It is What it Is

Early to Nothing

I don't like being early.

I know lots of people are nuts for it, and any advice on job-searching always begins with "be early for the interview," but personally, I've never seen the point. After all, what's the best thing that's going to happen if I'm early? I'll get to wait in a non-descript room with outdated magazines, other people will know that I'm early and hopefully all events/appointments will begin on time?

Eh, I say. Events/appointments will also begin on time if I'm ON TIME, so what does this early nonsense really accomplish? (I never said I was a fan of being late as opposed to being early. For once, I'm opting for the non-excess, middle road of simple punctuality.) And if I'm early and my appointment begins early, I got nothing from this exchange that wouldn't also happen if I was on time.

Also, it seems that being early always involves waiting, and I hate waiting. I don't want to leave my house 15 minutes early to read a Birmingham Parent from 2006 about summer camp tips for teens when I could stay at my house for those 15 minutes and throw a load of clothes in the wash or catch the end of Cheaters. If I'm going to be wasting time anywhere, I want it to be at home and not in a corporate lobby.

People say, "What if there's traffic? What if you have trouble parking? Being early can prevent being late."

Predator at the Door

I won't lie to you. As soon as I found a boyfriend, I stopped killing bugs. Sure, I could still kill my own bugs (by "kill," I actually mean "draft a carefully worded detente understood by me and the bug granting the bug all rights of access to my home and yard provided said bug will not take up residence inside my shoes, fall on my head in the middle of the night or appear in glasses of red wine"). But I don't want to kill bugs, and I don't have to now. I see it as one of the best perks to dating.

But, every so often, I stumble on a bug that I can't even ask the Significant Other [SO] to kill. Pictured is one such bug.

This is the actual spider that spun a web outside my back door (while I won't ask the SO to kill all bugs, I will ask him to photograph them). The spider is huge. His butt is bulbous (which I interpret as being full of poison -- I CAN do science). And he has very long legs leading me to believe that he could outrun me if necessary (not really a challenge, but still).

The Truth About Cats and Dogs

As we all know, I love my dog. (Hell, she even has her own blog.) She is my baby, my buddy and my near-constant companion. Since I love my dog so much, I never want her to feel neglected, dejected or put out. As crazy as it may sound, I don't want her to ever think she isn't absolutely adored. 

So, clearly the decision to get another pet is not one that I take lightly. I already worry that Cassidy doesn't get enough attention because of how much time we spend with my Significant Other and his dog. But, then this stray little kitten showed up and needed a home, I found myself softening.

I was still really concerned about Cassidy, my time and my resources though, so I consulted a lot of other pet owners for help making a decision. Here's what all of my friends said when I was thinking about taking in a homeless cat:

"Oh my gosh, it's nothing like having a dog. Cats are so low maintenance."

"You don't need to worry about your furniture. That's what scratching posts are for."

"I don't know what it is, but cats just KNOW how to use a litter box. They don't have accidents, and you don't have to house train them."

Now, I love my friends dearly, so please forgive me when I say this (and remember that it's been a rather stressful week), but YOU ALL LIED. 

Haircut Hiccups

Week before last, I got a haircut. (I'm pictured at right, and even after my visit to the salon, I'm not blond.)

I decided it was time for a cut. I've worn my hair long for the last few years, and I needed a change. Since I've gone "freelance," much to my chagrin and that of the Significant Other, I've gotten a bit more lax about personal hygiene and dressing up. I can only think of two days out of the last 60 that my hair hasn't been in a ponytail. A shorter cut seemed like a good way to force my hair out of its rut.

(Laurel's two-step plan for improved physical appearance:

Step 1: New cut to avoid the ponytail.

Step 2: Change out sweatpants more than once per week.

I'll keep you posted on the progress of the second half of the plan.)

I've been very happy with my cut. I miss my hair some -- it's about six inches shorter -- but after the shock of that first shower when then just wasn't anything to wash, I've adjusted nicely. But, there's always been just one obstacle to my complete enjoyment of shorter hair.

