Sappy Chick’s Ramblings

By the Way... It's Official

2005-10-06T22:12:00.000-04:00

I'm off to Wordpress! This site will be here for a while. I can't decide if I want to move everything or not, but now you can find me here. If you're one of the wonderful people who have me on your blogroll, you'll want to change the url eventually.

Hopefully, you'll all follow me there! See ya!

Movin' On Up?

2005-09-24T13:18:00.000-04:00

Well, I might be saying farewell to Blogger. I know, I know, I've been here for only a few months, but WordPress now offers free blog hosting. It seems pretty promising. I did almost lose my religion with the first post, but I found that I have to use FIrefox instead of Safari for posting. Right now, the service is rather exclusive as you have to have an invite to sign up, but I'm hoping good things will come of it. I like the categories. I didn't have that here. I guess there might have been some way to do that on this site, but it's much easier on WordPress.

Another plus... you can moderate comments so you can choose NOT to post any spam or derrogatory comments.

Check me out here.

Just Some Observations... From Entirely Too Much TV

2005-09-23T19:42:00.000-04:00

1) I watched Ellen today, which I'm totally going to miss when I go back to work on Monday :-( , and she had the INXS with the new lead singer, JD. Mmmkay, I don't get it. I realize I didn't watch the show but this guy just seems like a Hutchence wannabe. He mumbled the words in order to get his voice to match Hutchence's style.

2) How long has the Maury Povich Show been on? At least ten years right? Can someone tell me WHY HE STILL HAS THE EXACT SAME TOPICS OVER AND OVER AGAIN? I flipped through the channels yesterday, and there he was with a bunch of people dressed up as women, and he was asking audience members which ones were women. Today as I'm flipping through channels, he's got teenage girls finding out who the fathers of their babies are. These are the same freaking shows he's had for years!

3) Just once, I'd like to see one of MTV's Super Sweet 16 shows go totally wrong for the birthday girl/boy. Rich little brats.

4) I can't believe I used to watch soap operas, and occasionally they'd make me cry. I was old enough to know better. I was in college for crying out loud, but I drew the line when Marlena got possessed by the devil on Days of Our Lives. These shows are horrible!

5) And one observation not from TV: Surgery really takes a lot out of you. Today, my stir craziness (not just craziness... shut up) got the best of me, and I drove over to my mom's office to take her the large suitcase for her and dad to borrow on their big trip to Branson with the church group (yes, that would be senior adults group). Then I went to the bank and the grocery store, and I came home and virtually collapsed on the couch while sighing, "Damn!"

You Know What? I Don't Feel Sorry for You

2005-09-22T18:01:00.000-04:00

I was watching the news reports about Hurricane Rita, and Galveston officials were saying that 95% of the people on the island have evacuated. Thank God! Then they show 20 senior citizens in this retirement home who are refusing to leave, and this woman says to the camera, "This building isn't going to collapse!"

Lady, I don't feel sorry for you. Really, I don't. If you want to be that stupid and stay there, you'll get what you get. I bet the people in that apartment building in Mississippi thought their building wouldn't come down either, but it did. Thirty people died because they didn't leave. After all the images on TV over the past weeks these idiots decided to stay. They won't get an ounce of pity out of me.

NOT Coming to Bath and Body Works Anytime Soon

2005-09-21T12:07:00.000-04:00

...Hibiclens Antiseptic/Antimicrobial Skin Cleanser. Know why it won't be showing up there? Because it freaking smells horribly. Oh sure, if you want to go around with the scent of High Karate mixed with Bactine wafting around you, I suppose there's some market for that somewhere, but I have no idea where it would be. And I'm not interested in finding it either.

I had to shower with this stuff Monday night and Tuesday morning before the surgery. I know, I know, it helps prevent infection, and for that I'm eternally grateful; however, I can't stand the smell.

Surgery went okay. The hubby was calm but quiet and worried. Hearing that there was the remote possibility of having to completely open up my abdomen to remove the gall bladder didn't help ease his anxiety, but I made the surgeon reassure him that those instances were extremely rare. They were 40 minutes late coming to take me to the OR - not sure what the delay was all about, unless it was meant to annoy me, which it succeeded.

So I was wheeled into the OR, given some lovely drugs to make me not care where I was and then told to breathe some oxygen through this plastic mask thing. Oxygen my ass. Next thing I knew I was in the recovery area. They gave me some pain medication, but it must have been too much, because the machine next to my head would beep and a nurse would tell me to take in deep breaths. I wasn't the only one having difficulty staying awake. Other nurses were telling other patients to do the same thing.

Danny and I got home around 3:30. I ate some Jell-O, drank some ginger ale, and settled down for a nice nap. I slept 'til about 7:00 then sat in the living room until 10:00 and watched My Name Is Earl and The Office, which are both hilarious.

This morning I've eaten a bowl of grits - the southerner's oatmeal - and I'm trying to walk a few laps in the house every once in a while. The doctor says staying sedentary increases the risk of blood clots and pneumonia, and I'd really like to try and avoid that.

A Feast Fit for an Invalid

2005-09-19T21:11:00.000-04:00

Surgery's tomorrow, so we went to the grocery store to buy bland, carblicious foods for my gall bladder-less recovery - Jell-O, applesauce, those refrigerated precooked mashed potatoes ('cause God knows, I'm not gonna feel like cooking them), pretzels, bread, and bananas. I'm not sure if my husband's too keen on my making jokes. He's wound a little tight this evening because any other family member who's gone through surgery has done so as a result of a major problem. I've tried reassuring him that this is a routine procedure that takes only an hour or so.

Maybe I should ask the doc to give him something to relax when I get my happy drugs in the morning.

Need a Slogan?

2005-09-17T22:34:00.000-04:00

Then you need Sloganizer! I just found this site courtesy of StephBlog, and pardon my '80s, but it's totally cool. Hubby didn't find it all that amusing but I did. Here are some of my favorite suggestions it came up with for "Sappy Chick's Ramblings":

- The gods made Sappy Chick's Ramblings.

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- The wonder has a name: Sappy Chick's Ramblings.

- The president buys Sappy Chick's Ramblings.

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- Sappy Chick's Ramblings empowers you.

- Sappy Chick's Ramblings after a hard day.

- Sappy Chick's Ramblings on the outside, tasty on the inside.

I've Always Wanted to Be in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

2005-09-15T22:06:00.000-04:00

I went for my pre-op appointment yesterday, where they had to draw more blood out of me just to make sure everything is still okay. I've had at least one blood test a month since May - can we not use some of these results? I mean, I realize that they're not guzzling blood out of me, but I'm starting to feel like a keg at a frat party. And is there such a thing as an adhesive that DOESN'T strip skin when peeling off, 'cause damn, that really hurts.

As you can probably guess, I'll end up asking for pain meds after surgery.

One other thing kind of concerns me. The nurse explained to me that apparently it's pretty cramped in the abdomen area, so during laparoscopic surgery, air is blown in to make room for the surgeon to work. Lovely. It's not like my belly and my ass are fat enough, but now they're going to make me even more puffy. I'm having a vision of the old bitty at the beginning of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Well, I guess Danny can just tie a rope around me so that we can both float home. It'd be cheaper than driving these days!

So you guys look for me on Thanksgiving Day. Maybe I can go down Broadway beside Snoopy. That'd be a hoot!

5 Songs I'm Loving... This Week

2005-09-13T23:07:00.000-04:00

1) How Do You Keep Love Alive, Ryan Adams & The Cardinals - Beautiful song, beautiful lyrics: She runs through my veins like a long, black river and rattles my cage like a thunderstorm. I literally stopped what I was doing when I heard that sentence.

2) Sooner or Later, Michael Tolcher - Nice rock/pop music and some cool lyrics: Sooner or later we'll be looking back on everything, and we'll laugh about it like we knew what was happening. And someday you might listen to what people have to say, but now you learn the hard way.

3) Cool, Gwen Stefani - I love that '80s pop sound. Some people I know didn't like her solo album, but for the most part I thought it was... well, cool. Shut up.

4) Breakdown, Jack Johnson - Okay, you're gonna be dealing with Jack Johnson songs for a couple of weeks more because I. Love. This. Album.

5) Wild Horses, The Sundays - That's right, I'll just dive back into the early '90s without any warning. I'm crazy like that.

And just another warning: If you're tired of seeing Jack Johnson in my countdown, just wait. I bought and downloaded the Antigone Rising album from iTunes tonight, and I've got a feeling that those songs will also be popping up here beginning next week!

It's Not a Hair Dryer... It's a Wind Machine!

2005-09-12T12:38:00.000-04:00

I tried out my new hair dryer today... or should I call it my wind machine? I had to put my old hair dryer to rest because the rattling noise inside of it really began worrying me that it might.... ummmm... EXPLODE IN MY HAND!

I went to Tar-jay, you know the mecca of all my shopping experiences, and purchased a new one. It was $20. I could go with one of those cute, cheap ones that fold up or store the cord inside the handle, but my hair is pretty thick and past my shoulders and has a fair amount of natural curl. It'd be more efficient to let Danny blow on my hair.

So I get the advanced hair dryers that have the varying temperature settings and the different speeds and the "cool shot" button. But there's also that ion button. WTF is up with that? I have no idea what that thing does... but I leave it on anyway.

This hair dryer, however, has all that PLUS a TURBO BOOST button. I was impressed. With all these cool features, I was looking forward to drying my hair this morning. Kind of like a man with a new power tool.

Then I turned it on. Wow. I wasn't expecting the kickback from the force of wind that exploded from the nozzle. It was blowing my hair around so much that it took me a couple of minutes to situate it so that I could wrangle the brush through my hair at the same time. Then I hit the TURBO BOOST button. I'm surprised I didn't clear off the bathroom vanity with that gust.

I got to thinking about my hair dryer this morning, and I've realized the money-making and money-saving ventures I could make with this thing. First off, there's no need to buy a leaf blower this fall. Then, I could rent this sucker out to NASCAR because it would be a big help in the wind tunnel tests for those stock cars.

I'm sure there are other things I could use if for that would make or save me money, but if anybody can get me in touch with NASCAR about that wind tunnel thing... I'd be most appreciative!

My Top Five Songs of All Time

2005-09-07T20:13:00.000-04:00

So I've neglected my "5 Songs I'm Loving... This Week" for the past two weeks, but don't fear; I'm back this week with a double BONUS edition! You'll get my five favorite songs of ALL time - well, at least 33 years - my five LEAST favorite songs of all time PLUS my top five for this week. You're so lucky, and you don't even know it!

Yeah, yeah... I know all nine of you are waiting and about to explode with anticipation, so we'll get started with the top five of all time - in no particular order because again, I just couldn't choose!

1) "Drops of Jupiter," Train - They had me at the first few piano chords.

2) "Crazy," Patsy Cline - That woman could put heartache in a song like no one else.

3) "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," Jane Monheit - I love the song with almost anyone singing it, but her interpretation is simply beautiful. She has one of the purest - if not THE purest - voices I've ever heard.

4) "Your Song," Elton John - Because who wouldn't want to make someone else's life wonderful by just being in their world?

5) "The Island Song," Edwin McCain - I've got every one of his CDs, and while he writes almost every song he puts on his albums, this song, oddly enough, wasn't written by him. But it's still awesome anyway.

My Top Five LEAST Favorite Songs of All Time

2005-09-07T19:14:00.000-04:00

1) "Get Ur Freak On," Missy Elliott - I. Don't. Get. Missy. Elliott. Seriously. Not at all. Never.

2) "Redneck Woman," Gretchen Wilson - You know what? Millions of women buy their lingerie at Wal-Mart. What do you want - a medal?

3) "Chop Suey," System of a Down - Really, I don't like any of their songs, This one just makes my least favorite.

4) "Who Let the Dogs Out?" Baha Men - Do I really need to explain myself on this one?

5) "Perfect," Simple Plan - Of all the whiny faux-punk bands out there today - Good Charlotte, Yellowcard, Story of the Year and such - these guys are the worst. To me, the lead singer's voice sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard. I hear it and my shoulders raise up to my earlobes in disgust.

5 Songs I'm Loving... This Week

2005-09-07T18:41:00.000-04:00

I posted an iMix on iTunes called "Sappy Chick's Music, Vol. I" with most of the previous songs I've listed. I've decided that I'll post a mix on there with my selections each month. Check it out if you like! And here's this week's top five:

1) "Jealous of the Moon," Nickel Creek - I have their first album, but when I listened to their second album, I didn't find enough songs that I liked to buy it. I've listened to snippets of this third one, and I only bought three songs. I do like this one though. It's lovely and haunting. Staring down the stars, jealous of the moon, you wish you could fly. Staying where you are, there's nothing you can do when you're too scared to try.

2) "Banana Pancakes," Jack Johnson - I listened to snippets from his first CD when it came out, and I didn't think I'd like him. Then I heard this CD when I was sitting in a coffeehouse the other weekend, and I figured I'd give him another try. This song is good for weekend mornings, especially when fixing breakfast, perhaps... banana pancakes? Mmmmm.....

3) "Don't Lie," Black Eyed Peas - Good acoustic guitar lick, and I like her voice.

4) "Ordinary People," John Legend - He's an excellent piano player, and the video for this song is moving as well. I've listened to the other snippets, thought, and I'm thinking this will be the only song I buy off the album.

5) "Return to Me," Chris Isaak - I'm eternally grateful to my friend Donna for informing me about this song. I already liked the Dean Martin version, and I love the movie - it's hilarious and sweet. Then she told me about seeing Chris Isaak in concert and him performing this song. I got chill bumps when she said it. Then I heard it. Wow. Ladies, make sure you're sitting down and not operating heavy machinery when you listen to this one because you'll melt right into the floor. *swoon*

Writing Prompt: Write About a December Memory

2005-09-06T22:23:00.000-04:00

I slept on the couch in my parents' living room the night before I got married. I couldn't let Danny see me before our wedding, and he was at our apartment. My best friend and matron of honor, Tiffany, was in the living room with me, sleeping on the love seat. We got up that morning, and before we started getting ready for the bridal brunch, the phone rang. It was Danny, asking if I happened to remember where I last saw our wedding rings. I knew our rings were still in the bag from the place where we bought them and our marriage license was in the bag with the rings, but that was all I knew.

Early in our relationship, we realized that if something needed to be held on to, it was best if Danny took care of it. I always seem to find this black hole to put things in, where they disappear, probably to some parallel universe or to that place where mismatched socks hide. And I swear this "hole" is NOT a trash can.

So the fact that Danny couldn't find something he put away terrified me. He assured me that everything was okay because he still had places to look, but in my mind, the worry seed had been planted. While I enjoyed myself at the bridal brunch, subconsciously I was watering that worry seed, fertilizing it with all the undesirable scenarios that I believed would ruin my wedding day and pulling up the weeds of rational thought that tried to kill my anxiety.

As soon as the brunch guests left, I was on my cell phone calling Danny. He had no good news. He had not found the bag, and his grandparents were on their way over to help him look. Then the worry seed bloomed into a full-blown panic complete with tears. After a half-hour, I decided I could no longer just sit and wait; I headed to the apartment to start looking myself. Our wedding day had already gotten off to a rocky start - how much more harm could be done by him seeing me before the wedding?

I called Danny from my cell phone to tell him that I was coming. His grandparents were there, and later, Danny told me that they had planned to keep me downstairs and him upstairs for tradition's sake.

When I was literally two minutes from the apartment, Danny called. His grandfather had found the bag in the drawer NEXT to the one where Danny was certain he had put it. The crisis was over, and no traditions had been broken. The rest of the day went off without a single glitch - unless you count his father showing up drunk and wearing a corduroy jacket with sleeves that were too long and a tie that came only about halfway down his beer belly. At least he didn't make a scene. Of course, we get a good laugh out of his choice of outfits by doing our best Oliver Hardy impersonation.

Honestly, I don't know how some couples get married early in the day. Ours was at 6 pm, and I swear, if it had been any earlier, I wouldn't have made it, especially considering what happened!

Writing Prompt: Write About a Dangerous Ride

2005-09-05T18:30:00.000-04:00

When I was a freshman in high school, I had a crush on N. He was a senior and went to my church. An only child, he had a mild form of palsy that gave him an noticeable limp and a brutal temper which was quick to surface. At the time, I felt drawn to that unpredictable nature. I think part of it was the whole "sick puppy" syndrome. I wondered if I could help him. Shut up, I was 14 and didn't know any better. I watched Days of Our Lives every day for crying out loud. It worked for Patch and Kayla and Bo and Hope!

My brother was starting seventh grade, which made him old enough to start attending youth group functions, and one night we were riding with N back to the church before choir practice. It was winter and already dark outside, and N decided to do his imitation of a road course racer in his big Ford clunker. He was running 70 mph in a 35 mph zone, and my brother and I were screaming for our lives. N swerved to the other side of the road and asked, "What's wrong?" We started yelling even louder as he laughed.

We got back to church in one piece, but my infatuation with N pretty much ended right there. Tortured was one thing, but downright crazy was another. I was right to stop feeling anything for him before anything started - although it wouldn't have gone anywhere anyway. N obsessed over my friend D, who was also the preacher's daughter. A few weeks after the driving episode, our youth group went to the mountains for a retreat with groups from lots of other churches. D spent the weekend hanging out with a guy from another church, sending N into a jealous fit. My brother and one of his friends were N's unfortunate roommates for the weekend and witnessed the rage he unleashed on the last night there. He ranted and raved and through a chair across the room.

No one looked at N the same way after that trip. Everyone was just a little wary of him, and he stayed just as angry about everyone else. One night after a gathering at D's house, N was pissed off once again and went driving around. He took a curve too fast and rolled his car a few times in an open field. Miraculously, he wasn't hurt, but the incident was kind of the cinch that closed the curtain between N and everyone else.

Today, he still lives with his mom, barely works and blames everyone else for his problems. I saw his mother this spring at a greenhouse where I was buying flowers. She asked how my brother was doing. I told her that he was dating someone and that the rest of the family were keeping our fingers crossed that this girl was the one. N's mom started talking about how she told N not worry about marriage, that some people just aren't meant for it. I nodded and went on my way and noted how true that statement was for N.

That ride in his car might have been a dangerous one, but it would have been nothing compared to what could have been. Talk about dodging a bullet!

Just Some Observations...

2005-09-04T12:12:00.000-04:00

1 - We live in a subdivision where houses are still being built, and one is now going up across the street from us. I'm not trying to come of as racist or anything, but there are a lot of Hispanics working on that house, and their music is driving me bonkers! How can someone listen to that oompah-oompah sounding music?

2 - I feel guilty about wanting to gush about the beautiful weather we're having when New Orleans is still underwater and half the Gulf Coast is nothing but debris.

3 - While I myself have no desire to play "NASCAR 2006: Total Team Control" (which is a good thing since my husband has been working his way up the ranks since Friday and is now driving in the truck series), I know that there are female race fans out there who might want to play the game, but unfortunately, you can choose a male driver only. This despite the fact that they do have other female racers in the other series in the game. Come, EA Games, get with the program!

4 - The other day I saw a video of this song "Don't Cha" by a new group called The Pussycat Dolls. Let's examine the lyrics here for a moment:

I know you like me (I know you like me)
I know you do (I know you do)
Thats why whenever I come around she's all over you
And I know you want it (I know you want it)
It's easy to see (it's easy to see)
And in the back of your mind
I know you should be home with me

[Chorus]
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me
Don't cha, don't cha
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was fun like me
Don't cha, don't cha

I don't want to go any further for those of you who are already tortured enough. Why didn't they just go ahead and ask, "Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a whore like me?"

I tell you what I wish: I wish they had some talent so I wouldn't. Hate. This. Song. What about you? Don't cha wish that too?

Writing Prompt: Write About the Silent Treatment

2005-09-03T21:01:00.000-04:00

When I was young, it wasn't what was said that hurt me most - it was what wasn't said. Being pudgy all my life, I was used to idiots teasing me. I didn't like it all that much, but I had accustomed myself to the fact that some morons would poke fun about my weight. What I hated more were the incidents when a friend wouldn't talk to me because she was mad at me - and that scenario happened a lot in seventh grade.

I was friends with A and H. A's parents were divorced, and she lived with her mom, with whom she fought a lot. A was prone to moodiness and got pissed off without warning at virtually anything. It was pretty stupid of me to be friends with her, but I was shy and hard enough time trying to make friends. So when someone was nice enough to talk to me, I usually hung out with her. I ended up clinging to A and H. H was a little more well-adjusted and a little like me in that she was shy, so I guess you could call A the ringleader.

If A got pissed off, her silent treatment wrath usually lasted a day, but there was one instance where her punishment went on for more than a month. H and I sat at the back of the room in first period math with A as she told us about that morning's argument with her mother, who had scheduled A some sort of procedure that was apparently embarrassing. A referred to it using a slang term that I can't remember now, and to this day, I have no idea what she was talking about. I do remember finding what she was talking about odd, and I chuckled and asked what the word meant. Within a mere second, her gaze hardened and she called me a stupid bitch for laughing at her and for not knowing what she was talking about. Then she warned me that if I told another soul, she'd kick my ass. And that was it...

...until science class, when another girl came up to me and asked why A and I weren't talking. I tried to blow it off, but the girl wouldn't leave me alone. So I told her and ended the story by asking - perhaps even begging - her not to tell A I said anything. Dumb, moronic, stupid, idiotic - none of these words accurately describe what I did, because the girl walked straight from me to A and asked her what the term meant. All I could do was watch the whole scene play out in front of me while the knot in my stomach grew larger and larger as I feared for my safety.

A glared at me from two tables away and called out that I was in for it at lunch. Somehow, I didn't think that meant she'd be buying me an ice cream. Fortunately, nothing happened, other than her silent treatment, which she conned H into following along with for about a week. I remember those weeks of drifting from clique to clique, trying to find someone else to hang out with, but I always felt like the spare tire that's stuffed in the trunk, hoping that at some point I'd be useful, maybe even wanted. Boy, does being a teenager suck sometimes or what? The silence wasn't broken until May, when several classes went to the park for the day. She and several other girls were smoking a joint in the bathroom when I walked in to pee. Then I became the lookout for any adults.

Apparently, I redeemed myself in her eyes, and she began talking to me a couple of days later after writing a note and apologizing, because back then, you know, we didn't have text messaging and e-mail. Incidentally, I still have the note. Only a couple of weeks of school remained, and I had learned that the school district assignments had changed, sending me to a different middle school for eighth grade. A decided to move up north to live with her father and stepmother. She wrote a couple of times after she moved, including a five-page letter about her first three days at her new school complete with a diagram of the school cafeteria and where the various cliques sat. Apparently, I didn't write back often enough for her because I found a final letter in which she asks whether I still wanted to be her friend. I don't remember whether or not I wrote her back.

But I did hear from her again the summer after I graduated from high school. She was spending the summer with her mom and actually called me. I was apprehensive, as was my poor mom, who was afraid that she was trying to set me up for something. A's motives were purely innocent however, and we ended up going to see Steel Magnolias. I spent the evening determined to make her see that I wasn't the same gullible 13-year-old that she could manipulate. There wasn't any need for me to be defensive, though, because I could tell she had changed as well. She seemed genuinely interested in what my plans were and talked about her thoughts about staying in Greenville and taking classes at the local technical college. I didn't hear from her after that evening, but at least that silence wasn't the cause of either one of us being pissed off.

I Love the '80s... Haiku Version

2005-09-01T22:33:00.000-04:00

One of my regular reads, Sarcomical, has a Half-Week Haiku usually every Wednesday. This week's topic was those fashion faux pas that happened during our teenage years, which for many of those who commented sounded as if they happened during the '80s. I know mine did anyway. I was on a roll and put three up in my comment, and I thought I'd also share them here with you:

Big bow in my hair
and fluourescent lime-green shirt -
but I was thirteen!

OR

Aching for blond hair,
I tried Sun-In solution -
my hair turned orange.

OR

Teased curls, thick makeup,
rubber bracelets up my arm -
just like Madonna!

And by the Way...

2005-09-01T22:16:00.000-04:00

I met with a surgeon yesterday, and he does believe the problem is my gall bladder. My surgery has been scheduled for Tuesday, September 20th. I can hardly wait. What a way to use up virtually the rest of my vacation days.

Quotes About Writing for September

2005-09-01T20:54:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm now into my fifth month of blogging, and I'm still loving it. I love having an outlet for my writing. I love having people across the country and even overseas read what I'm writing. I love that there are seven other bloggers that enjoy my stuff enough to add me to their blogroll (not including a couple of family members and friends). So I don't have any plans to end this anytime soon!

And now that another month has come along, so I give you this month's quotes about writing:

"Writing accurate details doesn't mean your writing has to be factual, but the specificity of detail is what brings your writing to life." - Judy Reeves.

"Some people don't really bother much with remembering; it seems such a useless activity. But most writers are addicted to it." - Alice Munro

"When you walk into a room and you get a certain feeling or emotion, remember back until you see exactly what it was that gave you the emotion. Remember what the noises and smells were and what was said. Then write it down, making it clear so the reader will see it too, and have the same feeling you had." - Ernest Hemingway

"To write simply is as difficult as to be good." - W. Somerset Maugham

"The unconscious creates, the ego edits." - Stanley Kunitz

"Music has often created the wellspring out of which my imaginative efforts have sprung." - William Stryon

"As a writer, when you're with your own kind your writing is taken seriously, there is respect for the work that goes unspoken; no need for explaining or proving yourself." - Judy Reeves

"The impulse for much writing is homesickness. You are trying to get back home, and in your writing you are invoking that home, so you are assuaging the homesickness." - Joan Didion

"Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness." - Allen Ginsberg

"You have to be immensely daring, very skilled and imaginative, and willing to tell everything on yourself." - Raymond Carver

"Don't be afraid of giving yourself away for if you write you must. And if you can't face that, better not write." - Katherine Anne Porter

Writing Prompt: You Are in the Backyard

2005-08-31T22:21:00.000-04:00

I'm in the backyard at Ma Ma's house
letting thin spikes of Bermuda grass tickle my toes
as the scent of musty, soaked earth floats under my nose.
while the metal swing creaks on its rust-spotted frame
making the summer air brush through my long, brown mane
as I watch lightning bugs dance in the muggy haze
and weave in and out of the tree branch maze.
I'm giddy and careless and fighting sleep
and blissfully unaware of this memory I'll keep.

Road Trip '97 (Grab a Snack; It's Another Long One)

2005-08-29T22:56:00.000-04:00

As Katrina hurled herself toward New Orleans this weekend, I couldn't help but reminisce about my trip there with a bunch of friends in April 1997. I find it so hard to believe that it was eight years ago, and me a mere 25 years old. It cost us $80 per person for the whole trip for lodging and transportation. Although for me, the trip was much more expensive. Our ringleader, Donna, got our reservations at a hostel and rented a 15-passenger van. On a Wednesday night, 12 of us - consisting of 11 consenting adults, nine of whom were coworkers, and 1 underage daughter - piled into that van and left at around 9 pm for the big easy. We arrived in the Big Easy a little over ten hours later, found our youth hostel and checked in.

It looked a lot better inside the rooms than this picture showed. After all, we were barely there, and after the first night, I didn't go back. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After putting our bags down, we were off to find food and then we wandered around the Garden District for a couple of hours, where I found that my sandals were a very poor choice for walking. Yeah, yeah, shut up. We found Anne Rice's house, but I'm not posting that picture in case she's all Barbara Streisand about stuff and end up suing me for invasion of her privacy. There was a limo in front of the house with a personalized license plate, and my Rice-fan friends totally freaked out and started taking pictures of every single angle of the front and back yard. One of the guys made friends with her dog. Once the celebrity stalking was over, we wandered around some more, and I took a bunch of pictures of nifty looking houses like this one:

Then we went back to our rooms to get ready for our first night on Bourbon Street. Ah, the debauchery. Seven of us once again wandered around for a while and then came upon these hot dog vendors who were giving out 2-for-1 drink coupons good at two different bars - one was The Funky Pirate and the other was Tropical Isle (or Island, I forget the name, but the drinks were unforgettable.). Each one of us got two coupons, but the policy was one coupon per person per bar, so we took turns going in, getting drinks and bringing one to whomever was splitting the cost. That was when we were introduced to The Hand Grenade, aka New Orleans' strongest drink. Oh. My. God.

We were wasted, blitzed, smashed, stumbling ass drunk. We ended up sitting (a couple of us laying) on a street corner across from one of the Bourbon Street hot dog vendors. Bums came up to us to see if we were okay. Well, one of them came up to swindle one of us out of five bucks. You know, the I-Can-Tell-You-Where-You-Got-Your-Shoes Scam.

Finally, we made our way back to the trolley stop by holding hands and sometimes walking single-file, other times as if we were playing Red Rover. I think it was 2:00 am or in that vicinity. The trolley car was virtually empty, and our buddy Chris took a seat at the front of the car. Danny warned Kelly that Chris was going to get sick. Kelly doubted it, but when the trolley came to a stop, Chris's feet never touched a step. He literally leaped out and took off running. We kept up with him for a few paces, but really it was a good thing that we fell behind. Still, we were close enough that we could see him turn his head and puke in midstride. The next morning, as Chris recounted his upchuck truck from trolley to hostel, we found that he had thrown up on the steps of a synagogue. And no, thankfully, I don't have a picture of that.

But Chris was back up the next morning going out to eat breakfast with us and ordering crawfish gumbo. Now that, my friends, is a breakfast of champions.

The next day, five of us went to the riverboat casino, the aquarium and the IMAX theater. The casino visit was where I took these photos:

Notice the stylish black, leather vest on the gentleman on the left. At the time he was obviously single. Now, thankfully he has a loving wife to correct his fashion sense and keep him from being teased for years after wearing an outfit that showed his complete lack of style.

Then came the fateful second night. We were back on Bourbon Street again, and the one of the hot dog vendors recognized us. Out of thousands of people who drink their way up and down this avenue, who pack themselves during Mardi Gras and who dance around during the jazz festival, this hot dog vendor remembered us and asked if we had made our way back to our hotel okay the previous night.

We all got our obligatory Hand Grenade, but we were in the mood for something different. We also had to pee, but all the places required you to be a paying customer to use the facilities. We picked this oyster bar decked out in wood from floor to ceiling and for our required patronage, two friends and I split a shot of goldschlager.

As some of you may know my first experience with goldschlager was bad enough, and I wasn't even drinking it. So I should have known better than to down the third of that shot, and I really should have stopped before I halved another shot with another friend. But I didn't. And I paid for it.

We decided to call it a night earlier that second night and started making our way to the trolley stop. I wanted to catch a cab, but they were having none of that. As we crossed the last street to the stop, I could tell that the traffic we were walking in front of was about to get the green light, so I tried to pick up the pace to make it to the curb. My right ankle began to give out, and when I tried to catch myself with my left leg, that ankle twisted underneath me, and I sat right down on it.

I knew. Oh god, did I know that I had broken my ankle. I didn't even have to see Chris look at my ankle and say, "That fucker's broke." Someone called an ambulance. I was transported to the hospital. They took x-rays. They operated. And I stayed in the hospital until Sunday afternoon, when my buddies came to pick me up on our way out of town.

Don't you just love Kathleen with her gloved hand there in that photo? They passed my x-rays around the van as we drove back to South Carolina and marveled at the plate and six screws that now held my ankle together. Then I became the only one of us who came back from New Orleans having been screwed six times.

Surprisingly enough, I still want to go back some day. My mother still thinks it isn't a good idea, but I've assured her that it would definitely be different this time. I'll take a cab everywhere.

So anyway, that was my trip, which I still remember fondly, even though I have a couple of scars. I hope the scars left in New Orleans are able to heal as well. My thoughts are with you all.

Writing Prompt: Write About the Careless Days

2005-08-27T20:11:00.000-04:00

Okay, here's a rough draft. I thought about just putting it out there, but I always feel the need to intro my poems by saying they're a rough draft. I guess I feel a little more self-conscious about my poetry, so I think that people will go easier on their critiques if they know I plan to keep working on a poem. Anyway, here it goes.

There were the careless days of childhood -
when our teachers led us, single-file, to bathroom breaks, to lunchtime and to recess,
when we were too young to watch violence,
when we knew nothing of death,
when computers were at school
and phones attached to the wall.

Then came the careless days of adolescence -
when we had to find our own way around school,
when we thought we had to figure out who we are and what we wanted to do
when we didn't pay the bills,
when we didn't buy the groceries,
when we didn't worry about our health.

Then came the careless days of being single -
when the bills came along,
when we worried about our jobs,
when we tried to figure out what we wanted to accomplish
and whom we wanted to go home with.
But we were responsible for only ourselves,
and we were on our own,
dancing 'til dawn, shooting pool, downing shots.

Then came the careless days of marriage -
when we were married to men, to mortgages, to careers, to diets,
when we worried about our health, our parents' health, our jobs, our bills
when we tried to figure out what we wanted to do with the rest of our lives,
But we could take a trip on the spur of the moment,
and our homes were quiet,
and we didn't have to watch our language.

Now are the days of parenthood -
when we fear for our children's safety,
when we worry about their health,
when our world revolves around them,
when we wonder who'll they'll want to be,
when we pray and hope and work and pay and laugh and cry
and do it all so that their innocent, smiling faces
will know the careless days we once knew.

But the Good News Is...

2005-08-24T21:16:00.000-04:00

I've crossed the 2,000 visitor mark! Cool!

If I Just Poke It with a Stick, Will It Start Working Again?

2005-08-24T20:20:00.000-04:00

Today was my day as the human test subject. Actually it was just two tests, but I didn't leave the center until one-freaking-thirty this afternoon. Combine that with the fact that I was not allowed to eat after midnight the night before, and you have one cranky, sleepy 33-year-old woman.

The short version: Apparently, my gall bladder has lost its will to live.

