life in law

I rarely have a day so ridiculous that I post about it immediately. However, they do happen, so here goes nothing:

Today was like any other day: got up... finally, got dressed, got my beloved dirty chai, went to class, and headed off to work (LIKE AN ADULT!). I was really looking forward to work today because sometimes school becomes so overwhelming that I need to be reminded I can play AND be responsible at the same time. The office is a great outlet for that. So there I am, blissfully seeing NOIs flow out of their bin, and then one of the paralegals comes in with the "look". You know like when you have to tell your parents you got ANOTHER ticket or that "your friend" wrecked your car, or, for the parents out there, that the baby pee'd on your side of the bed. Yeah, that look.
I even said, "Oh no. Why that face? Why the smirk?!"
She sweetly said, "Well, you know that subpoena...?"
"Yeahhhh... the one in Opelika?"
"Mmhmm..."
(insert lolz here) "You need me to take it, don't you?"
"Yeah... Is that okay?"
"Yeah, that's fine..."
Mind you, last time I served a subpoena, the twit that I gave it to was such a jerk. Dear human, WE PAY YOU TO COPY PAPER!!!! C-H-I-L-L-A-X. And dear person who doesn't know what a subpoena is, I'm not suing you, and if I were, I certainly wouldn't come here on my own. I'm just the messenger. 99.79% of the time, you just have to produce documents. You've been schooled.

Before I head out on my wild adventure, I get summoned to sign a Will. My nickname by one Speagie is Padme', like Queen Amidala ,or Natty P. He probably couldn't tell you my name if a gun was held to his head, but it makes it all the more fun. Anyway, the Will, so one of the guys, who I'm guessing didn't read a ton of comic books as a child because he yells this AWESOME line to me every time I'm need for one of those: "TO THE BAT CAVE PADME'!"

Okay, to the real story. So I get on the road and the first stop is Tuskegee. For those of you who don't know, as a small white girl, I would stick out like a turban on a plane (i just did that... didn't i?) in that city. So there I am driving down the road to the back of Tuskegee, even better, and my directions send me down the wrong county road. Since I'm like Michael and it's telling me to go into a lake, I must obey. I go down this road, dirt mind you, covered in trees, no one in sight, OH and did I mention my phone is on the fritz?! I have no ability to have verbal communication to the outside world. Texting is about as far as it goes. I tweeted about a million times on the drive over because I had nothing else to do (Oh our poor generation... we're broken). The only thing flashing through my mind is when my sister and cousins almost got killed in Tuskegee on a back road (story for another day). This is not healthy. I finally decide that, "you know, I'd rather live", and turn back around. I see a tiny Mom-n-Pop station at the last turn I took, so here goes nothing...
I walk in, completely bemused and disheveled:
Lady: "Can I hep you, hun?"
"Heyyy... hey, hey. Okay, so I'm super confused. I have no idea where I am, but I keep being sent down CR 53 when I want to go down CR 63, but, well, this keeps happening."
Lady: "Well, hun, you gosta go down duh road an you see a ho-tel on duh right an duh street right aftuh it."
"Okay, so right down the road on the right, a hotel is in front?"
"Yeahhmm. Choo know, right down deh on duh right. Mmmhmmnn."
"Okay. Thank you so much!"
"Yeah dahlin, on deh right, hotel, mmmhmmnn."
"Yeah, okay. Thanks again"
"On deh right, doll."
I knew at this point if I wasn't just completely rude and walked off  right then, I'd be saying thank you all day and I would still be in Tuskegee right now. Off I go. (Guess what was on the right?) I see that this road is not NEARLY as terrifying as the last CR. UNTIL I get to the place of my destination. Oh hey abandon log house and your scary side shop filled with overgrown grass and rusty trucks... Wait a second... Am I staring in Shark Night 3D?!?! jklolz. So I go to the house, and don't yell at me. My one job was to serve the subpoena, and I am going to  serve that subpoena. Well how about that, there's a creaky swing and a breeze? I seriously felt like I was in a made-for-tv movie. Long, LONG story cut a smidge short, I walk to the uber creepy shop that says HOURS: 8AM-5PM. Liars. No one was there. However, as I'm standing there I see in the distance a tree with lovely yellow leaves. One leaf falls, and falls slowly, to the ground. If any of you have "The American", so many long and dragging cinematic clips in that movie were in exact timing with my life. If you haven't seen it, don't waste your brain cells; ugh, just the worst. So now that the point in life I'm in and the love a fascination I have for symbolism and literature (thanks Flannery O'Connor) I thought, "OHEMGEE. That is totally representing my impending death," and I run back to my car. I send a text to one of the girls at work (remember HOW I CAN'T CALL ANYONE?!?!) threatening that I'll haunt her and everyone else in the firm if they don't get me out of there alive. Since there are no cell towers in the backwoods of Deathtopia, I don't get her response for a solid 20 minutes. Marcus Mumford and I bonded over some lovely lyrics and great tunes.


