So we had a windstorm in Nashville on Friday.  I guess we can’t call it an official tornado since the weather service did not confirm one, but all I know is that street signs were flying and this huge old tree at the end of my street was split in half, part of it on its side in a yard. 

 

A few weeks ago, I had splurged (after 2 years of wanting and finally finding the money) on a back yard gazebo.  I got it at Target.  Bamboo, 10’ x 10’.  It was truly awesome.  I spent two days assembling what I could, and then I had help from about 6 people when it came time to get the top on and screw it all together.  It was an involved process and certainly not one that I could’ve completed alone.  But, once we got it together, it was terrific.  I had my lawn furniture and my fire pit under it and it was like I had a new room, only it was outside.

 

I got home Friday evening to discover that the non-tornado had systematically pulled each stake out of the ground and lifted the entire gazebo OVER my 11’ privacy fence and put it in the front yard.  My neighbor tells me that at first, the gazebo set down in the front yard just as if that was where I had put it.  (That would’ve been a weird discovery.)  But, then a new gust of wind turned it sideways and sent it into my next-door neighbor’s dead pine tree. 

 

I had a gallon of white paint sitting beside it on the back porch and the storm opened that and dumped it, too.   So, my first priority was to spray the paint off my porch.  The more I sprayed, the more the paint multiplied.  It was insane.  Then, I’d get the hose in the paint…and the hose would rub against me…and before long I was covered in white paint.  It was in my hair, all over my t-shirt, shorts, legs and shoes.  A joyous time, but I finally got most of it off the porch.

 

On to the front yard now.  I guess the good part is that I now know how good I am at assembling things.  None of the screws came out.  The entire gazebo remained fully assembled, only twisted and bent.  Of course, it couldn’t exactly be put upright and then moved to the back yard again.  So, I began taking it apart.  Screw by screw, pole by pole in the pouring rain.  My next door neighbor wasn’t home, but all the rest of them—they opened their window blinds and watched.  I was their Friday evening entertainment.  I could’ve called friends for help, but I really hadn’t expected all the screws to still be in place.  So, trudged on…still painted white.

 

Toward the end of the 4^th hour, I went in the garage and brought out my ladder.   The highest point of the gazebo was in the pine tree and I couldn’t reach it without climbing almost to the top of the ladder.  Well, of course, the ladder is slippery because I’m in the middle of a downpour.  I lost my footing and fell straight into the tree.

 

As I dangled in the tree, a Papa John’s pizza delivery guy pulls up to the curb.  He rolls down the passenger window and helpfully yells to me, “Did you order a pizza?” 

 

Here’s hoping that all the neighbors who watched out their windows and the pizza delivery man get a very bad case of diarrhea.

 

-b

So yesterday I had a co-write with a guy I was really excited about writing with.  We'd met a few weeks back and he seemed to like my stuff so we put down a co-writing appointment.  This guy has had a pretty good deal of success in country music--a few number ones, lots of great cuts and he's got some amazing songs.  I'm a true fan of his work.

 

I'm halfway to the session, fighting traffic, cutting down 1st Ave. to get out of the interstate traffic jam when I look down at my bare feet and realize I forgot my shoes. 

 

-b

A list of things on my desk:

 

1.  A plastic slinky which reads "Sweet Life--Janet Paschal"

2.  A royal blue rubber ball

3.  A can of red Play-Doh

4.  A tootsie roll change can filled with pennies

5.  Two mermaid pens

6.  A small bottle of bubbles

7.  Harry Connick Jr.'s autograph

 

...am I twelve?!?!?  Gheesh.

 

-b

First, a big shout out to the Atlanta NSAI chapter.  I had a great time meeting you all and thank you so much for having me down.  And, special thanks to the ultra-awesome Kate Thompson and her son, Ben Thompson, for your passion in cooridinating the group.

 

So, obviously, I spent the weekend in Atlanta.  I got to hang with Rebecca, one of my favorite all-time people, and finally met Thomas, who seems to be treating her pretty well.  I didn't have to rough him up at all.  The three of us along with 7 of Rebecca's other wonderful friends, went to Swallow at the Hollow on Saturday night.  It's kind of like Atlanta's version of the Bluebird here in Nashville, only the food is awesome.  It was a writer's night with a few of my friends from here--Craig Monday, Cory Batten and Dave Brainard.  They were  fantastic.  

 

I had a small amount of down time while I was there this weekend and so I had to make my inaugural trip to the Atlanta IKEA store.  I love IKEA, and I love that we don't have one here.  It keeps the stuff a little more interesting, you know?  

 

Anyway, this is where you lose respect for me...well, like you had any anyway after the last posting.  You know how you go into a store sometimes and you end up being on the same shopping path as someone?  Well, I hate that, especially when my shopping partner is an obnoxious woman with her 5 year old son in the cart who clearly hasn't been taught ANYTHING about proper behavior in public. 

 

I tried... how I tried to get off the same path.  I went to different departments, cut through the cafe, snuck through the lighting to the candles--she found me.  NO matter what, she found me.  And this child--well, I'm sorry, but he was the spawn of satan.  I stopped counting his, "What's that?" question at 112--not even kidding.  And, if his mother ignored him, then he SCREAMED the question again.  I mean, this little boy was SCREAMING at this woman.  The veins in his neck were popping out as his face was turning red.  Say it together now:  anger issues. 

 

People stared, people rolled their eyes--one elderly lady told her husband that she'd have to come back another time because she couldn't take it.  IKEA is a huge store, too.  This little boy was OUT of control. 

 

So, I'm standing in front of a picture looking at some frames and mini-satan's mother parked him at the end of my aisle.  She walked to the opposite side where she could probably see the end of the cart.  Mini-satan decided that I, then, would be the one to whom he directed his 'questions.'  Not a good plan. 

 

mini-satan:  "What's that?"

me:  silence

mini-satan:  "What's that?"

me:  silence

mini-satan, veins popping, red-faced screaming:  "WHAT'S THAT?" 

me, in my low, urgent and quiet pscyhotic voice:  "It's nothing.  Now shut up." 

 

He started crying.  His mother came around, looked at him and then looked at me.  I said, "Maybe he hit his foot."

 

...and I checked out and left.

 

Yes, I yelled at a small child.  Yes, I presented an unplausible excuse to his mother for the tears.  I'm ashamed of myself.  Sort of.  I certainly wouldn't say it was okay, and I can honestly tell you it was an out of body decision.   When my mouth opened to speak, I never dreamed that's what was coming out.  So, I do apologize.  Go ahead.  Throw your stones.

 

But I also say, "You're Welcome," to the other IKEA patrons who wished they'd have done it themselves. 

 

-b