This is only tangentially related to my minor.
I majored in English in college because it was the coursework that I felt I could pursue without failing. I enjoy reading, and I enjoy discussing what I've read. I knew for sure that I didn't want to teach. Maybe somewhere along the way while watching Thirtysomething I thought, "I could go into advertising." My family never ]encouraged/acknowledged our adolescent career desires so I kept this to myself. I never actually thought, "There are industries where good writers are needed."
Hell no! I literally thought I can read and write . . . English it is!
Of course, you aren't allowed to take classes in only your concentration. Part of the benefit of being college educated is that you have a well-rounded world view and take courses that challenge and push you. But, I tried my damndest to choose electives that would just let me keep reading, writing and talking.
Once I got through the Requirements I was free to take the classes I wanted as long as they fit under my curriculum. My last two years of school were the best ever. I had to take an ass load of electives in an area of approved concentration. The feminist in me gravitated towards Womens' and Gender Studies. Also, this program cross-referenced a lot of courses with the English Department. As a result, I graduated with a Women's and Gender Studies Minor.
I loved it!!! I was with a group of women who revelled in their femaleness. They WERE NOT MAN HATERS, they simply refused to be seen as "lesser than" because they had ovaries. It was a wonderful time to be a young woman in my 20s. We weren't Gloria Steinem or Betty Freidan or Belle Hooks, but we sure felt we had the potential to be.
So here I was surrounded by all of this amazing female energy and I don't ever remember being exposed to: L7, The Indigo Girls, Lucinda Williams, Ani DiFranco . . .
What the fuck happened to my musical education?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
Things you never forget
In 2004, New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey held a press conference to announce that he is a gay american. That wasn't really the BIG bombshell.The issues here were that he was married to Dina McGreevey and McGreevey had given his Israeli lover, Golan Cipel a key position as New Jersey's Homeland Security Advisor. Ruh roh.
What I remember about McGreevey's coming out is that his wife Dina was on stage WITH HIM during the press conference. From the look on Mrs. McGreevey's face you KNEW that even she hadn't had enough time to process the information. Maybe she was thinking, "Is this really happening? Am I in the middle of an awful dream?" There were allegations that Dina willingly engagned in threesomes with her husband.
Here is Dina's statement regarding how she felt when he told her privately: Dina says she was in shock after what Jim had told her. "It was all so new, and it just hit me like a ton of bricks, and I wasn't absorbing it," she says. "I just started to cry, and I said to him, 'What does that mean for us?' And he said, 'I need you more than ever.' … He had tears in his eyes, and I was just sobbing."
This is how I remember finding out about my ex-husband. He's there saying these words and you just sort of here this buzzing sound that you hope is not a warning sign that you are about to pass out. You hear it and you think, "I can't handle this right now." You can't handle what you are hearing, how you have to process it, or how you have to react to it. It's impossible.
In an interview given on Good Morning America Dina McGreevey says, "You know he had the entire day [that he resigned] scripted. His entire life had been choreographed, and even as his world was falling apart, he was still trying to script everything and making sure that day went as he wanted it."
This infuriates me. You are, after all, still an actor in his play so he is going to tell you how this is going to go. And you go along with it. Maybe because he is a master-manipulator, but mostly because you are so shell-shocked you don't know what to think. You ask yourself, "How can I handle this with dignity." What you really want to be doing is beating the mother fucker on the back of the head with an iron skillet.
I've been in Dina's shoes. I wonder what she was thinking while she stood next to him on that stage. Was she thinking, "Awwwww, helllllls NO! Somebody better come take my earrings cuz this here is about to get nasty!" I really thought she looked frightened. But now, she's been asked to stand by him and that she has to be "Jackie Kennedy" during this. I love the occasional pictures of Dina off to the right and just behind McGreevey. She is totally giving him the side-eye!
Oprah asks Dina: Did Jim apologize? "If that's what you call it," Dina says. "It was a pathetic attempt at an apology."
