the final countdown

Well, kiddos, today's the day. It's 2:30 in the morning and my first flight leaves in just 9 hours! Today I've been running around Tupelo like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get last-minute things taken care of. There have been quite a few curveballs thrown at me today. The first came when I was finishing packing this morning and suddenly realized something alarming: I HAVE NO PANTS.

Ok, so that statement might be a slight exaggeration, but seriously-I experienced a major Wardrobe Wakeup Call while trying to get all my clothes together. I could fill an entire suitcase with my pashminas and other scarves. I have enough cardigans to outfit every grandmother and librarian in Mississippi. And I tend to forget because they're always at the dry cleaner's, but I have oodles of dresses. But pants? There's a slight shortage, and that's an understatement.

I headed downtown to Omi Boutique, knowing they were having this big blowout sale because the store is going out of business. And I was right; everything in the store was 75% off. It's really pretty sad; it's been the perfect (read: only) place to go in Tupelo for when you want to splurge (read: not often) on some really cute, really well-made clothes. One of the ladies who worked there was the secretary at my elementary school, and the former owner was super sweet and taught me Sunday School in 8th or 9th grade. The ex-secretary, known by everyone as just "Ms. Daytra," was working when I walked in; it'd been at least 2 years since I last saw her. And I've never been greeted so enthusiastically when entering a store. I was surprised she immediately remembered my name, to be honest, but she was so conversational and fun and asked all about my sister ("How's 'Bel?") and my mom and my plans for the semester. We talked for a while about how fast time flew since I was at Carver (the school where she worked), and she filled me in on all the Last-Days-of-Omi drama-apparently there'd been a few Winona Ryder incidents. Ms. Daytra's descriptions were priceless: "I even recognized the girl who stole, and Lord knows she could have paid FULL price for that Nicole Miller, but instead she jacked it when it was already marked down 75% and just made me feel STUPID," she said.

Just chatting and catching up with Ms. Daytra made that trip downtown worthwhile. Little interactions like that remind me that I'm so glad I grew up in Tupelo, and they usually pop up at opportune times when I need to be reminded of that. Like, how many people even remember who the front-office secretary at their elementary school was, let alone still speak to her? As much as I make fun of it or complain of boredom when I'm here, I'm really lucky to have had (and still have) the supportive network of people that I did growing up. (And I got a pair of Rock & Republic jeans for 30 bucks, so that was cool too). :D

After quality catch-up time at Omi, I headed to Greatest Hits, a pretty cool used-music and book store. The owner pays cash for any unwanted items, and I had a stack of weird and totally unnecessary books for him to check out. (Note: these were rejects from the "We'll Buy it Back" system at the Sewanee bookstore). Let me give you an idea of what kind of gems were in this ridiculous collection. The two highlights were probably "Mice and Magic: A History of American Animated Cartoons" (I took an American Animation class for art history that was actually pretty legit. Mickey can teach you more than you'd think) and a whopping 460-pager on the practices of polygamous Eskimos (left over from when I dabbled in some anthro classes freshman year). Quality literature, obvi. I mainly just wanted to get the unwanted books out of my room because I was trying to clean as I packed, and yes, I was expecting to get a little ca$h money, maybe $20, or $30 if the owner felt generous. Every little bit helps, and I figured I could add it to my FFF (Florentine Food Fund). But the owner took one look at my stack (there were at least 10 books) and told me he could give me TWO DOLLARS. For a split second I thought he was joking, but I quickly sucked it up, took the 2 bucks and spent $1.85 on a Route 44 Diet Coke at Sonic. I've decided I totally got the better end of the deal. Diet Coke > Inuit Lit.

This play-by-play of my day is probably getting old, so I'll give you the shortened version of the rest of the day. I had to stop at about 630486930 other places: Best Buy (camera, camera case, memory card, laptop case, adapter for European outlets), Wal-Mart (toiletries and whatnot), Old Navy (pajamas. Because I don't discriminate-as I realized today, I apparently don't buy any pants, pajamas included), Beauty Motif (Bare Minerals powder), Regions (bank, duh), BancorpSouth, the Tupelo airport, the post office, etc. etc. etc. It was ridiculous. I hope I have enough money to exist in Italy now...seriously. I cringed every time I saw the total at a checkout counter. (Well, at Wal-Mart I was cringing because the 11-year-old in front of me at the self checkout was paying for her entire purchase in pennies, literally, but that is another story altogether).

