Flying- apparently it's considered a right

I like to consider myself a pretty polite girl. I say please and thank you, sir and ma'am. I say bless you when people sneeze. I let other drivers out in front of me (sometimes, when they haven't pissed me off). I cover my mouth when I yawn and my nose when I sneeze. It's probably because my mama raised me right. You just do these things. Especially in the South.

The South is such a magical place. The men stand when a lady leaves from, or returns to, the table. The men hold the door open for you. I remember my freshman year at Davidson, a campus FRAUGHT with Southern gentlemen (and also some of those Yankees). One of the girls on my hall was from Connecticut, you know, right outside of The City. Anyway, we were headed to the dining hall one night. Coming towards us was part of the football team. As the first Southern boy held open one door for us, Hallmate headed straight for the other to open it for herself. The rest of the team laughed at him as I walked through the door he still held open. She's a Yankee was all I could offer up as an explanation.

I like to think the South I was raised in is how normal people act. But every time I travel, I realize it is not. People can be the rudest when they are traveling. In the past four months, I've flown on three different trips. Which is definitely way above my average. It astonishes me that people do not recognize proper flight etiquette. For example, if you are sitting next to someone who is not in your traveling party, do not hog the arm rest. There is only one for the both of you to use. Share it. Leaving the plane should not be a free-for-all. I am in just as much of a hurry to get to my next gate as you are. If you are 12 rows behind me, wait your turn. Do not barrel down the aisle like a thoroughbred at Churchill Downs. And please refrain from hitting me in the arm/head/back with your over sized "carry-on." I get that with this new charge to check luggage, people don't want to spend extra if they can avoid it. But seriously folks, a suitcase the size of a 6 year old is NOT carry-on. Also, when you are walking to your next gate, realize that there are other people walking behind you. Keep with the flow folks. Don't just stop, mid-walk, and allow people to bump into you. Because if you are then going to turn around and be mad at me for running into you, we might have words. And believe me, they will not be words you want to hear.

On a plus note, when you somehow luck into a seat all by your lonesome at the very front of the plane. Or have a perfectly pleasant seatmate. Well, airline travel sometimes isn't all that bad.....

Taylor Swift can read my mind

My best friend Dee and I LOVE Taylor Swift. Despite the fact that the girl is like 12 years old, her music speaks to me. I listen to her lyrics and I hear both past and present relationships being discussed. It's quite interesting. And speaks to a level of maturity that a 19 year old perhaps shouldn't have.

But Dee brought up a great point about her song "You Belong with Me." Please take a look at the following example of lyrics from that song.
"But she wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts. She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers"
"She wears high heels, I wear sneakers. She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers"

Taylor Swift herself wears short skirts and high heels. While she might not have been cheer captain, that's because at 16, she was a multi-platinum award winning country singer. Who the hell needs to be a cheerleader when you are making bazillions of dollars by singing? I'm just saying.

But the funniest observation came from Dee herself. In high school, she was the one who wore short skirts and high heels (still wears the heels). And in high school, I was a cheerleader. And we were the misfits that Taylor claims to be in her song. The Irmo girls hated Dee. And the boys never picked me. Sometimes, the boys, even in high school, pick the outcast girl over the high-heeled cheerleader. Maybe it's because the outcasts put out.

Saturday was my 7th birthday!

Ok- not really. But Saturday, October 24th, was a pretty big day for me. Seven years ago, it fell on a Thursday. Let's look at the time line of that week.

Wednesday, I woke up feeling pretty crappy. I thought I had one of those 24 hour bugs that was going around and that I'd slept wrong because I woke up with a pain on the right side of my back. I called in sick to work and crawled back into bed with my heating pad. That night, I was hosting Bible study at my house. The girls came over, I stayed in bed.