A few days after the news conference, Dina says she and Jim went away for the weekend to escape the press. "I had complained to some of his friends that he had never apologized," she says. "And he came back into the room and said, 'For the record, I apologize.' And that was like a slap in the face. I mean, I rather would have had him not say anything."
I did this. I asked, "Are you sorry?" He said, "Yes." I said, "But you're really sorry you got caught, not that you did it." He said,"Yes." A slap in the face indeed.
At some point my ex made some sort of remark about how he had never allowed me to get to really know him. That he had hidden such an essential part of himself that he had never really been himself with me.
I can look back at this time in my life and see that the "essential part of himself" is pretty clear to me now. If I had known he was so incapable of remorse I would never have entered into that relathionship much less that marriage. But a good manipulator never lets you see his tricks. You just fall for the illusion.
Why write this now? Because this is a difficult time of the year for me. Without realizing what is going on, I start to feel this nebulous anxiety. As if at an moment I'm going to crash into another brick wall. I'm just trying to acknowledge the feelings, process them and move on.
What I remember about McGreevey's coming out is that his wife Dina was on stage WITH HIM during the press conference. From the look on Mrs. McGreevey's face you KNEW that even she hadn't had enough time to process the information. Maybe she was thinking, "Is this really happening? Am I in the middle of an awful dream?" There were allegations that Dina willingly engagned in threesomes with her husband.
Here is Dina's statement regarding how she felt when he told her privately: Dina says she was in shock after what Jim had told her. "It was all so new, and it just hit me like a ton of bricks, and I wasn't absorbing it," she says. "I just started to cry, and I said to him, 'What does that mean for us?' And he said, 'I need you more than ever.' … He had tears in his eyes, and I was just sobbing."
This is how I remember finding out about my ex-husband. He's there saying these words and you just sort of here this buzzing sound that you hope is not a warning sign that you are about to pass out. You hear it and you think, "I can't handle this right now." You can't handle what you are hearing, how you have to process it, or how you have to react to it. It's impossible.
In an interview given on Good Morning America Dina McGreevey says, "You know he had the entire day [that he resigned] scripted. His entire life had been choreographed, and even as his world was falling apart, he was still trying to script everything and making sure that day went as he wanted it."
This infuriates me. You are, after all, still an actor in his play so he is going to tell you how this is going to go. And you go along with it. Maybe because he is a master-manipulator, but mostly because you are so shell-shocked you don't know what to think. You ask yourself, "How can I handle this with dignity." What you really want to be doing is beating the mother fucker on the back of the head with an iron skillet.
I've been in Dina's shoes. I wonder what she was thinking while she stood next to him on that stage. Was she thinking, "Awwwww, helllllls NO! Somebody better come take my earrings cuz this here is about to get nasty!" I really thought she looked frightened. But now, she's been asked to stand by him and that she has to be "Jackie Kennedy" during this. I love the occasional pictures of Dina off to the right and just behind McGreevey. She is totally giving him the side-eye!
Oprah asks Dina: Did Jim apologize? "If that's what you call it," Dina says. "It was a pathetic attempt at an apology."
A few days after the news conference, Dina says she and Jim went away for the weekend to escape the press. "I had complained to some of his friends that he had never apologized," she says. "And he came back into the room and said, 'For the record, I apologize.' And that was like a slap in the face. I mean, I rather would have had him not say anything."
I did this. I asked, "Are you sorry?" He said, "Yes." I said, "But you're really sorry you got caught, not that you did it." He said,"Yes." A slap in the face indeed.
At some point my ex made some sort of remark about how he had never allowed me to get to really know him. That he had hidden such an essential part of himself that he had never really been himself with me.
I can look back at this time in my life and see that the "essential part of himself" is pretty clear to me now. If I had known he was so incapable of remorse I would never have entered into that relathionship much less that marriage. But a good manipulator never lets you see his tricks. You just fall for the illusion.
Why write this now? Because this is a difficult time of the year for me. Without realizing what is going on, I start to feel this nebulous anxiety. As if at an moment I'm going to crash into another brick wall. I'm just trying to acknowledge the feelings, process them and move on.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
First Anniversary
It's the first anniversary of my employment where I work. I'm excited, but mostly relieved because I work at a place where people like and respect me. I'm also comfortable there. I really do love my job, but I'm still asking myself, "Is there more?" What am I waiting for? Is it passing me by without me realizing it?