As I was zooming all over town in a frenzied state today, I listened to the mix CD my brother and his wife (!!! that still sounds weird-I can't believe he's married-I love it, though!!) gave out at their wedding a few weeks ago. The CD is a compilation of some of their "special songs." No worries-it's not the musical equivalent of PDA (aka not a puke-worthy mix of stuff like "Everything I Do I Do For You...") Instead, the CD is chock full of fun music (Will.i.am, Hall & Oates, and even Gaga all make appearances), gooooood bands (Arcade Fire, Talking Heads) and sweeeettt love songs. For one reason or another, today I got really into the U2 classic "Mysterious Ways." I was blasting it at an embarrassing volume while cruising around in the Mom Volvo, and I'm pretty sure my head was bobbing the kind of conspicuous head-bob that is visible to onlookers in separate lanes. Favorite line: "If you want to kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel!" Yeah Bono.



The final issue I'm having during this Final Countdown has to do with a GIFT. In my 20 (that number freaks me out) years of life so far, I've given quite a few presents. Birthdays, Christmases, graduations, Mother's and Father's Day, even weddings lately-I'd say I'm pretty experienced in the realm of gift-giving. And, not to brag, but I think my track record with Gift Recipient Satisfaction is pretty solid. But my hard-earned tradition of Recipient Contentment becomes threatened when a mystery Italian(s?) is brought into the picture.

Tomorrow (today?) I'm getting on a plane, and in just a couple of weeks I'll be living with a Florentine host family. And "host FAMILY" is a very unclear term right now-at the moment, I have no idea who that family will be. I've been told that the hosts are generally either single women or elderly couples. I won't find out till days before meeting them. This poses a bit of a problem because my mom is insisting that I buy a gift to present to them (her?) upon arrival. Aaaaannnddd...therein lies my problem. It seems like the classic "I'm the guest, you're the host" gift is wine. But that'd be kind of weird since a.) The guest doesn't actually know the host yet and b.) I'm underage (okay, not underage in Europe, but it'd still be weird). I also quickly nixed the idea when I remembered two minor details: these people live in Italy. I live in Mississippi. In case you need further clarification: I'm willing to bet that my host mom has very elite old Tuscan taste buds and would probably either:

A.) laugh
-or-
B.) die

if I brought her a bottle of cheap chardonnay from "Rebel Liquor & Wine," the store nearest my neighborhood. Notably, this store is conveniently located within walking distance of both "EZ-Ca$h-N-Pawn" and Kentucky Fried Chicken. In addition, the gigantic Confederate flag in the window really adds to its rustic charm. Point being, I don't think a $9 bottle from the dRaNk stop down the street would meet my host mom's standards, considering she could potentially take a wine tour of Tuscany at any given moment.

Once we ruled out that idea, my mom immediately decided that whatever I bring them should be "characteristic of Mississippi. Something to embody where you're from-something they'll identify with you!" Hoooo boy. A magnolia leaf? A John Deere hat? What did she have in mind, exactly? My mom sat and pondered for a minute or so, and then I saw the wheels start to turn in her head as her face lit up. "I know!! Why don't you get them a souvenir from THE BIRTHPLACE?!?!"

"THE BIRTHPLACE," which my mother referred to with such excited reverence, is the birthplace of one Elvis Presley. Memphis likes to take the credit, but Elvis wasn't born at Graceland. Nope, he was definitely born in humble Tupelo.
I looked at my mom for a minute and thought about the words that had just come out of her mouth. "What...kind of souvenir exactly?" I asked.

"Well, I don't know," she said. "Magnets, maybe!! Or a keychain?"

A keychain. When was the last time someone got excited about a keychain? Oh, I remember-it was me, in 1997, when I attached my off-brand Tamagotchi to a key ring and let it dangle from my psychedelic Lisa Frank backpack. Coolness...it's a lifestyle.

Once I informed my mother that a keychain just wasn't going to cut it, we sat around and thought some more, getting nowhere. But after my mom brought up the Elvis option, I couldn't get it out of my head. I have no desire to present my host mom with an Elvis snowglobe, nor an airbrushed "King of Rock & Roll" tee, nor anything like that I could possibly dream up. But I'm fresh out of any other ideas. If any of you readers (do I have any readers, by the way?) have any ideas to share, then I would thank you...thank you very much.
(OK, that was lame).

Good night and love to all!!