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First of all, the thing that's totally making me lose my ever lovin' mind right now. Me and the Mr. are at odds. Apparently I can't wrap my tiny brain around the concept of money management and bank accounts and how the two usually work together. This makes him think that I am not only stupid but carelessly ruining our financial future by buying silly things like deodorant and dish soap. I'm here to tell you, it's totally possible to over-spend on things like cat food, flea spray and maxi pads. My position is that I need a budget. A written-on-paper-in-my-hand budget. To me, that is a plan. I can follow a plan. A smoke and vapor concept? A little more difficult. To make matters worse, I spent my day working on the business-sitting in this chair that makes me want to cut parts of my body off because they hurt so bad-then did nine loads of laundry, put the Christmas decor that's been sitting out up in the attic, cleaned out the hall closets and made an appointment for the middle child to see the orthodontist. And that was only part of my day. But, you see, all that killing myself to prove I'm worthy of love and respect was for naught when he checked the accounts and realized I had overdrawn the business account. Again. So basically I'm a piece of crap and he wants nothing to do with me tonight. Good times!
On the other end of the spectrum, all is right in the world with a big girl wins Nashville Star! That's right, Melissa Lawson took the title because I voted for her 18 extra times via text messaging last week. Yep, she owes it all to me. She has an extraordinary voice, and has rekindled my faith in humanity by winning this whole thing. When I didn't make it past the Nashville finals, I was certain there would be size 2, 19 year old blondes competing for the recording contract. I was comfortable in my outrage. Now? I guess I should try harder next year. Because I am totally going to go for it again next year.
And finally? I quit . Or, at least, I'm going to. Karl and Britt are taking the plunge and giving up one of their remaining vices , so I'm going to be the groupie that I am and follow suit. I hope they don't mind, I might have doctored that graphic a little. Wish me luck, and if you value your life, keep a really safe distance for about 2 weeks or so. Just leave me nice comments. Encouraging ones.
Which reminds me...(I suppose this would be a P.S.?)...
I had someone comment recently that I was a very unhappy person who needed to find some joy and quit being so hard on myself. Also, they suggested I stop being negative.
Bite me. I totally have like 3 other readers if you unsubscribe.
Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I am one of the most joy-filled, positive people ever. I see the best in everyone, regardless of their screw-ups or non-people-friendly ways. This is my blog. This is where I let out all that crap that keeps me from being that positive, joy-filled person in real life. I spew it out here and cleanse myself so that I can go out into the real world and let the real me shine through. If I write about politics or religion, feel free to tell me I'm full of crap and you disagree. Then we can have some nice, healthy debate. But if I am telling you how I feel, please don't tell me I'm wrong. In the famous words of Trina , "You don't get to tell me how I feel..."
Clearly I need to go smoke now.
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There are so many ideas floating around out there about me.
Who IS this TSM? What does TSM mean, anyway? Why isn't this broad on some serious medications?
I thought I should put a few of them to rest right here, right now.
1. I do not think as much as you drink I do.
While I like to post pictures of myself embracing barrels of whiskey and talk a big talk about having far too many drinks in the evening, the truth is my alcohol consumption isn't really that impressive. I realized early on in my little pain disorder that a drink or two before bed helped me sleep and also helped a bit with the pain. Because I prefer whiskey, I suppose I've acquired a bit of a reputation for being a party girl. Not that I don't enjoy a good time as much as the next gal, but a lush? Well, we'll let my sponsor decide that.
2. I wouldn't really sell my 17 year old son to the gays.
Sure, he's hot. I tend to take credit for this, mainly because, well, I kind of made him. Or at least, I did the baking. But hand him over to be violated? It would take an awful lot of dough to convince to me to consider that, if at all. Couldn't hurt to email me your offer, Jester.
3. I'm not a real blogger. I just play one on TV.
I've read many, many blogs and most of them will explain their passion for writing and the admirable reasons the blogger got into blogging in the first place. Me? I thought it would be fun. Like that puppy we I picked up on a whim from the W@l M@rt parking lot. But then the puppy grew up. You can rest assured my blog won't ever do that.