I think I may have mentioned this in an earlier post. When I was in college I did a research paper on women's diaries. It was interesting. What I found was that:
* Women write in their diaries in spurts.
* If there are significant life events happening, a woman will write, write write
* If life is plugging along at a normal pace then women don't pick up their diary as much.
* Women don't tell the truth in their diaries. Not the entire truth.
The thing of it is, if you write it down then you have placed yourself in a vulnerable position by committing to paper your private thoughts.It's worse if you are using something that looks like a like a diary or journal. What's more tempting for a snoop that someone's deepest darkest thoughts.
So, even in a journal women still feel too inhibitied to speak the truth. Writing our thoughts means it's out there for someone to find. It's no longer theirs.
What do I do now? Really tell the truth? Mention that sometimes I really do wish I could just lay down and die. I'm not suicidal, I don't think. But I do just want to check out.
I look at my fat body and even though it continues to amaze me in its adaptability, I wish I was in someone else's skin. I hide when I see a camera or mirror. Is this really what you want to hear? That sometimes just the thought of dishes in the sink or laundry in the basket completely overwhelms me.
I think I may have mentioned this in an earlier post. When I was in college I did a research paper on women's diaries. It was interesting. What I found was that:
* Women write in their diaries in spurts.
* If there are significant life events happening, a woman will write, write write
* If life is plugging along at a normal pace then women don't pick up their diary as much.
* Women don't tell the truth in their diaries. Not the entire truth.
The thing of it is, if you write it down then you have placed yourself in a vulnerable position by committing to paper your private thoughts.It's worse if you are using something that looks like a like a diary or journal. What's more tempting for a snoop that someone's deepest darkest thoughts.
So, even in a journal women still feel too inhibitied to speak the truth. Writing our thoughts means it's out there for someone to find. It's no longer theirs.
What do I do now? Really tell the truth? Mention that sometimes I really do wish I could just lay down and die. I'm not suicidal, I don't think. But I do just want to check out.
I look at my fat body and even though it continues to amaze me in its adaptability, I wish I was in someone else's skin. I hide when I see a camera or mirror. Is this really what you want to hear? That sometimes just the thought of dishes in the sink or laundry in the basket completely overwhelms me.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Sometimes I don't feel like my life fits me. I love my husband, I enjoy my job, but I'm itching to do something else.
Some friends would tell me it's time to write my novel . . . I don't even know what I'd write. I can barely put words together for this blog.
This blog . . . blogging . . . it feels so over. I guess it matters. Sometimes it gives me a little sanity by letting me empty out the worries that are cluttering my brain.
I just don't know who where I'm supposed to be right now.
Should I be writing more? About what? Just writing?
Blergh!
Some friends would tell me it's time to write my novel . . . I don't even know what I'd write. I can barely put words together for this blog.
This blog . . . blogging . . . it feels so over. I guess it matters. Sometimes it gives me a little sanity by letting me empty out the worries that are cluttering my brain.
I just don't know who where I'm supposed to be right now.
Should I be writing more? About what? Just writing?
Blergh!
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Making Friends is Hard.
I don't go out of my way to make friends at a new job. Not because I'm unfriendly, but mostly because I want to make a good impression and keep my head bent to get the job done. I'm also pretty introverted around people I don't know well. Which, I guess is the problem, how will you ever get to know anyone well if you keep to yourself.
People who don't know me very well usually describe me as sweet or nice. The thing is, I'm really more acerbic than sweet. I get along with other people just fine, but my internal monologue is not for the thin skinned.
When I first started my current job I found out they offered a "boot camp" workout. I guess being in a new environment made me brave because I signed up for the damn class. It was eight weeks of intense workouts with people I didn't know. I did it to network with a small group of people. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. It's hard to have a conversation when you're gasping for breath. Also, the boot camp people were so damn wholesome.
