Some more of my favorite things....

Every once in a while I like to write one of these blogs where I just list things that make life worth living. Lately, since I've been staring at where my life is going in wide-eyed wonder, I keep trying to make a mental list of things that I just can't believe are happening, and you know if you don't write them down, you just lose them eventually. Also, I realize that Krysten will probably come in with a well-timed "VOMIT," like she does on Facebook when I'm splashing Happy all over the walls, but that's ok. I'm sure karma is finding me for all sorts of times I've been irritated when other people get mushy and silly and happy.
But don't worry, I know most of y'all are here for the sarcasm and innards. Visit my facebook where the fun never stops. :)

Things that make life worth living, Volume 9 (Possibly not 9, but I know none of y'all are counting)?

• Pointing out how one of your friends doesn't even know she's beautiful, and being told matter-of-factly, "Well neither do you." • A mozzarella mushroom burger from Keifer's. Mmmm. • Being able to talk about your martial arts with someone who understands, is not trying to one-up you, and is not put off by the fact you can do it. • Silly, cuddly, pushy, lovey dog babies. • Getting closure, 19 years later, on something that hurt you as a teenager. • Waking up smiling in the arms of an incredibly brilliant and brave guy who actually sees what you are and likes you anyway. • Making it your personal mission to make him watch "Seabiscuit," even though it's his personal mission not to. • The sound of the wind in the treetops. • The beach. • Having the kind of friends who have the same kinds of weird quirks that you do. • Moving to a new place and learning the community. • The people at the Chevron on West Government in Brandon. They are SO nice! • Weird dreams about key lime pie. • Crashing guys' night and by the end of it, nobody really seemed to mind. • Neon post-its. • Seeing friends who have been through some crap finally find something that makes them happy. • Being able to tell someone you miss them when you just saw them 15 minutes ago. • Seeing the big red truck go down the street to save the day (with a couple of points knocked off because you really wish you were on it). • Singing the Veggie Tales songs and giggling your ass off with someone you never thought was a Veggie Tales fan. • Converse Chuck Taylors. • Finding an old picture album full of priceless photos in a hidden drawer you didn't even know was in a desk you've had for years. • Having a friend you can share girl clothes with. • Cutting out 70 percent of your driving when gas is insanely expensive. • When someone tells you you're good at your job. • Being able to look up and see every star in the sky. • Finding something out about an official that has happily abused you for more than a year and a half, and knowing it's ON. • Moving and leaving behind friends you'll never be able to replace, but only being an hour away, so it's not really like you left. • New earrings. • Being able to hide people from your feed on facebook.

• The fact that Benedryl completely calms a terrier who's having anxiety attacks after a relocation. • Knowing, for once, that the future is not so stressful as you always thought it was going to be. Maybe, just MAYBE, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. • Making the perfect dill sauce, and it was easy. • Finding a ring you thought you'd lost (whew!!). • Talking to your parents after a few weeks of being out of communication because you were all busy... it's amazing how just hearing Mom and Dad's voices make it all even better. • Lighthouses. • Getting to dress up to go to dinner every once in a while. • A good day's work. • Facebook conversations where you get to talk to all your friends about something hilarious, and everyone reads it. • Mornings that you wake up and your back ISN'T killing you. • Eating Japanese food and drinking little umbrella drinks with friends you love. • Your little brother graduating from college. • Doing a really good picture on "Draw Something." • "We Are Marshall" is on TV. • Potato logs, or in Ripley-speak, jojos. • The sound of high heels on a marble or tile floor. • Krysten going "VOMIT" on my facebook posts. • You. •

Why the EVIL MEDIA covers Whitney Houston's funeral, and not the soldiers.

Yes, this blog will piss you the hell off, no matter who you are. I'm sorry. It's just time some of you people got schooled in how crap works.

First, let's start with a regular scenario in many nice people's lives. You go to the bar after work and you're wearing your work clothes. You're there to get a drink and unwind from a long day before you go home. It would be nice if some guy would see you and think you're cute and want to talk to you, but 99.9 percent of the men there are looking at the flashy 23-year-old with the cleavage down to her navel and the legs up to her ears. Yeah, the one who's on the dance floor humping whichever cowboy dances up close to her next. Even if she was cheating on her husband and had cleaned out his bank account and her nine kids are in the trunk of her toyota corolla in the parking lot, and you had saved a baby and written an award-winning story about a hero soldier who died to save his entire battalion and given money to the homeless children and fixed a flat tire for a 90-year-old woman on the side of the road, plus you're a gourmet chef and have the flexibility of a gymnast, that skank on the dance floor gets all the attention.

Tell me I'm wrong about that. Is it ok? Seriously.
I mean, she gets all the attention because she asks for it. She spends all her time making herself look like that, and she goes out and begs for it. Very few of the men in that bar give a shit what kind of person she is. Why are they interested? Because of what she does for them. Even if she doesn't go home with them, she makes every one of them feel something, however short-term.

And there you are at the bar. You could be the best of all the good people who ever lived including Ghandi and Mother Teresa, and you'll be lucky if some guy even smiles at you while little Miss Skankypants is out there. Meanwhile, they should all be lining up to buy your drink. But do you expect them to? Really?

No, you'll pay your own tab, like you do every time, and every once in a while you think, "Wouldn't it be nice if someone even saw me here?" And sometimes they do, but only in the, "Excuse me, pardon me" way. So you pack up your purse and stuff, and you go home alone. Nobody knows that of all the chicks in the whole bar, you were the one that could have given them a lifetime of bliss. They didn't bother to look, or ask, or find out, or care.

And if you go bitch about it and post on facebook, people act like it's sour grapes, and frankly, they judge you, and they think, "Well, I would have gone for the hot chick too."

Since Whitney Houston died, I have seen 8432503984257 posts a day with people bitching and moaning about how the media "doesn't care" about all the dead soldiers or cops or firefighters who die in the line of duty protecting innocent lives every day, but they "do care" about a crack head. And while I agree that every fallen hero deserves the attention and the accolades a hundred million bazillion times more than anyone who was simply blessed with decent looks, a singing voice, and bad choices, it is not the EVIL SATANIC BOTTOM-FEEDING MEDIA'S fault that it's like that.
It's yours. Here's why:

Think with me, if you will, of when Whitney's big albums were coming out and you were a junior high girl (or maybe Pearl Jam, or Garth Brooks, or whoever your favorite is). You took your 13-19 bucks straight to the music store as soon as it came out, and you took it home and listened to it over and over again until you knew every word, and then you danced in your underwear with your hairbrush in front of the mirror. Then you played it over and over again in your CD player. Then you bought the next CD or tape or whatever. Lather, rinse, repeat.

If you never had a reason to know anything about what cops or soldiers or firefighters do, you sure never cared about it until you were old enough to play video games or until, as a little girl, you were old enough to notice some of them were hot.

They don't ask to be recognized. If they do, they're not in the business for the right reasons. You know that. They go into what they do knowing they could give their lives to save people and that the world may never know their names.

When, ever in history, did you line up to go meet your local cops or firefighters or soldiers? And if you did, it was probably because you knew some and were there for that. Even then, when did you clamor for their autographs? (I know as I write this, some asshole is out there who's like, "OMG, I have a napkin signed by every firefighter from Station 3 on Industrial Park Road for every year I was in elementary school." If that's you, you don't count. You are a rare and possibly weird, obsessed exception. Shut up.)
Hell, when did you even see them in a restaurant and thank them for what they did for you that day?

No, you're too busy with your iPod, worshiping Kanye, or ordering your Big Mac, or being pissed about your speeding ticket, or your low water pressure because they were flushing the lines, or the fact that the soldier who was supposed to cut your grass forgot he had weekend duty today.

You watch "Desperate Housewives," don't you? Or "Toddlers & Tiaras," or "American Idol," or "The Bachelorette." Some of you might watch the History Channel sometimes, or might feel good about yourselves because you saw "Combat Missions" one time, but part of the reason these guys don't get the accolades they deserve in the public eye is because they don't ask for it. But another reason is because you don't dance in your underwear to what they do. (If you do, it's probably illegal on city or government property.)

We are a fast-food society. We want things easy, fast and flashy. Yes, America mourns Whitney Houston out loud, in bulk, and posts thousands of links to stupid shitty memorials to her and all her songs on their facebooks. Why? Because they felt they had some relationship with her because they danced in their underwear to her music. They thought "I Will Always Love You" was written for their high school boyfriend. They wanted to dance with somebody who loved them.

But just like you don't notice the quiet person at the bar who might be freakin Clark Kent, America does not openly mourn the soldiers like that, and won't, because they're selfish. When you mourn Whitney, you mourn the way she made you feel. You mourn the way you worshiped her.

For most people, when they read about a dead soldier or firefighter or cop, it's a reminder of what they should be. It's an appeal to their better nature. This person had the courage and valor to die well FOR YOU, it says. And people, being selfish and worldly and looking for instant gratification, will turn their heads so many times because they can't handle the depth of what they know they should feel about a fallen hero.

Whitney is fast food. We'll feel bad, and be loud about it, and mourn and cry this chick we'll never know, and we'll all say how bad her husband was for beating her up, and how bad crack is, and what a sad life.

