I Can’t Drive 55

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I’ve always held a certain level of superstition about cars. I do not talk badly about my vehicle if I’m within ear shot of its presence. My intelligence tells me that this is ridiculous, but my experience leads me to believe otherwise. On April 15th, I completed my five year commit to the bank. I finally paid off my car. Over the last year, she’s acted a little funny, and I thought it was her anticipation of this. For example, my rear defrost went out, and then the security system tripped the fuel line. This past month, she’s been jerking, and despite what the shop says, I think her transmission is starting to give out. Two weeks ago, I noticed that the window was a little off track and would not close all the way. However, as long as I apply a little pressure to the window while I’m rolling it up, it seems to close just fine. I wasn’t really bothersome anyway, except when I’m driving on the interstate to school.

Well, yesterday afternoon on my way home from school, I was picking my toenails. It’s a nervous habit that I have. I successfully ripped off a section of nail from my third toe on my left foot, rolled down my window, and threw it out. When I rolled up the window, I applied pressure to the glass and POP! I thought that was a little strange. I probably would have left it alone, but it was really windy and loud, and I was driving 75 mph on the interstate. So I tried to roll it down just a tad. It started going down, but it wouldn’t stop. I grabbed the window and tried to hold it up, still driving 75 mph. That didn’t work. The window sucked down into the door and would not come up.

I called the indomitable, and he met me at his parent’s house and took my car to the service station. Unfortunately, they couldn’t fix it until Thursday. However, they did pull the window out of my door so it could be taped up. Now my car forcing me to pay for repairs and endure embarrassment. I guess she found out that I was looking at new cars online about thirty minutes before I left school.

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Indomitable Wooing

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“We never parked and made out. We should do that more often.”

I’ll Keep It To Myself, Thanks.

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While I was home, there was a lady from the Red Cross asking people to donate blood outside of Walmart. These people make me shudder with fear. This is a shocking reaction considering my mother has donated enough platelets and quarts of blood to supply an entire army unit, literally. Over the last few years, she has given all of her blood times three. And she has all the free lapel pins and t-shirts to prove it. If you drop by her house on any given holiday, she will be wearing a “Give Platelets” holiday shirt to match the occasion. Her dedication inspired me during my teen years. One of the highlights of my 17th birthday was knowing that I could finally donate my blood.

However, I found that I wasn’t as brawny as my mother. Every time the Red Cross sucked out my red livelihood, I got lightheaded, my ears began to buzz, and then I passed out. I always managed to give the minimum amount that could be used before I had to stop. In fact, I began to tell the staff before they stuck me, and they usually started me in an incline position with a cold wet towel on my head.

I figured that I could pass out to save someone’s life. The Red Cross staff members were so nice, and they always gave you tasty snacks afterward. I even recruited many of my high school and college friends to give. That changed though.

My freshman year of college the blood mobile set up shop outside of the cafeteria. As I walked by, I knew I wanted to donate but I hadn’t eaten that day. I thought it would be best if I had food in my system. After lunch I made my way to the mobile. Anxiety was building as they tested my iron counts and asked me if I had mad cow disease or ever slept with someone who slept with someone who knew someone with a venereal disease. Once I finally got to my seat, the bus was almost empty. There was only one guy, whose recliner was facing mine and our feet were practically touching. I told the nurse that I get light headed so they leaned me back and tapped my right arm. Everything was fine. I was lightly pulsing my thumb, and I felt it. I told them I was slipping. They gave me a Dixie cup of Sprite. Suddenly I got sweaty and felt nauseous. I vomited into my half full Dixie cup. Then I vomited on my sweater and all over my seat. Then the nurse ran outside the blood mobile, and I watched her vomit all over the ground.

I managed to give enough blood that they didn’t have to completely scrap my visit. I was so thankful that the bus was almost empty. There was only that one guy, whom I didn’t know, or so I thought. I found out the next day that he was in my 8 o’clock class. Every morning I was greeted by his smiling face that reminded me of vomit and Sprite. Needless to say, I don’t give blood any more. I vomit for no man. I figure my mom has given my share anyway.


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Today the indomitable and I attended our first pre-marital counseling session. The state of Tennessee gives you a $60 discount on your marriage licenses if you attend 6 hours of counseling. Of course, if you pay $85 per session, you realize that it doesn’t really save you any money, except for the cost of divorce lawyers. Our visit confirmed that the indomitable has a wonderful family. I’ve decide that, if he ever leaves me, I’m suing him for custody of his parents.

Browsing Amazon

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I’ve been searching the many lighting options for our eat-in kitchen. As I was looking, I stumbled on this jewel. Is it just me, or does this look like a penis lamp?


Low Standards

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Infectious Home

Since I’m still suffering from TLCitis, one of my first priorities with the new home is renovating the kitchen. It will probably be a major overhaul, but rather it will take place in chunks. The first thing up is a new island cabinet. Right now, it looks like this. (Please note that I did not take these pictures.)


I really want to create a more commercial feel in the kitchen. I’ve told people that this type of kitchen would compliment my cooking hobby. However, deep down, I think I like the stainless steel. It’s cold like my heart. With that said, I would like to replace the crappy, poorly placed island with this.


The indomitable agrees with my preferences. Thankfully, he’s hard and cold too.

Makin’ a Livin’ in Arkansas

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The Neighbors

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The first time I brought my ex-husband to my hometown, I took him to my sister’s house. She lives at the end of a dirt road that is littered with homes that belong to her in-laws. As we drove up the driveway, he turned to me and said, “Kelly, we’re driving through a field.” I guess the city boy didn’t know that country people put their new homes in the middle of their land, slowly expanding the road as new family members get married. To his credit, I don’t think they had put a fence up to keep the cows away from the house yet.


Scenes from Arkansas

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I drove the long trip from Nashville to my hometown in Arkansas yesterday. I broke up the eight hour drive by shotting the scenery.