Don't touch the Honda

After another fruitful day of sitting on my ass and doing nothing, Nikole and I decided to go buy some wine because we were really bored. Not that we were not being entertained by the Motorcity Bowl featuring Florida Atlantic University vs. Central Michigan University, but we felt that maybe I should leave the house today. We first stopped at Joe's Liquor, mostly because I like the sign, but left because of their policy of a 40% markup. After going to the much more reasonably priced but much further away Buster's, Nikole and I were almost home when I had to make the first 911 call of my life. On Front St. in Memphis there is a portion of the road that goes under an overpass that is part of the Memphis Convention Center. When I was approaching this area I realized I could not see through to the other side due to a large amount of smoke coming from a late model Honda Civic THAT WAS ON FIRE. There were no firetrucks, no police, just a Honda Civic that was more fire than car. So, after telling Nikole that we now have a new house rule that requires her to carry a camera at all time, I called 911. I also decided to drive quickly by the car instead of turning around and going another way. I told my lovely bride that we were in no danger of explosion but I really just wanted to get a closer look. The 911 guy asked if there was anyone in the car and I told him that if anyone was in the car they were no longer with us. He then promised to expedite the fire department when I assured him that yes the car was "engulfed" and yes it was right next to a valuable building that I'm sure the city still owes money on. We then drove home remarking on how Memphis was never boring. I wonder if we still have a convention center? I also wonder how a car on a busy street can have had time to become totally consumed by flames and make a smoke cloud that obscures the road without having the fire department there already? The fire station is literally 3 blocks away. I <3 Memphis!

Greetings from the land of plight and poverty

Hello all. I'm not quite sure why I haven't been updating this space. God knows I have time. But between maladies and self-depreciation, it never happens. However, I was inspired by my friend Dolly. Maybe one day while Austin's in class, I'll go adopt a kitty and name her Dolly.

Domestic violence would ensue.

Speaking of which, I burned my arm taking chicken out of the oven. Austin refers to me as "the help" since we are not married. Today, I have been bad. The trash is still piled up because it rained. And the laundry has not yet washed itself.

I think I'm protesting because a jaunt to the effing post office took an hour. Seriously. An hour. And then it started raining. And my eye is doing something strange. And after reading Dooce, I'm scared about insurance again.

In order to be a good blogger, one probably should plan what is written. I guess I can chalk it up as my latest failure. At least I'm learning to embrace mediocrity.

Farewell. Things really aren't so bad. I'll give you the scoop later.

It's been a while but I am BACK

I have been put on notice that I have been remiss in my duties to blog. So I seek to remedy this situation by describing our (mine and my beloved's) lives in this citadel of enlightened reasoning that is Memphis.

To fit in I have started driving like a mentally unbalanced person. The rules here are different for driving and in the spirit of divulging the intimate details of our Memphis existence I have decided to list the driving rules I have learned.

1. If you are at a light and it turns green do not go. Count to five and watch the line of cars that ran the red light (minimum of three) go by and then go.

2. If you are at a red light and someone next to you suddenly appears to "run the red light" from a dead stop do not panic! This is standard Memphis practice where if one stops at a red light and no one is coming from the opposing direction, you gain the right to treat the red light like a stop sign.

3. People will swerve into your lane about every 30 seconds, this is also in line with accepted Memphis rules. Be prepared! If someone swerves into your lane and hits you, it is your fault for not paying attention. It is not their fault for traveling at high speeds while talking on the phone and hitting you with their 1995 Corsica.

I have also had philosophy debates with my future wife about such subjects as:

1. Should we be more scared of the guy who is driving a Range Rover but still feels the need to use pay phones or the guy who apparently is not scared of leaving his Lexus running with the windows down in the gas station parking lot in what us nice folks would call a "questionable neighborhood".

2. Should you allow your future wife to travel alone at night? NO.

3. Are we in an alternate Universe where there is no drugstore but Wal-greens and some ghetto ass place called Ike's Discount Drug?

But hey, the Barbeque is awesome, so all is forgiven right?

Melanoma awaits

This is where my leg went to die. Though the setting appears harmless, nothing could be farther from the truth.

In situations such as these, it is always ideal to remember the good times.

And they were plentiful.


However, each time my thoughts turn to jubilation, the focus quickly shifts to the varying phases of purgatory which followed.

• It began with the subtle limping that became a full-fledged inability to walk, complete with swollen feet and legs and ridiculously sharp pains.
• The blister, which kept growing as I limped around the newsroom like a moron, eventually led to a mid-evening jaunt to the doc-in-a-box. Austin held my hand as needle was placed above my ass. After the lancing of the silver-dollar sized monstrosity, hydrocodone became a relied upon friend.
• A reduction in swelling was counteracted by frigid, hostel-esque showers and blister annexing.
• Let's not forget the itching and the changing of bandages.
• Do you want to talk about the day my shoe filled with water?