Lance Corporal Eddie Dycus, who I wrote about the other day? Everyone knew a guy like him. A guy whose best friend screwed him over because of a girl. A guy who never was sure where he fit. Someone who smiled a lot, and as his teacher told me, you could see a greatness in him that he didn't even know he had. When you grieve LCpl Dycus, you grieve your brother, your son, your cousin. These soldiers and firefighters and cops, they have pregnant wives, they have tiny paychecks, they have kids who will receive their flags at their funerals, and they have brothers and sisters at their stations and firehouses and in their platoons and whatnot who will forever have lost a part of themselves. We can't look at that. It means too much.

Eddie was a guy from the Delta, 23 years old. Whitney was a superstar. All her life she begged for attention, she strutted for it, she screamed for it, she let her husband beat her ass for it, she did drugs because of it, and she died with it. Eddie just wanted to serve his country.

The difference, also, is by many accounts, Eddie died proud of the man he'd become. Do you think Whitney did? How many of us, if we died today, are proud of the people we are? That's why we want to hear about Whitney. She's ultimately pathetic.

I am a journalist. I believe fully that every soldier, every firefighter, every police officer and teacher and social worker that dies deserves the glory. Every death is tragic to someone, and those who gave of themselves, to me that's a thousand times more tragic.
But even here in Brookhaven, when my hero friend Steve who was one of the best men I ever knew died in a plane crash and 500 people came to his funeral and there was a flyover and an honor guard ceremony, the local newspaper did not cover his funeral. "Then we'd have to cover everyone's funeral," they said.
When Michael Jackson died, the same local paper ran a story on a little guestbook or some crap that people signed to send for his memorial or whatever. I don't even remember how many people signed it. I don't give a damn. Compared to Steve, that's stupid as hell.

This is what the world does. No amount of facebook bitching is going to change the fact that human nature is the way it is. And the writers like me, who cover every fallen hero that we can, and that call and write and beg and plead for anyone to please please tell us about this man so I can give him the write-up that he deserves, and who cry all the way through the writing of the story, thinking about this noble life cut short, and who try to show him to be the selfless person that he was by very nature to get into the line of work he did? When you bitch and moan about how "the media doesn't care" about those guys, you spit on all that work we do to try to pay homage to their memories.

I'm not mad at you. I just think you need to know. Be mad at a society that idolizes fame and stupidity and sexuality and vanity and stupid hookers with skimpy clothes, not the media who feeds that idolatry.
It's the nature of the beast. We sell crap food because people want to eat it. But you can still go get a steak if you want it bad enough. You don't bash all the restaurants for being a McDonalds, and you recognize the McDonalds for what it is. If that's all you eat, that's your own damn fault.

Also, instead of bitching, just post and tweet and repost and retweet the articles about heroes when you see them. Look for them. Do your part. Instead of bitching, be proactive. Google "fallen firefighters," and post a link for every Whitney post you see. I promise, the stories are out there. And when it comes to soldiers, I've written a bunch, and each of them has broken my heart.

Those fallen heroes wouldn't want you bitching. They sure wouldn't want you using their names in the same sentence as someone you refer to as a "crack head whore." So quit disgracing them. Shut the hell up and do something about it.

T's Rules. Or at least, the groundwork for T's Rules.

Editor's note: This blog was originally published June 30, 2010. It's necessary to amend the rules at least once a year, and I am six months late. So this is the same blog, with the same link and the same other stuff, but the rules list is updated, and the italics are my 2012 additions to my comments from before. Read on...

So I realize I need to start this post by saying that I know there are things going on in my life that some of you might be creeping my blog to find out about. I can't help you, except to say my life is happy right now, and when I know that it's safe to tell you anything beyond that, I will totally spill the beans. But out of self-protection and respect for the people involved, I'm keeping it close to the vest right now and saying, "I'm happy, butt out." :)
(And WOW am I glad I didn't spill the beans, because THAT was a MASSIVE train wreck of a situation... Whew... dodged another bullet.)

Instead, I decided to post my list of rules. Some of you watch NCIS, and you know that Leroy Jethro Gibbs, in spite of his unfortunate name, is a total badass. I mean really, EVERYONE should want to be Gibbs. But for the record, as much as I'd want to be him, I wouldn't want to marry him. I must have been crazy when I wrote this. Silly me. Of course I would. He's a badass who likes redheads.

Anyway, Gibbs has this list of rules that has never been fully filled out by the show, though there's a partial list here, on just different life stuff. I like it because people can ask him a question, and he'll answer with a rule number, and they're expected to know what that is.

So I got to thinking about how for years, I've had general little superstitions and declarations that I could put into a list of my own rules, and I can do the same thing to my friends. I have to admit, part of it is Gibbs-worship, and part of it is that I just like the idea of having an ever-growing list of life rules. So here is my first run at it, just as a baseline of things that I can work with as I continue to add through life. I know I've left a ton out, and I know some of them might change as I get older, kinda like how one of Gibbs' rules is, "Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness," but there are a few places in the series where he apologizes in spite of his rule.

For the record, since I first wrote this, these rules have yet to lead me wrong. Only my own dumb stubborn unwillingness to adhere to my own rules has gotten my ass in a bind, as they like to say down in Lincoln County. :)

1. It doesn't matter what people think.
2. If it looks too good to be true, it's best to shoot it, just in case.
3. When at all possible, avoid groups of women.
4. Don't trust a man who doesn't like dogs.
5. Never date a lumberjack. Or, for that matter, a cop or a kicker from the football team.
6. In love and tournament fighting, when you drop your guard is ALWAYS when you get your ass kicked.
7. Before you judge someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
8. If he looks in the mirror more than you do, he's going to be a problem.
9. At any emergency scene, find the biggest badass there and stay at least as far away from the fire/hazmat/explosives/wild animal as he is. (AKA: The Steve Davis Rule)
10. Listen to your gut. If you feel like someone might be lying, they usually are.
11. When in doubt about how to deal with a situation, always choose love and understanding. When that won't work, try violence.
12. The minute your leader (or boyfriend) lies to you, start looking for another leader (or boyfriend).
13. Avoid alpha female competitions. When you're top dog, there's no reason to compete.
14. Never confide details to your girly-girl friends. They will ALWAYS tell SOMEONE.
15. Nothing is worth worrying yourself sick.
16. You can't control someone else's heart, especially not by worry, jealousy, rules and brute force. Don't try.
17. Always pick the fortune cookie farthest away from you. It's a thing.
18. Never get so lazy that you don't check your rearview mirrors and your peripheral vision every few minutes.
19. Never sleep with your best friend unless you're prepared to eventually lose them.
20. Try a thing you haven't done three times: Once to get over the fear of doing it, twice to learn how to do it, and a third time to figure out whether you like it or not.
21. There are people that ARE better than other people, and very few of them make a lot of money, wield a lot of power, or are famous. It's about integrity, courage and character.
22. Pimento cheese is not a good date food.
23. People don't listen to you 90 percent of the time anyway. The less you talk, the more weight your words will carry when you do.
24. Dogs and small kids have better instincts about character and truth than any grownup anywhere.
25. Pizza is the universal comfort food. Don't trust people who don't like pizza.
26. Always have a Sharpie handy.
27. Having a child die in your hands will reset your "what's important" meter. (AKA: The Devonte McNulty Rule.)
28. You can tell a lot about a person by whether they choose their favorite music for the lyrics or the beat.
29. "It's a thing," is always an adequate answer to the question, "Why do you do that?"
30. Avoid, at all costs, people who are constantly causing or seeking out drama. Especially the men who do, because the women they surround themselves with are usually reprehensible.
31. Never go out with a guy who asks you for dirty pictures before he asks you on a date. This should be a no-brainer.
32. The dishes can be done tomorrow. Live today.
33. A guy who doesn't make you feel safe, smart, and capable is not worth having for ANYTHING.
34. The more someone talks about what a badass martial artist or firefighter or cop or soldier they are is directly proportionate to what a dumbass they are.
35. Don't wear flip-flops to a fire.
36. When someone's return text word-count average drops consistently below four, stop texting. They don't want to talk to you.
37. If you're in the in crowd now, don't worry, you'll be in the out crowd later. Or you could be out all by yourself, which is actually better.
38. You CAN save the world.
39. High heels and good cleavage will get you everywhere, including some places you really, really, really don't need to be.
40. Girls can be firefighters, but firefighters shouldn't be girls.
41. People remember when you tell them the truth, when you keep their secrets, and when you share your ice cream.
42. It's okay to cry.
43. It's not okay to cry all the time, like a little baby girl.
44. Never argue with an on-duty cop. That's just stupid.
45. Surround yourself with funny, brave, honest people.
46. Read the Bible as much as possible, and "To Kill A Mockingbird" and "The Little Prince" at least once a year. They'll all make you a better person.
47. There is great wisdom to be found in Calvin & Hobbes.
48. If someone won't tell you to your face that they're mad, then you have the right not to give a damn about whatever their beef is.
49. Nothing is worth losing your family over.
50. You're only as old as people guess you are.
51. It's better to have a gun and not need it than to need a gun and not have it.
52. Don't kiss a man who gives vague answers, dodges the question, or outright lies. Kissing leads to other stuff and you don't want to end up stuck with THAT guy.
53. I have this little policy about honesty and ass-kicking... if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.
54. Don't date or marry anyone you'd be ashamed to have stand with your family at your funeral.
55. Believe that something good is going to happen and you're halfway there.
56. In an altercation, it's always best to calmly speak the truth, then make a timely exit.
57. You always, somewhere deep down, regret eating junk food.
58. Chickens run. 
59. There IS such a thing as a good man, but that just means it shocks the hell out of you when he's (inevitably) a jerk. Doesn't mean he's not a good man, just means he's also a jerk.
60. Very few people that you know would lay down their lives for you, and even fewer will interrupt their schedules for you. Treasure the ones who do.
61. There's no such thing as a perfect moment, no matter how much you deserve it. Make the best of what you have.
62. There's ALWAYS a silver lining.

