Sophie and I went round and round for the 36-hour trip home regarding who would get to tell you this story. She won, and I think you will see that the story was best served in her oh-so-skilled bloggy hands. Head over and read it, but first make sure that your mouth (and bladder) are empty.
I have loved every second (alright, nearly every second) of managing Bloggy Giveaways. I've been especially partial to highlighting mom-owned-and-operated businesses--you enterprising mommas out there have blown me away with your creativity.
But managing that site, as much as I enjoyed it, was beginning to clean my plate, time-wise. It generated a lot of work, and I simply wasn't able to keep up with the stuff there, and here, and at BlogHer.
Not wanting to leave you giveaway-loving chickadees in a lurch, I scoured the internet high and low for exactly the right person to take the site over.
Okay, so there was no scouring.
The most blog-savvy person I know happens to be one of my best friends. She writes (very well) there and there, and so she has the perfect track record for managing another site.
And also, she watches my daughter so I can get my hair cut. It's a good trade.
Anyway, much to my relief, Melanie is running Bloggy Giveaways from here on out, and I hope you regular Bloggy Giveaways readers will lend her your support. She's going to do a wonderful job, doing clever things with it I never even thought of, I'm sure. The site looks the very same but the RSS feed has changed, so please head over there and change your subscription!
About 20 years ago, my best friend B and I lay sprawled in her bedroom floor, taking turns pausing the Paula Abdul cassette in the boom box (oh yes, the "boom box". We had all the street cred you would expect from two white girls growing up in rural Arkansas). We wanted to learn all the words to the spoken part in the middle of "Cold-Hearted Snake", and we spent a full two hours devoted to the task.
And to this day, those profound words stay with me: "How can--how can--he keep on a' tellin--tellin you that you were always--always--number--number--one without a doubt...."
I tell you this story to assure you that my friend B is capable of very great things.
No one was more pleased than I when she finally started a blog, The Queen B. It's just as funny as I knew it would be, including jewels of wisdom such as
No one ever tells you how to react to such kindness in the shampoo bowl.
and
I now have these folders in my favorites: News, Shopping, Racing, Blogs and Black Death.
See? Good stuff (and I'm not just saying that because she could totally blackmail me with info about my teenage years). When you have time, head over there and welcome my dear old friend to the blogosphere.
It is next to impossible to sum up a weekend like the one I just had, especially when every cell in your body is clouded and confused from eating 3,519,209 calories in the span of 48 hours. So I am taking myself off the hook for coming up with clever paragraph transitions and give you a few more highlights, in bullet form.
:: Yes, I did the podcast with Sophie and Melanie, though I don't believe it's quite ready for publication yet (stay tuned--I'll tell you when it is). It was a very unnerving experience. The two pros were relaxed and funny; I kept feeling the need to sit up straight and sound smart. I did not pull it off. Also, I think if you will listen very closely, you will be able to hear the rumbling sounds of my digestive system in the background--did I mention that we ate a lot of food?
:: It was indeed heavenly being alone in a hotel room. The bed was huge and soft and covered with six (SIX!) luxurious pillows. I slept with every single one. And I slept in the middle of the bed, too, because I am a wild, wild woman.
:: I bought a laptop bag at Steinmart that is a force to be reckoned with. It was originally$55; I got it for $19 (which, as Melanie pointed out, is "practically free.") Here it is for your viewing pleasure:
Is that a fine bag, or is that a fine bag?
:: We did much discussing of the Pioneer Woman love story, to the point that we sounded much like crazy stalkers. But I can tell you this freely, since the Pioneer Woman is about as likely to read our blogs as, say, Dick Cheney.
:: We spent a lot of time talking about blogging and bloggers and blogrolls and blog-rings and such and such and such, which is probably no huge surprise. Of particular note was the hour we spend pounding away on our keyboards Saturday night, all piled on the same bed. Because, you know, it is such an excellent use of time to travel hundreds of miles to see each other and then do EXACTLY WHAT WE WOULD BE DOING AT HOME.
:: I got some video of the Casting Crowns concert, though I have nary a clue how to upload it off my camcorder. I'll get Hubs Dryer right on that. But let me say once again how amazing it was. You know what was particularly impressive to me? There was never a big moment at the beginning of the concert where an announcer boomed, "AND NOW...CASTING CROWNS!" Instead, they simply started singing, with all the stage lights off, essentially deflecting any glory from themselves. I'll confess that I tend to be a little jaded where Christian marketing is concerned, but these guys were the real deal. They were not there to perform, they were there to lead in worship. Period.
:: You know who else is the real deal? Sophie and Melanie. They were in real life just as they are on their blogs--funny and warm and genuine. Blog on, girlfriends. I'd share queso with you ANY day.
Up to this point, I haven't mentioned where I'm going this weekend, because I'm so excited that my voice gets all squealy whenever I talk about it. Have you ever read a squealy-voiced blog post? It isn't pretty.
I'm leaving Friday (flying! I hate flying! But I'll do it for these girls!) to go to Birmingham to meet face-to-face, in the flesh, BooMama and BigMama.