I get to Opelika, where the real place is for me to serve, and I can't find the building. I stop at one location and they send me into the Mexican ghetto. I try another place and they sadly see an ugly side of me. I may have snapped at one of the guys in the building, and he was just saying hello. My b, boy. The other guy must live with lots of girls because he was super sweet UNTIL he walks outside and says,
"Are you going to be coming back by here?"
"No. What? Why?"
"I could just take you over there."
"Yeah, I don't think so."
"Here get in my car and I'll pull up the GPS location-here-we-are-map-touch-screen-thing. (It should be noted: I'm technologically retarded and all technology knows that I am. Look at what my phone did to me.)"
"Uhh.. what's your name again?"
"Brian."
"My mom told me to never get in the car with strangers... (plop into his car)"
Sweet Brian found the building for me. And I thought I was done with ridiculousness, UNTIL:

I pulled up at the wrecker shop, where people actually worked, and as SOON as I get out of my car, "Hey daRlin. What can I do for you?"
"Is your supervisor here? I have a subpoena for him to sign."
"OH I DON'T WANT NO LEGAL DOCUMENT."
"It's not for you, it's for him. Is HE here?"
"No, baby. He ain't. He ain't been here but for 10 minutes today."
My face must have been full of rage or tears; I'm not sure.
"You o.k.?"
"Yeah, okay. Can one of you sign it and make sure you give it to him as soon as you see him?"
"I don't want my name on no legal doc-u-ment. I ain't bein sued fer nuthin."
"And neither is he. He just  needs to show up and testify. No one is in trouble. And subpoenas AREN'T BAD. PRODUCE DOCUMENTS, SHOW YOUR FACE. NOT. A. BIG. DEAL. Now one of you sign it. NOW."
"Alright, Will you go do it."
W: "So he jus gotta go to court? I gotta do that next week for some child support crap."
(you have GOT to be kidding me)
 William takes the pen from me and guess what... he has 9 fingers and about 7 teeth.
Other guy: "Alright, you from 'round here?"
"no."
"You come 'round here much?"
"nope." (then I thought, "I'll be back here in less than 2 days... he doesn't need to know that...,")
"Can I subpoena you fer lunch?"
"Absolutely not."
Papers are signed, I'm saying thank you to 9 fingered Will.
"You sure I can't subpoena you for lunch?"
"That's not how this works, and I wouldn't go anyway. Good-bye."
Mind you, I could not have sounded more condescending if I tried. Good Country People.

As I get in the car and I start to hear lewd comments about me (always a good feeling by the way. Makes you feel treasured. Buncha creeps), I was like "WHAT IS MY LIIIIIFE?!?!?!?!" I leave to go to another serving location and at 5:04, when I pull up, the building is locked. This is Life in the Law.

#east2west

 My friend Josh (Shwaa) was going out west to meet up with a couple other friends for a wild road trip. Before he left he had a wedding to shoot (he’s a part-time/slow getting things out videographer). My friend Jenna accompanied shwaa to the wedding, partially for my benefit since I was the one driving shwaa to the airport and needing to not die on the journey home. This is that story:

Jenna and I love music, but we REALLY love to sing it, especially car singing. You know, where you trap other people in the car and they have no choice but to listen to you and your person karaoke sesh… yeah, we love that. After the wedding that all 3 of us went to (btdubs, it was so beautiful; YAY MEAGGIE AND HUNTER!!), we were all disgustingly sweaty, and fortunately for my and Jenna’s noses, shwaa was close to a shower and took advantage (preesh). As we’re making our way out of Tallassee, we stop at the only gas station near the interstate for some caffeine and treats. After jenna and I get our snacks, we head out to the car, but not before we see Sgt. EXTREEEEME. The rent-a-cop is wearing combat boots, a bulletproof vest, has a bald head (nothing wrong with that, I’m just telling you what he looks like; everything else is ridic, but i actually like the bald look for a minute or two), and is carrying… a taser. A little bit excessive for a Saturday night at the Tallassee BP, but you know, I wasn’t going to judge... until the following happened. Jenna and I are patiently waiting for shwaa to get his chicken (gas station chicken… really shwaa? Really?), when Sgt. E. comes out with his gas station pizza, leaning on the trash can and busts out this gem of a story: “whell, yew know when dat bwoah comes back down her’, I’ma be ready. I tell you what. (whips out taser) I ain’t ‘fraid to use this. (tases the air) I hope Volduhmort (yes, VOLDEMORT) shows his face. I can’ way-uht,”.

Jenna and I are just sitting there, trying to avert our eyes, but he’s there putting this show on for us (Dear Sir, let’s get real. You probably don’t have a high school diploma; you work the night shift at a gas station; and you’re about 45. While your attempt at being young and cool and a bit BA was noble, you can’t avoid what you really are, old and washed up. Ttyn). When he said “Volduhmort” I’m pretty sure jenna and I fell over with laughter. Shwaa FINALLY got out to the car and we sped off into the night. Did I mention that I’m blind as a bat when driving in the rain or in the dark? Yeah, this just adds to the fun. 

Well, there we are.  I think Shwaa wanted to have a meaningful conversation on the way to the ATL, but Jenna and I wouldn't have it. We sang so much T.Swift that it would have made country people like heavy metal (we're passionate singers... not gifted). We find our way to the airport, drop Shwaa off (4 or 5 hours early mind you) and Jenna and I head back to the Gump. Before we really get on the road, we head to the nearest coffee joint. Awesome, it's a gas station. This gas station had a "coffee bar" with pumps of additives. Being that I'm about 5, I was like "PUMPS OF ENERGY SHOTS?!? GIVE ME 20!!!!". Jen over-loaded on cinnamon and we left... not before I hit up the restroom. As I'm walking out of the bathroom, I see this woman standing outside the door in her socks talking as "doown howme" country as possible. She was closely followed by her daughter wearing the same shoeless ensemble. As she stood and talked to me for about a billion years, Jen is standing off to the side just watching, no attempt to rescue, just watching.

Torture over, we attack the road again. And following are tweets that were sent from me and Jen that night: 

jpeyt: @clarabell87 is so hyped up on the crack cocaine energy she put in her coffee she's only saying 1/every 10 words she needs to to communicate

Me: I may or may not die from multiple tastebud hemmorages on the way home. #worstcoffeeever #85to65
 

jpeyt:  @clarabell87-"Taste it It's like burned popcorn and I like burned popcorn but this coffee's like kettlecorn burned popcorn what am I saying"

Me: This crack coffee has brought laughs out of me i didn't know i was capable of forming. They're really scary. #85to65

jpeyt: @clarabell87 fortunately it hasn't impaired your driving judgment...oh wait #85hopewemakeitaliveto65

 And don't worry, you know we took a twitpic to remember what the crack coffee killed in our brainz:

 After we decided we still wanted followers and friends when the trip was over... I had to go potty again. ( I blame it on the crack coffee) There were no gas stations open since it was about 2 in the morning est., so Jen and I got creative. We saw that there was a truck stop with lights on and we prayed it was open, but our (my) worst fears came true. We found a ton of shrubberies on the other side of the parking lot, which was massive, and we parked as close to them as possible, and, well... I guess you can figure out what happened... this was the picture that Jen took to immortalize the most ridiculous moment in my life (which is saying a lot if you know me at all):

The End.

perpetually providential

I found this in my drafts, and i said to myself, "self, why you no post this a long time ago?" And then I remembered that I had been advised not to... I don't see why I shouldn't have, I'm just asking a question, which is something I'm allowed to do. And here it goes: I've spent days thinking about how I could phrase this topic without either being offensive or sounding like pretentious. Friends, I love you all. Don't think I'm picking on any of you; I'm most definitely preaching to the choir. So... here goes nothin!

