Detroit? Really?

Boo. This is a long way from sweet tea and pleasantries. Is there a worse city in America? Leave your thoughts in the comments.

Another sports post [sorry]

But this is…I don't know. Weird to anyone else? Sorry, I'm at the airport, totally bored, taking advantage of the free Wi-fi, so I figured what the heck. Kind of the mantra for 2009 anyway. In big ways and small ways.

Twitter Nation

Only a Dawg is going to get that headline, but whatever. The rest of you may still read along.

I've had a Twitter account for a while now, but to be honest, I'm not that great at it. Between the blog and the Facebook updates, and the Gmail statuses and Twitter? It's just a lot of clever that I don't have. Plus, I don't really get it. I mean, I don't want the Twitter updates imported to Facebook. And you have to log in to Twitter to read responses and other people's tweets. So, it's basically like FB. Or e-mail. Another something to log in to and read.

But now, since I've seen that my boyfriend is on Twitter, I'll be logging in much more often. Go ahead. I dare you—even you dudes—to not develop a crush on The Mark Richt. Betcha can't do it.

You know it's a bad day when…

Lunch is courtesy of the vending machine. (Julia taught me well.) I had popcorn in mind but there wasn't any. I thought I had a nice balance: diet but with caffeine, salty, and sweet. Vinegar-and-salt chips almost beat out the Cheez-Its, but I'm a Tom's girl, and we didn't have the right brand. I was being ambitious with the Zingers. I could only eat one. Oof. (Yes, could someone please come clean that nasty keyboard? Seriously, the conditions in which I work…)



Really, all I wanted to do was stare out the window. It's distracting. And more interesting. Besides, I look directly out on to The Magazine's garden, and there were people out there working today. I kept zoning out and watching them. (Notice my Etsy.com art in the upper right corner. It's yellow. That's my Mary Tyler Moore painting and it totally says, "You're gonna make it after all." And I read, er, sing it to myself every. single. day.)



Thank goodness for Amy and this trip! I cannot WAIT to get out of here this weekend, and I hear the hotel is awesome! One of my friends is actually going home (to Nashville) Friday night, so while Amy is off working her butt in those jeans, I think I'll hang with ME. And that's all the planning I intend to do for the next three days.

Wa. Hoo.

New Obsession

I am really digging silhouettes lately. I want a framed one to hang…somewhere. But for now, these would tide me over. Loving the shop name—Peppersprouts—too.

Mmmm, Totino's

It looks like a bug burrowed through the bottom of my pizza crust. I was a little disgusted.


But I baked it anyway…


Turned out it tasted just fine. Am I weird? Do you guys eat these?

This is why you don't go to Publix hungry

Look what I did.

I was strong, bypassed the Oreos. But the Danish Wedding Cookies jumped right into my buggy. I had three as an appetizer tonight.

Ditto for those Totino's pizzas. How nasty are those things? I love them. And I usually enjoy my pizza with a handful of Goldfish.

That cereal? I NEVER buy it at Publix because it's more than a dollar over Wal-mart's price. But I should own stock in Post Selects cereal. I can put away a box of Cranberry Almond Crunch. Seven servings per box? Yeah right. It'll be gone Friday.

I threw the celery in to show you I'm not a total loss. Although I eat that covered in peanut butter. And the pretzels? Well those get a healthy scoop of hummus.

And…that Viennetta. What can I say? Good marketing. I mean it promises "A Dessert Experience." And Publix didn't have the right kind of Dove miniature ice-cream bars. I was powerless.

I'll probably put some of that whipped cream on my dessert experience. I allow myself a little Redi-Wip on my first—and only first—cup of coffee. But Publix has been out of fat-free Redi-Wip for weeks now, so I had to get the store brand light kind. It's just…eh. It'll do though.

Let's Dress Amy: UPDATE!

I think it's clear that Amy should wear jeans and heels for her meet-up with HSBF. I'll be sure to check out her butt before she leaves our hotel Saturday night, don't worry.

Bring on Spring [Sports]

I know that I'll never be accused of being a tomboy—please, my big earrings will blind anyone within a 5-mile radius and too much movement will chip my pedicure—but I do love the sports. Not playing them or anything. Lord, honey, no. Sweatin' ain't really my thing. (Unless it's for my beloveds, mmmwah Georgia Dawgs, cheering them on from Section 117, Row 30, Seat 19. That I will sweat for.)

And now? Now we are approaching baseball season. Skip right on over March Madness. (My bracket totally blows. I tumbled fast.) Baseball is my second fave after college football. I watch more pro ball than college. Braves all the way. Hello? I cheered during the Dale Murphy days, and I got to witness the "worst to first" team of the 90s. I tomahawk-chopped my way through high school, politically correct or not.

I was allowed to drive to Atlanta back in high school, the fab four (Amber, Ben, me, Matt), to go to weekend games. Well, actually, one of the boys always drove. (I still can't believe my parents let us do this. I mean, 17, downtown ATL? And not a cellphone among us. One time we stopped at such a sketchy gas station that a police officer reprimanded the boys for leaving us alone in the car while they went inside to use the bathroom. Or maybe it was to buy more water? We always had huge water bottles, the four of us. We were totally obsessed with drinking water. Little teenage freaks.)

