Because I'm a snob...

Because I'm a snob, or let me rephrase that, used to be a snob, I used to turn my nose up at Goodwill. Don't get me wrong, I've donated tons of stuff to them, but the thought of buying clothes there just seemed gross to me. Why would I want someone's castoffs? What if I was out and about and someone saw me wearing what they donated?

Who cares, is what I say now.

Addison just started in the gifted program at his school, and he's doing an introduction as an announcer for another kid in his class, who is giving a presentation on Muhammad Ali. Addison asked me to try to find him a black blazer for his introduction.

Ummm, boy, I love you and all, but it's almost March and every store has shorts, T-shirts and bathing suits out. I did look around Wal-Mart, but was in no way, shape or form buying a $40 blazer. Sorry, child, but unless we went to church every week (sorry Grammie and Mom) it's just not going to happen.

Then I remembered Goodwill, where we donated everything the seller of our house left when she blew town.

I was pleasantly surprised by how clean it was. It didn't smell like mothballs or colostomy bags. I found lots of blazers and found one that will be a little big on the boy, but for $5, he can't complain.

So I started looking through the dresses and skirts. I found two really cute dresses and a skirt, and even got a book. Everything came to $17. I'm still a little skeeved about wearing clothes someone else probably wore (some stuff still has tags on it, so I'm guessing it was never worn), but after a washing my sieve-like mind will forget all about it.

I'm embarrassed that I was such a snob. They are good people working there, hard workers, and I'll definitely go back in the near future.

Because it's Tuesday...

I don't know how to follow the Because it's Tuesday title, because I really don't have a general subject for writing today, I just figured I've posted so far and few lately I'd check in.

I would have to say that writing is like reading for me. Sometimes I'll read two or three books a week, and other times I won't pick up a book for months. So sometimes I'll write everyday and other times I'll take a break.

Anyway, it's going swimmingly here in Pooler. I hate saying Savannah, because really, I live in Pooler, which is the next town over, but if I tell anyone from outside the area I live in Pooler, Georgia, they will have no clue where I mean. Savannah is much easier, because really, if you live anywhere within a one hour radius of Boston, you claim you're from Boston, right?

Not much going on lately. Getting ready for lots of visitors. My dad and stepmom get here Friday for three days, then my mom and her husband will be here next weekend for a few days. In three weeks Adam's mom and brother will be here for four days. I welcome the company, and always look forward to seeing family, which not everyone is lucky enough to be able to claim. I am lucky.

Because I'm all about tooting my own horn...

I won an award. No I'm not shittin' you. And it's not for having a potty mouth or a ghetto booty. It's an real, damn-I'm-proud of myself award.

Unless you've worked at a military newspaper, you've probably never heard of Keith L. Ware. He was a major general in the Army, a Medal of Honor awardee in World War II and was killed in action in the Vietnam War.

So how does that apply to me? Well, Maj. Gen. Ware is the namesake for the Keith L. Ware Journalism Awards Competition. And me, yup, lil' ol' Georgia peach me, won one.

But, you might say, you haven't worked at The Bayonet for a year and a half. True. But I did write two articles last year, and one of them just happened to win me second place in the "Contribution by a stringer writer" category for the southeast region.

It was an article about one of my best friend's sons, a high school wrestler who is just a great all-around kid. He won the state championship wrestling title in his weight class and I believed that he deserved an article letting everyone know what a kick-ass kid he is. He does well in school, is a very nice kid and an outstanding athlete.

The best part of my award is that I didn't even know my article had been submitted for judging. I think that's why I was so surprised. I submitted some articles about 10 years ago and didn't win anything. The irony is not lost on me that when I don't even write anymore is when I win an award. But I'm not complaining, no way, no how.

I'm not ashamed to say I'm very proud of myself. I've put a lot of sweat and hard work into working at that newspaper and although I enjoy writing, I don't consider myself a writer unless I'm filling out a form and it asks for my occupation and for some reason "Homemaker" just doesn't sound exotic enough for me, so I fill in "Freelance writer."

Because I do still write a weekly sports column for The Bayonet, for free, natch. I enjoy writing the column and I love sports, and when I had stopped doing it it bothered me so much because I thought it sucked because I'm critical like that.

So I'm going to enjoy my accomplishment and let everyone I know that yes, I won an award. And yes, by gosh golly, I AM proud of myself, thankyouverymuch.

Because I've got Yankee blood...

I've lived in Georgia almost 13 years. I grew up in New England-three years living in Connecticut and 18 years around Massachusetts.

If you've ever lived in or visited New England, you know how people are. Or at least how I remember them - impatient, grouchy and rude. Sure, there are nice people, but all you have to do is try to drive through Boston and you'll know what I mean.

It took me a long time to get used to Georgia. I lived at Fort Benning, about 90 miles southwest of Atlanta and on the AL/GA border, for 12 years. The first Fall I was here I literally started crying, because it was still so hot, and I didn't understand why the air wasn't crisp and the leaves weren't turning beautiful colors.

I've acclimated. My blood is thinner. I can handle 95 degrees outside with 100 percent humidity. I understand it won't get below 80 until October, and most leaves will just turn brown.

But since my move to Savannah, I've learned that I'm now in the real South, y'all. Time has no meaning. People are slooooooow. And nice. Too nice. Nice to the point where I feel like a bitch most of the time.

I was driving behind a guy who was turning left into Wal-Mart. He had the right of way, yet stopped and let about four cars who were supposed to yield to him go. The old me would have laid on my horn, yelling and cursing, "What the EFF are you doing? GO!" The new me understands that this is how it works around here.

Every trip to Wal-Mart, at least one person says, "Oh, I'm sorry, am I in your way?" Um, no, but jeez, you're nice.

I am in love with this town and the people. It's nice to be nice, something I'm slowly learning. I'm looking forward to getting nicer, every day, by the time we have to move.

Because I totally believe someone is trying to tell me something...

This is what I did to the toilet seat today when I sat on it:

Cracked it all the way through. I blame the cold weather. I blame my dog who lifts the wooden seat to drink out of the toilet, then lets the lid slam. I do NOT blame my fat ass. I know I've gained some weight because of my obsession with Wal-Mart donuts, but I didn't gain THAT much weight.

I went to Wal-Mart to get a replacement lid (plastic, thank you, no more wood) and for the first time, managed to leave without donuts, thankyouverymuch.