I notice that a popular theme amongst the majority of my friends is proclaiming God's goodness or how providential He is when they get something they really wanted. Excuse me, but there is something missing in that phrase/ thought/ action, right?

I know that there are many of my friends that will go, "Clara, you're totally taking this out of context. Why so literal?". I don't really believe that I am taking anything out of context. How often do you see or notice God working in the crappiest of situations? How often do we give Him the glory when we have the flu, can't study for a test, have a child that is sick, or whatever your crappiest situation is? Seriously. Ask that question... daily. I know for a fact that I struggle with this more often than I'd like to admit.

I saw a friend tweet that they were "thankful for the Lord's providence..." because they got something they  wanted; which is now something they are not happy with (job... shockerrrr). I'm not getting on to them, I'm just now aware of how little we thank God for EVERYTHING. Not just the things we want. What if they hadn't gotten that job? I hate to think how I would have responded. Actually, I know how I would have responded, and that is heart breaking for me to think about. This whole post might be full of questions and no answers and that's okay to me. I don't believe I'm supposed to have answers. I believe I'm supposed to question and become aware of who I am, what I say, and what I do. Aren't the most annoying things you see in others the things that bother you most about yourself? Well, I'm bothered. *sound the alarm* I plan on taking action.

What bothers you?

Minerva and Gottfried

For my 22^nd birthday, my mother surprised me with the most hilarious and ridiculous present I’ve ever received in my life. Here’s what happened:

Friday the 13^th, the day of my birth 22 years prior, I should have known something weird would come from being born on this day (like my liiiiife), my mother and I took the day to do our favorite things, book and clothing shopping. We spent the majority of the day looking at stuff for Europe, mom and dad were leaving in February for a trip, and then did a little clothing shopping for moi. After the day was over, mom had a few more errands to run so I went home and got ready for dinner for that evening.

All dolled up in my little jumper, so what if I’m 22, I can still rock a jumper, I was waiting on mom to come back to the house and get me for dinner. She comes in and calls my name. I walked to the kitchen where she was and she stood at the door with this very large cardboard box. She had “that” look on her face. I stood there looking at her and said,

“mom? What’s in the box?”

“it’s your present!”

“I thought the clothing and stuff were my presents this year?”

“no, I got you one more…”

Dun, dun, duuuunnnnn…

As she starts pulling things out of the box, I start to become a little concerned. Rocks? A bamboo stalk? Is that a display box?!

The last thing she whips out is a clear plastic box, like ones used for storage, and a bag inside. I’m standing there and I know I can feel my heart sinking. I. Am. Terrified.

Small back story:  my mother is one of the most thoughtful people in the world. I don’t think I’ve ever really appreciated it until close to recently. And even now I fail at seeing how precious she really is.

Thoughtfulness: when I lived in auburn, I had a pet fish, 3 really, but 2 died from ick. I barely mourned over them because they weren’t with me very long. However, I had this other fish, Thaddeus, who was a precious little tiger barb. I felt like it was appropriate, auburn tigers, tiger fish… anyway, I had Thaddeus and he was so cute. He would swim like crazy whenever my roommate or I entered the room. I think we watched Finding Nemo one night and he must have been paying attention because when I cleaned out his bowl later that week, he jumped down the drain. Freaking out, I call my mother and ask her, through tears, what I should do. She says, and I quote, “just get him out with a fork.” Me: (sob, sob, sob…) “YOU ARE EVIL!!”

All that to say, Thaddeus died; he found out only drains near the ocean lead to the ocean. All the other ones lead to sewage systems or to the nasty, evil duck infested pond back behind my house.

*Back story over*

Mom pulls out the little bag and two creatures are floating around in it.

“mom…? What the heck is that?”

“it’s frogs!”

“…like from our back yard?” we had an over population of those little tree frogs that would reign over our back porch at night; it was disgusting, but my mom thought they were adorable.

“no, clara! They’re African water frogs!!”

Puzzled look: “ohhh, naturally.”

“you love frogs.”

“no, mom. You love frogs. I love fish.”

I start laughing because I can literally not believe this is happening. Tears are pouring down my face, I don’t think my mother feels that this is any laughing matter and is bemused as to why I find humor in this at all.