Oops, Mom, Pop. Did you guys know that story?

We parked far away—in unlit parking lots—paid some crusty man $8, and walked beneath overpasses to get to that dirty ol' Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium. Then, in college, we skipped class to head over to the shiny new Turner Field for the businessman's special: cheap seats and $30 hot dogs. (I hit the college games, too, because they were free with ID, plus you usually got free ice cream and you could work on your tan too.)

Okay, anyway, I digress. This post is all over the place. That's been a trend lately. I'm out of my medication.

All this leads to the question: Did I ever tell y'all about the big ginormous obsession I had with Mark Lemke, he of the 1990s Braves? Second base? No? I have a hat he wore during a game. Sweat and grass stains and all. I am [still] so proud of that $20 hat. It came with a very official letter of authentication. Ahhh, yeah. The Lemmer. I could recite all kinds of random stats—personal and sports-related. Some I still remember. (Hails from: Utica, New York. Birthday: August 13, 1965. Full name: Mark Alan Lemke. Three triples in the '91 World Series. Switch hitter. Hit a game-winning single in game 3 of that series. Knuckleball pitcher.)

Scary, isn't it?

I religiously clipped every sports article that mentioned his name. I stayed up all the way through extra-inning games. I conned my little brother into handing over the autographed ball my dad got him. (Rickey came home with this before I was a fan. I tend to make these decisions overnight, and I give it my all.) I had piles and piles of Lemke's baseball cards. Glossy photos? Check. I'd beat anyone who came near my stash within an inch of their life. I'd tape 1 p.m. games on my VCR, because I didn't get out of school till 2:30.

I'm gonna say this is the last thing most of you would ever guess about me. I like to keep you people on your toes, okay? Play ball!

Now, Lindsay. Come on.

She must know better than this, right?

I quote: "If people would just leave my personal life alone—because it's really not that interesting—then I could land a great role, but all the sicko fans and the noise is so distracting," she complains to E! News.

Now, Linds (may I?), this is where my Southern mama would slap your face and tell you to take some responsibility for yourself. (Disclaimer: My Southern mama has, in actuality, never slapped my face. But I'm sure she's wanted to. I have a sassy mouth.)

In fact, I'd venture to say that folks are fascinated with your personal life because it is such a train wreck. Has been for quite some time. And, you know what, don't bite the hand that feeds you.

I love how celebrities can just go totally psycho, go to "rehab," and then demand that people stop focusing on The Crazy. Now, as someone who has had much experience with The Crazy, La Lohan needs to realize that, just as The Crazy slowly takes over, it slowly leaves too. And you have to prove to people that it's gone. And not by publicly lambasting other people for your disaster of a life.

You, little sister, aren't helping your case.

And while we're at it, can we get that good red color back in the hair and also? Less gray in your skin. Ew. Personally (because I have a whole mess of them in the summer) I like the freckles.

Lohan continues: "I just want to live the dream that I've worked so hard for since I was 4 years old…I'd like to have my own charity, do work overseas, be in Oscar-nominated films, write movies…"

We're about three coke-snorting trips to the Chateau Marmont bathroom stalls past just wanting to live the dream.

"It would be really nice if people would believe in me. I don't drink, I don't do drugs and I don't lie," adds Lohan, who's been to rehab three times.

Really? Well this is Stephanie, who's been to rehab ZERO times, and I do NOT believe you. Because we tried that. Twice before. And because you've been to rehab three times.

And then, then I got to the end of another article about LL today, and I was reminded, with great sadness, that she is 22 years old. And, bonus!, her mama is crazy.

Causing a stink

This is for real, you guys.

P.S. To the blog patrol: I'm at home for lunch.

My friend and I, we need your help

I'm tagging along with my friend Amy this weekend while she's in Nashville for work. It's mostly a girls' trip with the exception of a VIP, ahem, appointment that Amy has on Saturday night. With HSBF. Good luck figuring that one out. Anyway, we thought we'd solicit opinions.

Amy hasn't seen HSBF in quite some time. She needs to look hot, yet casual. Sophisticated, but not like she tried too hard. Flirty AND breezy but not standoffish.

So. We've narrowed it down. Should Amy wear look-at-my-butt jeans and heels? Or a check-out-those-legs (but just a peek!) skirt-and-casual-boots combo?

No shirt options.

Well, not because she doesn't intend to wear one, but because she's buying a new one*. Going shirtless would not be sophisticated.

And me? Oh, I think I'll get a pedicure Saturday night. Or maybe, if ME makes it to town, we'll go to dinner. Or maybe I'll hide in the bushes and spy on Amy and HSBF. Whatever, I'll have my cell on vibrate in case Amy should need an emergency exit. What are friends for?

Okay, vote to the right!

*If the shirt is found soon, I'll try to get some photos of Amy's options up on the blog. I can't be posting nekkid pictures of Amy though. Someone might report me for questionable content.