I still don't have a huge circle of friends at work, but there are a few people who pop their heads into my office just to chat. The two people I'm REALLY close with I cyber-stalked on Facebook before approaching them in person. That sounds a lot creepier than what I actually did, but if you're really an introvert I think you know what I mean.
I hope.
One person I "friended" on FB and realized that he and I have a lot of the same friends, but we've never met. He even knows my neighbors! We'd chatted a few times at work and gone to lunch together when one day he stopped by my office and said, "I'm always at ___ on Friday nights, so if you and your husband want to stop by join us! It's a standing invitation!" I know this sounds infantile, but I was really excited because it means he really likes me! We've since met him on Friday nights and had a fantastic time.
The other person I'm close with at work has been a pleasant surprise. There was a woman I kept running into around my side of town. I mean at the gym, Wal-Mart, the flea market . . . I figured it would be good to know her because she must live near me and it's good to know someone who can give you a ride to work if you need it. It turns out she lives less than five minutes away from me, and she's awesome!
We have the same sense of humor, and we're both wretchedly inappropriate. If we're together you can bet we're giggling. She's also got a foul mouth, so you know I feel right at home! We've already gotten together after work to share a bottle of wine and kvetch about work.
So, that's what's been going on with me. Working and making friends.
People who don't know me very well usually describe me as sweet or nice. The thing is, I'm really more acerbic than sweet. I get along with other people just fine, but my internal monologue is not for the thin skinned.
When I first started my current job I found out they offered a "boot camp" workout. I guess being in a new environment made me brave because I signed up for the damn class. It was eight weeks of intense workouts with people I didn't know. I did it to network with a small group of people. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. It's hard to have a conversation when you're gasping for breath. Also, the boot camp people were so damn wholesome.
I still don't have a huge circle of friends at work, but there are a few people who pop their heads into my office just to chat. The two people I'm REALLY close with I cyber-stalked on Facebook before approaching them in person. That sounds a lot creepier than what I actually did, but if you're really an introvert I think you know what I mean.
I hope.
One person I "friended" on FB and realized that he and I have a lot of the same friends, but we've never met. He even knows my neighbors! We'd chatted a few times at work and gone to lunch together when one day he stopped by my office and said, "I'm always at ___ on Friday nights, so if you and your husband want to stop by join us! It's a standing invitation!" I know this sounds infantile, but I was really excited because it means he really likes me! We've since met him on Friday nights and had a fantastic time.
The other person I'm close with at work has been a pleasant surprise. There was a woman I kept running into around my side of town. I mean at the gym, Wal-Mart, the flea market . . . I figured it would be good to know her because she must live near me and it's good to know someone who can give you a ride to work if you need it. It turns out she lives less than five minutes away from me, and she's awesome!
We have the same sense of humor, and we're both wretchedly inappropriate. If we're together you can bet we're giggling. She's also got a foul mouth, so you know I feel right at home! We've already gotten together after work to share a bottle of wine and kvetch about work.
So, that's what's been going on with me. Working and making friends.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Let's Talk About Sex
I watch a lot of teen dramas and the way the "first time" is approached always interests me.
I saw Little Darlings a few days ago and the way Kristy McNichol looks after her character has had sex for the first time just makes me want to hug her. She just looks so awful. As a girl, you're force fed this line that sex is beautiful and amazing.
The first time though it just isn't. It's awkward. It's uncomfortable. It feels like a violation. Someone has literally been inside of you.
Don't get me wrong: I like sex now. I even think sex isn't really a big deal once you've done it. But why does it have to be so weird in the beginning.
The other thing I don't get about tv is that young couples always go from making out to sex. There is never any in-between. There is no third base - just sliding into home plate. I had a lovely boyfriend when I was 18. He was younger, but let's say he'd had a lot of girlfriends. He never pressured me to have sex with him, but we fooled around.
He was the best boyfriend a virgin teenage girl could ask for. He was sweet, kind and gentle. He taught me the importance of intimacy. I never slept with him, but I wish that I had. I wish my first time would have been with someone who made me feel safe in his arms. Someone who would have held me afterwards and made sure I was okay. But, I ran from him. Probably because my feelings for him were so big they scared me.