*squeal!*
My favorite-of-all-time band, Casting Crowns (together with their record label, Provident), is hosting us for a very bloggy weekend in which we get to see the Casting Crowns concert Friday night. AND to my utter delight (dare I say it, lest I break the spell?) we will get to go backstage and meet Casting Crowns.
*squeal!*
Hubs says, "Really, is all this squealing necessary? I thought you loved Casting Crowns because they are so humble and down-to-earth. Do you really think they would be comfortable that you're squealing at the thought of seeing them?"
Point taken.
So I will stop squealing and tell you in a voice just as serious and reserved as I can that I am terribly excited, about the concert, about meeting these two girls, and just generally getting away. Our kind hosts have booked us hotel rooms, and for some reason, they've given us each our own.
Our OWN rooms.
All alone in a hotel room.
I don't know that I've ever been all alone in a hotel room. How on earth am I going to sleep without my backside snuggled up to Hubs, or Corrie's foot lodged firmly in my kidney? I think I may have to jump on the bed to tire myself out.
Anyhoo, in addition to all the Casting Crowns fun, I can't wait to spend some time in real life with Big and Boo. Having read and adored them for so long, I suspect that after five minutes we'll feel like old friends. But I will tell you, no matter how many times you meet a bloggy friend in real life, it always feel like some sort of bizarre blind date.
What if the hair looks especially man-ish?
What if I miss my connection in Memphis (have I mentioned I loathe flying?)?
What if I act like a dork? (Let me re-phrase that. It is a given that I will act like a dork. What if I act like more of a dork than my normal allotment of dorkishness?)
I'm just hoping for the best and taking plenty of hair product. Because what else can a girl do?
Oh, and one last thing...(can you tell by the way I'm subject hopping that I have the jitters?)...Big and Boo are letting me sit in on their podcast, the thought of which is MAKING ME SWEAT, but I'm forging ahead. Sometime over the weekend, BooMama will work her techie magic and get the three-way podcast up on their blogs, and you can all confirm once and for all why I am a blogger and not a speaker.
*shudder*
And yet, still...*squeal!*
That's a lot of Southern Woman in one room, y'all. I have a feeling there will be stories to tell.
I'm not sure why I'm in such a walk-down-memory-lane sort of mood lately, but I am. Today I'm going to tell you one of my favorite stories. It involves one of my oldest and dearest friends, a sorority sister whose privacy I want to be very careful to protect. So I'll just tell you only that her name begins with Mich- and ends in -elle.
(I'm totally giving her a hard time, because I know she's reading this. Hi, darlin'!)
Hubs and I first met our junior year in college, Michelle and Hubs were both very active leaders in a particular student organization. They had to work closely together, and in the course of their interactions they had somehow butted heads. Badly. Both of these people I love dearly are very (how shall I say it?) independent-minded, and the two of them together wasn't a nice combination.
Anyway, Hubs and I had met in February of '93, with initially disastrous impressions of each other. Thankfully, circumstances continued to put us around each other, and we formed more favorable opinions. We quickly became friends, and I developed a pretty significant crush on this smart, funny, ambitious fraternity boy who was unlike anyone I'd ever met.
In March, my sorority held a "date function", which is another word for "cruel, medieval torture device." Not really, but it did mean that the girl from the sorority invited a boy to the party. As in, asked him out. On a DATE. Because of the very proper way I'd (thankfully) been raised, I would've rather thrown myself in front of a bus than ask a boy out, so I had skipped most of these date functions up to that point.
But then there was Hubs. And I WANTED A DATE with that man. I fretted and stewed and wrung my hands and somehow summoned every ounce of courage deep in my soul. I was going to ask him to the party.
This particular date function required that the sorority member sign up her date's name on a list posted in the chapter house. Then that list would be published in the student newspaper, and the girl would then call the boy and say, "Hey! Did you see your name on the list? That was from me!"
So not only could you potentially be rejected, but you could potentially be rejected with the entire University of Arkansas watching. It was a grand tradition.
With sweaty palms, I nervously wrote "Hubs Dryer" on the list. It was horrible, but I was ready to sacrifice my dignity for a date with Dream Boy. I took a deep breath and dashed to class.
As I headed across campus, though, I heard someone shouting my name. It was Michelle, and she was frantically chasing me. Breathless, she said, "Did I see that you put Hubs Dryer's name on the date function list? I didn't even know you knew him!"
"Yes," I told her. "We met about a month ago, and I think I like him."
She told me how she knew him, how they'd worked together. "Shannon," she said firmly. "He is AWFUL. So bossy. You cannot possibly go out with him." Then she delivered the final blow: "Trust me--the two of you would NEVER work out."
Of course, that was just IT for me. My nerves couldn't take anymore. As soon as I got the chance, I thoroughly erased his name from the list, thankful my friend had spared me from a horrible date with Awful Boy.
Yet, Awful Boy continued to show up in my path, almost daily. And he wasn't that awful. Not at all. When he spared me the trauma and asked me out a month later, I fell hard.
