Jan's Liahona: October 2003

I was dragged to it by a friend who had been told by her boss that she had to attend. My boss had been making noises about it, so I decided that I would go. I miserably sat in the corner of the booth, sipping Sprite. Not only were my co-workers seriously sloshed, they were also annoyingly loud about it. Of course, the Redneck was there. Perhaps I should explain a little about the Redneck.

The Redneck is a co-worker who seriously has problems with my religion. He�s the one who always has to point out that I�m not drinking/smoking. He�s the one who brings anti-Mormon brochures to work to give to me. He�s the one who tells me regularly that he prays for my soul because he knows that I am a good person who has fallen in with a bad crowd of chicken-blood-drinking devil-worshippers and that he knows I can be saved before I burn in Hell. How sweet.

The Redneck is also, predictably enough, extremely homophobic. To the Redneck, if a male doesn�t track, kill, and clean his own food, then that male isn�t a Real Man. The Redneck has a passive-aggressive habit of talking about men he suspects to be gay at full volume, using some of the most insulting slurs I�ve heard.

At this particular happy hour, the Redneck was making fun of my Sprite when two men (holding hands and very obviously �together�) walked past our booth to leave the restaurant. The Redneck began his usual spiel and I left the booth to go �powder my nose.� On the way, I saw that the two men (who held hands) were pulling out of the parking lot. I pulled aside a waitress.

I tipped her ten bucks to take a pink Mai Tai (with an umbrella) to the Redneck and say that it was from the two men who just left the building. I told her that if she didn�t let on that it was from me, I�d leave an extra ten under my plate. I also gave her a napkin to take along on which I had written the restaurant�s phone number with the words, "Call us."

Perhaps this is the point where I should mention that most of the other men in my office are Manly Men, too. They�re not as bad as the Redneck, but they are very definitely Good Old Boys. Well, the Redneck is teased about the Mai Tai even now, quite a bit later.

Oh, before I get any props for coming up with such a thing, I should mention that it isn�t original. The week before I tried it, I read a blog entry about a man doing the same to one of his friends at a bar, without the napkin; I don�t remember the blogger�s name or URL.

UPDATE: Oh, that thing with the Redneck and the Mai Tai? I just remembered, the Yeti* gave me the idea.

Well, I am addicted to it. It fascinates me. I can�t get enough of it. Anyway, normally I wouldn�t admit to such a fallacy, but I have one burning question that�s been bothering me for two weeks.

For crying out loud, the man is supposed to be the strongest on the island. He certainly looks strong anyway. But during the challenges he barely even tries. He makes motions of actually working, but when closely examined, it�s clear that he�s not pulling his weight.

This business with the pneumonia, Holy Hannah, I can barely believe it. This big, strapping, young, obviously healthy buff man is worried about sleeping in the cold because he�s afraid of pneumonia? He�s worried about "blood in his lungs?" He is easily the most in shape of all the others and he�s worried about a cold? It�s only been six days. What a wuss.

He even asked people to vote him off the island. He went to every tribe member and asked them to vote for him. Oy.

Poor Skinny Ryan. Why did the have to vote off Skinny Ryan? At least he tried. At least he put everything he had into the challenges. At least he didn�t go to his tribe mates and ask to be voted off the island. It makes as much sense as voting off Scout Master Lil. She and Skinny Ryan were the only two who had actually gone to get water. Do the others even know where the water is? Have they actually been there? Sheesh. I don�t think they have.

The Big Five Personality Test

Extroverted	\|\|\|\|	16%
Introverted	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	84%
Friendly	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Aggressive	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	44%
Orderly	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	52%
Disorderly	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	48%
Relaxed	\|\|\|\|\|\|	22%
Emotional	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	78%
Intellectual	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	76%
Practical	\|\|\|\|\|\|	24%

Take Free Big 5 Personality Test

Um. Don�t get it? Look up at my website address. (I HAVE a geocities website.) Hee.

As one might have guessed from the title of today�s post, I intend to discuss last night�s Survivor episode. I have decided to do so at great length with my usual considerable verbosity.

Osten, after swallowing much water in the reward challenge when he almost �drowned,� did in fact drool quite heavily when his tribe �rescued� him and dragged his sorry, soggy (and somewhat exposed) bottom back to land. I know that I�ve asked this before, but what possesses someone to volunteer for a game that heavily involves swimming when they can�t swim? This seems to afflict most of that tribe. Tijuana (whose name looks like the town but sounds like Tawana) can�t swim either. The others in that tribe (Morgan) are marginal swimmers at best. Dumb.

I was really annoyed at John (Jon, whatever; the blonde, curly-headed skinny kid) when he got drunk. It wasn�t bad enough that he was drunk. No, John is an annoying drunk which is ten times worse. He was drunk at tribal council, which is something that I don�t think the host Jeff liked. Stupidity seems to be contagious; maybe the Drake tribe was infected with it via Morgan at the immunity challenge. Sheesh.

Yesterday I wrote about my job. Today I received an email about it. Kevin very kindly explained that the sort of stuff I wrote yesterday could get me fired should someone at work find it. I find this unlikely; no one I know personally knows about this site.

Still, I don�t want to loose my job. So, I�ve deleted the post from yesterday about cube life. I don�t think that there was anything I could get fired over, but I�d rather delete it now than be fired later when or if someone I know from work finds it in my archives.

Kevin, thanks for the advice. It�s very tempting to use this site to vent, but now I think that could be a mistake.

This morning, the morning crew on the radio was talking about which movies had the best endings. I agreed with some of their picks (Shawshank Redemption, Gone with the Wind) and disagreed heavily with others (Titanic). I was inspired to make my own list. It�s a pretty long list; I couldn�t cut it down to just ten. These wouldn�t necessarily make it to my top movies picks of all time, but these have the best endings. They�re listed in no particular order.

Brigadoon
What Dreams May Come
The Shawshank Redemption
Ocean�s Eleven
Robin Hood � Men in Tights
White Christmas
Gone with the Wind
Sleeping Beauty
Back to the Future
Soylent Green
The Sound of Music
An American in Paris
An American Tail
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
Kismet
The Sixth Sense
Planet of the Apes (Original)
Silence of the Lambs
Monsters, Inc.
Young Frankenstein
Some Like it Hot
Beauty and the Beast (Disney)
Sleeping with the Enemy
Deep Impact
~~Minority Report~~ I changed my mind about this one.

OK. I don�t want to hear about the Cubs� curse or how unlucky the Yankees are or Red Sox or goats or whatever. I�m sick of it. Those aren�t curses. Those aren�t even minor setbacks. Want a real curse? Look at Atlanta�s professional sports teams. We have pro football, pro hockey, pro basketball and pro baseball. Out of these four teams, we have a combined 123 seasons.

Out of these 123 seasons we have exactly one � ONE � championship: the Braves won the 1996 World Series. That�s it: Uno.

ABBOTT: Ultimate SuperDuper Computer Store. Can I help you?
COSTELLO: Thanks. I'm setting up a home office in the den, and I'm thinking of buying a computer.

ABBOTT: Do you want a computer with Windows?
COSTELLO: I don't know. What do I see when I look out the windows?

ABBOTT: Wallpaper.
COSTELLO: Never mind the windows. I need a computer and software.

ABBOTT: Software that runs on Windows?
COSTELLO: No, on the computer! I need something I can use to write proposals, track expenses. You know, run a business. What have you got?

ABBOTT: Office for Windows.
COSTELLO: I already have an office and it already has windows! Let's say I'm sitting at my computer, and I want to type a proposal. What do I need?

ABBOTT: Word.
COSTELLO: If I'm writing a proposal, I'm going to need lots of words. But what program do I load?

ABBOTT: The Word in Office for Windows.
COSTELLO: Which word in "office for windows?"

