Bear In The Square . . .

Just wanted to post a few pics of my weekend in Dahlonega with Mom and Dad (If you are friends with me on Facebook, you've likely already seen a couple of these).  We had a blast listening to bluegrass music in the streets of downtown Dahlonega.  Dahlonega is such a sweet little town.  We enjoyed the music, the food and the B&B.  Can't wait to go back!!!!  Come on - go with me!!!



yeah, yeah, I'm rocking the cleavage - but the pic was cute of
me and Mom so I had to share... 



Mom and Dad in front of the grapes at Frogtown Cellars



Music session on the street corner.  Fabulous!!!





My new dream house.  How freaking beautiful!!!



My Rainbow . . . .

UPDATE:  This is actually a quick update to my "A Chance of Rain" post from last week.  At the end we were pondering why I was meant to walk in the pissin' rain that day.  One thing that goofy "Getting the Life You Love" class Mel and I took did for me was cause me to be more open to and aware of the little signs and answers that are are out there if you are just paying attention.  Well, this weekend I took Mom and Dad to Dahlonega, GA for the Bear on the Square Bluegrass Festival (more about that later) and I was visiting the restroom in a cute little cafe when I looked at the wall in front of me - and found my answer:

The minute I saw this written on the wall I knew it was meant for me.  I don't know who Brooke B. is, but she sure is right.  If you really want the rainbow, you have to deal with the rain.  It's as simple as that.  I also think it was important that I found this answer in Dahlonega - a very strong possibility for my future home!!!!  Hope y'all had a great weekend! I certainly did!!

Amy - - - saying, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain!
kisses

Maybe Your Arm is Skinnier Than Mine

You know I get the flashes, right?  Whether they are actual hot flashes (in anticipation of all my eggs drying up) or just my out of shape self "hulking out" at the least bit of exertion, I really don't know.  Nonetheless, I am in full flash mode first thing in the morning for some reason - and, no matter what the temperature is, as soon as I step foot in the conference room in the morning I am a ball of sweat and have to fan myself with a notepad for a good ten minutes.  After that I am fine and for the rest of the day I freeze from the air conditioner.  But first thing in the morning - it's a scary sight.  The Ladies of the Conference Room are quite used to my early morning flashes.  Well, Contractor Jenny just went to her brother's wedding in the Bahamas and brought us back a present!  Apparently each wedding guest went home with a fancy little fan and she brought one home for each of us!!!! I refuse to believe that Jenny looked at those fans and said to herself "I have to bring one of those to Amy so she will stop fanning herself with a notepad."  So, now during my morning flashes I fan myself in style!! 

On Wednesday I accidentally dropped my "CONTRACTOR" ID badge in the locked shredder bin.  It happened in slow motion - a tragedy unfolding before my very eyes.  The bins are locked and have a very narrow opening on top for you to jimmy your papers in.  Very "top security" around here, you see.  Well, I had a large amount of crap to shove in there so I put my badge down on top and before I could stop it, it slid down in the bin.  I smashed my face up against the opening and just stared down at my badge.  For what seemed like forever, eyes wide open - not breathing - I looked down at my badge.  Panic and embarrassment blossomed immediately.  Then I went into "fight mode."  The "soon-to-be-shredded" papers filled the bin up about half-way, so I thought - "maybe I can reach it."  So I tried to shove my arm into the opening.  I got to about mid-forearm and realized that tactic wasn't going to work.  I actually broke a bit of skin taking my arm back out, but there was no way in hell I was getting stuck in that thing.  I was already embarrassed enough.  I would have gnawed my arm off rather than get stuck in there.  Imagine if I had to yell for help because my arm was suck in the security/shredder bin.   Arm extracted from the opening, I ran back into Conference Room C and in one breath said "IdroppedmybadgeintheshredderbinandneedyourHELP NOW!!!"  They didn't hesitate for a second.  Together Juniata, Jenny and I marched back to the shredder bin.  Juniata smashed her face up against the opening and just stared down at my badge.  Then she tried to shove her arm down in there.  Her arm is a little skinner than mine so I had hope that it would work.  Mostly I was just relieved that I didn't have to handle this situation alone.  I had my fellow contractors - and we were all in "fight mode."  This particular shredder bin is located in the hall just outside the supply closet - so once we realized no body's arm was skinny enough - we knew we were going to have to go into "MacGyver mode." We went into the supply closed and checked out what we had to work with (tape, folders, letter openers, pens, whiteout, etc.).  I went for the letter opener (still in its packaging so that added about an inch of length.  I stuck a blob of tape on the end of the package and shoved my arm back into the opening as far as it would go and aimed for my badge.  It seemed like I was just shy of reaching it so I tried to (painfully) shove my arm in further.  No go.  Jenny was already going for our next alternative - she took a legal size file folder and folded it in half.  I stuck another blob of tape on the end of the folder and headed back for the bin.  I shoved the folder into the opening and aimed for my badge.  You'd be surprised how off your perspective can be when gazing through such an opening - I mean I felt like it was RIGHT THERE, but I hadn't reached it yet.  I gave the folder a little more length - barely grasping it with the tip of my fingers (praying that I don't drop it too).  And finally I reach the badge.  I very gingerly stick the blob of tape on my badge and start pulling up . . . . very, very slowly.  As I got to the top of the opening I very slowly reached in and grabbed my badge!!!  Then we all took a breath and ran back to the conference room.  Not once did anyone come down the hall while all three contractors were mysteriously crowded around the security bin.  We felt powerful and resourceful.  We had worked as a team, together saving me from further embarrassment.  We feel closer now that we have been in battle together - and make no mistake - this was indeed a battle.  And we were VICTORIOUS!!!!!