The wonderful irony of this story (and there is much) is that Michelle and Hubs are dear friends now, which tickles me pink. Except for this one gaping incident, every other piece of advice she's given me has been spot-on correct, but I still won't let her live it down. In fact, I recall standing behind her in the foyer of my hometown church on my wedding day. Pachelbel's Canon in D was swirling in the air and Michelle, my maid of honor, was about to head down the aisle.
"We'd never work out, huh?" I whispered.
Thankfully, a good sense of humor is one of her many gifts. (I love you, my sweet friend! Oh, and Awful Boy? I love you too.)
Chilihead, Chilihead, Chilihead.
Chilihead.
I'm saying it a whole bunch, because tomorrow my dear real-life friend and neighbor and PTA partner in crime is coming out of the closet and revealing her true identity, never again to be Chilihead. Word on the street is that she's taking off the Groucho Marx glasses, too.
And the world will never be the same.
Rest in peace, Chilihead, and rest assured that there is a two-year-old in my house that will always call you "Miss Chee-wee".
It's nice having friends in high places.
Or southern places, as it were.
Before her big CD giveaway, BooMama and I were e-mailing about her new-found love of the group Monk and Neagle. I asked her if I could download their songs on iTunes, and she explained that their CD isn't out yet.
"But," she added conspiratorially, "I can get you a copy." (Actually, I have no idea if she said it conspiratorially. It just makes for a better blog post if I assume she did.)
Oh, really? That girl's got connections, I tell you. She's kind of like the mafia, except with fried chicken and sassy pants.
And so, she pulled her BooMama strings and arranged for me to have a copy, and I awaited its arrival eagerly. She had made some pretty steep claims about this music on her blog: It will inspire you! It will change your life! It will dice your tomatoes!
Okay, not really on that last one. But my expectations were high. And they weren't disappointed.
I'll just come clean and tell you that I'm not one to check out new artists--Christian or otherwise--very often. Where music is concerned I'm a creature of habit (and, I might add, generally stuck in 1987.) I have some Christian artists I love, and in my iPod and CD collections I tend to listen to those same artists over and over. And over.
But if the newest crop of contemporary Christian artists are as authentic and gentle as Monk and Neagle, then consider me won over. Their lyrics are the words of true soul-searchers. The truth is, I'm not a music reviewer, and I have no idea how to write a review of a CD without spoiling the pleasure of discovering it yourself. All I know to say is that this music has tugged at my heart in some very profound ways--I've been challenged, I've worshipped, and I've even shed a few tears (just be warned before you get to to track five).
And strangely? My tomatoes are diced.
I'm kidding.
This CD comes out September 18th--I'm not speaking lightly when I tell you to consider buying a copy (I'm not sure yet if it will be downloadable on i-Tunes). It's good stuff.
Have you seen the fun little "Five Questions" meme going around Blogland? You send a friend five very random questions and see her answer. Chilihead sent me these, about a hundred years ago, and I'm just now getting around to posting my answers:
1. Jack Bauer or Sawyer?
As easy as Sawyer is on the eyes (oh my WORD is he easy on the eyes), I have to say I've never been the sort to go for the bad guys. ("Oh, really?" my dad is saying as he reads this, thinking about my choices in high school.) Since high school, I've been a sucker for a good guy so I'd choose Jack Bauer. But then again, Jack Bauer's love interests tend to get kidnapped, tortured and murdered, which isn't my idea of a fun date. I'll happily stick with my Hubs, who is as hot as Sawyer and as heroic as Jack Bauer, and nobody loses any body parts.
2. If your life is ever made into a made-for-tv movie, who would play you?
And what a riveting tv movie that would be! [Insert dramatic voice-over]--"Tomorrow, 9/8 Central, a seemingly ordinary houswife discovers that she can actually do ALL the individual voices of Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See, and the world is changed forever..."
Who would star in it? Let's see...when I was in high school, people thought I looked like Debbie Gibson, so I'll go with her.
3. What are three things are you doing now that, if you knew 20 years ago that you'd be doing them, you would have freaked out?
Driving a mini-van, getting paid for writing, wearing a size [ahem] jeans.
4. You have five minutes to pack up and leave. What goes and what stays?
Leaving forever, or just for the day? (And I'm assuming it's a given my Hubs and kids are with me.) If I were leaving forever, it would be my Bible, my photo albums, my sewing machine and my cell phone. If I'm just leaving for the day, it's my cell phone and a Diet Coke from Sonic.
5. Your pincushions are selling around the country like hotcakes at a maple syrup convention. Who is the most important person to buy one and why did they buy it?
I'm sorry, what? I was a little distracted by all the hotcakes and maple syrup.
Oh yes, pincushions. I'm sure they would be all the rage in Hollywood, snatched up by the likes of Katie Holmes, Gwyneth Paltrow and Lindsey Lohan, and the women of America would all be inspired to return their domestic roots and take up sewing, and there would be economic collapse because we no longer imported clothing from China, so China would buy nuclear weapons from Iran and go to war with us.
Those are some powerful pincusions, y'all.
Here are my five random questions I'm sending out to anyone who wants to play along:
