How I Survived the 2009 Georgia General Assembly - Part 1: Drawing Class

This post is the first in a series in which I will share with you, dear reader, the little things that kept me from losing my marbles during the 2009 Georgia General Assembly. This is no small task mind you when you're a low-budget lobbyist whose constituency is in prison. This session, I really wanted to explore different ways to ease stress and minimize the misery that has always defined the legislative session and hopefully find ways to be happy and fulfilled even when I'm losing on a daily basis at the Gold Dome.

This first installment in the series is about the wonderful drawing class I took at Callanwolde thanks to the generosity of my wonderful Mom and Dad. Thanks guys!! I considered that it might be slightly crazy to commit to a weekly responsibility in the evenings when we work such long days - in heels, on marble - but I found myself anxiously awaiting Tuesday nights and being up to my elbows in charcoal. Taught by Marc Brotherton, those 3 hours each week were a complete escape from the politics and strategies, my buzzing blackberry and my ever-growing to-do list.

To draw, you have to actually look. You really have to look at whatever it is in front of you. Marc ran us through all sorts of exercises to help us develop our hand-charcoal coordination, starting with 15 and 30 second drawing drills and eventually doing longer studies of still lifes and live models. And my drawing abilities actually improved!

In the beginning, Marc showed us different techniques like the ones in these three drawings from my first class:


Mass gesture is broad marks used to create density and weight.


Scribble gesture uses scribble scrabble to show weight and density.


Contour line gesture shows the outline and other visible edges of an object.

In later classes we continued with the drills to practice, but also got to do some cool techniques like this charcoal paper - you color the page with the charcoal and then use your eraser to create the shapes and lighting:



In other classes we got to bring in objects from home to draw. Of course I brought my skull, a.k.a. "The Old Girl" (minus her usual Bedouin headdress, naturally):



I got to bring in my favorite water pitcher, also a gift from Mom and Dad:



In the final weeks of the class we had live models pose for us. This was the most challenging part of the class for me, but also the most rewarding. It takes such a long time to really see the body, to see skin and its variety on a single body.



One thing I really learned from this class was that drawing is all about practice. The importance of warming up and repetition cannot be underestimated, and after a certain point looking and translating onto paper came much more naturally. I also learned that I LOVE charcoal - love it - and I love India ink. Great fun, these tools.

Something I learned about myself is that the strategic part of my mind and the creative side compliment each other nicely. I often found that driving home from class I would figure out the next step or the perfect person that could help me accomplish the next day's goals that had previously been eluding me.

Thanks again to Mom and Dad for the gift of this class! And thanks Marc for being a great teacher. Stay tuned for more tales of survival in the coming days in this (hopefully) last week of the legislative session.

Who's afraid of...

My friends are super scary, y'all. Consider this your official warning.

We are so scary that Clayton County felt the need to pass a law this week to make sure we couldn't protest there. You see, about a dozen of us held signs there a month ago asking a doctor not to participate in the execution of Troy Davis, a possibly innocent man on Georgia's death row. It was very scary.

We are so scary that the Department of Corrections turns security cartwheels when we arrive at the prison in Jackson to vigil while the State is killing a human being. As visitors, we are allowed just inside the gate (the prison itself is at least a mile back into the grounds) where we are greeted by one after another corrections officers who will check our IDs, ask which side we are on, and tie green plastic ribbons on our wrists to signify we are opposing the execution.

We then are vetted by the Canine Unit; two guards and two dogs search our cars. They are searching for bombs purportedly brought in by those of us who are there because we believe that killing in all its forms is wrong.

You never know, though our folks have been coming peacefully since 1983 to bear witness to the State's killing of 42 men, we just might decide to something do something crazy. Like maybe we'll get those fancy battery-powered candles instead of our usual match-lit ones. Tremble with fear, dudes.

See for yourselves how scary we were today in this photo by Peggy Attaway:



We marched in a funeral procession through the cold rain to deliver this casket and petitions from over 140,000 people collected by Amnesty International to the Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles. The funeral and casket represents the metaphorical death of justice. Following that, a delegation of clergy led by the Rev., Dr. Raphael Warnock of Ebenezer Baptist Church delivered a letter signed by 100 Georgia clergy and 400 clergy from around the world to the Governor Sonny Perdue's office.