In Which I Learn That I'm Not as Funny as I Thought

I spent Labor Day weekend at my parents' lake house with some friends and the significant other (SO). While we were all hanging out in Coosa County, we decided to eat lunch in Alexander City. And, since Cecil's Public House was closed, and I couldn't seem to get a group consensus on Jim Bob's Chicken Fingers, J.R.'s Sports Bar & Grill was the establishment of choice.

(My father's favorite spot for lunch in Alexander City is the Carlisle Drug Soda Fountain. I'm sure the food is great, but having visited, I think the main appeal for my father is the frugality. The man who refuses to pay more than a quarter for a soda -- and who made us travel to Europe with our own Cokes so we wouldn't ended up paying "ridiculous" European price tags for cola -- can have a selection of sandwiches for $2.65. Yes, it's rather amazing in this day and age. No, the Soda Fountain is not somehow located in 1970.)

J.R.'s has everything the sports bar needs -- chicken fingers, wings, big TVs and rolls of paper towels on the tables instead of napkins. I also appreciate a restaurant that knows its audience and does what it does well.

Avoiding The Hangover

I saw The Hangover a few months ago, and I thought it was hilarious.

However, as I was leaving the theater, I couldn't help but comment that the movie never could have been made with women as the leading characters.

Now, this has nothing to do with sexism or that I think women aren't capable of such large-scale debauchery and stupidity. (Lindsay Lohan, anyone?) Women can easily go wild, drink too much, hire strippers and think that stealing is a great idea. It's the conversation that occurs in the lobby of the hotel when the guys check in that would have destroyed the trip for women.

Check-in Clerk: So, I have you in a two-bedroom suite on the twelfth floor. Is that OK?

Doug: Sounds perfect.

Bradley Cooper: Actually, I was wondering if you had any villas available?

Ed Helms: Phil, we're not even going to be in the room. 

Bradley Cooper then accepts the $4200/night villa on behalf of the guys and has Ed Helms put the room on his credit card. Here's where this would have fallen apart with women:

What Makes Me Cry

We all have our emotional hot-buttons.

A close friend of mine is particularly moved by stories of the mentally challenged as well as tales of children being taken away from their parents. These are the two topics most likely to turn him into an emotional wreck -- and the reason I Am Sam is his kryptonite. 

I'm a complete sucker for reunions (adoptive family members, long lost loves, foster children who just want to see the one woman they ever called "Mom"). And I cry like a baby whenever a man shaves his head because the woman he loves has lost her hair to chemo. (Bald heads break me.)

But, what probably gets me the most are stories of the "I am Spartacus" variety. I find myself in some bizarre emotional plane of joy/despair over the world's shortcomings/touched by the human condition whenever a group or mass stands up with someone who is usually at his or her end in a fight against corruption, greed or evil.

I blame this on two main components:

1. There's no hero I love more than the lone individual doing the right thing simply because it's the right thing to do. The higher the cost of doing the right thing, the more I love the hero -- To Kill a Mockingbird, One Good Cop, Radio.

2. I absolutely love the moment in a film or story when the bad guy, who is usually quite smug about his ability to abuse the system or get away with evil, realizes that s/he is, pardon my French, completely f$%*ed. (Think of the warden in The Shawshank Redemption when he hears the sirens coming for him.) I almost went to law school because of how much I love this moment when it occurs in a court room -- The Accused, A Few Good Men.

An Argument With History

Florence, Alabama is home to the only Frank Lloyd Wright house in the state of Alabama. (Don't worry. This is my last Florence-themed post. Sometimes I can't help myself I have so much to say.) The Wright-Rosenbaum house is also one of only 60 Frank Lloyd Wright houses open to the general public. And, I was already in Florence, so I figured why not take a tour.

The Wright-Rosenbaum house is under 3,000 square feet, so there's not a ton to see, but because it was a Tuesday, and I think our tour guide was bored, the SO and I got a private guided tour that lasted over an hour. (Such details aren't for everyone ...) If I was better at math, I could let you know how much time was spent on each inch of the house. Since I'm not a numbers gal, I'll just estimate that our tour guide left no stone unturned in his description of the home.