The first bandwagon I’ll jump on is the whole Sandra Bullock/Jesse James saga. I know, I know. Besides Healthcare (the 2nd bandwagon I’m jumping off of), it’s been the topic of discussion amongst car pool lines and corporate break rooms. I’ll go ahead and state my opinion, you all can take it or leave it and be on your way. So the guy is an idiot, yes? Anybody who cheats is an idiot, period. Anybody who cheats with a wannabe-but-could-never-be Dita Von Teese / Kat Von D covered in Nazi tattoos is bigger than an idiot – more like a legitimate donkey’s rear. I know a lot of people are wondering ‘Why would you cheat on SANDRA?!’ Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a Sandra fan. In my younger years, I was even told (once) that I looked like her. Come to think of it, maybe it was Lacey Chabert. Whatever. Point being, so what if she is pretty and sweet and All American? Listen people, Sandra is an actor. And actors play characters. And characters are not real. So just because you think Sandra is cute and nice and takes in homeless black high school football players who go on to play in the NFL doesn’t mean that’s who she is. I love her, I’m rooting for her, but I don’t know her. We don’t walk in her platform pumps and we don’t walk in Jesse’s black combat boots. And until then, we will just have to settle with watching it all unfold via E! News Daily. I’m tired of hearing about it. Capiche? Capiche.

My next order of business – and I’m feeling a little ignorant having topped this next discussion with celebrity gossip – however, moving on to Healthcare. Let’s go ahead and lay one thing out on the table – I ain’t here to stir any pots and I’m not here to have you stir mine. Lucky for me, this is my column so I get to say what I want to say. Lucky for you, my Mama raised me with manners and tact when it came to politics and religion so it shouldn’t get too heated in here. I’m not perched on my platform to talk trash and you sure as heck won’t catch me disrespecting anyone, especially the President of this great country. If you wanna do that, then go find a website to publish your weekly opinion and have at it.

In my humble opinion, I think people need to show a little more class. If you don’t agree with the Healthcare Bill, then I’m sure you are justified. If you do, same for ya. Personally, I have yet to read it from cover to cover (all 1,018 pages located here) and I doubt you have either, so I really don’t have a leg to stand on. We all need to, myself included, quit playing the typical game of political telephone and repeating what our neighbors say and think. Educate yourself and then form an opinion; educate yourself and then start the discussion. And one last thing – if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. I’m all for free speech and I bleed red, white and blue, but let’s be honest here – there is a moral line that shouldn’t be crossed and quite frankly, I don’t want to hear it. I’m a warm-blooded American who loves my country just as much as the next guy. Let’s all agree to disagree and move on. Shame on you if you’ve overstepped your bounds. This country isn’t out to ‘get’ you. I highly doubt someone whispered into the ear of our President “Hey, you know what we should do? Let’s pass Healthcare Reform and really tick off all the Reds.” 95% of America doesn’t even know what this bill consists of, nor are we psychics, so let’s wait it out. What else can you do, really? Don’t make the wait seem even longer to the rest of us with your whining and moaning.

And P.S. – If you’re moving to Canada, I do believe Delta has a sale right now.
And P.P.S – If you’re shopping for a website to publish your opinion column, good luck with that.

See y’all next week, ya hear?!

Columnist Article

Vacations have become mandatory for many reasons, most of them being completely self-absorbent yet necessary. My happiness depends on them, as does my work performance and overall mental health. Let’s face it, we all need’em. Some need them more frequently than others, some want them more frequently than others. Me? Heck, I’ll take’em when I can get’em and I’m pretty sure that’s become the general consensus.

My quick getaway had something to do with a small (but understandable) desire and I was adamant that it be fulfilled. I mean, what else would a country girl from Woodstock, Georgia do when she hears Rascal Flatts and Darius Rucker would be performing, together… in concert… at the beach… approximately 5 miles from where her parents own a beach-front condo?? She gets tickets, of course! Except, she didn’t exactly get tickets. Instead, she was given tickets by a rather attractive young gentleman to mark her 20 something years on Earth. And so, a very happy birthday girl packed her bags and headed Southwest to the lovely vicinity of… lower Alabama. Or L.A. as it is often referred to by the locals.