The long version: I show up at the diagnostics center at 8:15 and fill out all the paperwork and blah, blah, blah. They didn't come get me until well after nine o'clock, so I had to suffer through at least 15 minutes, possibly 30, of the Dr. Phil show on the TV in the lobby. I did have a book to read, but that man's voice and demeanor or downright annoying.

I follow a female technician into a curtained room and proceed to lie down on the chair and lift my shirt for the ultrasound. I wondered about that gel stuff they put on you. I was hoping it wasn't cold, but I wasn't expecting it to be borderline scalding hot! The woman moves the wand over my abdomen, occasionally taking pictures of my liver, pancreas, gall bladder, kidneys and spleen. I ask her if she sees anything abnormal, or if I'll have to wait to get all the info from the doctor. She informs me that everything looks normal and that she doesn't see any gall stones. Inside I breath a sigh of relief - just one more test to go and I assumed I'd be going to a gastroenterologist for more tests.

A little before ten, Chip came and got me for my gall bladder ejection fraction (infraction? Oh, it's something like that.). He tells me that this test will take an hour and a half total. So much for getting back to work well before lunch. My stomach was already starting to gnaw on itself. Chip puts an IV stint in my arm and shoots me up with some sort of radioactive stuff. "You shouldn't feel any different," he says. Sure but will I grow a second head? Will it turn my poo green?

I have to sit in the lobby for 30 minutes for the nuclear reaction to happen. Luckily, Dr. Phil is off and Ellen is on. Well, this is definitely bearable. In fact, I leave the book sitting beside me, and enjoy the show. Then Chip comes back for me, and I follow him into his x-ray room. I have to lay down on a table that's as wide as a gymnast's balance beam - and almost that high off the floor. Yeah, you want my fat ass where? Luckily, the table does hold me up, and I get a pillow for my head and one to put under my knees to keep my back from hurting.

Chip tells me that he'll be taking four pictures, one every 15 minutes, during which time I'll just be laying on this slab. He asks if I want a blanket, but I decline. After all, I was wearing a pretty thick three-quarter sleeve shirt with a camisole underneath; however, I was wearing capri pants and sandals. After 20 minutes, I was freezing, so Chip brought me a blanket when he came for the 30-minute picture.

At that time he paused and said he needed to explain something that was going on because we were "going to have a monkey wrench thrown into our day." I panicked for a second. Did I have a tumor? Was that second head was starting to grow? Then Chip explained that my gall bladder wasn't showing up on the camera. In a normal scenario, the gall bladder shows up at least by the second picture and definitely by the third. He planned on taking the fourth picture in 15 minutes, but that if the gall bladder still didn't show itself, I'd have to wait another hour and have another picture taken. Then if it still wasn't visible, I'd have to wait yet another hour for a final picture.

My stomach began growling in protest. "So, if you can't see anything, that means I have a gall bladder problem?" I ask. Chip confirmed my suspicion and also added that he thought I'd be there with him for a while. Lovely. Sure enough, it didn't cooperate 15 minutes later, so he let me get up off the balance beam and sit down in an actual chair in the room. I read my book while he sat at his desk in the opposite corner and did paperwork.

You remember being sick in school and being sent to the nurse's office to wait for your mom or dad to pick you up? That's the flashback I had. I remembered lying on the cot in third grade trying to talk to the Nurse of the Week while she reads the want ads in the newspaper.

After an hour, he took another picture - and still no gall bladder. Then I had to sit just outside the x-ray room while another girl had tests done. At this point it was after noon, and my stomach was screaming. Another technician came and knocked on the door to Chip's x-ray room. "We're going to Taco Bell for lunch," she said. "You want anything?"

Oh. My. God. No she didn't.

"Yeah," Chip said. "Get me one of those gorditas."

Okay someone needs to leave because if I'm hungry enough for my mouth to water at the mention of Taco Bell, someone could lose a limb.

Finally, she does leave, and a little while later, I go in for my final picture. But my gall bladder wouldn't say cheese. "So this means they'll have to remove my gall bladder?" I asked. He nodded.

So, folks, that was the extent of my day. I don't suppose poking my gall bladder with a stick would make it start working again, huh?

I didn't think so.

Wish Me Luck.. But I Don't Know for What

2005-08-23T22:47:00.000-04:00

First off, the good news: My cousin had her baby last Thursday, and he's absolutely adorable. He was 6 pounds, 11 ounces, but only 17 inches long! I swear his little ear is no bigger than a nickel.

The other news: Tomorrow morning I have to go for an abdominal ultrasound, and no, it's not because I'm pregnant. It's to solve these pesky stomach pains that keep creeping up, although I've been pain-free since last Wednesday. (*knocks on wood*)

If the ultrasound looks normal, then they'll stick an IV in me and pump me full of radiation to make my gall bladder glow in the dark. Ok, maybe not really, but it's something to that effect.

If that comes back normal, it's off to Plan C. Send Carla to a gastroenterologist for a consultation and a session where a light/camera/thingy is shoved up my nose and down my throat. If that doesn't work I guess they'll have to go up the other end. Lovely.

Of course, if the problem is my gall bladder. I get scheduled for an outpatient surgery where they dig around in my belly and pull my gall bladder out through my belly button... or something like that.

So let's see - what should I hope for? How about for the pain to just magically disappear? Could I get a break like that?

I didn't think so.

If You Love Someone, Set Them Free...

2005-08-20T11:01:00.000-04:00

So my husband informed me this morning that he was going to have to leave me...

for Jenny McCarthy.

You see, with the Playboy model, and star of multiple TV series cancelled within the first few episodes, returning to singledom, he said he just couldn't stand by and let her slip away - especially after refraining from persuing Nicole Kidman once she left the Scientologist Freak formerly known as Tom Cruise.

So after composing myself from the hysterics (which could have been construed as laughter), I told him to go ahead and "hit that." After all, who am I to stand in the way of a love that's surely meant to be.

And now... if you'll excuse me, I've got to buy a plane ticket for LA so I can track down Michael Vartan.

5 Songs I'm Loving...This Week

2005-08-17T14:48:00.000-04:00

Haven't done a lot of posting this week... Sorry about that. I've been dealing with migraines and, once again, stomach pains. Maybe I could just carve my stomach out with a spoon. Sometimes I think it might hurt less. Anyway, here are my top 5 for this week:

1) "Wake Me Up When September Ends," Green Day - I liked this song from the moment I heard it on the American Idiot album, and I saw the video for the first time over the weekend and got chill bumps. This song is going to be huge.

2) "Tonight," Sara Evans - Yeah, you'll get whiplash going from punk to country, but I've always liked her voice. It's not as good as Martina McBride, but there's something more heartbreaking in it that makes her suited to country songs. My husband just likes her videos!

3) "Flying High," Jem - I haven't bought her entire album, Finally Woken, but I probably should. I've bought four songs off of it and loved them all. This one is a nice, acoustic piece about the emotions and temptations of a budding relationship.

4) "Face Down," Katie Todd Band - This is one of the free downloads from iTunes this week, so check it out. For an easy comparison, she's a cross between U2 and Coldplay - only she's a chick. It's a good song, and I've bought a couple others from her album.

5) "Remedy," Seether - My husband will be most pleased with this selection. He loves this song, and I find myself nodding my head to it as well. It has an awesome, driving guitar lick in it, and it's finally catching on around the rock stations here in Greenville.

"Family Guy" Quote of the Week

2005-08-15T12:14:00.000-04:00

Stewie to a prostitute: "Tell me, is there any tread left on the tires or is it like throwing a hot dog wiener down the hallway?"

Seth McFarlane is such the man.

Biological Clock Buzzing at Baby Shower

2005-08-13T23:35:00.000-04:00

You know what's not good for my biological clock? Going to a baby shower. I attended one today for my younger cousin, who's having her third child. She has two girls who are 6 and 4, and the baby on the way is a boy. The girls are a trip and a half, which they get from their mother. Example: My cousin is looking forward to the C-section scheduled for the 24th because she'll be able to wear makeup and she'll look decent for all the pictures after the birth. "Why do you think I got my hair highlighted?" Too funny.

We were also discussing the whole pain killer thing during labor. I know myself well enough to know that when I do birth those babies, I will have some sort of sweet concoction to kill the pain. I don't even try to kid myself by saying that I want to try it naturally. One of my friends from college waited to find out the sex of both of her babies until the birth, citing that she heard and agreed with a theory that the mystery would give more incentive during labor. Here's my incentive: Get this freakin' thing out of me! What kind of new age bullshit is that? Was that thought out by a man? That just screams of male chauvinist mentality.

My brother's girlfriend, my mom and I were also talking about the whole breast feeding thing. My brother's girlfriend was unclear on the benefits of breast feeding compared to formula. "For one thing," I said, "it's cheaper." It's something that I also want to when I have babies, provided that it works out okay - because sometimes the boobs or the baby just don't cooperate. Of course, while breast feeding does keep you from buying formula, I never realized that breast pumps were so expensive until a friend of mine had her baby in December of 2003. I was telling my mom today that pumps could run as high as $200. She had no idea either. I lamented about having to eventually shell out that money. What's wrong with just giving a good squeeze? It works for cows, right?

But at the shower, we all oooohed and awwwwwed over the cutest little outfits and blankets, and it just makes me that much more anxious to get pregnant. So, my hand is now hurting from hitting that snooze alarm on the baby ticker.

Does This Make Me a Blog Addict?

2005-08-11T21:50:00.000-04:00

So, I started a new blog here. I did so to create a separate space to post final drafts of poems and short stories. They'll be works that I don't plan on submitting for publication, because I've read that posting work on blogs is a technical publication. Therefore, I wouldn't be able to offer "first rights" on writings I submit to journals and magazines, and some find that aspect important.

I might start off with some older stories that I've done; that way I can say that I've actually put something up for people to read. :-) Anyway, I'll announce here when I've posted stuff there so all three - or maybe five of you - can go check it out.

5 Songs I'm Loving... This Week

2005-08-10T22:11:00.000-04:00

As you can tell from farther down the sidebar, I bought quite a few songs from iTunes recently. Consequently, several of those songs have made into this week's top five.

1) "Sing Me Sweet," Matt Nathanson: Okay, you MUST go to iTunes or your favorite music supplier and BUY THIS ALBUM. It's very good! Every song on the CD is excellent, but this is the song I was listening to today over and over again.

2) "Streetcorner Symphony," Rob Thomas: This is another album you must check out. The jam songs, like this one, really rock.

3) "Who We Are," Hope Partlow: This was a free download from iTunes a few weeks ago. I listened to the snippet, and I wasn't sure I would like it; it seemed very pop-ish. But, hey, it was free. As it turns out, the song is pretty good, and her voice at times sounds like Olivia Newton-John.

4) "Bad Day," Daniel Powter: This was free download last week on iTunes. It has great piano work and reminds me a little of "Drops of Jupiter" by Train. I listened to the rest of his album, but I wasn't as enthused about it as I was this song. That's what so cool about iTunes - you can buy one song at a time.

5) "The Wheel," Roseanne Cash: We're going back a little on this one - back to the early '90s. Roseanne is like her dad; she doesn't conform to country's standards, but her songs are timeless. I liked this song when it first came out, and whenever I heard it I thought, I've got to get that album. But I just always forgot about it. One night I was watching TV, and I heard a much different version of this song on a car commercial (which, by the way, Roseanne, did you need money that badly?). So, I got on (you guessed it) iTunes and bought it. Favorite line: The truth moves through us even as we sleep.

Remembering Band Practice

2005-08-09T21:51:00.000-04:00

I live in the same town where I graduated high school. I didn't plan my life that way, but I'm not ashamed of it either, just so you know.

So Friday while my husband and I were off from work, we drove by my alma mater, which actually happens quite a bit since I live ten minutes away. Luckily, I don't detest my high school years. I wouldn't want to live through them again, but I can say I was pleased with them overall. As I looked out the window, I noticed some kids sitting on the pavement outside one of the side doors. I knew that Greenville County schools hadn't started yet, so I wondered what was going on. Then I saw other groups of teenagers across the front lawn holding brass or woodwind instruments, and I realized that I had seen a band practice session.

For two-thirds of my high school years, I was in the band as a member of the colorguard, meaning I twirled flags. Those summer practices always excited me, even though they were brutal. There was this unknown element of what we worked on - the thrill of what the show would look like on the football field at night with lights bouncing off sequined uniforms, chrome-trimmed drums and golden brass instruments; the anticipation of cheers and whistles; and the hope of winning trophies to line the shelves in the band room.

I'm sure at least some of those kids were feeling the same things right at that moment as we drove by. I smiled, knowing the year they had ahead of them, and I wished them all the luck in the world.

Writing Prompt: "I Was Listening to Something I Heard Before"

2005-08-08T23:16:00.000-04:00

I find it amazing how music can transport us into another time. I was watching VH1 Classic one night (God, I'm so old) and a video for this cheesy '80s love song appeared - one that I absolutely LOVED as a teenager, one that I listened to over and over again, one of hundreds that I applied to my situation with the boy I crushed on for five years, off and on, of course.

Even hearing it almost 20 years later (once again - God, I'm getting old), I sat on the couch and almost smelled the scent in my bedroom during that time - which probably consisted of Love's Baby Soft or one of the brand-name knockoffs ("If You Like Giorgio, You'll Love..."). Those same emotions swam back within reach - the longing for someone right under my nose whom I talked to every day but never realized (or wouldn't realize or didn't care about) my feelings, the tears of frustration and the fear of never being romantically involved with him (which, by the way, is what happened and somehow the world didn't end), the elation after a day when we flirted or shared what I thought was a MOMENT.

The rush of all those feelings coming back to me was unbelievable. Some would say that they would never want to have that happen, but I welcome that nostalgia with open arms because it provides the fuel for my creative fire.

P.S. - I reserve the right to withhold the name of the song on the grounds that I will receive numerous comments ridiculing me for my taste in music (*cough* from husband *cough*).

Write About a Summer Night

2005-08-07T17:27:00.000-04:00

I've always loved summer nights. Even though the sun goes down so late. I love the sounds that float into the air once the sunlight fades - the crickets, the tree frogs and all the other critters in the woods. I remember as a child riding in the back seat of my parents' car as we made our way back from my grandparents' house in Pickens County mountains. The windows were usually down, and with the cool mountain air brushing through my hair and those chirping sounds I fell asleep before we crossed the Greenville County line.

I also remember the sounds inside our home on summer nights. We rarely watched TV during the summer, since reruns were the only shows on and we didn't get cable until I was in college. Even though my room was on the other end of the house from the den, I could always come out of my room and tell when the TV was off. The silence was different. Perhaps the lack of static electricity from the screen allowed the silence to become even stronger.

Also during these months, my dad played his guitar more frequently. .He has this beautiful Martin D21 acoustic - worth a pretty penny these days - and it has an incredible sound. I believe my mother's father was the one who taught him how to play. His repertoire isn't that broad, but I can hear his pick and strum style of "Wildwood Flower" or "Wabash Cannonball" anywhere. Hearing those songs made me feel more relaxed, perhaps even safe. I suppose those nights are what draws me to acoustic songs - the simplicity and the solitude.

Many times he continued playing after we went to bed, but never for much longer. I can still hear the click of the latches on the guitar case and the echoing of the strings inside as he place the case back in the closet, and I remember feeling disappointed, wishing he had played long enough for me to fall asleep.

Writing Prompt: Write About a Tool

2005-08-06T10:50:00.000-04:00

Two images popped in my head when I saw this topic. I remembered an ex-boyfriend who named his "member" after a tool. He once referred to it as Stanley, saying it was a power tool that could go all night. I wish I could make up stuff as ridiculous as this. He was exaggerating, by the way.

I don't get the whole naming the penis thing. I mean, I realize that it has a mind of its own. In fact, sometimes it's the only mind some men have, but I just don't understand the personalization.

Of course, some women have their stupid tool references as well - maybe just not about their vaginas. Case in point, I used to go with a group of friends and coworkers to a poetry slam at a now closed coffee house downtown. The thing about poetry slams is that many times, the performance of the poem is as important as the poem itself. That's one of the reasons I never competed; I've never considered myself an actress.

This one woman, however, who competed weekly clearly thought of herself as a diva. She came into the coffee house with an entourage. The slam had three rounds, and for that final round, this woman almost always recited the same poem about her Ryobi drill, always performing the last line with her arm in the air, mimicking the motion of holding a drill above her head and pulling the trigger. Now the whole female empowerment theme of the poem was cool, and the poem wasn't a bad one, but it felt as if she was cheating to constantly use the same poem to win the competition. By the time we stopped attending the poetry slams, we could recite the poem along with her.

A couple of friends have mentioned seeing her around town, and occasionally, I'll thumb through one of the local entertainment rags and see her picture or her name in an article about the poetry slams that are held at another coffee house. We all still wonder if she still recites "that damn Ryobi poem."

And I still wonder if that ex-boyfriend still refers to his penis as Stanley. Perhaps his wife has corrected him by now.

Writing Prompt: Write About a Conversation

2005-08-05T23:46:00.000-04:00

I went to lunch with my parents the other Sunday, and after lamenting about my work situation, we began discussing what other people were doing. I mentioned that a friend's daughter is coming to work at our office for a while, but she's debating on going to grad school to get her master's in library science.