The next morning, Thursday the 24th, I woke up still feeling bad and with back pain. I called in sick to work again. Mom called to check on me later in the day. She asked me to take my temperature, which I did to placate her. In went the thermometer. That didn't seem right. I'll take it again. Huh, 104 degrees. That seems awfully high. I called Mom to let her know and she immediately freaked out. She told me to get dressed so she could take me to the ER. We arrived at the ER (let's not even discuss the fact that I was almost insurance-less because I didn't want to have to pay for Cobra because I wasn't considered a full-time employee yet and therefore didn't have health insurance). I was absolutely freezing cold by that point. Eventually, the nurses took me back into a room. They would only give me one blanket. They took my temperature again. This time, it was 106 degrees. They took my blood pressure. It was so low, I should've been dead. I remember watching the nurses freak out and rush out the door to find a doctor. I remember thinking it will all be fine. I'll be fine. Of course, the next thing I know, I wake up in a room in the IICU. I have tubes in my arms and attached to my chest. But guess what, I woke up.

The next day was Friday, October 25, bar result day. I lay there in my hospital bed all day. At four o'clock, bar results are posted on the Internet. Guess who didn't have access to a computer. And guess who sure as hell wasn't going to wait until Monday to get my results in the mail. Yep- this girl. So I called the Supreme Court.
Hi, lady at the Supreme Court. I was just curious if I could get my bar results from you.

Um, we don't give those out over the phone. You can either check the website or you can wait for your letter to arrive.

Ma'am, those aren't options for me. I am currently lying in a hospital bed in the IICU. I can't check the website and I can't wait until Monday. I nearly died yesterday. I HAVE to know if I am a lawyer.

Fine- I can check for you. Do you remember your bar examination number?

Did I ever?! That crap was emblazoned on my brain for months. I told her my number. In the most annoyed voice I've ever heard, I hear this:

Congratulations. You passed. Click.

Oh my god- I passed the Bar!! I started crying and then I heard the nurses next door calling out their congratulations. They saw my heart rate spike on the monitor and knew I had passed. My nurse came in to celebrate with some bubbly (ie ginger-ale). Later that night, I ended up having chest pains and had to go on oxygen.

Eventually, after stripping some veins and having quite a few CAT scans (cherry flavored barium made me throw up), they finally figured out what was wrong with me. Staph infection in my kidney. As my doctor told me, my kidney would no longer have a career in photographs. It is apparently quite pock-marked and scarred. But I am alive. And I am an attorney.

I love the Fair so!

Guess what starts tomorrow people. That's right- the South Carolina State Fair (it sounds better when it's sung, but you get the idea.) I absolutely LOVE the Fair. It's usually here during my birthday, but we won't talk about how it has disappointed me this year by coming a week later.

The Fair has always been one of my favorite things. Heck, I wrote a poem about it in the 4th grade.

I love the fair so

The ducks are the best and you

Always win a prize

I'm not ee cummings, but it worked. And I do not lie about the ducks- I even pilfered one in college. It has sunglasses. The other good game- the water gun one. Provided it's only you and one other person playing. Preferably the person you went to the Fair with. That way, you are guaranteed to win!

Growing up, the Fair meant lots of things. My birthday, lots of fun and good (and by that I mean unhealthy) food, and getting your sweaters out of the attic because cold weather had arrived. Damn global warming- now the Fair means only fun and food.

I've got friends whose family has turned attending the Fair into an art form. I kid you not. At least one member of the family is out there every day of the week. Whether just for lunch (which is free from 12-2 y'all!) or hanging out at night. You call them to find out where the Bailey's Pronto Pup stand has moved (although their corn dogs haven't been up to par lately), where the granny smith caramel apples are, any specials that might be happening. I'm not kidding- they are the go-to family. Going to the Fair with them is an experience. I've not yet made it with the entire family, but I've been with bits and pieces of them. It is always fun times!

Anyway, this year I'm not sure I'm going to make it to the Fair quite as much as I'd like (if at all). I am hoping to go on Thursday night. But I don't do the Fair in the rain. I will probably be out of town on Friday night. And then I leave for Vegas (again) on Sunday until Wednesday night. Oh well, as long as I make it at least once and can eat at least one bite of each of my favorite foods (corn dog, Fiske fries, elephant ear, caramel granny smith apple, strawberry lemonade, tiny doughnuts, fried something disgusting and fattening- Reese's, Pepsi, etc), I will be a happy girl. I promise. Just one day.