We are so scary that when I was allowed to enter the Twin Towers building to actually deliver the petitions - this is of course after being quizzed by a Capitol police officer with four of his sergeants backing him up about our intentions - I was personally escorted by Parole Board staff. Mind you, this is the same building I eat my lunch in daily between January and April each year. He remained within inches of me the whole time. In my sparkly hat, pink scarf and drenched velvet jacket I must have been particularly scary today.

I passed one Parole Board staffer after another. I think the officers were surprised when various high-up officials at the Parole Board - including the Public Affairs officer and the Director - came out an hugged me. Why shouldn't they? We have worked together amicably for years. Nothing to be afraid of.

But yet my escort remained next to my elbow despite my warm welcome by his bosses. And the Captain of the Capitol police nervously asked me again the same questions about our intentions when I emerged and we approached the Capitol. Looking at the motley crew in plastic ponchos and green umbrellas, I thought to myself, "how strange that we make them so nervous..."

But then the moment came as we stood outside the Capitol, waiting for our Clergy friends to emerge from the Governor's office. I felt my phone vibrate and saw the text from the lawyers: "Troy has a stay from 11th circuit -- it will extend past the warrant period." This means NO execution on Monday!

As we cheered and hugged then sang and prayed it hit me: THIS is why they are afraid of us.

This post is dedicated with love, respect and gratitude to Laura Moye, a very scary person who is celebrating her birthday today.

Carnival of the Dead

A Carnival of sorts is coming into town. Think, Ring Master.... Ring Mistress... Freak Show... Oddities... Delight... Contortionists... The Big Top.... Entertainment... Mysticism... Think......
Well, perhaps you should just go on over to http://www.carnivalofthedead.com/!

This year's Day of the Dead/ Halloween celebration will be like no other!!! The space is unlike any I have ever seen-- a club opening by artists for artists. I can't even begin to describe it all here.... you will have to just take this Ring Mistress' word for it and be there yourself!

For $10 (buy online at http://www.carnivalofthedead.com/) you will receive a door prize ticket, unlimited beer and wine, food, access to a variety of carnival delights and all sorts of entertainment..... A portion of the proceeds will go to a fantastic non-profit... Check out the website for more information.

Fire Breathing Diva starts at 10:30. Costume Contest is at 11:30. Feel free to distribute far and wide! All are welcome at the Carnival of the Dead!

Why it's Harder to Behave in a Mansion than it is at Church

This evening my girlfriend and I went to a political soiree, a "fundraiser" if you will. I suppose this inherently means money, but as a low-budget lobbyist this is a part of the work that will always be a bit funny to me. Funny like allergic. But it's the mild sort of allergy that can be controlled with a well-planned pre-treatment of Benedryl.

So I learned tonight that it is SO much harder to behave properly when in the breast of the bourgeoisie than anywhere else.

Previously I would have told you that the hardest place to behave is in church, preferably on Christmas Eve when you're high on too much wassail and the anticipation of presents and sitting between your beautiful and hilarious sister and brother who like to pinch and elbow jab. At least when you're in church you have your Mom just down the pew to hold you accountable and pull you back into proper behavior after the lady directly behind you sings "Angels We Have Heard on High" at an octave seven times higher than everyone else- with excessive vibrato of course.

At the rich people's house tonight there was no such accountability. In fact, I found myself unable to even look at my girlfriend or risk dissolving into totally inappropriate giggles. Allow me to elaborate:

The Children of the Corn oil paintings. There were three different oil portraits, apparently of our hostess and her younger brother immortalized as the beautiful blond pale spooky children they most definitely were at some point. The screamed Flowers in the Attic. And they were the focal point of the otherwise painfully overdone Japanese-silk encrusted sitting room. I just couldn't stop staring even though they freaked me the hell out.