"That's what you should have done, Carla" my dad said. "Been a librarian."

"But that wasn't what I wanted to do," I said.

"Well, you know, sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do."

Sitting in the back seat of their Camry, I felt like a teenager again. Of course, there are other times when I feel like that - usually it happens when I look to see what I've accomplished and I think that I have no career despite being 33 and a college graduate.

I know my dad wasn't trying to be critical. He grew up in a different time, a different place and a different economy. In his world, you did what you had to do to get by. Doing what you wanted to make a living was a luxury that couldn't be afforded. Still, what he said is sticking with me.

I know I'm doing what I want when I'm at home - writing. I get a lot more done when I'm off for that one week out of the month. If I could ever build up my home businesses, I could leave my day job and write every day at home. (For those of you who wonder, I can't mention my businesses on this site because of consultant guidelines, but feel free to e-mail me. I'll be happy to tell you all about them! :-) )

I don't know. I guess that's the gist of this rant. That and the fact that I'm not getting any younger and I don't want to plug text onto a template for the rest of my life. How do you silence the inner naysayer in your head? Is there some sort of anvil that will knock it unconscious? If so, could someone tell me about it?

5 Songs I'm Loving... This Week

2005-08-03T09:21:00.000-04:00

Wednesday already - my week of is going by way too quickly! I had a hard time choosing songs this week. Yesterday when I was on iTunes, a bunch of my favorite artists had new songs out. Plus I made a couple of discoveries, which have been included below:

1) "Swing Life Away," Rise Against - I heard this song over the weekend on MTV2's Rock Countdown. I'm not really sure if it's a rock song. Perhaps their album is harder than this song. This one, however, is a simple acoustic piece and a line that liked the first time I heard it: We live on front porches and swing life away.

2) "I Saw," Matt Nathanson - Okay, I discovered this guy on iTunes, and after listening to the snippets on the album, I put it in my shopping cart. This song right now is my favorite from the album, but the whole thing is good. If you like some of the male songwriters around right now, such as Gavin DeGraw and John Mayer or bands such as Lifehouse, you'll like this guy.

3) "Seasons of Love," the cast of the movie Rent - My husband is so going to kill me for this one because he detests musicals. We went to the movies Friday night, and the trailer for Rent was one of the previews shown. The trailer was just the cast singing this song with snippets of the movie flashing before our eyes, but it was the song that gave me chill bumps the moment I heard it. Sorry, honey, I bought it off iTunes.

4) "Best of You," Foo Fighters - I just like it, and I like Foo Fighters. Dave Grohl doesn't hurt the eyes either. :-)

5) "Goodbye Is All We Have," Alison Krauss & Union Station - I've been listening to Lonely Runs Both Ways today, and this song stood out because is fits in a story idea I've had for a while. I like this group anyway. Over the past few years, I've been drawn to bluegrass music. I'm glad that it's had a resurgence. It runs circles around that sickening country pop that's been overplayed.

Writing Prompt: Write About Being Late

2005-08-02T09:38:00.000-04:00

This past New Year's Eve, I was late - in the monthly way. Don't worry, I'm not going to divulge the details of my monthly cycle. Suffice it to say that as I sipped a glass of yummy, homemade Long Island Iced Tea and watched my husband flip through the channels on the TV (We're not big on New Year's celebrations), the realization dawned on me that my monthly visitor was overdue.

I don't remember the thought process that took me to that discovery. It could have been one of those annoying feminine hygiene product commercials, which, by the way, have become entirely too brazen in this millennium. I mean, who wants to watch a girl take a tampon out of her pocketbook and use it to plug a hole in a boat? And what male moron isn't going to figure out that that's what happened? And what woman is going to use a tampon to plug a hole anyway? Better yet, who has one to spare? It seems like I'm always bumming one from a coworker or trying to get the damn machine to take my freakin' quarter, even though it's never stocked with my preferred brand.

Sorry, probably too much info for you, so we'll move on. I was late by a week - not an abnormal amount of time but enough to freak me out. My husband tried to convince me to wait until the next day to get an at-home pregnancy test, but I could not be calm without knowing for sure.

Off to Kmart we went, and after perusing the choices, I decided on one of those with a digital readouts - no ambiguous colors or faint lines for me. Then it was back home to take the test. Luckily, the package had two tests in it because I botched the first one. I have a hard enough time peeing in a cup at the doctor's office, so when given nothing but a strip of paper as my target, my odds worsen even more. While the package had two tests, it had only one reader, and that fancy schmancy digital readout had to have 30 minutes to an hour to regroup before I could use the other test. That's what I get for going the technological route.

So I spend the next half hour running all the situations in my mind. I hadn't lost the weight I needed to lose to lower the odds of a high-risk pregnancy. We were still in debt up to our eyeballs. I couldn't afford not to work, but we couldn't afford the daycare costs for me to work away from home. And so on, and so on... I turn a problem over in my mind until it eventually throws up from motion sickness, and then I panic.

I retreated to the bathroom again to check that digital reader. It was still blinking that little icon that means, "Ha! You can't even take this stupid test! How are you going to raise a kid?" I figured it would still be a while before I could retake the test, so I went ahead and used the bathroom, and wouldn't you know it... the visitor arrived.

So the pregancy scare disappeared, but I did have those conflicting emotions of relief tinged with disappointment. Not to mention the fact that I paid for a two-test pack and the unused test was good only through February, so I couldn't even save it for when we actually were trying to get pregnant. Oh well, if I had been pregnant, I'd be due right here at the end of the summer. I'd be miserable, and I'd probably be making everyone else miserable because I like to spread the love. :-)

I'll just try to keep hitting the snooze alarm on my biological clock until I'm a little better prepared.

More Quotes About Writing, Part III

2005-08-01T23:47:00.000-04:00

Where is this year going?! I've been blogging for three months now! Anyway, here are my chosen quotes about writing for the month:

"Don't think of literary form. Let it get out as it wants to. Overtell it in the matter of detail - cutting comes later. The form will develop in the telling. Don't make the telling follow the form." - John Steinbeck

"The main thing is to write a lot, to keep yourself immersed in the element of poetry, to stay deep in the creative possibilities." - James Dickey

You must not suppose, because I am a man of letters, that I never tried to earn a honest living." - George Bernard Shaw

"Every person you meet - and everything you do in life - is an opportunity to learn. That's important to all of us, but most of all to a writer because a writer can use anything." - Tom Clancy

And the one I really need to remember:
"If you write a hundred short stories, and they're all bad that doesn't mean you've failed. You only fail if you stop writing." - Ray Bradbury

Meet Our Dog. Just Don't Tell Her She's One!

2005-07-31T15:52:00.000-04:00

I've posted an adorable picture of Domino before; however, the ones above reveal her for what she truly is . . . a freak. We've spoiled her by occasionally giving her a bite or two of what we're eating, if it's possible to break off bites and such. So now she sits and hovers and sniffs our chairs when we get up to see if crumbs are left. She cocks her head if we drop something on our plate, but then she sniffs the floor, as if she's thinking "Well, it looked like they dropped it on the floor."

At night, she goes into the bedroom with us and lays down while we do our nightly unwinding - goofing off on the computer, writing, reading, taking off makeup (just me - Danny leaves his on all the time :-) KIDDING!). If the light disturbs her, she sticks her head under the bed. She sleeps in the floor on my side of the bed, and last night she assumed her sleeping position before we turned the lights out. I happened to look over and see her head stuck under the pillows in the floor, so I had to get a picture. After taking that one, she stirred a bit and put her head on top of the pillow, and I tried to get a picture of that, but by the time I pressed the button, she moved so that her head was under the bed.

But you get the idea - she's a freak, but she's our little (well, big) freak and we love her to death!

Oh to Be Able to Eat Like Hummingbirds!

2005-07-30T22:28:00.000-04:00

So the hummingbirds have been feasting off the feeder on my deck. Actually, one of them is hogging all the goods, and as you look at the pictures, I'm sure you'll be able to tell which one it is! :-)

They were fighting all afternoon, zooming around the back yard and all over the deck. One tried to come eat, but the fat one ran it off. Then another one perched to eat and the fat one came back to run it off. I think they're trying to double team her. I know it's a female because the males have red throats. There is a male who eats there regularly, I'll try to get a picture of him at some point.

Although, one will run the other off for eating there, but none of these hummingbirds will run off the wasps that try to get to the food. I had to go out on the deck this afternoon with the flyswatter to get rid of the pesky bug. Then pulling off the flyswatter makes the dog get in her house. Why I don't know, no one has ever raised that swatter at her, much less hit her with it!

5 Songs I'm Loving... This Week

2005-07-27T20:26:00.000-04:00

I haven't been listening to my iPod that much this week, but I have managed to scrounge up five songs that I've enjoyed listening to.

1) "Ohio (Come Back to Texas)" by Bowling for Soup - I like these guys. They always have amusing, fun songs. I'm not sure I'd like a whole album by them, but I've liked the three singles I've heard so far.

2) "Wordplay" by Jason Mraz - This guy rhymes like Eminem and has an incredible voice. I'm looking forward to getting Mr. A-Z, which, by the way, is a clever play on his last name.

3) "O Chariot" by Gavin DeGraw - It's a little slower and more inspirational sounding than "I Don't Wanna Be," but the melody and piano work are nice. I like what I'm hearing from this guy.

4) "Sometimes" by Holly Williams - The granddaughter of Hank Williams Sr. is quite the talented songwriter. Her voice is not a phenomenal force. It's good, but it's earnest, and she's capable of pulling the heartbreak out of a song. This one has an aching ending: I wish I were an angel in '52 in a blue Cadillac on the eve of the New Year, and there I would have saved him, the Man Who Sang the Blues. Maybe he is listening right now. Such lovely, personal sentiment about her grandfather.

5) "Set Out Running" by Neko Case - If Patsy Cline had been born in the '70s, this is how she would sound today.

Writing Prompt: Write About a Recurring Dream

2005-07-26T22:05:00.000-04:00

The dream never happens the same way, but the thoughts I have during the dream are. Every once in a while, I dream about my friend Rhonda, who died more than five years ago from complications from diabetes at age 32. She had been a bridesmaid in my wedding just a month before, although she didn't get to fulfill her dream of being able to walk down the aisle. One of the groomsmen escorted her in her wheelchair.

Rhonda was a trip, plain and simple. You couldn't help but laugh while talking to her because at some point, she would say something to crack you up. Her husband, Lee, told me at her funeral that she loved to hear me laugh and that when she was down, she would call me to cheer her up.

We grew up at Aggie's house. Aggie was my and my brother's babysitter, but she was more like a grandmother. She had never had any children of her own, but she and her husband, John, were Rhonda's legal guardians. I, being five years younger than her, was Rhonda's shadow. If I could have had a sister, she would have been Rhonda.

Two months before my third birthday, we were playing golf in the backyard with a broomstick and plastic baseball. She swung back to hit the ball, but I was standing right behind her, and the stick cracked the skin open on the upper part of my left cheekbone. It took two stitches and a lot of tears to heal that injury. My mom still talks about come to pick me up and finding me, Rhonda and Aggie crying. Even up until the months before her death, the mention of that incident always made her ask, "You're not mad at me about that are you?"

The first time I dreamed about Rhonda was the night before the first anniversary of her death. I was at the hospital before she died, something I had not been able to do. I was standing outside of her room, looking in as she lay unconscious. Lee was in the next room talking to some people about the situation when I saw her eyes open and her head turned toward me. I called out to Lee, to anyone, that she was awake, but when I looked back at her, she was waving and smiling. I yelled again, but she slowly laid her head back down. Then she was gone. It was one of the few times I've woken up crying.

Since then, I've had many dreams where she and I are talking, and I have this wonderful realization that she's not dead - she's right here with me. I wonder to myself where she's been all this time, and I look forward to spending time with her again. Then I wake up, and the disappointment is devastating.

On the one hand, I'm thankful for those dreams. I like to think that she's trying to communicate with me through them. On the other hand, it's simply heartbreaking - as heartbreaking as seeing her in her son's dark brown eyes and mannerisms.

But life goes on, and I know that she and I will talk again one day - a day when she won't be in a wheelchair - and we'll dance around to "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" or maybe "Funkytown," because she was never one to dwell on sadness. So I can't either.

Writing Prompt: In a State of Disarray

2005-07-23T22:52:00.000-04:00

My house is in a state of disarray. It's really quite pathetic. I've told my husband that we should just take a rake and scrape together all the tufts of dog hair that litter the carpet. I'm afraid the next time I open the shower curtain something will wink at me and say, "Hey, honey, how's it goin'?"

I've said before what a terrible housekeeper I am. I let things pile up. I put things off. I don't want to start things unless I can get it all done. I suppose it's that perfectionist mentality creeping in. I think part of me rebels too - rebels against what's expected of me. When I was young and I had to clean my room, I would put things away, but some things I wanted to leave out. My mother, however, would come back and require to put everything away. Leaving all that stuff out looked like clutter to her, and she's truly an everything-has-its-place-and-everthing-in-its-place person. My husband tells me that I'm unconsciously rebelling against this conditioning. I suppose that's true. I think it's also because I'm lazy.

The one thing that brings me consolation comes from watching those shows on TLC or HGTV where someone comes in and organizes a filthy house. Those houses are so ridiculously messy that it makes me feel better about mine. It's like being overweight and feeling more at ease with yourself when you see someone bigger than you.

For now, I have the first week in August off from work, and my husband has three of those days off with me. I see some serious housecleaning in our future.

Some couples go on romantic vacations; we plunge ourselves elbow deep into dust, dog hair and mildew. Now that's a way to keep the spark in our marriage.

Here Comes the Pain Again

2005-07-22T12:12:00.000-04:00

Sorry for the Eurythmics reference and sorry for the lack of substance in this week's posts. I've been battling stomach pains all week, and folks, that. Is. Not. Fun. Last night consisted of more hours of tossing and turning, getting up to drink some milk, sitting up just to change position and just plain out crying in frustration that I was so tired but unable to sleep because of the pain.

Luckily, I had a doctor's appointment already scheduled for this afternoon for a physical, so I'll just add this onto the bill. I just wish there was something I could take for the pain, but I don't think anything exists.

Perhaps the pain will take a break tomorrow, and I can get some actual writing done.

5 Songs I'm Loving... This Week

2005-07-20T22:03:00.000-04:00

I thought I'd make this a weekly thing - perhaps every Wednesday. After all, I can't listen to the same songs over and over again every week. So here are the songs I'm enjoying this week.

1) "You and Me," by Lifehouse - It's a really sweet song, and the rhythm of the strings and guitar makes me feel like I could waltz around a big ballroom in a pretty, flowery, flowing skirt. Alas, my husband doesn't dance. Perhaps I could just imagine Michael Vartan - mmmmm......

2 "Beverly Hills," by Weezer - It's not a head-banging song like Green Day, but it is a head-nodding song. At least, I can't resist nodding my head.

3) "This Is How a Heart Breaks," Rob Thomas - Just a good groovin' song.

4) "God Put a Smile on Your Face," by Coldplay - It has a piercing guitar strum to it with a driving drumbeat that's almost sexy. No wonder "Alias" used it for the episode where Sydney and Vaughn "consummated" their relationship. :-)

5) "Maybe I'm Amazed," by Jem - Yes, this is a cover of the Paul McCartney version, but it's very well done - minimal instruments, lovely backing vocals and clean piano playing. I also love the ending, where the music fades to just the piano and bass. It's a nicely done cover.

And that's all you'll get from me today, because my brother dropped by to store some stuff in our garage and hung out for a while. I'll try to post some actual writing stuff tomorrow.

Today, You Get Nothing

2005-07-18T19:34:00.000-04:00

I haven't been able to post a writing prompt because I've been home sick today. I woke up in the middle of the night with the horrible, writhing pain in my stomach that makes me think of the Aliens is about to pop out of it. I didn't fall asleep again until about 5:30 am, and I was back up at 6:15 toasting frozen waffles just so I'd have something on my stomach. It helped. I managed to fall asleep again, and I've slept most of the day.

I've been taking Nexium for almost two months for what I thought is an ulcer, but maybe it's not. I didn't eat late, didn't lay down for four hours after eating and didn't even eat pepperoni pizza. So I don't know what's going on. Dammit, I don't want to have some tube/camera/light stuck down my throat.

Oh well. I did get a short story idea from one of the writing prompts. I started it last night before going to bed. We'll see how that goes.

And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to eat a peanut butter sandwich and drink some milk because my digestive system hates me.

Crossing into Four Digits!

2005-07-17T20:21:00.000-04:00

By tomorrow, I'll have crossed over the 1,000 mark in visitors! I'm very excited. Plus, I've moved up one in the TTLB ecosystem. I'm now a Slimy Mollusc - never been quite so happy to be slimy.

Thanks to all who have dropped by and to those who have added my site to your links. I truly appreciate the advertising.