“clara, you said you wanted fish, but I saw these at brookstone and thought, ‘she’s quirky. She’d probably love these.’”

Insert me falling to the floor, in a heap, still crying from laughing.

The rest of the night followed with me at dinner, and after a margarita, still laughing with tears, talking to my sisters asking why they allowed her do this, and hanging out with a friend later still crying from laughter.

The joke’s on me. They’re still alive, and one of my friends recently looked up the life expectancy for those specific frogs: as long as 20 years. Blessed little Minerva and Gottfried, the best/worst and weirdest present I’ve ever received in my life. 

taking a stand

i have a friend, danny, who shared with me this newspaper he started in high school. 1) i was crazy impressed with his ability to hide the fact that he was the editor for so long, and 2) the writing, though spotty with the grammar, was so passionate and poised that i couldn't help but be impressed by those kid's skillz (it deserves a "z" because it was awesome) (i guess you had to be there) (i really love parentheses) (they're so exclusive) (wanna be in my parentheses club? too bad sucka!!) (parentheses are meeeean).

after reading those wonderful stories, which most of them took place right after the columbine tragedy and the thoughts were SPOT ON, i was amazed at how well people write when they're passionate about something. i like being passionate. it's something i'm very fond of and something i'm a little too good at. when i discover something i love, i defend it to the death. so here i am, being challenged to be passionate. i thought about turning this into a "I-HATE-CLOGS-WITH-A-BURNING-PASSION-OF-FIRE-AND-BRIMSTONE-THEY-MUST-DIE-DIE-DIE". and while i do believe this, i want to passionately describe how much i love the written word.

i'm not very good at expressing myself through spoken word. i internalize; and i don't think i convey my heart well in written words, but i believe in the power of the written word. those words are forever there. they mean more because you, the individual with the desire to share, took the time not only to say, but to write down the feelings that couldn't simply just be said and then paraphrased later on in life for fear of losing their meaning and power, but wanted what you felt to be remembered in the form you intended it to be in. all that said, i love letters. i also love love-letters. passion in it's most pure and blinded form could not be more precious. blinded because everyone knows that what you feel for someone, not everyone feels that way, but you see that individual in a way that no one else does. people, write down your love. when you're angry, re-read those words and remember how much beauty there is in unconditional love. our society is insanely conditional. we typically do not approve of 2nd chances, but, oh, how many 2nd chances we've been given!

letters to juliet except not dumb

i love correspondence. i have a few friends that i write to, and if you've ever done this, there are hidden parts of the soul that are betrayed by the hand and left for the recipient to decipher. reading between the lines, if you will, which you will because you have no choice but to let me write what i think. sometimes i feel like letters allow you toss a burden aside for a few days so you can breathe and gather your thoughts. it's a great form of therapy, too. and it only costs $.44; claranomical. boom.

danny, you've made me feel passionate again. passionate about sharing things i love and treasure. challenge of the week, write a friend. mail is fun to write and SO fun to receive. it's special. make someone feel special this week. you'll be surprised how your letter will impact that person's day. unless it's hate mail. i guess it's still impacting, but really? how about you not.

here's something else i love:

george thompson

baby boy turned 1 this past week. little ball of joy. when i finish his birthday present, i'm totally showing them off. (hint: they're tiny TOMS) (eeeeeee!!!!) (maybe parentheses aren't so bad...?)

characterization

i already know this post will have 2 totally different metaphors. they kind of relate to each other, maybe. but you now know, if you've been a faithful reader, that i can only write in a stream of consciousness kind of way. bear with me. (every time i write "bear" i always want to follow it with: rawwwrr) :)

when i was 14, maybe 15, my oldest sister got engaged to the greatest guy. now, i knew i liked him-- i mean who couldn't, he's amazing-- but i had always had a hard time letting another person into my family. i'm super protective over the people i love. like sometimes it's out of control. all that protectiveness made me resent him for even TRYING to win his way into our hearts. boy, don't play. i've already got one brother, i don't need another one. (siiiigh...) i realized shortly after i turned on my, "ugh, you are ruining everything!!" attitude, probably the ugliest thing anyone could ever experience coming out of me, i became aware that i am Jo March. L.M. Alcott wrote about me before i was born. i, like Jo, refused to be pleased with the fact that my family was spreading and expanding. i also did the same thing with my other sister when she got engaged. we also kind of hated each other then, which was not surprising since i did not love the Lord at this time. anyway, i ended up coming around. my b-i-l, both of them, they are the greatest men. and i'm happy to be able to consider them my brothers.

