I'm not sure why I do this, but every time someone compliments me on something I'm wearing, I have the uncontrollable urge to tell them where I got it and how much I paid for it. I think this is partly because, really, that's what I'm asking whenever I remark on someone's styling, as in "where do I have to go to look like you and how much will it cost me?"

But I think it's also because I want others to share in the joy of my bargain marvels. "Can you believe the cuteness-to-amount-of-money-spent ratio on this skirt?! $7 at the Gap!" (Ah, how I love the Gap) Regardless of how little the other person wants to know, I just can't seem to stop myself. Classic case of word vomit.

I even do it with haircuts. Someone will be all "Ohmigosh I love your hair!" and I'm like "Beth Zapata. $29 with tip."

What is wrong with me?"

A few of my favorite things:

other than raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, of course.

• Muffins. This summer I got really into smoothies for breakfast- every day I would wake up and fix myself a tall glass of strawberry-banana goodness and mmm, did it hit the spot. Now that the leaves are falling (yes they're still in the process of falling here), I've traded my blender for a muffin tin and have been enjoying piping hot coffee and muffins for breakfast. Let me know if you have a good (semi-nutritious) recipe.
• My new brown fleece. Make no mistake, it doesn't actually get cold in South Carolina, but it does get "uncomfortable". I bought a brown fleece jacket at JC Penney's during a recent mega-sale and it is the best *undisclosed amount of money* I have ever spent- I wear that thing ALL the time. On that note, anyone know how to wash fleece?
• This blog. I am not real great at moderation (I watched seasons 1-4 of the office in one fell 8-day swoop this summer) so when I found this site, I couldn't stop reading and read through all the archives in a matter of days. Seriously, if you have ever laughed out loud at anything in your life, you should at least get a chuckle out of this.
  
• And lastly...
  

This is the radio studio we broadcast from every Thursday. Normally I sit on the other side of the glass window and screen calls but occasionally I sit in the studio. Both jobs are a lot of fun, though I will say it's actually less stressful to be on-air than it is to call-screen (we get all kinds of crazy calling in). Call me sometime and maybe I'll put you on-air.

Family Time

Fall, in all its splendor, has finally fell in Greenville. The trees turn slowly here, creating a fireworks effect with green centers and orangey-red tips. In the spirit of fall, my parents and I decided to go apple-picking on Saturday. I know what you’re thinking- they came from Michigan to South Carolina and you’re going apple-picking?! That’s like me driving twelve hours up to Pittsburgh to buy some peaches. But actually, North Carolina is the 4^th-largest producer of apples in the United States (or so the Visitor’s Center tells me). At any rate, the weather was perfect, the scenery divine, and I came home with more apples than I’ll ever know what to do with.


Apples are far and away my favorite fruit. I love everything about them, from their shiny red peels to their down-home American scent to their juice-rolling-down-your-chin goodness. Apple pie, apple crisp, applesauce, apple cider, dried apple chips, apple leather (like fruit rolls ups) caramel apples, caramel apple suckers… you name it, I love it.

Speaking of things I love, one of the best things about a visit from my parents is the virtual cornucopia of goodies they bring me. The following is an incomplete, but accurate list of what fell out of the back of the station wagon this time:

• a turkey baster
• 2 (more) bikes
• a space heater
• the movie Dan in Real Life*
• a coat rack
• 2 windshield ice scrapers (question mark? this is South Carolina...)
• my yearbook
• 1 (large) bag of dirt
• 10 pounds of deli meat
• a crockpot
  

And finally, my favorite quote of the weekend…

mom: "didn't MargaretAnn commit suicide?"
dad: "whaaa?"
mom: "Oh, no, wait. She had leukemia. That's right."

*neither of my parents have any idea where this came from. When asked about it, they both replied “I don’t know, I’ve never seen that before- isn’t it yours?” I explained to them that I hadn’t even seen the movie until I got it from my netflix this summer, and I certainly never owned a copy. We asked my brother if it had possibly accidentally ended up in my parents’ stuff when they visited a few weeks ago, but nope. My mom thinks she may have accidentally stolen it from one of her students.