And here's to at least 1,000 more! :-)

Odds and Ends for Sunday

2005-07-17T16:18:00.000-04:00

We went to Barnes & Noble today because I needed a new journal. They have a good selection. Part of me wanted to get the large, spiral-bound pastel colored book with a Monet painting on the front. I thought maybe I'd just write poems in it when I finish them. Then I realized that I'm always editing stuff, so writing a poem in there is useless because I'll always want to go back and change it. I stuck with the same black, spiral-bound journals that I've been getting.

Danny, with his eagle eye for clearance items, pointed out the book Fiction Writer's Brainstormer. I've never seen it before, but it was only $6 - so what the heck. If anyone has read it and found it informative, feel free to let me know. I'll post my thoughts once I start reading.

I've been reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, and I have to say that I'm thoroughly enjoying it. She shares some excellent advice, especially for those who are more of a novice in the writing craft. I've been writing since college, but I really haven't made a commitment to my work until now. I've been a writer at work, seen my byline and gotten a sense of pride in that, but now I'm ready to take the next step - to really concentrate on telling the stories I want to tell.

Well, I Screwed Up

2005-07-16T23:52:00.000-04:00

The Internet is such a blessing and a curse at times. The convenience of being able to communicate with people hundreds of miles away is diminished by the fact that miscommunications still occur. Today, I sent an e-mail to someone who I don't know all that well, and I was making light of a situation that I probably shouldn't have. So I unintentionally insulted this person. I'm not going into anything more specific than that, but I just wanted to express my apologies here, in case this person happens to surf by.

People who know me know that I would never deliberately insult someone. It's in my nature to kid around. Hopefully, if this person gives me a second chance, they'll know what I mean.

Writing Prompt: Write About a Theft (Grab a Snack; This One's a Long One)

2005-07-16T16:42:00.000-04:00

I keep coming back to my time in Rock Hill when I've done some of these recent writing prompts. It was barely a year of my life that ended ten years ago, but apparently, I have a lot of material (or perhaps issues) coming from that time. Anyway, when I saw the topic of a theft, I immediately thought about the time my suitcase was stolen out of my car in the parking lot of my apartment - all because of R.

It was the weekend of the spring horse race in Camden, which is an hour and a half from Rock Hill and 45 minutes from R's house. I drove to his house on that Friday night, and then we got up the next morning, met my college roommate and proceeded to the racetrack. Our spot was beside the grandstand, but a lot of R's buddies had spots in the infield, where you can stay all day and not even see a horse. After the first race, R went to visit his friends, and I didn't see him for the rest of the afternoon.

When the whole event was over, he still had not come back. Someone went looking for him while my best friend, Tiffany, and I went back to her parents' house. Once there, we got the idea to play a joke on him and make him think I had left, which is actually what I should have done. He fell for the joke - probably because he was completely smashed - not long after this, we headed back to his house.

I was driving, of course, which was a good thing because he passed out in the passenger seat. I was furious. I had come to spend the day with him, not a drunk, and now I was supposed to take him home and tuck his smashed ass into bed? Oh, I didn't think so. We weren't even halfway there when I knew that I was dumping him off and going back to my apartment.

I had to shake him and yell his name a couple of times to rouse him up. He stumbled out of the car and up the front porch steps, and once in the door, he headed straight for the bathroom. I breezed past his brother in the kitchen who asked what was going on. "Nothing," I said, but it was obvious. At times, I can mask sadness or anger, but most of the time, I'm a walking emotional billboard.

"He showed his ass?" R's brother asked.

"He's drunk off it is more like it," I said. R's brother stood outside the bathroom door, and I could tell from the groan that he heard R throwing up.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I'm going back to my apartment."

"Yo, man," he called out to R. "She's going home. She ain't putting up with your ass."

I was in the guest bedroom, throwing clothes in my soon-to-be stolen suitcase when R came in and tried to hug me. I would be having none of that. I shoved him off, zipped up my suitcase and made my way out the front door. I threw the suitcase in the back seat, remembering that R's cooler was in the trunk. Not wanting to step back in that house to let R talk me into staying, I left it in the front yard.

I fumed all the way back to Rock Hill. When I got back to my apartment, I was still so mad that I forgot about the suitcase and left it in my car. Normally, this wouldn't have been a big deal, because at any other time, all my doors would have been locked. However, in his drunken stupor, R had not locked the passenger door, and in my pissed-off pandemonium, I had not noticed that the door was unlocked. So during the night, someone got into my car through that door and stole the suitcase.

They got a cheap 35-mm camera, some clothes, my driver's license and the ten bucks I had stuffed in my camera case. R took a lot more.

At first, things seemed to be okay. He called the next day, and we talked. He apologized. I might have apologized for leaving the way I did; I don't remember for sure. I thought we had put it behind us. Four days later, he called, and I knew something wasn't right. When I pressed him about what was wrong, he wouldn't say anything.

While I needed only a couple of seconds to realize what was going on, it seemed like an eternity passed. The realization started as this sickening feeling in my stomach. Then it was fear clutching at my throat, and then it was sadness springing from my eyes. He still wouldn't talk, but by God, I was going to make him.

"Just say it," I told him. He stalled for a second. "Say it," I repeated.

"This just isn't going to work out."

In his opinion, we were too different. According to him, he had been contemplating breaking up for a couple of months and had discussed it with his buddies - the same buddies that send their women into the kitchen to fix their mixed drinks on New Year's Eve. I could only imagine what their advice was. He was also embarrassed about my leaving his cooler in the middle of the front yard, and somehow, although not by me, word had gotten around town that he got drunk and his big-city, college-educated girlfriend dumped him off at his house. That's what happens when you live in a small town.

I'm not saying he was wrong about us. He wanted a girl who would dote on him, and I definitely wasn't that girl. Still, to this day, I just feel like I was duped. I was so ready to fall in love, but I wasn't sure when I first met R that I should get involved. Then, I could see that he was enamored with me, and I thought I'd be safe.

When I think about that stolen suitcase, I think about how R stole innocence from me - and not just physical. He took that unspoken, undeniable, undefinable desire for true love, and once it was gone, cynicism took its place. Even though I've been happily married for five and a half years, I still hate the fact that R was the one I chose to fall for.

So the moral of the story is that if you want to protect something, you're responsible for making sure all the doors are locked.

Just Some Observations...

2005-07-16T16:18:00.000-04:00

So I had to work today, which is kind of a bummer. We usually have to work at least one Saturday a month, but we get two days off at the beginning of each month to make up for it. However, I'm on an even shorter schedule where I get five days off. It's a nice break that lets me work on my writing, but what have I been doing? BLOGGING!

Anyway, when we work on a Saturday, the company pays for lunch, so that's cool. Today, lunch came from Jason's Deli, somewhere I've never eaten before. I looked at the menu that was passed around and decided to get a chicken sandwich with provolone cheese, and I wrote down that I wanted sour cream and onion chips, because most delis have flavored chips, right?

Apparently not. When the food came, I got plain chips. No biggie, but then I opened my sandwich and saw this huge white glob on one side of the croissant. I thought, surely that's not mayo, because - DAMN - that's way too much, even if it is Duke's! So I dabbed my finger and tasted it. IT WAS SOUR CREAM! Some idiot thought that the sour cream was meant for the sandwich and not chips. How could someone think that? Who eats sour cream on a sandwich?!

Fortunately, not all was lost. I scraped off as much sour cream as I could, and the chicken on the sandwich was really very tasty. Luckily, I had some plain chips. Oh, and a pickle spear - can't forget that.

Some Things About Me, Part Deux

2005-07-15T21:09:00.000-04:00

For #1-14 go here.

15) Things I can't keep track of: umbrellas, nail clippers, my checkbook, my sunglasses (and they're prescription), candle lighters.

16) I love drinks with finely crushed ice, which is virtually impossible to find these days. Most fast-food chains don't have this type of ice, except for Sonic and Zaxby's. Many times, I have to go to one of those Mom and Pop greasy spoons, but man, those drinks are so refreshing. And I don't have to worry about cracking my teeth on the ice when I eat it, because that's another thing I do, eat ice.

17) I still like Hootie and the Blowfish. I was never fanatical about them, but I always like their albums. Were they overrated? Perhaps, but I'm still a fan. Sue me.

18) Pet peeves: self-importance, unsolicited advice, leaving a grocery cart in the parking spot (especially if it's in the one I want to park in), habitual tardiness, drivers who stay within inches of my back bumper

19) For someone who never has money, I'll sit with my calculator and figure up how much money we'll have left over at the end of each week. And I'll sit and compute ahead for weeks, even months. Danny calls it my "Calculation of the Earth's Rotation." If he catches me doing it, he asks if we're going to fly off course toward the sun. Smart-ass.

20) I can't stand the sound or feeling of metal against my teeth. I think this stems from the traumatic experience of having braces in elementary school.

21) I have never cut grass in my entire life, but I'm sure that will change when my husband reads this.

What If...? A Writer's Panic

2005-07-14T20:23:00.000-04:00

In a moment of frustration and desperation yesterday, I thought, "What if I never get anything in print? What will I do if I just end up rambling the rest of my life and never make any sense of anything and never finish anything I've started?" I mean, sure I've been writing something almost every day. In fact, I need a new black, spiral journal from Barnes & Noble. It's taken me two years to fill half of the journal, but since February I've almost filled the second half. Unfortunately, I haven't been working any on the novel I started years ago.

I used to blame my lack of inspiration on the anitdepressants I was taking, but now that I've been putting my "ass on chair" (Thanks, Urban Semiotic for that phrase), It's as if the floodgates have opened. However, I haven't been directing energy into my novel. I can't seem to finish chapter two, and while I have some idea of what will happen, I just haven't worked on it.

So is it laziness? Maybe. Perhaps I'm having too much fun blogging. I think part of it is also my perfectionist mentality: I don't know whether it's going to be good enough at the end, so I'm afraid to go any further. I want to tell the story; I really do. I want to figure out what these characters are going to do with the "outside forces" that will affect them.

Part of me wants it to be accepted. I want other people to read the story and like it, identify with it, care about it. I hear some novelists say that their first novel is shoved in a bottom drawer somewhere in their house, and I'm horrified. I don't want to spend weeks and months working on something that I'm going to eventually put away forever. Hell, why not set it on fire in the front yard?

You'd Think I Grew Up in a Barn

2005-07-13T21:45:00.000-04:00

My husband is always amazed by movies, shows or videos that I've never seen. Last night, we were watch a video of Bryan Adams "Cuts Like a Knife" on VH1 Classic (God, I'm so old.), and I made some sort of remark about the video. Danny asked, "You've never seen this before." I told him no. These days when this happens, he merely shakes his head. Occasionally, I'll get "I can't believe you haven't seen (insert name of movie/show here)!"

The truth is, my parents weren't big on entertainment when I was growing up. Sure, we had a TV, but we didn't get cable until I was a junior in college. (So, thanks Mom and Dad, for letting me miss out on the years when MTV actually played videos!) If I wanted to see videos it meant staying up late on Friday to watch "Friday Night Videos," which I did every once in a while. We had a VCR when I was in middle school, but we used it mainly for taping "Days of Our Lives" and "Another World." After all, my mother and I had our priorities.

Movies weren't really big for us either. I never saw Star Wars or Empire Strikes Back at a movie theater. I did see Return of the Jedi, though. I think the first movie I remember seeing was Hot Lead and Cold Feet. It was at the drive-in around the corner from our house. Ah, drive-ins, you definitely don't see those in the south anymore. People might think of southerners as being dumb, but we're not about to sit in our cars on a muggy summer night to watch a movie when we can sit in an air-conditioned theater and do the same thing! We got rid of that institution a long time ago.

I also saw E.T. when it came out and bawled like a baby at the end. My parents took us to see Gremlins when I was in the sixth grade, and my dad hated that movie so much that I don't think he went back to the theaters until he and my mother went with another couple friend of theirs to see 50 First Dates. My movie-going experience is far inferior to Danny's, but it's not a result of my parents' being strict. They weren't forbidding me to see them. We just didn't go.

So I just have to laugh it off when Danny says "How could I have married you without knowing whether or not you have seen (insert name of movie/show/video here)?" Somehow I don't feel as if my childhood was that deficient because of it. I stayed in my bedroom, listened to '80s pop music and wrote cheesy love poems instead. Wasn't that a much more valuable use of my time?

Writing Prompt: "Long Afterward, I Came Upon It Again..."

2005-07-12T21:15:00.000-04:00

When I was 15, my grandfather - my mother's father - died. That whole year had already been filled with all this angst over things I really didn't have a need to be angry about, but when he died, I was mad at the world. Then my grandmother found a poem in his Bible. Before this point, I had always written poems. For four years I had kept a five-subject, spiral-bound notebook with poems - terrible, sappy, teeny-bopper love poems for the most part, but still my poems - and I actually still have the book today. At times, I would write at least one a day for a couple of weeks.

Occasionally, I would take something I'd written to school for my friends to read. They would fawn over me and beg me to write one for them. I was more than happy to oblige, enjoying all the attention. Before my grandfather's death, however, these were just poems. I had bigger plans. I wanted to be a singer/songwriter. I got a guitar for my 13th birthday and took lessons, and I planned on moving to New York when I was 18 to pursue my dream.

For a while after my grandfather's death, my world stopped. He was only 58 years old; we were supposed to have more time with him. It was the first time I lost something that I took for granted, and I was devastated. When my grandmother shared the poem she found in his Bible, the whole family was surprised. None of us ever knew him to write. He dropped out of school in the eighth grade to help the family, and he didn't get his GED until he was in his early fifties. The poem was a simple but heartfelt prayer for God to help him show others how good life can be as a Christian.

Seeing that poem and the one I found later in another Bible that my mom kept, I realized that someone else in my family had the desire and a basic ability to express himself through writing, and everything clicked into place. My writing wasn't a fluke; there was a source. I scratched plans for New York because I knew that I had to write.

5 Songs I'm Loving Right Now

2005-07-11T22:35:00.000-04:00

1) "Wreck of the Day," Anna Nalick: Desperately close to a coffin of hope, I cheat destiny just to be near you. What an awesome line.

2) "One Moment More," Mindy Smith: They lyrics are simple, but with the elegant orchestration and her pure, haunting voice, this song is just beautifully heartbreaking.

3) "Holiday," Green Day: Come on, how can you not bang your head and pump your fist to any Green Day song? Okay, perhaps "Good Riddance."

4) "Beautiful Life," Fisher: You know the Toyota commercial with the rolling wheel? This is the song playing. It's just such a happy-go-lucky song. As a matter of fact, it's on my iPod's Happy-Go-Lucky playlist.

5) "Elysium," Mary Chapin Carpenter: She is such the ultimate songwriter. This song just gradually builds into this beautiful crescendo, like you're driving up over a hill and the valley is laid out right in front of you.

My favorite lines: Sometimes you get there in spite of the route, losing track of your life and what it's about. The road seems to know when to straighten right out, the closer you come to Elysium.

And: I could wonder if all of it led me to you. I could show you the arrows and circles I drew. I didn't have a map. It's the best I could do on the fly and on the run.

Oh, to write like her.

My Top 5 Most Romantic Songs

2005-07-11T22:34:00.000-04:00

... in no particular order because I just can't choose!

"The One," Elton John: In the instant that you love someone, in the second that the hammer hits, reality runs up your spine and the pieces finally fit. That does it for me.

"In Your Eyes," Peter Gabriel: The untraditional love song made even more romantic by the scene from Say Anything when John Cusak holds the stereo over his head and plays the song.

"She's Got a Way/She's Always a Woman," Billy Joel: Okay, I'm sort of cheating by including an extra song, but I always group these together because they are similar. I've loved these songs I was young. When I was in middle school, I always hoped I'd meet a guy who'd hear these songs and think of me. Yeah, I was that stupid.

"I Shall Believe," Sheryl Crow: It just oozes unconditional love, that dangerous kind of love that blinds you to all faults. For guys, of course, it's carte blanche to do whatever they want and lie about it. :)

"Possession," Sarah McLachlan: Talk about your raw passion. She's ready to be quite aggressive, which is incredibly scary and incredibly sexy.

Hear That? It's My Biological Clock Going Off

2005-07-10T14:56:00.000-04:00

I nearly gave my husband a heart attack Friday night. No, you pervs, not that way. Between one of our coworkers and his wife having a baby last week and another couple we're friends with adopting two toddlers from Kazakhstan, baby fever has set in.

Danny and I were married five years in December, and both of us want children; however, the idea scares the hell out of Danny. So when I made the comment over dinner Friday night that I wanted a baby, I thought he was going to drop his knife and fork and keel over in the restaurant booth where we were sitting.

Granted, some things have to happen before we call the stork (because that's how you get babies, right? KIDDING!). The most important thing is that I have to lose weight. I know, why lose weight when I'm just going to gain it when I'm pregnant? The thing is, I'm really overweight - the kind of overweight that makes carrying a baby unhealthy for me and her/him. I've read the medical advice, I know what needs to be done, but I'm also running out of time. By the time most of the women in my family reach their early 40s, the batteries in their biological clock start fading. Or, in technical terms, The Change starts. I've always hated that phrase, "The Change." The words make it sound like invasion of the body snatchers. Well, I guess it might feel that way from the way some women talk about it.

