Happy Friday

The definition of JOY.

The definition of OH SHIT.

Hope your weekend is full of one of these. Which one is up to you.

You Don't Know Me

I have a paranoia about safety. Doors and windows are locked at all times. So is the car. There isn't anything I can do about it, I have to know things are locked up safe before I leave the house or go to bed.

My husband knows this. My husband does not care about safety. He seems to think that burglary and the like are something other people have to suffer through. He locks up when he leaves but he'll also leave a lot of things open. I can't stand it.

So this morning hubby and I left at the same time. I noticed the windows in the living room were cracked open a bit. I didn't say anything.
Hubby got into his car.
I got into mine.
He started his car.
I started mine.
He pulled out down the street.
I backed out into the street.
He turned the corner.
I drove back into the driveway, got out, shut the damn windows, and then went to work.

I get a phone call three minutes after I make it into work.

"So did you close all the windows?" my husband asks.
"I sure did." I say.

Plans

On April 28th and 29th the NFL Draft is going to take place. My husband lives for this weekend. He studies the draftees and makes his little charts, then watches the whole thing to see if he guessed right and so on. I myself have never seen anything more boring. To make us both happy my husband makes plans for me to be out of the house. Two years ago he planned the first Wonder Woman's Weekend and I had a blast.

This year he rented a beautiful room at a bed and breakfast in Hermann, MO. Hermann is wine country, they have about 9 winery in the immediate area. Stone Hill would be the biggest, they have a fabulous restaurant. Hubby made dinner reservations for me and my friend. The room itself has a hot tub and a fabulous view of the vineyards. A weekend full of wine and pampering in such a pretty area is exactly what I've been needing. There have been a lot of things I've needed to talk about and it would be so nice to just have me and my friend and endless bottles of wine. The spring flowers should be in full bloom, Hermann is going to be gorgeous.

I won't be there, however. My weekend got canceled.

So now I have to find something else to do. The NFL draft waits for no man, it's going to take place no matter what. I HAVE to be out of that house. I HAVE to get out of this city. And I am going to do it alone.

Hannibal, MO is having their "50 miles of Art" that weekend. They close downtown and have artists and their wares displayed on the streets. Food, music, art, and the like. They are also having the "Girl's Get-A-Way" weekend. All the shops, salons, and restaurants will have specials catered to women. Hannibal is only 2 hours away so I wouldn't have a long drive. The last time I was in Hannibal I had a great time.

There is also the Myrtle Beach option, but that's looking less and less likely. See, my friend from Savannah has a mother who lives there and she doesn't know if she'll have the weekend free.

If not I could just go down to Savannah. But I've been there and I want to have FUN. A 12 hour drive is just not the kind of fun I want to have.

I toyed with the idea of going to Alabama to visit my folks, but again I've been there and I want something new. Something different. Besides, my mom and dad have pretty much used up their vacation time and it's a 7 hour drive.

I don't know what I'll do, but I will do something. My husband so rarely says, "Here, take the credit card and have fun." I have to take advantage of this opportunity. He's going to glue himself to the TV no matter what. It will be so nice to leave everything and everyone behind and just enjoy myself doing...well, anything I want.

Monday, Monday

I had a pretty good weekend. Yesterday I spent most of the day alone. Hubby went to the basketball game with his dad. Issy was going to call me once her boyfriend woke up. I never heard from her so I can only surmise he's still asleep. Maybe he's slipped into a coma.

I have a new satellite radio! Actually, it's my husband's old one. He has the new model now. I like it. No more crappy ass St. Louis radio for me. No more hearing Green Day and Chingy alllllllll day long. No more 20 minutes of commercial interruption. No more of the stupid, lazy, ignorant DJ's that plague this city. It also has a boom box so I can listen to it at work. But I can't use it - if I plug one more thing into my office I'll blow out a breaker. Oh well.

Spring has sprung! I know this as the one stubborn tulip bulb that refuses to die is in bloom. We have mowed it down, poisoned it, even plucked it out, and still it comes back every spring. It's dark pink. Very pretty. It's shown such a will to live that I can't do anything to it now. You have to respect that kind of tenacity.

Good day.

Just Like a Smack to the Head

My co-worker said something to me this morning that shocked me. I came to her office to say good morning and she said, "You seem to be in a good mood."

I've been pooping liquid for four days, I have a pain in my side that won't go away, I grow tired easily, and at times I feel like I am going to vomit, but you know what? I am in a good mood!

It was a surprise to me, too. I guess having a good solid base to support me through good times and bad is the best booster I could have (that would be you, Hubby). I have a good job and I live in a good city in a great house with the best pets and I'm surrounded by the best friends. I don't have a bad life at all.