Welcome to the neighborhood

I finally met my new-ish neighbors last night. After nearly taking Mr. Handsome out with a giant-sized coat rack as I not-so-gracefully rounded the corner on our outdoor stairway, we'll-call-him-Alex politely ignored my complete lack of coordination and introduced himself. The exchange went something like this:

Alex: "Hi! Are you moving in?"
me: "No."
Alex: "Oh."
me: "But I can see how you would think that as I've been lugging piles of stuff up these stairs for the last 40 minutes. I moved in in June."
Alex: "Oh!"
*awkward silence*
Alex: "June did you say?"
me: "yup."
*nervous throat-clearing and shuffling of feet*
Alex: "we'll-call-him-Jack and I just moved in like a month ago"
me: what I thought: I know. I watch you creepily through the peephole every time I hear a noise outside my door.
what I said: "cool"
*more awkward silence*
me: "Welp, see you around!"

Needless to say, I don't think I'll be invited over for movie night anytime soon. I imagine my relationship with Alex and Jack will go much the way of my relationship with the guys who lived there before them- namely, they carried my two-thousand pound sleeper sofa up three flights of stairs during the second-hottest South Carolinia June on record and then never spoke to me again. Maybe I should have baked them brownies.

Anyway, it's only thanks to my parents that I ever meet any of my neighbors, and lucky for me, mom and dad are visiting for a long weekend. Yes that means there are three of us co-existing in my apartment the size of a chest freezer, but I don't mind. Mostly because my morning went something like this:

-I woke up and thanks to my mother's prompting, actually got out of bed when my alarm sounded instead of my usual routine of accidentally hitting 'dismiss' when I meant to hit snooze and promptly falling back asleep until exactly 9 minutes before I need to leave for work
-My mom ironed my clothes while I made coffee
-My mom packed my lunch while I showered
-My dad drove me to work while I put my make-up on (note- I would have done this even if I had been driving, it just meant my fellow commuters were saved from imminent disaster via my total and utter lack of road skillz)

Yes I earned my first paycheck when I was 8 years old. Yes I own every cleaning product known to man and can clip your couponing socks off any day of the week. Yes I can change my bike chain, check my oil, and I do grown-upy things like eat off of place mats and buy housewarming gifts, but you better believe I love, love, love being totally spoiled by my parents and regressing to my 8th-grade self. And darn it all if my mom doesn't iron a mean crease on J Crew chinos.

Bleh

Watching Obama (a lawyer) and McCain (a naval pilot) debate economic policy is like drilling my own teeth out. I heard better economic discussion from people who were failing first year econ classes.

Obama/McCain vs. Pongracic? Now that I'd like to see.

The Sunny Side of the Street

"Isn't it good just to be alive on a day like this? I pity the people who aren't born yet for missing it. They may have good days, of course, but they can never have this one." -Anne Shirley

I confess that I've picked up Anne of Green Gables for a repeat reading, despite the fact that I've yet to finish Death Comes to the Archbishop and I'm knee-deep in My Life in France, not to mention the pile of books on my nightstand, borrowed from the library and friends.

But Anne Shirley possesses unparalleled wisdom and so I come back to her time and again. She so perfectly describes my Saturday; there will never be another quite like it. It is lovely here in Greenville, 70 degrees and breezy, and I spent it accordingly.

I woke up early and hit the Sav-Mor sidewalk sale, an event that deserves its own post, with Alycia. A local grocery store gets all the near expiration and dented cans from the high-class, snooty organic shops around town and every other Saturday, they're gathered into rows and rows of boxes in the parking lot. Hundreds of people show up, empty boxes in hand, and line the perimeter of the lot. At 9am on the dot, a whistle is blown and the crowd rushes in, like vultures on a dead carcas. The whole ordeal lasts about 10 minutes, and at the end, you walk out with a banana box full of food for $6. Here's our haul today:














Afterward, we headed out to the local Farmer's market, where we picked up some great produce, and both bought a fresh herb plant- Cilantro for Alycia, Oregano for me. Now my basil plant, Gianni, will finally have some company out on the deck. The man who sold them to us said that they can stay outside year-round down here, which is wonderful. I can't wait to make tomato sauce!