The Dogs. This house came equipped with two matching little dogs- I think they might be called Maltese. Their hair was done in bows and I will admit that they were pretty damn adorable. Our host identified them as "Trouble and More Trouble" which reminded me of dogs I was introduced to once named "Theo-dorable and Theo-terrible." Hilarious.

So the two Maltese spent their evening either jumping around demanding cold salmon from the buffet or taking it easy and lounging luxuriously on one of the $10K settees. My friend kept daring me to take pictures of the dogs while the guest of honor - a political candidate - spoke which made me want to laugh even more. I only managed to get one that wasn't terrible because it's really hard to shoot in mansion-ambiance unobtrusively with no flash. I should get at least a dollar for getting this picture:



The Pigeons. All the while the candidate spoke, there was a strange cooing sound coming from another room. I swear to God that at first I thought there was a third Maltese being tortured in some remote corner of the mansion but then I realized it was more of a bird-like sound. I suppose that because they were rich it was probably more likely an exotic and endangered Peacock Pheasant than a common pigeon, but it sounded like a pigeon to me. Or maybe it actually was torture that I was hearing.

The lack of women. At this party of about 20-30 people, my girlfriend and I just may have been the only women actually there as guests. At first I thought there were other women there, but then my friend pointed out that these women were in fact, the help.

The Hostess. The Lady of the House. It was her home, clearly not her new husband's. While she obviously worked tirelessly to be the hostess with the mostest, laying out lavish platters of pork, salmon, tomatoes in a balsamic reduction, her hospitality was trumped by the permanent glare that graced her otherwise very pretty face.

The Gay Filmmaker Son. He had adorable growing out dyed black hair and had just graduated from art/film school. In true Royal Tenenbaum fashion, he talked of his love for dark violent films and disdain for his family. When I commented about a nice picture I had seen in the library (yes, a library) of him and his mother, he sneered "the only reason it's there is because she looks immaculate." I genuinely liked him- I look forward to seeing his Children of the Corn/Flowers in the Attic/Maltese-inspired movies some day.

The Kid's Table. No matter what my girlfriend and I could say or do, from the moment we arrived we were officially "young ladies" and were promptly hustled into the kitchen by one of the hosts for the "young men" waiting. We should have gotten an entertainment fee. Or jelly beans.

It was all just fabulous- you just can't make this shit up. Just try to behave like a grown-ass adult, or better, a "professional" in this scenario and see how well you do. I'll just keep trying to take covert pictures of tiny beasts and not spill the best mojito I've ever drank on the quarter-million dollar Spanish tile.

Foghorn Leghorn with devil ghosties

This is my new piece of art that I got today from the Slotin Folk Art Fest.

Its by an artist named Jonesy who has recently relocated from San Francisco to Atlanta and will soon be working at East Atlanta Tattoo.

I love it because the ghosts are cuddly and drippy and one is even devilish. Not to mention the giant bird that makes me think of Foghorn Leghorn, a character that has become quite dear to me after years of working with seersucker-wearing Georgia politicians that sometimes sound just like him.

I really love this bird's stupid feet. So stupid! Anyway I love it and I can't wait to put it up. Thanks Jonesy!

A Mouse in the House

A mouse just ran through the committee room I'm in at the Capitol! Oh the screaming! More like squealing actually. It was a teeny tiny mouse really. And all the nice Southern ladies are now trying to sit cross-legged on these pews in their skirt suits and high heels.

But the best part was my friend Sandy's reaction- had there been a table she would have jumped up on it. Instead, she picked up all of her 70 huge law/textbooks off the floor and slammed them on the bench on top of me. Same was done with her 3 bags. And she was practically hyperventilating. I had to work so hard to hold it together and not bust out laughing!

I kept feeling like someone should come in here and "do something"- I mean, what place has more resources than this place in the state of Georgia? That would have been ridiculous though, if a poor Capitol security guard was forced to chase a mouse while the legislators discussed admissibilty of similar transactions.

I was bitching earlier about how it should be illegal from them to make us come to the Capitol in the summer, but this was totally worth it.

Why I had to Hit a Cop today

I don’t know what it is abut that square block the runs from MLK to Mitchell and Capitol Ave to Washington in downtown Atlanta, that gives dudes the idea that they can act like frat boys. And get away with it I mean.