So a little health issue isn't going to drag me down. Thanks, M, for pointing it out.

Me Madre

A friend of mine is mourning the loss of her mother who died a year ago today. As such she and mothers in general have been on my mind.

It’s time to talk about my mother.

Long time readers of this blog will know that I don’t talk about my mom that much. I do this for privacy. I also do it because my mother and I have a very unique relationship. There are a lot of things I say that just don’t make sense to anyone else but her. I hate being the person in a room who doesn’t get the joke, don’t you? So I keep her out.

It’s time to talk about her.

My mother was born from a woman with a lot of issues. She raised her daughter to have those same issues. When my mother became a mother a whole new mess of issues arose. My mother didn’t deal very well. Then she had a hysterectomy and went into menopause about the same time I entered puberty. She was controlling and … well, abusive (no Joan Crawford, but there just isn’t a light word for “abusive”). Things went downhill fast and by the time I left home, I had no intention of coming back.

For years our relationship was, well, strained at best. I had issues of my own, my mom had issues, and we had issues together. It was a mess. One day I sat down and I realized I had to make a choice. I had to change this relationship with my mom or I had to cut her out of my life completely. By the time my nephew was born I'd made my choice. I sat my mother down and told her we had to start telling each other the truth or we would never make it work. I told her some things that were pretty hard to say, probably even harder to hear. She told me some things. There were a lot of crying and cursing before we became comfortable with this arrangement. I found that I wasn’t perfect (imagine!), and that my mom was willing to work things out.

That was almost 8 years ago. You would never know the troubles we had. I’ve gone from disliking my mother’s presence to enjoying it. We talk more now than we did for years. We are not afraid to say what we think because we trust each other not to use it later for hurting each other. Oh, we’re not perfect. There isn’t a mother/daughter relationship in this world that’s perfect, I think that’s written in our DNA. But I have come to understand something - My mother did the best she could.

I love her. She is one of the few women her age that’s still willing to learn. She is willing to admit when she is wrong. She had the strength and courage to go against everything she was taught and asked for help. She is extremely loyal and fiercely protective. But she will back off if I ask her. She will try anything once (unless it involves the possibility of death. You’ll never see my mother skydiving). If I ask her for anything she will do her best to give it to me. She loves to laugh and have fun, and that is HUGE! She loves me.

She isn’t my friend. Friendship only goes so far in this world. She is my mother and that is infinitely better.

Aaaaaah, Godzirra!

If I could have any job in the world I think I would want to make miniatures and models. I'd love to work for the WETA Workshop. They did most of the creatures and sets for the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy. They also did "The Chronicles of Marina." I could make clay models or build miniatures for hours on end. The more detailed the better. I just love that stuff. Plus the company looks like such a great place to work. It seemed casual and laid back, yet the desire to push the envelope and be the best are a driving force. Everyone there seems to be dedicated and loyal.

I'm going to buy a butt-load of clay and start working on my own creations. The first few will probably be elementary and rough, but I'll get better. I have the visions of my museum to motivate me.

I am almost finished with what I like to call "that damn necklace." I made a terrible counting goof today halfway through putting it together. I had to take the whole thing apart. I've put it away for now before I stomp it into tiny, tiny peaces. I'll try again later when I have more control of my patience.

My dad came into town for the weekend. It was nice seeing him. My mom stayed home. Tomorrow is his birthday. I gave him the last book in a series about Conan the Barbarian. When I was a little girl my dad would read the comic books faithfully. He would keep them in the bathroom. I would sit there and pour over those stories time and time again. I memorized each story, every frame. My dad thought Conan was the coolest, therefore I did to. He thought being a barbarian, a warrior, was the most noble profession in the world. When I grew up I wanted to be a Barbarian. AH-HA! Now you know where my name comes from. I'm kind of sad to run out of the Conan books, my dad is hard to shop for and I milked that through Christmas and his b-day.

Good day.

Happy, Happy! Joy, Joy!

I have friends in prison. Communicating with them is a bitch! They don't have email and you can't call them. The only way to communicate is through letters (or visits). But today I got a phone call from one of mine!

You may be asking why I have friends in prison. I started writing a book and I realized I had no idea what prison was like. Not wanting to commit a crime to find out I got online and found my friend on a Pen-pal page. Something about him made me want to write. We have been doing so for almost...wow, 6 years now. During that time we have become very close, we've published his autobiography, and now we're working on a law book. He edits my works and gives me great advice on my stories. He has given me invaluable insight to prison life. Finding him was one of the best things I could have done.

My friend is in for murder. He was stupid and admits it, he is not one of those that proclaims his innocence and hates the world. He knows what he did was wrong and he is sorry for it.

