Just Peachy

Brandon: What is that?
Wendy: It's friggin' creepy. That's what it is.
Brandon: I've never seen a bug like that in my life.
Wendy: Welcome to Georgia.


Update: According to whatsthatbug.com, this is a House Centipede.

Aight, I'm gonna go ahead and get out all my complaints about my new surroundings. This will be like a cleansing process. Take a deep breath. Hold it in. Okay, exhale.

It's humid. I mean, I knew it would be. I remembered it being that way. I even warned Brandon that the moment you walk outside, you feel the need to take another shower or two. But I forgot what it was really like. Sort of like the way women forget how badly childbirth hurts, enough so that they actually want to have another kid. I just repressed those memories and here we are, back in the sauna.

There are bugs, tons of them, and they are hungry. And apparently, my feet are a delicacy for ants and skeeters. I miss my flipflops.

The traffic in Atlanta is STUPID. Here's why. First off, the stoplights do not have sensors. They're timed. So traffic piles up. Second, there are no turning lanes. Which makes driving in the ATL more of an adventure. Think you've got the right lane? Nope, a car needs to make a left turn. Okay, switch lanes - dangit, there's a bus stopping! Okay, got past that. And now there's a flash thunderstorm and hey! The street's flooding. Let's hope it doesn't sweep away our economy car. Oh, and just try to find the name of a street. The sign is not only on the corner in small letters, but it's blocked by a tree.

Okay, I think I'm done complaining now. There's more for me to whine and moan about I'm sure, but I'm hot, because that's what it is here, hot, and so I'm going to go.

Light Fixture Fun

I was fairly amused at the light fixtures at our new place. Each one is definitely unique. I'll start with the newest one, which lights our little kitchen.


Brandon thinks it looks like the bottom of a coke bottle. What with being in Atlanta, I figure that's appropriate.

The next little beauty is in our living room:

Is it a flying saucer? Is it an eye? Is it from the 60's? I'm not terribly sure.

Now for the one in our bedroom.

I'm thinking this one is definitely from the 60's. I'm fairly certain I could find some items from Ikea to go with this fixture.

Well there you have it. The lights that will be illuminating our habitation for the next ten months. May we coexist peacefully.

We're Here

We arrived in Atlanta safe and sound. I'm blogging from the laptop in our new apartment. Our stuff is supposed to arrive Tuesday, so until then we're improvising.

I'm being positive about our apartment. Two good things about it? Well the shower has excellent water pressure. It could probably double as a fire hose. And our back yard is composed of a forest. Which is nice because it feels less like we're living in the city. Plus it's nice to know that only birds and squirrels will be peeking in on us. Here's a picture:


Anyway, more to come. Subjects include the Alamo (the Texas holy of holies), the Wasons visit post-Katrina New Orleans, and the light fixtures at our apartment.

Leaving California

After three days of packing, we're about to leave for Atlanta. Hopefully we'll arrive by the 18th. If we didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you, goodbye and we'll miss you. Unless we don't like you, but since we'd like to be remembered well, assume we do.

If you're the praying type, pray that we'll have safe travel and that nothing goes too horribly wrong. We'd hate for our moving truck to have a failed attempt at fording the river and lose our oxen or something. We need those oxen.

Length of a Presidential Term

Today Brandon and I have been married for four years. It's funny, but I still catch myself stealing glances at him, wondering how I ended up with such a great guy. I love everything about him.

Here we are on the eve of change once more. There's no one I'd rather face it with. There's no one I'd rather go through life with. Happy anniversary to us.

Cheerleaders with Dentures

It'll be really weird when there are old ladies named Britney or Stacy. Grandma Britney. It'll be hard to get used to.

You ever wonder if old ladies ever thought the same thing about their young people names? Like, Won't it be weird when there are old ladies named Mildred and Agnes?

Sleep Tight...

This article makes my skin itch.

In the past four years, reports of bedbugs have significantly increased in U.S. cities, from New York to Honolulu, especially in hotels, hospitals and college dormitories — all places with high resident turnover.

In the next few weeks, I'll have ample opportunity to get me some bedbugs. Hotels? Why yes, we'll be staying in probably two or three hotels on the way across the country. College dormitories? We'll be living in grad student housing. Oh, and just to cover all bases:

The tiny bugs may be hitching a ride in the luggage or clothing of travelers. This could explain the high concentration of the pests in cities like Atlanta and New York, which attract a lot of international traffic.

And yup, moving to the ATL. Gonna be chillin' with the bedbugs. I have to go now so that I can scratch.

Little Miss Sunshine

We just got back from watching Little Miss Sunshine. I really enjoyed it. I laughed out loud quite a few times. It was funny, depressing, sad and touching. A strange mix, I know. But it came off well.

I <3 BBQ Sauce

Our work took us to Outback today as a sort of goodbye lunch. Our last day at work is officially the 10th, but a coworker is leaving the 8th and our boss's wife is having a baby any time now, so we did the goodbye lunch thing a little early, so that everyone we're saying goodbye to is actually present. Otherwise it would be more of a "yay they're gone" lunch.

Anyway, I got what I usually get: chicken on the barbie with steamed veggies. So they serve it, and immediately I notice that something is amiss. The barbeque sauce is bile colored. I tasted it to make sure that it was true, that they actually dared to give me a different sauce. My tastebuds were assaulted with a flavor not unlike any fast food restaurant's barbeque sauce, the kind that was meant for fried processed chicken hunks to be dunked into. I loved their old barbeque sauce. I'd practically drink the stuff. That sauce alone was reason enough to go to Outback. And now it's but a memory. (By the way, I asked the waitress about it, and she said they'd changed to a different sauce. She said she was equally disappointed. Hear that, Outback? That makes two people.)

So since I'm getting older, and realizing that I need to actually start doing good things for my fellow man before my time on earth is up, I decided to email Outback to complain about the switch. Oh yes, I did. I felt so soccer mom. We'll see if I get a response.