Instead I slept with the wrong choice in a nasty boy's dorm. I desrved better.
If I had to speak to a class full of high school girls I would tell them: in the end, sex isn't really a big deal. Make sure you're safe and that you know what you want. But that first time, don't just do it to get it over with. Do your best to make sure you feel secure and respected that first time.
I saw Little Darlings a few days ago and the way Kristy McNichol looks after her character has had sex for the first time just makes me want to hug her. She just looks so awful. As a girl, you're force fed this line that sex is beautiful and amazing.
The first time though it just isn't. It's awkward. It's uncomfortable. It feels like a violation. Someone has literally been inside of you.
Don't get me wrong: I like sex now. I even think sex isn't really a big deal once you've done it. But why does it have to be so weird in the beginning.
The other thing I don't get about tv is that young couples always go from making out to sex. There is never any in-between. There is no third base - just sliding into home plate. I had a lovely boyfriend when I was 18. He was younger, but let's say he'd had a lot of girlfriends. He never pressured me to have sex with him, but we fooled around.
He was the best boyfriend a virgin teenage girl could ask for. He was sweet, kind and gentle. He taught me the importance of intimacy. I never slept with him, but I wish that I had. I wish my first time would have been with someone who made me feel safe in his arms. Someone who would have held me afterwards and made sure I was okay. But, I ran from him. Probably because my feelings for him were so big they scared me.
Instead I slept with the wrong choice in a nasty boy's dorm. I desrved better.
If I had to speak to a class full of high school girls I would tell them: in the end, sex isn't really a big deal. Make sure you're safe and that you know what you want. But that first time, don't just do it to get it over with. Do your best to make sure you feel secure and respected that first time.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Happy Easter! Bock, Bock
I don't live FAR from home, but I live far enough away that visiting is considered a trip. This is the first year in a number of years that my parents haven't visited me for Easter. I am lucky that my parents are still able to make the 4.5 hour drive, and while I love them with all my heart sometimes it's nice to celebrate a holiday on your own.
On the downside, I don't have an Easter basket this year. I know! I'm 35 and I can get my own damn basket, but it's sweet getting one from mom.
I celebrated Easter in the garden this year. I keep thinking the butterfly garden is DONE and then another plant catches my eye. Today it was Joystick Lilac. Ages ago I told my therapist that I didn't think suicidal people gardened. Maybe I was saying it to reassure myself that while I was depressed, I was okay.
I still think this though. Sure, it overly simplifies a complicated issue but think about it. Planting a garden means that you are looking forward to watching something thrive. Not only are you looking forward to it, you're planning to stick around and help it.
I finally got around to weeding and planting the vegetable garden, too. I have the worst farmer's tan I've ever had in my life, and I'm really tired. Even though I want a nap something awful, I had a great time today.
I love this time of year. The dogwood is in full bloom and the azalea bushes are loaded with buds. A lot of the things that I planted last year are coming back to life.
I didn't spend Easter Sunday in church, but believe me when I tell you I was surrounded by the power of resurrection.
On the downside, I don't have an Easter basket this year. I know! I'm 35 and I can get my own damn basket, but it's sweet getting one from mom.
I celebrated Easter in the garden this year. I keep thinking the butterfly garden is DONE and then another plant catches my eye. Today it was Joystick Lilac. Ages ago I told my therapist that I didn't think suicidal people gardened. Maybe I was saying it to reassure myself that while I was depressed, I was okay.
I still think this though. Sure, it overly simplifies a complicated issue but think about it. Planting a garden means that you are looking forward to watching something thrive. Not only are you looking forward to it, you're planning to stick around and help it.
I finally got around to weeding and planting the vegetable garden, too. I have the worst farmer's tan I've ever had in my life, and I'm really tired. Even though I want a nap something awful, I had a great time today.
I love this time of year. The dogwood is in full bloom and the azalea bushes are loaded with buds. A lot of the things that I planted last year are coming back to life.