4. I really am o.k. with having a limited number of readers.
With great power comes great responsibility...-Spiderman Yeah. I'm not big on responsibility. With more readers would come more demand to post regularly, maybe even about subjects people wanted to read about, and then where would we be? Nope, obscurity works well for me.
5. The comment option on my posts is not purely ornamental.
There is a general idea out there that the link to post a comment is just there for looks. You know, to look like all the other blogs out there. Truth be told, I really do like it when folks give me input. Whether it's hairstyles, fishing techniques or where to score the best anti-anxiety remedies, hearing from those who brave my blog is something I enjoy immensley. Spelling? Notsomuch.
Those 5 ought to hold you for a while. As other misconceptions rear their ugly heads, I will take notes and, at some point, formulate another Miss-Conceptions post to clear up any false assumptions.
Because we can all use a little more truth, no?
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It's in small print under the bigger news stories on my home page. Hardly noticable, and even when you see it, you might not click it. But I did, because I was really just curious...
Blink. Blink.
Let me see if I understand this.
A guy from the Mormon church was sitting around thinking about ways to raise funds for his faith. His extremely prohibitive faith. His faith that kicks folks out for wearing the wrong socks. And he thinks, Hey! I know! I'll get a few guys that are out there pimping for the cause to strip off their ties and white button-ups, get greased up and flex for some HAWT pictures! Then we'll get all the other heathen religions to submit to their primal urges and buy the calendar for whatever unsavory purposes, then use the money to further! God's! kingdom!
I realize that not following my thoughts through to their natural conclusion has caused me some mishaps, but this? He should have "DUH!" tatooed across one of his lovely pectoral muscles there. I'd be happy to show him where to apply the lotion. Every 4-6 hours.
Because? Now he doesn't have to worry about what the church will think of his stupid, tattooed arse, being that they kicked him out and all.
What did he think would happen when the higher-ups got wind of what he was doing? Did he think they'd all buy one for their wives? And the missionaries posing for the pictures...were they drinking from the same stoopid juice?
I would like to note that the missionaries posing for the pictures did not get ex-communicated, only the creator of the calendar. It was, after all, his idea. They just took their clothes off. And that sin isn't nearly as bad as being the guy that ASKED all those guys to take their clothes off.
I don't say this often. I'm a nice person and I don't like being contrary. And he is so adorable! But seriously.
I hate to think he might be contributing that much stupid to the gene pool. I mean, if he's taking off his clothes for money, pretty soon, he might end up having S.E.X.! And that makes babies!
Granted, they'd be very pretty babies...
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I stole this little game from Snackiepoo
1. Put your mp3 player or music player on your computer on random.
2. Post the first four lines from the first 20 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song (Skip repeat artists).
3. Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from.
4. Don’t cheat, you Google addicts (sorry, Hilly, had to change the word)!
1. If there's one thing in my life that's missing
It's the time that I spend alone
Sailing on the cool and bright
Clear water
2. God knows I tried everything I could
To stay inside tonight
But that boy's like a sore in your mouth
That you just have to bite
3. Breathe in for luck
Breathe in so deep
This air is blessed
You share with me
4. You've got someone here
wants to make it alright
Someone who loves you more than life
Right here
5. I said Hello I think I'm broken
And though I was only jokin'