Not 30 seconds after I sat down for my meeting this morning, a certain Sheriff (an actual Sheriff, not a deputy) comes over to greet me. He holds out his hand to shake mine then quickly reaches down and grabs my ankle- my ANKLE! He gestures at my tattoo and tells the woman next to me, “Look, she got my name tattooed on her ankle!” I wish I could embed a recording of this cuz his accent is something else.

I literally swatted at his hand over and over to get it off my leg. I repeatedly hit a cop today, people. It took him a while to finally let go. And what makes it even funnier is that he isn’t the first cop that I’ve had to swat away form my lower leg. Last session there was a certain Chief of Police who had a similar obsession my body art. He would usually announce loudly to those around us "looks like you got some dirt on your ankle!" Groan. Then he would grab my ankle. He even did it once when I was wearing pants- like lifted up my pant leg. Unreal.

And this, ladies and gentleman, is why I can never leave the house when I’m headed for the Capitol in a skirt without pantyhose. How funny is it that my Mother’s displeasure at my tattoo oh-so many years ago and her admonitions that I would regret it carried some weight because the tattoo subjects me to the advances of pervy old white Georgia cops!

I actually stared into my sock drawer this morning, lamenting the fact that my pantyhose stash had been completely depleted by the session. Because I was running late as usual, I had no time to stop at CVS to pick up a pair. And I thought to myself, the hell with it, what does it really matter if I'm barelegged or not? Now I know.

In other news, I’m finally getting the hole in my closet fixed to prevent future visits from Blossom the Possum. The dude who came to fix it out of the blue started talking to me about metal and haunted houses even though I was wearing a suit. Am I really that obvious to read?

Also my sister’s blog and report of what happened this weekend in Chicago is fantastic and hilarious and makes me feel like I should close up shop over here because she has got it covered. Here's a preview to entice you to go read it:

My family celebrated an early Mother's Day at a fancy french restaurant called Chez Joel. It's owned by these handsome Moroccan brothers, one of whom (probably my future husband, even though he's married, waa waa) is named Sufjan. Sexy. Anyhow, the food was delicious. The giant bottle of wine was delicious. And my father was drunk. He was hilarious; right before dessert, he stated "I'm going to try to stand up now," wobbled towards the bathroom, and waved his fingers at the waiter who stood aside to let him by. I can only imagine what he may have said to him. Plus, earlier in the evening, he was trying to think of the word for Metrosexual and could only come up with "Sexopolitan." That's right. Sexopolitan.

In bed with the rats

I had a set of awful dreams last night - the kind where you wake up, tell yourself it isn't real, then fall back asleep and dream the whole same damn thing all over again.

My dream was that I was in this courtyard and I was trying to get to a legislator's house. I don't know who the legislator is but there is a sense of urgency that if I don't get there something terrible will happen.

In the dream I'm wearing my super cute vintage green heels and I have to hop around all these dark spots on the path. As I move forward, I start to think that the spots are blood. Ick. As I get closer I realize that what I am seeing are the decapitated (for lack of better words) tails of rats. Vomit.

I am literally playing hopscotch trying to avoid the rat pieces that are multiplying by the moment, trying to keep my lunch down. Finally I reach a house that would otherwise be beautiful if it wasn't covered in dead rat mass. There was a veranda framed by wisteria- but hell, even the beauty and fragrance of wisteria can't cover up this mess.

When I walk inside the house, I feel a formidable sense of dread. There is nowhere to sit down or move to- as now I can see where the rat bodies previously attached to the tails have accumulated.

I am scared, nervous, apprehensive. I'm about to meet someone who is bad enough that they would actually live in this hellhole.

Around the corner of the room peeks Georgia Speaker of the House Glenn Richardson. That's when I wake up in terror, drenched.

Is this the byproduct of three months living day in and out in the Georgia General Assembly? Or is it because prior to my sleep I had a wonderful dinner with my sister nonprofit lobbyist friends who have been fighting this battle with all their hearts for so long yet still having to deal daily with the white male power structure that to this day decides what happens?