ABBOTT: The Word you get when you click the blue W.
COSTELLO: I'm going to click your big W if you don't give me a straight answer. Let's forget about words for a minute. What do I need if I want to watch a movie over the Internet?

ABBOTT: RealOne.
COSTELLO: Maybe a real movie, maybe a cartoon. What I watch is none of your business. But what do I need to watch it?

ABBOTT: RealOne.
COSTELLO: If it's a long movie I'll also want to watch reels two, three and four. Can I watch reel four?

ABBOTT: RealOne.
COSTELLO: Okay, so I'm sitting at my computer and I want to watch a movie. What do I do?

ABBOTT: Of course it is. The blue 1 is RealOne. The blue W is Word.
COSTELLO: What word?

ABBOTT: The Word in Office for Windows.
COSTELLO: But there's three words in "office for windows!"

ABBOTT: No, just one. But it's the most popular Word in the world.
COSTELLO: It is?

ABBOTT: Yes, although to be fair there aren't many other Words left. It pretty much wiped out all the other Words.
COSTELLO: And that word is the real one?

ABBOTT: No. RealOne has nothing to do with Word. RealOne isn't even part of Office.
COSTELLO: Never mind; I don't want to get started with that again. But I also need something for bank accounts, loans, and so on. What do you have to help me track my money?

ABBOTT: No, not really. It comes bundled with your computer.
COSTELLO: What comes bundled with my computer?

ABBOTT: Exactly. No extra charge.
COSTELLO: I get a bundle of money with my computer at no extra charge? How much money do I get?

ABBOTT: No. We have a license from Microsoft to make copies of Money.
COSTELLO: Microsoft can license you to make money?

ABBOTT: Of course! They own it.
COSTELLO: Well, it's great that I'm going to get free money, but I'll still need to track it. Do you have anything for managing your money?

ABBOTT: Managing Your Money? That program disappeared years ago.
COSTELLO: Well, what do you sell in its place?

ABBOTT: Of course. But if you buy a computer from us, you get it for free.
COSTELLO: That's all very wonderful, but I'll be running a business. Do you have any software for, you know, accounting?

ABBOTT: Simply Accounting.
COSTELLO: Probably, but it might get a little complicated.

ABBOTT: If you don't want Simply Accounting, you might try M.Y.O.B.
COSTELLO: M.Y.O.B.? What does that stand for?

ABBOTT: No, that would be I.B.Y.P. I said M.Y.O.B.
COSTELLO: Look, I just need to do some accounting for my home business. You know--accounting? You do it with money.

ABBOTT: Of course you can do accounting with Money. But you may need more.
COSTELLO: More money?

ABBOTT: More than Money. Money can't do everything.
COSTELLO: I don't need a sermon! Okay, let's forget about money for the moment. I'm worried that my computer might... what's the word? Crash. And if my computer crashes, what can I use to restore my data?

ABBOTT: GoBack.
COSTELLO: Okay. I'm worried about my computer smashing and I need something to restore my data. What do you recommend?

ABBOTT: I've never asked you to repeat yourself. All I said was GoBack.
COSTELLO: How can I go back if I haven't even been anywhere? Okay, I'll go back. What do I need to write a proposal?

ABBOTT: No, you only need one Word--the Word in Office for Windows.
COSTELLO: But there's three words in...Oh, never mind.

ABBOTT: Hello? Hello? Customers! Why do they always hang up on me? Oh, well. Ultimate SuperDuper Computer Store. Can I help you?

