What is it, the Internet or Prom? It’s neither; it’s Lies.
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There are a lot of things I'm not good at. Riding horses, for instance. I'm also not good with cars - thank The Lord Above I've not had a flat tire...yet. I'm not the best with copiers, and I wouldn't leave me alone for too long with nonvoters. Granted, I've got more than armful of diplomacy - I still also have a middle finger. And patience, too. I'm not always that good with patience. I often pretend to have it in spades, but it wears thin quickly when I'm faced with things, items, products, and gadgets that do not "do what they're supposed to...
Mercy Blog, Part 3: A Nearly Christian Apology for Eighth Grade
So, the other day I was in Piggly Wiggly (or as U.L. calls it, The Pig) to purchase an eggplant, and while fondling the produce, legally - i.e., all fruits and vegetables were at least 18 days or older - I overheard two people, down by the locally grown peanuts bin (the peanuts were locally grown, not the bin - it was cardboard) discussing the stupid behavior of one of their other friends...I imagined the friend was the topic of conversation as the result of some weekend revelry. One said, "And I was like, God, this is stupid. You're being so eighth...
I buried probably, like, a million birds as a child.
I don't know of a southern household that doesn't own a pair of binoculars or have a jar of Blue Plate mayonnaise in the refrigerator. So, this is going to be a disappointing blog, in part, because my house has neither. Ok, well maybe a thimbleful is left of the mayonnaise. Ms. Frankie, the sweetest neighbor I had while growing up, God love her, thought it was because people really liked to look at the birds, that's why they all had binoculars...and that anything other than Blue Plate was sacrilege. She had a pair, herself, but they sat on the mantle after her husband died and...
I don't believe I cared much for sixth grade.
I don't believe I cared much for sixth grade. I was already fully in the grips of a terrific identity crisis (mostly sexual) by the time I was rounding out my junior high years. At my school, sixth grade was the last grade on the junior high side. Seventh graders had to move around to the right side of the building, and that side was high school. They also had more than one teacher, and several different classrooms. That didn't shock me nearly as much as when I was told they also had periods. Even the boys. I was terrified of high school. ...
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