And while I'm sort of on the subject of the way women talk about these life stages, let me just say that I've also never understood why TV shows practically glamorize girls' getting their first period. The mother dotes on her daughter and smiles and cries and says, "Oh, you're a woman now." Yeah. Congratulations. Welcome to 30-40 years of monthly cramps, bloating, crying fits crabbiness and disgusting bodily functions. Here's an Always or a Tampax and some Midol. Get used to them. I have to say, my mother never got all joyful when I got my first period; she offered sympathy. I also don't know of any other girls who heard the whole "you're a woman now" speech either. And for the record, no, you shouldn't be marking these dates on your calendar!

Aaaaanyway, the point is, my biological clock is ticking rather loudly now, and I've got a lot of things to do before I can even think of shutting it up. I know I can't wait until everything is perfect - having enough money, having the right job, being the ideal weight - because that will never happen. I'm realistic enough to know this; however, the situation can and needs to improve to make sure that my possible - and hopefully imminent - pregnancy goes as smoothly as possible. Wish me luck, and feel free to send smelling salts for Danny!

I'm an Idiot

2005-07-09T21:54:00.000-04:00

It's been several days since I last posted, and I realized that I haven't said anything about the London bombings. I thought about posting that night, but I don't think I'd could say anything different from what anyone else is saying.

But I would like to state, for the record, to anyone from Britain who happens to surf by my page, that I am deeply sorry for what has happened. It is a sad shame that you've had to experience this type of tragedy. You're in my thoughts and prayers. God bless.

Writing Prompt: It Was His Idea of a Good Time

2005-07-09T20:42:00.000-04:00

Let me tell you about R's idea of a good time on the one and only New Year's Eve we were together. (For those of you who have missed an earlier introduction to R go here.) New Year's Eve 1994: the first time I was dating a guy on such a holiday. Granted, R wasn't the most sophisticated guy in the world, but I still had this vision of us at a party where there were music, lots of people and lots of interesting conversation. I was 0 for 3.

We spent New Year's Eve at his buddy's house, where more of his buddies had gathered to watch a college bowl game. All of these buddies had their respective significant others with them, but the stereotypical divide had happened. The men were in the living room watching the big-screen TV while the women gossiped in the kitchen. R quickly ushered me there when we arrived, and I took a seat as he went on the back porch to draw nectar from the beer keg.

The basic party foods were served - wings, chips, dip, sandwiches and such. In the middle of the kitchen table was the drink mixing station, complete with at least five different liquors and assorted beverages. Apparently, the women had set this up here so they could make sure their men had a fresh drink in their hands at all times. The women in my family have always done a lot for their men, but they have never sat around waiting to serve them. I don't care if it was New Year's Eve. If my husband were to win the the freaking Nobel Prize, he's still going in the kitchen to fix his own damn drink.

Of course, I didn't have to worry because back then, I didn't know how to mix any drinks, and I barely drank. Small talk was made, but after the introductions, I didn't have too much to say because, first off, I knew no one they were talking about and second, I had nothing to contribute. Not to mention that I felt as if I were suffocating from all the cigarette smoke as they puffed away, including the pregnant lady of the house. I don't mean to sound like a snob, but I really had nothing in common with them. I can't even remember the specifics of all the topics. I do, however, remember the French tickler incident.

I knew from a couple of weeks beforehand, that R had this French tickler in his wallet. He had showed it to me, and it looked like a condom in its package, and while I had a good idea of what it could do, my inexperience kept me from realizing its true potential. Before midnight, R and his buddy were quite smashed yet out on the porch getting a refill from the keg when the door opened and this round, pink balloon-looking thing floated into the room. It seemed to turn in slow motion to reveal three tiny nubs near the top. Within seconds, my curiosity turned to horror. At the same time, the women at the table began hooting with laughter. They apparently knew what it was also. By that time, R bounded through the door and grabbed the swollen tickler, all at once confirming that it was his and leading the women to believe that our relationship involved much more experimentation that it actually did.

Mortified doesn't even come close to describing my emotion at that moment. Some could probably blow it off - pardon the pun - but I was only 21, in my first serious relationship and among a group of complete strangers. R maintained that it was his buddy who tossed the tickler (love that alliteration?) into the kitchen, but R had to have taken it out of his wallet for the whole incident to happen.

I can sort of laugh about it today - maybe because it was only the second worst New Year's I'd had or maybe because it wasn't the worst thing R did during our relationship - but what keeps the whole event from being totally hilarious is the fact that it was just another example of how he was just too immature. A lot of guys are that way, even ones who are older, but sometimes I just wish that I had gotten rid of the immature guys at an earlier age.

But, you know, it makes for good material. :)

Things My Body Hates

2005-07-06T14:52:00.001-04:00

1) Chef Boyardee: A few hours after eating one of the chef's concoctions (or any canned pasta dish for that matter), you'll find me in the bathroom puking my guts up and praying for death every 30 minutes. Frozen spaghetti entrees do the same thing, so I avoid all of them like the plague.

2) Maybelline makeup: Wearing anything from this product line makes my eyelids itch and turn red. Then they dry up and form a lovely layer of white, crusty, dry skin that flakes into my eyelashes. I look like a leper.

3) Watches: Any sort of metal watch makes my wrist breakout in a rash. Luckily, gold bracelets don't do the same thing. The only other relative who had this problem was my grandfather. Just goes to show that I seem to inherit the worst from all sides of my family.

4) The sun: My skin doesn't turn that lovely golden brown. My "tan" is a darker shade of red, more like a burgundy color - or maybe cranberry. Then I freckle. I gave up trying to tan in college, so hopefully, I'll avoid doing any more damage.

5) Pepperoni pizza for supper: Somehow while I sleep, the pepperonis summon the devil, who takes his fiery pitchfork, jabs it into my esophagus and gives it one huge twist.

Things I Wish I Hated

2005-07-06T14:52:00.000-04:00

1) Mayonnaise: I must have it on any sandwhich, but it'd better be mayo and not that Miracle Whip shit, which is just nasty. I will eat a sandwich plain if all that's available is Miracle Whip. Better yet, put a jar of Duke's mayo on the table; those of you from at least a tri-state area should know what I'm talking about. I hardly know of anyone born and raised here who doesn't know to use Duke's mayo.

2) Sleeping: I could get so much more stuff done.

3) My iBook: See previous reason.

4) Shopping: My bank account would be much healthier.

5) Chicken fingers and french fries: My waistline would be much healthier.

Writing Prompt: Write About a Time You Cried

2005-07-05T23:33:00.000-04:00

Wow, there's a lot to choose from, but since I was sort of in the mood to talk about living in Rock Hill, I'll start there. I couldn't tell you what the date was, but I know now when I had the worst cry I had in that town.

I graduated from Columbia College in 1994 with quite a list of accomplishments - magna cum laude, member of Omicron Delta Kappa (leadership honor society) and Sigma Tau Delta (English major honor society; we didn't have sororities), editor of the literary magazine junior and senior years, and co-chairperson of my class' entry in the annual skit contest (which we won two out of the three years). If I sound proud, it's because I am. You won't find me blaring these accomplishments from my car as I drive around, but I've always been proud of what I did in college, probably because I always felt second best in high school. But here I had lots of friends, and professors praised me and my work, especially when I decided to go to grad school. I felt as if I were on a pedestal. "Carla's going to grad school." It was this sing-songy chant, and it went to my head.

A month before graduation, I fell in love with R. (I'm not using the names of people I no longer communicate with.) He was not a college guy. He lived in a small town about an hour away from Columbia. We met at a wedding my roommate was in. (Insert oh-no groan here.) There I was, head over heels with this guy who was just as smitten with me. I was accepted in the English MA program at Winthrop University in Rock Hill, and I still remember a classmate of mine saying, "Wow, Carla, things are really working out for you."

A year later, everything fell apart.

I got a graduate assistantship, which in order to keep required taking three courses, but the job paid only $340 a month, which was my rent payment. I could have found a roommate, but she (because my mother would not have allowed a he) would have been a stranger. If you've read #14 on "More Stuff About Me," you'd understand my decision to go it alone, so I took a part-time job at Sears at the mall in Pineville, a Charlotte suburb 20 minutes north of Rock Hill. Twenty hours a week at Sears combined with twenty hours a week as a grad assistant combined with three classes made Carla a very stressed girl. Classes were harder than I expected, and while Winthrop professors were supportive, the adulation I enjoyed at Columbia College was gone.

Fortunately and unfortunately, R was 30-45 minutes away; he was my knight in shining armor and my crutch. That relationship was my first serious one, so I wanted to spend every free minute with him. The euphoria wore off quickly. I could tell you several stories about how he was an asshole, about how he infuriated me, about how he made me cry, about how he ultimately broke my heart - but oddly enough, crying over him is not the image I remember.

I remember getting out of bed in the middle of a night when R was staying over, walking over to the back window in the studio apartment and praying that I wasn't crying loud enough to wake him up. I looked out over the concrete parking lot, across the railroad tracks that hosted a train every morning at 4:30 am and shook the glasses in my cabinet, and above the warehouse right beside the tracks to the pitch black sky dotted with stars. I remember feeling hot tears streaming down my cheeks and cold linoleum freezing my toes. Thoughts kept running through my head: I was out of place and in over my head, and I had no one who understood. I don't remember how I quit crying. I realize now that the depression was settling in that night. It was making its reservation, holding its place for a later time when I would be even weaker, when my times were not so good.

I ran from Rock Hill, that tiny college town that couldn't hurt a fly saw the last of me in June 1995, two months after R and I broke up. I packed my stuff and got the hell out of Dodge. I drove out of town, dumped gasoline on the bridge, lit that baby and watched her burn. It was the first time I didn't finish something. I'm not proud of how I left, but I don't regret it either.

My "Fan Base" Is Spreading?

2005-07-05T14:38:00.000-04:00

I was surfing my regular blogs today and found that I'm listed in another person's blogroll. That makes two total (unless you count my husband's blog which makes three), so now I'm included at my buddy Matt's site, 1000 Black Lines, and at Fictional Perspectives. I'm quite excited, as I'm sure you can tell.

Unfortunately, I dropped a level in the TTLB ecosystem. I'm now a Crunchy Crustacean instead of a Lowly Insect. :-( Any help would be appreciated. I know it seems silly to think it really matters, but it makes me feel special.

Anyway, I'm working on something longer to post later. I should get around to that this evening. Until then...

Writing Prompt: Write About a Voice

2005-07-04T18:04:00.000-04:00

So, in keeping with the "rules" of A Writer's Book of Days, I ran with the first thing that popped in my head: "His voice was like honey." I know, I know, I groaned when I first said it as well, but I went with it anyway. It turned into a poem, and I tried to keep it from being cheesy. But here it is in an early form. As of now, I don't have a definite title. I'm thinking simply "Honey" or maybe "The Existence of Bees." I don't know. If you have something constructive to say, feel free to leave me a comment.

His voice was like honey.
The sound made me want
to be the wand -
to dip myself in his words,
to coat my mind
in his verbs,
his nouns,
his phonetic sounds -
to drizzle them in the air
so that everyone could hear
the sweetness -
not fabricated,
not calculated,
not orchestrated,
but simple,
natural,
magical.
When he stopped, my thumb ached
to sweep across his lips in case
a lingering trace
was left to taste.
And I had never been so pleased
about the existence of bees.

Fourth of July Memories

2005-07-04T12:51:00.000-04:00

The other night as I was talking to my younger cousin about plans for July 4th, I began remembering some of the "celebrations" from the past. When my brother and I were in elementary school, we spent the week of July 4th at my aunt and uncle's house. Their kids, our cousins, were several years older, so staying there was like hanging out with the cool kids at school. For July 4th, my cousin Tommy would spend almost all his money on fireworks, and we would sit under the carport and watch them soar into the air or scuttle around on the ground. The next day, the fun was definitely over because we had to pick up all the bits of paper that survived the flames and explosions.

One year, we had tremendous thunderstorm on the afternoon of July 4th. My cousins and their friends stood on the carport watching the storm pass over, despite my aunt's predictions that they would be struck down by lightning. My brother and I, however, were easier to convince to stay inside. My uncle got the bright idea to take a potato from the pantry and toss it in the yard so the water would carry it right by my cousins and they would think it had washed away from the garden. I think they fell for it only at first, but I, being so young, felt a sense of excitement from being included in the joke.

When I was a teenager, I always spent July 4th on a trip with the youth group from church. (Read one story about that here.) In college, I was usually working, but most of my friends lived out of town, so there wasn't anyone to hang out with.

Just after I turned 23, I dropped out of grad school to get a "real job," and one of my coworkers invited me and a few others over to her house (well more like her parents' house) in the boondocks for a cookout. That event became a tradition until she got her own place several years later. We'd eat, drink, play pool and go swimming, and after dark, her dad and her boyfriend would light up the hundreds of dollars worth of fireworks they bought. The rest of us sat on blankets, swatted mosquitos and prepared to run at any moment from a stray sky rocket.

Perhaps the reason I love fireworks on the Fourth of July is because they remind me of these good times - the ones that always ended with my sides and my cheeks sore from laughing; my voice hoarse from trying to talk with everyone else; my skin sticky, my hair frizzy and my clothes damp from the humidity; my ears ringing from the fireworks popping and the endless chatter; and my mind etched with memories that never seem to burn out.

Writing Prompt: Write About High Tide

2005-07-03T22:18:00.000-04:00

Okay, it's a rough draft, and I had trouble with this topic for some reason. I suppose it was just one of those days when the muse was eluding me, but I came to the paper anyway (pat on the back for me). So no laughing, please!

I sit and watch you
bashing,
crashing,
smashing.
yourself on the sand.
Then you glide toward me
slowly,
lowly
like a tongue.
My toes anticipate being licked.
Each extension brings you closer,
and I wait to see how far you'll come.
Then you retreat,
leaving me longing
for your return.

Fitting in Bits and Pieces

2005-07-03T22:09:00.000-04:00

Today we were at my husband's grandparents' house. He and my mother-in-law were putting in a window air-conditioning unit in the kitchen. Danny has been having some trouble with his elbow, which wasn't helped with carrying around an air-conditioner, so we asked Grandma for some sort of pain reliever. Unfortunately, she informed us that she and Papa can't take anything like Tylenol or Advil because they're on blood thinners, which apparently keeps them from taking almost any kind of medication. But Grandma felt determined to find something. She pulled box after bottle of assorted drugs out of that cluttered cabinet, and before giving up she said, "Well, Danny, I have some stool softener. Do you think that might help?" Then she giggled, and I almost fell off my chair laughing because, I don't know why, hearing an elderly woman giggle is one of the funniest sounds to me. It's like hearing Yoda being silly in Empire Strikes Back - it's just totally hilarious.

So no drugs for Danny as he, his mom and Papa put in the air-conditioner. As Danny tried to attach the adjustable sides, he found (much to his delight) that the screws wouldn't fit the holes. Then Grandma brought out two pill bottles, placed a paper towel on the table and poured out all sorts and sizes of screws, nails, nuts, bolts and braces. Just when I thought how incredible her collection was, she reached under the sink and pulled out not one, not two, but three pint-sized jars full of metal pieces. Some of these things looked older than me, and none of them seemed to fit anything else.

Of course, sometimes I feel like I've done the same thing with my writing. I've collected all sorts of notebooks, scraps of paper, legal pads and computer documents - bits, pieces and sketches of things that don't fit together or anywhere else. But then Grandma told me something today about those all those screws. She and Papa were in the car, waiting for the traffic light to turn green so they could leave the grocery store parking lot, when Grandma spotted a extremely long screw on the asphalt. She told Papa she was going to get it, despite his threats to leave her if she did so. Knowing he's all talk, Grandma opened her car door and retrieved the screw. Within hours of arriving home, Papa had a board come loose in his workshop and eating the words he had said earlier, he asked for the screw she had picked up in the parking lot. What do you know? It was a perfect fit.

I guess I'll just have to hold onto my bits and pieces until I can find a place where each one fits.

More Quotes About Writing, Part 2

2005-07-02T21:16:00.000-04:00

Good grief, it's July already! Time to turn over to the next section in A Writer's Book of Days. Here are some quotes and advice I liked as I was reading:

"I will go so far as to say that the writer who is not scared is happily unaware of the remote and tantalizing majesty of the medium." - John Steinbeck

"Writing is love, a mission, and a calling, and how and where and why you write are very critical issues." - Lynn Sharon Schwartz

"I shall live badly if I do not write." - Francoise Sagan

"If you don't risk anything, you risk even more." Erica Jong

"Don't always be appraising yourself.... Besides, you are like no other being ever created since the beginning of Time, you are incomparable." - Brenda Ueland

"If thou are a writer, write as if thy time were short, for it is indeed short at the longest." - Henry David Thoreau

"Instead of moving horizontally on the page, stay with the moment or revelation and go down - down - down, vertically, deeper into complication, keep going down and uncovering harder things to say about the same thing." - Amy Hempel

"Name yourself writer. When people ask what you do, say 'I'm a writer.' Writing may not be the way you support yourself, but identifying yourself by your day job doesn't give your writing the position it deserves.... When you name yourself writer first, you affirm the place writing holds in your life." - Judy Reeves

My T-Shirt Slogans

2005-06-30T23:06:00.000-04:00

You know what this world needs? More smart-ass T-shirts! As I was lamenting yesterday about what a terrible housekeeper I am, I decided to revolt, and I want to bring all those who are also domestically-challenged with me. Women who lack the motivation to scrub their houses from top to bottom each week, let's unite! Join me in a new crusade to entertain others with fashionable yet hilarious T-shirts that will let people know we won't take crap off anyone for our shortcomings. Here are some slogans that I've come up with:

"World's Worst Housekeeper... and proud of it!"