Yep, you heard me correctly. Alabama. Woo-hoo. I won’t go into the stereo-typical taunting that comes with the mention of this state, we’ve all heard it and have most likely repeated it. However, I discovered something on this trip that I hadn’t ever noticed on my hundred some-odd previous trips here.

You see, I’m from Georgia. And here in Georgia, we love our mamas and sweet tea and front porches and manners. We are southern, yet classy; sadly, this isn’t typically assumed about most states south of the Mason Dixon. Sure, us Georgians have been called ‘red’ (amongst other things) but our reputation seems to be a bit more socially revered than that of our neighbor to the West. It is what it is, I’m just being honest. I’m not saying it’s true or false, I’m Jess’ Sayin. My point being, we all know how much “I love Georgia.” But the truth of the matter is, Alabamians love Alabama just as much as I do Georgia. I saw it firsthand when nearly every single concert goer stood up and sang “Sweet Home Alabama” at the top of their lungs (nevermind the cloud of whisky breath that was produced in this 2 minute window) with their hands in the air, hugging strangers and notably proud to hail from the state that’s gone down in history for MLK’s Montgomery Bus Boycott and widely known for it’s War Eagle/Roll Tide rivalry. They love their land. And I love my land. We just happen to come from two different ones.

Be proud of your home. Be proud of your hometown and your homestate. Don’t deny your roots and don’t justify them to anyone who is ignorant enough to believe all the stereo-types. There isn’t a single characteristic that defines you more than where you grew up. Whether it be here in Jaw-gia (which I happen to be partial to), Alabama or anywhere else in the world, wear it proud. Brag about it and show it off. Dorothy ain’t lyin’ – there really is no place like home. After all, who would you really be without it?

See y’all next week, ya hear?!

Occasionally, the discussions veer from strippers and celebrity gossip and lean more towards everyday, real life, that-sounds-like-me issues. And while I enjoy all the BS they usually present to their Atlanta audience, it’s nice to know that these DJ’s do have significant others who golf too much, in laws they don’t necessarily “like” and daycares that pass around ear infections to their children like it’s apple juice.

As a matter of fact, just this morning I was listening to a debate about the appropriate age to start disciplining children for not using manners, forgetting their no sir’s and yes ma’am’s. Now, I should preface this by saying I am not a parent nor do I have any special skills that could make me even appear to be one. I do not have an alter-ego referred to as Miss Manners; I say things I shouldn’t say, sometimes out of line. I’ve been known a time or two to be less than polite while asking for the mashed potatoes at the dinner table. However, I’m still allowed to have an opinion and you all know I have no reservations about letting it be known so here goes, and it’s fairly simple.

Teach your kids from Day One that anything less than a ‘please’ before a request is just downright unacceptable. Make it clear that hand-outs should always be followed by a ‘thank you’. No questions asked. Unbeknown to many, this has become a dying trend in our society and that worries me – not only because I think it’s just the appropriate thing to do, but I also believe that by not teaching your children these basic values, you’re setting them up for some forms of social failure in the future. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been at my local Publix and heard ridiculous demands coming from the mouths of babes. And unfortunately for them, I have yet to run across a CEO that graciously pulls out his wallet when the dude from accounting badgers him for a raise without prefacing it with an “I would appreciate it if you would please…”

And going back to my morning commute, I’m a little confused as to why it’s even a question about the age to start disciplining your children for their lack of please and thank you’s. Make it very simple for them – without those little words, they might as well not even bother wasting their breath with their desire for a sleepover. Discipline solved. Sounds realistic to me, no? At least, to the almost-thirty-and-single-with-no-children woman it does. And when the time comes for my little curtain climbers to start practicing what I’ve been preaching and it doesn’t quite pan out like I’ve outlined here, then I’ll resort to calling a radio station to get some answers, dang-it.