That said, if I've omitted one that you think is important, preferably one of my own, please feel free to comment and I'll add it. It's not that I don't think many of you have some awesome rules to add, but those are yours. These are mine. So if there's something I've barked at you insistently for as long as you've known me, feel free to let me know.

And if you decide to write your own rules, you can use some of mine if you want, but you have to give me credit. I'm THAT much of a narcissist. ;)

Not that you'd necessarily want to date me, but I have some really cute coworkers.

"To write well, one must utterly abandon oneself to it. You cannot keep secrets or hold anything back. You must spill your heart out on paper." ~ Carla Lacovetti
(Muhahahahaaaaa.....)

You know, as many times as I've threatened to blog about people in my life (and there are a few that I did when I was either mad enough at or when I knew they could take it), I'm generally too nice, which frankly hampers my ability to really put my unabridged thoughts into print. But today, there was a link floating around facebook about rules about dating a journalist. It linked to two or three other articles about the same thing, and it was mentioned several times that YOU WILL GET WRITTEN ABOUT.

So here's where I'm going with this:  Every time something REALLY effed-up happens in my dating life, I am one more step away from a free-for-all single chick blog making fun of people and their basic mating behavior. (Also because that's a safe topic since I have to stay away from opinion on things that may affect my job like certain news topics or public figures or writing about wannabe politicians who will annoy EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE LINCOLN COUNTY COURTHOUSE ABOUT IT. I'm not making this up.)

In the past few months, I could have blogged about:
1. The dude who thought it was okay to send a text that just says, "I'm horny, wanna have sex?" (I kid you not. Does that work on some planet I've never been to??)

2. The night in Oxford after a long day of jello shots and bourbon and partying with certain ex-NFL players that I ended up in a rented bed with one of my bffs from college and a great guy (we'll call him "Jim") who'd been nice enough to let me go to the Ole Miss game with him, and nothing happened except that we giggled our butts off from behind the locked door because my bff's intended hook-up was pawing at the outside of the door like a lost puppy and we KNEW what it looked like. (Jim was THE MAN that night.)

3. ANOTHER dude (we'll call him Bob) I was involved with who got in a relationship on facebook without telling me first, and it was not with me (which always causes a mental glitch. You're like, "He's in a relationship...  Aww... With me? No, wait... not with me... I think he would have said something about going all official on facebook... Wait... who's 'Candi'??"). Then, like the others (this has happened to me three times on different levels ranging, seriously. What the hell are mamas teaching their sons in the facebook age??), this dumbass tried to play it off as a joke. Rude, stupid, neanderthal, YES. But the best part was it was with a girl he had sworn for weeks was a lesbian, down to saying, "Well at least you don't have to worry about her being competition. She's not interested in men." (Well, Bob, the thousands of pictures she has posted all over facebook of herself in a bikini just months after her wedding in March that kicked off the marriage that only lasted like a month and a half begs to differ. And the best part is I didn't have to stalk to find that out. She was such a hilarious joke that my friends all came to tell me about it. I WIN.)

4. The day Bob got kicked in the groin by the 10-year-old son of another girl he apparently "wasn't dating" at the same time he "wasn't dating" me because the kid was like, "Don't come near my mama!!!!" I WIN BIGGER.

5. The fact that Bob is no longer dating the bikini queen, because, as (I've been told) he said, "That bitch is crazy." Ummm... What was your clue? The "look at me in my sexy bikini" gallery that she sent to half the law enforcement in three counties? The fact that she forced you into a facebook relationship when you wouldn't do that with any of the 3948573942 other women you've dated simultaneously since last summer? Or was it her three month (or however long, who really gives a crap) marriage? I would say it might be the fact that you were forced to make up incredibly outlandish lies to cover your relationship with her, but wait... that's all you know how to do anyway...

6. The married loser who apparently fell in love with me on some fire scene sometime because he always calls or texts and starts off with fireground talk, then does something charming like ask if I want to go get drunk at the GRAVEL PIT. Yeah. What the hell.

7. Umm, the next guy I'm not even dating who asks for "pictures" (ahem, yes, THOSE kind of "pictures") gets a mail bomb.
(SERIOUSLY?? Is this acceptable in the world today?? If so, where the hell have I been? Why didn't I get the memo??)

8. Or of course, there's the really good guy who has no freakin' clue, and I could hit him with a Mack truck that says, "I THINK YOU'RE FREAKIN' SUPER" on the grill and he'd be like, "Um... All of a sudden I have a headache... What's up with that? While I'm here can I talk to you about this girl I like?"

And I'm just evil enough that I almost posted a link to all these guys' facebook pages, which would be awesome from a writing perspective (think of all the blog hits I'd get, seriously. It would be THROUGH the roof, on Bob's girlfriends ALONE!!), but nobody would appreciate that part of it, I don't think, except me.

But I digress.

Bbased on all these "How to date a journalist" lists that were all over FB today, I'm writing a list of my own. Journalists are different animals, that's just all there is to it. Take that however you want.

(Yeah, it's another list. You'll be okay.)
1. A journalist will always have ink stains on the back pockets of at least one pair of her jeans. I carry a pad and pens in there pretty much all the time. If that bothers you while you're looking at my backside, you're OCD and should move on to some pretty pretty princess that eats tofu and doesn't wear jeans.

2. If I'm sitting quietly listening while you talk and it looks like I'm on another planet, it's because I probably am, and it probably has something to do with innards. Don't ask and I won't tell. If you press because you want to hear the details, be prepared to hear the gory, gory details. And sometimes we need you to press.

3. Don't act like you're afraid to drive through the hood. I don't want to know I'm more of a man than you are. I'm there all the freakin' time, buddy. This is my office. This is practically MY hood.

4. Yes, my name is in the paper every day, and you will see me on TV sometimes, and you will hear my name on the radio when the talk shows discuss what I have written. I don't care that I'm famous, but when you dump me for the lesbian bikini queen, I will talk to myself and my friends about that A LOT to help me deal with the rejection.

5. I have to borrow this from one of the other blogs, because I couldn't have said it better myself:
"We can figure things out. Understand, we’re paid to dig deep, find the secrets and wade through bullshit. We can pick up on subtleties, so what you think you are hiding from us won’t be hidden for long. Sure, we’ll act surprised when you eventually tell us you starred in German porn as a freshman in college — but we already knew."

6. "The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in shock-proof shit-detector." ~ Ernest Hemingway.
Yes, I know I'm smarter than most people when it comes to detecting bullshit. I may not know exactly WHAT stinks about it, but I know something's up. I spend most of my day trying to find a way around the vague answers of law enforcement ("It's under investigation at this time, ma'am, no further information is available..."), so when you tell me some crazy story that isn't true and I smile and nod, it's because in my mind, I'm trying to figure out if I can delete you from facebook, twitter and the rest of my life from my cell phone RIGHT EXACTLY NOW. As the blog referenced in #5 says, "We don’t take shit from anyone, so don’t lie to us or give a load of bullshit. We spend all day separating fact from fiction, listening to PR cronies and dealing with slimy politicians. If you make us do the same with you, you’re just gonna piss us off. And don’t think we’ll be quiet about it. We’ll respond with the vengeance of an Op-Ed page railing against society’s injustices — and we’ll enjoy doing it.
Just tell us the truth. We can handle it."
Even if the truth is, "I'm about to get facebook serious with a complete whore. You should get checked."

7. Is best explained by this jpeg from another blog.

Yeah, basically we're not going to cheat on you or lie to you or pass on your secrets because for a living, what we do is NOT do those things. Unless you do it first. Then you might make the blog, like "Bob."

8. Yeah, my work schedule sucks. But I know all the cops in like eight counties. Tradeoffs, people.

9. We're generally jacks of all trades, masters of none. "Writers aren't exactly people.... they're a whole bunch of people trying to be one person." ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

10. We love quotes, and we read into every television show, movie, whatever, for subtext and morals of the story (as evidenced by "Why Lois Lane will NEVER be good enough for Superman," my breakdown of Superman Returns... seriously). It's a problem, I know. I actually had my ex tell me one time, "We are not a movie! Life does not have a happy ending! Quit thinking like that!! We are not Buffy and Angel!!" Ummm, excuse me... Buffy and Angel didn't have a happy ending, sir. How 'bout them apples?

