Momnesia

AUGUSTA, GA. - Let's be honest: jobs in print media that pay well are few and far between... and they certainly are hard to find in this town. My job is great and pays fairly, but it would be irresponsible of me not to budget wisely. One of the things I do is shop online to save gas. But that's not good if you get eaten up by shipping costs. There are some sites out there that give out free codes for shipping or discounts, but the best one I've found for online shopping coupons is coupon chief.com. There! I give you my secret! But for those of us who love to shop the variety at amazon.com, the clearance racks at Target and Old Navy, the high quality kitchen gear at Sur la Table, the electronics at Best Buy (dang, do I need a new keyboard), the super coolness that is Urban Outfitters... this place has the best deals! Free shipping, percent-off and special sales. Seriously, for amazon deals, Target sales, Old Navy discounts, Sur la Table steals and Best Buy bargains, couponchief.com is the place to start. See how I got out my thesaurus for that? Yeah. That's how come I get paid to write for a living. I knows me some words.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Emerson and I were at my mother-in-law's last night, and my brother-in-law, Chris, came over with his lovely wife.

"Someone called in on the radio this morning and said, 'We ought to get this young man Scott Hudson to run for Congress,'" Chris said. I was horrified. Politicians wives have to shower and brush their hair and wear makeup. And exercise. I felt faint.

"I thought about calling in and saying, 'I'm his brother. Don't vote for that fool,'" he laughed.

I laughed, too. I know Scott's aspirations include some sort of office-holding, but Congress wasn't what I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of dog catcher. Isn't there a senior class somewhere that needs a president?

My mother-in-law of course was delighted.

"What office do you think he should run for, Stacey?" she cooed.

"How 'bout the office of learning how to flush the dang toilet?"

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And what is that about anyway? Do you think I need to see what it is that you last accomplished in the bathroom? I mean, face it, I can usually smell it. Visual cues are redundant.

A.C. is reading part of a Pete Redmond story.
"... and again, to our readers, you can only have a fish cleaning station next to your house if you have starred in 'The Deadliest Catch.' Otherwise, no."
(laughs all around)

"Oh, my dad loves 'The Deadliest Catch,'" I say.
"Jim does, too," A.C. said, with wonder.
"Why?" I plead.
"I don't know."
"Why you wanna see people die? What's wrong with boys?" I bed.
"I don't know. C.P.? What's wrong with boys?" she asks.
He doesn't even raise his head from the keyboard: "Penis."

He'll make an excellent husband one day. He already knows the right answers.

I want to buy a Camper Van and name it Beethoven.
(That's not me, by the way. I'm WAY hotter.)

AUGUSTA, GA. - Last year, my employer hosted a review of local culinary offerings on a day when a the Rotary Club had their Fire Muster to benefit the Southeastern Burn Foundation. Both events were on opposite ends of the same patch of public property, both had live entertainment.

At the Fire Muster, a young singer/songwriter took the stage.
"Who is he?" a Rotarian asked.
"I dunno," another answered. "But he's good."
They kicked back a while to listen. At a break, the singer's cell phone rang.
"Where are you?" the event coordinator demanded.
"I'm on stage!" he exclaimed.
"No, you're not!" she argued.

Shortly, they realized he was on stage... at the wrong event. Never fear! The fire fighters drove him in a golf cart over to the correct one just in time for him to make his stage time. That's a rock star for you. Can't walk across a big ol' lawn.

AUGUSTA, GA. - See this? "At Sea Level, The Atmosphere Presses The Earth's Surface at 14.7 Pounds Per Square Inch," by Hollis Brown Thornton. Acrylic, Carbon Transfer, Pigment Transfer on Canvas.*

First of all, the title cracks me up. Second of all, there's a series of six in blues and yellows that is calling to me from the Mary Pauline Gallery right now. It's only $500 apiece, and I can't think of a better investment of our money - you know, besides masters courses and health care and private school education and paying off our car loan and buying a house and putting more away in our retirement fund... except for those things, I can't think of a better investment for our money than art.

Scott would kill me dead with his bare hands if I spent $3,000 on artwork. It's just not a priority. I spent $125 on a piece by local artist Lisa Baggs and I thought his head was going to explode.

Now if it was Queen memorabilia or the dental extraction of Freddy Mercury, that would be okay in his book. But there you have it. Two roads diverged in a wood, and he took the one lined with sequined jumpsuits. Because he is the champion, my friend.