You’ve heard the saying “The only substitute for good manners is fast reflexes.” I’m not quite sure who quoted this, but I’d be willing to bet her first name was Andrea, last name Brown.

See y’all next week, ya hear?! Please and thank you.

Last Monday was the day after Lover’s Day. The Hallmark holiday of the year, the day when husbands and boyfriends and creepy, stalker admirer’s are supposed to display their unending love for us women. It’s 24 hours of not having to do the dishes and not having to cook dinner, but instead being wined and dined by the men who claim us. Uhhhhhh, yeah right.

Granted, I love Valentine’s Day (no pun intended)… and it’s a really nice idea that all of the aforementioned gestures might occur. And in some women’s worlds, they may. If you are one of these women, good for you – major props to your sweetie. However, to be bluntly honest, February 14th is just another day. When you love someone, love them year-round. I can PROMISE you all that most people (this goes for both genders) would rather have 365 days full of sweet little memories – a random card, coffee served in bed, or even a pizza in front of a fireplace than one full day of pampering.  I know you’ve all heard me say it before, but if you love someone then tell them. Tell them on February 14th, tell them on February 15th and the 16th, too. And if you love something, then be thankful for it every day. Make a list. Talk about who or what you love. Write it down. Here, I’ll start.

Things Jessica loves:

1. Coffee in the mornings.
2. My family and friends (all of you, even when I say I don’t).
3. Sunny days between 65-75 degrees.
4. Platform pumps.
5. Unexpected cards or notes.
6. Hearing good news.
7. Mad Men.
8. Winning lottery tickets.
9. Beach vacations.
10. Really, really, really good love stories.

And there you have it. My Things-I-Love-Every-Day-And-Not-Just-February-14th List for 2010. Go ahead, make your own. Declare today your Valentines Day. Or tomorrow, if you aren’t really feeling up to it (sometimes Mondays don’t really give me the lovey-dovey feeling either, it’s okay).

And a note from the author: Mom & Dad – Make tomorrow, February 23rd, 2010, your Valentine’s Day. You deserve it. 30 years together gives you that privilege. Happy Anniversary!

See y’all next week (I promise this time), ya hear?!

Yes, I am aware that Lent doesn’t start until the 17th. But why not go ahead and get a head start? I was debating this weekend about my [many] vices; all the stupid, petty things that have somehow finagled themselves into my life and at one point or another demanded my undivided attention – and I’ve got plenty folks, don’t kidd yourselves. Sadly, Facebook was the first thing that came to mind… and that got me thinking. What has this world come to when you have to give up FACEBOOK for LENT? Forget carbohydrates or alcohol or desserts. I enjoy all of those things, don’t get me wrong… but Lent is really about self-denial. Sure, I could deny myself the mint chocolate chip ice cream in the fridge or the bowl of chicken alfredo I’ve been craving for two years now – but that stuff is easy for me to give up (hence the reason I’ve been craving a good chicken alfredo for two years). The whole point is to deny yourself something that you really enjoy. And I really enjoy communicating via Facebook. I enjoy catching up with people, I enjoy checking out the new pictures people have posted, I enjoy snooping on ex-friends and thinking to myself that karma really is a you-know-what (admit it people, you know you do it too). The thing is, I don’t need all this excess ‘stuff’ in my life. The people I love and care about will keep up with me (and I, them) even if I don’t have a silly profile on a public forum. I am pretty dang content with my life, who is  in it and how it’s transpired. And a few extra minutes (or hours… yikes) during the day spent enjoying time with these people instead of perusing profiles might actually work in my favor. Who knows, 40 days may turn into a year and so on.  If it does, great. And if it doesn’t, then so what? I highly doubt God really cares if the deactivation of my Facebook account lasts past Easter Sunday; I’m convinced he has bigger and better things to concern Himself with.

So, for those of you that have vices… I say, let ‘em go. What’s 40 days in the grand scheme of things? And for those of you who don’t have any vices, maybe you should give up your cockiness for Lent. Jess Sayin’….