I also picked up a pomegranate and a handful of muscadines, which according to the world wide web, are the 'Passion Fruit of the South'. They are one of the strangest fruits I've ever come across, and if you ever visit me in Greenville, be sure to give them a try.

Last night I held my first 'gathering' in Greenville. Several friends came over, and we spent the night playing Outburst, Taboo, and 'Free Writing', which is only fun if you're several beers into the night. To that end, we went through a 24 pack of Yuengling and my version of man-nachos. Billy Joel may or may not have gotten involved at some point, as evidenced below. God has been so good to bless me with the companionship I've found here.

40 Days for Life

40 Days for Life started yesterday and I am excited. For 40 Days, ending on All Souls Day in November, there will be a 24/7 prayer vigil outside of local abortion clinics. The campaign started only 5 years ago, and in that short time it has grown from one city to nearly 200. The abortion clinic in the first city, College Station, has since shut down. Already there are several stories of saves on the 40 Days for Life blog,which will be updated daily. There are even daily devotionals that span the event.

On our radio show tonight, we're interviewing David Bereit, the founder of 40 Days for Life. You can listen here at 9pm Eastern time (click on radio: listen live).

Sadly, we have an abortion clinic here in Greenville. Since I moved here, I started going to pray there on Saturday mornings, and I have to say that it is the best and worst thing you can do with your day (I usually go shopping afterward to cheer myself up). It is truly sobering to see girls being driven in by their parents, boyfriends, husbands, etc. It's sadder to see them drive out. Once I locked eyes with a teenage girl in the backseat of a car driven by what I assume was her mother, and I'll never forget that moment.

The success stories of 40 Days for Life are pretty incredible. If you are able to get involved locally, please do. You will not regret it. And keep in mind that this is your community. God will ask you what you did to battle against the evils of this world. If you are fortunate enough to live far away from any abortion clinic, you can still pray, fast, and offer up the millions of souls (almost 50 million since Roe v. Wade) that have been lost to this horrific practice.

Still in the 90s

Living in the South will make you rethink your wardrobe choices.

Allow me to explain. At the beginning of the summer, I bought a pair of white demin shorts (white denim?? I know, what was I thinking? In my defense, they were $6 on clearance at the Gap) that I promptly returned within a week of taking up residence in South Carolina. It doesn’t matter how scandalously short or matronly loose-fitting they are, the feeling of denim against your skin when it’s 95 degrees and just as humid out can be described as ‘uncomfortable’ at best.

I’ve learned that fabric matters. When it came to work clothes at my office in Michigan, there was no real differentiation between summer and winter wear- typically it was colder with the AC on June than with the heater in January (see: cold, colder, and coldest), so it was tweed pants and sweaters all year round. But no more.

Gone are the lined pants and snug-fitting tops, packed away for colder days (presuming they ever actually visit this part of the country). It’s light, flowy blouses and linen capris for this girl; flip-flops and lots of pony-tails.

Unfortunately, it's taking me a while to adjust my wardrobe. As a result, I'm pretty sure the people of Greenville think I only own one pair of pants. Luckily, I don't get out much (but more on that later).

4th of July Nostalgia

As I threw my garbage into the trash compactor this afternoon, the coffee grounds inside exploded like a caffeinated cherry bomb.

It was awesome.

I Can See Russia From My House

Tina Fey makes a scary good Sarah Palin.

Curses, Ike!

Gas in Greenville jumped from $3.50 this morning, up to $4.19 most recently. Luckily, I was warned about Ike's impending effects and filled up for $3.85 this afternoon.

Looks like I'll be staying home this weekend.

My Second Pot of Coffee

"You know Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocketship underpants don't help."