Or maybe its just because of this brilliant Creative Loafing Cover for the Wonderful Annual Golden Sleaze Awards:

Dreaming in Stress

This week I have been anxious in my dreams.

From the mild- dreaming that I arrived in Madison to visit my sister and realizing that I hadn’t packed any makeup or my pills. Or dreaming that I got an adorable new kitten but then realizing that my socially-challenged, special needs, 8-year-old cat would flip out at the introduction of a sibling.

To the more moderate, dreaming that my teeth are falling out.

To extreme levels of anxiety. Two separate dreams last night: in one my father was arrested and charged with murder. In the second Mohammad was arrested and charged with murder.

Perhaps its related to current stress levels associated with the final days of the Georgia General Assembly.

Last week with no warning, the House added the worst possible death penalty language to a bill moments before it was to be voted on. We managed to get the bad language removed the following day, but the stress of that 48 hours likely shaved a year or two off of my life.

Today in a committee meeting, a crazy legislator tried to amend a bill about dog-fighting to turn it into a horrendous anti-abortion measure that would provide for the death penalty for doctors who perform abortions.

No wonder I’m having nightmares.

The Sad Side of the Capitol

In addition to political, geographic and faith-based distinctions between folks at the Georgia State Capitol, those of us who spend the legislative session under the Gold Dome are also defined by which side of the Capitol we inhabit. The Mitchell Street side is where the corporate, rich, for-profit lobbyists spend their days. The MLK side –by the double elevators of course- is where my folks, the progressive nonprofit types hang.

I learned today from a republican legislator that the side of the Capitol where my allies and I spend our time is known as the “sad side of the hall.” Apparently we are known for standing in front of the monitors while watching what’s going on inside the chambers with big ol’ frowns on our faces. Hell, can you blame us? We spend our days watching perfectly good legislation tank and awful, hurtful legislation crossing the finish line faster than Dale Earnhardt Jr.

I never felt like our side was sad at all- I love the people I’m surrounded by on a daily basis on that side of the building: women’s advocates, environmentalists, advocates for gun safety, immigrant rights folks, people who watch out for the well-being of children’s education, safety and healthcare. Essentially, the folks that share my own values and views.

These are the people who do not have teams of people keeping their eyes on their legislation, interns to fetch bills or beverages, or assistants back at their offices keeping their practice running while they are gone for 3 months. They spend hours upon thankless hours advocating for what is right but likely doesn’t have a chance in hell of getting anywhere under our current conservative regime. There is incredible solidarity on our side of the hallway; I’ve been lucky enough to make wonderful friends there.

Not sad at all, really.

Today was the 30th day of the Georgia legislative session- the notoriously long crossover day that is the deadline for bills to pass out of the House from which they originated from. At around 8pm after many hours of debate, the Speaker announced that they would break for dinner for 30 minutes. Shelley and I quickly run out of the building to find some sustenance to help us make it through the final hours.

Much to our dismay, the one place that is open within a block of the Capitol closed at 8. As we watched the guy lock the door I could here the sad, mocking music in my head “wa, wa, waaaaah”. So we schlep another few blocks to awful Atlanta Underground and wait too long for too expensive too greasy sandwiches that we have to get to-go and then run back up the hill to the Capitol. At least we got cocktails in to-go cups too. A girl’s gotta take care of herself in these difficult times you know.

We get back to our side of the hall which now seems quite dark. Our comrades are splayed about on metal folding chairs dragged underneath the monitor so we can rest our tired feet. Everyone looks exhausted and yes, a little pathetic.

From where we settle down to eat our crappy dinner, we can see through the center of the Capitol on The Other Side. And then we hear music. And see musicians. And dancers.

The Other Side has an effing bluegrass band playing for entertainment and there are children dancing in circles for the amusement of lobbyists- to keep their spirits up, you know. How lovely for them.

Upon further exploration, we also determine that there are boxes from the Varsity filled with hot dogs, hamburgers and fries being passed out to all the folks standing around. You can almost see a golden orb circling the dude in the paper Varsity hat who stands on top of the mound of bright red and white boxes, tossing them out like Santa Clause sharing gifts. Ice is clinking in cocktails. Angels are singing for god’s sake. Okay so maybe I’m exaggerating- but its my blog so suck it.

