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 |  Middle-Age Spread is NOT a Condiment!
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| This is my second attempt at keeping a daily blog. I'm hoping I will be able to enter something everyday, just to keep my creative juices flowing. I plan on writing about my day, and infusing it with my "quirky" way of viewing things. If you read my blog for a few days, you'll see what I'm talking about. I'm in my fifties and see things slightly different than mainstream. Hopefully you will enjoy what you read, and maybe even get a laugh or two along the way. |
| I know, I know - I'm extremely late this morning getting to my daily entry. I've been debating with myself all morning as to whether or not I should attempt to drive to work. I just listened to the latest weather and road conditions report and the news is not good. I might be home, again today, due to weather conditions. My hometown is under a state of emergency, both main highways leading to my bank branch are closed, and all the snow that we shoveled and plowed yesterday, has blown back onto the roads. So, here I am, wondering exactly what I should do. Do I attempt to venture out into this deep freeze only to sit on the highways until the roads are clear? Or, do I just call off work again today and hang-out with my daughter? Of course I am leaning toward the later. However, I should check-out the conditions from someone who actually makes it to work to see how their ride in was this morning. As I'm typing this, the local radio station is running through the list of closings and cancellations. The thermometer on our back porch registers zero, and the weather channel says the wind chill is minus twelve! Yeah - I'm in a real hurry to get to work this morning. It always amazes me how people head out into terrible weather conditions, risking their lives, just to get to work. I say if you have the vacations days, then use them to save your life, or the life of someone else on the road. No use trying to kill yourself, just to get to work. Your work will be there waiting for you, or, better yet, someone else will pick up the slack. No need to worry about that. Yesterday, our mail carrier actually delivered mail. I was shocked that he made it through. I guess the slogan "through rain and snow. . ." does mean something. During the blizzards of '93 and '96 the mail carrier we had refused to deliver mail if your front steps weren't shoveled. He would even write on one of the pieces of mail "Couldn't deliver - SNOW!" Well, excuse us. We have jobs too and in the morning our priority is getting our vehicles uncovered so we can get to those jobs. We can't take the time to clear snow from steps for the mail carrier. What a jerk. If conditions on my job aren't what I would like them to be, I 'buck-up' and still do my job. I can't refuse to do it just because things aren't the way I would like them to be. I just called my boss at home, and she is having the same problems. She lives a lot closer to the branch than I do, and she can't get out of her driveway either. Luckily, she understands my situation and said, "It is what it is!" It looks like I will be home today. On snow days like this, I like to cook. A big pot of soup simmering on the stove sounds perfect for a snowy day like today. In fact, yesterday, I made a big pot of beefstew. One of those 'stick to your ribs' meals. This means I will abandon my menu for the day. I don't think my family will mind. Do you? Have a Great Day - and keep warm! |
| Today is the day we are supposed to show our love to those around us. There are so many different ways to do this - expensive jewelry, exotic vacations, or even new cars. Seeing how I can't afford any of those things, I chose to do this by making a special meal for my family. On my menu for this day I wrote "Surprise - my choice". You would think I wrote "Your're dead" or "Rat meat" the way my family reacted. "What does that mean?" they asked, the fear in their voices so thick you could cut it with a knife. Or, "What are you making that you can't tell us?" They are so worried that I'm going to make something healthy they are breaking-out in a sweat. The two of them are acting this way. Gimme a break. Don't they know that I would make something THEY like, rather than what they should be eating. (If you've read my blog prior to today, you know they are junkfood addicts.) Although I write about my husband and his many hilarious ways of reacting and doing things, I do love and appreciate him. In fact, when I was writing my Valentine's Day card to him, I got stuck as to how to convey my love to him in just a few words and a small space. I finally settled on "You'll never know how much I love and appreciate you in my life. For always and forever." I know he loves me too. This