my keys sounds different

And I'm back. Sorry about the blog vacay. Here's a short recap: After taking high school kids to camp, I packed up my life, stored it in a basement, and staffed a YL camp down in Virginia for 5 weeks. My assignment there was incredible: met some great new friends, have a dream of visiting one of them in London this year (fingers crossed), was able to see God do some amazing things, and laughed a ton at some funny high school drama. Then about 12 hours after returning from camp, I moved said basement boxes into a few vehicles and began my journey down south. I just summed up a major life transition without very much emotion, but my heart has felt the range of excitement to major stress (the moment I realized I hadn't packed my treasured beach cruiser bike) to an overwhelming sense of gratitude to parents, friends, roommates, strangers, etc. There is nothing more humbling than being helped and served, at least to me, and I have experienced that out the wazoo this week, and words (and certainly not blogs) can express my heart towards my dear friends. So thank you.

I'm in Salisbury, North Carolina. I did it, I'm here. I brought an over-the-top amount of personal belongings, I think my roommate might sign me up for Hoarders, but ya know what.... I'm finding places for them. I just may never be able to downgrade into anything smaller than a 3 bedroom house (with an office). As I pulled away from Annapolis, it was very odd to have only one key on my key ring, and that was my plastic Honda key. I felt homeless and officeless, but only for the 7 hour drive down. As soon as I got my new house and office keys, it was weird, because they make a totally different jangle. It's like when you change your ring tone on your phone, but forget, and you're sitting in a restaurant thinking, who's the idiot who's not answering their freaking phone, and then you realize it's on your lap and it's the new Droid ring you don't recognize...that's like my new keys.

I feel like my blog could be called "Suzz's Pet Peeves" instead of Suzz News, because I know I complain/make fun of culture on here, and I'm sorry if I am offending people, but why stop now? Have you ever noticed that people blog/facebook/e mail/call/tweet a lot in life transitions, especially moving? It's like we all want to hold onto something stable, so declaring status' to the world makes us feel more normal. I know by posting tonight, I am in that club, but I always laugh when people really brag a lot about the new place they live in, and how cool the scenery is, how much better the coffee is, yada yada yada, when really they are scared of the change. Well don't worry, I won't be too braggadocios. Can I tell you a few funny things about my new stompin grounds?

• Southern people are by far nicer. It's true. I think I'm actually nicer now that I am down here. But they are also slow. Like you can't just wave to a neighbor, you have to stand out in the 185% humidity and talk about all their "kin" that live on the land. All that came from a nice lady named Beth, who I had to ask her name a few times because she kept saying "Baaaaaaeeeth".
• I always tell people I like older houses, because they have so much character. Here's the truth: I like older houses that have been completely redone and have modern updates. We are living in an older house that just has awkward parts to it. No cabinet can hold anything higher than about 7 inches. It's as if no one housed cereal boxes in the 50s.
  
• We seriously, seriously, live in the country. But it's right off the highway, so it's deceiving. While meeting local "kin" on the land, we met a neighbor I affectionately call John Boy. He asked my roommate to lunch already (she turned him down), then we found out he's 16. We feel like he'll watch out for us. He is the quintessential country boy. He drives a truck, tractor, wears tight jeans, is always doing chores, and is kind to the ladies on the street. He walked over the other day and asked if we eat eggs (took me a few times to clarify what he was asking about), we said sure, and then he offered us 15 dozen. We didn't think we could eat that many, but he insisted on giving us 2 dozen. When he put them in the fridge for us, he told us to never buy eggs or watermellon again, to just get them out of the backyard when we need them. Because of course, we have a chicken coop in the backyard. Talk about eating local. During my short lived (and much needed) nap today, I was woken up by the rooster out back. This is real life. I did have the awesome thought of, hey maybe this is how the Pioneer Woman got her start, and it made me excited to blog.
  

This is way to long to not include pictures, I am sorry, but the good news is, I splurged and bought a nice camera, so now I just have to learn how to use it, and share them with you all. I will try to brag more later, but for now, I should probably hit the hay before the rooster crows.