On my side of the hallway, people are eating chocolate-covered raisins that the sweet House aide who pities us passed out, referring to them as “fruit”. And I reflect on our ridiculous journey to get food and make it back in time to make sure that our bills don't get hijacked by sneaky legislators. Oh, yes. I see it now. We ARE sad!

Jeez, yet again a Republican tells me accurately what my reality is – before I even know it to be true- during this m-effing Georgia legislative session.

I could speak from my heart and say something sappy that would wrap up this blog nicely. Something along the lines that I would take chocolate-covered raisins, metal chairs, and Shelley, Sandy and Alice a million times over free food and politics for profit.

But I think I’d rather remind folks that Rep James Mills thinks there’s a country called Irania. And that half the people up here use the words “fiscal” and “physical” interchangeably. And that they want to pass laws to allow them to bring their guns to church. And ban birth control pills for all women.

Yeah, I’m happy by the double elevators.

Grizzly Bears and Ring Mistresses

On a couple different occasions lately I’ve seen programs about Alaska’s polar and grizzly bears. I learned that when they are ready to hibernate, they actually dig a den out of snow. I had always assumed that they found a pre-existing cave or something.

Both grizzlies and polar bears pick a spot and use their massive paws to shovel out a cocoon for them to lie in. As they sleep for the winter, the snow falls and covers their top side enveloping the bears completely. Eventually, they break through their shell and emerge skinny, hungry and eager into spring.

I felt like a grizzly bear waking up this morning.

I slept almost 15 hours last night- a huge feat for a girl who usually sleeps about 5 hours a night. I got home and dove under my down quilt, covered myself completely and slept instantly- also a rare occurrence. When I woke up I rubbed my eyes open (sealed by black eyeliner not snowflakes) I saw that my Cranberry, my inhaler and the remote were all in the exact same spot that I laid them, indicating that I slept all 15 hours without moving. My stomach growls loudly; I look in the mirror and note that I am a bit more pale than usual.

This is what the legislative session does to me. This week it was exacerbated by having to cope with being sick and not having the opportunity to rest and get well. I have been running nonstop for the last two weeks; I didn’t get to take more than a couple hours off last weekend. This is because one of our highest priority pieces of legislation was being considered in the House this week.

This issue is one that is defined by those who have spent far more years than I have struggling. Their work was to move to Georgia to a place where the State would fulfill Gideon’s 35 year-old promise and provide for poor peoples’ constitutional right to an attorney when accused of a crime.

We passed huge legislation to reform the public defender system in 2003, one of if not the most significant victory in my life. However now just five years later, we are faced with an indigent defense crisis complete with forces that want to destroy this good but young and struggling system by bankrupting it and tearing down its structure.

I’m moderately happy to share that they only got half as much of the bad stuff they wanted this week as a result of our efforts. The nature of my work is one that my victories are often defined less by outright wins like that of the new public defender system, but more often by successfully making horrible proposals slightly less horrible.

The coalition of people involved in this effort is unreal. High-powered, rich, white male lawyers, high-powered moderately rich, white male legislators, law professors, civil rights leaders, families of people whose lives have been deeply broken by the criminal justice system, my beautiful coworkers and me.

I find myself once again in the position I was in 5 years ago of conducting this out-of-tune, out-of-practice orchestra. Last time I was more of the stand-in substitute Conductor, like the one who would run rehearsals leading up to the big show while the real Conductor made out with the star violinist in the dressing room. This year though it’s come down to just me.

I think I’d rather be a Ring Mistress running a three-ring circus that certainly resembles the Legislature, though. The costume would be way better than a Conductor's. I’m thinking red sequins.

Anyway, in addition to learning about hibernation practices of Alaskan bears this week, I also learned the exact combination of over-the-counter drugs that will allow a sick person to stay on her feet and well enough to fight the Man (both her opposition and her supposed allies).

