Sarah Palin's daughter, Bristol, recently gave her first interview since giving birth in December. Palin said that ONLY telling young people to be abstinent is "not realistic at all."
Well, la dee dah. At least one of the Palins has a lick of sense on this issue. Too bad it's the one who is already a teenage mother.
I felt sorry for Bristol when it was announced she was pregnant. I knew the media would drag her through the mud throughout the election. She would become a poster child for both pro-lifers and those who oppose abstinence only sex-ed. As if the entire experience wasn't hard enough, Bristol was forced into the spotlight by both political parties, every media outlet in the country and even her own mother.
I thought Bristol handled the entire debacle with grace and dignity, despite the scrutiny she faced and the offhand, ignorant comments of the baby's father. I never once criticized her for her poor choices, but I did criticize her mother who has been a supporter of abstinence only education. Surely--surely--this will change Sarah Palin's views on the need for REAL sex education in schools. Her own daughter says that abstinence ONLY is unrealistic. This is a teenager who has not only been taught abstinence in schools but has undoubtedly heard the same speech at home and at her church. She didn't listen. She's not some poor white trash girl who doesn't know better. Her parents profess to be Christians. She comes from a "traditional" family. Her mother is the governor. She didn't listen.
I've been doing this same song and dance for years, but people still insist that it is wrong, even sinful, to teach anything but abstinence. It's just not working. Show me a kid who is waiting until marriage and I'll show you THREE of my students who are pregnant right now and dozens more who have had abortions or miscarriages.
Yes, teach them to wait. Beg them to wait. Hell, bribe them to wait. But just accept that many of them won't. We have to do everything we can to protect them, to protect their futures, protect their health. There has to be education for those who don't want to wait. When will our society recognize that their views are not only antiquated but simply flawed? People may reminisce about the good old days, but there has NEVER been a time when there weren't young people having sex outside of marriage. I'm not saying you have to accept it, but you have to accept that it's happening.
Bristol, I hope someone listens to you. If there's anyone qualified to speak out on this issue, it's you.
Now go get yourself a nap.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Joys of Teaching
Sooo.... this kid put his hands on me today. Wanna hear about it?
I have this kid in class (let's call him Frank). Frank has been a problem this year. Frank's mother and I have spoken on numerous occasions, but Frank's behavior never improves for more than a few days.
Today, the students were working in groups. At the beginning of class, I was going over directions. Frank and his two group mates would not stop talking. I asked them at least four times--calmly--to stop talking, listen, hush, pay attention, etc. The final time they ignored me and continued talking, I said, "Since you don't cooperate when I ask you politely, then how about 'shut-up'? Do you understand that word?" Okay, not the most "teacherly" thing to say, but I'd had enough. We hadn't even been in class 10 minutes.
Frank grew very angry and began cussing me. I went to the button to pus the office button to let them know I was sending him down. While I was waiting for the office to respond, he walked across the room toward the door. He was still cussing. I decided it would be best to call for an escort and told him to stay put. He walked up to me and put his hands on both of of my arms beneath my shoulders. I stared in his eyes and he quickly removed his hands saying, "I let go, I let go." The office finally came over the intercom and I told them to send an administrator because a student had put his hands on me. He kept insisting he'd removed his hands, but he backed off.
The administrator came to my room, and I told him what happened (including my "shut-up" comment). He asked if I wanted to press charges. I said give me a little while to cool down.
Turns out they arrested him. He won't be coming back, at least not this year and CERTAINLY not to my classroom.
The sad thing is I was angry but not shocked or upset or crying or anything. Another teacher said it means I'm officially jaded.
Maybe I am...
I have this kid in class (let's call him Frank). Frank has been a problem this year. Frank's mother and I have spoken on numerous occasions, but Frank's behavior never improves for more than a few days.
Today, the students were working in groups. At the beginning of class, I was going over directions. Frank and his two group mates would not stop talking. I asked them at least four times--calmly--to stop talking, listen, hush, pay attention, etc. The final time they ignored me and continued talking, I said, "Since you don't cooperate when I ask you politely, then how about 'shut-up'? Do you understand that word?" Okay, not the most "teacherly" thing to say, but I'd had enough. We hadn't even been in class 10 minutes.
Frank grew very angry and began cussing me. I went to the button to pus the office button to let them know I was sending him down. While I was waiting for the office to respond, he walked across the room toward the door. He was still cussing. I decided it would be best to call for an escort and told him to stay put. He walked up to me and put his hands on both of of my arms beneath my shoulders. I stared in his eyes and he quickly removed his hands saying, "I let go, I let go." The office finally came over the intercom and I told them to send an administrator because a student had put his hands on me. He kept insisting he'd removed his hands, but he backed off.
The administrator came to my room, and I told him what happened (including my "shut-up" comment). He asked if I wanted to press charges. I said give me a little while to cool down.
Turns out they arrested him. He won't be coming back, at least not this year and CERTAINLY not to my classroom.
The sad thing is I was angry but not shocked or upset or crying or anything. Another teacher said it means I'm officially jaded.
Maybe I am...
Eyes Sewn Shut (Part Five)
After graduation, Lora and Celeste went their separate ways to college—Celeste back to Kentucky and Lora to a university in Missouri. They promised to call and email every day, but deep down, both knew that things would never be the same. Celeste planned on joining her mother and grandmother’s old sorority. She would have tons of new “sisters” and best friends to take up her time.
After saying goodbye to Celeste on their last Saturday together, Lora’s mother found her crying in her bedroom.
“Honey, it’s okay. You and Celeste will still be friends.””But she’s my best friend. My only best friend.””I know, but you’ll have other friends, even other best ones.””I never thought I’d have one, though. What if I can’t get another one?””You will, I promise you will. You and Celeste started out as friends and eventually became best friends. It will happen again.” She kissed her daughter on the head and quietly left the room. After a few minutes, Lora went to her desk and opened up the photo album that she and Celeste had made the previous year. Flipping through, she tried to remember how she and Celeste had become best friends. What had made their relationship different? Toward the middle of the book, Lora paused on a picture of Celeste and her father. Though she had sworn she was done with him, he managed to persuade her to visit each Christmas. Celeste had sent the picture as proof of her misery. Though her father was smiling—one arm around his daughter, the other around his new wife—Celeste looked only moments away from recreating the Lizzie Borden crime scene.
That’s it, Lora thought, that’s when she told me I was her best friend. It was after her dad left. I was there for her when she was sad. I helped her get through the divorce.
Lora closed the album and sat down at her desk. For the first time in weeks, she felt hopeful.
I can have another best friend. I just need to find someone who needs one.
After saying goodbye to Celeste on their last Saturday together, Lora’s mother found her crying in her bedroom.
“Honey, it’s okay. You and Celeste will still be friends.””But she’s my best friend. My only best friend.””I know, but you’ll have other friends, even other best ones.””I never thought I’d have one, though. What if I can’t get another one?””You will, I promise you will. You and Celeste started out as friends and eventually became best friends. It will happen again.” She kissed her daughter on the head and quietly left the room. After a few minutes, Lora went to her desk and opened up the photo album that she and Celeste had made the previous year. Flipping through, she tried to remember how she and Celeste had become best friends. What had made their relationship different? Toward the middle of the book, Lora paused on a picture of Celeste and her father. Though she had sworn she was done with him, he managed to persuade her to visit each Christmas. Celeste had sent the picture as proof of her misery. Though her father was smiling—one arm around his daughter, the other around his new wife—Celeste looked only moments away from recreating the Lizzie Borden crime scene.
That’s it, Lora thought, that’s when she told me I was her best friend. It was after her dad left. I was there for her when she was sad. I helped her get through the divorce.
Lora closed the album and sat down at her desk. For the first time in weeks, she felt hopeful.
I can have another best friend. I just need to find someone who needs one.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Eyes Sewn Shut (Part Four)
That afternoon, armed with fresh cookies, the girls barricaded themselves in Lora’s room.
“Listen, you can’t repeat what I’m going to tell you. My mom likes to keep family stuff private.”
“I promise I won’t say a word.”
Over the next hour, Celeste revealed the reason they’d left Kentucky. Her dad had been having an affair with a woman at work. Since they lived in a small town, it didn’t take long before they were seen out together. Mrs. Brighton had been furious and threatened to take the kids and leave. Celeste’s father begged her to stay, promising that the woman meant nothing and that he would tell her it was over. Mrs. Brighton agreed to stay with him, but insisted that they had to move. She would not be the talk of the town or risk the embarrassment of seeing her husband’s lover at a social gathering. They had moved to Middlebrook to start over. It seemed that Mr. Brighton had indeed started over—he had already found another woman at his new job. This time, though, he had revealed the affair himself after coming home one afternoon and packing a suitcase.
“So he’s divorcing your mom?”
“Looks that way,” Celeste said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “What he doesn’t realize, though, is that he’s divorcing me, too. I’m through with him. First I have to leave my entire life behind in Kentucky to move to this stupid town and then he leaves us. He’s a selfish bastard.”
“I’m so sorry, Celeste. I wish I knew what to do. This has to be hard on your mom.”Celeste’s tears streamed down her face.
“It is. I’m all she has here. That’s why I wanted to come to your house today. I mean, I want to be there for her, but she’s wearing me out. I thinks he forgets that I’m hurting, too.””Sucks being the grown up.”
“Seriously.”
“Look, Cee, I know that you didn’t want to move here, but at least we met. And I’m always here if you need to talk or yell or eat cookies or whatever. You aren’t alone.”Celeste smiled.
“Lora, I’m so sorry. I guess that seemed kind of mean. But I am glad I met you.”
She reached out for Lora’s hand.”You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Continued tomorrow...
Eyes Sewn Shut (Part Three)
Celeste missed school the following day, but by Thursday she was waiting in front of the house for Lora. Celeste’s eyes were no longer red, and she forced a smile as she fell into step beside Lora.
“I’m sorry ‘bout the other day.””No, it’s fine. Don’t be sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you, but I promised your mom I’d pick up your work.”
“You didn’t bother me. I just wasn’t read to talk about anything.””So can you tell me what happened?”
“Well, no one’s dead, but I feel like he should be. My dad… he… look, I don’t want to get into it now. There’s too much to tell you between here and school and I don’t feel like crying. How about we hang out at your place this afternoon? Can I still take you up on those cookies?”
“Of course,” Lora said.
The day seemed to last forever.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Eyes Sewn Shut (Part Two)
Celeste Brighton had moved to Middlebrook from Kentucky. Blonde and willowy, she reminded Lora of a Barbie doll. After their initial meeting, the girls began spending time together each day: walking to and from school, eating lunch together, hanging out on Saturdays. Lora liked Celeste but was frustrated that her new companion was yet to say anything to indicate that they were best friends.
On a Tuesday morning in March, Lora made her way to Celeste’s house so that they could walk together. Celeste wasn’t waiting outside, so Lora sat in the Brighton’s porch swing and waited. Ten minutes later, Celeste’s mother opened to the door.