morning when I turned on the kitchen light, there on the counter was a bouquet of flowers with a box of chocolates. My husband usually does this every Valentine's Day. The chocolates are a new addition. He must be thinking outside the box. I say that because my husband's gifts to me are predictable. For Christmas he has a formula for buying me presents, and he sticks to it no matter what. His thinking must be, "If it was a hit last year, it will be a hit again this year." He works on the "P+P+P+J+J = a happy wife formula." You don't know what that is? Well let me educate you. The first "P" stands for perfume. Every year he gives me a new bottle of my favorite perfume. I remember one year I asked for a bottle of 'White Shoulders' perfume and he gave me 'White Diamonds'. I imagined him walking over to the perfume counter at our local department store and telling the clerk, "It's "White" something." The next "P" is for pajamas. For the past few years he has gone to Victoria's Secret for these. They're nice and I do like them, however, this past Christmas he bought me a pair that has "Pink University" or something like that on the shirt. I feel kind of silly seeing as how I'm practically in my mid-forties. Hey, if he thinks I look good in them, who am I to discourage that? The next "P" is for panties. These, too, he buys at Victoria's Secret. He's usually pretty good with them, but again, this year he bought some kind of 'low-rise' style. I don't know who these are suppose to fit, but on me, half my ass hangs out. Is that how they are supposed to look? If so, then I guess they are fine. Amongst the five pair that he bought were ones that had writing on the butt. I'm not a "I have writing on my butt" kind of person. I have yet to wear these. The first "J" is for jewelry. This is his greatest strength. He always hits a homerun no matter if he buys me a necklace, earrings, bracelet or ring. He should stop here and be done. And finally the last "J" is for jeans. I know every year this is the hardest gift for him to find. I like straight leg jeans that 'sit at the waist'. In fact, Levi's 501 buttonfly jeans are my absolute favorites. Do you know how hard it is to find these? One year he couldn't find them so he went to the local Gap Store. They had what they called 'Classic Cut' jeans. They were fine - not Levis, but good enough. The next year he went back to The Gap to buy me another pair. The clerk helped him and off he went. Christmas morning I opened them and saw the words "flare leg" and "low-rise". I knew that I was in trouble. I don't like the flare leg jeans because I feel like they flop around my ankles. As for the 'low-rise', well, I constantly feel like I need to pull them up. They were a disaster. I chronicled my whole experience of returning these in my essay "My Quest for the Perfect Pair of Jean"
Despite his predictability, he does his very best to make me happy. And like I said, sometimes he does venture "outside the box" and throw me a curve. Like the chocolates. Now I'm wondering if he expects me to share them with him, or do I have to hide them just so I can enjoy them myself? If you think I'm going to share them, then you should read
I hope you all have a very Happy Valentines's Day! |
| Today is my husband's forty-eighth birthday and do you know I forgot the most important thing. A birthday cake. I was at the supermarket yesterday, with everyone else who was preparing for the impending winter storm, and I didn't get one for him. In the 'old days' I would have baked one for him but nowadays I take the easy way out. It's not just the birthday cake that I forgot. It's as if my memory is totally gone. I don't know if I did too much partying in my twenties or if it is yet another symptom of my aging mind. What ever it is, it came on me fast. There are times I walk into the kitchen for something, and then stand in the middle of the room and think to myself, "now what did I come out here for?" I'll try to trace my thoughts back to before I walked into the kitchen, trying desperately to remember. I admit there are times I just walk out of the room, never remembering what it was. At other times I'll go back to the livingroom only to remember what it was that I went into the kitchen for in the first place. How frustrating is that? Other times I'll go into the kitchen to get something, then get caught up doing something else. I forget all about what it was I went in there for in the first place - that is until I leave the room. Once again, then I remember. If I go shopping anywhere, whether it is to the mall or (definitely) grocery shopping, a list is a must have. If I didn't make a list, I would end up standing in the middle of the mall looking like a lost child. Or worse yet, roaming the aisles of the supermarket with a blank look on my face. (I've