Editor’s Note: I’d like to give a personal shout out to my brother and his new bride, Andrew and Vanessa Brown. If you ever get to the point of killing each other, do it with kindness. Cheers!

See y’all next week, ya hear?!

The girl’s got talent, anyone in their right mind can see that. Minus the breakdowns, minus the negative publicity, minus the MTV movie awards scandals – she knows what she’s doing and she does it pretty darn well. After her 2.5 minutes were up (which I thoroughly enjoyed, not gonna lie), I remembered an interview I heard way back when the song was first released. A mother of a ‘tweenie’ had called in to a morning show, ranting and raving that [this particular singer] was a “horrible influence on her child” and “her daughter is obtaining bad morals by listening to her music”. She went on to say that again, [this singer] “needed to be a better role model for her baby”. And this is when I…. lose it.

Let me get this straight lady, just so we’re on the same page. First of all, last time I checked YOU were the parent. You don’t like what your kid listens to? How about this for a change – flip the switch. Use your God-given authority and parental responsibilities and tell your child what she can and can’t listen to.  Second of all, isn’t it YOUR job to instill morals in your child? I’m pretty sure [this particular singer] isn’t solely responsible for making sure your child learns the golden rule. Don’t throw these obligations out to society because you’re too lazy and apathetic to actuallybe a parent. And lastly – it is YOUR job to be your child’s role model. Not a singer, celebrity, or athlete. It is YOURS. I gotta tell you, looking back over my 27 years I really don’t think New Kids on the Block or Zac Morris had much to do with how I turned out;  I owe my compassion, soft heart and open mind (among other ‘attributes’) to the ones who taught me about these things – and I can tell you it wasn’t Scott Baio or Vanilla Ice.  Quite frankly, I believe that is what’s wrong with the general public today – no one takes responsibilities for themselves, their children or any of their commitments. Your child looks up to YOU – and if by some off chance they look up to someone who sings a song about 3 being better than 2 and you don’t like it, then do something about it. Quit wasting your time calling in to a radio station, whining about their selection of music and how it brainwashes your teenager. Here’s a bright idea for you – turn off the radio, talk to your kid instead of a morning show host, and become the role model you’ve been so desperately wanting for your child.

See y’all next week, ya hear?!

Haiti was discovered in 1492 by the same man who discovered the nation most of us now call home. It was the first nation in the Western Hemisphere to become a free black nation; unbeknown to most of us,  they are also the poorest. The average Haitian lives on just 2 dollars a day. Can you even imagine that? Now that their country has succumbed to one of the worst natural disasters in history, they have less than nothing. They went from nothing to nothing, if that’s even possible. If there’s ever a time you say to yourself “Well, it can’t get any worse”… think again – and eat your words.  It is a life that most of us have never known and with God’s grace, will never experience.

It’s absolutely impossible for anybody with any emotion to see the pictures of the devastation in Haiti and not feel some sort of empathy for these people.  As I watch the news, read the stories, view the pictures… I just can’t wrap my mind around it. It seems so third world. And well, it is. Even amongst all this horror, there is a small amount of beauty that has come from it. The world has come together, putting aside all ill will and animosity to save our fellow people.  When it’s all said and done, that’s really just all we are. We aren’t Americans or Chinese or Mexicans or Haitians. We aren’t black or white, rich or poor, educated or not. We are humans with the same basic needs, the same emotions and the same desires to help those in times of despair. We are all created the same; we all have heads and (hopefully) hearts that in the end, unite us. I’d like to think that when I’m standing in line at the pearly gates, Jesus won’t be asking me where I was born, where I lived or what my nationality was… and then place me in another line depending on my answers. I’m envisioning it going down more like “Did you help someone in need?” or “Was your heart in the right place?” Compassion isn’t just an emotion felt by Americans, just like grief isn’t just an emotion felt by Haitians. It is  our job as living and breathing human beings to aid anyone, and I do mean most ANYONE, in such a desperate situation.