11. We're going to think too much. That's just how it works. I inwardly investigate every boring angle of everything that ever happens to me, every day, all day long. And if, like some people, you ever try to use it to make me feel crazy, see above, re: mail bomb. Saying, "You're overthinking again," gets you flattened with an 18-wheeler trailer like Will Smith in "Hancock" when he calls Charlize Theron "crazy ONE. MORE. TIME." (If you haven't seen it, go straight to wherever people go and rent it NOW. Do not pass go.)

12. Don't say, "I saw on the news where..." I don't give a damn what you saw on the news if I wrote the same story. Before you reference television, you'd better make sure I didn't write a story on the same topic. It's a thing. Sorry.

13. Because of all the things I've listed, I can say we're just weird. We're very weird people, and that's part of the blessing and the curse of being a writer. We have morbid, dark, cynical senses of humor, and small talk is usually not an option. At least we're not boring. And I finish this list on #13 because we're not superstitious. Quite the opposite. We like to tempt fate (at least the breaking news reporters among us do).

For more information on journalists, please visit my blog on the Clarion-Ledger website, or the websites www.stuffjournalistslike.com and www.overheardinthenewsroom.com . And here's another list, of which I've done all but #10. We're not all bad.

To Whom It May Concern: We're pissed, and sick of your crap. XOXO, The Rebels.

So... Last year I posted this blog that a lot of people liked and passed around about how we're so stupid about this mascot thing. We have the best mascot with the best story already, but our school is run by a bunch of politically correct idiots. The idiots don't even realize that by being politically correct, they are being politically incorrect, because the original Col. Reb was a black man.

And this year, I posted to a bunch of people's facebooks about a psychic who, when asked about Ole Miss' impending football season, said she saw "The Number Nine."
The psychic and the writer interpreted that to mean that we would go 9-2.

Now, in retrospect, I know you're all thinking the same thing I'm thinking... that psychic actually saw something, she just injected all of our wishful thinking into it... and now we're going to go 2-9.

I should start by saying that as most of you know, I grew up a Vandy fan. A normal year for the Commodores (some would say emphasis on "commode") was 2-9, 3-8... you know. We'd schedule some shitty high school for homecoming, and we'd beat Ole Miss (okay, seriously, y'all know that's true), and then if we were lucky, there was one more. Then things got a little better. Now we're looking at 5-6 on a normal year. But basically what that taught me is a valuable lesson: Football is a GAME (shocks, horrors, gasps, chokes... say it ain't so!! But yes. It's so... we'll get back to that.).

This blog, to finally get to the point, is about what is wrong with Ole Miss right now.

1. People are pissed.
Yep, I didn't really have to say that, did I? It's a discontent that started to bud and build when I was a freshman in the 1990's and they were outlawing the Rebel flag. At that point, Brian Strickland told me in no uncertain terms that it would not stop with just the Rebel flag. That Dixie would be next. Eventually Colonel Reb, and that we'd be renamed something like "The Thoroughbreds" or the "Flood" or something.
Brian was a lot smarter than I gave him credit for.
And as those things have been stripped from us over the last decade and a half, I can't help but wonder WTF the thought process behind all this was? Back then, we may have pissed other people off, but we liked ourselves. That's way better than we're doing right now. We're all pissed. There's nobody who is an Ole Miss fan who is not royally pissed about something, or some number of things.
Not good policy, Dan Jones. Breaking our hearts slowly and lying about it? Well, that gets you deleted and blocked from facebook if you're one of the guys I date. You, however, are not that special, and you are messing with memories (however foggy) of at least five good years of my life.

2. That poor Black Bear.
Here's the deal, you stupid PR spin people who decided this "new mascot" thing was a good idea: If you would have just brought in the bear quietly without all your stupid "let's let the alumni do it" bullshit, like if he had just appeared one day, then people would have been like, "What's up with that bear on the sidelines who's dressed like a football player?" But he would have played with the kids and been generally jovial, and people would have kinda let it ride as a little weird, and kinda WTF-ish until they didn't think about it anymore.
But now you have these half-wits who got caught up in the media campaign and STILL don't understand that we're not the "Ole Miss Black Bears," so they have a mental short-circuit when they see "Rebels" written on anything. Then there are the people who think it's clever to talk about "TSUN" who do nothing but add to the discontent. So the bear is the equivalent of a hyper three-year-old on Red Bull when you just got home from settling divorce cases all day on three hours of sleep for the week and explosive irritable bowel syndrome and a splitting headache. Poor bear.

3. The football team, of course.
Let's face it, even when we're really good for us, we're still pretty mediocre for everyone else (yes, blast me, but with only a few exceptions in history, I'm right). I wasn't even THAT wowed by the years we had Eli, though when we had the second best defense in the country under Billy Brewer and Joe Lee Dunn, with Alundis Brice and DeWayne Dotson and Cassius Ware and those guys, that was pretty impressive. Ole Miss has, at times, been the little engine that could, and we've pulled some gutsy games out for the record books, but we have always been at the core, just okay.

This year, we put the "WE REALLY EFFING SUCK" in "WE SUCK." Part of that is just on the field, whether it's a talent-less team, bad coaching, poor conditions (every single game), or whatever. But part of it is that our fan base has no heart. Sure, some of us do, but most of us start the year off praying to Johnny Vaught and sacrificing to Bruiser Kinard at the Manning Tabernacle, talking about how our quarterback is Jesus Christ and our coach is God the Father, and this will be OUR YEAR. Then once the team starts to let us down, it turns into a big "you suck" fest. I know this because I spent every game but one in five years on the sidelines, and I heard the fans. I remember Josh Nelson, who was an extremely naturally talented quarterback, trying desperately to get rid of the ball from behind a non-existent offensive line until he was so shell-shocked we're lucky he didn't go back to California... and I can still hear the fans in the stands, "You suck, Nelson, you fag!"
Josh didn't suck, but it sure was hard for him to get to play a good game because one man is not a team. And by the end of it, we all sucked. And everytime the going gets tough, we suck again.
And I'm just like everyone else, I admit. I expect it of us. I'm never even pleasantly surprised. I'm the one saying, "Yeah, but we'll eff it up right next week."
Well we all need to quit that.
This year, the Forward Rebels have started to lead that crusade. Keep it up, folks. They can't pretend we don't ALL exist.

So here's what I'm proposing:
I think this coach/athletic director/ whoever else is responsible thing just might work itself out. We just need to hang on like at the end of a bloody divorce, and see where this thing is going, because I don't think even the most progressive and oblivious PR spinners can stop this train of "Oh Hell NO" that has gotten revved up with the ire of everyone who ever graduated in Oxford behind it.
If the rumblings I'm hearing are true, we could be in for some real fireworks, and it will be a show worth watching.
But in the meantime, as much as the bear with the box on his head really pissed some of y'all off (let's face it, that bear just pisses somebody off everywhere he goes), I think it's worth embracing. Think "Who Dat?" Seriously, if a sense of humor can't save us at this point, nothing can. I don't know about y'all, but I can't watch the long, drawn-out, laborious death of this season. Right now we're listening to our own lungs do the death rattle as we lay drowning in our own blood and spit. Let's just put boxes on our heads, claim it wasn't the Rebels, it was the Black Bears that sucked so bad this season, and give ourselves some time to rebuild and regroup.
Because seriously, which is better for this team? For us just to hate them and talk angrily about the worst season ever, or to just deal and cope and have the best attitude we possibly can? Think of all the other positive things we've had happen this season: Best tailgate spot, prettiest people, #3 party school, etc., etc., etc.

This is the lesson I learned from being a Vanderbilt fan: Just because our football team didn't win as many as we wanted does not mean we're not still better than you. It's just a GAME. A very important game, to be sure, but it does not define us.
Well, not completely.

Because to me, that's what it all comes down to. I love Ole Miss because we are, in our own way, better than you. We've got history. We've got culture. We've got beautiful grounds and beautiful people and a beautiful town that becomes a second home to everyone who ever sets foot in it. When I was a high school sophomore and visited Oxford for the first time for a scholar's conference, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else. And when I toured the University of Alabama, and I got on that tour bus and the guide said, "If you're here because of our winning football team, you might as well get off this bus," I turned to my dad and said, "Come on, Dad, let's go." Because I already knew even though I wanted to be a sports reporter, football didn't matter to me. Oxford and The University of Mississippi did.

For better or for worse, I love Ole Miss, and I am pissed at the way the current administration has disrespected everything it is to me. I have spent days at a time in the Left Field Lounge. I had some Rebel Recruiters threaten my life on the practice field. I remember bid day and running to the sorority house and thinking, "Why are we running?" I buried my goldfish, "Chucky," in front of Vaught-Hemingway stadium, where I also, late one night, watched a meteor shower with a guy I had the major butterflies for and thought it was the most romantic thing ever. I have gone, drunk as hell, to the Doorknob of the Universe. I bartended at the Gin. I helped revive the FCA chapter on campus. I was a Roundball Recruiter. Hell, I was the first female sports editor of the Daily Mississippian. I made mistakes I learned from, and I made memories I'll never forget. It's not just got its own history. Ole Miss has MY history. And thousands upon thousands of other people's too.