Oh South Carolina State Fair, how I love you!

This place is 'Buck (if only I was as cool as Lil C)

So this morning, I didn't have to be at work until 10 am. Which was nice. Except for the fact that my cleaning lady was arriving at 8:40 am. Please don't judge me for paying someone to clean my house. I hate doing it myself. And I LOVE my cleaning lady. She's been cleaning the parental's house for years and she's just great. But back to my "story."

So the cleaning lady arrived at 8:40 am. I walked out of the door shortly thereafter. But where to go and what to do? Answer- Starbucks in the Vista. Free WiFi (allegedly, if you have a Starbucks card that you've paid for) and a free drink (it's my birth month y'all!). So off I go to the 'Bucks.

I park and immediately run into a friend of mine. We chat while in line. Then she heads out while I set up camp by the door (the only true place to people watch). Across from me is mayoral candidate Steve Benjamin (vote for him y'all- he's a great guy!). As I'm sitting here, in walk a few other attorneys I know. It's like party central up in here!

Long story short, I think I might have a new morning tradition. Assuming I can get my butt up early enough on the mornings I have to be at work at 9 am. Oh- who am I kidding?! I'll be sleeping. But dreaming of people watching at the 'Bucks!

Don't judge- it's a Southern thing

I know it is a very Southern thing to use family names repeatedly when naming children, but there is a slight possibility my family has taken it to a whole new level. Observe the following family tree. Middle names which are of no importance will be left out, so as not to confuse the masses.

Julian Spencer Dixon Jr. (aka Bubba) married Mary Ellen Richardson (aka Dove)
Their three children:
1- Mary Dixon married Eric Ruschky
Child: Jane Spencer Ruschky
2- Julian Spencer Dixon III married Charlotte Smith
Children: Mary Corinne Dixon married Seth Woolwine
Cori's children: Charlotte Barker and baby girl due in December
Julian Spencer Dixon IV married Joy Wray
Spence's child: Julian Spencer Dixon V
3- Jane Dixon married Spencer Player (yep, she married a Spencer)
Child: Mary Ellen Richardson Player

So basically, on any given holiday, you can stand in my grandmother's house and call out any combination of the following to get everyone to respond- Mary, Ellen, Jane or Spencer. There are lots of nicknames and lots of Big/Littles going on. And to be honest, I wouldn't have it any other way. Let's face it, I'm planning on naming my future daughter Spencer. I'm all for continuing the insanity. One generation at a time.....

Pet peeve #1, part B

Okay, so I know I've already blogged about how much I hate other drivers. But every time I drive on I-26, I hate other drivers even more.



Over the last 9 months, I've spent a lot of time driving on I-26. I've gone to Charleston, Greenville, and, most recently, Spartanburg. Pretty much once a week for the past 9 months. And I swear to you, drivers on that particular highway are the worst. Maybe not on the planet (because I haven't driven on EVERY highway). But they might very well be some of the worst in the state.



Every time I get on I-26, I get stuck behind people driving under the speed limit. I know that I am a pretty speedy driver. I usually go about 15 over the speed limit. But seriously, if you aren't going to at least drive the speed limit, please get out of the fast lane. And if you are an 18-wheeler, do not, I repeat, DO NOT drive in the fast lane. That is for passing purposes only. Okay, passing and fast driving. If you aren't doing either, get the heck out of my way. No seriously, I will give you dirty looks once I can pass you.


And while we are at it, please actually get into the intersection if you are going to make a left-hand turn. Nothing pisses me off more than missing a light because the person in front of me refuses to edge their way out into the intersection so they can make it through the light. That has been happening to me a lot lately and I end up not happy, waiting for the next light. Which inevitably is a LONG wait. I'm not sure why.


In conclusion, if you see me coming, just get out of the way. It's my roadway. I bought it all when I got a car!