Three and a half years ago my friend was moved to a prison where he was placed in segregation. This meant his phone and visitation rights were revoked. Today he was moved to another prison and has his phone rights back. He called me! He called me! I was so glad to hear from him. We could only talk ten minutes, and every two minutes they broke in to tell me I was talking to a prisoner (duh!), but it was so good to talk to him again.

I am so busy today and feeling a little rough, I think I'm losing a battle with a cold, but hearing from him has made my day. PLUS my dad is coming into town today, so this is shaping up to be a pretty damn good Friday.

All the Drama

I have a song stuck in my mind. "Breathe" by Blu Cantrell. I only know parts of this song, so those are the parts that keep running around again and again.

"When love hurts, it won't work, maybe we need some time alone, we need to let it breathe. (Here's the part Sean Paul comes in) What's that supposed to be about, baby, y'all free up ya mind and stop actin' crazy."

Must. Get. Out. Of. Head!

I am in a fantastic mood today. I have come to realize I have a damn good life. The main reason for this is I have a damn good husband. Woo, the things he does to me! I have been a bit selfish lately. Here I have this wonderful house, this wonderful job, this wonderful man, and I've been going out looking for things to be pissed off about.

What is wrong with me?

A good friend of mine told me I need to concentrate on myself and stop getting distracted. Good advice. Once I realized the only drama in my life was that of my friend's and family's I realized I could very easily get rid of it. I've been happy since.

The song persists! "You're only lonely when your homey ain't got a ride or no loot, yeah, uh-huh. Then comes all the drama and some girl saying she's going out with yooou-hooo. All we do is break up, then make up, why don't we wake up and seee-eeeee, when love hurts...."

My daddy is coming into town this weekend. It's his birthday Monday. He's going to visit all his family here in MO then head on over to KY to pick up my Mamaw and take her back to AL with him. That should be fun. Too bad it's going to be wet and cold this weekend. Oh well, it will still be nice to see my dad.

"What's that supposed to be about, baby, y'all free up ya mind and stop acting crazy."

Me, Sean Paul, and Blu Cantrell have a very busy day today. Best of luck to everyone.

My Wonderful Dream Last Night

In my dream I visited a gallery that held only my own works. It was a concrete building, vast, with few windows on the outside. It stood alone on a hill, a hulking hunk of concrete that made no attempt to blend in with it's surroundings.

The first room I entered held things I made in childhood. A green coat-hanger wreath I made for Christmas in the 2nd grade, an egg shell mouse I made one Easter, drawings and sketches from my grade school years. Next came the things I made in my early teens and early twenties. I saw things I had forgotten about; the small purple turtle, lots of writings, the x-ray of my broken finger I made into a stain glass window. Then I came to the room where the things I am working on now were displayed. Boxes, purses, necklaces, and paintings I've made and given away. Some of the items in the museum are, right now, half-finished in my craft closet. I saw them complete and now know exactly what I can do with them.

I continued on into a bigger room. Here lay things I have not done, things I have only begun to think about in my waking life. Dolls, statues, painting so huge they took up one whole wall. I could trace my own techniques, see the steps I took to create each piece. I saw faces that I do not know, places I have not been, but each piece was obviously and uniquely mine. My signature, large as life, stared back at me. I touched these things, held them, and they felt familiar.

I passed through my middle life and into the room of my golden years. Here things so amazing and beautiful waited for me that it stunned me. Pieces that defied gravity and simple physics, things that were so beautiful they brought tears to my eyes. The pride and awe I felt were overwhelming.

I chose not to go farther. I did not want to see when my artwork ended or if there was anything incomplete.

I awoke with such a sense of peace. For years now I have struggled with my artistic ability. My number one problem is that I am impatient. This dream answered a burning question for me - how can I improve? The answer is so simple I can't believe I didn't know it already.

Time.

Not just that I will grow older and better with time, but that each piece in this gallery took time to make. The pieces on display were those that I had loved and labored over, not caring one bit about how long it took to do something. It needed to be right. This is what I keep forgetting. So many of my abandoned works are done so because I get impatient or because I don't know how to do what I want.

I need to take the time to learn, I need to be willing to make mistakes. Now I know what I am capable of, what I can aspire to. It wasn't a dream, it was a gift. This is a new beginning for me and I intend to make the most of it.

300

Hubby took me to see Frank Miller's "300" this last Friday. Ooooooooh, it is such a good movie!

Let's ignore the fact that every man in this movie is the perfect specimen of what a man should be. Muscles, lots of them, covered by tanned, naked skin. Let's forget that these perfect specimens spend the entire movie running around in capes and leather underwear. Okay, we'll just forget about that. Oh, and forget the fact that every one of them is so good looking they'll make you want to stand up and slap your mama.