* What is "pigment transfer?" I'd call it "painting." And I'd say that "carbon transfer" is the same as "drawing with a damn pencil." **

** That doesn't mean Thornton's pieces aren't super great. It just means I think the descriptions are wonky. ***

*** I totally stole the word "wonky" from Harry Potter.****

**** My 2-year-old calls "Harry Pohtah" because she's watched it so much that she's actually picked up a British accent.

AUGUSTA, GA. - My husband called home on his cell phone.
"I just have one question," he said.
"Okay..."
"I'm in the meat department at Bi-Lo, and-"
"Why?"
"What?" he asked.
"Why are you in the meat department at Bi-Lo?"
"What?"
"Who is this?"
"This is your husband!" he exclaimed, exasperated.
"You ain't my huzzzbin!"
(pause)
"Are you messing with me?"
"NO! I don't know why you in the meat department at Bi-Lo, and you ain't my huzzbin!"
Scott looked at his cell phone and realized that he'd misdialed the number.
"Oh, ma'am, I am so sorry. I dialed the wrong number," he choked out, between laughs.
"Just as long as you know you ain't my huzzbin!"

She should be so lucky!

AUGUSTA, GA. -

No, really. Or maybe los gatos are ON my pants. Because they've taken over the suitcases with their furry little behinds.

AUGUSTA, GA. - This is what happens to you if you have the audacity to annoy me. Amy has been thoroughly packing-taped to her chair. Yet observe her continuing insolence.


Here she has been subdued. She cries like a little girl.

A friend's brother, who teaches English in Taiwan now, said that there are tribes of monkeys that live just outside the city in the adjacent jungle. People there live in harmony with them, cause they usually keep to themselves but every now and then they will steal fruit or something

Dale is growing tomatoes on his balcony and woke up one morning to find a tribe of monkeys eating all his crop. He scared them all away with a bamboo pole, except for one: the alpha male. Dale said that he was fricken HUGE - the top of the monkey's head came up to his waist.

The monkey puffed out his chest and barred his teeth and then threw a tomato at Dale - kinda scary considering these things have fangs 1-inch-long. Dale backed off and screamed at the monkey, "Fine! Eat my Fuckin' Tomatoes!" and went inside.

But Alpha monkey didn't eat the tomatoes. Instead, he mocked Dale by throwing them at the sliding glass door for the next 20 minutes until there were no more tomatoes left.

Just some pretty lights I found, in a pretty atrium in Augusta, Ga.

After a long period of silence...

"At Urban Outfitters they have a Homer Simpson doll and he's wrapped in a towel and you squeeze his hand and he sings 'Macho Man' in its entirety," A.W. says. "It was the funniest thing I've ever seen."

New works by Kristin Casaletto and Jennifer Onofrio will be on exhibit from June 15 - July 21 at the Mary Pauline Gallery, 982 Broad St. An opening reception will be June 15 from 5 - 8 p.m.

Stop by and check out the Onofrio's exploration of the concepts of mortality and fragility, and see why Casaletto was awarded grants from the Blue Mountain Center in New York and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Yes, you read that right. Government. In. Action. When an employee had a complaint about handicapped parking downtown, Traffic Engineer Steve Cassell came out himself to look at the situation.

After determining that the city could do more to meet the required code, city workers had installed a new handicapped parking space at the corner on 7th and Broad streets less than one week later. Quick work!

We'll never complain about the speed of bureaucracy again.

Until tomorrow.

AUGUSTA, GA. - I'm not from 'round here, and it was nice this weekend to stumble across this urban oasis at the Saturday Market on Broad. A nice, quiet, shaded and cool respite from the asphalt downtown. Behind Health Central on Broad Street is this great place to take shelter from the summer sun.

AUGUSTA, GA. -- Scenes from the weekend in downtown.

Emerson adores makeup. Of course, she's 2-years-old and loves anything with which she can paint on the walls and hardwood floors. So she discovered fingernail polish and now lipstick. Yesterday, after I moved all of the tubes I could find out of her reach, I went into the kitchen to cook dinner.

Unbeknownst to me, she dragged her little red chair over to the closet and starting going through my cosmetics drawers. Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable shriek that meant the universe was torturing her in some way. "I spillyit!" she yelled.