I'm not even going to say that "At least we're not Penn State" bullshit, because we're going to get through this. Until we do, let's remember the school we loved, and let's not give up the fight to get it back. They can't drown us ALL out.

This blog is for "Bill."

So, “Bill” has been waiting with baited breath on this blog, and I don’t have the foggiest idea why. But, if you too have been waiting on a blog for the last month, you can write him a happy little email about it on his facebook or something. Basically I know he’ll come to Mississippi and kick my butt if I don’t.

The reason he’s so excited about this blog can only be because (a) it was his fault, and (b) he’s in it, (c) I threatened to do a no-holds barred review of all the guys I have been out with, including him, and I think he was wiling to fall on his sword to out the dirt on these other dudes.

You see, it all started (not in chronological order) the other day when he sent me an audio clip of “our song.” If you didn’t know me an Bill had a song, well, we did. Or do, as the case may be, because forever and ever, this song will forever remind me of Bill, and by proxy, Ronnie (who you should remember from previous blogs).

You see, usually when a guy sends you a little snippet of “our song,” it’s a romantic gesture, intended to remind you of some romantic time you spent together. In history, I have been out with a guy who roped me in with Oasis’ “Wonderwall.” Of course, anyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for anything that talks about “Maybe you’re gonna be the one who saves me,” and “There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don’t know how...” Nobody loves a good repressive love song more than a completely repressive superhero-wannabe like me.

“Our song” is a powerful thing. It can encapsulate all those things you want to say to or about someone. Seriously, when I had “Wonderwall” dedicated to me, it was the highlight of my life. You bet that was an awesome night.

It can be a whole band, too. There was another guy I dated off and on for years, and our entire relationship practically revolved around Pearl Jam. Matter of fact, no matter how many times he bashes firefighters, soldiers, and cops, I will still always ALMOST smile when I hear “Footsteps” because of him.

My ex of a thousand years was the lead singer in a band, and there are so many songs that when I hear them on the radio, I still hear his voice in my head, and I still remember the sappy, sappy pictures other band girlfriends took of him singing to me at some dive bar in Oxford.

I mean, to illustrate my point, how many girls have you seen drunk and crying and singing “The Song Remembers When” by Trisha Yearwood? A song about a memory song can make people get all sappy.
See? “Our song” is supposed to be a happy memory.

But I digress. This song Bill sent me, to which I originally spent a very interesting and memorable night (much of which is not THAT memorable because I have blacked it out, possibly because of Bill’s bartending and this game where we watched a show about firefighters and had to drink like every time they said "fire" and some other rules), is no “Black” or “Wonderwall” or “Are you gonna kiss me or not?” It is definitely a whole different thing all its own...

Some history on me and Bill, without getting too deep into it because (a) you don’t want to know, and (b) he’s very defensive about it, is this: We have remained good friends, although I still hate his baby’s mama, and he still disapproves of EVERY guy I date (and when I said that to him earlier, he protested, stating that the reason is not because of any kind of jealousy or protectiveness, it’s because I only date man whores. Hmmmmm. Yes... to some extent that's a possibility...).

But Bill and I have gotten past all the funny funny issues (some of which have been detailed in this blog) and he is now just like (his words) my big bubba (or brother, if you don’t speak “bubba-code”).

Now, you have to understand that this blog does take a little bit of liberty with some of the stories I tell. They’re all FUNDAMENTALLY true, but if the story seems to have a little hyperbole in it, it probably does, because hyperbole makes people laugh. But not with the Bill stories.

SO... I did not make up the story about sticking airplane bottles into my cleavage to smuggle the crown into the Daughtry concert, unfortunately. It was not my finest hour. But Bill was there.

I did not have to make up the story about calling different law enforcement officers, trying to get them to make the big trucks quit jake-braking in front of Ronnie’s house. Also not my finest hour. But once again, Bill was there.

And I did not stage this picture, after another night of drinking with Bill and Ronnie (yeah, obviously also not my finest hour... you get the point). Guess who took it? (And seriously, because he doesn’t want me to take him out in some sordid murder suicide after writing an exposee on his escapades which I WOULD make up, he will never show the other embarrassing pictures from that night.)

So, as you might guess, I don’t have to exaggerate the words to me and Bill’s song. I can't say this song so much DESCRIBES our relationship, but the fact that it is our song is probably the whole reason we're still friends... Here is the link on youtube. I should warn you that if you listen to the entire song, it will get stuck in your head and you will not be able to scrub it out with Clorox. It will be stuck there forever, lurking beneath the surface, below the Justin Beiber or Kenny Chesney or Johnny Cash you pump in to try to drown it out.

Some people you go out with or hook up with or whatever give you “stuff you can’t wash off.” Bill gave me Muck Sticky.

Thank you, Bill, from the bottom of my heart. At least (besides having an awesome friend and big-brother-type who has helped me in more ways than I can list on this transition to the big city) I  have something permanent, FOREVER BURNED INTO MY BRAIN like some crazy GANG INITIATION, to show for spending a couple of crazy nights with my big brother.  ;D

(As promised...) Some of you people are idiots.

Sooo... I would be remiss if I didn't record some of the things that have been impressed upon me over the last few days, you know, just for posterity.

1. Let me start by saying it's spelled "H-A-Z-L-E-H-U-R-S-T." Not Hazelhurst. People are born there, live all their life there, and die there, and STILL never learn to spell it. Sadly, in searching the internet, I have proven the Google people are not idiots, because it won't search for Hazelhurst. Also, it looks like the town of Hazlehurst, Georgia has the same problem.
Now, I don't know why I'm surprised, since this is the same town that fosters the one yard which had "Merry Christmas" spelled wrong A DIFFERENT WAY every year IN LIGHTS. I am not making this up. It was like, 1989: "Merrey Christmas!" 1990: "Mary Christmas!" 1991: "Merry Chistmas!" 1992: "Marr... Oh, f**k it! MRY XMS!"
But I digress.
We shouldn't have to change the town's name (nor the holiday) because NOBODY can spell it. I mean, I couldn't spell my name til I was 7, but Mom and Dad weren't budging, even when I wanted my name to be "Samantha" or "Rosalind" or "Ginger (like on Gilligan's Island, not like the slur)." Since it's already on all the historic documents and buildings and stuff, you're just going to have to learn how to spell it... Or we can all just spell things however we want like all the kids are doing these days, with their texting and their angry rap music... We used to do that anyway, when we all lived in Great Britain and spoke Olde English. Then Webster must have had enough, so he wrote the dictionary. I bet he's spinning in his grave over internet speak...

2. Brett Favre? Really? Dolphins, if you want a quarterback who wears Depends, at least call Dan Marino first... you owe it to him. Plus, it looks like Nutrisystem is keeping him in fighting shape. And Marie Osmond can be the cheerleader! Ummm... But make sure Jenn Sterger stays home, ok? We don't need to see anymore of THAT, if you get my meaning.

3. This guy. I don't think I can put it much better than the story does, using words like, "blithering moron" or when it says he was "wanted on a warrant in Utica, New York for domestic violence and harassing a former girlfriend, crimes usually reserved for geniuses and illicit masterminds." Um... So you're dumb enough to taunt the cops on Facebook... you DO know there are whole entire cybercrimes units devoted to tracking down people who are idiots THROUGH FACEBOOK ALONE, right?

4. I found this girl when I was looking at the last guy... Seriously?? I'm thinking something should have clicked at the words, "against federal law to ban service dogs from a store." And even if there was none of that... Who punches a mother with her dog and not one, but TWO autistic kids?? That's like hitting Mother Theresa. There is probably a hot place in Jackson Mississippi on an August day for people who punch mothers with dogs and two autistic kids.

5. Here is your Legal Lesson for the Day. (Yes, it applies to people who overreacted to my last blog, just like I predicted they would. Though I never would have predicted the fun this has been!)
Some of You People Who Are Idiots just need a quick schooling in basic terms.
• A "public figure" is the legal term applied in the context of defamation actions (libel and slander) as well as invasion of privacy. A public figure (such as a politician, celebrity, journalist, business leader, or sometimes just someone who has made the news to a certain extent) cannot base a lawsuit on incorrect harmful statements unless there is proof that the speaker, writer or publisher acted with actual malice (we'll get back to that one). The burden of proof in defamation actions is higher in the case of a public figure.

• "Slander" is the spoken word. "Libel" is the thing you call it when it's written. (You can remember it with this nifty little trick: "Slander" and "Spoken" both start with "s," and "libel" and "literary" both begin with "l.")
• Also, there's that tricky little thing called "actual malice." Actual malice is knowledge of falsity or reckless disregard for the truth.
• Meanwhile what's also fun about trying to prove libel, slander, and actual malice is that it just brings more publicity to the original statement than it had to begin with, which means MORE PEOPLE KNOW ABOUT IT, which means someone can come out of the woodwork to put the coup de grâce (them's faincy frainch wurds for "DEATH BLOW") on your little complaint.... And that is TRUTH. So, if anyone can prove that the things you're being accused of are actually TRUE, or could reasonably be perceived to be true, you don't have a case anymore, whether you like what was said or not.