seen other people walking around the supermarket with that same look. I wonder if they have the same problem as me?) My daughter tells me things all the time that I supposedly said, but I don't remember. "Yes mom, you said that," she says in total exasperation. These are the times that I get totally confused because I think she might be saying that as a ploy to get what she wants. Or did I really say it? My husband and I will talk about things that happened years ago, and I always remember it differently than he does. Now this might be a case of his selective memory, so, I don't know if we can count this one either. However, can he be wrong all the time, every time? Wait a minute. This is my husband we're talking about. Of course he can be wrong all the time. Husbands never remember things the way they actually happened. See? I even forgot that law of nature. These aren't isolated incidents. They happen frequently to the point where I begin to think that I have the beginning stages of Alzheimer's. In fact, I got so concerned over it that I checked WebMD.com. I don't know if you've ever checked-out anything on WebMD.com, but they always, always, give you the worst case scenario for any symptom that you have. It makes you think that you better get your butt to the doctor immediately or you will be dead in no time. I was concerned about what I read until I finally remembered that point. So, today I will be in the supermarket again. I made my list and I only have one thing on it - birthday cake. Oh, I better pick-up some candles too. I almost forgot them. I hope I remember to put them on the list. Now where did I put that list? Have a great day! |
| Yesterday morning I changed my Saturday routine - slightly. You see, my mother called me on Friday and said that she didn't any groceries this week. Well, that just opened up my whole Saturday morning! I decided to do some household chores before I headed out to do my grocery shopping. Below is a list of some mundane chores that we do every Saturday. I think you'll find it's really a comparison of my way of cleaning and my husband's way. I think you'll also see how obsessive compulsive I am about things. You'll begin to feel sorry for my husband. This is what I came up with so far: THE LAUNDRY My husband usually does his own laundry. This week, since I had the time, I did it for him. As I was putting his clothes into the washer machine, I was careful how I touched them. I'm talking about his underwear and socks specifically. I made sure that I pulled the underwear out of the laundry basket by the waistband, and the socks by the top and not the foot area. I have a "thing" about touching someone else's underwear and socks. It doesn't bother me to touch my daughter's, but my husband's? Well that is a whole new world. For some reason, I can't bring myself to just reach into the laundry basket and grab a handful of clothes. If I do accidentally touch them, I hear myself saying, "EEEW!" outloud. I wish I wasn't this way, but, somewhere in my early develop I acquired this aversion to other people's underwear and socks. THE LITTERBOX I "scoop the poop" every morning and am always amazed at how "full" it is from one cat. She buries her stuff well, so I end-up really scraping the bottom of the box. I don't have a problem doing this because I tell myself to pretend I am panning for gold. Weird huh? That way, I do a full search of the litter and make sure I get every Litter Critter there is. I then sprinkle some litterbox deodorizer in the box and it is all ready for the day. The cat stands beside me while I do this as if to supervise me. When my husband does this chore, he complains constantly. "What's that cat been eating?" "Look at the size of these clumps!" "My God! I keep finding more and more! When will it end?" How dramatic! The cat doesn't even bother to supervise him. She just watches from a safe distance. DUSTING My husband usually does all the dusting that needs to be done. Afterall, he doesn't do the food shopping and yardwork is still a couple of weeks away, so he has the time. I know I am lucky to have a husband who helps out with household chores, but at the same time I have to wonder what takes him so long? I secretly timed him one Saturday and was amazed that it took him two hours to dust our downstairs. He takes "breaks" when he dusts! Dusting is not that strenuous, and it's not like we have wall to wall wood in my home. When I dust it takes me about an hour and I dust things that he doesn't - like lampshades, baseboards and windowsills. I just keep my mouth shut and tell myself that I am lucky he does it at all. FOLDING BATHROOM TOWELS For some reason, folding towels doesn't bother me. It is mindless and repetitive, so maybe that has something to do with it. But, I do have a system in place for my towels. When