In 9 hours, I say sayonara to the two strep-throat houses that live in the back of my throat. I’m not too sad about it. It will be nice to have a school year where I don’t fear strep like the… well… like the plague.

The doctor is also doing a larynxogolocyolyogy- Ok, that’s not the real word. I just can’t remember it. Pretty much he is looking to see if there is a reason for my “husky voice”. Ouch, dude. Hit a lady where it hurts. I know my voice knocks on the low register, but I do the best I can. And I am very loud- it’s one of the advantages of the man-voice I apparently have. Anyways, he’s gonna check that out.

I believe it is Brad who is convinced I will exit surgery with a British accent (I originally wrote the word “accident”- I hope I don’t have a British accident, I don’t even know what that means). He’s a type of doctor, so he should know. What type of doctor, you ask? It’s way too complicated to understand here, so I won’t try to explain it. But if you don’t already, start calling him Doc Willoughby. Not Dr. Willoughby. Doc. He prefers that.

The downside to this whole process is the recovery. So far, survivors have used words like “brutal”, “horrible”, and “extremely painful”. Sweet.

Just say a quick prayer tomorrow. Everything will be fine, but it never hurts to throw one up for a sista under anesthesia.

Being that I’m not allowed to TALK for an ENTIRE weekend (a nightmare in itself), I plan on typing much. And sleeping much. But hopefully I’ll blog at least once while I’m hopped up on big drugs. That should make you happy.

You. You, Nail. You aren’t supposed to be here. In my tire.

What exactly made you think it was a good idea just to lay in the road? I question your decision making, if I’m going to be real honest. You look trustworthy, and had we met under other circumstances, I probably would have confided in you and asked your advice on some situations. But I am really glad I’ve seen your true colors, Nail.

Weren’t you made for more than this? Just causing a hole and then having to plug it yourself? You are the problem and the solution. But you leak. And that is when I realized I couldn’t trust you.

Wouldn’t you rather be holding up a house? Or connecting two pieces of wood for an Eagle Scout project? We talked about purpose tonight at youth group- too bad I couldn’t bring you in with me. You might have learned something. You might have gotten saved.

Instead, you’re causing some major concerns for me. How will I get from the tire repair shop to school? Answer that one, Nail. And are you going to pay for the damage you are inflicting- emotionally, physically, and financially? Because if you were a responsible citizen, you would. What about after school? How exactly do you foresee me returning to pick up my car? Oh, I get it. You don’t even care about that part because you’ll be long gone. Selfish. That’s what you are, Nail.

So, I usually avoid personal attacks on here, but you’ve left me no choice.

I hate you, Nail. And I hate what you’ve done to my Monday.

Tonight I got to go see “Paula Deen Live” at the Atlanta Civic Center. Proof? Here it is.Row H, baby. Using one of my favorite organizational tools, I have created a list of things that I think following this show. In fact, within 7 minutes of arriving, I had already begun composing this blog.

1. Advertising makes me mad sometimes. Not fightin’ mad. Just wrinkled-eyebrows mad. Why is everything so money oriented? It makes me crazy. This woman, who is wonderful- don’t get me wrong, even gets her HAMS sponsored. Signs everywhere. Every kitchen item you can imagine, t-shirts and aprons galore, cookbooks, magazines, jellies, all of it- for your purchasing pleasure. Oh yeah, and you pay to get in the show in the first place.

2. Kathleen and I went to the bathroom about 15 minutes after we arrived. And can I just say, without being too graphic, someone was having a bad day…. and we all suffered for it. I have never wished more for gills instead of nostrils. Awful.

3. Paula Deen is sweet. Sweet as pie. Too sweet. So sweet that, for the ENTIRE 2 hours and 15 minutes, she let people in the audience yell to her. Let me give you some examples:
“HEY PAULA- today is my birthday! Can I come have a hug?”
“HEY PAULA- my brother says ‘hey y’all’ just like you!”
“HEY PAULA- I’m your illegitimate son!”
“HEY PAULA- remember when I came to your house on my 60th birthday to take a picture with you?” (That story is true and truly creepy.)

These are four examples. Multiply this by 65 and you will begin to glimpse into the nightmarish part of the event. Every time she took a breath, someone had a comment. The teacher in me was raging. She needed to shut them up about 15 minutes into the evening. But she’s just too nice. So nice that…..

4. SHE DIDN’T EVEN COOK. Her son Jamie and her cooking assistant Rebecca (who she called a “mean heifer”) cooked everything while Paula dealt with the crowd. Next thing you know, the food is done and she hasn’t touched a wooden spoon or slab of butter.

5. On a positive note, that woman is FUNNY. She tells stories that I wouldn’t dare type on here, but I was screaming laughing more than once. One of my favorite sayings is easy to apply to her- “She’s not right”. Which is what I say about only my favorite people. She could be a comedian. If the crowd would just shut up. Except for this highlight……

6. One of the friends I went with, Dawnee, yelled out “ANNIE LOVES BOBBY” (Paula’s single son). Though I shhhed her, I have to admit, she might be right. There’s a strong feeling there, but it’s early to call it love. Let’s just call it “deep like”. But I’m pretty sure this isn’t where he wants me to announce our relationship, so don’t tell that I told you, okay? He was as the Georgia game, so we didn’t go public today.