�H�lo?�
�Jan, hi. I was calling-�
�Not again.�
�You remember me.�
�Yeah.� I remembered that voice, all right. It was my biological clock and I wasn�t up to another round with it. I hoped I could cut short this conversation.
�So, you�re not dating.�
I didn�t respond. My evil bio clock knew the answer to that question.
It continued chirpily, �So why not?�

How do I answer this question? Should I admit that I�ve been my usual socially moronic self? Should I lie and say that I didn�t have time? Should I not answer? Of course, in the end I didn�t have to answer at all. It knew.
�You didn�t try.�
I was indigent. �I tried.� I mumbled into my pillow.
�No. You didn�t. When that nice guy at the bookstore talked to you about bookmarks, you froze. You completely fumbled. And he was into you. It was obvious he was really interested. Even you noticed.�
�He was nice.� I was noncommittal.
�He was great. He likes the same books you like, for crying out loud. Didn�t you see that JD Robb book in his hand? Why didn�t you get his number? Why didn�t you at least talk to him a little more?�
�So you want me to pick up guys in bookstores?�
�Why didn�t you talk to him?�
�I did.�
�You did not. You blushed when he asked you which bookmark was the best; you gave him your opinion about the blue bookmark; you said goodbye and left. He thought you were cute.�
�Did not.� I flopped over onto my stomach and pulled the comforter over my head.

My bio clock sighed heavily. �What about the other guy?�
�What other guy?� I whispered.
�The other guy at the mall. In the jewelry store.�
I pushed the covers off my head. �He was maybe eighteen years old.� There was no way that guy was out of high school.
�So? What�s the harm in practice flirting with him. He certainly flirting with you.�
�You want me to start picking up high school boys? Should I troll Friday night football games or will the skate park do?�

My bio clock ignored that. �I�m not saying you should pick up eighteen year old boys. But what�s the harm in flirting? You need the practice.�
�I�m not practicing with a boy who has yet to need shaving.�

�So what�s wrong with the men at church? Why not flirt with them?�
I didn�t answer.
�That Returned Missionary was cute.�
�He�s just returned from his mission.�
�So he�s younger than you. So what?�
�He�s at least 7 years younger than me. That�s too much.�
�You would date a man who�s 7 years older than you.�
�That�s different.�
�Why?�
�The 7 year difference between 35 and 28 is less than the 7 year difference between 28 and 21.�
�That makes no sense.�
�Yes it does. A 35 year old and a 28 year old share many more experiences than a 28 year old and a 21 year old.�
That shut my evil bio clock up. I looked at the clock: it was 2:30 AM. I smugly rolled over to go back to sleep.

�I just don�t understand why you don�t have a more active social life. You�re occasionally funny. You�re not troll doll ugly. You�re smart; your last boyfriend told you so himself.�
I sat straight up in bed at that, furious.
�Oh yes. He told me I was smart. Thanks for reminding me.�
�What�s wrong with a man telling you that you�re smart?� My bio clock was cautious.
�It�s like a woman telling a man he�s cute. It�s just not something a man should do.�
�Why not?� Obviously, my bio clock was a little sleepy, too.
�Guys are generally clueless about the fact that telling a woman she�s �smart� is akin to a woman telling a man he�s �sweet.� When a man compliments a woman by saying she�s smart, that�s date-speak shorthand for telling her that he wants to be friends.

'Ditto for women calling men sweet. Men can be �thoughtful� or �nice,� but �sweet� is a word reserved for puppies and brothers and babies. Men know this; it�s why they cringe when they�re called sweet. They know that they�ve just been told that they have the sex appeal of a golden retriever pup.

'Women can be �witty� or �funny� or �fun� or �intelligent� even, but �smart� is a word men use for computers and cell phones and Margaret Thatcher.

My bio clock mumbled, �Sore spot, there. Huh?�
�You betcha.�
�You read that poll* last week. The one that said 64% of men want smart women as opposed to pretty women. Men obviously want smart women. What�s wrong with being smart?�
I snorted. �That poll? Ha. I guess that poll explains why ugly women are so popular this year. Next year fat women will be the rage and ugly women everywhere will weep because back-fat is stylish instead of the overly large noses and protruding foreheads men so favor this year.�

�I think your sarcasm might be one of the reasons why you�re not dating.� I couldn�t really argue. It paused. �You didn�t believe that poll.�
�Nope.�
�I see. So you think that men want beauty and not brains.�
�No, I know that men want both.�
�And you don�t.�
�No.� I had to be honest. �I don�t want Quasimoto, but no, beauty�s not too important.�
�Hypocritical.�
�Why?�
�Because you say that men are obsessed with beauty and here you use beauty as a standard by which to judge men.�
�I�m not using it as a standard. I�d just like to avoid dating the hunchback of Notre Dame.'
�You think that�s funny? You�re judging men based on their physical characteristics. How is that different from women being judged based on beauty by men?�
�It just is.�
�Is not.�
�It�s different.�
�How?�
�I don�t know!�
�See? Hypocritical.�
�Fine. Give me Quasimoto. I�ll bear ten of his children; we�ll swing through the bell tower and live happily ever after. Maybe I can convince him to transfer to Georgia. I don�t want to live in France.�

�You�re not at your best at 3AM.�
No kidding. I glared at the clock; I had to get up in another hour for work.

�So if the Returned Missionary�s too young, what about that other guy?�
�What other guy?� I didn�t remember another single guy at church.
�The other guy.�
�The other guy next to the organist?�
�No, that guy is married, isn�t he? To the organist? The other, other guy.�
�I have no idea what other guy you�re talking about. Where did he sit?�
�I don�t know. You thought he was cute. You saw him walking out of church.�
�Oh. That other guy. He was carrying a bag.�
�Yeah, so?�
�It looked like a diaper bag.�
�Was that a diaper bag?�
�Unless he carries a pink-quilted bunny-covered bag around for his DayTimer and quad, that was a diaper bag.�
�Oh.�

�Besides the diaper bag, the more I think about it, the more I think that he looked married.�
�Looked married?� My bio clock was clearly amused. �What, pray tell, does a married man look like?�
�I don�t know. They don�t look single.�
�Hmm.�
�Look, it�s 3AM. I�m not up to lengthy, logical philosophical discussions.�

�What about the guy at work?�
�No.�
�Why not?�
�I�m not dating anyone I work with.�
�OK. If you found another job...�
�I still wouldn�t date him. Look, we�re in the same industry.� I lay back against my pillows.
�You�re think that you might work together again somewhere else?�
�I know that we�d have to have some sort of professional interaction sometime in the future. The civil engineering community around Georgia is a small, inbred group. Everyone knows everyone. No, I couldn�t date another civil engineer in Georgia. At least, I couldn�t date one in my field.�
�...Which is an even smaller, inbred little group. I see.�

I pulled the comforter back over my head. Maybe my biological clock was finished.
�So, the fact that the guy at work isn�t a member of the church doesn�t bother you?�
�No. I�m not dating him anyway. Why should it?�
�You know what I mean. You know what I�m trying to say.�
I tried to play stupid. �No. I know that I�m trying to sleep.� I pulled a pillow over my head.
�Fine. I�ll just say it: Would you date a nonmember?�
�I want to marry in the temple.�
�That�s not an answer. Is it?�
�Yes.�
�Yes, that�s an answer or yes, you would date a nonmember.�
I sighed. Boy, I was in for it. �Both.�

�How is that both? It can�t be both. You can either marry a nonmember or not. Both, pshaw.�
I had no idea that my biological clock could sound so much like my great aunt Roxy. I remained silent and pretended to sleep.
�How is it both?� Obviously, it wasn�t going to give up.
�I want to marry in the temple and I would date nonmembers.�
�You can�t marry nonmembers in the temple.�
Duh, I thought.
�So, isn�t it counter-productive to date nonmembers if you want to marry in the temple?�
So what? I thought.
�You want to get married.� My bio clock was sounding a little desperate. I decided to be nice.
�Yep.� I was certain of that.
�Then why bother dating nonmember men?�
I didn�t have an answer.