I put the towels away, I make sure to take the towels that are in the closet out, and put them on top of the clean ones. I like to rotate them so they all get equal use. I also like to make sure to put towels of the same color together on the shelf. (By the way, I do all of this with my underwear too. I know, I know - I am anal retentive!) My husband does this chore completely different. He folds them any old way and just shoves them on the shelf. Later, I end up rearranging everything to my satisfaction. As I read through this, I have to wonder why I just can't leave well enough alone. I mean he does the job - he gets it done. I have come to realize over these past fourteen (almost fifteen) years of marriage that my husband is a good maintenance cleaner. He can do quick touch-ups and make things look presentable. However, I am a "Mrs. Clean". I do the more thorough cleaning and organizing. The funny thing is, my husband thinks he is the better 'cleaner' than me! I often thought it would be nice to have some kind of reality show come to my house and watch the way we both clean. Then they could let the viewers vote on who's better. I know I would win. Don't worry. I don't complain to my husband about his cleaning. I just let him do his thing. I don't want to mess up a good thing. Like I said, I know that I am lucky that he does household chores at all. So, I just keep my mouth shut and secretly go back and rearrange things. You'll have to excuse me for now. I just opened the kitchen towel drawer and it is in total disarray. (Guess who put the kitchen towels away yesterday.) I really need to fix that now so, I gotta run! Have a GREAT Sunday! |
| Yesterday I looked at my calendar and there, written in big red letters, was 'dentist appointment'. Immediately, I felt a pang of, not necessarily fear, but dread. I recently switched dentists and I admit this new dentist is nice. I like him. So it wasn't seeing the dentist that bothered me. However, there is a dental hygienist (sp?) there who is overly zealous when it comes to cleaning teeth. I mean this woman must really dislike plaque. She has a gleam in her eyes when she first turns-on the drill, and that gleam doesn't disappear until she is done grinding away every piece of plaque she sees. Let me say I go to the dentist every six months for my cleanings. It's not like I neglect my teeth and wait for years on end to have them cleaned. Can they really be THAT dirty after six months? Can there really be that much plaque and crud on my teeth that this woman needs to drill like there's no tomorrow? I named her "The Drill Nazi" She is the only person who has ever brought me to tears in a dentist office. At my last cleaning, while she drilled away in my mouth, tears ran down my face, into my ears. It was THAT painful. When she was done, what seemed like two hours later, my mouth actually throbbed. And it didn't stop throbbing until two days later! About a month ago, my daughter had her cleaning appointment. I was worried how she would react to The Drill Nazi. My daughter has no tolerance, whatsoever, for pain. I mean she can't stand to get a shot, let alone have someone drill the hell out of her mouth. So, I braced myself for a major scene. To my surprise, a different dental hygienist cleaned her teeth. She was gentle with the drill and my daughter was done in no time - and without tears! It seems my daughter lucked-out because The Drill Nazi was at a seminar that day. This led to a whole conversation about how painful it is to have her clean my teeth. This hygienist told me that she has heard big, burly men complain about her too. Now, this didn't surprise me. Not because I've lived through her cleanings, but, let's face it, men can't handle pain. (That's why they can't give birth!) So, I had to discount that. Before I left I made sure that my next cleaning was with the new hygienist and not The Drill Nazi. Meanwhile, my husband had to go for his cleaning. Wouldn't you know it! He got The Drill Nazi! He was in the dentist chair for over an hour while she drilled away at his plaque and whatever else it is she attacks. He came home from his appointment with his mouth throbbing too. My husband is another one who has a low tolerance for pain. (This is where my daughter gets it from!) He had to take Tylenol, Motrin and whatever else we had in the medicine cabinet. "She really drilled my teeth! It hurts more to see her, than the dentist!", were the comments he had. You know, as nice as this dentist is, I've had some bad experiences at his office. First of all, there was the time I sat in the waiting room and a little boy said, "Hi Grandma!" to me. (Apparently I looked like his grandmother!) Talk about ruining MY day! Then, after the dentist examined my mouth, he told me that my 'old' fillings had to be replaced