It took me by surprise
When you agreed
6. Look at this photograph
Every time I do it makes me laugh
How did our eyes get so red
And what the hell is on Joey's head
7. Wait a minute sir,
you mispronounced my name
You didn't wait for all the information
Before you turned me away
8. A broken bat in the grass
Taken one to many fastballs
Tired of swinging
Yeah
9. I said I'd never let that hungry wolf come
Blow this house down, But I left myself unguarded
I said I'd never let the tempter of my heart come back around
But now look at what I've started
10. catch me as i fall
say you're here and it's all over now
speaking to the atmosphere
no one's here and i fall into myself
11. I've never been the kind that you'd call lucky
Always stumbling around in circles
But I must have stumbled into something
Look at me am I really, alone with you
12. Where were you when my night fell
And pieces shattered everywhere
If I have loved you with my whole heart
Time will tell, time will tell
13. I'm a packin' up my bags and Ima head out west
Where real women come equipped with scripts and fake breasts
Buy a nest in the hills, chill like Flint
Buy an old drop top find a spot to pimp it
14. Seems I left the innocence of Eden long ago
Tempted by my heart to go it on my own beyond the Garden
Somehow through the desert of my wanderings alone
You have never let me go
15. That's all I wanted, something special
Something sacred in your eyes
For just one moment to be bold and naked
At your side
16. I'm waitin for the sun to set
Cause yesterday ain't over yet
I started smokin' cigarettes
ain't nothing else to do I guess
17. The world was on fire no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.
18. We'll do it all
Everything
On our own
We don't need anything from anyone
19. Excuse me for this, I just want a kiss
I just want to know what it feels like to touch
Something so pure, something I'm so sure
Of what it feels like to stand outside your door
20. Lady love, never smiles
So loan some love to me a while
Do with me what you will
Break the spell, take your fill
Wishing you the best of luck!! The only bonus points here are if you can tell me what album #12 comes from.
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Look at her expression. She is thoughtful. She seems happy. The smile, however, is only a half-smile. Underneath I can tell she is wondering if this will be the last time her daughter embraces her out of love. She wonders if this child is going to break her heart again. She holds her close to her heart, inhales deeply, and remembers every moment of that child's life leading up to now. How did we get here? She wonders. How did this girl become a teenager who cares nothing about anyone but herself? How did I raise this?
In her face is the certainty that this moment of connection is fleeting, soon to be replaced with shouting matches and rebellious rhetoric from a woman-child.
When I look at that photo of my mother and I, I feel a deep sense of regret. I was so hard on her. She did the best she could, raising us alone, and I never gave her credit for the amazing job she did. Our relationship is distant now, and I blame myself. Still, with all these miles separating us, to see her I need only to look in the mirror.
Mom used to sit at the kitchen table every morning with her coffee and her cigarettes, staring out the window silently. The first hour she was awake we usually left her alone. Now that I am a mother and wife, I find myself doing the same thing. Sitting out front, staring out at the sky, thinking so deeply that I hardly realize when someone is talking to me.
What did she think about? Did she wonder if her marriage was going to work? If her children were going to live through their teenage years? Did she go over hurtful words I had said to her over and over in her head? Was she pondering her existence and its importance? Did she think about her mother?
I do.
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It's nearly 4 p.m. on a Sunday and I am still in bed. Small beams of sunlight peek through the edges of the dark blue blanket that should be sealing the window. I am toying with the idea of spending twenty minutes to rearrange its placement so that I can properly seclude myself in my darkened bedroom. I suppose if I am to mourn appropriately I should cover the mirrors as well, but that's just too much effort right now. On the shelf above my bed sits a half-eaten jalapeno bagel and a cold cup of coffee which would have served me better had it been spiked with Velvet. Next to the coffee sits my phone. My painfully silent phone.
On any normal Sunday at this time, I would be enjoying a glass of wine with one of my dearest friends, watching Nascar and talking about nothing. And everything. On any other day like this, she would be sitting on my bed telling me to get dressed, that we were going to her house to sit outside and talk. That her husband would cook us a fantastic meal and we would relax and just "be". But not today. Today I get up only to step outside and smoke. Then it's back to bed. Back to solitary confinement. Back to mourning. Back to episodes of Deadliest Catch and Swingtown that I haven't seen yet. Then I'll probably start on the CSI Miami's and eventually the downloaded movies as a last ditch effort to avoid the bouts of tears that keep catching me off guard whenever something on screen reminds me of the friendship I have lost.