7. I think in the end, I’ve decided that I prefer Paula on television (or hanging out one-on-one, you know). If I ever see her live again, it will be at a taping of her Paula’s Party show. Where the crowd is there, but they are FORCED to be under control. Otherwise, I’ll stick to the Food Network for our connection. I like the personal friendship she and I had developed through the TV. I may have tainted it today, but I’m hoping we’ll go back to normal as soon as another show airs on channel 57.

So, overall, I give the afternoon a B+. The friends I went with (Kathleen, Dawnee, and Julie- here in front of the set) were SUPER fun and SUPER funny. Afterwards, we had a Paula dinner at Kathleen’s house which ruled- salad, squash casserole, sausage balls, cheese ball (licked by a cat- don’t get me started), and brownies. And I really did feel like I got to know Paula better.

Above all else, it was important to see Paula, her husband, and other family members in person….since there is a good chance that I will marry into that family.

Right, Dawnee?

Because the weekend is around the corner, and because I’m getting to watch real NFL football (and one of my college crushes is playing- no kidding!!), and because grad school is over for the week, I’m in a pretty good mood.

So……I thought we’d play us a little game.

Look at this picture. Add a comment answering this question:

There will be a literal prize for the best answer. I mean it- I will reward the most hilarious person involved in this blog (not counting myself- that’s a given).

If you know the exact lyric she is singing, you will have an obvious advantage.

Bring your best, playas. Let’s see whatcha got.

I stayed at a pretty amazing house this weekend. One of the joys of being me (is that okay to say?) is that sometimes I get to house-sit. And officially, I was house-sitting for a house-sitter. Don’t worry your pretty head about the details.

Anyways, so on their fridge (Sorry, let me clarify- the pantry fridge, because there are THREE on the main floor. Yeah. I know.) are those magnets that are random words. I keep meaning to buy these for my classroom but then I forget.

(I do have letters, though. And today someone wrote “REBEL AGAINST YOUR TEACHERS” with the magnet letters on the front of my desk. Strange, for 2 reasons- 1) I didn’t realize I had that many letters, 2) NONE of my children spell well enough to do that, nor do they know the word “rebel”. In fact, when we found it, they asked what it meant. So I’m curious who did it.)

TANGENT. I apologize. Back to the magnet words. As I was reading what was written with the magnet words, I laughed at “I desire butter and noodles.” Yeah, I hear that, brotha. But right below that someone has combined some phrases and came up with

And it stopped me. There’s been much going on in my heart and life (you can always tell that when I don’t blog much- it means my journal overfloweth). Much pain. Deep wrenching pain that makes you want to lay in your bed until you are 42 and things make sense. Until all that bothers has passed and you have ostrich-head-in-the-sand-ed your way to safer days.

But then you remember that if you stay in the bed until you are 42 you will get some raunchy bed sores, the bills will go unpaid, and the mailbox will overflow with flyers from Bed, Bath, and Beyond offering 20% off of any one item. (Truly, how do they afford that?) And you realize that you have to get up.

I think the hardest pain to face is the pain that directly involves God. And how He treats us. And His justice. And His holiness that is impossible to understand with this human brain. Where staying in the bed for 42,000 years won’t save you. When other people hurt you, that’s one thing. But when you feel that it is God Himself, that’s a whole other ball of hot wax. Ouch.

You want to run from Him, yet somehow, only God can save you from the pain He is a part of. And you know that, even though it is hard.

I say “you”. I mean “I” or “me”.

In the end, I think God hurt my feelings. Funny, huh? But you’d be surprised how deep that feels.

So there’s that.

After going to the night of healing prayer at RiverStone, and talking to my Mom and my cell group, I realized that I just needed TRUTH to reign. And I needed God to heal and hear and help. And to protect.

I needed someone to pass the promise. The Bible is full of them, but I was holding none. It’s like the other end of the table had it and I just wanted them to slide it in my direction, like butter beans in a khaki plastic bowl. Just for someone to remind me that He had not forgotten me. That He was near. That He loves this Annie as much as Scotland Annie. That when His scripture makes a promise to me, I can hold on to it, because He is true.

For weeks, my heart has been screaming, “SOMEONE PASS THE PROMISE! PLEASE SEND THE PROMISE DOWN THIS WAY! JUST PROVE THAT HE IS HERE! I WANT TO BELIEVE BUT I CAN’T! I DON’T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS! HELP!”. But there weren’t enough words on the fridge for that kind of rant.

So instead, “Please pass the promise” was sufficient. And calmer.

Maybe now you better know why I love when Shane & Shane sing “You are my Holiday”. Because it’s funny to me that at the end of all of this, He is still where I want to be. Where I find rest. Where I am purified. Maybe this is what it feels like to have hot coals to your lips? Trust me, I’m not comparing myself to Isaiah, I’m just saying that maybe this has been pain that brings holiness. And faith.

I want unshakable faith. And God’s asking me to prove it. And by asking me to prove it, He’s doing it. That’s the promise.