because they were wearing out. Now, wait a minute! How can that be? How do fillings wear-out? What could I possibly be eating that wears-out fillings? Another time, after The Drill Nazi ground my teeth and gums to kingdom come, the dentist said I needed to go to a periodontist because I may have gum disease. "Your teeth are moving and they shouldn't. The periodontist will do a deep scaling and check your gums" was how the dentist explained it to me. So, he left it up to me to set-up an appointment with this new guy that they referred me to. What makes him think that I will do that? I say if my teeth want to move - let them! I don't like going to the dentist for cleanings, let alone for a 'deep scaling'. Just the sound of that makes my mouth throb! I never have a good check-up. Never! There is always a new cavity, or a "shadow" on one of my teeth that needs to be corrected. There can't be a tooth in my head that doesn't have a filling or had some kind of work done to it. There just can't be. One day, I fear, I will be so disgusted with the whole dental health thing that I will just tell them RIP THEM OUT! Just go ahead and fit me for dentures! No more Drill Nazi, no more "shadows" on my teeth, and, most importantly, no more dentist appointments. That sounds pretty good to me! |
| For the past two days I was in training for a new computer system for work. I had to drive an hour and a half away from home. I already drive forty-five minutes, one way, on a daily basis to get to my job, so you would think this wouldn't bother me so much. And to be honest it didn't. I like to drive. I don't necessarily like all of the idiots that are on the road with me, but I stay alert. However, last week I had my husband and daughter in the car with me. We were coming back from my two-year old niece's birthday party. It wasn't a long ride, about fifteen minutes. The way the two of them were acting, you would think I was driving like a lunatic! My husband was sitting next to me in the passenger seat, and my daughter was in the backseat. As I drove toward a stop sign, my husband put his hands out on the dashboard as if to brace himself for an impact. Then, he told me I was driving too fast. I was going fifty in a forty-five speed limit. As I headed toward a traffic light, my husband, once agan, put his hands on the dashboard to brace himself. Meanwhile, there's my daughter in the backseat telling me that I'm driving too fast, I should listen to Dad, and that "Dad is a better driver" than me! That was IT! I had it with the two of them. How dare they act that way when they are in the car with me! Do I drive faster than my husband? YES! My husband drives like an old man for crying outloud. He only drives in town during the day to get to his job and take my daughter to school. He doesn't go on the major highways, sometimes for weeks on end, since I run all of the errands. The speed limit in town is twenty-five miles an hour. When my husband does drive on the highway, he still drives way below the speed limit. He is the type of driver that I stay away from when I'm driving. I try to tell him that you can get a ticket for driving under the speed limit too since a state trooper will think you are acting suspicious and trying to hide something. Like driving under the influence. My husband doesn't believe this. You would not believe the conversations that go on inside the car while I am driving. All I hear is, "you better watch out for this guy", and "you should be driving five miles below the speed limit," or "if you don't brake now, you'll be in his backseat", and the real kicker, "you're going to kill us!" We pulled into the driveway and I told them that they are not allowed in the car with me anymore. I'm sick of the two of them and their attitudes toward me and my driving. I am a good driver and I don't need the two of them being 'backseat drivers' while I am trying to get us where we need to be. It's nerve-racking. As for my daughter - she was the biggest disappointment. I glared at her - you know, the 'mom glare' - just to drive my point home. (No pun intended!) A traitor in my midst. "Dad's a better driver than you" will haunt her. Wait until the next time she wants to go to the mall! You know, if I had a history of getting into one accident after another, I could see them acting this way. But that isn't the case. I've decided we will take two cars wherever we go. Of course, I'll probably get there a half hour before my husband since he is "Slow-Moe" on the road. However, the cost of the extra gas is well worth the price of my sanity and nerves. Have a Great Friday! |