Pay up

Tacky, tacky, tacky

Always Summer

Sigh... South Carolina doesn't understand fall.

92 degrees this weekend, in the ides of September? A travesty, I tell you...

On the bright side, my closet full of sundresses is certainly getting used.

h-o-t

I just remembered that I once had a dream that I was Jude Law's nanny.

Also, a description of the Play-Doh Fun Factory: "Squeeze, shape, mold and extrude all kinds of crazy shapes with this classic set!"

Yes, it seems one can actually extrude play-doh. Just what every American 5-year-old is looking for in a toy.

Fall is Here, Ring the Bell

Thanks to Margaret’s wedding and Labor Day, my last weekend was 4+ days long. As you all know, when you’re away, time freezes and nothing happens until you return home. Since the month rolled over during my brief vacation from reality, I completely missed it. That fact, combined with the week starting on a Tuesday completely mixed up my carefully-regulated internal schedules and resulted in some pretty shocking realizations today, namely, the following:

1) It’s Wednesday. This occurred to me while I was scouring the web, looking for previews of the new Publix ad, which come out each Wednesday, when it hit me that it WAS Wednesday, right now! This changes everything! I thought. (In reality, it doesn’t change much except that I’m one day ahead on gas, and I can sleep in tomorrow since my Thursday work days are short)

2) It’s September. While this fact registered with me in some vague way, like starting the date with a ‘9’ instead of an ‘8’ on forms at work, it didn’t show itself in any practical way until tonight, when I realized “Oh, it’s SEPTEMBER! That means rent is due! Again...” (that’s the thing about recurring bills- they just. Keep. Recurring. Seriously Verizon, you want more money from me? I just paid you like… oh yeah, a month ago. Ahem. )

So I dutifully signed away a huge chunk of my last paycheck and put the check in an envelope to drop in my apartment complex’s night box. Now, here’s where the story really gets exciting (I’m sure you’re all on the edge of your seats). When I licked the envelope flap, I managed to (brace yourselves here!) paper cut both sides of my mouth in one fell swoop. Ick, I shudder just to write those words. I’m not sure if enduring bodily harm as part of paying rent is technically ironic, but it’s something pretty crappy.

At any rate, I'm glad it's September- South Carolina took better note of the date change than I did, and adjusted its temperatures accordingly. The past few days have been picture-perfect, and Lucio's windows are fogged up in the morning, reminding me of Michigan and going back to school. I miss both.

Someone Like You

I can't help but remember getting my room assignment in the mail just four years ago, and seeing her name: "Margaret Jago- Canton, GA. Olds 107." I didn't know what I was signing on for when I opened that envelope: Four years of delirious laughter, the Quad, phone calls, hand-written notes, yelling matches, tears, awful movies, pickles, first kisses, shared clothes, vodka, squirrels, Keane, Greek unity, nicknames, and an understanding of each other that surpasses even our own comprehension.

At this moment, she's in Ireland on her honeymoon, and I'm still fighting back tears, thinking about her wedding. Everything about it was beautiful, classy, and free of stress, much like Margaret herself.

Here are a few of my favorite shots from the weekend.

The Wheels on the Bus go... Back and Forth

Precursor to this post: I love my car. Lucio is, literally, a dream come true- a dream born of 5+ years spent driving my parents' car, which I disaffectionately call 'The Boat' because it is *almost* (6 bregrudging inches short) as long as Tony's Roadmaster.

The backseat of the Grand Marquis was perpetually cluttered with my dad's 'emergency' items, like toilet paper, Catholic booklets (also known as 'truth tracts') and raisins (Abe one time, after eating half a jar of stale peanuts, asked me to "Tell your dad to get some better snacks". Let it be known that Lucio comes fully stocked with two different kinds of granola bars and whatever groceries get lost underneath the seats). The Boat also featured a makeshift back support on the driver's seat, crafted from a leftover cushion of unknown origin and some shoestring, and its soul-crushing beige exterior spoke of my handiwork - scratches, dents, and one long scrape along the driver's side from when I ran it alongside the fence at my high school one afternoon (my parents still don't know about that one... shh). All that being said...