I didn't spend Easter Sunday in church, but believe me when I tell you I was surrounded by the power of resurrection.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Gardening
I didn't grow up working in the garden. My mom had a small bed where she'd plant impatience and we had a lot of potted plants in our house.
It hasn't been until the last few years that I've really enjoyed getting in the yard and planning what I'm going to nurture and grow.
I have huge plans for the front bed. The pink azaleas will be blooming soon. The purple and gold pansies are teasing my Alabama neighbors. I split the double-bearded irises so I don't think they will bloom this year, but I'll wait. It will be worth it. The lilies are also doing something a little different this year, too.
I've also put in some lantana, petunias, electric lime coleus and caladiums. I can't wait to see what happens!
It hasn't been until the last few years that I've really enjoyed getting in the yard and planning what I'm going to nurture and grow.
I have huge plans for the front bed. The pink azaleas will be blooming soon. The purple and gold pansies are teasing my Alabama neighbors. I split the double-bearded irises so I don't think they will bloom this year, but I'll wait. It will be worth it. The lilies are also doing something a little different this year, too.
I've also put in some lantana, petunias, electric lime coleus and caladiums. I can't wait to see what happens!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Recently I found out a girl I was friends with in elementary school committed suicide.
We weren't best friends, but she did spend the night at my house at least once, and since we lived down the street from each other we hung out some.
I hadn't seen her since the eighth grade, so this isn't aobut how I wish I could have saved her.
I found her obituary and went to the website for the funeral home. There is a place there where you can leave condolences for the family. A lot of them referred to her "being released from her pain" and that she was "lost." Friends that I have talked to have said that she was bipolar. There are medications for bipolar disorder, but those who have this disease have an awful time staying on it. As excruciating as the downs are, the ups are so fantastic they seem worth the downs. It's really an incidious disease.
It breaks my heart that this beautiful young woman, with her dark bouncy curls and sparkling green eyes, was in so much pain that suicide seemed like the only viable answer. After you've been depressed long enough you know how to play at being "normal." My own therapist didn't even know how badly I was doing until I let it slip that I'd been getting home every evening and crawling into bed. I knew it was bad and I didn't want him to know everything. Was she play-acting up until her final days?
I'm better now. I don't just walk through the door and go straight for the bed. When I get home I go in the backyard and play with the dogs. I take the time to enjoy the feeling of the warm sun on my skin. I walk around the garden to see what's coming up. But, when things were bad I did find myself in a spiral of negative thinking, "Is this all there is? I just wake up, go to work, come home, go to bed and start it all over again. Day after day, after day . . . " But that's NOT all I do, it's just all that I could see then.
I just wish she had been able to stop the spiraling. I wish she'd been able to get off the ride without unclipping the safety harness.
We weren't best friends, but she did spend the night at my house at least once, and since we lived down the street from each other we hung out some.
I hadn't seen her since the eighth grade, so this isn't aobut how I wish I could have saved her.
I found her obituary and went to the website for the funeral home. There is a place there where you can leave condolences for the family. A lot of them referred to her "being released from her pain" and that she was "lost." Friends that I have talked to have said that she was bipolar. There are medications for bipolar disorder, but those who have this disease have an awful time staying on it. As excruciating as the downs are, the ups are so fantastic they seem worth the downs. It's really an incidious disease.
It breaks my heart that this beautiful young woman, with her dark bouncy curls and sparkling green eyes, was in so much pain that suicide seemed like the only viable answer. After you've been depressed long enough you know how to play at being "normal." My own therapist didn't even know how badly I was doing until I let it slip that I'd been getting home every evening and crawling into bed. I knew it was bad and I didn't want him to know everything. Was she play-acting up until her final days?
I'm better now. I don't just walk through the door and go straight for the bed. When I get home I go in the backyard and play with the dogs. I take the time to enjoy the feeling of the warm sun on my skin. I walk around the garden to see what's coming up. But, when things were bad I did find myself in a spiral of negative thinking, "Is this all there is? I just wake up, go to work, come home, go to bed and start it all over again. Day after day, after day . . . " But that's NOT all I do, it's just all that I could see then.