You owe it to yourself, you owe it to the human race and you owe it to whatever higher power you  may worship to leave this place a little better than it was when you entered it. Whether it’s hopping a flight to Haiti, feeding the hungry, adopting a pet, or just a simple prayer, do something. Count your blessings hand by hand, but never forget those who only need a few fingers to count theirs.

See y’all next week, ya hear?!

I’m sure by now, most of you have heard of the new ‘reality’ (I use that term loosely) show called ‘Jersey Shore’. If you haven’t seen it, you’ve at least seen a parody of it on Saturday Night Live or heard Chelsea Handler crack a joke or twelve about it. Maybe you’ve tried ‘The Poof’ yourself, in front of your mirror just to see what it looks like in person. Maybe you’ve picked up fist pumping or re-enacted Ronnie’s creepy dance moves to show ‘your boys’ next time you hit up Bamboo. Either way, I’m assuming 90% of you reading this know precisely what I’m referring to. And this is EXACTLY what MTV wanted when they signed on with this ridiculous, humiliating, incomprehensible, so-bad-that-you-have-to-watch-it reality show. How is it that we, as Americans, have stooped to the level of watching too-tanned guidos and guidettes discuss ab muscles, body piercings and a particular cast member’s love for pickles? We should be embarrassed. Wait, correction…. they should be embarrassed. Don’t these people have families? Don’t these people have sweet little [Italian] grandmothers who would have a stroke if they heard them speaking that way or [gasp!] wearing what they do (or should I say, don’t) wear? Don’t they have bosses that they are concerned about impressing? I’m confused by it all. Who are these kids? And why is it acceptable to their friends, families and companies that they act like that on national television? I’m no Virgin Mary, but I can tell you one thing… it would be a cold day in you-know-what before I would ever disrespect the ones who raised me, surround me or employ me on such a public forum.

I’m thinking VH1 had the same concept when they conjured up the idea to start a show about a 30 some-odd man living in his mother’s basement, looking for love. Seriously?! And you have somehow managed to scrape up some women (from the bottom of the barrel, I am assuming) that want to participate in all of this? Wow, how lucky that winning woman must be to find an honest, dependable man who has no job and still lives at home. And these women fight, yes fight, over this dude. I mean physically, people. It’s insane and hard to understand the lack of respect you must have for yourself in order to show your rear to millions for your fifteen minutes. Don’t you have ANY class? Or at very least, don’t you want to look like you’ve got some? I know you’re dying to break into the acting business, it’s quite obvious… but surely there are more upstanding ways to get your foot in the door, right?

I’m beginning to believe that reality television isn’t reality at all; at least, it’s not my reality. I have a job. I have a home and a family and responsibilities. I go grocery shopping and do laundry and cook dinner, as do most people. It boggles my mind to think that some people are okay with acting the way they do, in front of millions, and are still able to get a full nights sleep. I’m willing to bet it’s pretty restless though, as you can imagine it would be if you had all of that behavior on your conscious. Then again, maybe that’s why they drink themselves into a stupor every night?

Side Note: I ended up falling asleep, just fine, after watching ten  minutes of the madness. I figured, heck… if those idiots weren’t sleeping peacefully, as i’m sure was the case, then someone should.

See y’all next week, ya hear?!

In case you don’t know my background, here it is: I’m not married, but not without a significant other; same applies to my younger sibling. As of this moment, there are no babies running around my parent’s home, no playing Santa, no having to spell out curse words when you try and throw the ball of wrapping paper into the trash bag and miss. We have our annual Open House on Christmas Eve (25 years and counting) and Christmas breakfast at my parent’s. We believe in opening gifts on Christmas morning, however over time the Barbie dolls have been replaced with Ugg boots, the Red Riders with [real life] hunting rifles, and the egg nog with extra-spicy bloody marys. Add all that up and there you have it – the makings of a down home, Brown family Christmas. It’s how we’ve operated for 20 some-odd years. So far, so good.