Through a series of misunderstandings, mistakes and miscommunications, she has begun confiding in someone else. I'm not her go-to gal anymore. I don't know what I am to her, actually. A mistake, I think. Someone she trusted with her inner-most thoughts who abandoned her when she needed me most. Though I didn't, but that isn't the point here. Wherever she is now, she doesn't want me there.
The Mr. swears that my friendship with her has changed me. Damn right, I say. I learned to be stronger than I thought I could be. Learned to pick my battles, but be ferocious when necessary. Learned that it was OK to stand up for myself. Stand up for what I believe in. Most importantly, I learned that I might possibly have some redeeming value. That loving people right where they are isn't a curse, but a gift. Unfortunately, I am now left to wonder if any of these revelations matter as the tables have turned, leaving me as the outcasted girl in high school. You know the one-as soon as she walks away you hear "I never really liked her anyway".
Which cuts me to the core.
There is nothing that went on in our friendship that should have brought us to this point. Yet here we are. I made some choices. She made some choices. I wasn't planning to leave her behind, but it would seem she would prefer it that way. I suppose I didn't really realize that until last night.
I long for those days when I believed wholeheartedly that nothing would ever come between us. That whatever came our way, we were honest enough with one another that we could get through it, and be stronger in the end. I expected to still be the best of friends in 20 years. Now am left wondering what conversations are being had at my expense when I'm not there. Nevermind years from now.
I don't see healing on the horizon. Only loss. And so I mourn.
I hope she finds that friend she's looking for. I hope that she looks back and treasures the good parts of our friendship and what it meant. I hope at some point she stops seeing me as the bad guy. Above all, I hope she finds that happiness and fulfillment that makes her life complete, whether I'm in it or not. Contrary to what she thinks, she really does deserve to be happy.
Maybe someday I will, too.
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The Mr. has a creepy family secret. And I am going to reveal it here on my blog. To you. I trust you. You won't tell anyone, right? Right!
When he was young, and asleep, he didn't stay in bed. Not only did he not stay in bed, but he wandered around and did things as if on Lyrica completely unaware that he was awake and... doing things.
His parents once witnessed him walk in the kitchen where they were at the table, open the dishwasher, and proceed to use it as a urinal. Can't blame a sleepwalking kid, right?
Well apparently this trait is genetic.
The first time I was aware of it, our youngest child was sleeping at my sister's townhouse. At some point during the night, she felt she needed to open the second story window and shimmy out on ledge above the front door. It was then, while perched precariously twenty feet above the cement walkway that she woke up completely and realized she was in a bit of trouble. She attempted to jump across the walkway onto the semi-soft grass and landed with one foot on the cement, breaking it in three places. Her loud wailing woke the neighbors before it woke us. The pounding on the door woke us .
It was 3 a.m. when we arrived at the Emergency Room with our daughter (yet again...she has a frequent flier account there). I had no experience with this type of thing. My mom assured me that it was probably isolated. She was just really tired. Wore herself out playing with the cousins.
Okay, I thought. That makes sense. I'm not freaked out. I'm okay. Really.
Thankfully, I've only since seen her have conversations and do harmless things like feed the dogs in the middle of the night. I send her back to bed and she giggles, remembering nothing in the morning. Besides, we lock the dishwasher. I'm not takin any chances. Although, I would love to see the look on the Mr.'s face when he grabs a cup for water in the morning...or maybe the Boy since he's the one that doesn't empty the dishwasher at night when it's clean.
My point, before I got slightly sidetracked, was that while it wasn't completely isolated, it seemed harmless enough. Until...
Last night, she spent the night at a friend's house. This friend lives on some acreage next to a small farm. They have horses and goats and geese and such. It's mini-Redneck heaven.
At some point during the night, she was informed, she sat up and didn't know where she was. In the dark, she panicked and ran up the stairs. Thankfully avoiding the window, she unlocked the front door, walked outside and across the yard to the farm next door. Where she knocked on the door at 2 a.m. It was about the time they answered that she woke up completely and realized that she not only knew where she was, but knew whose door she had knocked on. She apologized, explained and went back in the house.