In other words, for instance, if I said you're not always truthful, and you feel like that was a derogatory statement and you want to raise hell about it, you'd better have never lied. If I call you "shady," guess what? If you're a public figure, that means I can, because OPINIONS count when you're a public figure. If I accuse you of anything specific, like, "He's shady, he poisons goats" or something, then it's on me if I can't prove truth. And lack of goat carcasses would be proof, I do believe. (How many of you are kicking the dead, poisoned goats under the trailer as we speak??)

Just trying to be helpful there, in case you don't know the laws. Which, if you don't, I would advise you run for a position that doesn't require you to. Like... well... Homecoming Queen. Or Drama Queen, which some of you are very well qualified for.


Well now, that was fun. We'll have to do that again some time.

For the record...

I'm pondering calling my next blog, "Some of you people are idiots," for reasons I will detail at that time.

Lincoln County Elections: My votes, take 'em or leave 'em.

Disclaimer: This is my opinion. It is not the view of anyone else I know, anyone I date, anyone I buy groceries from, anyone I eat dinner with, anyone I work with or for, anyone who gave birth to me, or anyone who grooms my dogs. So take it for what very little it's worth, but I'm feeling inspired to write about these elections in my home county. 

The hard part about writing this is that in a small county, people forget that when they run for office or campaign for someone who does, they become public figures. As a full-time journalist and part-time satirist, it's up to me to call them out on their crap and make fun of them when they deserve it. And let's face it... some people who run for office are just plain laughable.

Since I no longer cover Lincoln County or Brookhaven politics, I can do this, and have looked forward to this opportunity for quite some time. I will try not to relate funny personal stories from my four years of covering some of these people, but that's a tough job (like the person running for an office who didn't realize he knew me because he was so busy staring at my chest that he didn't look at my face to see who I was, or the person who put their sign in my yard without asking only to have to come back later and make up a story about how they didn't mean to put it there. They meant to put it somewhere else... Did you just trip and DROP it in my yard in front of all the other signs then??)... Yeah, I can't promise anything.

And if I don't pick you in this list, remember you probably didn't give a damn what I thought until you realized I wasn't voting for you. And I'm not offering great reasons all the time. It's like the guy says about Forest Whitaker in "Cookie's Fortune," sometimes you just trust someone because you've been fishing with him.

That's why I'm not into politics. Also, I know I'll probably get a lot of hateful comments about this blog, and you know what? Bring it. Freedom of speech is something our soldiers fight and die for every day. People who fight over political opinions and leanings, and who get angry because you don't believe what they do? It's kind of like people who get mad at you because of what color your skin is. Fighting about it and being pissy isn't going to change ANYTHING. So bring the hate mail... I'll post a follow-up blog with my responses. ;)

First things first. In levels of importance, and in no particular order within the levels:

For Sheriff:
Sheriff Steve Rushing faces Brookhaven Police Officer Mahundis Brice and former Highway Patrolman Johnny Leggett on the Democratic ticket.

This is a tough one for me on some levels, because Leggett has been instrumental in helping some of my friends who desperately needed help, and the minute I called him, he was on it. He is a good man of great integrity and experience, and would undoubtedly make a great sheriff.
But Steve Rushing has done a great job since he's been in office. He had a lot to contend with, taking over after Wiley Calcote and cleaning up that mess. I have seen Steve agonize over decisions and how they will affect the people they involve, and I've seen him do what's right even when the cards seemed stacked against him. It's always hard to be the incumbent, because everyone who ever got a ticket or didn't like the outcome of an investigation has you in their crosshairs, but I will say this: Steve IS a great sheriff.
In November, the democratic winner faces Republican candidate, Gene "Bub" Simmons. There's not much to say about Bub except that last election he had 663 votes to Steve's 5,681. I don't see him as a threat or even a serious candidate. But he did tell me one time during the last election, for the record, "I'm the sharp knife in this drawer."
So even though I don't know what kind of a knife he'd qualify as in Bub's book, or even what drawer we're in, I pick Steve.

Post One Constable: 
 Democrats Clint A. Earls and Bruce Smith are challenging incumbent Kelly Porter.
Last election, Kelly beat Clint by 30 votes. Since then, he has proven himself time and again, not only by doing the job of serving the papers, but also he has assisted both the police and sheriff's departments many times. In one particularly pivotal moment, Kelly caught a car thief who had cut the car's driver with a box cutter and left him to bleed to death in the snow in West Lincoln somewhere.
People have criticized Kelly because they say a constable shouldn't be a cop, he should be a paper server. He should be slow and lazy and stay out of people's business.
Nope. The constable is the one person in the county who has the jurisdiction to arrest the sheriff. In my opinion, that needs to be a cop.
Also, while I haven't heard Clint or Bruce say it from their mouths, I have heard supporters use Kelly's recent battle with cancer as a reason not to vote for him. Here's the thing: When the cancer came, Kelly met it head on, and he fought it. He never whined or belly-ached, and he never gave up. AND he beat it. He's cancer-free, in spite of some people's acting like he needs to go home and spend his last days with his family. Nope, that's BS. He's got a long life of kicking butt and taking names ahead of him.
And I like Clint, but I hate to say it: He should have told some of the people campaigning for him to GO HOME.  Be careful who your friends are.
Bruce? Yeah... I don't have much to say about him. Ask somebody why he got fired from the jail.
So, you got it. Kelly Porter, HANDS DOWN.

Circuit Clerk:
Terry Lynn Watkins and Josh Davis are on the Democratic side. Watkins is looking for her fifth term as circuit clerk.
Now, I know she has some rabid fans out there, but listen, folks. She's been indicted on EMBEZZLEMENT charges. For those of you who say it's a big conspiracy by the DA, or by the sheriff, or by whoever, YOU'RE ALL IDIOTS. For her to be INDICTED, it means the MISSISSIPPI STATE AUDITOR'S OFFICE did an investigation that took several YEARS, uncovered evidence that she took upwards of $130,000, and it was sent to the GRAND JURY, who felt the evidence was damning enough to send her to trial. Her trial doesn't even start until January 9.
I don't care what you do, but that's not a risk I'm going to take.
On the Republican side you have Dustin Bairfield or Mike Walley. I don't know Mike, but I know Dustin. He is a good man, and honest even to a fault sometimes. When push comes to shove, Dustin will do the right thing, regardless of who likes it. That's what I want in my elected officials. I want painful honesty. I want someone who turns me (or themself) in or calls me on it when I do something wrong. I don't want to have to wonder, "Where did the money go?"
My pick, obviously, is Dustin Bairfield.

Post Two Constable: 
Democratic incumbent Lavon Boyd faces Troy Floyd and Bobby Ratcliff; and on the Republican ticket you've got Kirby Ebbers and Alica Gill Warren.
In short, I don't care at all about the Democratic side of this. I don't know Bobby Ratcliff, but I don't have much to say about Lavon and Troy and their politics.
On the Republican side, Alica is a good person. She recently got her part-time certification and is definitely passionate about law enforcement and serving the public. As a paramedic for KDMC, she also serves as the medic for the SWAT team. It would be cool, also, to have a woman constable. But on the flip side, Kirby has been part-time with the sheriff's department for four years. He serves on the SWAT team as well, and works at Brookhaven Fire Department in his off time.
Both would be a good choice, but Kirby definitely has the edge experience-wise. Plus, he is definitely a people person, and is well-connected in the community.
On this one, Kirby Ebbers is my choice.

House of Representatives District 92:
Republican Becky Currie and Democratic Ken Dale Sullivan will run against each other in November.
GO BECKY!!

Lincoln County tax assessor and collector:
It's Becky Bartram, Rita Wilkinson Goss, Vewanna Peavy Nations and April Byrd Williford all running on the Democratic side. Current city clerk Mike Jinks is running unopposed in the Republican primary, and then there's independent Mavis Henderson Stewart.
Straight up, there's no reason to waste time on this one. Jinks is the ONLY choice in this race.

Justice Court Judge, Post One: 
Incumbent Ralph Boone, Willie L. Hill, Harold E. King, Joe Portrey and Charles Ralph Smith Jr. are running on the democratic side. Art Likens and Ed Thompson are on the Republican ticket.
Ok... Boone is suspended as we speak following a MISSISSIPPI SUPREME COURT finding of improper conduct against him. Boone's 90-day suspension began in May and will conclude Aug. 17. So as I have stated, STATE OFFICIALS do not care what goes on in Lincoln County unless they have GOOD REASON.
Otherwise, this is a tough one for me because I love Art, I love Charles Ralph, and I love Joe Portrey. They are all really good men that I've worked with up close, and we'd be lucky to have any one of them.  
I can't choose this one, but I can tell you who not to vote for....

District 39 state senator: 
Republicans - Bill Boerner, Sally Doty and David H. Nichols, II.
I don't know Sally Doty, but I have dealt with Boerner and Nichols. I like Boerner, and I trust him. Nichols FEELS like a politician. Plus, he's given to a lack of emphasis on public safety and fire department matters, and you know how that's a deal-breaker for me.
In the Democratic primary, it's W.L. Rayborn and Michael Smith. I don't know Rayborn, but he served as the District 39 senator from 1979-1999 and ran for the office in 2003. Michael Smith, bless his heart, doesn't seem to have the integrity or aversion to drama that I'd like to see in that office. Suffice it to say that some public officials have had to start recording conversations with him because he will completely rewrite a private conversation before repeating it to someone else... I think we like to call that "stirring the s**t" where I come from.
So, I pick Boerner and Rayborn here.

