Unusual Butt Calls

You're familiar with butt calls--you know, those unintended calls you make on the cell phone without knowing you've dialed. 

They usually occur when you're reaching for something in your purse and you call the last person you've been on the phone with...or when juggling a laptop, papers, cell phone, etc. while trying to close the car door....or when you're eating in the lunchroom at work and you accidentally called mom for like 7 minutes...

You can tell I speak from experience.

Anywho, I don't have the nerve to tell my sister-in-law that she butt called me throughout her labor on Thursday. Okay, it was only twice, but it was still funny. 

Sister-in-law was having a little baby boy and I received 2 butt calls during the process. Couldn't hear any pushing in agony, or anything you enjoy in all of the dramatic television births, but it was made me laugh nonetheless.

Dear Metro PCS:

You've been pretty good to me. I mean where else can I get unlimited everything for 2 people for $110 a month with no contract? Although it's no secret that your phones are really crappy and don't really have the features I want, it's been a good trade off. Technically, I don't really need all those features.

I have to admit though, Metro PCS, that I was pretty annoyed about what happened this weekend when one of our mutual friends in India gave me a fax number instead of a phone number when I called directory assistance.

See, I asked for the charge to be removed and I was literally transferred to 5 different people until I was finally disconnected. This was after I spent 10 minutes talking to an auto-mamma trying to reach a real life Indian.

It's not that I totally love spending time shouting at your sweet sounding auto service.  But when I've said the word "CUSTOMER SERVICE" and "REPRESENTATIVE" and "AGENT" 39 times and keep hearing a female RoboCop say "I'm sorry, I'm having trouble understanding you," a plethora of four letter words start coming out of the woodwork. 

It's not very professional of me, I know, but it's just so frustrating to have you purposely make it difficult to contact a living human being. But again, Metro, I'm getting it now. That's what's up with the cheap rates.

So the Number Three person you transferred me to (after all the auto drama) told me that in order for you to help me, I needed to recite some pass code I created 2 years ago when I first signed up for Metro PCS. Sorry, I didn't remember that. Later, after yet another person helped me cut through 98 layers of security to get the pass code, I was transferred again. 

Number Four argued with me about the charge insisting that it was "only fifty cents."   Wait...did I really hear that?  It must have been a joke.  After all, after investing half of my afternoon meeting all of your associates--both real and computer generated--it's clearly the principle of the whole thing. By the time I was finished, I would have gladly paid YOU fifty cents an hour for the time remaining before I get an iPhone if you would just stop passing me around.

I'm ashamed to admit, Metro, that you won. Basically, you totally wore me out. After speaking briefly with Number Five, holding for what seemed like an eternity and then realizing no one was on the other end of the call, I gave up. 

Thanks for clarifying why the service is so cheap. I appreciate knowing the back story. Now, what would I give to have a recording of my dialogue with your auto service.

Oh Baby, You are Sooo Dramatic! ...Including Online

The Drama Queens in life can keep you talking or keep you laughing...but in the end, frankly, I just find they keep you exhausted. It takes a lot of energy to listen, respond and figure out how to avoid the total infiltration of their movie scripts into your being. They've been loud soldiers in the physical world, and now they've permeated the digital one.

Some people are experts at stirring up controversy, implying ill-intentions with every move from "the enemy," and basically verbalizing every dividing thought to enter their minds--thoughts which can do little to improve the silence. (In making that statement I realize how much I could tone the heck down and listen to my own dialogue--inward and outward--to make sure that my own comments actually improve the silence!  Point taken.)

I enjoyed a panel discussion on Ethics in the Media on Monday, and I found that one of the exceptional issues raised was about the proliferation of commentary that is cleverly posed as fact. Unfortunately, this sort of "news" mixed with opinion from self-made journalists has been propagated famously by semi-news media (fairly, on the far right and left) and by our buddies, bloggers from all corners.

With most bloggers, the opinionated nature of their posts is obvious, and I love them. I love reading and responding to the diversity of opinions. The line is crossed when the "news" bloggers aren't providing truth. That's why I don't read news blogs. (Okay, for the most part I don't. I'll confess, I love a good liberal news blog.)

I am a fan of this age of self-publishing. It sounds silly to frame it this way, but it puts the power back in the hands of the people. Information isn't something you can control anymore, clearly. In less than one sentence and one click, your thought is out there for the masses. It's not just up to the old man on the evening news.