Owning a car sucks. Today, Lucio and I took a field trip to the mechanic's after two unsuccessful visits to the tire shop to get my sleek new wheels checked out. For the past few weeks, I've increasingly noticed my car shaking when I drive it at high speeds. I assumed there was something wrong with my tire alignment, a problem I figured might not be unrelated to my habit of taking Lucio over speed bumps a little faster than the road commissioners probably intended. At least, I *hoped* this was the case, since Lucio's tires come with a lifetime warranty, courtesy of his former owner, Carl Polish-last-name-with-four-no-really-four-z's.

But alas, the motor gods were unhappy today. The friendly folks at Discount Tire let me know that my driver side wheel is slowly working itself loose, a fact confirmed by new mechanic, Sonny (have I mentioned I love the South?) It's never a good sign when their reactions is "wow I've never seen wheel bearings completely worn away like this!" Glad I could enlighten you, Sonny.

Unfortunately, both my budget and sanity are balanced rather precariously on the assumption that no disaster, natural or otherwise, will befall them. What's worse is that the two are rather intimately connected- major hits to the budget typically result in a nervous breakdown, usually followed by large purchases of ice cream and liquor, not accounted for in the aforementioned budget... and around and around we go.

On the bright side, I'm 6 short work hours away from a four-day weekend and a three-day wedding celebration. Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy, here I come!

The best thing about being hungry...

... is how good stuff tastes. Have you ever had a Sun Chip when on the brink of starvation? Incredible. A box of Cheeze-its after 8 hours of involuntary fast? Positively gourmet.

If you ever find yourself taking generic brand wheat thins and low-fat yogurt for granted, try eating them as the first course of your dinner- never will you be so grateful for all nine grains of goodness.

Grown-Up Snow Day

Our power at the office went off a little after lunch today, after the lawn care company accidentally chain-sawed through a power line while cutting branches (ironically, the trees were being trimmed to avoid causing power outages during ice storms). Our back-up batteries depleted quickly, and our generator slowly lost its juice until it gave up alltogether less than 2 hours after the hit. So with the AC dead and the South Carolina sun beating in through the windows, turning our building into a greenhouse, we were sent home at 2:30.

Better than a canceled class (because I have no homework to feel guilty about not catching up on!). I think I'll hit the pool.

Happy Feast of the Assumption!!

Major perk of working at a Catholic ministry: paid vacation for Holy Days of Obligation! Another thing I love about my South.

Hot-lanta, here I come.

Grow Garden Grow

There is a Presbyterian (wow it took me 3 tries to spell that) Church down the street from my parish called something like 'The Living Vine Church'. Earlier this week, I noticed a sign out front that said "Living Vine Church: Growing faithful Christians" (also of note is the fact that their advertised 'Contemporary Service' is held at 11:11 am, which should tell you something).

I instantly envisioned the inside of this Church: in the place of pews, rows of soil, with little Christians of all shapes and sizes poking their heads up. The pastor, wearing a robe and rubber gardening gloves, walking slowly among his parish. Watering their eager little heads, he gently speaks agricultural words of Scripture: "I am the Vine and you are the branches", "the harvest is plentiful but the laborers are few" "The kingdom of Heaven is like a mustard seed..." (I could go on and on here).

I poke fun, but obviously The Living Vine is aiming for something, and they're probably hitting the mark. Most Evangelical Protestant Churches work really hard to draw in people enmeshed in modern culture by playing to their emotions, welcoming them, "loving on them" (as we say in YoungLife), and I respect them for that. The Catholic Church, in contrast, is typically viewed by non-Christians and Protestants alike, as being inhospitable, unapproachable, and self-contained. To which I say: they're right.

However, that statement must be qualified with the following points, each of which deserves (and will likely get, at a later date) its own post:

1. The Catholic Church is explicit in its mission: evangelize (ie save souls).

2. Though Catholics may "fail" in this area, it is NOT a reflection on the Church's doctrine. It is a reflection on human nature.