When she awoke the next morning, she thought she had experienced the strangest dream...
Until her friend called ten minutes ago. And told her she hadn't been dreaming. She had tears in her eyes as she relayed the story to me. I can tell she was a little frightened.
I am too.
I'm going to spend the next two hours Googling sleep walking children. For heaven's sake. The child obtains enough injuries when wide awake. I shudder to think what could happen while she's asleep.
Anyone have experience with this? Anyone have tranquilizers? No, not for her. For me. I'm going to need something to put in my wine tonight if I'm ever going to sleep. Like ever again.
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This morning, I visited a new fishing spot. A local river with a steep downgrade of large boulders followed by a steep path where I continually hit my shin on the same sharp piece of a log, resulting in a 5 inch diameter bruise. Lovely.
However, well worth it:
My love for fishing and my necessity for Vicodin occasionally (Fibromyalgia is a bitch) led me to be watching an infomercial while I was particularly medicated one afternoon. I was entranced by a whirlwind advertisement for a BRAND! NEW! FISHING! LURE! SYSTEM! Internets, I was hooked. Pardon the pun. I grabbed my credit card and called the number. Sap that I am.
And all for $19.95! What a deal!
Here's where our story really begins.
I haven't called to order anything since "Songs for Worship" back in 1999. Back then, it was real people who answered. Yes, they tried to get you to fill out surveys and buy more stuff. But it was easy to say no and they gave up easily. Most of the time.
There was an automated answering system. The inventor of which should be hung by his testicles in the public square. I'm sure they still do that somewhere, right?
The exchange (if you can call it that) went like this:
Recording: Congratulations for ordering the Mighty Lure 5 Senses Fishing System! Unconditionally guaranteed to catch more fish than anything else in the whole wide world! Because you have spent your hard-earned money on this crappy system, we are offering you MORE crappy systems for five bucks less! But only if you order them now! To order them NOW, say "yes" or press 1!
Me: Silence
Recording: I can understand your hesitance. But you might consider buying another set or five for gifts, to irritate your husband with your credit card debt, or to hand out to the homeless. To order more kits, say "yes" or press 1! If you do not want to order more kits, please press 2 or say "No".
Me: NO!
Recording: I understand. Well, in addition to your lure kit, and any others we might convince you to buy before you hang up, you might want to get accessory kits and refills for the smelly stuff. Only nine-ninety-five! To order an accessory kit, please say "yes" or press 1!
Repeat the first process. About fifty times for fifty different "offers". I was afraid to hang up for fear they would take that as a YES and run my card for a thousand bucks. So I stayed on the line and did my duty, saying NO to every five-ninety-nine add-on they offered and spending a good 30 minutes on the phone.
By the time I hung up, my meds had worn off and my buyers remorse set in. We'll have to see how I feel when my package arrives in 6-8 weeks.
So what I really ended up buying was a chunk of manipulative merchandising and a heaping helping of frustration. All for the amazing price of $19.99 plus shipping!
Will keep you posted on how the lures work. And I'll totally eat my words if they work like they claim to. The fish? We'll see...
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I made a choice not long ago. To follow my faith and leave behind some people and places that contradict what I believe and want to stand for. It's been painful, to say the least.
Today, I received what I believe is a blessing for my efforts.
A stimulus check in the mail that I didn't think we'd actually see.
In the exact amount we needed to catch up.
God is good. I'm tellin' ya.
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Tonight at 7:00 p.m. Pacific time, I will be on the Jester Show on Talk Shoe!
Subjects will range from Vicodin to Religion to (as usual) sex! So please click over there and join in the fun!
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Yesterday I wanted to blog. I had a great post all laid out in my head about the new fishing lures I bought. Yes, it would have been incredibly entertaining, and I promise I will get back to that story. Later.
Right now I don't know what to say.
I'm full of such conflicting emotions. Pride mixed with fear. Excitement mixed with fear. Love mixed with, yes, fear.