Hoorah!!

Me and my new "hot flashes fan."  If you look
real close you can see sweat glistening on my forehead.

Full shot of the shredder/security bins

Zoom in of the opening I tried to shove my arm in
(followed by Juniata trying to shove her arm in)
(oddly Jenny never tried to shove her arm in - I guess
she is smarter than us)

A Chance of Rain . . . .

I got caught in the rain on my way back from the post office this afternoon.  It made me think of Ireland.  I had many a rainy walk-about in Ireland, so I wasn’t worried.  Sometimes you just have to give yourself up to nature.  So I did.  I started back towards home.  As I walked, the rain continued to get harder and harder.  And harder.   It became the kind of rain that soaks your hair and starts to drip down into your eyes.  It was the kind where you can’t find a dry spot on your shirt to blot your eyes without wringing a spot out.  It was the kind where your shoes are completely drenched so you no longer care if you step in puddles.  It was the kind where cars drive by and splash you, but it doesn’t matter because there isn’t a dry inch on you, but it’s still nasty when the street juice hits you in the face (Atlanta street juice is gross). It was the kind of rain that makes you want to squeal and run for home – but only if you have a friend with you – and you’re not a mile away.  If you are squealing and running with a friend – you look silly, like you are having fun, and people smile at you.  If you are squealing and running by yourself – you just look psychotic.  It might be OK to run solo – but not squeal and run (or squeal and not run, for that matter – that would be even weirder).  Give it some thought; I think you’ll agree.  Anyway, I finally reached home, stripped down (which is never an easy task when your sodden clothes are plastered to your body), and jump in the shower to get all the Atlanta street juice off of me (bleh!).  Five minutes after I am in the house the sun comes back out and the rain stops.  Just like that.  I am trying to figure out why I was meant to walk home in the pissin’ rain today.  Maybe God was just saying “Move your ass”  or “Look alive”!  Maybe I was just supposed to be reminded that things can get messy for a while, you might even get a little street juice thrown in your face, but it won’t last long.  It never lasts long.  Maybe it’s as simple as “just go with the flow.”  Who knows.  

You might not be able to tell, but I am soaked to the bone!!!

No I did not . . . .

No I did not ACTUALLY pass out in my belly dancing class Wednesday night.  Wouldn't that have been embarrassing!!  I wrote that totally for comedic relief to express how much that class totally kicked my arse.  I mean when the fast part of Proud Mary kicked in it was like someone hit the fast forward button and everyone went flying around the joint.  BUT, since three people have already emailed me asking if I really did pass out, I figured I better post an update so that no one else gets worried (particularly my Mother).  No, if I had actually passed out in my class I would NOT be going back to try again!  Why?  Because I would have crawled in my bed with the covers over my head and stayed there for no fewer than two months.  Maybe forever.  Mortifying!  That would be mortifying!  Anyway, I am not that dedicated to exercise (obviously).  I'm not the type to vomit during exercise and then keep pushing through.  Oh, hell no.  I'm all like "this exercise made me vomit, I must stop and NEVER do it again."  That's pretty much how I roll.  Actually passing out in an exercise class???  That may turn me off of exercise for the rest of my life.  Hell, I had a hard enough time when I was peeing just a little bit on myself when my personal trainer made me jump rope.  That was not fun and I almost dropped out of the class just for that reason.  I mean, why am I doing something that makes me pee on myself.  Made no sense to me.  Alternatively, we just stopped jump roping.  Anyway, have a great weekend!!

Amy

And that's when I lost consciousness . . .

I decided to attend a Shimmy Fit class at the Belly Dancing studio last night.  It is pay-as-you-go (no contracts or monthly fees) and the studio is close to my house - plus, for all of the annoying exercise programs I have attended (and abandoned) over the years, belly dancing is quite fun and it is certainly a conversation starter.  When folk ask where you just came from and you say "ach, just my belly dancing class" folk inevitably say "ohh, fun!" and then all of a sudden you are really cool and mysterious and maybe even a bit, dare I say, sexy.  At least one night a week, anyway.  So I showed up at the class early with the goal of purchasing some of the dancing shoes - remembering that in my other class the meat was painfully removed from the balls of my feet due to all the turning and tip toe work.  Shoes on, bells tied around my waist, I waited for class to start.  Like before, there were all shapes and sizes, all ages of women.  I was feeling pretty proud of myself for actually following through with going to the first class.  The first time is always the hardest for me.  Once I get into a groove, I am usually good to go for a while, but that first class is a struggle.  The instructor moved to the front of the class, acknowledged that there were a few new faces in the crowd (glad I wasn't the only one) and then very directly said "It's important, in my class, to go at your own pace."  Ok, got it.  Go at my own pace.  Then the music started - Tina Turner's Proud Mary.  We started shimmying - rolling - moving, what have you - the pace was good - I was all like "I got this" - "no problem" - then the fast part of Proud Mary started - and that's when I lost consciousness . . . .   Turns out "my pace" is being scraped off the floor.  That's Ok though.  Next week will be easier (if I can move by then) and then even easier after that. 