“Hi, Mrs. B. Is Celeste ready?”Mrs. Brighton’s eyes were red, her hair disheveled.
“Hon, Celeste won’t be going to school today. She’s feeling… a bit sick.””Oh. Well, is there anything I can do for her? Pick up her work?””That would be nice, dear. I’m sure she’d appreciate that. We both would.””No prob. Tell her I hope she feels better.”Mrs. Brighton began to close the door.
“And Mrs. B?”
Mrs. Brighton sighed. “Yes, dear?”
“I hope you feel better, too.”
Mrs. Brighton smiled weakly and gently closed the door.
All day long, Lora worried about Celeste. Why was Mrs. Brighton crying? And why did she hesitate when she said Celeste was sick?
After 6th period, she hurried out of school, clutching Celeste’s work to her chest. She knocked on the Brighton’s front door. This time, Celeste opened the door. She was still in her pajamas and her eyes were red and swollen as Mrs. Brighton’s had been earlier.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong?”
“Lora, is it okay if I just talk to you later. I’m…we’re having a bad day.””Um, yeah. Did something happen? Did someone die? Your mom said you’re sick, so I brought your work. I just thought…”
“I’m not sick. Just… upset.””Oh.”
Both girls stood in awkward silence.
“Well, if you want you can come over later. I’ll fill you in on what you missed today. I can get mom to make us some cookies or something.”
“I may. I just don’t want to leave mom right now. That cool?””Yeah, cool. So, just let me know,” Lora said, handing Celeste the books and turning toward the steps.
“Thanks for the work.””It’s no problem,” Lora said without turning around.
“No, really, thank you. You’re such a great friend.”
As Lora walked down the front steps empty handed, the hint of smile spreading across her face.
On a Tuesday morning in March, Lora made her way to Celeste’s house so that they could walk together. Celeste wasn’t waiting outside, so Lora sat in the Brighton’s porch swing and waited. Ten minutes later, Celeste’s mother opened to the door.
“Hi, Mrs. B. Is Celeste ready?”Mrs. Brighton’s eyes were red, her hair disheveled.
“Hon, Celeste won’t be going to school today. She’s feeling… a bit sick.””Oh. Well, is there anything I can do for her? Pick up her work?””That would be nice, dear. I’m sure she’d appreciate that. We both would.””No prob. Tell her I hope she feels better.”Mrs. Brighton began to close the door.
“And Mrs. B?”
Mrs. Brighton sighed. “Yes, dear?”
“I hope you feel better, too.”
Mrs. Brighton smiled weakly and gently closed the door.
All day long, Lora worried about Celeste. Why was Mrs. Brighton crying? And why did she hesitate when she said Celeste was sick?
After 6th period, she hurried out of school, clutching Celeste’s work to her chest. She knocked on the Brighton’s front door. This time, Celeste opened the door. She was still in her pajamas and her eyes were red and swollen as Mrs. Brighton’s had been earlier.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong?”
“Lora, is it okay if I just talk to you later. I’m…we’re having a bad day.””Um, yeah. Did something happen? Did someone die? Your mom said you’re sick, so I brought your work. I just thought…”
“I’m not sick. Just… upset.””Oh.”
Both girls stood in awkward silence.
“Well, if you want you can come over later. I’ll fill you in on what you missed today. I can get mom to make us some cookies or something.”
“I may. I just don’t want to leave mom right now. That cool?””Yeah, cool. So, just let me know,” Lora said, handing Celeste the books and turning toward the steps.
“Thanks for the work.””It’s no problem,” Lora said without turning around.
“No, really, thank you. You’re such a great friend.”
As Lora walked down the front steps empty handed, the hint of smile spreading across her face.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Eyes Sewn Shut (Part One)
I finally finished the 2nd story in my Saligia series (Story One can be found here: http://badwithconviction.blogspot.com/2009/01/old-stuff-part-one.html)
I'm going to post a piece of the story each day since it's rather long. Feedback is encouraged. BE BRUTAL.
Eyes Sewn Shut
All she had wanted since first grade was a best friend. Each girl in Middlebrook Elementary School seemed to have one. She’d see them in the lunchroom, heads together, giggling over their lunches as they shared whatever desserts had been packed that day. She’d watch them on the playground, swinging side by side and talking in their own secret languages. She listened as they planned sleepovers and trips to the movies, coordinating their outfits to match right down to their Keds.
It’s not that she was terribly unpopular. Whenever the class split into teams for kickball, she was never chosen last. She was invited to birthday parties at least once a month. On Valentines Day, when the students in class would exchange little cards, Lora would always receive a dozen or more.
But Lora Barton was never satisfied with being noticed or chosen or remembered. Lora wanted a best friend.
As Lora grew older, things didn’t change much. She was asked to dances, invited to study groups. She was even on the homecoming court one year. But Lora still didn’t have what she desired. Girls were fairly nice to her and she occasionally attended parties, but there wasn’t one that she could call her best friend.
Each day in Algebra, she’d watch the girl beside her doodle on the back of a notebook. She’d write her name, her boyfriend’s name, her name with her boyfriend’s last name. None of this bothered Lora until the girl began to write:
COURTNEY + HEATHER = BFF
Lora felt herself stiffen as those three little letters appeared on the notebook in purple block letters. She had never written those letters herself, had never called anyone her “best friend.” She’d certainly not had a friend she wished to keep forever! Courtney glanced up and noticed Lora staring. She shuffled her notebook under a folder and pretended to listen to the lesson. Lora turned red and for a moment fantasized about snatching the notebook away and ripping it to shreds, as if tearing those names would break some magical bond.
As Lora walked home that afternoon, she wondered if she’d ever attain the elusive best friend she’d so wanted since childhood.
Three blocks from her house, she heard someone scream behind her. Turning around, Lora saw a small puppy running down the street. Chasing the dog was a girl about Lora’s age, red-faced and screaming.
“RUDY! RUDY STOP!”
Noticing Lora, the girl yelled, “Grab him! Please grab him!”
The dog was about four driveways from Lora. Across the street, Mr. Wilkinson was backing out of his driveway. Lora knew she had to act fast. She ran toward the blue truck, waving her arms above her head.
“Mr. Wilkinson! Stop! STOP!”
About the time his brake lights turned red, Lora caught sight of the puppy out of the corner of her eye. She turned around and scooped him up in her arms.
The red-faced girl jogged up to Lora, completely out of breath.
“Oh my God, thank you so much. I thought he was in his crate, so I left the front door open while I unloaded the car.”
The little puppy squirmed as Lora handed him over to his owner.
“Um, no problem,” Lora answered.
“No, really, you don’t understand. I couldn’t bear to lose Rudy. He was my sixteenth birthday present and I sleep with him every night. He’s my best friend.”
“Your best…?”
“Well, not really, but sometimes I feel like he’s the only one who gets me.”The girl smiled at Lora, her entire face lighting up. Lora laughed nervously.
“Look, why don’t you come by my house. It’s a mess ‘cause we just moved in, but my mom just went and bought pizza.””That’s okay, I…”
“C’mon, you have to let me repay you somehow. You’re my hero!” She hugged Rudy to her chest. “Our hero.”
I'm going to post a piece of the story each day since it's rather long. Feedback is encouraged. BE BRUTAL.
Eyes Sewn Shut
All she had wanted since first grade was a best friend. Each girl in Middlebrook Elementary School seemed to have one. She’d see them in the lunchroom, heads together, giggling over their lunches as they shared whatever desserts had been packed that day. She’d watch them on the playground, swinging side by side and talking in their own secret languages. She listened as they planned sleepovers and trips to the movies, coordinating their outfits to match right down to their Keds.
It’s not that she was terribly unpopular. Whenever the class split into teams for kickball, she was never chosen last. She was invited to birthday parties at least once a month. On Valentines Day, when the students in class would exchange little cards, Lora would always receive a dozen or more.
But Lora Barton was never satisfied with being noticed or chosen or remembered. Lora wanted a best friend.
As Lora grew older, things didn’t change much. She was asked to dances, invited to study groups. She was even on the homecoming court one year. But Lora still didn’t have what she desired. Girls were fairly nice to her and she occasionally attended parties, but there wasn’t one that she could call her best friend.
Each day in Algebra, she’d watch the girl beside her doodle on the back of a notebook. She’d write her name, her boyfriend’s name, her name with her boyfriend’s last name. None of this bothered Lora until the girl began to write:
COURTNEY + HEATHER = BFF
Lora felt herself stiffen as those three little letters appeared on the notebook in purple block letters. She had never written those letters herself, had never called anyone her “best friend.” She’d certainly not had a friend she wished to keep forever! Courtney glanced up and noticed Lora staring. She shuffled her notebook under a folder and pretended to listen to the lesson. Lora turned red and for a moment fantasized about snatching the notebook away and ripping it to shreds, as if tearing those names would break some magical bond.
As Lora walked home that afternoon, she wondered if she’d ever attain the elusive best friend she’d so wanted since childhood.
Three blocks from her house, she heard someone scream behind her. Turning around, Lora saw a small puppy running down the street. Chasing the dog was a girl about Lora’s age, red-faced and screaming.
“RUDY! RUDY STOP!”
Noticing Lora, the girl yelled, “Grab him! Please grab him!”
The dog was about four driveways from Lora. Across the street, Mr. Wilkinson was backing out of his driveway. Lora knew she had to act fast. She ran toward the blue truck, waving her arms above her head.
“Mr. Wilkinson! Stop! STOP!”
About the time his brake lights turned red, Lora caught sight of the puppy out of the corner of her eye. She turned around and scooped him up in her arms.
The red-faced girl jogged up to Lora, completely out of breath.
“Oh my God, thank you so much. I thought he was in his crate, so I left the front door open while I unloaded the car.”
The little puppy squirmed as Lora handed him over to his owner.
“Um, no problem,” Lora answered.
“No, really, you don’t understand. I couldn’t bear to lose Rudy. He was my sixteenth birthday present and I sleep with him every night. He’s my best friend.”
“Your best…?”
“Well, not really, but sometimes I feel like he’s the only one who gets me.”The girl smiled at Lora, her entire face lighting up. Lora laughed nervously.
“Look, why don’t you come by my house. It’s a mess ‘cause we just moved in, but my mom just went and bought pizza.””That’s okay, I…”
“C’mon, you have to let me repay you somehow. You’re my hero!” She hugged Rudy to her chest. “Our hero.”
Saturday, January 31, 2009
My two cents...