| "What are we having for dinner?" Do you know how many times I hear that question? Too often! The thing that really irks me is that on a weekly basis I prepare a menu that plainly lists what we are having, and I post this on the refrigerator door. How hard is it to look at the door and see what we are having on any given night? As I sit down to prepare the menu for the coming week, I ask my husband and daughter for dinner ideas. They either have no ideas at all, or all of their ideas involve fastfood, junkfood, or Italian food. They just can't seem to get with the program. Fastfood is something we don't eat on a regular basis, but they keep trying to sneak it past me. They seem to think that I will miraculously forget that point, or if they ask often enough I will give in. First of all, when you see a commercial for a burger at a fastfood restaurant the food looks delicious! It looks like it's piled high with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and cheese. But, when you actually hold one in your hand it looks like someone sat on it! They are always 'smooshed' down and the bun never lines-up correctly - part of the patty is hanging over the bun. I hate that! And how many beef patties do you need in one burger? Have you seen some of the commercials for these restaurants? They show three or four beef patties in one sandwich! One more thing, should these places really be called "restaurants"? How about outlets? It makes more sense seeing as how this food, when compared to a good home cooked meal, looks like dogfood. However, if you grew up eating anything similar to my mother's cooking I could see how you would think this is the best food ever. Junkfood I've come to realize is something they will never fully give-up. I buy them the 'portion-size' bags of chips and pretzels, for their lunches. That is the extent of my junkfood budget. Do they complain that there's nothing (a.k.a. junkfood) to eat? Yes. Do I care? No. Italian food is another one of their favorites, and I can't blame them. When I was pregnant, all I wanted was Italian food. I craved it on a daily basis which didn't make sense since I had killer heartburn on a daily basis too. But that didn't stop me from eating it. It was to the point where we were eating Italian food five times a week. My husband, the Italian, finally asked me, "can we ease up on the Italian food?" So, I have nothing against Italian food - but in "moderation". My husband and daughter are not familiar with this word. They pile the spaghetti and meatballs, hot Italian sausage, and mountains of parmesan cheese on their plates. I had to limit the number of times we eat it for this reason. They can't control themselves. So, now I'm sitting here with only two days of my menu filled in. I'm racking my brain for more dinner ideas. You know, to make this easy on myself, I'm just going to copy a prior week's menu. They won't know the difference and they'll complain no matter what. Besides, they don't even look at the menu! Have a Great Day! The weekend is almost here! |
| I recently attended my twenty-five year class reunion. I hadn't attended any of my reunions before this one, so I didn't know what to expect. I dragged my poor husband with me because I wasn't sure if I would have anyone to talk to. He was a good sport about the whole thing, and besides, he got a meal out of it. The first thing I noticed was that many guys I graduated with were now "follically challenged". In other words, there were a lot of bald men in that room. Guys who had thick flowing hair were now hairless. Isn't nature cruel to men in that regard? It doesn't seem fair that they should suffer the trauma of losing their hair to baldness. However, having said that, I have to admit that I smiled to myself when I saw the guy who thought he was the greatest in highschool standing there completely bald. One sight that shocked me was seeing a guy that I had a big crush on now a mere shadow of his former self. In school he was extremely cute. He had dark curly hair, perpetually tanned skin and a splash of freckles across his nose. He had the lean body of a baseball player and the most brilliantly blue eyes that twinkled when he smiled. Now, twenty-five years later, the only way that I knew it was him was by his brilliantly blue eyes. The rest of him was huge! The lean body was gone, the dark curly hair was now grey and wirey-looking, and his face was pastey-white. Talk about shocked! I felt like asking him "What happened to you?" The women definitely retained their looks better. In fact, in some cases they looked better than twenty-five years ago. It's almost as if they needed time to grow into their faces or something. Some people came over to me and were surprised when I said who I was. I could see their eyes opening wide in surprise. They were blown away by the 'good' transformation that had taken place in my 'looks department'. Afterall, now I know how to apply make-up (a huge help), I didn't gain any weight, and my hair wasn't grey. Believe me, in that room of