"My House Is So Dirty... My Duster Needs Dusting"

"My House Is So Dirty... The Dust Mites Have Allergies"

"I Took the Queen of Clean's Crown... and Shoved It Up Her Duster!"

"The Fly Lady? I Swatted Her Last Week"
(For those of you who may not know, The Fly Lady is an extremely cheerful woman who has a Web site devoted to helping women stay organized and keep their homes clean. Check it out at flylady.com.)

Some Things About Me (Some You May Not Wanna Know)

2005-06-29T22:21:00.000-04:00

1) I wrote my first poem in fifth grade about the city of Simpsonville. In sixth grade, I started keeping a five-subject, spiral notebook for my poems. Let me tell ya, a lot of them are NOT pretty. You'd need some strong wine to go with all that cheese.

2) I have my father's temper and my mother's tendency to cry when she's mad, which basically means that I'll never be intimidating. Ever.

3) I have two black hairs that grow out of the same follicle on my right boob. I know; it's disconcerting. I've been racking my brain trying to figure out what I ingested that caused them to grow there.

4) A cosmopolitan is my drink of choice, although if I'm at a Mexican restaurant I always get a Margarita, and no, I don't drink cosmos because of "Sex in the City," even though it's one of my favorite shows. I drink them because they're quite tasty. Anything with amaretto is quite nice as well. I also like Long Island Iced tea, and if I'm lucky enough to be somewhere that has Woodchuck Amber cider on tap, you'd better believe I'm having a pint. Hmm, perhaps I should stop listing drinks now...

5) Along those lines, I'm a silly drunk. I just sit back and stay relatively quiet and giggle. People seem quite amused by it.

6) I don't drink any hot beverages when the temperature is above 55 degrees. Similarly, I can't stand eating chili during the summer, and I don't really care for salads in the winter. Is that weird?

7) My top five male celebrities: 5 - Christian Bale (Thank you, Batman Begins) 4 - Hugh Jackman 3 - John Cusak 2 - Michael Vartan 1 - (but only by the skin of that awesome southern accent) Matthew McConaughey

8) I love throwing parties. I almost always have one at Christmas, and I'll start planning two months in advance - who to invite, what to fix, how to decorate. Yes, I'm that anal, so shut up.

9) I sleep with three pillows (not including my husband :-) ) a standard one for my head, a king-size one to curl up with and another standard between my knees. No perverted comments, please.

10) I have my hair colored every three months because I'm about one-quarter gray, and at 33, I just don't wanna go there yet.

11) I'm a grad-school dropout.

12) The summer between my 5th and 6th grade year in school, my family got a VCR. (If you think that was late, I was in college before we got cable.) Every day that summer, my brother and I watched a tape that had one of the Herbie movies and an edited-for-TV version of Animal House.

13) I met my husband at work, and we still work together. Yeah, I'm crazy.

14) I had two bad experiences with college roommates - the one from freshman year stole from me and the one from the first half of my sophmore year read my journal. Kind of ironic that I have this blog now, huh?

More to come as I think of them...

The Comic Book Convention: An Outsider's View

2005-06-26T11:54:00.000-04:00

First off, I love my husband, Danny. I have to start off by saying that because I know that members of his family read this blog, and I don't want to come off sounding like I resent the trip I took with him Saturday. This year, after dragging him to multiple chick-type events with my friends, it was my turn to be dragged to one of his events, HeroCon in Charlotte, North Carolina. I can appreciate the comic book as a form of art, but I myself have never been able to "get into" reading them. I've tried, but I'm content with hearing my husband's explanation of storylines and going to see the movies when they come out.

But yesterday was my day to enter his world. He's been talking it up for weeks. "Oh, you know, Carla's going with me to HeroCon tomorrow," is what he said Friday night to our friends as we sat at the bar at TGIFridays. They all looked at me incredulously. I summoned a smile, and they all said, "Yeah, she looks excited." To which my husband reiterates how he's had to suffer through two Ludy Bowl events at Columbia College (long story, will have to explain in another post), a Carolina Cup and a ten-year college reunion.

At 9am Saturday morning, after a quick stop at the drive-through at Hardees for biscuits and a gas tank fill-up, we began on our one-and-a-half-hour-which-eventually-turned-into-two-and-a-half-hour drive. Everything was all sunshine and smiles until we got off I-85. You see, Danny, got directions from Google, a perfectly respectable search engine. These directions told us to take exit 33 and turn right on the Billy Graham Parkway, and after 0.2 miles, turn left on Murray Chapel Road. Then we were supposed to go 0.5 miles and turn left on Wilkinson Boulevard. However, after turning right on Billy Graham Parkway, we traveled more than 2 miles and saw no Murray Chapel Road on the left. When we crossed over I-77, we decided to go back, thinking that perhaps we should have turned left off the exit ramp. When we got back to the bridge at I-85, we saw that we were indeed on Murray Chapel Road, so we start looking for Wilkinson Boulevard. The thing is, Murray Chapel Road was only 0.5 miles long, and it ended at a traffic light where we had to turn left or right on a road that was not Wilkinson.

At this point, Danny has lost his patience, which he doesn't really have a lot of except when it comes to me. Meanwhile, I looked at the directions and saw that we had to get on 277-North. I remembered that ten years ago when I lived in Rock Hill, which is 30 minutes south of Charlotte (another story for another entry), I worked at a day care center in Charlotte. The center sent me to a child care class that happened to be downtown, and I had to take I-77 to 277. I relayed my idea to Danny, who agreed that it was our best shot at the moment, and luckily, it worked (pat on the back for me).

There we were at the Charlotte Convention Center, walking up to the ticket counter, and I spy a young man dressed as one of the Ghostbusters, complete with blinking red lights on his black backpack. I looked at Danny, who says, "Welcome to HeroCon." But this boy would not be the only one in costume. I saw GI Joe, Klingons, Batman, Supergirl (whom Danny thoroughly enjoyed), Phoenix and Storm Troopers. That afternoon, I saw a man wearing a suit and sunglasses and being led by someone else. He was tapping a cane in front of him, and I thought, "Why is a blind person at a comic convention?" Not to be mean or anything, but how would he get any other enjoyment out of them other than reading the story? Why put out a braille comic book? Do they actually make braille comic books? An hour or so later, I saw him perusing through books, still wearing sunglasses but with his dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal a Daredevil uniform underneath. Yeah, and we even own the freakin' Daredevil DVD! (For those of you who are even more illiterate about comics than I am, Matt Murdock, aka Dardevil, is blind)

Other observations of the day included a geeky teenager wearing a T-shirt that read "Models Wanted," (Yeah, that's gonna happen.) a guy who looked much younger than 21 wearing a Grey Goose vodka shirt, a nonexistent line in the women's restroom, grown men carting around luggage racks stacked with short boxes of comic books to be signed by their chosen artist/inker/writer, and the fact that I should be considered for sainthood for giving my husband hallway space to hang his original artwork purchase.

While I did admit to Danny that this probably won't be something I would want to come to every year, I also said that didn't totally hate the experience (not that I really thought I would). Besides, the only real problems stemmed from the drive to and from Charlotte. Halfway home we ran over the rubber from a tire shed by a boat one lane over and three car-lengths ahead of us. We saw the smoke, and Danny slowed down. We saw the rubber spinning off the tire, and it slid toward the emergency lane then back across the road and right in front of us. We were surrounded by vehicles, so there was no avoiding it. Who else has this kind of luck? The scene was as if the tire just look around and said "Oh, here's some lovely green grass. No, wait! There's a silver Buick. I wanna throw myself underneath it!" Danny pulled over and looked under the car, and he did see something dripping. He was afraid it might be water, so we drove the rest of the way home (about 45 miles or so) with the windows down, At 70 mph, however, there's enough air coming in to keep cool. Luckily, all the gages were ok for the rest of the trip, and when we arrived home, Danny looked under the car to find that nothing was dripping. So what he saw on the interstate was from the air-conditioner running.

Things definitely could have been worse. I mean, it could have been the whole freakin' boat that came loose and slid in front of us. So I guess my original post title, "Day Trip from Hell," isn't the most accurate term, but my poor feet are seriously pissed at me this morning!

Writing Prompt: Write About a Letter

2005-06-22T22:53:00.000-04:00

Somewhere in this house are two shoe boxes stuffed with almost every letter I got in middle and high school. Some are notes from friends and a couple of boyfriends. Some are church bulletins passed between me and one of my friends during the Sunday sermon. Then there's more than ten years' of letters from my childhood pen pal, Wendy. She was a friend from my days at a private Christian school. I stopped going there in the fourth grade, and at some point during the fifth grade, I mailed her a letter, even though we lived in the same city. Why neither one of us actually picked up the phone and called the other is beyond me. In the ninth grade, I did get the bright idea to write and tell her that we should meet up at the football game between our high schools. (She went to Wade Hampton; I went to Mauldin) A couple of weeks later, I received a letter from her with a return address of Illinois, so we actually did have to write letters. The irony is just amazing. Throughout the years we exchanged school pictures, prom pictures and graduation invitations from high school and college. I even got a wedding invitation from her, but I lost touch with her before I got married. I always found it amazing that we wrote to each other for so many years. As far as I know, she still lives up north.

Some of those school notes are so funny to think about now. I can imagine them stacked in that box - folded in whatever origami-esque style that was popular then, starting off with "Hey! What's up?" and ending with corny phrases like "sorry so sloppy" or "freaky friends forever" so that we could make the first letter three lines tall and write the words on separate lines so that phrase looked like an anagram. Somewhere in those boxes is a note from a girl named Jodi. I met her during my junior year. She had just moved to town, and we had history class together. We became acquaintances during the first month or so of the school year, during which time she wrote the note. Then she started dating a senior football player, and while we still spoke to each other in class, she hung out with his crowd. She was always a sweet person, and she eventually married that football player after they both graduated from college. Unfortunately, a couple of years before our ten-year reunion, she died in a horseback riding accident. I remember my mom telling me about her death, and my first thought was that she had once written a note to me in history class.

It's a shame to think that many kids today probably don't have these old-fashioned, handwritten notes to save as tiny moments of their youth. Many of them are "texting" each other on their mobile phones, IMing each other on their computers or sending e-mails. It all changes and passes too quickly.

How Far $250 Goes at Target

2005-06-20T21:07:00.000-04:00

WARNING: Today's entry is very domestic in nature and may not be suited for those needing more action. So if you're bored, tough shit. :)

So I got this gift card from Target for my ten-year anniversary at work (I don't know whether to laugh or slit my wrists.), and it's a rather generous one - $250. My husband and I went out there after work, because he's all about spending money, but I told him that this was MY gift card. He balked and said that I'll try to influence him when he gets his $250. (We work at the same place, and his ten-year anniversary is in October.) I told him that I wouldn't, but he doesn't believe me.

Anyway, we made our way down to Target, sitting on the exit ramp off the interstate for 20 minutes in the going-home traffic, and finally to the mecca that is Tar-jay. And in case you think this was an impersonal gift, I asked for a Target gift card. I had the choice, and I asked for it. I know there are those of you who love Target just as much - and more than likely more - than I do. Target runs circles around Wal-Mart. The store is better organized and less cluttered. I just feel like I can breathe when I'm in Target, as opposed to Wal-Mart, which makes me gasp for breath from the moment I walk by the elderly greeter to the second the security person swipes that highlighter across that receipt (although I'm not sure if they do that anymore).

So back to my shopping spree. I picked up a pair of lamps that I'd been eyeing for months for the living room with a pair of lampshades that look totally awesome with my curtains. I browsed the patio furniture, but I'll be going back with the gift cards that I got for my birthday last month. I ooohed and aaahed over the stereos that would connect to my iPod, but we already have a connector that lets us play our iPods through our stereo system. (That's right, we have two, because shortly after my husband bought his, I realized that I was never going to be able to use it for any length amount of time. So when I got a good commission check from my home business, which I can't promote or name on this site, I bought my own. It's no wonder we're in credit counseling.) I did get a nice case for my iPod though, with a handy dandy clip - perfect for all the exercising I'm not doing right now. Then I moved on to the DVDs and CDs, and here's where I finished everything off. I bought the new Foo Fighters album; Anna Nalick, Wreck of the Day; and Kelly Clarkson's new one (Yeah, yeah, it's pop, but I really like her voice). Then I picked up The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles because I have to nurture my '80s teenage-angst nostalgia. (My husband simply rolled his eyes and moaned in disgust.) But I also got a value pack made up of The Bourne Identity and The Bourne Supremacy because those, in my opinion, are two underrated action movies.

Throw in an umbrella and two lamp arms to connect the lampshades to the base, and that added up to $250. I don't think I did too bad for my purchases, as I bask in the reddish glow radiating from the new lampshades, and I'm looking forward to going back and picking out some patio chairs and table for my deck.

I'm an Addict

2005-06-13T19:31:00.000-04:00

As I was eating lunch today, the second time this week I've eaten from this place, I realized that I'm addicted to this place. Hi, my name is Carla, and I'm an addict. I know that the first step in getting help is admitting I have a problem, but even though I've admitted it, I'm not sure I want help for these vices:

1) Moe's Southwest Grill - I've been going twice a week for the past month. I'm a sucker for the John Coctostan quesadilla with a side of chipotle ranch. And I throw in some Kaiser salsa and queso dip with their tri-colored chips. Yum

2) Bath and Body Works - This addiction is currently under control because I have an adequate supply of Blue Lavender Palmerosa bubble bath and Cherry Blossom shower gel. However, if I stray inside during a visit to the mall, I can drop $50 in no time thanks to those pesky Buy 3, Get 1 Free specials.

3) Alias - I'm currently going through withdrawals right now because the fourth season is over, but I'm chomping at the bit to find out what Michael Vaughn's real name is. I'm regularly checking spoiler sites and member boards for inside info. It's pretty sad.

4) iTunes - "Oh, but it's so cool because you don't have to buy the whole album - just the songs you want." Sure, great, but then you want 50 MILLION FREAKIN' SONGS!

5) The weather - I check the local National Weather Service site multiple times each day, especially during hurricane season. why? I don't know. Greenville is 200 miles from the coast, but I'm totally fascinated by the weather. I'll even click on the local doppler and then click on the arrows to look at doppler all over the US. I know. Insane.

So these are the major addictions that I have. There are other vices of course, but the ones above are the ones that can really get me into trouble!

Writing Prompt: Before I Was Born

2005-06-08T21:38:00.000-04:00

Here's my entry for May 28th: Before I was born.

My grandfather - my dad's father - died three months before I was born. I've seen a few pictures of him, and I remember watching some old 8mm home movies that he was in, but I don't have a clear image of him. I know he was tall - at least 6'2" - and bald, and I've been told stories about his volatile temper.

He and my grandmother spent their working days at the mill, which was a hard life. Love was shown more by providing for the family than by hugs or words, but that was all they knew. My mom also told me that my grandfather was different after my aunt had children, nine years before I was born. She said he was always buying things for my cousins, and he probably would have done the same for me and my brother had things been different.

I've always felt the loss somehow. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's as strong as if I had never known my mother or father, but sometimes I wonder about the lack of his presence. Not long after my other grandfather died - when I was 15 - my mother took me to my dad's father's gravesite. I don't remember if my tears were triggered by something she said or whether the grief from her father's passing was still so fresh in my heart, but I do remember crying for a man I'd never met.

Sometimes I wonder what things would have been like if he had lived longer. Would he have made amends? Would his presence have been a reminder to my father about how detrimental having such a temper could be? Or would he have ended up like one of his brothers - so full of paranoia and anger that his own family would conspire to get his wife out of the house?

But wondering only leads to more questions, and I believe that as long as we have the desire to steer our lives to avoid a self-destructive path, remembering the good times and the positive characteristics is the best way to finding the direction we need to take.

Writing Prompt from March: Write About a Small Rebellion

2005-06-06T13:25:00.000-04:00

Here's an entry I wrote from my Writer's Book of Days exercise about a small rebellion:

The entire church youth group trip to Daytona Beach in 1989 was a rebellion. Our youth minister was an introverted, mousy married man who, on this trip, would begin an affair with one of the chaperones who was divorced by spending a couple of hours alone with her riding the ocean waves in an inflatable raft. Our music minister was also along for the trip, but he could hardly discipline a bunch of teenagers. The main threat that kept us following their rules was the threat of being sent home, but we made sure that we pushed the limits of their rules. At night, we waded out farther in the ocean than they said we could. We ventured past the designated boundary for nightly strolls on the beach. We stayed out until the last few seconds before our curfew and then dawdled in the halls for at least another half-hour.