3. Though Catholics may not be known for their potluck Sundays and hugs after Church, exceptions exist. There are some kick-ass Catholics out there evangelizing like Baptists wouldn't believe.

To come on this: What the Bible (and Catechism) has to say about evangelizing, why Catholics suck at it, and the people trying to give them a good name (hint: there is a rapping Priest involved).

WORST Feeling in the World

...when you accidentally inhale a carrot particle into your lungs while chewing.

COUGH.

Why I Love the South: Reason #1

Smile-of-the-day moment: I saw a man wearing a T-shirt that said (and I apologize for any incorrect spellings I spell correctly here) "Yo' mama wuz pro-life, dawlin' ".

Amen, brotha.

Love, Actually

While I may not agree with or endorse his opinions, I did promise to advertise in my little corner of the world, so check it out. However, note that comparing Love Actually (one of my all-time favorite movies) to a Ballpark frank is a little harsh, in my opinion, and fails to fully account for the stellar soundtrack (including the Beach Boys' God Only Knows, and the instrumental piece Glasgow Love theme, which you should find and listen to even if you don't see the movie), even if he does make passing mention of the superior music.

The movie might not change your philosophies on life or inspire you to change the world, Freedom-Writers style, but if it's cold outside and your day has left you in a state of despair, Love Actually is a perfect compliment to decaf coffee and a tub of low-cal whipped topping (in my world, this translates to hot coccoa and cookie dough).

Somebody get me a sweater!

Last night's 7'o'clock news informed me that a cold front is expected to come in this weekend.

A cold front? I think excitedly. Ooh! Maybe that dust-collecting pile of lightweight long-sleeve tees under my bed will finally get some use.

So I check weather.com this morning- the predicted temperatures for this bone-chilling Saturday/Sunday?

88 and 92, respectively.

Welcome to the South.

Brought to you by the letter E

I’ve spent the last few days thinking about what to name this little emporium of thought here on the interweb (and doing little else). In the past, I’ve employed usernames like ‘poofoo_66' (a tribute to former N’Syncer and now-gay love-of-my-life Lance Bass) and ‘chlorineketchup’ (I think this one is obvious).

But now that I’m an adult, as my hot-off-the-laminator South Carolina Driver’s License tells me I am, it’s time to move past these childish pseudonyms and onto something smarter, catchier, or at the very least, more pretentious. As the most obvious way to lend something an air of snobbishness is to say it in another language, I pondered my limited foreign vocabulary.

This didn’t take long.

Well, said I, what else have I got? My name was an easy option, but fear that ‘karenmiller.blogspot.com’ would lead to a stalker experience landing me a story on Dateline and a lifetime of therapy kept me from going that route.

Then I had the brilliant idea of disguising my name in a foreign language, which leads us to today’s topic: Etymology.

I have never been fond of my given name, even if it was once referred to as “a linguistic powerhouse” and described further as “a beacon in a sentence that yells, ‘first off, i'm a noun’ and ‘second, there's no way you can confuse my meaning, which isn't much, except a placemarker that refers to a human being’”. I’ve always known that Karen means ‘pure’ but I began to wonder where it came from, and the same for my middle name. A few minutes on the world wide web and I had my answers:

Karen derives from Katherine. The original Greek form is Aikaterine, which evolved into Katerina. The name then became Catharina in Latin because the Latin-speaking people thought the name derived from the Greek “katharos” or ‘pure’.

Renee is the feminine form of the French Rene, which comes from the Latin ‘renatus’, literally ‘reborn’. Huh.

Anyway, for blog-naming purposes, this newfound knowledge went out the window as soon as I realized that roughly half a percent of the population (the majority of which are Hillsdale grads) can even recognize latin and even fewer Greek. So I went with something even my hillbilly southern brethren could grasp, and here we are at Mow That Dirty Lawn. Yeehaw.