Pray for me . . . .

Farewell to Clare Bear and Hello to Living a Better Story

This week is Clare’s last week in Conference Room C.  She is taking a temporary contract gig with the GA government so she can try it out and see if it’s something she might like to do permanently.  If she doesn’t like it she will come back to Conference Room C (hopefully).  The fact that she is leaving us sucks monumentally.  She is hilarious, fun and has become a good friend.  Once you sit in a small windowless space with someone day after day for 7 months – you either come to love them or hate them.  We definitely came to love ole Clare Bear.  I will miss hearing about all of her dating adventures.  She said I will have to pick up the reins after she leaves and keep the rest of the Ladies entertained with my dating woes – but I’m not so sure I have the energy for all that.  In all the hubbub of interviewing for the government gig she woke up with a HUGE zit on her chin.  I’m talking borderline boil quality zit here.  She said it reminded her of an episode of the Family Guy where the son had this huge zit that started talking to him (picture below).  We swore in Clare’s zit as an honorary Lady of the Conference Room.  She named it Chewbacca – her reason being that every time she tried to pop it she envisioned it making the Chewbacca growling sound.  Hey, it’s her zit; she can name it what she wants.  I think I would have gone with Esmeralda.  It looked more like an Esmeralda to me.  But I kept my suggestions to myself.  I think naming a zit is a very personal matter.  No matter what she did it just kept getting bigger and bigger.  She even put off getting her government photo ID made because Chewbacca was being so uncooperative.   There are only a handful of folk at the office that actually speak with us – so you can imagine how taken aback Clare was when she was washing up in the bathroom and some lady looked at her and say “hi, how are you?”  She came back into the Conference Room looking shocked and bewildered.  Finally she said “I'm pretty sure some lady in the bathroom just said Hi to my zit.” We all started being super nice to Chewbacca after that.  We never imagined her zit was going to be so popular!!  We figured if Chewbacca was going to help us get recognized in this crowed, we'd better learn all we could - and fast!!  I mean most zits have a full life cycle of maybe two to three days before starting to dwindle so we had a lot to learn in a short period of time!!

Family Guy son - see his zit has a mouth . . . so it can talk to him!



According to Clare - this is (was) her zit.

I finally finished Donald Miller’s “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.”  It isn’t a big book (less than 300 pages actually), but it is a non-fiction book and non-fiction books are always harder for me to read.  I instantly revert back into “Undergrad Brain” and simply refuse to do my reading – in my mind non-fiction is for learning and not for enjoyment (I know, I know – not always the case, but once I am in “Undergrad Brain,” there’s no swaying me).  Why was I so intent on reading the book?  A friend of mine, who also quit her big law job to work as a cheese monger (yeah, I said cheese monger) briefly before becoming a teacher with Teach America, told me that the book literally changed her life.  Strong words, I know.  But, I figured, even if I didn’t have the life changing experience she had, the book HAD to have some valuable information.  She actually told me about the book over a year ago – before I quit my job and before I went to Ireland.  She only told me the premise of the book – which was basically how the author learned to live a better story – as if your life was a movie or a book (a good movie or book, rather – not a shitty movie or book obviously).  I thought, “yeah, I’d like to live a better story too,” but I didn't actually buy the book and read it until now. 

The book starts off by explaining that you would never go see a movie about a guy who worked his whole life so he could buy a Volvo.  No, no you wouldn’t, because that would be boring as crap – and you’d want your money back – or you'd at least want to punch the person in the face who suggested the movie in the first place.  If you wouldn’t even want to see a movie about that story – why the hell would you want to live that story.  Makes sense to me.  I figure to live a better story you have to take some chances, chase some dreams, speak up when you might not have before and risk everything – at least once.  According to Miller, a good story involves a character who overcomes conflict to get what they want.  There is risk.  It has to make the reader wonder “how will it all turn out,” “will it work out in the end” so that they want to keep reading!  It doesn’t have to be your whole life that climaxes into some major finale – no, you can have little stories along the way – each one involving its own risk and conflict.  He also explains that there has to be some “inciting incident” that propels you into a story (i.e. get fired from a job, quitting a job, being forced to sign up for a marathon, selling a home, buying a ring, yadda yadda yadda – you get the picture) – something that takes you out of the comfort of your normal ho hum existence. Otherwise, a story will never happen and you will just work and go home and buy a Volvo.  Or whatever.

Over the past year I have been working to live a better story - whether I knew I was doing it or not.  Who knows how it will all turn out!! Now that I have read the book, living a better story is always on my mind.  I definitely recommend the book!!  It will definitely get you thinking!!