Chancery Clerk: 
Three-term Chancery Clerk Tillmon Bishop is a Republican now, so we don't have to deal with this until November either. Maxine McCoy Jones and Roger Dale Leggett are running on the democratic ticket. Since Leggett once aggressively accused me of journalistic favoritism (how many times in four years can I say, "I DON'T PICK THE PICTURES!!!"?) in front of a group of people with no offer of explanation even when I asked, I think if I have to vote on the Dem side, I go Jones. I don't forget people who question my integrity.
After that, it's all Tillmon Bishop. You couldn't ask for a better guy. He's done a great job so far, and I expect great things from him in the future too.

And for the record, I'm really not interested in the Supervisors races. I never really covered the county board. But here goes nothing (very literally)...

District One:   
Democratic incumbent Rev. Jerry Wilson vs Republican challenger David Bowers in November.
I have not been impressed with Wilson's politics.  I don't know David Bowers or what he stands for. 
So I have no choice here.

District Two: 
Incumbent Bobby J. Watts, seeking his fourth term against challengers Jimmy Diamond and Don Smith.
Okay... Bobby Watts might be past his prime.
That said, I don't know who Diamond is, and I don't think Don Smith is the answer. Maybe we don't fix it if it ain't broke.
So again, no choice.

District Three: 
Democratic incumbent Nolan Earl Williamson will face a general election challenge from Republican Howard Williams.
I don't really care much about this one either. I always liked Nolan Earl, but I don't know Howard Williams, and I tend to think anyone who will light a fire under some of these guys' butts is my favorite.
I'll learn more and get back to you by November.

District Four: 
Democratic incumbent Doug Moak is also running for a fourth term against Charles Davis and C.E. "Eddie" Brown.
I like Doug Moak. He doesn't pull punches. If he can't cut your tree limbs today, he's going to tell you he can't cut your tree limbs. He's not going to tell you "Sure, we'll do it ASAP," and then the volunteer fire department ends up having to come out and do it even though he's promised to nine times.
I pick Moak. I don't know those other guys.

District Five: 
Three-term incumbent Gary Walker is opposed by Dudley Nations and Benjie J. Smith. Gary Covington and Carroll Bruce Smith are the Republican hopefuls for that position.
Gary Walker is a nice guy. I guess I'd vote for him for the very reason we in Lincoln County vote for people. You know, "He's a good ole boy. I'd go fishin' with him."
    
Lincoln County Schools Superintendent: 
Two-term incumbent Terry Brister faces challengers Donald E. Case, Jason R. Case and Jay R. Smith.
I don't know Donald Case, but I have worked with the other three. Jay Smith is very professional, and I think would do a terrific job. He knows what he's doing, he has a track record for positive change, and he has impressed me every time I've worked with him.
I don't have that kind of experience with Jason Case, but I know he's a Lincoln County native and he has been involved in the school system for years. Someone that invested in the county can't be a bad choice.
Terry Brister has been a strong superintendent to this point, and many of his employees have a fierce loyalty to him that implies that he has been a strong leader as well. Terry is also not one to feed you a line. He'll tell you straight, how it is, and he won't beat around the bush.
I'll have to let you make the call on that one.


Justice court judge, Post Two: 
Doyle Bratton, Carl Brown, Roger Martin, Terry Lane Nations and Martha Brister Robison are the democrats, Chris King is the lone republican.
I don't know much about any of these people, but I like Carl and Chris as the November matchup.
Then I pick Chris, because I know his family, and I like them. I like Carl a lot too, but I don't know his family.

Okay, that's my unofficial opinion. You know I'm not into politics, and it will probably be a long, long time before I spend this kind of time on it again.

And thank you to all the people who did not knock on my door and get my dogs all riled up. I keep funny sleeping hours and every minute counts. Also, I don't really want to hear your platform. I'm voting on if I can trust you or not, and that's the best thing about Lincoln County: I've met many of these people, and I know who they are outside of standing on my porch feeding me lines about hope and change. We have some really good people running, and we're a lucky county.

Don't forget to vote tomorrow, folks. I'll see you at the polls.

**By the way, I'm voting for Phil Bryant for governor, too.

Internet dating, my co-dependent commitment-phobic not-relationship, and blogging.

Okay, so if you know me, you know I’m violently opposed to internet dating. I mean, if you want to do it, that’s all you, but I AM NOT DOING IT. I would like to tell you that it’s for a smart, sensible reason, like that you never know when this person you’re chatting up could be a psycho killer or one of those people who calls you from the student loans, but that has nothing to do with it.

*ahem*... I'm afraid it would look like I can’t find a man myself.... (Hush!! I know what you're thinking: "BAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAA.... HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.... *GASP*... HAAAAAhahahahahahhahahahahahhaaaaa.... HAhahaaa... bwaahahaha...") ...As if I have not proven THAT beyond a shadow of a doubt. Like, if I were in court, accused of SUCKING at the dating game, the jury wouldn’t even have to deliberate. They’d just kind of all give each other the head-nod when the judge dismisses them to chambers, and they’d say, “Nah, we don’t need to talk about it. Guilty. TOTALLY.”

Basically, I don’t know if it’s that I’m afraid I’ll run into people I know while I’m online dating? When you think about it, that could be disastrous. What if you find out that you’re perfectly matched with that dude who totally grosses you out because he cleans his ears with his car keys and wipes it on his jeans? What does that say about you then?

Or what if, by some stretch, I meet the man of my dreams on eHarmony or something? That would mean I’d have to give up on whatever mutually co-dependent and commitment-phobic not-relationship I’m curretly in... and y’all know I’m ALWAYS in one of those. Always. And I’d have to dump (or not-dump) my not-boyfriend and end my not-relationship. I can’t have that, right? Because if someone’s not brutally shredding my heart like a grizzly bear does a bag of marshmallows, what would I obsess about?

Or what if this guy is still out there?? 
Or what if I run into one of these (very similar to that last guy) people like my friend Jessica did?? (That's me and Jess in the pic below during a B&E I blogged about a few years ago...)

Here’s an excerpt from an email she sent about one of her experiences on Match.com (the blue is hers):

So, here's my latest Match.com drama: My profile states that I don't take compliments well, and that I judge people based on their spelling & grammar... I received an email from Witty_and_Clever that said this:

"You misspelled "compliment"
My dear, it is properly spelled in this manner, complement. Making it even more ironic is that you misspelled just three sentences down from where you extol to appreciate "spelling correctly", which makes it quite the leviathan of a spelling mistake in my book. :0)
However, I am quite benevolent by nature. Unlike you, the comport of who I am would never lead me to judge someone whose misspelling might actually be a typo in disguise. Even worse, that person may be suffering from dyslexia, and unable to be proficient in spelling. Life is too short to be so petty, no?
Anyway, I hope you are enlightened from my email, and that you will ameliorate your current circumstance before you further embarrass yourself from having someone else think you are a cretin, oh keeper of the correct spelling................
Other than my parroting the obvious to you, I do think you are quite cute, and I find your zest for life in all that you have accomplished thus far very attractive, but you do come across as a bit smitten with yourself.............May you humble yourself and make eristic efforts to not give so much self importance to yourself to the foolish dismissal of others. In my opinion, it appears you have been in Texas too long my dear, as people in New Orleans are driven as well, but without getting caught up in petty matters.
Ok, my service message of the day is done. Enjoy your Sunday."

To which I responded:

"Actually, the word complement has a different meaning than the word I used, compliment. Thank you, though, for your valiant effort to point out my flaws. It will keep me on my toes as I aim towards perfection in the future. I do appreciate your concern. I am, however, a bit suspect that your user ID might be a bit inaccurate. Best of luck to you."

Gotta love Match drama. I neglected to mention in my response that my time in Texas hasn't even been three years, so probably not too long. I also didn't realize that I was quite so smitten with myself until that email. Unfortunately for Match.com, their 6 month guarantee doesn't apply to falling in love with myself. So technically, I guess I should be getting my money back at some point.

Anyway, this led to a discussion about how we're nominating her for "The Bachelorette," or maybe "Millionaire Matchmaker (or whatever the hell that's called), and so we all went to the Bachelor site and signed her up and then told her about it afterward. 

Then she and her sister Jennifer said I should internet date and blog about it. And I think that sounds hilarious, if not a little impersonal and extremely mercenary, FOR SOMEONE ELSE. I just don't know if I could do it. I HATE PUBLIC HUMILIATION only a little less than I HATE REJECTION.

