I want to train for a triathlon. I have NO idea where to begin, and my search for teams or training groups in small town Mississippi has proved futile.

My slight Southern accent only comes out when I am speaking to Southerners with obnoxious accents. (Sorry to disappoint, y’all.) I also pick up a sweet drawl whenever I’m asking people for names on assignment.

I don’t really like country music, but I absolutely adore Dolly Parton. Don’t judge — the woman has a great voice. Until my mother convinced me it wasn’t as cool as I thought, I wanted to name my dog Jolene.

I want to move to Nashville, but I am terrified of not finding a job in my field. I don’t want to compromise that, but I want to be with my boy. The sooner, the better.

My DVR has not worked for the past four months; OK, ever since I moved into this apartment. And I have done absolutely nothing about it, even though I plan on calling a technician at least once a week to get it fixed.

The guys at work tease me because I encounter AT LEAST two really strange people on a regular work day. I seem to attract the strange ones with even stranger requests. (“Hey, you should take my picture.”-”You’ve got to be doing something.”-”No, you should take my picture because I’m single.”)

My Sunday nights are spend awaiting newTrue Blood episodes. Yes, I know it’s a off-kilter kind of show, but isn’t it wonderfully refreshing to see something different, despite its weirdness.

I used to think skinny jeans made me look like a mom, but I’ve changed my opinion of them during the past few weeks. They’re cute! And, as an added bonus, they are the best pants to wear photographing football because they don’t drag on the ground, picking up dirt/water/whatever. Win!