The thing is, my significant other has a family of his own too. They have their Christmas customs, their get-togethers, their version of cornbread stuffing. And when you decide to team up with someone, you’ve got double the responsibility of living up to all of these traditions in just one day. Double the meals, double the driving, double the presents (cha ching!), and double the spending (again, cha ching!). It becomes even more overwhelming to me, the biggest planner on the face of the planet, when you are trying to decide when to be where, what to bring, and what time you need to leave House A in order to be at House B in time – or, in our case, House C to House D. And just for a little dusting of humor, our families happen to live on opposite sides of the state. We’ve got ‘Four Christmases’ right here, people…. live and in person. How, on God’s green earth, was I going to manage it all? Wait, excuse me… how were we going to manage it all? I forget, I’m part of a team now. That teamwork thing. Yea.

Well, we did it. We managed not to kill each other, our family members or ourselves in the process. From experience, I can tell you this…. and I am only able to tell you this because, by nothing other than luck and a little biting of the tongue, I was able to survive our very own [first] ‘Four Christmases’…  what’s the secret? Remember what it’s about. It’s Christmas, y’all. If you have to drive an extra hour in the car to be with your in-laws, so be it. If you are too stuffed to eat your third meal at the fourth house of the day, eat it anyways.  Smile for the dang pictures to please your grandmother, sing those Christmas Carols you hate and hold hands in the car while you’re on the road between families. It’s not about the time in the airplane or the time it takes to pack a suitcase; it’s about the time you spend when you get to wherever it is you are going. Forget about the intro and focus on the main act. Whether you’re a member of a team or flying solo, everyone wants to feel a little bit of ‘home’ during the holidays. Suck it up and do what you can for the ones you love. More importantly, do it with love.

Side Note: I’m no Siskel & Ebert, but stick to your own, real life Four Christmases. It’s muchmore entertaining.

See y’all next week, ya hear?!

The most important thing you should probably know about me is that I am a native of Georgia, born and raised. I eat peaches and grits, use the term “y’all” in almost every sentence and have made SEC football my second religion. If you walk out my front door and turn your head just right, you will sense the distinct smell of still-operating chicken farms. If you drive approximately 4 miles south, you can sip a Starbucks while perusing the insanely crowded aisles at Target. We see all 4 seasons and surprisingly, they actually coordinate with the calendar on most years.  I still have my southern drawl and I’ve come to the conclusion it’s something only a lucky handful are able to acquire and sustain throughout their lives. Having said all that, I find it hard to believe I am considered the minority in this city. I am a local, one who loves it so much that I have yet to leave. And probably never will.

A business associate asked me the other day where I was from. After claiming Woodstock, Georgia as my place of birth and seeing his stunned facial expression, I quickly asked myself if Timbuktu had accidentally exited my mouth. “Wait, so you’re a NATIVE?” Apparently, us “local folk” are hard to come by ‘round these parts. Every time I hear Atlanta referred to as the transplant capitol of the South I’m amazed, but yet it makes incredible sense to me. Whowouldn’t want to live here? And who would want to leave? Don’t people get it?! Without Atlanta traffic (quit laughing, people) it takes me 4 hours to get to the closest beach. One hour north of the homefront and I’m hiking the Appalachian Trail (alas, this has never actually happened… but I’ve thought about it a time or two). Gladys and the Pips loved it so much, they took the midnight train here. The devil even came down to Georgia. It is a fantastic state, filled with amazing cities and towns so small, you’ll miss them if you blink. We are the home of Coca-Cola, CNN, Delta and the birth place of the Civil Rights Movement. Sherman burned our city to the ground and yet we are still here; bigger, better and busier than ever. We have the largest aquarium and the most hectic airport in the world. Okay… maybe the latter isn’t necessarily an attractive feature, but surely you are catching my drift.

My point being, if you don’t live here then you should. And if you can’t live here, you need to at least visit – you may change your mind. Speaking of minds, is Georgia on yours?

See y’all next week, ya hear?!