One month of unshaven legs, laying low and feeling trapped in an unfamiliar vessel has given way to a circular pink scar, a package of Mederma and intermittent patches of dark hair and peely skin.

Heading into 24, I sure feel pretty.

Sometimes the journey is better traveled in pairs..

Much has changed since my last attempt at making something useful of this space:

-I've rediscovered the joys of Pam Tillis and the ladies of late '80s country.

-"Can You Duet" on CMT has proven tolerable.

-The check engine light on a certain Prelude seems to want to shine.

-Little Gracious publicly debuted as a ballerina.

-Austin has become the standout blogger in our relationship.

-We've decided to move to Memphis.


Someone somewhere must be having a good laugh regarding what has become of my existence. All the high expectations and unrealistic visions of life have given way to what had always been admonished as codependent and weak.

Perhaps I should write my 12-year-old self a letter regarding the value of crude humor, a hand to hold and combined finances. Then again, that would ruin the sweet surprise.

In preparing the betrothed for today's wedding, it was decided that the boys participating in our ceremony will forgo tuxedos and be spiffy in black suits.

So, what do you all think about this? Can we pull of black suits with matching ties? (I'm thinking pale yellow, btw.) There are many intangibles with this option, but we aren't having professional photography anyway.

Waiting for Target

Once again my love and I have been separated by geography. She has abandoned me to visit Historic Carter County (they have a covered bridge) and see her relatives, bff, and two small children. One assumes that while there she will show off the family jewels (the ring, minds out of the gutter people) and visit TCBY which is extinct in Hamilton County. In the meantime between crying bouts and self medicating I have been productive. I have read a book, watched the first season of Rome, and grilled for one. After visiting Cliff I briefly contemplated buying a PS3 for myself, but decided not to when I realized Rat Baby would have left me if I did. She later confirmed this during a telephone conversation we had after I received a mystery text that was apparently from her father telling me not to harm Rachel. I may have been sending threatening texts myself during a bored moment last night. Apparently now if I don't have Ms. Dugger around I get bored and don't know what to do with myself. So I have to marry her, but not until I supply the aforementioned father with the Bride Price. He has been hinting at cows but I'm thinking it will probably be arrows and blankets. If we had met earlier in life he might have gotten a sweet 1992 Chrysler LeBaron (v6 convertible) thrown in for good measure but that ship has sailed. In other wedding news I think we have decided on tuxedos. Not what kind mind you, just that the men will be wearing some sort of tuxedos. I am pushing for something cool like white trimmed with gold or teal, but Rat Baby is boring and wants something like black. Maybe we can meet somewhere in the middle like black trimmed with gold (GO SAINTS!). I will now sign off to go wallow in misery until my betrothed returns and takes me to Target.

Go ye Ole' Betsy..

I am in the homeland and miss my lovey.

There is much to be said. But I will just tease.


K

Stranded in Little Rock

I am currently in the land of Arkansas and despite constant communication with Ratbaby, I have realized we really can't stand to be away from each other. So, tomorrow I will make my return trip through the farmland of the pig people and after a trip through scenic Memphis I will be reunited with my beloved. We can then discuss our prenup and decide who gets the rusty 92 Chevy S-10 and who gets the Honda Prelude with transmission problems. I'm going to fight hard for my Chevy. For god's sake it has a 3.7 liter V-6 and that is one damn good engine (I also have plans to get my hooks into her massive 4 month old IRA to pay law school debt). So to continue on the previous subject, I am currently in a sweet Holiday Inn (the presidential cuz I'm a baller) that is only 3 blocks from the august institution that is University of Arkansas at Little Rock's Bowen School of Law. Yesterday I decided to walk past the park to campus and check things out. As I walked past the park I noticed that once I rounded the corner onto McMath Street (home of my future law school) I was now no longer in the presence of nice parochial schools populated by the children of women who drive Lexus sport utilities. My quick afternoon jaunt had led me past rows of dilapidated apartments that were populated by adults that apparently don't have day jobs. Some people would call this collection of buildings "the ghetto". It made me happy that I had future clients literally waiting for me just off campus. Arkansas is a wonderful place and Nikole and I may be living there soon. So to attract our loved ones we will tempt you with the prospect of the Clinton Library and other things that involve Slick Willy. If, by an off chance, Grandma or other Republicans visit we will try to find some sort of suitable conservative shrine for them to view. I guess if we end up here Nikole and I can bond even more (as if we weren't attached at the hip already) in our mutual hatred of the University of Arkansas football team Geaux Tigers! and I guess Vols (just shivered a little). Ratbaby must love me a lot to commit to Arkansas, so it's probably a good thing we are being bound to each other by the law (I will let her explain "Ratbaby"). So until I decide to blog for the second time ever I would like to leave our tens of readers with these suggestions: buy us a Playstation 3 for a wedding gift and beware the Kawmniss they everywhea!