I'm sure you've all heard--to great extent--about the woman who now has FOURTEEN kids. If not, here's the quick and dirty version: a woman (who may or may not be married but lives with her parents) has six kids, ages 2-7. She then has OCTUPLETS! This has become a huge debate on ethics on the talking-head news shows and the blogworld. I'm not going to rant, because there's not much left to be said that hasn't been said and re-said. I guess the one issue I can't get past is WHY people can just have baby after baby without anyone checking them out. You almost have to maim a child before anyone TRULY gets involved and checks you out as a parent. I don't get it. Let's say I want to ADOPT a child. I have to prove I'm fit to be a parent, that I am emotionally, physically and financially able to care for a child. And that's a GOOD THING. But what if I want to have, oh I don't know, a dozen or more kids??? Shouldn't someone make sure I have the money to take care of those kids? Enough beds for them to sleep in? Common sense to properly care for them? Healthy mental state so that I don't chain them to a bedpost or drown them in the bathtub? (I know that's harsh, but seriously, it happens!). I just don't get it. And it doesn't take long in my career to see the products of poor parenting, even if there's only one kid. I hate to say it, but I'm getting to the point where I'm not joking when I say everyone shouldn't be allowed to reproduce. I'm not saying you have to be smart or rich to be a parent, but how about being loving and decent and possessing at least a few ounces of common sense?
I'm done now. Said I wasn't going to rant.
I'm done now. Said I wasn't going to rant.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Inauguration Day... FACEBOOK STYLE!!! (Updated)
I've been hooked on CNN all day. Now I'm home and I'm hooked on CNN and Facebook. The status updates are coming fast and furious, and I'm sure you can guess the topic. Yep, President Obama's inauguration. I'm keeping a running list of all the different statuses. I guess I should ask to use these, but since they're all going to be anonymous, I'm going to hope none of you mind.
I'll start with mine: "Amber says 'Happy Birthday, Momma!' and 'Congratulations, Obama!' (Read it out loud. It rhymes. Hee hee)"
Here are the rest. I'll be adding to this periodically. All spelling and grammar has been preserved, even if it kills me.
SOMEONE ON FACEBOOK...
…is lettin everyone know, "IT'S OFFICIAL... OBAMA IS IN THERE LIKE SWIMWEAR!!!"
...wants to know, "Do you smell what Barack is cooking?"
...is saying "folks he is just a man our real Savior is Jesus Christ!!!!
...is emotional as Obama takes office. What a special day.
...wants to ask Obama "How it feel to wake up and be the shit and the urine?!"
...is thinking that O Bama cannot speak without a telepromter... how is this going to work?
...is sick and tired of the "history making day"... I think I am going to go pray my beads for this country!
...witnessed history through tears, joy, and excitement.
...wants people to realize who is truly in control of our country, thats our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!!
...is congratulating Obama.
...is "Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is NO power but of GOD the powers that be ordained of GOD!!!
...now get in there, shut down gitmo, withdraw the troops, and get detroit in line, Mr. President.
...is wanting people to realize that he is our President, not Jesus Christ. Oh and did you see him when he had to talk on the spot... Not good.
...is OBAMA OBAMA OBAMA.
...is watching the inauguration with a trembling heart.
...finds it interesting that my kids will read about today in their history classes.
...is Praying for our new President.....GOD BLESS AMERICA !
...is praying that this great nation soon realizes that what we need is God not "so called change"!!!!!
...thinks the new president is sexiness and that feels weird.
I'll start with mine: "Amber says 'Happy Birthday, Momma!' and 'Congratulations, Obama!' (Read it out loud. It rhymes. Hee hee)"
Here are the rest. I'll be adding to this periodically. All spelling and grammar has been preserved, even if it kills me.
SOMEONE ON FACEBOOK...
…is lettin everyone know, "IT'S OFFICIAL... OBAMA IS IN THERE LIKE SWIMWEAR!!!"
...wants to know, "Do you smell what Barack is cooking?"
...is saying "folks he is just a man our real Savior is Jesus Christ!!!!
...is emotional as Obama takes office. What a special day.
...wants to ask Obama "How it feel to wake up and be the shit and the urine?!"
...is thinking that O Bama cannot speak without a telepromter... how is this going to work?
...is sick and tired of the "history making day"... I think I am going to go pray my beads for this country!
...witnessed history through tears, joy, and excitement.
...wants people to realize who is truly in control of our country, thats our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!!
...is congratulating Obama.
...is "Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is NO power but of GOD the powers that be ordained of GOD!!!
...now get in there, shut down gitmo, withdraw the troops, and get detroit in line, Mr. President.
...is wanting people to realize that he is our President, not Jesus Christ. Oh and did you see him when he had to talk on the spot... Not good.
...is OBAMA OBAMA OBAMA.
...is watching the inauguration with a trembling heart.
...finds it interesting that my kids will read about today in their history classes.
...is Praying for our new President.....GOD BLESS AMERICA !
...is praying that this great nation soon realizes that what we need is God not "so called change"!!!!!
...thinks the new president is sexiness and that feels weird.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Sea kittens?
Just a heads up... this is going to be "rambley" because part of my brain leaked out of my ears after reading the article about PETA's new push to make us all "better" people.
Ashley Byrne, a PETA member who has a history of taking her clothes off in public to "raise awareness," has launched a new campaign to have fish renamed "sea kittens."
I'll let that sink in for a moment.
SEA KITTENS?
Her theory is that people will stop eating fish if they associate it with something cute and cuddly like a kitten. The campaign specifically targets kids, asking them to keep daddy from killing the little fish.
SEA KITTENS?????
Okay, look, don't get me wrong. I love animals. I do. I can actually say that I would like to reach a point in my life that I don't eat meat because I really do hate the idea of eating something that was living. The problem is that I LIKE MEAT and I have a hard time resisting it. (I don't, however, buy leather, down or anything that came from an animal if there is a man-made alternative). I respect that some people actually have the will power to fore go meat. And I support their right to share their opinions as long as they are not obnoxious or completely lacking LOGIC in the process.
SEA KITTENS??????????????????????
This doesn't even make sense. I keep expecting Andy Samberg to pop up on the website and tell me it's actually a digital short. Speaking of the website, it's just plain embarrassing (anyone feel like building a personalized sea kitten?) http://www.peta.org/sea_kittens/
You know what burns me up most? These eff-tards at PETA spend time on campaigns like "sea kittens" and convincing Ben and Jerry's to use breast milk in their ice cream; however, when animal control seized Michael Vick's dogs from his compound, PETA demanded that the dogs be euthanized immediately, claiming the dogs would never have any kind of normal life. But guess what? While some of those dogs are possibly irrevocably scarred, quite a few of are doing well. A half dozen are either certified therapy dogs or are completing the training to be. A half dozen more received Canine Good Citizen certificates after passing the American Kennel Club's tests. Others have become cherished family dogs. (For more about these dogs, read SI's wonderful article: http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2008/magazine/12/22/vick.dogs/index.html
Yes, I love animals, but I have no love for PETA. Years and years ago, I used to try to take the good with the bad, ignoring the craziness and embracing their supposed core cause. But I can't anymore. The whole bunch is rotten.
Sea kittens my ass.
Ashley Byrne, a PETA member who has a history of taking her clothes off in public to "raise awareness," has launched a new campaign to have fish renamed "sea kittens."
I'll let that sink in for a moment.
SEA KITTENS?
Her theory is that people will stop eating fish if they associate it with something cute and cuddly like a kitten. The campaign specifically targets kids, asking them to keep daddy from killing the little fish.
SEA KITTENS?????
Okay, look, don't get me wrong. I love animals. I do. I can actually say that I would like to reach a point in my life that I don't eat meat because I really do hate the idea of eating something that was living. The problem is that I LIKE MEAT and I have a hard time resisting it. (I don't, however, buy leather, down or anything that came from an animal if there is a man-made alternative). I respect that some people actually have the will power to fore go meat. And I support their right to share their opinions as long as they are not obnoxious or completely lacking LOGIC in the process.
SEA KITTENS??????????????????????
This doesn't even make sense. I keep expecting Andy Samberg to pop up on the website and tell me it's actually a digital short. Speaking of the website, it's just plain embarrassing (anyone feel like building a personalized sea kitten?) http://www.peta.org/sea_kittens/
You know what burns me up most? These eff-tards at PETA spend time on campaigns like "sea kittens" and convincing Ben and Jerry's to use breast milk in their ice cream; however, when animal control seized Michael Vick's dogs from his compound, PETA demanded that the dogs be euthanized immediately, claiming the dogs would never have any kind of normal life. But guess what? While some of those dogs are possibly irrevocably scarred, quite a few of are doing well. A half dozen are either certified therapy dogs or are completing the training to be. A half dozen more received Canine Good Citizen certificates after passing the American Kennel Club's tests. Others have become cherished family dogs. (For more about these dogs, read SI's wonderful article: http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2008/magazine/12/22/vick.dogs/index.html
Yes, I love animals, but I have no love for PETA. Years and years ago, I used to try to take the good with the bad, ignoring the craziness and embracing their supposed core cause. But I can't anymore. The whole bunch is rotten.
Sea kittens my ass.
Isn't this a form of child abuse?
Bear Grylls, one of the youngest men to climb Everest and currently the host of Man Vs. Survivor, recently welcomed his third son into the world. You may be asking, "Why is this news?" Well, my friend, he named his new baby Huckleberry. To be exact, it's Huckleberry Edward Jocelyne Grylls.
I don't even know where to begin.
Huckleberry? Is he a Mark Twain fan? Lover of blue animated dogs? Is it a Tombstone reference? I mean, c'mon, I love Tombstone but I'd never name my kid freaking Huckleberry. And Jocelyne? I've done some looking and cannot find that name used ANYWHERE as a male name. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it's someone's surname.
But little Huckleberry isn't alone. Nope. His older brother's name is Marmaduke. Yep, like the Great Dane in the comic strips.
The oldest Grylls child is named Jesse, which means this child will either grow up extremely grateful that he dodged the retardo name curse or he'll feel that mom and dad didn't love him enough to give him a "unique" name.
By the way, Bear's real name is Edward Michael.
I don't even know where to begin.
Huckleberry? Is he a Mark Twain fan? Lover of blue animated dogs? Is it a Tombstone reference? I mean, c'mon, I love Tombstone but I'd never name my kid freaking Huckleberry. And Jocelyne? I've done some looking and cannot find that name used ANYWHERE as a male name. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it's someone's surname.
But little Huckleberry isn't alone. Nope. His older brother's name is Marmaduke. Yep, like the Great Dane in the comic strips.
The oldest Grylls child is named Jesse, which means this child will either grow up extremely grateful that he dodged the retardo name curse or he'll feel that mom and dad didn't love him enough to give him a "unique" name.
By the way, Bear's real name is Edward Michael.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Death to the Fire Ants
This is actually OLD news, but I realized while sorting through some pictures that I never posted anything about my encounter with the fire ants last fall. John and I had done some landscaping, and I was measuring around our sidewalk for our solar lights. As I did some calculations in my head, I stepped back of the sidewalk to look at our landscaping. After a few seconds, I felt a sting. I looked down to find my entire foot was COVERED. I had stepped on a fire ant hill! I had on Crocs, so the little monsters had access to my foot (I suppose they thought I was the monster, but whatever). I immediately kicked my shoes off and ran into the house, slapping the ants off my feet. I headed toward the bathroom and stuck my feet in the tub, drowning them in cold water.