You see, my son- my only son -is joining the Marines today.
He's been talking about it for years now. They sucked him in with the phrase "Pain is weakness leaving the body". He's tough like that. Or likes to think he is.
We looked into all the branches of the military and for a while he was talking about becoming a Navy Seal. But he did his homework and found the Marines had everything he was looking for, including the skills for the jobs he wants when he finishes his enlistment. So the Marines it is.
The boy still has another year of high school, so he's going into a delayed entry program which will help him with some of the skills he'll need in boot camp.
My baby will be in boot camp this time next year.
As a mother, I'm terrified. Of course, I completely support what he's doing. I think he's perfect for the Marines. I think he'll do very well. I feel strongly that my support is vital for him to succeed, and he's got it in full. I am fiercely patriotic and on some level feel that it is my duty to offer my son to serve my country. And so I will sign those papers without hesitation.
But we are still at war. And I'd be nuts if I wasn't afraid. Just a little.
Sure, there's the fact that he's growing up and spreading his wings. That's hard in itself. I think I'd have a similar version of the same emotion if he were getting married or having a child.
Maybe if I had waited to have kids I wouldn't feel so unprepared at 35 to give up my son. To watch him leave, knowing that he's headed for a life that will challenge him in ways he's never known. Maybe not.
Either way, I'm incredibly proud of my boy. My little man, who is no longer little at 6'1". He's off to find his future, and probably the most frightening thing is how little his mom will have to do with it.
Here's to learning how to let go.
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I was having a great time. It was 10 a.m. and I had consumed two drop-shots of Blue Cuaco and grape Vodka dropped in Guava Rockstar. Followed by one more. I had only had four hours of sleep the night before and our first match in the APA Pool tournament? Let's just say I bombed it. Which explains the drinking. In a room full of 25 pool tables and over 150 people, I sat with my team, drinking, celebrating, and hoping beyond hope that we would play well enough to qualify to go to Vegas.
One of my teammates was considerably less sober than I and was chatting up some hot young stud from our first match. We all played and laughed and some were flirting with decidedly less-than-harmless banter. When she began putting quarters down my shirt for the benefit of aforementioned gentleman, I thought perhaps I should go find something else to do and excused myself. I mean, out with my husband singing karaoke is one thing. But alone in a strange town with a drunk gal putting money in my bra? Probably not where I want to be.
About an hour later, I looked up just in time to see her enter the restroom (a 2-stall restroom in a bar full of people) with this young man in tow. His friends dutifully guarded the door. His team captain was standing next to me and I relayed the information to him, letting him know I was headed over to deal with the situation and that he might want to have a conversation with his team member. Because a bathroom? Just yuck.
I walked in just in time to find another woman had entered and left, then grabbed a manager. We all arrived at the restroom at the same time, to a very pink-cheeked teammate of mine and her current boy toy exiting the stall. After cutting them both off (at 11 a.m.!!) and threatening to kick them out if they did it again, we all settled back in to our tables and got back to the job of shooting pool.
This is when I really got to consider what had just happened and how it had the potential to affect me and the life I want to live. Because I have chosen to associate myself with her, and because several folks had seen me talking to her (and her putting money down my shirt), I can't imagine what folks must have thought of ME. My morals. MY mindset. MY sobriety. And then I got upset. At myself.
While I am not usually one to care about what people think, there are times when it really does matter. Standing in front of 1200 people leading worship music at church, for example. Granted, nobody is sitting there thinking I shouldn't be leading because I sometimes go to (Gasp!) a bar for karaoke. That's not what it's about. But certain behaviors cross lines and if the folks I spend time with cross those lines regularly, what does that say about me?
