for the love

First off, I would like to make known that I disapprove of "people" being referred to as "accessories", as stated in a sentence on this morning's traffic report: Tickets are being issued to drivers in the HOV lane without their accessory person. for the love. Warning! Red light indicators flashing on your car's dashboard actually DO require immediate attention. Slow down, pull over, call for help. If you don't, your car WILL break down. If not immediately, eventually. And at the worst possible moment. Special thanks to the following for making this day bareable: Buddy at Bailey's Wrecker Service, for being precisely on time. I hear that never happens. He was also a very pleasant conversationalist. Also to Al at Crest Honda for the friendly taxi service from Crest to my office. He even stopped at Maggie's Cafe in Brentwood for me so I could get some lunch! Now THAT'S service. One to Bud - my Crest Honda serviceman. Friendly, reliable, and effi

I used to think this building was empty and condemned. Turns out it's one of Nashville's budding hotspots for the young, upwardly-mobile. (Please pronounce that last word with the long i sound.) Go figure. I mean, we're all modern in our own time, working towards a day when we will be worn out and broken. How nice that we can marry the two with such artistic irony.

Does any remember those old perfume commercials (can't remember the brand, so it must have been a worthy marketing investment) that said, "If you like Giorgio ...you'll LOVE Some ridiculously cheap dime store knock-off! " (or whatever the name of said knock-off was. Probably something cheezy like Lavendar Bayspray or what not.) Anyways, this is my incredibly prestigous introduction to my newest Bloggroller, drumroll.... If you like For The Love by Emily, then you LOVE For Lack of a Better Word by Holly Wynne! Holly is the kind of writer I aspire to be. I can't even believe I am promoting her site since I am sure I will lose most of you once you start reading her blog. She posts more often than I do, and she's just plain better at it. I am, as you will soon discover, the poor blogger's version of Holly. She's also a little bit cooler than I am in many ways. She has been a self-proclaimed post-modern hippie for the last 13 years, which undeniably led to

This is my Saturday morning coffee mug. It is imperative that this mug be available to me for my Saturday morning coffee. I bought this mug about 5 years ago. At a thrift store on Nolensville Road. It was somewhere in the valuable neighberhood of .64 cents. I love this mug. I once took it to work so I could drink from it every day. But it seemed that everytime I put it in the dishwasher overnight at work, someone would come along before me and claim it for their own each day. This burned me. And it birthed a variety of personal moral implications. For instance, "why does this burn me so much?" or "why can't I share this wonderful gift of a mug with others around me?" Also, "is this mug not really mine, but a fruit of the many blessings showered over me by my abundantly giving God?" "Wouldn't He want me to share this mug with the least of these?" Further, "does not wanting to share my mug with others define me on the deepest of interi

Q: Wow, you ask for love, support, and a little creative-license, and what do you get? A: Only the most humiliating confirmation from your truest of true friends that you are officially 'weird'. Life Lesson Learned: never post a one-question survey where the answers from your greater readership will most assuredly determine and confirm your worst possible nightmare. No, I am not speaking of limb amputation this time. I am specifically referring to that common human thread which binds us all together in perfect insecurity: the dreaded, "am I weird?" question. Yes. I am. And you know what? I embrace it. If preferring pancakes with no syrup throws me outside of the social breakfast circles of the world, then so be it. I don't need your stinking approval anyways. can't wait until tomorrow...I'm so in the mood for a good old-fashioned dry pancake. mmmm.... if anyone wants to partake, breakfast will be served at my place around 9am. BYOS. I think you know what I

Not the fact that I have a Saturday tradition of making and consuming M&M pancakes, but the fact that I need not deluge them in this sugary-cornstarchy-gooey-mess known as: I mean, even if there are no M&M's in the pancakes, I like them without syrup. I definitely eat them without butter. Sometimes I like to dip them in syrup. But most of the time I abstain. I have been disparaged in this matter. I need a little love. Can I get an amen ?

"Naked I came from my mother's womb And naked I will depart. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. May the name of the Lord by praised." I found out this morning, much after the fact, that my downstairs neighbor, Eric Falk, passed away last Friday morning at the young age of 35. His wife, Amanda, at 26, is too young to be a widow. I really hurt for her and the rest of his family. Eric knew almost everyone in our apartment complex. Eric was the missions pastor at Christ Church. Eric touched alot of people in his very short life. I am going to miss seeing him here. But not half as much as those who really knew and loved him. Not half as much as Amanda, or his niece & nephew, or his mother, or the church he humbly served. Eric was one of those people you can't understand losing, because they were making such a big difference in so many lives. But I believe that God has been glorified, not only in Eric's life, but in his death. And that, I keep reminding myself,

Views from my bedroom window and my back patio this morning. I love snow. It would come on a day though that I'm already off from work and was planning to drive 4 hours east. I'll take it whenever I can get it though.

I tried to add these to my original birthday post yesterday, but Blogger would not let me. I finally downloaded Mozilla Firefox like my sister recommended, and VOILA!

The older I get, the more I am a proponent for extended birthday celebrating. In fact, I've grown to believe that the entire month of January exists like a box that holds this timeless phenomenon known as 'my birthday'. Not really. So since said phenomenon occurred on a Monday, we naturally got this party started on the previous Friday. I believe the time was approximately 10:03 when the first batch of birthday flowers came knocking on my door at work. Such scandal was caused in the office that I was forced to feign productivity for the rest of the day! When interrogated by each passerby as to the mysterious origination of this fragrant gift, I coyly made note that I had secretly eloped with a foreign world power agent. The story grew with each new visitor, until finally I was married to the mafia and already expecting my third child. Not really. Friday night brought dinner and a movie with aformentioned foreign world power agent. Saturday night brought me a homemade dinner