The danger comes in the Drama Queens that disguise themselves as Hard Reporters. When dialogue disguised as truth is nothing more than your very passionate feelings, sheesh, that's scary. It's fine when you know it's opinion; otherwise, we're consumers of crap. That much was well covered during the panel discussion. Glad it was put out there for the audience to digest with lunch. For the most part, we all have the same concern: what can you trust? Who can you trust?

What are your thoughts on the Drama Queens of the world? And fact vs. opinion?

A Changing Doctor's Office

I often consider how absurd it is for me to have the luxury of health insurance and accessibility of medical care and to hate--dread--going to the doctor's office so much. It really is terrible of me.

A good friend I reconnected with this weekend was telling me that she's working in a doctor's office while she's going back to school. Working at the reception area, she is often at the receiving end of complaints from people who are sick, exhausted, frustrated and angry about their loss of mobility, fear over their condition and the whole mix of emotion that comes when you're not well.

True to the fashion she wears each day of life, she sees it as her duty not just to check in the patients as assigned, but to give them a warm and genuine smile, to make conversation to put them at ease, and to embrace them as if she truly cares about the whole person standing there--not just getting them to sign the requisite clipboard necessary for admittance.  So quickly, the same people who came in with rigidity, apprehension, tension and fear start to relax and feel that everything just might be okay.

From one or two simple acts stemming from her caring, she transforms what most people dread into something they can deal with. It separates the factory feel of the clinical setting to a nurturing atmosphere that is the prelude to healing. 

I realized through this conversation that half of my "doctor's office dread" comes from the straight-faced, empty method of meet and greet in most of the practices where I've been seen. You're going in for something deeply personal to you--your body, right?  And most of the time, it's more about the insurance card, the almighty clip board and of course the tons of medical pamphlets that have colorful diagrams of your intestines and heart and reproductive organs. Good GRIEF, would it kill them to put up a freaking happy painting or something?

I'm so proud of my friend. We talked about her feelings that this job is a step down, since she used to have a position with much greater responsibility. But I feel that she's there for a reason. Not just to lift the atmosphere of the place, but to really make a difference in the lives of people who need it. And let's face it, we all need more positivity.

I never underestimate the power of someone's kindness. And when you're sick, facing serious illness, or walking into the uncertainty of what is unknown and scary, a friendly face is more precious than anything I can imagine.  She sets a great example. And we can follow it wherever we work, shop, eat or play.

Becoming My Grandmother

I'll never forget the fateful trip to Greenville, North Carolina for my parents' high school reunion.

I was in elementary school, probably in 6th grade, and that would have placed my brother in 3rd grade. I had been dying to see Dirty Dancing of course. With my parents gone for the evening, it was the perfect opportunity for Grandmother to take us to the movies. The two hours we would spend together with Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey would form the basis for a lifetime of hilarity.

Not believing the "dirty" dancing scenes of Dirty Dancing proved to be the tip of the proverbial iceberg. After that, there were other things to worry about, like sex. The line my grandmother uttered loud enough for everyone in three rows to hear has lived on in stories ever since...

(Say in deep Southern accent) "If there is one more suggestive scene, we are leaving this theater!"

I remember silence on the way home. The next day was filled just as much with talk of who was fat, who never married, etc. as it was filled with Grandmother uttering her disbelief at the inappropriateness of Dirty Dancing. Grandmother wasn't the type to keep bringing something up, but you could tell it continued to bother her.

Fast forward 23 years, and I am becoming my Grandmother.

I literally cannot believe the crap in movies "these days." (Ah yes, another Grandmother phrase.) And it's nothing that enhances the plot. The rampant violence, sex, disgusting language (not used a few times for emphasis, but in literally every other line) are unbearable.  Most of it is senseless--there's literally no reason for it.

We took the D-Man (now 14) with us to see a PG-13 film recently, and among other things I would have chosen not to expose D-Man to, I counted at least 5 references to oral sex in the language. Everyone laughed, and while that may be okay for adult humor, is that something you want to hear your 14 year old laughing at?! I was completely embarrassed and in the spirit of Grandmother almost stood up and shouted, "If there is one more reference to oral sex, we are leaving this theatre!"

I felt like a terrible parent for not checking out the movie more thoroughly before going.  It's not that I'm living in a freaking box. But I am ultra-sensitive to the fact that what is portrayed on television and in movies is perceived as "the norm" and "acceptable" by young audiences. That's how behavior is modeled, and of course, it's what's cool.