Apparently, my bio clock did have an answer. �You�ve always been intimidated by Mormon men.�
I stayed silent.
�Why?�
As I had no clue, I remained silent.
�They�re just regular guys.�
I knew that. I didn�t think they had extra ears on their foreheads or anything. I pretended to sleep.
�You�ve always dated nonmembers. I hadn�t realized until just now, but you�ve never dated a member of the church. Why?�
�Because when I was active, there was never a guy my age at church.�
�I remember guys your age at church.�
�In primary, there were guys my age at church. When I was in Young Women�s, there were not.�
�Oh. I forgot. They put you in Relief Society a year early because of it.�
�Yeah, because I was the only one in Young Women�s.�
�Wasn�t there a guy...�
�Yeah, my cousin.�

�Oh. I forgot.�
�Yeah. It�s kind of hard to date Mormon guys when there aren�t any around you�re not related to. And while I may live in Georgia and admit to being born in Alabama, I am not about to date my own cousin. Yuck.� Did I hear the theme song to Deliverance* playing? Dee dee, deedle, deedle, deedle, dee.

�But now, you could go to the Singles Ward.�
I laughed a mean and ugly laugh. �Oh, the Meat Market. Joy. No thanks.�
�There is one in Atlanta.�
�...a two hour drive away.�
�Why not?�
�That guy.� I didn�t want to see that guy again.
�Oh. He goes there. That was years ago.�
�He creeped me out. And it�s only been two years. He still goes there.�
�What was so bad about him?�
�My aunt says that she loves him, thinks he's perfect for me.�
�So.�
�It's the aunt that hates me. Why would she set me up with a nice guy? Besides, he really creeped me out.�
�How?�
�He was creepy. He called every night for a week.�
�So? He was into you.�
�He wanted to talk about his pet ferret.�
�Nothing wrong with a ferret.�
�He sleeps with the ferret.�
�Nothing wrong with sleeping with a ferret.�
�He calls her Maude.�

�Maude? Strange name. But still...�
�He wanted me to talk to Maude over the phone.�
�Well, he could have been perfectly ni-�
�He wanted to know why I couldn�t understand what Maude was saying when she talked to me on the phone.�
�So, he�s a little into the ferret -�
�He was very upset by the fact that I couldn�t understand what Maude was saying.�
�Upset?�
�He wanted to know why the Spirit didn�t move me to understand Maude.�
�Hmm.�
�Yeah, he said that it was a sign of my Godlessness.�

�You�re kidding.�
�No.� He really freaked me out.
�Strange. Maybe he was joking.�
�He was screaming.�
�Screaming?�
�It�s why I moved. My loving aunt gave him my phone number, address -�
�Address!�
�Yep, with a picture of me. He said that Maude thought I was pretty.�
�Well, if a ferret thinks you�re pretty...�
�Funny. I was terrified.� No kidding. He scared me.
�How did your aunt meet him?�
�Over the internet. At LDSsingles.com.�
�Why was she at that site? She�s married.�
�She tells men she meets on the site that she�s not.�
�Oh. That�s the crazy aunt that hates you, then. I thought you meant the mean one that hates you.�
�Right. The crazy one. The mean aunt is actually an uncle.�
�Oh. I wonder how long it took her to find such a nut for you?�
�She obviously worked hard to find him. She doesn�t have my phone number or address now, thanks goodness. According to her, he still asks about me.�

�That doesn�t mean all Mormon men are obsessive about pets.�
�Oh, I know. Just the ones with ferrets.�
My bio clock sighed heavily again as my alarm rang.

Ditto. Except, I did watch Joe Millionaire last season. Yuck. After that flop I vowed not to return for this season. But then, out of boredom, I watched the season premiere of season 2 Monday night. Heh. The yummy prospect of acute Euro-trash embarrassment is going to keep me watching this season.

No, I am terrified. I have put it off long enough and now it is inescapable. I knew that this day would come. I knew I couldn�t put it off forever.

I�ve stalled. I�ve hemmed. I�ve hawed. I�ve ignored this one indisputable fact: I�ve got to get my hair cut.