Our trip involved running a Bible school type class for kids by the pool at three different hotels. At night, we performed at one of the hotels, starting out with a puppet show, then lip-synching a couple of oldies songs and finally performing a musical of contemporary Christian songs. I was part of the lip-synching portion. The song "Lollipop" was bad enough, but the second song was a sappy one called "Born Too Late." The idea had not been so bad a few months before when it was part of the entertainment for our '50s-themed fund-raiser. Somehow, doing the same skit in front of complete strangers held none of the original appeal - even though there were less than a dozen strangers in attendance at either of the shows.

Regardless, I was determined to get out of performing "Born Too Late," and the other three girls didn't seem to mind my finding a way out. In hindsight, I could've left the tape at home, but I'm not sure why I didn't try that. I did, however, forget to take it to the first practice session after arriving in Daytona. When prompted to retrieve it, I used the privacy of my hotel room to pull the tape out of its casing and then return to the music minister's room with a handful of stringy mess, blaming the destruction on the unorganized contents of my very large, acid-washed denim pocketbook. The look on the music minister's face showed that he knew exactly what was going on, but I didn't care. I piled the tape in his capable hands and went on my way. Even though he had repaired the tape by the last performance, I had given myself a two-night reprieve, and that was better than none at all.

On our last night, we made our final plea for a later curfew. When we were denied, we made signs in the hotel lobby and returned to march through the music minister's suite chanting our wishes. Basically, we were up past midnight protesting, but we achieved our purpose in a roundabout way.

Even the trip home had its share of battles. We argued with each other for space in that 15-passenger van, and we fought over the music selection, especially when George Michael's "I Want Your Sex" came on the radio. Our youth minister changed the station, but our cries of protest eventually made him change it back. To look back on the trip now, I'm amused by the fact that the whole experience was sort of framed by sexual entertainment. Our first night of the trip we stayed in Jacksonville with families of our music minister's former church. At the house where the girls stayed, we watched Dirty Dancing. Combine these two facts with our youth minister's impending extra-marital affair, and you have one big Southern Baptist irony.

Dreamweaver

2005-06-05T18:59:00.000-04:00

So I had this vivid dream last night, and if any of you have any opinions as to what it could mean, feel free to share. I think I should preface this with a bit of background about my job. I have been there for ten years, and I've been in and out of the writing department twice now. The loss of this position and the department where I am now are sources of my increase in stress. But in the dream, I was at work and about to leave the writing department, but the office was my dorm room from my senior year. Two of my coworkers from the writing department were there - one of whom was laid off and the other one was also taken out of the writing department with me. Anyhow, in the dream, I remember being excited about the coming year at school, and I was planning on introducing my two coworkers to my roommates and college friends. I was walking around the campus, and I was so relieved knowing that I wouldn't have to go back to work because I was starting school in a couple of days. What made the dream so vivid was that I was so happy. I mean, I was literally skipping around the campus. I can't remember ever being so relieved and joyful in a dream.

I guess I could go the obvious route and say that I should leave my job. Duh! I've known that for several months now, but I just had this feeling that my subconscious was trying to tell me something else. Any guesses, thoughts or opinions?

Domino

2005-06-02T18:06:00.000-04:00

Domino
Originally uploaded by CGKWriter.

Remember was telling all three of you about Domino? Well, here she is in all her spoiled glory. She's part collie, part German shepherd, part chow and all maniac! She was four years old this past Christmas, (Yes, she was a Christmas puppy.) and she makes us laugh every day. It's incredible to imagine that whenever we have kids, we'll love them even more because we love her a whole bunch! :)

The Water Jug

2005-06-02T17:49:00.000-04:00

Two summers ago, my grandmother moved from her mill house on Green Street in Woodruff to an apartment community for senior citizens. As small as her house was, her apartment was even a bit smaller, having only one bedroom and one room that did triple duty as the living room, dining area and kitchen. Needless to say, she had to get rid of some stuff. So on an unusually chilly summer Saturday, the whole family gathered at various times during the day to help sort what Ma Ma wanted to keep, to sell or to throw away. She wanted all of us to have whatever we wanted, stopping one of us every once in a while to ask if we'd picked out something to take home.

I selected a couple of glass serving bowls and plates, a covered skillet and a pair of bud vases, but the major item was the water jug. The water jug is an insulated thermos with a shiny, aluminum exterior and dark metal interior speckled with white. A bright red cap screws on top, a black spout beside it for easy pouring and a metal handle that swivels for carrying. The jug will hold at least a gallon of water, and it was a staple for every family beach trip. Granted, there were many things Ma Ma had to take, including tomatoes from her garden, a jar of Dukes mayonnaise (essential for any sandwich in the south), a couple of boxes of oatmeal cream or raisin cream pies (Little Debbie brand, of course), and one or two of her favorite cooking pans. There were other groceries, and my dad could only watch helplessly as she would bring bag after bag of stuff. He would laugh and shake his head and tell her, "Momma, you bring anything else, and you're gonna have to ride on the hood." Or, "Momma, there are grocery stores in Myrtle Beach." Ma Ma would only laugh and throw her hand at him.

For all the stuff she did bring, when she came out of the house with the water jug, she was ready to go. She would sit in the back seat on the passenger side with the jug between her feet on the floorboard. It was wrapped in a towel and placed in a plastic bag with a few paper cups. The layer of ice cubes clinked against each other and against the side of the container with the twists and turns and bumps in the road. I can almost see her filling up that jug before each trip - cracking the ice out of the trays and dropping cubes one by one in the container filled from the faucet sitting over her white porcelain sink and making sure she refilled the trays she emptied and placed them back in the freezer. Every once in a while, she would ask who wanted a cup of water. My brother and I usually declined; we held out for one of the canned sodas that my aunt and uncle had in the cooler in their car's trunk. But when I did take a cup, I was drinking some of the coldest, most refreshing water I ever tasted. There would still be water left when we arrived at the condo, but it would be gone by the time we left. I don't remember her carrying water on the trips back home; we all thought the tap water at the beach tasted funny anyway.

I haven't used the water jug yet myself. I guess I've been saving it for a road trip that I haven't taken yet, but I remember my family that day remarking on my find, "Oh, you got the water jug." Not really in disappointment that they didn't get it for themselves, but in satisfaction that this icon would be staying in the family. Because no matter how far from home you go, I guess you always need to take a piece of it with you.

More Quotes About Writing

2005-05-28T18:38:00.000-04:00

So, I've started working through A Writer's Book of Days by Judy Reeves, and it has some great quotes from writers about writing. I thought I'd share them with you for inspiration.

(My favorite)
"When I am writing, I am doing the thing I was meant to do." - Anne Sexton

"Writers aren't born knowing the craft; writers are born with an urge to write, a curiosity, an imagination, and, perhaps, a love of the language. The way to learn the craft is through practice, and your notebook is the place of your apprenticeship. Even writers who are expert in the craft (those who've practiced long and hard) still try out new ideas." — Judy Reeves

"If you don't tell the truth about yourself, you cannot tell it about other people." - Virginia Woolf

"Don't just put in your time. That is not enough. You have to make a great effort. Be willing to put your whole life on the line when you sit down for writing practice." - Natalie Goldberg

"...always wish that you may find patience enough in yourself to endure, and simplicity enough to believe." - Rainer Maria Rilke

"Eighty percent of success is showing up." - Woody Allen

I hope you enjoy these as much as I have. As I practice my writing, I'll post some of my entries, depending on how long or how personal they might be. That way I'll also be updating this blog more regularly.

Until next time...

No Time To Waste

2005-05-27T22:09:00.000-04:00

Yes, it's been more than two weeks since my last post. In fact, I think my buddy Matt might have left this sight off his newly reformatted blog thinking I had given up on it! Just kidding, Matt! I've been working close to 50 hours a week for the past three weeks now, and it's gotten me down and burned out.

All three of you who are reading my page have probably noticed that I've edited my page's subtitle. Yes, I am on medication. I wasn't for a few months, but circumstances are overwhelming me at the moment. So my therapist, my doctor and I are in agreement that I needed to go back on an antidepressant until things settle down. On one hand, being on medication still seems taboo - like I'm some sort of basket case - but I also realize that many people have dealt with these types of problems behind closed doors until just in the past ten years or so. Plus, if you talk to enough people about your "issues" you find that more people are on medication than you might think. Plus, letting all this stress and anxiety get to me has more than likely been a major contributor to the ulcer that has formed in my belly.

Today's title is courtesy of my supervisor at work. In an effort to motivate us, this quote was used. We were told that we should walk with a purpose, no matter what it is, and that we have no time to waste. I don't want to go on a whole work tirade - (a) because it's way too long to go on about and (b) because I know of cases where employees have gotten fired for complaining about their jobs in their blogs. However, I will say that I've decided to use this motivation more in my personal life than in my work life. I indeed have no time to waste in my writing. I have no time to waste in getting published.

I've also been reading The Writer's Market Companion. It's been quite helpful for me. I've particularly enjoyed some of the quotes and stories from authors. Such as this one from Dorothy Boone Kennedy that was particularly eye-opening: "I lacked time and energy. Then I read that a person writing two pages a day could write a book in one year. Anybody, I reasoned, no matter how tired, could write two pages a day. At the end of the year, I had the novel written and the first publisher I sent it to bought it." Kennedy is the author of Portrait of Debec from 1972, and she said this in the April 1994 issue of Writer's Digest. I realize that some of her story might not work today, such as the luck of having your book bought by the first publisher you send it to, but her point is well-taken. So, my new goal is to take it two, three, four maybe five pages at a time.

And as an aside, I just have to say that my dog is a maniac! She's part collie, part German shepherd, part chow, but she's all lunatic! I'll have to post a pic of her eventually so all three of you can see just how adorable she is.

A Beautifully Written Book

2005-05-08T18:12:00.000-04:00

I finished reading Broken as Things Are Last night around midnight. I actually started reading it Friday night, but I read all but the first ten pages or so yesterday. I simply could not put it down. Martha Witt's first novel is a beautifully written book full of wonderful insights and descriptions that put you right in the middle of the moment. The novel is told from Morgan-Lee's point of view, a 14-year-old girl with an older brother, Ginx, who has severe emotional issues. The two have a unique if somewhat dangerous connection in a family full of dysfunction. My heart aches for her and her desperation for her mother's attention and affection:
"Our mother used to love Ginx's happiness when we came back from hunting, his lovely face giddy as he watched me spin around like a helicopter till I eventually wobbled and fell to the ground in dizziness. She would sit on our terrace and laugh, and I hoped that the sunlight funneled into those moments, somehow capturing them in her mind so she would remember everything clearly, perhaps even the fact that I had been there too."

Another good scene is where Morgan-Lee is sent to talk to a child psychologist/psychiatrist about an incident between her and Ginx:
"Ginx would have refused to speak without needing to explain. Dr. Sampson's face darkened as his fingers went up in a triangle, each one leaning against its opposite, the apex lightly touching his lips. I imagined all the other kids this man had tricked into kneeling on the carpet and playing games. I knew how vulnerable other kids work, not like Ginx and me. They would have been immediately duped to the floor, spilling their secrets over Mastermind or Monopoly. There were plenty of places to hide and hatch unfettered dreams, and the doctor obviously counted on this, greedy as he was to incubate as many as possible. Ginx would have shaken his head at talking to strangers. He might have recited the alphabet or counted to ten over and over. I stared at my feet, sitting in the office feeling sorry for other children, understanding for the first time who frail other lives must be."

But here's my favorite quote:
"I stared hard at the corner of Aunt Lois's red robe and realized then that we are allotted at least two lives, that one breaks apart to usher in the next, and that we assume the second life with no fewer shrieks and cries than we began the first. Of course, there is silence afterward; of course, there is peace."

Something about her writing reminds me of Carson McCullers, who is one of my favorite authors because she also has that knack for putting you right in the middle of a scene, as if you're standing right next to the main character. So now that I'm done, I can continue working on my Chapter Two.

The Runaway Bride Has Been Through Enough

2005-05-02T01:10:00.000-04:00

Jennifer Wilbanks made a mistake. Okay, it was a big mistake. Okay, it was a huge mistake. She put her family and friends and hometown through an excruciating and terrifying few days for a purely selfish reason, and now it's been reported that she might have planned the getaway a few days in advance. I'm not trying to overlook these facts. If she were my daughter, sister or friend, I'm sure I'd have a few words with her, especially if I was supposed to be one of the bridesmaids. If I were her fiancée, I probably would break off the engagement. I'm sure she's going to face a lot of personal repercussions as a result of her actions.

BUT hasn't she been through enough without having charges pressed against her? While the courts can make her pay restitution for the police officers who spent hours searching for her, it will only add more embarrassment not only for her but her family and fiancée. Police departments don't "reimburse" people who are wrongly accused, people who lose money having to fight charges and who might lose their jobs because of being arrested. Is there really a need to clog up the judicial system with a court date where this woman has to plead guilty and accept her fine, probation and community service hours? Taxpayer money has already been used to pay the officers who searched for her. Must we use more to take her to court? Unfortunately, a poll on a local news station Web site in my city shows that more than 70 percent of the respondents believe that charges should be filed, but I suppose that's normal. We want people to "pay" for everything.

Jennifer Wilbanks will pay for what she's done, and it doesn't require an arrest warrant or a court appearance. She's home, she's safe and she should be left alone.

A “Chapter One” Done

2005-04-29T21:27:00.000-04:00

It feels very satisfying to see "Chapter One" in a somewhat finished form. I've been working on this novel for five and a half years, and although I know where I want things to go, and I have scenes written out that will take place later in the book, I haven't been able to get past the first chapter. I suppose it's a common struggle. But now that I have an opening chapter that I feel is complete, I feel as if I'm on my way. I feel inspired to get that second one finished as soon as possible.
I've been using a software program called Storyweaver to help out in the process as well. Right now, I'm working on a plot synopsis. It's been quite helpful already in figuring out holes. I'll keep you (all 1-3 of you) posted on how things develop.

Ode to a Bubble Bath

2005-04-23T12:40:00.000-04:00

Ode to a Bubble BathIsn't it amazing how therapeutic a bubble bath can be? Of course, I'm mainly talking to my sisters in stress-relieving here, but I just had the worst week this week, and I wanted a little comfort last night. So I took a long, hot soak, and next thing I knew, I was inspired to write this poem. Here it is in it's first draft. I'll probably follow up later and revise it.

"Self-Medication"
Underneath
a quilt of velvety bubbles,
skin turns pink from the heat.
Beads of sweat form
from rising steam
and silent candles flickering
on the vanity.
Fingertips wrinkle
from the long soak.
Bubbles burst
as milky white water
gurgles down the drain,
washing away a bad day
with the remnants of lavender
and diluted shaving cream.

What's Wrong with Your Own Face?

2005-04-20T23:11:00.000-04:00

MTV has had their disturbing documentary/reality show "I Want a Famous Face" for a couple of seasons, and I had to admit I've watched it (except for the graphic surgery scenes). It's not that I think it's actuallly entertaining. I think I'm trying to find some sort of explanation as to the motivation of these young people who are so obssessed with celebrities looks that they will spend thousands of dollars to look like them.

On a recent episode, a 24-year-old woman who did resemble Tiffiani Thiessen decided that she wanted to look more like her by getting breast implants, a little bit of liposuction (because the gym was quite doing the job she wanted) and a slight nose job might have been involved. So, not only is this woman paying all this money to look like someone else, she wants to pattern her future career after Tiffani Thiessen's. Let's take a moment to examine that vast body of work. We could probably say that the highlights were her roles on "Saved by the Bell" and "Beverly Hills 90210."

Needless to say, this episode had me unsettled not only for the subject's lack of contentment with her own appearance, but also for her ambition to gain the career of a C-list (okay, maybe B-) star. In the end, she had photos taken to send to Playboy. They didn't turn out the way she liked, so she didn't send them. After shelling out the money and putting up with the pain, she still wasn't satisfied. Of course, how could she when she couldn't accept herself the way she was before surgery?

Well, Here Goes Nothing!

2005-04-01T15:52:00.000-05:00

Welcome to Sappy Chick's Ramblings! Don't worry, you're not going to find a bunch of cheesy love poems or romantic stories on this page. "Sappy Chick" is merely a nickname jokingly given to me by my husband and other friends at work mainly because of my music choices. I have a tendency to lean toward those Lilith Fair performers, although my love of music ranges from Alison Krauss to Foo Fighters to Gwen Stefani/No Doubt to Eminem to White Stripes . . . you get the idea.

I decided to start my own page because I saw my friend Matt Mulder's site here (http://1000blacklines.blogspot.com/), and I thought it'd be pretty cool to post some of my stuff as well. However, he's had a bit more stuff published than I have, but I'm working on it!

Anyway, feel free to look around. Things will be sparse to begin with, but I think I'll be filling things in nicely.

Thanks for visiting!
Carla Grant Kilpatrick