middle-age has-beens, I looked good! Others told me that I looked the same. At first I took this as a compliment and felt good about my appearance. But once I thought about it, this kind of disturbed me. When I was in school, I was not the 'pretty girl'. In fact, I was often called ugly. If I look the same, then that means I am still ugly - right? So, in reality, they weren't complimenting me at all, but were making fun of me in a subtle way. I did have a good time and it was nice re-connecting with people that I didn't see in all those years. With some I was gratified to know that nature took their greatest assets - their looks. It seemed to level the playing field in many respects, as if to say, "see you are no better than anyone else afterall." They say you can't go home again, and they are right. Things are never the way they were, or the way we remember them. For me, I'm just glad that the smart-assed guy who always teased me was now tipping the scales at three hundred pounds, twice divorced and "looking for love". Of course I had to go over and say something to him. And do you know what he did? He acted like he didn't even remember me! This was a guy who, on a daily basis, made it a point to make fun of me in some way. He was still a jerk. If we were in school now, looking the way we both do, he would be the one who is teased! I wanted to say something like that to him, but I figured fate kind of took care of my revenge for me. Things are never the same when you try to go back and revisit your youth. But, sometimes, they are better! |
| Today my blog entry is more serious than it usually is. I woke up in a weird state of mind. Please bear with me as I tell you my story of how and why this blog came about. Tomorrow I promise to get back to my reflections on every day life. I've been doing plenty of thinking about my writing lately. My dream has always been to be a writer - as long as I can remember. I left the dream once I entered the working world, but the dream never left me. I started a course on writing for children, but somewhere along the way I began to write hurmorous essays. I found this to be my niche. I enjoy this type of writing and it comes easily to me. WDC has been a major motivator for me. I love the feedback that I receive as it helps me to hone my skills. Last year was the year when I told myself I would get published. This came about because of a conversation that took place with my husband. It was Christmas night and we were at a party at my mother-in-law's home. I had way too many kamikazi's and began 'complaining' about the presents I received from my husband. You see all I wanted for Christmas was a place somewhere in my home where I could write. I remember making the announcement in September that I wanted a desk, a chair, and a book shelf - somewhere in the house so I could write. Needless to say, I didn't get what I wanted. Don't get me wrong, my husband gave me some wonderful presents, just not what I wanted. So, when I got drunk, I began to talk about it. The next day, when I woke up with a hangover, my husband filled me in on the previous night's performance. "You kept saying that you were this "great" writer," he told me and there was such sarcasm in his voice that, although I was upset that I made a scene in front of my mother-in-law, the sound of his sarcasm stayed with me. I secretly vowed that I would get published "and show him!" Through friends, I met an editor of a local alternative monthly newspaper. I submitted a column to him to see if it was good enough for his paper. What he read, he liked. He gave me a shot at writing a column. I would be published! The first thing my husband asked me was, "Do you get paid for that?" When my answer was 'no', my husband walked away with that look on his face that said - to me - "it doesn't count." My first column appeared in the newspaper - a half page column. Everyone who read it, enjoyed it and told me that I missed my calling. Essays began to flow out of me and I kept my eyes open for things around me that would be 'column-worthy'. Then something unexpected happened. The newspaper shut-down and I was left without an outlet for my column. I decided to submit the published piece to 'Ladies Home Journal' only to be rejcted with "too similiar to articles prevously published by us" as the reason. This would be the last time that I submitted something to a paying market. I have to admit that it took the wind out of my sails. Since then, my writing fell by the wayside. I started a new job and concentrated on learning those skills. Everytime I sat down to write, I met a brick wall and nothing flowed to my pen. I had extreme writer's block. For six months I wrote nothing. As 2007 was about to begin, I thought about my life's goals. Writing was the first thing on my list. I told