I just wish she had been able to stop the spiraling. I wish she'd been able to get off the ride without unclipping the safety harness.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Monday, March 08, 2010
35
A friend of mine from high school turned 35. My friend Michelle turns 35 on the 11th and I turn 35 on the 18th.
When I turned 30 it didn't bother me. In fact, I celebrated it. Maybe though it's because I was free of my ex.
But whatever, you know.
I don't even want children, and yet I envy my friends that have had them. At least they can look at their children as something they created. An indelible mark that they existed. Proof that they were here.
What have I done? What will I leave behind?
When I turned 30 it didn't bother me. In fact, I celebrated it. Maybe though it's because I was free of my ex.
But whatever, you know.
I don't even want children, and yet I envy my friends that have had them. At least they can look at their children as something they created. An indelible mark that they existed. Proof that they were here.
What have I done? What will I leave behind?
Friday, February 19, 2010
'Cause You Gotta Have . . . Friends
The last three days have been AWESOME!
My friend B has been in Montgomery, and it's been almost a decade since I last saw him. We chat on Facebook, but it's not the same as getting to hang out with someone.
Steve, B and I hung out at the house tonight, ate homemade jambalaya and watched a movie. 10 minutes after sitting on the sofa and tucking into a bowl of jambalaya, B relaxed into the sofa, kicked off his shoes and propped his feet up on the steamer trunk. Just like old times, but better.
My heart grew three sizes.
My friend B has been in Montgomery, and it's been almost a decade since I last saw him. We chat on Facebook, but it's not the same as getting to hang out with someone.
Steve, B and I hung out at the house tonight, ate homemade jambalaya and watched a movie. 10 minutes after sitting on the sofa and tucking into a bowl of jambalaya, B relaxed into the sofa, kicked off his shoes and propped his feet up on the steamer trunk. Just like old times, but better.
My heart grew three sizes.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Just a Man
At some point you realize your parents are just people. Real people with flaws who don't have any special powers. It's a normal part of growing up.
But, I don't even like my father as a person.
What now?
But, I don't even like my father as a person.
What now?
Sunday, January 24, 2010
" .... go marching in."
As Hartley's kick headed straight at the center of those uprights I remained silent. I just waited because even though it looked good you just never know. It could be short. I've seen that.
And then it happened: THE SAINTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!
Those boys made me cry again, only these are tears of joy.
I want to believe. I want to say, "They have really changed. This time it really IS different."
I want it to be.
Please let it be.
Who DAT!!!!!
And then it happened: THE SAINTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!
Those boys made me cry again, only these are tears of joy.
I want to believe. I want to say, "They have really changed. This time it really IS different."
I want it to be.
Please let it be.
Who DAT!!!!!
Oh When the Saints . . .
I've been a Saints fan since elementary school.
I wanted so much to be the apple of my father's eye that I'd watch the games with him. I didn't get what was going on, but I'd listen intently as he absent-mindedly explained the game to me. It took me years before I really understood what was going on.
My patience paid off because as I got older my dad would take me to the Superdome to watch the games. Being the world's biggest cheapskate we only went when someone in his office decided not to use his tickets. The Saints were not a winning team at the time so we went to a number of games.
I can still hear the crack of the helmets when they smack against each other. The sound of a perfectly kicked field goal. Morten Andersen was our only hope: The Great Dane.
You learn a lot of lessons as a Saints fan.
You learn about persistence, loyalty, hope. If you've been a fan for any length of time you realize you can't be a fair-weather fan. Loving the Saints also means learning to accept disapointment, loss and heartache.
Even knowing that, I let myself dream. The 2006/2007 season felt like the payoff after all those years of being a fan. We were so close and then on January 21, 2007 when the Saints lost 39–14 to the Chicago Bears in the NFC Championship game something happened.
I was running errands near the end of the game, and I was listening to it on the radio. Parked in the lot of Petsmart I laid my head on the steering wheel, and I cried like a baby.