But I think if I'd grow a backbone and just do it, it might take off. My friend Natalie Long did something similar, where she went on 100 dates in a year and blogged about each one, and it ended up being quite interesting to follow. Plus, if I’m meeting guys on the internet, I don’t feel like I can’t make fun of them, because it’s not like I really have to see them again. If I made fun of any of the guys I go out with now, it would just be unforgivable... mostly. I think they know they're ridiculous sometimes, but since I'm kind of hard to get a reaction from sometimes, I think they just keep pushing the envelope to see how bad of a shitshow they can be before I have a CACA (Class-A Come-Apart).

But I don’t know. I just don’t think I’m ready for internet dating. Like I said, what if I have to break it off with that guy who wants nothing from me except when he wants something from me? You know, the guy who doesn’t read my articles or my blog because he’s not that interested, doesn’t care to hear about my FBI stuff, doesn’t go anywhere with me or do anything with me because he’s too busy going and doing with other chicks, doesn’t like my dogs, makes me jealous as hell on purpose, and keeps me awake at night wondering when he’s ever going to wake up and realize I’m the coolest girl in a world where I’m constantly surrounded by very impressive men all the time but by some curse from the IRRITABLE BOWELS OF HELL HE’s the one I want? 

Because then when I meet my Prince Charming accidentally on Match.com and I ride happily off into the sunset with him, I have to feel bad, like I abandoned whoever the commitment-phobic co-dependent not-boyfriend of the moment is, because we always both knew I was really there to help save his soul, like some kind of pathetic superhero-movie-meets-romantic-comedy. And then I’ll spend the rest of my life with PTSD, like the soldier who left a man behind, wondering if I let him down.... 

Okay, no I won’t. :)
So we’ll see. Maybe the crazy internet dating blog will happen. Maybe it won’t. Give me feedback... is it worth it??

Meanwhile, ask Brett about her Dad’s squirrel hunting situation today at the police department. Classic. Nothing like having a gun discussion with your daughter's ex, who is also armed.

And also, I have a new muse. If I can grow up and be half as funny as this chick, then I win. (And if I can ever get paid well enough to just say, "Knock-knock, motherfuckers," without worrying like I am just now that everyone is SO disappointed in my lack of couth, then I will know I have arrived)

That's all I have at the moment. Comment. 

T's rules for texting (and a bunch of yours too!!)

Okay, it’s been a while since I blogged. Sometimes that’s going to happen. Sorry.

Anyway, I’ve had occasion to think hard about texting etiquette. There are many reasons for this, but I realized I can write another list on text rules alone, because there are so many, not the least of which is T’s Life Rule #36: “When someone’s return text word-count average drops consistently below four, stop texting. They don’t want to talk to you.”

I admit, in past lists, I have tried to keep the numbers flush, but Life Rule #36 is, by far, T’s Text Rule #1. Because it’s true, think about it. If you’re texting with someone who consistently is writing back less than 4 words, they could give a damn less about your conversation. Even if you’re sending them nothing but “Yes” or “No” questions, because if they were at all involved, they’d eventually be like, “WTF are all these yes and no questions about? Why are we playing 20 questions? Are you applying for a home loan with my identity or what???” And that, of course, would push the average back up over 4, more than likely.

So, here are my rules for texting. I even solicited advice for these on Facebook, which you know is a first.

Take them or leave them, but know this is what I think.


1. When someone’s return text word-count average drops consistently below four, stop texting. They don’t want to talk to you.
2. When you are physically in someone else’s presence and they are constantly returning texts to someone else while you try to carry on a conversation (or don’t try, because you’re irritated that they’re so rude), it’s because that person they're texting is more important than you (with only a very very very very very few exceptions). If this rude texter person is a romantic interest, you've already got your answer as to his (or her) interest.
3. Texting someone the word ‘Sup? to initiate conversation is lame. Your momma should slap your mouth.
4. Texting someone a picture of your anatomy to start a conversation is also lame. If you have to do that unsolicited, you'd better make small talk first or you're officially Chester the Text Molester.
5. Guys, it’s generally frowned upon to ask a chick for naked pictures if you’ve never even been on a date with her. It’s even frowned upon for some time after that as well, believe it or not.
6. Punctuation is IMPERATIVE (Thank you, Hollie Campbell). For instance, if you like to use the phrase “F*ckin’ A, dude!!” please be certain to punctuate it correctly. Otherwise you could end up with this kind of train wreck: “In the hot tub with champagne and caviar f*ckin a dude this is the life!”
7. You see my point about number 6. Read it again. Especially if it applies to your vernacular.
8. If you text someone to say, “what are you doing,” you are taking the risk that they are doing nothing exciting. In case of that, have something to tell them as a backup plan, or you end up with one of those, “I’m bored.” “Me too.” “um... ok.” “Ok then.” conversations, which are POINTLESS.
9. “Oh OK,” and “Ok then,” are always conversation enders. Rarely can “Oh OK” be used in regular conversation without ending it, like, “Why did you go to the grocery?” “I had to get milk.” “Oh OK.” Even then there’s not much left to say. But when it’s like, “I was driving into town today and saw a burning chicken truck,” and the reply is “Oh OK,” just refer to rule #1. They just don’t want to talk to you.
10. Anyone who ever used the word “Chillaxen” needs their ass kicked.
11. When you are trying to mend fences with a chick you have screwed over consistently over an extended period of time, texting is not the way to do it. Because nothing takes the romance out of an apology more than, “I m sry n I luv u!”

12. It’s generally best not to text two parties at once if you’re talking about them to each other. It’s Murphy’s law. You will, inevitably, send one to the wrong person, then all kinds of drama breaks loose. As Debbie Keene said, “Make sure you're texting the person you THINK you're texting..”
13. If you’re in some little chatty texty BBM group, it is NOT ok to break out secrets in front of parties who are not privy to such information directly from the source of the secrets. (You know who you are, BILL!!!)
14. It is not ok to send someone hearts or little kissy faces if you don’t mean it.
15. Sometimes it’s just better to turn off autocorrect. (www.damnyouautocorrect.com)
16. Don’t drive and text is one we hear a lot. But, as Jessica Larche pointed out, not DRINKING and texting is also very important, especially when you’re like me and Drunk You wants to hide your drunk harassment of other innocent people from Sober You. Just give up the phone with the car keys, people.
17. If you’re going to text someone a terrible pick-up line, run it by some other woman first to make sure it’s not going to completely flop. The guy who sent me the “Hey sexy mama, I can put out your fire” text is still the stuff of legend among me and my friends.
18. From my long-lost friend Allison Tate: Don’t text someone after 10 on a work night unless you know they’re awake because they work late or they have texted you first. If you just absolutely HAVE to, start off with some polite disclaimer. (Hint: “WAKE YOUR ASS UP!” is probably not a good one.)
19. Remember that things come across differently in text language than in real life. We’ve all had that misunderstanding where you’re so mad because someone was such a jerk, but it turns out they weren’t saying it in their head in the tone of voice you said it in  yours.
20. One letter texts are WORSE than “Oh OK” or “OK then.” Examples: “O,” “Y?”, or “K.”  It does not hurt your delicate little texting thumb to add the 1-2 more letters it takes to make entire words.
21. In the astute words of my friend Rod, “Thou shalt nt txt spelings lik dis.” Word, Rod.
22. From the fabulous Jason Waters: “Also, read it before you hit send. Is proofreading dead? I can't tell you how many times I have replied ‘WTF?’, only to get back, ‘LOL, autocorrect.’ Sorry, I didn't LOL.”
23. Don’t text angry. Thanks David Wilson, that’s a good point. Especially if “Angry” is angry because you left town to visit some other chick and didn’t tell her the truth about it.
24. (A) Text someone back in a timely manner. Waiting 24 hours or until it’s too late for your answer to be relevant is rude and shows ill breeding. IF that person is someone you actually want to speak to you again, that is, because not answering says, “Not only am I not into you, I’m also unconcerned about your schedule and feelings.” If that’s how you feel, ignore away, which leads to (B) Don’t text someone and ask, "Did you get my text?" Take the hint. Rule #1. (Thanks again, Rod, who also added, “Uhhm, I was ignoring you. Now I have to ignore you again.”)
25. From Paul Nelson: Don't text an ex at 4 am telling them what a horrible person that they are! (Sad to say, I’m guilty of that too... shame on me...)
26. If I text you, don't immediately call me. If I wanted to talk, I would have called YOU. This especially applies if you KNOW I'm at work. (Courtesy Jason again.)

27. Stephanie Turgeon comes in with one that’s so common sense I can’t even believe I haven’t already listed it three times: NO BREAKING UP WITH SOMEONE VIA TEXT. (This also goes for facebook. You can’t just change your relationship status and expect the person who’s going to get their feelings hurt to understand it.)
28. One more from Rod, which was heartily seconded by Davey Keys (that I’m also guilty of): Thou shalt not send mass text messages on holidays. (Ok, maybe it's just me, but really don't need to have my battery drained on Christmas because 300 people wished to send me a Merry Christmas).
29. To go back to #18: If someone only texts you after 10, his/her motives are suspect.
30. Don’t send a text that says, “Huh?” or “What?” If you do, I will simply copy and paste exactly what I just sent you.

Ok.. I’m certain there are others I have left out, and please feel free to leave a comment and add to this list. I figure since texts came long after Emily Post, it’s the least we can do to keep the tips coming in. :)

TTFN. ;)