I've tried to find myself in that environment. I've tried to fit in without breaking boundaries. I've tried to be the fun-loving redhead without crossing the lines I have drawn in the sand in my head. Wait. I don't have sand in my head. Mostly just rocks. Anyway, trying to fit someone else's idea of who I should be, whether in church or in a bar is not part of my whole plan of liking the person in the mirror. I'm not going to pick up strange men. Or women. I'm not going to drink until I throw up. I'm not going to be rowdy and raunchy (ok..maybe raunchy) and treat the men in the room as toys. Because while those may be good times, the path I'm walking leads away from all that. And toward the one thing that gives me true joy that lasts. True satisfaction. It completes me (tear!). And no amount of good-timing can compare to the feeing of being smack dab in the center of my purpose in life. It's pure bliss. And I won't give it up.
I walked through the forest and saw two paths in the road, and took the one on the right. The one with all those cool folks cheering me on and handing me a fresh drink. The one where everyone was having so! much! fun! Then, a bit down the path, I found it wasn't as fun as I thought it would be, and through the trees I can see, just barely, the other path I should have taken. And I really think I can get there from here. It's just through those trees.
The most difficult thing about leaving that part of myself behind is that I leave the people too. And some of them? I am pretty darned attached to. There are some that I know full well I will spend time with in other situations where I can stick to my guns, so to speak, and still be tight with good peeps. But some of them? In a few weeks they'll wonder where I've been. Why I don't come around. If I stopped caring for them. And that is where it hurts.
Come with me. There is so much more to life than the weekends at the bar. The dynamics of our relationship have to change. No question about it. But losing you competely? It's what has kept me from leaving the path this long. But if I don't go now, I will be left behind. I don't want to sit on a barstool when I'm 60 with a cigarette in one hand, a Jack & Diet in the other watching fishing shows on the teevee and wondering what happened to all my grand plans of changing the world.
The mirror isn't quite what I'd like it to be. Yet. But without you? I'm not sure I would like the reflection any more than I do now.
Crossroads suck. Which is why there are so many movies about them. And teevee shows.
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First of all, I wouldn't be a Follower if I didn't...well...follow somebody!
I do appreciate my readers! I know sometimes it doesn't feel like it, mainly because I blog sporadically and don't really follow any kind of pattern regarding subject matter. But to me, this is a reminder that my blog has successfully accomplished that which it set out to do-serve as a vessel for anything and everything I think and feel so that at some point I can look back and
I recently spent some time in my archives and began to wonder who had written these posts. First of all, some of them were funny! Actually humorous! As I read, I found some interesting insight into myself and my reasons for blogging. Because there is so much being said right now about it, I wanted to use my personal platform to express my personal views. And guess what? They're not about anything in particular. Just random stuff.
1. The tone, humor and subject matter of my blog seems to be directly related to what blogger I'm currently blog-crushing on. What does this say about me? That I'm a good mimic! I wouldn't have learned to sing if it hadn't been for mimicking Barbra Streisand records! And yes, they were those big vinyl kind. I know!
2. I don't go too deep. Unless you count the gash on my leg (which is healing slowly, but is a horribly disgusting deep hole in my shin nonetheless). The content of my posts rarely goes the depths to which I wish it would. I hear you, in your best Picard impersonation, say "Make it SO, number one!". I'm givin' her all she's got, cap'n. There are simply some things I can't share here. This is both a blessing and a hindrance, and I'm working on it. Like so many other things.
3. I need a better blogging platform. I know, already.
4. The very coolest folks come here and leave me encouragement. While I always say it's not about people reading me, but rather me writing me (if you follow!), it's always nice to hear that I'm not necessarily more than a few cards short of a deck and there really have been others who have felt like me. Just like me!
So thank you for sticking around. Thank you for not deleting my RSS feed. Thank you for your encouragement and your laughs.
Please know that I read all of your blogs. I try to comment on those who comment here, even if I have nothing witty to say. I support what we're all doing, no matter what our views are.
Little by little, you're all teaching me. And maybe...just maybe...someday I might be able to return the favor.
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I've come to realize, and please don't laugh, but I believe that true happiness is a fleeting emotion. And also? That there's nothing inherently wrong with that.