I am not even kidding when I tell you that up until that point I fantasized about the announcer yelling, "And the SAINTS have won the Super Bowl."
I felt like a fool for crying over a game, but even worse I felt like a fool for allowing myself to even think WINNING the Super Bowl was a possibility. Since then I've taken the whole "Fool me once . . . " attitude towards the Saints. Then this season happened.
I told my mom that I broke up with the Saints because it's too much like staying with an abusive boyfriend. Year after year you tell yourself, "This time it will be different," and then they go and break your heart again. Even with the score at Saints 45-14 with a two-minute warning I was certain the Saints would blow it last week. But they didn't.
Now here we are.
I wanted so much to be the apple of my father's eye that I'd watch the games with him. I didn't get what was going on, but I'd listen intently as he absent-mindedly explained the game to me. It took me years before I really understood what was going on.
My patience paid off because as I got older my dad would take me to the Superdome to watch the games. Being the world's biggest cheapskate we only went when someone in his office decided not to use his tickets. The Saints were not a winning team at the time so we went to a number of games.
I can still hear the crack of the helmets when they smack against each other. The sound of a perfectly kicked field goal. Morten Andersen was our only hope: The Great Dane.
You learn a lot of lessons as a Saints fan.
You learn about persistence, loyalty, hope. If you've been a fan for any length of time you realize you can't be a fair-weather fan. Loving the Saints also means learning to accept disapointment, loss and heartache.
Even knowing that, I let myself dream. The 2006/2007 season felt like the payoff after all those years of being a fan. We were so close and then on January 21, 2007 when the Saints lost 39–14 to the Chicago Bears in the NFC Championship game something happened.
I was running errands near the end of the game, and I was listening to it on the radio. Parked in the lot of Petsmart I laid my head on the steering wheel, and I cried like a baby.
I am not even kidding when I tell you that up until that point I fantasized about the announcer yelling, "And the SAINTS have won the Super Bowl."
I felt like a fool for crying over a game, but even worse I felt like a fool for allowing myself to even think WINNING the Super Bowl was a possibility. Since then I've taken the whole "Fool me once . . . " attitude towards the Saints. Then this season happened.
I told my mom that I broke up with the Saints because it's too much like staying with an abusive boyfriend. Year after year you tell yourself, "This time it will be different," and then they go and break your heart again. Even with the score at Saints 45-14 with a two-minute warning I was certain the Saints would blow it last week. But they didn't.
Now here we are.
Monday, January 04, 2010
Fashion Faux Pas
I grew up in the 80s and started to care about fashion in the 90s. Please understand that when I say "care" I really just mean I became aware that clothes were for more than just covering up.
I loved Madonna's Like a Virgin look, but I knew I couldn't pull it off. Sadly, I tried. Then I saw Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink. In Sixteen Candles she had that great hat and the navy blue shirt and long skirt. I tried to pick clothes that had similar silhouettes, but they just made me like I was on a day trip from "the home."
Then I really wanted to look like her in Breakfast Club. Of course, she was covered in head-to-toe Ralph Lauren. But . . . oh . . . those boots she wore in that movie: I still covet them.
Or course, who can forget the wardrobe she had in Pretty in Pink. Andy was living Project Runway. The prom dress though? Yeah, not so much. Still though, I wanted to wear those cute little thrift store outfits, but I just looked homeless.
I'm still trying to figure out my
I loved Madonna's Like a Virgin look, but I knew I couldn't pull it off. Sadly, I tried. Then I saw Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink. In Sixteen Candles she had that great hat and the navy blue shirt and long skirt. I tried to pick clothes that had similar silhouettes, but they just made me like I was on a day trip from "the home."
Then I really wanted to look like her in Breakfast Club. Of course, she was covered in head-to-toe Ralph Lauren. But . . . oh . . . those boots she wore in that movie: I still covet them.
Or course, who can forget the wardrobe she had in Pretty in Pink. Andy was living Project Runway. The prom dress though? Yeah, not so much. Still though, I wanted to wear those cute little thrift store outfits, but I just looked homeless.
I'm still trying to figure out my
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