I ended up with quite a few stings (bites?) on my foot and ankle, as well as two on my pinkie finger from where I had slapped at the ants. I can't find the picture of my finger, but I'd rather not share it anyway. Let's just say I essentially had two thumbs on one hand, but only one was opposable.
I do, however, have the picture of my foot and ankle.
Mmm... hope you weren't eating. Anyway, it itched like nobody's business and I ended up scratching it so much that I think I'm going to have a scar.
Epilogue to this story? I had my revenge on the ants, 'cause unless they had an ark built inside that mound of dirt, they all went to a watery grave. Yeah, yeah, I know. They attacked because I stepped on them. But I wasn't leaving them there for one of the kids to step in.
I do plan on having my yard sprayed SPECIFICALLY for fire ants this year. This was a TERRIBLE experience.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Asmodeus
I decided to repost some material from my old Myspace blog, "No Shoes Allowed." Here's the first installment, the first (and so far, only) part of a set of stories entitled "Saligia" (look it up). I never did revise based on feedback, but I'd like to revisit it. It's not my best piece by far, but I have certain attachment to it because of the time period during which I wrote it. Maybe I can work on the 2nd installment, "Eyes Shown Shut," within the next two weeks. I started it about 6 months ago.
Enough prelude. Here it is. Be BRUTAL.
Never wavering, the preacher's voice leapt from the speakers and sauntered across the dashboard. Each word wagged its finger in her face, that long finger of shame.
Run, my brothers and sisters, run from the sin of lust, the sin of the flesh.
She reached to change the station, her eyes drifting toward the rear view mirror. Her mother glared at her from the back seat, the look of constant disappointment staining her pinched face. Withdrawing her hand from the radio, she grimaced as a smile of triumph fastened to the corners of her mother's mouth. She quickly averted her eyes from the backseat.
"You can't stop me. You know that don't you? Dr. Perkins told me I don't have to listen to you, that I don't have to worry what you think anymore."
Even without looking, she knew her mother was shaking her head, so she turned the mirror down and focused on the green mile-marker sign ahead.
"Just because you spent forty years being ignored by daddy does not mean that you can guilt me into putting myself through the same. Don't pretend this is a moral issue, Mama. You're just jealous."
Remember, Joseph, church, and forget not his example when the whore wife of Potiphar threw herself at that young man of God. Did he hesitate? No. Did he falter? No. What did he do church? He ran. Say it with me, now. He RAN!
She had been running for years now. It seemed everywhere she went she was running. Running to pick up the kids. Running to get supper on the table. Running to this meeting and that choir practice. But she was mostly running out of excuses for the man she'd called husband for 14 years.
Run, I tell you. Husbands and fathers, run from the smut, from the pornography that fills your minds with evil thoughts. Burn your dirty magazines. Crush your filthy videos. Turn off your computers--no, toss them out with the garbage. And with them, toss out the pollution that is polluting your hearts and homes.
It had been over two years since he'd touched her, with the exception one or two rare occasions when he'd come home drinking after a night out with the guys. At first, she had blamed herself. She had gained quite a few pounds during her pregnancies and had struggled with losing the last twenty. She was convinced that he was just no longer attracted to her, repulsed by her soft body and stretch marks. But after six or seven months, she decided it couldn't be only her fault. It wasn't normal for a man to deprive himself so long, even if he was no longer turned on by his wife. She was a woman, wasn't she, and better than no woman at all?
Run, I say, run from those who tempt you. Men, do not find yourself alone with your young secretary. Women, do not be lured into flirtation with your male coworkers. Pray to God for strength to resist those who would join you in the sin of adultery. Resist them and flee as you flee the Devil. Run. Flee. Run.
She had met Ted eight weeks earlier. He was hired to perform upgrades on the office computers. In those first days, their interactions were innocuous enough: drinking coffee together in the break room, discussing the recent elections or laughing over the previous night's episode of their favorite show. Within two weeks, though, she was meeting him outside of work for coffee, making excuses for working late. Eventually, there were small signs of what her mother would call "wooing"—a brush of the hand on her lower back, her hand resting lightly on his chest as they laughed. Still, she hadn't put much thought into their dalliances. She was married and he was almost ten years her junior.
Run from the lies society and the media will tell you. They would have you believe that you should do what feels good, what makes you happy. Ignore what the Good Book says. Ignore the consequences of your actions. Ignore your neglected children, your shunned wives and husbands. But I'm telling you, church, what you want is sin. What makes you happy is black as your hearts without the blood of the Christ. So run from your soap operas and your romance novels. Run from those who laugh in the face of what God has joined together. Say it church: run!
She readjusted her mirror.
"Hear that Mama? What God joined together. Even you couldn't find God in our marriage."
The familiar green eyes narrowed. She braced herself for a slap that never came. With new determination, she continued. "You know, it'd be different if he were one of those paraplegics or something or if he was suffering with cancer. If he had some reason that he couldn't have… be intimate. A woman needs touching, Mama. He may be just fine touching himself, but that's not enough for me."
Run.
She was running, running from a life that she didn't sign up for. And though she knew she'd have to return—though there was no love left for her husband, she could not abandon her two children—she took solace in knowing she could run away for a little while.
Run.
When Ted had kissed her the day before, she felt like she was sixteen again. She could still feel his hands on her face and taste him on her lips. Her husband had never kissed her like that, not even on their wedding day. Or wedding night. Up against the wall, pressed against his body, she felt something inside her awaken.
Run.
They had decided to meet two towns over, at a small, out of the way inn. Ted told her she deserved better than a cheap, by-the-hour motel. She had spent the afternoon in her tiny bathroom, surrounded by old copies of Cosmo, as she paid meticulous, ridiculous attention to each detail of her body. She was scrubbed, shaved, trimmed, lotioned and groomed—her body was different after having the children and she wanted to look her best for Ted.
I know that some of you do not struggle with this temptation like some of your brothers and sisters. I know that there are some of you right now who feel I am wasting precious pulpit time with this sermon I have been given. But I also know that some of you are struggling with temptation. Pray, my children, pray for God to remove this temptation. Pray that He give you feet to run away from those who would lead you astray. Pray for your Nikes to be blessed by the Holy Ghost and that they will carry you in the right direction.
When she pulled into the parking lot of the Magnolia Inn, she scanned the parking lot for Ted's car. Pulling into a spot at the far end of the row, she adjusted her mirror to check her makeup. Fire burned in the green eyes over her shoulder as she reapplied her Truly Toffee lipstick.
"Mama, you are not going inside with me, understand? I'm a grown woman and I can make my own decisions. No, I will make my own decisions." Her mother opened her mouth to speak just as she capped her lipstick and bent the mirror toward the passenger seat.
And if you find yourself mired too deeply in the black sticky tar of your sin, then pray for your fellow sinner to run from you. Pray that the opportunity to fornicate, to defile your temple, to sin against your God, will escape from you. Pray that the harlot will flee, that the lecher will take flight. If you aren't strong enough to run, pray that you will be run from! God is faithful and He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear! In the first chapter of…
Turning the radio off, she pulled the keys from the ignition and tossed them into her handbag. The gravel in the parking lot crunched and shifted under her heels and she walked toward the lobby. She still didn't see Ted's car, but she assured herself that he was just running late. The bells tinkled as she opened the door to the lobby, the air conditioning raising chill bumps on her bare legs. A man in a yellow shirt sat behind the counter, absorbed in the newest John Grisham novel. He put his hand up to motion he needed another moment, then finished the chapter and placed the book face down on the counter.
"Yes, ma'am, may I help you?"
"I'm meeting… we…well, I'm not sure what to tell you."
"Do you have reservations?"
"I believe so. Do you have a room for Ted Wyatt?"
The man wrinkled his brow, shaking his head.
"Um, what about under Ma—"
"Wait, what was his name? Tom?"
"Ted."
"Yes, Ted. I believe he was in here earlier. Left this."
He handed her an envelope with her name scrawled across the front.
"What is it?"
"I don't rightly know. He just asked me to give it to you if you showed up."
She sat down in a high-backed chair and opened the envelope. She read the enclosed letter—the very brief letter—three times before standing up, smoothing her skirt and walking toward the door.
"Ma'am, will you be needing a room?"
Her composure began to crumble. Without turning to face him, she shook her head, unable to speak. He made a soft clicking sound in his throat.
"Don't worry, hon. You aren't the first."
As soon as she crossed the threshold of the lobby door, she felt the tears burning her eyes. She kicked off her shoes and snatched them up as she broke into a dead run toward her car. The gravel dug into her pedicured feet but she didn't stop. She didn't stop running until she opened the door of her blue sedan, threw her shoes in the passenger-side floorboard and slid behind the wheel. The same gravel that had torn her feet now sprayed from beneath her rear tires. She was back on the highway in less than a minute; it was then she heard a low snicker from the backseat.
"Do not start, Mama."
But the laughter continued, escalating from a snicker to a chuckle.
"Don't you dare laugh at me you mean old crow. So help me, God—"
The chuckle subsided, replaced by a full-blown cackle. She could picture her mother's face, the lines around her mouth grotesque, her eyes open so that she could see the affect of her vicious mirth. Her mother had always looked her most malevolent when laughing, since she only did so when it came at the expense of others.
She fumbled for the radio, pushing the knob several times before she realized it was on. The sermon was over and a choir solemnly warbled out the words to a hymn she remembered from her childhood.
"Come home, come home, ye who are weary come home…"
Though it seemed her mother was lost in the throes of glee, she had obviously been restraining herself in some way. By the time the choir reached "softy and tenderly," the laughter grew louder and shriller, punctuated with gasps for air.
Desperately, she took both hands from the wheel. She fumbled for the button that would change the station while simultaneously turning the volume up until her ears pulsated. The voice was distorted by the strained speakers, a voice she immediately recognized. A voice that she had received a whipping for as a teenager when her mother had snatched earphones from her head to find out what type of filth she was filling her mind with.
The laughter from the backseat began to subside.
"Yeah, Mama, it's your favorite. Remember? I sure do. You took a belt to me over this."
She felt her shoulders begin to relax, her grip on the steering wheel loosen.
"I'm sure you're as pleased as punch about this, but it's not over. Ted said I make him feel electric. Electric, Mama. You'll see. This isn't over."
The backseat was silent again, save for the music being pushed from the speakers. She forced herself to smile and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. It was a lie. Deep down she knew it was over. It had taken fourteen years for her to work up the courage—and swallow the shame—to open herself up to another man. And she knew she would never forgive him for making a fool of her.
She had lied to her mother but it tasted good in her mouth.
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She adjusted the volume to a more bearable level, but still kept it louder than customary. She rolled her window down, allowing the warm wind to make her wet face sticky. Her anger and embarrassment peeled from her skin, settling outside in the tall grass beside Highway 129. She had run. And she knew that eventually she'd have the chance to run again. Next time would be different. Next time would be truly… electric.
She pushed her hand through her hair as the familiar voice sang her home.