Bitter

There's a little tiny part of me who didn't want him to succeed, at least not at first, because I'm mad at Matthew Stafford for leaving Georgia. I really am. If that makes me a bad person, well then, fine. At least I'm big enough to admit it. It also makes me selfish because I could care less about his education. I just wanted one more shot in 2009. So anyway, this article didn't fill me with any sort of pride, just anger. Anger that flushed my cheeks and made me grumble at the computer screen.

And yes, perhaps I should get a grip.

Where I sleep

So, here's my room. (For those of you who have been to the former apartment, it really isn't much different. Although a few things have changed ;) ha.) Not done, obviously, but in better shape than it's ever been. I think I've finally chosen a color but haven't started the painting. That big ol' Dr. Seuss chair was an obstacle, but I like the arrangement now. Sorry I didn't remove the robe or clean off my nightstand, ha ha. It pretty much always looks like that. I'm working on something for above the bed. I have some plates I want there, but I also want to mix in some vintage-print fashion posters that I've found. One day at a time.

*The green-and-black silk pillows on the bed came from the most awesome store somewhere around downtown Nashville. I'm so mad that I absolutely can NOT remember the name of it. I'm going to Nashville with Amy this weekend and I really would like to hit that store again!

Spring=New sandals, tans, and FOOTBALL

I absolutely, 100% just cannot wait for the 2009 Georgia Bulldogs football season. This is, of course, no different than any other year. I can never wait. And right about now, the bug bites me. I suppose it's a combination of the warmer weather and the ticket order form in my mailbox. (Too bad mailing in that form requires an entire paycheck as well. Time to phone the Rickey.) Anyway. It's totally worth it. And to tide me over, just for a bit, is the G-Day game. Love that spring game. Admission is free this year. It's the second-best season in Athens. (Duh, fall is always best.) The hot dog man will be on the street. And this year, I've reconnected with an old college friend who owns a new Irish pub in town AND has free housing for me so I can go on Friday night. Score.

And I'm sorry. Do you see Uga sitting there, his big butt planted on a bag of ice? Yeah. No one can compare to my college mascot. I think even the meanest, most irritating Gator fan will admit that. You can't hate that precious little pup.

Total side note: Next time, I'll totally take a pure-bred white English Bulldog over an engagement ring. Seriously. The dog will set you back more anyway.

Everyone is super excited that the game will be on ESPN this year. Okay, one, I am not. That scares me. I don't like anything that might jinx a decent season, especially a lot of preseason hype. I mean, just look at last year. And two, well, nothing compares to seeing a game in person. Not in Athens, the sweetest college town on the planet. Especially in April, before the 90° games of September are upon us. I can sweat with the best of them, but a runny bulldog tattoo on my cheek does not a pretty Stephanie make. Besides, I'm totally going to Tivo the game and watch it again later.

Before the game I'll do the total alumni thing and shop the packed-out bookstore for new shakers, T-shirts, and other UGA junk I don't need but have to have. And when this game is over, I'm walking across campus and downtown to The Taco Stand. I just cannot explain the feelings I have when I'm in Athens. Am I alone? Does anyone else feel this way about your college town? Probably not. There is no town greater than Athens, Georgia. Sorry. It's a total fact. Ask me. Or Mary Beth.

Yeah, so, UGA 2010 is sounding more and more appealing every. single. day.

Signing off, thanks for indulging my walk down memory lane!

Thank you, dear Lord

The Oreos are gone. Now I just need a friend with a little willpower to accompany me to the grocery store from now on. Otherwise I will surely wind up with a package of full-fat chocolate cream-filled cookies (See? I just can't escape my job!) in my buggy. And the vicious cycle will start all over. Once again.

Stop worrying about my gift

This is what I want for my birthday. Cause he's awesome, and so is this T-shirt. And it'll be perfect when I re-enroll at UGA in 2010. I already have two roommates and a place to live. Tuition and what to study are but two teeny-tiny details. Hello, Taco Stand, Jittery Joe's, and Milledge Ave. Waffle House. Peeps, I'm serious.

Such a cougar…

I know this makes me totally creepy, it does, but I have such a big crush on Jesse McCartney! I mean, please, he's so cute, and he has that precious little song out right now, and oh my Lord. I'm 10 years older than him. Well, nine, actually, but close enough. I think, in this situation, we should round up.

I thought it might make me feel better to be up-front, get this off my chest. But now I just feel like a dirty old lady.

Dear Google

I just love you. So much. Please hire me. Then I can move to California with my friends AND have a cool job. I'm a very hard worker and I don't wear inappropriate clothing to the office.

Please and Amen.

Someone missed the memo

Don't they know that the economy sucks? And, also, if this is such a great deal, why do I keep getting notices. Over and over again. Urging me to participate. Before all the spaces sell out. For the past three years, they've been just-about-to-sell-out. Hmm. Seems like TailGAte Station isn't doing that well. Even though the $4,500 savings is tempting, I think we'll pass this year.

PS: We usually get free parking in a spot much closer to the stadium. Even though the walk back is usually all uphill (inevitable in Athens) and my Dad's legs are 3 feet longer than mine. Whatever. Then I don't feel bad when I eatza all the pizza after the game.

Wow. That was cheesy.

Get it? Ha. Cheesy. I'll stop now.