Like when you're driving to the lake at sunrise and you sit quietly, alone, on the bank watching the first thirty minutes of calm water as the sun creeps up over the mountain in the distance, bathing first the higher points, then the shadows with the warm and beautiful sunlight.
And then as you enter cell phone reception, you have four messages from your children begging you to come! home! now! because someone is bleeding or about to meet an untimely death.
Or that moment in the car with the man you have loved with your whole heart for the better part of thirteen years, and he looks at you with those big, brown eyes and smiles a smile that makes your heart melt and puts very naughty thoughts in your head. Then, like an idiot, you ask what he was thinking and he tells you he was contemplating going in to work early on Tuesday because some big wig is coming in and the store has to be in tip top shape. Fleeting, I tell you.
The kicker here is that we're fed such a line of crap. We're supposed to be in a constant state of bliss or there's something wrong with our life. It just isn't so, and don't you believe it.
Those moments when your heart is full and about to burst, those moments are the cherries on top, the diamonds in the rough...those are what make the rest of the rubbish worth trudging through. Those are the moments that we hold onto when we think life as we know it could come to a screeching halt. And those? Those are the moments I want to take with me when I go.
If life was comprised of nothing but everlasting joy all the time, how boring would that be?
Something to chew on...
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So I should totally be working. And I will. I promise. In a minute. I have things to say. And...well, I have a BLOG, so why not USE it! Novel idea, I know!
First, I must introduce you to the newest addition to my collection of permanent ink. Here is what it looked like freshly done (yes, it hurt!):
And here is what it looks like today, but don't judge the circle because this was taken at an odd angle, since the tattoo is on the back of my neck:
Here is what the logo looks like. I have written the folks at Brown University (it is the logo for their newspaper) to ask them what it means. I'm thinking I might have thought of that before having it permanently added to my body. Maybe.
Anyhoo...
The tattoo was in honor of a dear friend's birthday! He got the Loomis fish (said since he can't afford their fishing rods, he'd get their logo!). Happy Birthday, Lee! No, I am not posting that picture of me highlighting your hair. I would never imasculate you like that.
So other than scarring my body for life, what have I been up to of late? Working like a mad woman, fishing as often as possible, and watching far too much Deadliest Catch. I simply love that show! Those guys...it's like watching Axe Men. Yowza! Okay, so some of them aren't exactly total hotness. But some of them are ! Plus I feel really good about my life when I'm snuggled up all warm in my bed til noon watching guys throw 800 pound crab cages around in extremely rough seas while it's snowing.
Speaking of television, Nashville Star premiered Monday. It was harder to watch than I had expected. As my aforementioned dear friend said yesterday, "You said yourself you didnt' bring your A Game when you auditioned in Nashville...but you will next year." Point taken. I kicked serious ass in Portland, but when we were in Nashville, I was totally intimidated by the amazing amount of good-looking (and younger!) talent and let it get to me. Bottom line, I wasn't good enough to make the show. Not this time. Monday night's episode brought some tears and inspired a day of self-pity, but I think I'm pulling out of it enough now to fiercely attack the rest of my life and make it what I want.
So that's the last thing. I'm finished letting my life be out of control. There are aspects to it that I may not have total control over, but for the most part, I have allowed those things to take over and control me. No more, people! I've shown in the last year that food doesn't have the hold on me that it used to. So now? I'm going to alter the few meals I eat and see what I can do with this body! I'm going to try to get a little exersize so that the pain doesn't put me in bed for days at a time. I'm going to put plans in place for all the things that overwhelm me so that I am no longer caught off guard.
And most of all? I am going to make sure that the person I am when I go to bed at night is someone I like. Which is much different than liking the person I am in bed WITH at night. He's pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. And his butt? Wowie! Love ya babe!
So, while I am off to a grand start, you all are probably well aware that I tend to bite off more than I can chew sometimes, and I am expecting some aspects of my 'plan' to have to be altered. We'll see how it goes, but for now? I'm full of hope and ready to ROLL.
Here we go!
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