myself that I would write everyday, even if I had nothing to say. This blog was started to keep me in the habit of writing daily. I decided that my blog would not be the usual two or three sentence blogs that don't have any entertainment value. I also decided that I wouldn't write about heavy political issues or any controversial subject. I would stay true to my original idea of writing a humor column, only in "blog-format". Since getting into the flow of writing daily, I have been able to get some wonderful columns from my daily blog entries. These I add to my portfolio where they now sit, waiting for others to rate and review them. My whole point for telling you this is because I feel ready to have a column in a paying market. I want to take my writing to the next level. This is the year I get paid for my writing. However, having said that, now I have no idea on how to make that happen. I don't know why I am burdening you with this. I guess I just wanted to make the statement to myself, that I am serious about my writing. Admittedly, I'm afraid to go to the next level and meet with rejection. What if I submit my work and no one else wants it? What if my husband is right - this is a hobby and nothing more than that? What if my dream is nothing more than 'a dream'? I don't know that I am prepared for that revelation. Whew! Sorry, but I had to get that 'out of me'. Tomorrow will be my usual style - I promise. Hope you all have a great day! |
| What a weekend! I feel like it just flew by. I never thought I would hear myself say this, but I'm glad the weekend is over! I know that sounds ridiculous and, afterall, I've said many times, "A bad day at home is still better than a good day at work!" I don't know if I can continue to say that. I need a few days to recover from my weekend - how many times have I said that! Well, admittedly not often nowadays, but in my younger days - a lot! The new refrigerator arrived yesterday before noon. It looks great. My husband is going to hook-up the water line for the automatic ice maker, tonight after work. I'm not looking forward to THAT! I hate it when my husband has to do any kind of work like that around our house. If things don't go the way he thinks they should (which is always), the curse words fly, things get thrown, and he stomps around the house with a mad look on his face. I don't know if it is in the directions he reads, that he should do this, but it happens with any kind of repair, installation, or hook-up that he does. He always gets the job done, but it is never without drama. My daughter, the cat, and I just run for cover until the storm of curse words and swearing, throwing tools in the toolbox, and stomping around is over. I guess it's not his fault. I mean how many times have we read directions, tried to do what they say, and things don't go the way it says? I remember one time, when I still lived at home, I tried to hang a shade on a window. Everytime I got one side in the slot, the other side would pop out. Back and forth I went from side to side trying to get both sides to stay in the slots. This went on, I don't know how long, and then something inside me 'snapped'! I started cursing the shade, the window and anyone within my range of vision. I remember actually banging the shade on the windowsill and cursing at it. I didn't stopped until my mother came into the room and asked, "What the hell are you doing in here?" That one statement released a flood of tears of frustration, "This stupid shade! I can't get it on the window!" I stood there bawling my eyes out. My mother shook her head and walked away mumbling something about, "a psycho!" Another time, when I still lived at home, I was running late for work and trying to make my hair go a certain way - the way it should go everyday, nothing new or different - and it wouldn't. I used a curling iron in those days. Well, lets just say that I never made it to work and I needed a new curling iron before it was all said and done. It's kind of a blur to me, but I remember yelling at my hair and the curling iron and taking the curling iron and banging it on the edge of something. One good hit and the curling iron broke in half. I think my dad walked into the room and asked, "What the hell are you doing in here?" "My stupid hair and this stupid curling iron!" was all I could say, and yes, I burst into tears then too. Again, my dad, much like my mother, shook his head and walked away mumbling something about "a mental patient". So, I'm bracing myself for a 'fun-filled' evening. Maybe I'll be proven wrong and everything will go the way it should and without incident. Yeah right! I think I'll stop on my way home from work and get three pairs of earplugs - one for me, my daughter and the cat. Have a great day! |
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