woman. No wonder the Scots-Irish migrated to the WNC mountains instead of Southern Florida.

Naturally, this being my first trip to my Dad’s “homeland,” and me being a huge history geek, I took the opportunity to drag J through historic cemeteries, looking for my great-great grandparents’ graves. (There was also apparently a football game going on in town…but we’re not going to talk about that).

I know from my G-G-Grandparents’ death certificates which cemeteries they were buried in. First off was the Miami City Cemetery, to search for the graves of the Singletons. Unfortunately, the cemetery is actually run by the City, meaning there was no office on site…so, J took one side, I took the other, and we walked it row by row. What did we find?

Nada. Zip. Zilch.

There were so many older gravestones still standing—but for some reason, not the ones I was looking for. I mean, J and I could have missed them. Or maybe my ancestors were just really cheap and picked the economy model. On the bright side, I managed not to step on a fire ant hill, which was my biggest worry.

On to Woodlawn cemetery, where we were greeted by the lovely sight of a modern office. I inquired about my Great-Great-Grandfather Goodwin, and was presented with a map and a section number where he was buried. Again, J and I split up the area and walked the rows. Again, nothing. J returned to the office, asking for more details. He ended up with a plot-by-plot map, complete with plot numbers. We located plot #42…which was a blank space. So here I am, standing on the now-unmarked graves of my great-great-grandparents, looking annoyed (no disrespect intended, Great-Great-Grandma and Grandpa).

Still, I’m keeping everything in perspective: our cemetery wanderings, while probably not the highlight of the trip, were still way, way better than that football game.

If you don't eat them now, they'll be waiting here for you at dinner.

I’m working from my parents’ house this weekend—I’m on the clock from 9-5, then I’m free to visit with them. Which I love, but it’s a little weird working from here…my Mom seems to be regressing. Neither Mom nor Dad really grasps how the “working from home” thing works, so that doesn’t help. Anyway, I’m constantly peppered with questions – Did your boss call yet? Are you busy? Can I fix you a hot breakfast? Do you need a nap? You’d think I was procrastinating on my Algebra homework rather than performing my job!

I went to the coffee shop yesterday morning for a change of scenery. When I got home, my Mom asked if I had eaten. I said yes, but of course she wanted more details…what did I eat? “Oatmeal,” I responded. Her response? “Well, you could have had that at home!” By my mother’s reasoning, one could never eat out unless it was something truly bizarre that would never, ever be found in one’s own kitchen.

After this conversation, my Mom told me that she had done my laundry. I had packed for the whole week! I didn’t need her to do my laundry; she just went into my room and grabbed the pile off of the floor. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I was careful with your blouses.”

Yeah, those “blouses”? $8 t-shirts from Target. But I won’t tell her that (she’d probably think I spent too much, anyway).

I love you, Mommy. (But if you could refrain from running the vacuum during my conference calls, I'd appreciate it.)

Someday the mountain might get 'em, but the law never will

I haven’t been feeling focused enough to write in the blog lately. There was a great-but-quick trip to VA Beach with friends, where we floated in the ocean and came up with some good (and some not-so-good) literature-themed bar names, including:

• Fahrenheit 45Rum
  
• Tess of the Daiquiris
  
• Dom Quixote
  
• Pinot-nocchio
  
• A Cocktail of Two Cities

Oh, I’ve forgotten so many good ones already. We did decide that our bar would have a late night pizza joint next door called “War and Pizza.” On the downside, the name makes absolutely no sense, but on the upside…it makes me giggle.

There was Vancouver, which is freaking gorgeous. So pretty that I even dared to rent a bike…twice. Jeremy and I have decided that if we have a ‘President Perry’ or a ‘President Bachman’ (I threw up in my mouth just typing that), we’re moving to British Columbia, where the hoboes pick up litter and they sell earflap hats shaped like mystical creatures—one day you could be a unicorn, the next day a yeti! It’s a magical place.

One strange moment that I must share from our trip: I have started watching Supernatural this summer, which shoots in Vancouver and features a ’68 Impala. I saw that car on the streets of Vancouver (the actual one—they were setting up a shoot), and Jeremy admitted that it was cool—but not as cool as seeing, say, the General Lee. I held myself back from making cracks about the South Carolina native wanting to see a car with a big Confederate flag on top (OK, OK…I didn’t), and the debate continued over drinks at an Irish pub. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the live entertainment starts playing…wait for it…"The Good ‘Ol Boys," which is…wait for it…the freaking Dukes of Hazzard theme song. The musician couldn’t have overheard us. And so I reluctantly gave Jeremy the ‘win,’ based on cosmic intervention. Which I feel is kind of cheating, but whatever.

And now, there is my new job. Which is awesome. And my new home office, from which I work…every single day. Yes, that’s right…I have a ten second commute. Tilly is not so happy that I spent all of today upstairs in the office, but she stuck close by:

That’s the foot of my office chair you’re seeing. She stuck REALLY close by. Although she did move around a bit:

Those Canadian doctors bandaged me up, put my shoulder back in its socket, and reset my jaw, and they didn't even bill me. Idiots!

So I am in Vancouver, BC with Jeremy, tagging along during his annual “Geek Conference” (computer graphics conference). Yesterday was a loooong day getting here, but after a good night’s sleep and a plate full of fruit (to combat the complete lack of fruits/vegetables and all the beer from yesterday), I set off to explore the area around the hotel.

No exaggeration, there is a coffee shop on practically every corner. It’s also ridiculously clean. I saw one homeless man going through a garbage can, but I also saw him pick up litter off the ground and throw it away. In DC, if a homeless person is going through a garbage can, it’s usually followed by some kind of disgusting bodily function (peeing, spitting, etc.), not random acts of community clean-up!

There are dogs everywhere. I actually saw one dog walking itself – not merely off leash, but with the leash folded up neatly in its own mouth. Most dogs are just off leash completely, however. You can tell they’re Canadian, because they are so freakishly well-behaved and nice.

In short, I’m really looking forward to the next week and a half here. In other news, this will be my last “unemployment adventure” for a while—I start work on August 18. It was the first (and only) job I applied for, and it’s an educational consulting firm with a “virtual office,” meaning—I’m working from the comfort of my own home! Which was the dream all along, really.

I got the news about the job exactly 6 months to the day that I left my old one. A lot happened in those six months, both good and bad, and I feel blessed to have had the time and opportunity to travel a little bit, to say goodbye to a few loved ones, and to (as cheesy as it sounds) find myself again. I’m feeling stronger and happier than I have in quite a while.

Cheesiness aside, my main focus right now is drinking good beer and doing some quality people watching. I’m sure there will be some highly-mockable folks in town, so stay tuned!