shifting to my next thing, which is, again, maybe related to Jo, but maybe not. or maybe this is just my heart talking. like Jo (we're starting off on a good foot) i don't really care for change. i like the wildness of the world and i like to experience new things, but i do not like change within my close circles of life. when accepting my b-i-ls, it was a stretch for me. i didn't know how to love then. since becoming a follower of Christ, i want ALLLLLLL of my relationships to never ever end, but to forever grow deeper. which, i think, is something i've learned to treasure  and desire since i want the same thing to happen with my relationship with Christ. i want growth. i long for growth. but instead of shrinking back the growth just to my family and a few close friends, i want the growth i desire to spread from my initially closed circle to everyone i know, like a wild fire. very little would please me more. but i also know that what i want verbally can not be executed unless i act upon it with a strong action. sometimes trees (oh dear, here's where i break off from Jo) need pruning so that they can flourish again. which means something has to die. i don't like watching things die.

i had a fish very recently, her name was Tennille (R.I.P. girl, R.I.P.), and i knew, from experience, with the behavior she was showing that she wasn't going to make it. i was way bummed when i walked out to see her dead in the tank 5 days after i got her. it was also freaking my frogs out -- i'll share the frog story one day -- and so everyone Tennille met, she had made enough of an impact to freak them out by her untimely death. i wasn't expecting to write and obit for her... well there you go, Tennille. anyway, back to pruning. i know that sometimes things need to die or be cut away because they will kill you if they aren't. but what you also may not know, is i seriously struggle with being controlling. i like to have my hand in situations where i've made myself believe i can use my wily ways to have an advantage, and BOOM! everything's goin' my way... not so much the case anymore. i've seen, with a sibling of mine, that if you let go and stop trying to control, Christ will be seen more clearly because all i'm doing is focusing on loving and waaaaay less on controlling. it's sad to prune, but it's good for growth, and i'd rather be a submissive, blooming tree than a writhing, little sapling clinging to life, refusing to let go of my dead limbs, and let my Master get rid of the things that are destroying me (whoa). a beautiful, fruitful life is much more impacting than a life that never had blossoms, fruit, or love.

so i am Jo March. i am also a lover of Christ. it seems i'm also a tree. and i'm happy.

this was the day

i don't know if it is my severe kathleen turner voice or if it was because i watched william and kate last night, but today, i was incredibly bold.

thanks doll face...

voice: so i went to auburn this past weekend, and though we did almost nothing that would have made me lose my voice, i woke up sunday rendered voiceless. i can't figure out why i always lose my voice in that apartment. i guess i can't handle the awesomeness of erin... you're welcome for that little shout out. anyway, when  i do lose my voice, i think i feel most like the women in the 80s with their powersuits and butch haircuts. I AM WOMAN. HEAR ME ROAR. but really... i growl when i talk right now. groooss. anyway, so i growl, i also become way outspoken, and i don't know if today was just special because i was in a great mood since one of my classes just became an easy A class or what, but something just ticked inside me.

movie: last night i watched william and kate... along with 300,000 other lifetime fans (judge away, you're more than welcome to). i went to bed with a new desire: i want a prince... NOW.

dear prince charming, i'm here.

bad actor, good face

no joke. i woke up this morning and said, "pshh, ain't no prince here. i will say and do as i please,". did i ever. challenged one of the lawyers to a dance-off... then realized, "maaaaaybe i should wait to do that with a guy when i have on jeans and not a dress". good call clara. anyway, i don't know if the whole kate and william story just super charged me for boldness or super annoyed me that that only happens in fairytales, but i felt a little wild; being sassy to my employers and somehow got laughs and maybe a new found appreciation for my "humor", made the guy that i think is beyond precious and crazy out of my league laugh (always a bonus for me), and then... i did something else, but it must not have been as outrageous as it thought it was at the time. i don't know how diary-ish i'm being, but here we are. i have no prince options but...

all this to say: i wanna be a princess soooo baaaaad. because if you marry a prince, this happens:

i want to be a pez figurine