He needs to know all about sex, drugs, alcohol, and to a greater extent, he'll be making decisions about those things on a regular basis. But seeing them treated so irreverently in movies doesn't contribute to the cause.

D-Man wants to go to a PG-13 movie with his friend today, and of course I'm thinking "Today's PG-13 is like way beyond what would have been in the last decade's rated R. What the heck is in this film?" 

I just found a website called Parent Previews, and although I'm not interested in someone else's judgement on what's appropriate and what's not, each movie review lists explicit details about each occurrence of violence, sex, reference to sex and language. I love it because it gives me the chance to make the call--not who is rating movies.

If you have a teen or tween at home, it's a great resource. Even if you want to see if you should waste your money on a movie full of crap just for the heck of it (not because it's part of a compelling story), you should check it out too. http://www.parentpreviews.com/

Sadly, I may have never seen Dirty Dancing if Al Gore was quicker to invent the Internet and spread it around virally back in the late '80's. Grandmother would be writing those reviews herself. I'd hate to see her face if she saw what our middle school audiences were exposed to now.

An Ear Is Better Than A Tongue

I was just thinking today about a powerful realization my friend the Coaching Goddess imparted on me several years ago.

Are you ready? Here it is:

Many times the best thing you can do for anyone is listen. Acknowledge that you hear them. Don't try to fix. Don't try to advise. Don't even try to soothe with sweet nothings. Just listen and let them know you hear them and support them.

Your friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances will figure it out. If they want your thoughts, they'll most likely ask. Listening validates that all is as it should be, installs confidence that the person confiding in you can figure it out, and if they can't, it provides the knowledge indirectly that she can turn to you for an answer or an idea.

So before any reader goes and decides that this post is about you and any bone I have to pick with you, it ISN'T. Promise. Was just thinking about this today and how it uncomplicates relationships, makes them more whole and provides empowerment to both parties in a discussion.

Sweet Forgiveness

Compassionate people are blessings. And the receiver of yesterday's 3 mistake-laden e-mails was nothing but a Goddess of Forgiveness today. After calling her begging for mercy, she graciously played it as "not a big deal" and reassured me with something to the effect of "I've done this sort of thing before." 

Sometimes I get so caught up with the pooper people in life that I forget about the good folks, people who are cool enough not to relish in your faults.

The lesson for me is less of "read before sending" since I'm usually fairly articulate and decent at self-editing, but more of "who am I going to give a break today?" 

It's true, you never know what someone is dealing with when you're on the receiving end of a weird e-mail, or when you meet someone for the first time and they mix up a fact or two.  This is a good moment for me to remember this. Although I'm generally pretty forgiving, sometimes--even without meaning to--I can be quick to judge competency.

Note to Gropius: Make a point to return the favor, not just with someone, but with everyone.

BTW: I didn't do anything mean. It was a press release with a missed date, then phone number!

Roots

Three hundred. This is the 300th post on Gropius vs. Eddie. We've come a long way. I thought I'd go back to the roots of good 'ole Gropius, for those of you who think "What the hell kind of name is that?" or "Is this a man or a woman writing this blog?" or "Gropey? Sounds like something not so rated G."

So sit back while I share the fairy tale of Gropius with you.

Once upon a time, a little homeless kitty found its way to a friend of mine who seems to be a perpetual bachelor. I believe he has a fear of commitment, though he might argue on this point. It was so pronounced, this fear of commitment, that after having the kitty for three weeks, knowing he would keep it, he still hadn't named it. Because, you know, once you name a pet, it's yours baby.

The two of us were enjoying an architecture exhibit at a local museum, where we were introduced to the work of Walter Gropius. A German architect who taught at Harvard and founded the Bauhaus school and style of modern architecture, he was an interesting character.

• Me: "Aha! Gropius. It's the perfect name for your cat. It's different. No one can accuse you of being run of the mill. It will spark conversation for sure. And it will force you to do what you know you are doing anyway-keeping him!"
• Fear-Of-Commitment-Man: "Hmm."

This idea, this "Gropius" idea, went on for another few weeks. All the while a set of mutual friends went about trying to convince him that Eddie would be a better name. "You don't want to be calling this cat Gropey when some chick is over at your house," they argued. "They will think you're perverted."

But for me, it's a real question about whether you want to be unique and exciting or regular and boring. You know? Gropius vs. Eddie. So this blog was birthed partly as a joke. The whole idea was that if I could put this much time and effort trying to convince him to name the cat Gropius, I should win for sure.

It's been a while. The cat is now a man (minus the parts that neutering took care of). His name is Gropius. He's odd, but not too odd. He's not your average gentleman. And here we are at post 300.

I've always been more of a dog person so find it odd that, of my own creation, I refer to myself with the same name as Fear-Of-Commitment-Man's cat. Yes, strange indeed. And there you have it.

What's Happened to American Dialogue?

Now Gropius has always been a place for everyone—short and fat (and gaining like me from all of the junk food at work), tall and thin, black and white, liberal and conservative, etc. Especially that last one. I’ve pretty much had it up to my eyeballs with people who have different political views and can’t still get along. What the hell? We’re all people, right?

One of my favorite people at work couldn’t be more different than me when it comes to politics, but I love to talk to him because we challenge each other’s beliefs. We'e both very educated about the issues on which we share dialogue. And although we’ll never convince the other to change, we respect one another and in the end, it’s really just about two people having a passionate conversation. And true to form with Gropius, even if you respectfully disagree with my opinion, your comment is very welcome. I truly appreciate different points of view.

So here’s our new Gropius friend. Someone who just left a comment (on the wrong entry I might add) to a statement I made here:

“Here's the infamous border fence, keeping our America safe from pot, people and...hmmm....wait? What's it for?"

It’s true, some patrolling of our border may be necessary for many reasons, but the fence? I do happen to find it just atrocious. Maybe you feel differently. That’s fine. Isn’t that why we can live in this place called America? If you find yourself hating people who have different political views, I think the problem is yours, my friend.

Here’s what our friend said about my comment above in red:
After all, only marijuana gets smuggled across the Border. Not heroin, cocaine, weapons and terrorists. It is only pot. RIGHT. Wow, you really are ignorant.

To many uneducated liberals, the Border Fence may just be that.

I'm sure you think that most illegal aliens are just coming over to work and find a better life. Unfortunatley, a majority of them have backgrounds that include rape, murder, drug smuggling, and numerous other felonies. But I'm sure that doesnt matter to a left wing douche like you.

Let's just open the country to them. After all, they aren't coming to your neighborhood, are they? The luxury that you have is that you don't really know what happens in these Border towns and you can cry and bitch all you want, but the fact remains that if the Border Patrol wasn't around, your life as you know it would not exist.


Like I said, different opinions are important to me. They help all of us to continue re-thinking and evaluating our stances and enable us to find new solutions. But honestly, Anonymous, if you’re that intelligent, maybe you could discuss the issue intelligently.  You made quite a few assumptions about what I know and don't know. How presumptuous of you. 

“You really know what happens in these border towns?”  Clearly you would be surprised to know all of the research I have done on the issue and having just come from a border town, I've seen a few things for myself.  We just feel a little differently about this. And one of us knows a little more about having an adult conversation. "Douche?"   That's so 80's.

Here's the point:

Isn’t it sad that Anonymous and so many other Americans are losing the ability to talk to one another humanely when they disagree? I was just chatting up this topic with a fellow blogger before Anonymous delighted my morning by proving a point.

My 13 YEAR OLD is more educated in having conversations. If Anonymous was really feeling smart about his comment and conduct, he would have included his name.

One of the biggest opportunities we have here in today's devisive American climate is to be friendly with and/or respectful of those who feel differently about the big issues. It will only benefit you and the country as a whole.  Comments on either side welcome. As long as you're decent.

Taking me right to the limit with teenage interpretations!

Gropius: “Please come in here and get your clothes out of the dryer.” “…Today.”
Teenager Translation: Begin dribbling basketball loudly, inside your room, especially since you’ve been asked 10 billion times not to do it.


Gropius: “I know what you’re saying can’t be right. Tell me the truth before I have to call your teacher.”

Teenager Translation: If you can pull this lie off for another 48 hours, you can at least enjoy the weekend before you get busted on Monday.



Gropius: “I would like you to read now like you’re supposed to be doing.”

Teenager Translation: Emerge from room for the first time in, oh let’s see, 5 minutes. Get a drink and a snack AGAIN, then hang around to ask parents questions about the show they’re watching.



Gropius: “We’ve been doing something together all day. I need some space, you need some space. Please find something quiet to do by yourself.”

Teenager Translation: Bother the dog. Begin talking in an exaggerated poochie-mouthed nausea fest, making her wonder if she’s getting a treat, going for a walk or just plain having her hopes worked up for no reason.

The Haircut

When I came home on Tuesday night after getting my hair hacked off a good 10 inches, this was the response I received:

Husband: "Oh. I like it. I like it. Yeah, I like it." (trying to convince himself) and then..."It's like I get to sleep with a different woman tonight!"

D-man: "You look like Willie Wonka."

Needless to say, I felt so reassured after these lovely interactions.

Social Media Time Warp

Can I just say that things have seemed a little social media weird lately?

I mean, honestly, Facebook, how many times are you going to pull some backwards change on us just to make sure we’re left trying to figure out something new about you? Cute. It’s like a man who you’ve been dating for a few months, who you’re just getting to like and understand. And bam! Then he goes and pulls some stupid crap just to convince you that you really don’t know him (and that he’s a big piss ant). Isn’t this behavior so…last decade?

That reminds me—I’m glad I’m married.

And New Year’s. What about it, you say? A St. Petersburg-based group I started following on Twitter yesterday responded with a direct message wishing me a Happy New Year's Eve. Since I had, in fact, locked myself in my office all day to get some things done, I really started thinking, “My God. Have I been in here for two months?” I actually picked up the phone and called someone (also in the office) just to check.

I changed tactics today and decided to work from home. Interesting way to spend New Year's Day.

I'm Here!

Yes, I'm alive. And it's not that I haven't had things to share on Gropius, it's that the things I've had to share are...ah, shall we say, the type of things that can get me into deep doo doo. Things certain individuals might be able to guess like...

1. Is Gropius talking about ______ [this person/situation]? Yes, I am.
2. Wow, is it possible that Gropius is thinking about taking _____ [drastic action]?
3. Is Gropius considering not giving Halloween candy out this year? Okay yes. I was. I'm just not in the mood. (But of course I folded and invested the mandatory $40 in candy and special treats for the kids I like on our street.)

And yes, things have been rather busy at work. I haven't been doing this:

Where's it at?

I don't think I can be convicted of being a Grammar Nazi solely for my severe agitation with the word "at" placed at the end of a sentence, where it most certainly does not belong. So I have to tell you, I've had it. If I hear one more person say any of the following, I cannot be responsible for the words that emerge from my mouth:

• I can't remember where I left that paper at.
• Now, where were we at?
• Oh vacation! Where are you staying at?

Frankly, (and perhaps arguably), "at" poses the greatest violation of the "no prepositions at the end of a sentence" rule. Most of the time, the "at" is completely superfluous. Take the "at" out of any sentence above, and it's not only just fine without it, but it's far superior (not to mention proper).

No, you won't hear me say "With whom did they ride?" Although technically correct, it's a little stuffy. The use of "at" as the final word, however, is totally uncool. I have noticed some people get so carried away with it, they might as well add it to every sentence.

In short, at is abused at great lengths at attempts to add extra words where they shouldn't be at.

Honestly, Flanders...

...you know how much I love you, so is there a need to test that by making me get out of bed EVERY SINGLE NIGHT to let you out at either 2 a.m., 3:14 a.m., 4:27 a.m. or a combination of these?


It seems that you're on a roll now for timed moonlight pee breaks. And I do feel guilty leaving you at home all alone while we're off at work everyday. Based on your limited car rides with us, I'm sure you believe that we're visiting drive-thrus for McFlurries, walking at county parks and going back and forth to the vet all day long.

But, sweetheart, we're actually working. Which means that my behind is tired when I get home. And I could really use the sleep.

All that said, you are still famous enough to have your old pal Gary mentioned in a quiz about Gropius yesterday. That's right, the sweet peeps at work composed a little test about us as a game and included a question about the growth on your head we removed, fondly named by D-Man. Now how is that for recognition?

The Writer's Bench

Guided by a 3-day scruff, ponytailed man of 36 who had never heard of a blog and doesn't own a television, we made our way through the mangrove tunnels. We came to an opening and pulled our kayaks onto a small strip of beach that wears only several variety of grasses, low lying salt-tolerant vegetation and The Writer's Bench.

In the softening light of evening, what could be more appealing for women fond of the word? A wooden seat for three--only accessible by boat--overlooking the bathwater shallows chocked with hermit crabs, sea urchins and petite starfish.

Oddly, some of us stood around it and one might have propped her feet on its side, but no one sat down. We observed, seeing ourselves outside of the picture of quietude, pining for more time--for a space where creativity does not yield to cell phones, insistent children, mothers who want to inform our wardrobes, and thoughts of small checks in exchange for our soul-words.

The reality of visiting that place frequently enough to satiate the need for calm, neutralizing solitude is slimmer than the single vessels we paddled. But the thought of The Writer's Bench, sitting there in all weather and circumstance, creates a light in the mind we can go without hesitation, guides or bug spray to summon the right sentence for paper or screen.

It's the Small Stuff

You can't always estimate the power of dedicating two minutes of your day to give another person the reassurance that someone cares.

Talking with Rams yesterday, I heard that many of the professionals who go to his gym have lost their jobs. They come in at the same time--what used to be after work--to use the machines and feel the normalizing effect of the old schedule, sweat and physical activity. They're little more than strangers to him, but he makes a conscious effort to stay a bit longer and chat with them to keep building that human connection.

It's pretty demoralizing to have lost your job, after years of hard work and experience, without the ability to scoop up another one. If you have a family, double that feeling of loss and fear.

That deliberate act of reaching out in conversation is comforting, don't you think? It's good to have the awareness that angels of simple kindness are walking amongst us.

Blind Date with a Blogger

Some assert that social media contributes to the emerging trend of "impersonal," driving conversations of all kinds to short blurbs on a public domain instead of face to face at a coffee shop. But without it, many coffee shop conversations would not take place, because you simply would not have met the person sitting opposite of you.

Last night I had a "blind date" of sorts with a blogger. Nope, it wasn't like that. But it was a great exploratory connection of the friendship kind. Let me explain.

I started following the Pine Lakes Redhead blog after catching a few of her comments on Uncommon Blonde. PLRH has become a frequent commenter on Gropius and we've laughed at our similarities. Who is PLRH? Like some of the anonoymous comment posters, I wasn't sure. Didn't even know if she lived here in Sarasota/ Bradentucky.

Strangely, I was approached by a friend at a meeting who reported that her co-worker was discussing a blog that she believed to be mine. I didn't recognize her name but immediately perked up when "Pine Lakes Redhead" was introduced into the conversation.

We started talking about all of us getting together, but only the two blogging girls were available. So we met last night for sushi, and what a delight! We have music, fishing-obsessed husbands, kids of the same age, and a few other more surprising life details in common...and for the love of Pete, we're both redheads. Gropius thoroughly enjoyed herself. Next time, we'll have to introduce the fams.

Very nice to meet you, Pine Lakes Redhead. And thanks for the heads up about snakes. I'll be sure to stage something exciting next time!

The 7-eleven Skirmish

So hubbie has been rather sick over the last few days and finally was able to get up and work yesterday. He was tired, grumpy and not in the mood for a wise ass punk manning the cashier's counter when he went in 7-eleven for a soda. Evidently, the young smarty pants was making comments about each customer in the long line.

When husband's turn came up, the initial hasty debit card swipe revealed "insufficient funds" for the $3 something purchase. The kid says, "Oh yeah, try it again in a few seconds and I'm sure you'll have money magically appear that wasn't there before."

Good thing husband knew he was right about it being a bunk swipe, because he completely freaked out. "Ring up my f@#*! drink and keep your f@#*! mouth shut about the people in line. How the f@#! would you feel if I really didn't have funds to cover $3? Close your punk ass mouth and do your job!!!!!"

Reportedly, the entire line fell silent. As the second (and successful) card swipe occurred, the cashier formed a silent "o" shape with his mouth, speechless for the first time on duty that day.

Now under normal circumstances, I would think "HELLO, bit of an over reaction--not the high road here." But this kid deserved it and husband could have saved his life. There are some crazy folks out there, and you never know when you can set someone off. Take the hit kid, and wise up to your cheekiness. In the meantime, I know that 7-eleven will always offer excitement and the unknown...a sure source for one of a kind people.

Are you a veterinarian?

While hanging out in Greenville, NC last weekend the conversation turned to the discussion of food. We were talking briefly about where to get good meatless meals, and for the first time in many moons, someone in the room turned to me to ask if I was a veterinarian. I felt unprepared since it had been so long since I last received this response. I was proudly able to muster my inward laugh and there was no visible leakage of it to the outside world.

I guess I am a veterinarian. Just like everyday citizens are doctors because they aren't that in to cannibalism.