"Everybody needs somebody, you're not the only one."
Enough prelude. Here it is. Be BRUTAL.
Never wavering, the preacher's voice leapt from the speakers and sauntered across the dashboard. Each word wagged its finger in her face, that long finger of shame.
Run, my brothers and sisters, run from the sin of lust, the sin of the flesh.
She reached to change the station, her eyes drifting toward the rear view mirror. Her mother glared at her from the back seat, the look of constant disappointment staining her pinched face. Withdrawing her hand from the radio, she grimaced as a smile of triumph fastened to the corners of her mother's mouth. She quickly averted her eyes from the backseat.
"You can't stop me. You know that don't you? Dr. Perkins told me I don't have to listen to you, that I don't have to worry what you think anymore."
Even without looking, she knew her mother was shaking her head, so she turned the mirror down and focused on the green mile-marker sign ahead.
"Just because you spent forty years being ignored by daddy does not mean that you can guilt me into putting myself through the same. Don't pretend this is a moral issue, Mama. You're just jealous."
Remember, Joseph, church, and forget not his example when the whore wife of Potiphar threw herself at that young man of God. Did he hesitate? No. Did he falter? No. What did he do church? He ran. Say it with me, now. He RAN!
She had been running for years now. It seemed everywhere she went she was running. Running to pick up the kids. Running to get supper on the table. Running to this meeting and that choir practice. But she was mostly running out of excuses for the man she'd called husband for 14 years.
Run, I tell you. Husbands and fathers, run from the smut, from the pornography that fills your minds with evil thoughts. Burn your dirty magazines. Crush your filthy videos. Turn off your computers--no, toss them out with the garbage. And with them, toss out the pollution that is polluting your hearts and homes.
It had been over two years since he'd touched her, with the exception one or two rare occasions when he'd come home drinking after a night out with the guys. At first, she had blamed herself. She had gained quite a few pounds during her pregnancies and had struggled with losing the last twenty. She was convinced that he was just no longer attracted to her, repulsed by her soft body and stretch marks. But after six or seven months, she decided it couldn't be only her fault. It wasn't normal for a man to deprive himself so long, even if he was no longer turned on by his wife. She was a woman, wasn't she, and better than no woman at all?
Run, I say, run from those who tempt you. Men, do not find yourself alone with your young secretary. Women, do not be lured into flirtation with your male coworkers. Pray to God for strength to resist those who would join you in the sin of adultery. Resist them and flee as you flee the Devil. Run. Flee. Run.
She had met Ted eight weeks earlier. He was hired to perform upgrades on the office computers. In those first days, their interactions were innocuous enough: drinking coffee together in the break room, discussing the recent elections or laughing over the previous night's episode of their favorite show. Within two weeks, though, she was meeting him outside of work for coffee, making excuses for working late. Eventually, there were small signs of what her mother would call "wooing"—a brush of the hand on her lower back, her hand resting lightly on his chest as they laughed. Still, she hadn't put much thought into their dalliances. She was married and he was almost ten years her junior.
Run from the lies society and the media will tell you. They would have you believe that you should do what feels good, what makes you happy. Ignore what the Good Book says. Ignore the consequences of your actions. Ignore your neglected children, your shunned wives and husbands. But I'm telling you, church, what you want is sin. What makes you happy is black as your hearts without the blood of the Christ. So run from your soap operas and your romance novels. Run from those who laugh in the face of what God has joined together. Say it church: run!
She readjusted her mirror.
"Hear that Mama? What God joined together. Even you couldn't find God in our marriage."
The familiar green eyes narrowed. She braced herself for a slap that never came. With new determination, she continued. "You know, it'd be different if he were one of those paraplegics or something or if he was suffering with cancer. If he had some reason that he couldn't have… be intimate. A woman needs touching, Mama. He may be just fine touching himself, but that's not enough for me."
Run.
She was running, running from a life that she didn't sign up for. And though she knew she'd have to return—though there was no love left for her husband, she could not abandon her two children—she took solace in knowing she could run away for a little while.
Run.
When Ted had kissed her the day before, she felt like she was sixteen again. She could still feel his hands on her face and taste him on her lips. Her husband had never kissed her like that, not even on their wedding day. Or wedding night. Up against the wall, pressed against his body, she felt something inside her awaken.
 |
| Illustration by Yury Darash |
Run.
They had decided to meet two towns over, at a small, out of the way inn. Ted told her she deserved better than a cheap, by-the-hour motel. She had spent the afternoon in her tiny bathroom, surrounded by old copies of Cosmo, as she paid meticulous, ridiculous attention to each detail of her body. She was scrubbed, shaved, trimmed, lotioned and groomed—her body was different after having the children and she wanted to look her best for Ted.
I know that some of you do not struggle with this temptation like some of your brothers and sisters. I know that there are some of you right now who feel I am wasting precious pulpit time with this sermon I have been given. But I also know that some of you are struggling with temptation. Pray, my children, pray for God to remove this temptation. Pray that He give you feet to run away from those who would lead you astray. Pray for your Nikes to be blessed by the Holy Ghost and that they will carry you in the right direction.
When she pulled into the parking lot of the Magnolia Inn, she scanned the parking lot for Ted's car. Pulling into a spot at the far end of the row, she adjusted her mirror to check her makeup. Fire burned in the green eyes over her shoulder as she reapplied her Truly Toffee lipstick.
"Mama, you are not going inside with me, understand? I'm a grown woman and I can make my own decisions. No, I will make my own decisions." Her mother opened her mouth to speak just as she capped her lipstick and bent the mirror toward the passenger seat.
And if you find yourself mired too deeply in the black sticky tar of your sin, then pray for your fellow sinner to run from you. Pray that the opportunity to fornicate, to defile your temple, to sin against your God, will escape from you. Pray that the harlot will flee, that the lecher will take flight. If you aren't strong enough to run, pray that you will be run from! God is faithful and He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear! In the first chapter of…
Turning the radio off, she pulled the keys from the ignition and tossed them into her handbag. The gravel in the parking lot crunched and shifted under her heels and she walked toward the lobby. She still didn't see Ted's car, but she assured herself that he was just running late. The bells tinkled as she opened the door to the lobby, the air conditioning raising chill bumps on her bare legs. A man in a yellow shirt sat behind the counter, absorbed in the newest John Grisham novel. He put his hand up to motion he needed another moment, then finished the chapter and placed the book face down on the counter.
"Yes, ma'am, may I help you?"
"I'm meeting… we…well, I'm not sure what to tell you."
"Do you have reservations?"
"I believe so. Do you have a room for Ted Wyatt?"
The man wrinkled his brow, shaking his head.
"Um, what about under Ma—"
"Wait, what was his name? Tom?"
"Ted."
"Yes, Ted. I believe he was in here earlier. Left this."
He handed her an envelope with her name scrawled across the front.
"What is it?"
"I don't rightly know. He just asked me to give it to you if you showed up."
She sat down in a high-backed chair and opened the envelope. She read the enclosed letter—the very brief letter—three times before standing up, smoothing her skirt and walking toward the door.
"Ma'am, will you be needing a room?"
Her composure began to crumble. Without turning to face him, she shook her head, unable to speak. He made a soft clicking sound in his throat.
"Don't worry, hon. You aren't the first."
As soon as she crossed the threshold of the lobby door, she felt the tears burning her eyes. She kicked off her shoes and snatched them up as she broke into a dead run toward her car. The gravel dug into her pedicured feet but she didn't stop. She didn't stop running until she opened the door of her blue sedan, threw her shoes in the passenger-side floorboard and slid behind the wheel. The same gravel that had torn her feet now sprayed from beneath her rear tires. She was back on the highway in less than a minute; it was then she heard a low snicker from the backseat.
"Do not start, Mama."
But the laughter continued, escalating from a snicker to a chuckle.
"Don't you dare laugh at me you mean old crow. So help me, God—"
The chuckle subsided, replaced by a full-blown cackle. She could picture her mother's face, the lines around her mouth grotesque, her eyes open so that she could see the affect of her vicious mirth. Her mother had always looked her most malevolent when laughing, since she only did so when it came at the expense of others.
She fumbled for the radio, pushing the knob several times before she realized it was on. The sermon was over and a choir solemnly warbled out the words to a hymn she remembered from her childhood.
"Come home, come home, ye who are weary come home…"
Though it seemed her mother was lost in the throes of glee, she had obviously been restraining herself in some way. By the time the choir reached "softy and tenderly," the laughter grew louder and shriller, punctuated with gasps for air.
Desperately, she took both hands from the wheel. She fumbled for the button that would change the station while simultaneously turning the volume up until her ears pulsated. The voice was distorted by the strained speakers, a voice she immediately recognized. A voice that she had received a whipping for as a teenager when her mother had snatched earphones from her head to find out what type of filth she was filling her mind with.
The laughter from the backseat began to subside.
"Yeah, Mama, it's your favorite. Remember? I sure do. You took a belt to me over this."
She felt her shoulders begin to relax, her grip on the steering wheel loosen.
"I'm sure you're as pleased as punch about this, but it's not over. Ted said I make him feel electric. Electric, Mama. You'll see. This isn't over."
The backseat was silent again, save for the music being pushed from the speakers. She forced herself to smile and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. It was a lie. Deep down she knew it was over. It had taken fourteen years for her to work up the courage—and swallow the shame—to open herself up to another man. And she knew she would never forgive him for making a fool of her.
She had lied to her mother but it tasted good in her mouth.
She pushed her hand through her hair as the familiar voice sang her home.
"Everybody needs somebody, you're not the only one."
Police Car
So a friend forwarded me this text today that read, "You see me in a police car. What would you think I got arrested for?" After responding, I forwarded the message out to some friends (it said "Play Along" and I follow directions, thank you very much)
Here are the responses thus far. My friends think so much of me. And some of them just know me too damned well. :)
DUI
Indecent exposure**
Stalking Angelina Jolie
Shoplifting
Flashing
Noise violation
Impersonating a police officer while delivering a strip-o-gram (WHAT???)
(** denotes duplicate response. Three, actually. sigh)
I'll add to this list as results come in. Feel free to comment.
Here are the responses thus far. My friends think so much of me. And some of them just know me too damned well. :)
DUI
Indecent exposure**
Stalking Angelina Jolie
Shoplifting
Flashing
Noise violation
Impersonating a police officer while delivering a strip-o-gram (WHAT???)
(** denotes duplicate response. Three, actually. sigh)
I'll add to this list as results come in. Feel free to comment.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
The Rings
Today, a friend of mine was teaching Guy de Maupassant's "The Necklace" and shared her own personal jewelry story with the students. She later shared the story with me. I'll try to do it justice.
Years ago, she had some rings. The rings were her only possessions of real value, and she admits she had a certain degree of vanity about them.
One day, she couldn't find the rings. Frantically, she searched for them, tearing her house apart from top to bottom. They were nowhere to be found. My friend was devastated. The rings meant so much to her, and she just couldn't understand how in the world they dissappeared. She obsessed over the rings, desperate to find them.