The recipe is a revolving cycle of Musinex D (the kind that you have to sign for behind the counter because it contains pseudoephedrine that can be used to make meth) every 10-12 hours, Sudafed every 3-4 hours, Advil as you need it (around 3-4 times a day) and a 2-3 packets of Emergen-C. I swear by this magical potion. I would not have gotten through this week without it.

So like a bear coming out of my slumber today, I yawned big and stretched big. I not only found that an Op Ed I had ghost-wrote was published on the front page of the Macon newspaper (Justice for Some is Not Justice at All), but that it is almost 60 degrees out! I woke from my sleep with a day of my own and it is Spring.

Time to go to the Vortex for a burger with Tiffani!

Brilliant Minds at Work

Yesterday, the Georgia House of Representatives approved a bill that would allow for cars to be confiscated from people whose crime is that of having no immigration papers. During the debate, Rep. James Mills made obvious his deep understanding of geopolitics:

"The state of Georgia's door is being kicked down," Mills said. Immigrants are coming from "Iraq, Iran, Irania, Jordan. We don't know where they're from," Mills said.”

I'm taking my post-session vacation in Irania. I hear it's lovely there this time of year.

Snow and Speed Metal

After a day of Capitol-based super stress, high stakes and adrenaline coursing through my veins, there's nothing better than 1) buying some pre-sale MEGADETH tickets and 2) SNOW falling from the gray Atlanta Sky.

It should be noted that when my Mom heard that I had bought the Megadeth tickets her response was "That's nice. Reem and I just bought tickets to see Dolly Parton!" Familial musical eclecticism gives this worn out lobbyist big grins.

Sugar Sugar Honey Honey

I just realized in horror when I reached down for just one more that I had already eaten the last Twizzler in the bag. It was a movie-size bag too. This is in addition to 3 lollipops earlier and swedish fish for breakfast. And lots of gum.

This is what happens when they schedule your most important legislation for a hearing and give you just over 24 hours notice. Despite this, I am happy to say that for once in life I am READY and have stellar opposition to their evil. I am the Sugar Superwoman.

Unfortunately, I think my body will likely act differently now than how it did when I was a teenager and subsisted for months on nothing but gummi bears and strawberry yogurt. The name of my zine then was Sugar Witch. I actually LOST weight on that diet. Not anymore....

Are there any cocktails that are candy-based? I could use one of those by tomorrow evening.

First Day of School Picture

Gotta love this first day of school picture- it's my very own legislative "Where's Waldo" taken by the AJC. Such a typical scene to be captured in that hallway! I'm grateful once again for the super 20/15 vision thanks to Lasik surgery or else I'd be in the front row playing on my Cranberry.

Getting Ready to Walk the Line Again

The Georgia legislative session starts tomorrow. This weekend has been all about getting ready, from some successful suit shopping to downloading new rock n roll (LOVE Thurston Moore's record) that will get me going in the mornings to getting caught up on bills and housekeeping. Freedom is fleeting this time of year for me.

My fabulous friend and lobbyist sister Shelley shared with me that she buys a case of wine at the beginning of each session to see how long it will last. It’s the small joys that get us through these trying times you know. I decided to copycat her and bought my own case yesterday. I'm deeply grateful to Governor Sonny Perdue helping me with my time management by forcing me to buy on Saturdays because of the blue laws. Thanks, man!

In honor of the beginning of the session -- and the premier tonight of Rock of Love 2 YEEAAHH!! -- here's a repost of my tongue-in-cheek pre-session blog from the beginning of the 2007 session.

What's the difference between a groupie and a lobbyist?

Whether we're putting out for justice or putting out for rock n roll… I'm realizing that there's very little that's different between being a groupie and being a lobbyist.

… we flirt with the not-so-cute guys that we're not remotely interested on the way to the guy(s) we like/need.
…we do things that that are morally suspect or cringe-worthy maybe, all in the name of getting what we want/need
…we wear outfits that might otherwise be ridiculous to get attention
… we reward attention from the guys we like/need with way too much, uh, kindness
…we trick them into thinking its their idea to begin with
…we get our way!
…we really get to be the stars we always were

That said, the outfits are better as a groupie for sure!