After eight years in Arkansas, will the third nipple be visible through clothing?

I just want to share with you the description for the current Lifetime Movie Network presentation starring David Hasselhoff:

"A fireman and a dog-kennel owner fall for one another following a car accident, even though each is engaged to another person."

Sweet. "Our Son, the Matchmaker" is next.


Can you tell that Austin is in Little Rock and that I'm living the single life? (By the way, I'm finding that such involves laundry, Japanese take-out and boxed Chardonnay).


Apparently, he has been awarded in-state tuition, which is also fairly sweet.

But since Blogger is angering me by continuously failing to autosave what is being typed into this field, I will now leave you a bit prematurely..but with a fitting tune from the Bellamy Brothers.

Eibl is 50 miles out, and I have hunger..

If everyday were Mental Health Friday, Austin and I would be happy little loveys.
-There were no signs of life in our domicile until around 10:42 a.m. on this workday.

-One fabulous, award-winning newspaper was devoured.

-Wheat bagels with cream cheese (K) and low-fat margarine (A) were consumed.

-Generic orange juice may have been involved.

-A trip to a financial institution left us financially linked and slightly codependent. (Every girl needs multiple debit cards).

- Toys "R" Us was toured, and an alcoholic beverage complemented Sticky Fingers cuisine in the suburban oasis of Hixson.


Now, Eibl is en-route, and I'm trying to be dissuaded from purchasing Converse slip-ons tomorrow.

The cry of the rat baby..

Big things are going down in the land of the Dugger-Scofields. (If I ever needed reason enough to not go for the hyphenated last name, there it is).

Most of the week, I look forward to Sunday's Target circular. And though yesterday's had no special on cheese products, it did not disappoint in the least.

As some may know, the Cuban is the reader I profess to be. Consequently, there are many books in our existence. So we'd talked about storage/display surfaces for said collection. And yesterday became the day we bought our first piece of furniture.

At a sale price of $16 compared to the regular $19, it may not be the steal it appeared from afar, but it is ours. And it is black. Just like the coffee table and end tables for the living room. (Thanks, Aunt Tembra). So, it is what it is. And we have progressed without trying.


By the way, brother Matthew helped clean my camera, so visuals should be on the horizon.

But Mario Kart is now. As one of my bridesmaids would say, that's pretty sweetass.

K

Target is closed on Easter..

Hello, everyone.

If my technophobe of a best friend can write down a url and visit a blog, I can prop up my little legs and give her some semblance of an update.

See, I have grandiose visions of what this is to be. I mean, having family in town this weekend was a nice remedy from the daily grind. (Although I'm not really sure if my existence could accurately be described as a grind).

I digress. Thoughts of pastel eggs and specially packaged candy danced in my head. There would be limitless content for said blog. I have a ring. I have a fiance. And I have family. In one room. AND there's a religious holiday thrown into the mix.

We could've been those uber-cool people to upload shots of multiple generations Wii-ing. You could've seen that Granny cleaned Rachel's little head with something may have been 409.

But, it was not to be. After operating at full health for a complete month, yesterday was the day my nose was a faucet and snot acted the part of water. It was dir. And Dayquil was necessary.

So, you were failed once again.

The best I can offer is a recap of three hours of "Party of Five" episodes from '94. (Which is pretty sweet, by the way. And any bridesmaid who may want to sport the Topsytail has my blessing).


Seriously, though. Is there anything better in this world than On Demand? I may say hurtful things about you, Comcast. But you never fail to entertain me in new and exciting ways.

Austin is currently reading a book with the word "dragon" in the title. Red flag?

Your thoughts are appreciated.

Mad love.

K

Taking a break from ironing ankle skirts..

During tomorrow's lunch break, Austin and I will meet with the nice-so-far lady at The Chattanoogan to sign the contract for our reception.

And we get to give her a sizeable check. (It's all so you can eat, drink and be merry while celebrating our love).


If you're lucky, the details of such will be shared then.

However, visuals are important. And I may have gotten a fingerprint on my camera's lens during the Seaside stay in September. And Austin may have opted to not buy me lens cleaning paper on our last jaunt to the capitalistic mecca.

So, really. It's his fault if Panda Club sucks.

See, I already have a good handle on the dynamics of marriage.


K

We have arrived

Hi, everyone.

Austin and I are getting married. A blog should help keep everyone informed.

Let's just hope that we're more committed to our relationship than I have been in previous blogging attempts.

In the interim, feel free to pencil in May 23, 2009. Good times will be had.


K