Eventually, she said she grew angry about losing the rings. Furthermore, she was mad at God. God knew where her rings were; why didn't He help her find them? Why didn't He reveal them to her? Come on, God! Cut me some slack, she thought.
Eventally her anger passed, replaced by humility. She had no right to be angry at God. Perhaps God was teaching her a lesson. Okay, God, she thought, teach me my lesson. What do you want me to learn through the loss of my rings. But even then, she more or less bargained with God, expecting him to return her rings once said lesson was learned.
Several months passed. She accepted that the rings were just gone. She began to move on, to heal from the disspointment of losing something that meant so much to her.
Then one day, she found the rings. They were tucked away in an interior zipped pocket of her purse... where she had placed them. All those months they had been with her on a daily basis, hanging from her shoulder.
I left school, thinking about her story. There was something in her simple tale that spoke to me. I started pondering my own "rings," the valuable things in my life that sometimes dissparar for a period of time.
Joy. Passion. Patience. Peace.
When I dip into life's valley's, how often do I turn my face toward God, angry or accusative? How can You let me be so sad? Why don't you heal my relationships? Why did you create me to be so anxious? Why shouldn't I be angry when you gave me these feelings?
I am so guilty of blaming God when I lose those things that are precious to me. And I am often demanding when I ask him to "fix" me.
But God doesn't take away my joy, he doesn't deprive me of peace. It is not God's hand that dampens my passion or robs me of patience. No, He has blessed me with those gifts. He has placed them in my heart. It is I who lose them, who burines them so deep that I forget where I placed them. I allow the world to convince me there is no hope, to drag me down into complacency and misery. My beautiful rings gather dust and tarnish... and so does my spirit.
At my darkest times, my rings are tucked away in my pocket, waiting for me to reach for them, to remember where I placed them. All I have to do is put them on and to accept the merciful blessings I have been given as a child of God.
Years ago, she had some rings. The rings were her only possessions of real value, and she admits she had a certain degree of vanity about them.
One day, she couldn't find the rings. Frantically, she searched for them, tearing her house apart from top to bottom. They were nowhere to be found. My friend was devastated. The rings meant so much to her, and she just couldn't understand how in the world they dissappeared. She obsessed over the rings, desperate to find them.
Eventually, she said she grew angry about losing the rings. Furthermore, she was mad at God. God knew where her rings were; why didn't He help her find them? Why didn't He reveal them to her? Come on, God! Cut me some slack, she thought.
Eventally her anger passed, replaced by humility. She had no right to be angry at God. Perhaps God was teaching her a lesson. Okay, God, she thought, teach me my lesson. What do you want me to learn through the loss of my rings. But even then, she more or less bargained with God, expecting him to return her rings once said lesson was learned.
Several months passed. She accepted that the rings were just gone. She began to move on, to heal from the disspointment of losing something that meant so much to her.
Then one day, she found the rings. They were tucked away in an interior zipped pocket of her purse... where she had placed them. All those months they had been with her on a daily basis, hanging from her shoulder.
I left school, thinking about her story. There was something in her simple tale that spoke to me. I started pondering my own "rings," the valuable things in my life that sometimes dissparar for a period of time.
Joy. Passion. Patience. Peace.
When I dip into life's valley's, how often do I turn my face toward God, angry or accusative? How can You let me be so sad? Why don't you heal my relationships? Why did you create me to be so anxious? Why shouldn't I be angry when you gave me these feelings?
I am so guilty of blaming God when I lose those things that are precious to me. And I am often demanding when I ask him to "fix" me.
But God doesn't take away my joy, he doesn't deprive me of peace. It is not God's hand that dampens my passion or robs me of patience. No, He has blessed me with those gifts. He has placed them in my heart. It is I who lose them, who burines them so deep that I forget where I placed them. I allow the world to convince me there is no hope, to drag me down into complacency and misery. My beautiful rings gather dust and tarnish... and so does my spirit.
At my darkest times, my rings are tucked away in my pocket, waiting for me to reach for them, to remember where I placed them. All I have to do is put them on and to accept the merciful blessings I have been given as a child of God.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Early Thanks
As most of you know, I teach public high school where I run across the products of what may possibly be the world's worst parenting. I won't get into the stories, but let's just say some of these kids didn't have a chance when the,ir mommas pushed them from the womb. Hell, some of them weren't even safe IN the womb. I've encountered some of the most broken, hopeless kids in the almost seven years I've been teaching, and most of the time I really understood these students once I met their parent or parents. These kids are used as slave labor, punching bags, emotional crutches, bargaining chips, piggy banks and everything else that a child should not be used for.
I say all of this so that you understand my "thankfulness." I am thankful for two parents who loved, nurtured, supported and actually RAISED me. They didn't baby me, they weren't permissive and they never UTTERED the words, "My child would NEVER..."
I had parents who made every effort to know who I was with and what I was doing. They were intrusive and strict and everything I thought they shouldn't be. They gave me rules and curfews. They knew all of my friends and wouldn't allow me to leave the house with some guy who pulled up and honked his horn. They took and/or dragged me to church every time the doors opened. They insisted we eat dinner as a family. They attended my ballgames, recitals and school plays. They made sacrifices. And at the time, I didn't appreciate a bit of it.
I understand now that my parents loved me and made ME their priority without turning me into a spoiled, pampered brat. They taught me that I was worth more than a label on a shirt, more than what a boy told me I was worth. They knew that my entire life would be shaped by what they taught me and the guidance they provided.
Did I screw up? Constantly. Was I the perfect, well-balanced kid and teen? Hell no. I drove them absolutely nuts. My parents spent more time on their knees than anyone should have to, praying for their crazy kid. But despite the mistakes I made, I've turned into a pretty damned decent adult if I say so myself. And I know that it's because of them and their constant encouragement, wisdom and prayers that I'm the woman I am today. To be honest, I might not even be alive and well if it weren't for my parents' constant intercessory prayers for me.
I am so thankful for my parents. I can only hope that I'm half the parent they were and still are.
Thank you, Momer and Diddy. I love you.
I say all of this so that you understand my "thankfulness." I am thankful for two parents who loved, nurtured, supported and actually RAISED me. They didn't baby me, they weren't permissive and they never UTTERED the words, "My child would NEVER..."
I had parents who made every effort to know who I was with and what I was doing. They were intrusive and strict and everything I thought they shouldn't be. They gave me rules and curfews. They knew all of my friends and wouldn't allow me to leave the house with some guy who pulled up and honked his horn. They took and/or dragged me to church every time the doors opened. They insisted we eat dinner as a family. They attended my ballgames, recitals and school plays. They made sacrifices. And at the time, I didn't appreciate a bit of it.
I understand now that my parents loved me and made ME their priority without turning me into a spoiled, pampered brat. They taught me that I was worth more than a label on a shirt, more than what a boy told me I was worth. They knew that my entire life would be shaped by what they taught me and the guidance they provided.
Did I screw up? Constantly. Was I the perfect, well-balanced kid and teen? Hell no. I drove them absolutely nuts. My parents spent more time on their knees than anyone should have to, praying for their crazy kid. But despite the mistakes I made, I've turned into a pretty damned decent adult if I say so myself. And I know that it's because of them and their constant encouragement, wisdom and prayers that I'm the woman I am today. To be honest, I might not even be alive and well if it weren't for my parents' constant intercessory prayers for me.
I am so thankful for my parents. I can only hope that I'm half the parent they were and still are.
Thank you, Momer and Diddy. I love you.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Sunday Idleness
Things I Should Be Doing Right Now
Cleaning my house
Doing laundry
Grading papers
Finishing my students' progress reports
Things I'd Rather Be Doing Right Now (SIMULTANEOUSLY)
Chilling on the couch
Finishing reading Watchmen
Catching up on stuff I've TIVO'd
Cleaning my house
Doing laundry
Grading papers
Finishing my students' progress reports
Things I'd Rather Be Doing Right Now (SIMULTANEOUSLY)
Chilling on the couch
Finishing reading Watchmen
Catching up on stuff I've TIVO'd
Saturday, November 15, 2008
100 THINGS ABOUT me
Several of my friends and blog buddies have posted 100 things about themselves. I'm going to jump on the bandwagon. Don't feel like you have to read all of this (or any of this). I just need something to blog about. (And if you don't mind, Beth, I'm going to use some of your blog for ideas) :)
1. I love to drive, and not just because I hate being a passenger in a car. I have a bit of a phobia about riding with people which prompts me to offer to drive all the time. I actually like to drive, though. I've always liked it. When I first got my license, all I wanted to do was drive. People told me it would wear off as I got older. I don't get excited every time a start a car now, but I still do enjoy being on the road.
2. One of my earliest memories is going to the zoo with my parents. I don't think my brother was born, so I was younger than three. I remember my dad picking me up because my mom was worried about me squeezing through the bars of an exhibit. Once he picked me up, I could see over the railing. There was a hippo below, and he opened his mouth wide. It scared me to death.
3. I French kissed for the first time in 4th grade. I had a boyfriend and some of the other girls dared us to do it. I had no idea what it was. They told me to kiss with our tongues. I totally did it, and I thought it was disgusting. So did he.
4. I've always wanted to adopt children. A bunch of them.
5. I don't understand couples who make a habit of letting their kids sleep in the bed with them; however, I have no problem letting my two dogs sleep with us.
6. When I was a little girl, I'd play house. I'd always have kids but no husband.
7. One of my high school friends asked me on a date once. I told him I thought it was a bad idea to date friends. He died the next year when we were seniors. I've always regretted that I didn't say yes.
8. I've had the same email address since 1996. I constantly have to explain what it means to people.
9 . I have a hard time when my favorite shows go off the air. In fact, I get kind of emotional on the last episode of every show, even if I haven't watched it much.
10. I desperately want to be a red head but don't want to commit to the upkeep.
11. I've worn contacts since 6th grade. I almost never take them out except to change to a new pair. By everyone else's account, I should be blind by now.
12. I truly wish I didn't talk so much. It's like a bad habit, though.
13. I've always had a thing for older guys/men, but my husband is 13 months younger than I am.
14. I don't celebrate Valentines' Day. I don't need a day on the calendar to tell my husband how much I love him.
15. I love accents.
16. In high school, I wanted to join the military. I scored super high on the ASVAB and recruiters were beating down my door. I could have gone to college for free in return for serving four years afterward. My dad would have loved nothing more than for me to follow in his footsteps. My mother put her foot down, though, and nixed my plans. I would have graduated from college three months before 9/11.
17. I can't watch anything with bones breaking. Blood and guts don't bother me, but a broken leg sends me running.
18. I hate to itch. I'd rather be in pain than to itch. When I got attacked by the fire ants recently, I actually scratched my foot until it bled. It hurt like crazy, but it stopped the itching for awhile. I was much happier.