But it was not a beverage. It was a bottle of patchouli oil so old that some of the stuff had crusted around the cap. And now it was puddled on my floor. She ran to me, leaving little patchouli footprints in her wake, waving little patchouli-covered hands. "Ahhh!" I ran away from her and got a wad of paper towels from the kitchen. She thought it was a joke and toddled after me, spraying patchouli on the walls and floor as she ran.

It was a huge mess. And now our whole house smells like dead hippies and I've stopped showering because I'm under the delusion that it covers all body odors. By the way, we're gettin' the band back together! And we're hosting a five-day concert with Widespread, Phish and Mickey Hart's Music Box in my back yard! We're going to burn a giant straw golf ball at the end of it all. Dude. It's going to be awesome. It makes me feel like this:

After five wonderful years I am saying goodbye to my beloved, the first "real" camera I ever owned. It's served me well. So, if you are looking for a good camera, click the photo below for purchasing information. For the camera body, two lenses, an external flash and a super sweet camera bag, it's a freaking great deal. Thanks!

"Is that Stacey's intern?" A.W. asks.
"Yes!" I crow. "All mine. My personal intern. I flog him daily."
She chuckles like the cuddly ball of hate that she is: "The devil wears Converse."

No. You can't.

It is an electric, do-it-yourself back hair shaver called the ManGroomer.

This is the spam I'm getting now. Can anyone explain why? Except Joe White. You, sir, are not allowed to formulate an explanation. We do not have a 7-second delay in blogland.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Scott and I had a date Friday night.

Obviously, you did not hear me, or there would be confetti raining down upon my head and cripples would be lining up for miles outside my door wanting me to lay my miracle-making hands upon their ailments.

My husband and I had a date, a real date, with just me and him and nowhere we had to make an appearance and without a scheduled agenda or dress code. We exchanged words that didn't rhyme and sang songs - don't ask - not written by a cast of characters wearing matching shirts (or shirts of the same style that do not match because they are all different but still very bright colors, thank you so very much, Australia.)

But it is a good thing that he is my husband and not some poor, unsuspecting man who asked me out because after...
1) hitting 30, which was officially 15 years of torturous dating, I turned into a Minuteman-version of the Dating Game on guys, waving the flag of the United Personalities of Stacey with all of them screaming, "Love her or leave her!" and;
2) after squeezing a watermelon-headed baby out of a - well, significantly smaller... uh, hey, shut up! Stop thinking about my hoo-ha! But let's just say the experience put things in perspective...
... I have apparently forgotten the Rules.

I am beginning to think that I was raised by wolves but adopted by a kindly, aging, childless farming couple who kept me in the barn but tragically died early, gentle deaths leaving me a ward of the state, which found me another adoptive family very quickly, and all while I was still quite young but not in time to teach me social skills. Witness.

Stopped at the 13th and Telfair streetlight.
We're coming from the Hill and going to The Boll Weevil. I'm driving. Scott's window is open.
(thinking): I bet I can hit the sidewalk with my gum.
Scott: blah blah blah blah blah
Totally. I can totally hit that sidewalk with my gum.
Scott: And then I said blah blah blah blah.
His head is in my way. Can I make it past his head?
Scott: blah blah blah blah
Do I want to make it past his head?
Scott: blah blah blah -
"Hey, move back," I order.
He obeys: "What are you-"
(huck!) Damn. Not quite.
Luckily, Scott collapsed in laughter and grabbed my hand.
"See?!" he guffawed. "That's why you're my best friend!"

We make it to The Boll Weevil without me doing anything else utterly disgusting. They've painted the exterior of the building, and they're working on the exteriors of all of the buildings on that block. Looks nice, even if I'm not sure about the color choices. Mustard always reminds me of a candlestick in the library, and that's a messy way to die, but at least a nice place to do it. As I cut into the bread, I chop into my left thumb. Hard. Deep. There is blood on the table.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks.
"yyyeeeeesssss," I grimace. Hey! A candle.
"I want to light my straw wrapper!" I exclaim. And then I do it.
Oh shit!
"What are you doing?!" he demands, and, dude, I have no idea. The shiny lighty thing distracted me! I blow on the paper and manage to put it out. A cloud of fine grey ash shrouds our table and settles in my water glass.
"You want to just get an appetizer and go?" he asks, looking at his bleeding, ash-covered bride.

That would probably be safest.

Disclaimer: No alcohol was involved in the making of this story. That came later.