That in itself is enough to strike fear into the heart of any woman. The fact that I must also find a new salon, well, it�s enough to make me positively psycho. Why be so dramatic? I�ve been traumatized by so-called stylists before. My last hair-cut, for example, was a nightmare of great proportions. I think the stylist was aiming for Tea Leoni whimsical whispiness; she hit Madonna mid-80s mess instead. Then there was the time I asked a friend who her stylist was; my friend had great hair. So, I paid $100, not including tip, to go to this great stylist in Buckhead. It looked like my hair had been cut by Freddy Krueger. Blindfolded.

Of course, there have been the usual forays into walk-in chop shops. My cousin, the Mullet, loves these �salons.� That alone should be enough to make me wary, but I always seem to find myself at one. I suppose it�s the lure of fast and cheap salon service that hooks me. Really, is the nightmare inflicted upon me by the Freddy Krueger wannabe at $100 a pop any better than the scourge that remains of my hair once the Mullet�s stylist gets finished with me just because Mr. Krueger charges five times more? If my hair is going to look like crap either way, then I�d like to save some money.

The solution, of course, is to find a good stylist. I�ve found this to be impossible. Instead, I�ve turned to my mother, who will (for free) stand me up in the bathroom, wrap a towel around my shoulders, and cut my hair with her good sewing shears straight across my back. I get the added bonus of being smacked on the hip with a brush when I wiggle.

I suppose there�s something to be said for a free blunt cut; I would say what it is that needs to be said about it, but I�m trying to keep this site rated G and I�m trying to keep the posts a little shorter than they�ve been of late. Salon Madre is great as long as I keep my hair at one length past my shoulders as it is now. If I want something a little more styled, then I�ve got problems.

So, I�m searching for a stylist in the metro-Atlanta area. Prayers will be much appreciated.

This* is funny. It�s a map that details exactly where true Southerners live. Heh. The pink area in the northern suburbs of Atlanta (showing wannabes) is exactly true. Atlanta is fast on its way to becoming a Yankee town. I live half way between the pink eastern point above Atlanta and the South Carolina border.

The only thing I would change is the blue area in Florida. I think it should extend much further north that it does.

Is it wrong of me to really, really enjoy this site?* Somehow, I feel like I should be ashamed.

I happened to go online last weekend at my parents� home. Oh my. At home, the colors of my webpage look like a mellow, grayish-green and a reserved, peaceful yellow. On my mother�s screen, however, my page is an unholy, eye-searing green with a sidebar of 80�s plastic bracelet neon yellow. Have I been searing everyone�s eyeballs with my color-scheme or is this psychosis-inducing monstrosity confined to my mother�s computer?

Have y�all tried this?* It's LDSsingles.com. I know my aunt did when she tried to set me up with the ferret boy, but do y�all know anyone who has actually tried this? Hmm. I�m thinking about it. What?

Well, at least if I try it and if it turns out bad, it�ll be something I can write about.

I�m practicing taking deep breaths. I understand that this practice will come in very handy in the future: I�ve just bought my own domain name and will start using Movable Type.

I�ve resisted doing this for a while. I mean, I�m comfortable with HTML. I�m comfortable with Geocities. I�ve had one page or another for more than 5 years there, so I�m really comfortable with Geocities. The problem with Geocities is that blogging is not easy there. There�s no way to autoarchive. Which means every time I post, I have to post to both the front page and the archive page. I also have to manually change links to archives, etc. It�s a pain and more of a chore than I want it to be. Basically, it means that I post fewer, shorter posts than I would normally because of the hassle.

Now I�m switching to MT. I�ve heard that the learning curve is quite steep with it and that my patience will run thin, hence the deep breathing exercises.

So, now that I�ve made the jump to MT, I am going to shamelessly beg for assistance. I know there are quite a few of you, I won�t name names, who use MT. Knowing this, I have a few questions: Where is a good place for templates? Where is a good place for a manual/info?

After much hand-wringing and internal whining, I�ve decided to give online dating a try. It�s worked for Jason* and for Rachel*, so maybe it isn�t all that bad.

Sorry guys. Comments may or may not work. If they're not working and you really really have to add something, email me and I'll post it.