19. Growing up, I was convinced a guy hanged himself in our attic. I have no idea where I got this.
20. I always loved being on stage because I could be someone besides me.
21. When I was little, I used to play school. My dad had brought home some old workbooks from a garage sale. I'd write my stuffed animals' names on the books and teach them.
22. I played Ouiser Boudreaux in Steel Magnolias in college. I told the director I'd break someone's legs if I didn't get the part. I was mostly kidding.
23. My first car was named Ozzie the ThunderOstrich. He drowned.
24. I don't consider pickles to be real food. You might as well be eating a booger.
25. For about two years, I didn't eat red meat. I'm not sure what prompted me to do this or why I started eating it again. I love me some cheeseburgers, though.
26. Lately, I won't eat chicken if I had to touch it while it was raw.
27. I wish I loved football. I try so hard.
28. I have the craziest dreams. I always try to connect them to something I've witnessed during the day, but they're totally random and often terrifying.
29. I can almost always tell when I'm being used, but it doesn't bother me that much.
30. I've slept with the same stuffed animal for almost 15 years. His name is Alfred. He started out as a security blanket during a depression during my early teens. And while he still offers comfort, I have to sleep with him or my shoulder kills me the next morning. I've tried to replace him with something less embarrassing to carry through the airport, but I've slept with him so long that he's kind of molded to fit my body. John says he stinks, but I'm terrified he'll fall apart if I wash him.
31. I have four siblings but rarely see three of them.
32. My feet sweat so much. If the rest of me sweat like my feet do, I could never leave the house.
33. I started reading Stephen King books in elementary school. It started with Cujo. I've always loved horror novels. I can't watch the movies anymore, though.
34. I love Autumn but I always get depressed.
35. As a child, I told people I wanted to be a pediatric anasteseologist. I learned it from a commercial and loved saying it.
36. There was a very brief period in my life when I used to shoplift. I have no idea why I did it and always felt guilty.
37. I knew that we were meant to adopt Lady the moment I saw her.
38. I paid someone to clean my house recently and felt like the biggest failure as a woman and wife.
39. I feel guilty for not visiting my grandparents more, but it's almost unbearable to see them in their current condition. I also live in fear that my parents will end up like them.
40. When I was little, I wanted to be on the Opry. Now I just want to get something published. Hopefully my writing is better than my singing.
41. I could eat cheese at every meal. I love it like most women love chocolate.
42. Sometimes I'm afraid that I'm only one tragedy away from becoming an alcoholic.
43. I wish I had the time and money to study photography. It's not something I want to make money from, I just want to be better at it.
44. I am terrified of spiders, even little ones.
45. I knew I wanted to marry John on our 2nd date. I told him on our 3rd.
46. I want to hug a panda before I die.
47. The first time I flew was to Boston. It was less than a year after 9/11. The security there was easier to get through than at Memphis and Charlotte (where our connecting flight was). It was kind of scary.
48. On a couple of occasions, people have given me creepy looks in parking lots. Ibroke out into a dead run and didn't stop until I was in my car.
49. Nothing feels better than having all of my laundry done.
50. I want to be cremated.
51. I never thought my mother would be my best friend, but she is.
52. I miss making out.
53. I text way too much for an almost 30-year-old woman.
54. I don't understand the hooplah over the Twilight series. I'm happy that people are reading, but there are so many better books. Stephanie Meyer uses the same 15 vocabulary words over and over.
55. I don't believe that people who commit suicide are damned to hell.
56. I'm hesitant to watch any show on Fox because they end up cancelling everything I like, sometimes before the end of the first season.
57. I don't own an iPod.
58. I'm terrible about keeping in touch with people like I should. It's a serious source of guilt, especially since I think about them all the time.
59. I believe in prayer, but still don't pray as much as I should.
60. I've given up on getting people to like me. If you don't like me, you don't. I don't want to do anything to hurt anyone, but if you just don't like who I am, I'm not offended.
61. I think Pilot stations have the best coffee.
62. I could drink milk with every meal as long as it's skim and served over ice.
63. Not to sound egotistical, but I feel like I have some sort of big purpose in life that I'm meant to fulfill. I'm still waiting to find out what it is.
64. There is a special place in hell for people who abuse children, the elderly and the mentally ill. I'm a big believer in the whole "what you do to the least of these you do to me" thing. Oh, and dogs. If you hurt dogs, you're an asshole.
65. I haven't worn a pair of shorts in public in years.
66. I look forward to being a mother.
67. I have a stack of books that's almost waist high that I need to read. I can't walk into a book store without leaving with a purchase. Same goes for Sams. Their books are always discounted and I can't resist.
68. I plan on doing a majority of my Christmas shopping online this year. I already have about a quarter of it done.
69. I'm a huge fan of Pixar movies and usually end up crying while I watch them. I'm so excited about Wall-E coming out on Tuesday!
70. I see faces in the designs in marble, tile, wallpaper, etc.
71. I used to think needing someone was a sign of weakness. Then I met John.
72. I love summer shoes and winter clothes.
73. People should have to pass some sort of competency test to have children. I have to fight the urge on a daily basis to tell some parents what dumbasses they are.
74. I don't understand how racist people can call themselves Christians. It angers and frustrates me, but I usually keep my mouth shut just to keep the peace. I know that I am a part of the problem if I don't speak up, but I feel like I need to be in these people's lives to try to change their minds.
75. I had a parakeet named DJ for years. He was around 8 when he died. He started having fits. He'd fly around his cage and crash into the walls. Sometimes he'd just fall off his perch. He died while I was on vacation, one of several animals that died while I was away. Strange.
76. I love the Counting Crows and think August and Everything After is one of the best CDs ever.
77. I am still a huge Dixie Chicks fan and don't care who knows it. Their last album got me through some hard times.
78. I love to sleep late. Really late. I've been getting up earlier on the weekends, though, since I started taking valerian root and going to bed early.
79. I am inspired by people who forgive.
80. I wish I knew more history. I took AP U.S. History in high school and earned 6 college credits, so I took none in college. Most of what I know I read myself or learned from my dad.
81. I think marijuana should be legalized.
82. I'm pretty much okay with being the ugly friend.
83. There are very few things I'd like to go back and change in my life. There are a few people I've hurt, though. I hope they know how sorry I am.
84. I can sleep better during the day than at night.
85. My middle name was Leigh. When I married, I kept my maiden name as my middle name.
86. I am extremely ticklish and I can't STAND to be tickled. I warn people that I can't be held responsible for what I do if they tickle me.
87. I've always liked my boobs. I'm not sure if it's because I decided I liked them or because all the guys liked them.
88. When I started college, I planned to major in nursing.
89. If I'm listening to "Raining in Baltimore" I either need you to give me a hug or leave me alone. It's up to you to figure out.
90. I want two tattoos.
91. There are three kisses that stand out in my mind: one in a car, one in a church and one under a tree in the rain.
92. I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt more than I should.
93. I type very well because I learned on an old manual typewriter as a kid.
94. I love to color.
95. I used to want five kids. Now I want three. I'll have to have twins on the 2nd shot, though.
96. I hate the way I sound on the radio.
97. Earlier this year, I spent six hours driving through the mountains by myself.
98. I can't wear perfume anymore. I also have to avoid certain scents of deodorant, hairspray, etc. I get severe headaches.
99. I have an overactive imagination which is great when I'm writing but not so great when I'm by myself or in a relationship. I've had to work on it over the years so that I don't drive myself and others crazy.
100. Twenty nine is a weird age. I'm actually ready to be thirty. That may change, though. :)
1. I love to drive, and not just because I hate being a passenger in a car. I have a bit of a phobia about riding with people which prompts me to offer to drive all the time. I actually like to drive, though. I've always liked it. When I first got my license, all I wanted to do was drive. People told me it would wear off as I got older. I don't get excited every time a start a car now, but I still do enjoy being on the road.
2. One of my earliest memories is going to the zoo with my parents. I don't think my brother was born, so I was younger than three. I remember my dad picking me up because my mom was worried about me squeezing through the bars of an exhibit. Once he picked me up, I could see over the railing. There was a hippo below, and he opened his mouth wide. It scared me to death.
3. I French kissed for the first time in 4th grade. I had a boyfriend and some of the other girls dared us to do it. I had no idea what it was. They told me to kiss with our tongues. I totally did it, and I thought it was disgusting. So did he.
4. I've always wanted to adopt children. A bunch of them.
5. I don't understand couples who make a habit of letting their kids sleep in the bed with them; however, I have no problem letting my two dogs sleep with us.
6. When I was a little girl, I'd play house. I'd always have kids but no husband.
7. One of my high school friends asked me on a date once. I told him I thought it was a bad idea to date friends. He died the next year when we were seniors. I've always regretted that I didn't say yes.
8. I've had the same email address since 1996. I constantly have to explain what it means to people.
9 . I have a hard time when my favorite shows go off the air. In fact, I get kind of emotional on the last episode of every show, even if I haven't watched it much.
10. I desperately want to be a red head but don't want to commit to the upkeep.
11. I've worn contacts since 6th grade. I almost never take them out except to change to a new pair. By everyone else's account, I should be blind by now.
12. I truly wish I didn't talk so much. It's like a bad habit, though.
13. I've always had a thing for older guys/men, but my husband is 13 months younger than I am.
14. I don't celebrate Valentines' Day. I don't need a day on the calendar to tell my husband how much I love him.
15. I love accents.
16. In high school, I wanted to join the military. I scored super high on the ASVAB and recruiters were beating down my door. I could have gone to college for free in return for serving four years afterward. My dad would have loved nothing more than for me to follow in his footsteps. My mother put her foot down, though, and nixed my plans. I would have graduated from college three months before 9/11.
17. I can't watch anything with bones breaking. Blood and guts don't bother me, but a broken leg sends me running.
18. I hate to itch. I'd rather be in pain than to itch. When I got attacked by the fire ants recently, I actually scratched my foot until it bled. It hurt like crazy, but it stopped the itching for awhile. I was much happier.
19. Growing up, I was convinced a guy hanged himself in our attic. I have no idea where I got this.
20. I always loved being on stage because I could be someone besides me.
21. When I was little, I used to play school. My dad had brought home some old workbooks from a garage sale. I'd write my stuffed animals' names on the books and teach them.
22. I played Ouiser Boudreaux in Steel Magnolias in college. I told the director I'd break someone's legs if I didn't get the part. I was mostly kidding.
23. My first car was named Ozzie the ThunderOstrich. He drowned.
24. I don't consider pickles to be real food. You might as well be eating a booger.
25. For about two years, I didn't eat red meat. I'm not sure what prompted me to do this or why I started eating it again. I love me some cheeseburgers, though.
26. Lately, I won't eat chicken if I had to touch it while it was raw.
27. I wish I loved football. I try so hard.
28. I have the craziest dreams. I always try to connect them to something I've witnessed during the day, but they're totally random and often terrifying.
29. I can almost always tell when I'm being used, but it doesn't bother me that much.
30. I've slept with the same stuffed animal for almost 15 years. His name is Alfred. He started out as a security blanket during a depression during my early teens. And while he still offers comfort, I have to sleep with him or my shoulder kills me the next morning. I've tried to replace him with something less embarrassing to carry through the airport, but I've slept with him so long that he's kind of molded to fit my body. John says he stinks, but I'm terrified he'll fall apart if I wash him.
31. I have four siblings but rarely see three of them.
32. My feet sweat so much. If the rest of me sweat like my feet do, I could never leave the house.
33. I started reading Stephen King books in elementary school. It started with Cujo. I've always loved horror novels. I can't watch the movies anymore, though.
34. I love Autumn but I always get depressed.
35. As a child, I told people I wanted to be a pediatric anasteseologist. I learned it from a commercial and loved saying it.
36. There was a very brief period in my life when I used to shoplift. I have no idea why I did it and always felt guilty.
37. I knew that we were meant to adopt Lady the moment I saw her.
38. I paid someone to clean my house recently and felt like the biggest failure as a woman and wife.
39. I feel guilty for not visiting my grandparents more, but it's almost unbearable to see them in their current condition. I also live in fear that my parents will end up like them.
40. When I was little, I wanted to be on the Opry. Now I just want to get something published. Hopefully my writing is better than my singing.
41. I could eat cheese at every meal. I love it like most women love chocolate.
42. Sometimes I'm afraid that I'm only one tragedy away from becoming an alcoholic.
43. I wish I had the time and money to study photography. It's not something I want to make money from, I just want to be better at it.
44. I am terrified of spiders, even little ones.
45. I knew I wanted to marry John on our 2nd date. I told him on our 3rd.
46. I want to hug a panda before I die.
47. The first time I flew was to Boston. It was less than a year after 9/11. The security there was easier to get through than at Memphis and Charlotte (where our connecting flight was). It was kind of scary.
48. On a couple of occasions, people have given me creepy looks in parking lots. Ibroke out into a dead run and didn't stop until I was in my car.
49. Nothing feels better than having all of my laundry done.
50. I want to be cremated.
51. I never thought my mother would be my best friend, but she is.
52. I miss making out.
53. I text way too much for an almost 30-year-old woman.
54. I don't understand the hooplah over the Twilight series. I'm happy that people are reading, but there are so many better books. Stephanie Meyer uses the same 15 vocabulary words over and over.
55. I don't believe that people who commit suicide are damned to hell.
56. I'm hesitant to watch any show on Fox because they end up cancelling everything I like, sometimes before the end of the first season.
57. I don't own an iPod.
58. I'm terrible about keeping in touch with people like I should. It's a serious source of guilt, especially since I think about them all the time.
59. I believe in prayer, but still don't pray as much as I should.
60. I've given up on getting people to like me. If you don't like me, you don't. I don't want to do anything to hurt anyone, but if you just don't like who I am, I'm not offended.
61. I think Pilot stations have the best coffee.
62. I could drink milk with every meal as long as it's skim and served over ice.
63. Not to sound egotistical, but I feel like I have some sort of big purpose in life that I'm meant to fulfill. I'm still waiting to find out what it is.
64. There is a special place in hell for people who abuse children, the elderly and the mentally ill. I'm a big believer in the whole "what you do to the least of these you do to me" thing. Oh, and dogs. If you hurt dogs, you're an asshole.
65. I haven't worn a pair of shorts in public in years.
66. I look forward to being a mother.
67. I have a stack of books that's almost waist high that I need to read. I can't walk into a book store without leaving with a purchase. Same goes for Sams. Their books are always discounted and I can't resist.
68. I plan on doing a majority of my Christmas shopping online this year. I already have about a quarter of it done.
69. I'm a huge fan of Pixar movies and usually end up crying while I watch them. I'm so excited about Wall-E coming out on Tuesday!
70. I see faces in the designs in marble, tile, wallpaper, etc.
71. I used to think needing someone was a sign of weakness. Then I met John.
72. I love summer shoes and winter clothes.
73. People should have to pass some sort of competency test to have children. I have to fight the urge on a daily basis to tell some parents what dumbasses they are.
74. I don't understand how racist people can call themselves Christians. It angers and frustrates me, but I usually keep my mouth shut just to keep the peace. I know that I am a part of the problem if I don't speak up, but I feel like I need to be in these people's lives to try to change their minds.
75. I had a parakeet named DJ for years. He was around 8 when he died. He started having fits. He'd fly around his cage and crash into the walls. Sometimes he'd just fall off his perch. He died while I was on vacation, one of several animals that died while I was away. Strange.
76. I love the Counting Crows and think August and Everything After is one of the best CDs ever.
77. I am still a huge Dixie Chicks fan and don't care who knows it. Their last album got me through some hard times.
78. I love to sleep late. Really late. I've been getting up earlier on the weekends, though, since I started taking valerian root and going to bed early.
79. I am inspired by people who forgive.
80. I wish I knew more history. I took AP U.S. History in high school and earned 6 college credits, so I took none in college. Most of what I know I read myself or learned from my dad.
81. I think marijuana should be legalized.
82. I'm pretty much okay with being the ugly friend.
83. There are very few things I'd like to go back and change in my life. There are a few people I've hurt, though. I hope they know how sorry I am.
84. I can sleep better during the day than at night.
85. My middle name was Leigh. When I married, I kept my maiden name as my middle name.
86. I am extremely ticklish and I can't STAND to be tickled. I warn people that I can't be held responsible for what I do if they tickle me.
87. I've always liked my boobs. I'm not sure if it's because I decided I liked them or because all the guys liked them.
88. When I started college, I planned to major in nursing.
89. If I'm listening to "Raining in Baltimore" I either need you to give me a hug or leave me alone. It's up to you to figure out.
90. I want two tattoos.
91. There are three kisses that stand out in my mind: one in a car, one in a church and one under a tree in the rain.
92. I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt more than I should.
93. I type very well because I learned on an old manual typewriter as a kid.
94. I love to color.
95. I used to want five kids. Now I want three. I'll have to have twins on the 2nd shot, though.
96. I hate the way I sound on the radio.
97. Earlier this year, I spent six hours driving through the mountains by myself.
98. I can't wear perfume anymore. I also have to avoid certain scents of deodorant, hairspray, etc. I get severe headaches.
99. I have an overactive imagination which is great when I'm writing but not so great when I'm by myself or in a relationship. I've had to work on it over the years so that I don't drive myself and others crazy.
100. Twenty nine is a weird age. I'm actually ready to be thirty. That may change, though. :)
Photo Update
Here are a few recent pictures from my life. Click on any that you'd like to see up close.
My girl J.W. got married in October. She was the most beautiful bride. I'm so happy for her and so thankful that she found her soulmate.
I was blessed to be a part of their special day.
The Bean turned one year old. She's growing so fast. She's crawling everywhere and standing up on her on. She's even trying to talk! I can honestly say I look forward to being a mom.
Saturday Evening Post
I haven't posted much lately. And what I have posted has been from other sources, not original. To be honest, I've been a bit afraid to write. If I start writing, things start coming out, and there are too many things that --much as I might like to--I don't need to share in a public forum. I can't keep avoiding my blog, though. It has no real purpose for anyone else, but writing is therapy for me.
My days have pretty much been running together. Get up early, go to work, sit in my room in the afternoon working on lessons and grading, come home, eat, take my valerian root, watch some TV, go to bed. Wash, Rinse, Repeat. At times, I find comfort in my routine, but some days I feel like I'm running on a hampster wheel. While it can be reassuring to know what's coming next, the redundancy is sometimes... well, redundant. I can't say I'm bored, but I do feel my life lacks a healthy share of excitement.
School is stil tiring and I'm still frustrated on a daily basis, but things have been better recently. A majority of my students hasve started to calm down somewhat. They seem more focused and are better at coming to class prepared. Their attitudes are also improving, which allows me to get to know them better and make a connection. I realized recently that I made a mistake by not requiring journals this year. Usually, I have my students keep a journal; I assign two topics a week. The journals are not graded on grammar or spelling, just content. These journals allow the students to share their lives and allow me to respond to them. I decided against journals this year due to the number of classes and students I teach. I just didn't think I'd be able to read them all. I regret that decision now. I should have sucked it up and made the time. I feel like I would be so much further along with them at this point. C'est la vie.
Holiday season is arriving, which means my weekends will be more full than usual. I desperately needed to spend today cleaning and grading papers. My house is disgusting and I'm supposed to hand out progress reports on Monday. Unfortunately, I woke up this morning with perhaps the worst headache I've ever experienced. The only one that could touch this was the three-day sinus headache I had in college. I couldn't even move. Today's headache started in the base of my neck and worked its way up over my head and into my temples. By the time it was done, even my cheekbones were throbbing. John gave me something to take and heated up all of the bed buddies we have. I buried my head underneath them and slept for awhile. I'm still not pain free but it's only a dull ache now. I'm totally wiped out which sucks because I need to go and buy a couple of gifts for tomorrow.
Not much else to write right now. Well, that's a lie. There's just not much I'm going to right. Sorry for the tone of this. I'll be more chirpy next time.
My days have pretty much been running together. Get up early, go to work, sit in my room in the afternoon working on lessons and grading, come home, eat, take my valerian root, watch some TV, go to bed. Wash, Rinse, Repeat. At times, I find comfort in my routine, but some days I feel like I'm running on a hampster wheel. While it can be reassuring to know what's coming next, the redundancy is sometimes... well, redundant. I can't say I'm bored, but I do feel my life lacks a healthy share of excitement.
School is stil tiring and I'm still frustrated on a daily basis, but things have been better recently. A majority of my students hasve started to calm down somewhat. They seem more focused and are better at coming to class prepared. Their attitudes are also improving, which allows me to get to know them better and make a connection. I realized recently that I made a mistake by not requiring journals this year. Usually, I have my students keep a journal; I assign two topics a week. The journals are not graded on grammar or spelling, just content. These journals allow the students to share their lives and allow me to respond to them. I decided against journals this year due to the number of classes and students I teach. I just didn't think I'd be able to read them all. I regret that decision now. I should have sucked it up and made the time. I feel like I would be so much further along with them at this point. C'est la vie.
Holiday season is arriving, which means my weekends will be more full than usual. I desperately needed to spend today cleaning and grading papers. My house is disgusting and I'm supposed to hand out progress reports on Monday. Unfortunately, I woke up this morning with perhaps the worst headache I've ever experienced. The only one that could touch this was the three-day sinus headache I had in college. I couldn't even move. Today's headache started in the base of my neck and worked its way up over my head and into my temples. By the time it was done, even my cheekbones were throbbing. John gave me something to take and heated up all of the bed buddies we have. I buried my head underneath them and slept for awhile. I'm still not pain free but it's only a dull ache now. I'm totally wiped out which sucks because I need to go and buy a couple of gifts for tomorrow.
Not much else to write right now. Well, that's a lie. There's just not much I'm going to right. Sorry for the tone of this. I'll be more chirpy next time.
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