There is a really good story that drives this movie. No secret twists or plots to complicate things, just a good clean story. The actors played their parts very, very well. I was caught-up from the first second until the last. No car chases, explosions, or shoot-outs, this movie was about testosterone. Those Spartans have balls as big as church bells.

It was a war movie, there are lots of severed limbs and blood, but they were filmed in such a manner the fights were fresh and exciting. Seeing the Spartan army act as a whole was truly awe inspiring. The director wanted to show the strength of these men and he did it. One reviewer had this to say, "I feel comfortable enough in my masculinity to say that if I had to stand in the presence of these men for more than ten seconds, I'd spontaneously grow a pair of ovaries."

Yes, yes, the Barbarian loves a good fight. But it isn't the fights or the weaponry that leave an impression at the end of this film. It is the selfless dedication of these men to live free at any cost. These men knew it was a losing battle but they fought it anyway. Through their sacrifice they saved their beloved Sparta (and their wives and children). They lived for honor, integrity, and pride. They permanently etched their names in history and changed the course of nations.

And, girls, there is a powerful love story, too. It's a small part of the film, but so necessary. Those of you who love a man enough to do anything for him will relate to the strength and power of this relationship. It is love, raw and true, that exists between the King and Queen. It is an equal partnership built on trust and unwavering dedication.

The whole movie was wrapped in such a beautiful package. The look of this film, from the rocks to the costumes, is spectacular. You MUST see this movie on the big screen, there ain't no two ways about that. Seeing it on a small TV will just not do it justice.

Go see this film.

Decision Made

(First of all I'd like to thank my husband for being the most beautiful, patient, and loving man on the planet. You are perfect, baby, don't think otherwise.)

I am marble. I always have been and I will always be marble. I forgot a very simple rule of life...give anyone enough ammo and they will use it against you. Those close to you can misjudge your actions, and those who are closest to you will hurt you the most.

But that doesn't mean my core is marble. No, my core is something else entirely.

I was reminded this weekend of how very strong my core is. Why? Because I actually let a few people in. Those in there, in the deepest part, are my strength. My family. Those I can turn to when I need it, and those who are the loudest when I don't want to hear it.

As for the rest who managed to sneak past a few of my defenses, well...they're kicked out. I don't need them. I don't want them. Each one represents trust I gave misguided, happiness that was a lie. They were given a one-way ticket to I-Don't-Careville. Oh, on the outside I'll still be the same old Barbarian, but on the inside it's a different story. On the inside I'm hoping they'll wither away and die as dust. Charity is the currency of misery, and hell is a road paved with good intentions. My shell is marble, and it's just been reinforced.

Good things are on the horizon for me, I know it. One day I will move on to greener pastures and those who are not a part of me will be left behind...And I can't wait to do it!

Hee-hee

This is a great article, but what I love is the photo. Have a look.

A Time For Reflection

I've come to the stark realization that I am a lot stronger than other people. Being this strong also makes me hard. I'm like a block of marble, only time will wear me down. Time has taken the sharp edge off my corners, but I've come to realize a lot of the original rock still stands.

What I'm having a hard time deciding is if I want to be anything but a lump of hard stone. Why should I? Do you know how hard it is to hurt marble? Try kicking a slab and see what happens. I've always been a slab of marble striving to be a soapstone, but now I question why? Soapstone gets dinged and dented by everything it touches. It looks scarred and lumpy at the end of it's life. Who needs that?

Soapstone can be found anywhere. We're surrounded by soapstones. But marble, that's a bit more rare. It's expensive to own, you have to be willing to take care of it. You know if you build with it your structure will be sound. Impenetrable, if you will. If you trust your marble to hold steady it will last for generations.

But marble is also unforgiving. It doesn't bend. It does, in fact, not give a shit. Unless you blast it with explosives it isn't going to budge. But put a good sized crack in marble and it will never be the same. Well, everything has it pros and cons.

Do I continue with my soapstone dreams, or do I finally accept I am a block of marble? I need to think on this, therefore I will probably be absent for a while. I'm rolling into my corner to reflect and regroup.

Suspicious, My Ass

I read about this father who took his daughter on a little plane ride - right into her grandmother's house.

I get so sad and angry when I read about things like this. If that selfish bastard wanted to kill himself, fine! But why take a child? What could an 8-year-old have done to deserve that? It's a final act of selfishness so vile I can only imagine there's a special place in hell for this guy.

If he really wanted to punish his ex-wife he should have sold the girl into white slavery, or adopted her to a family states away. That way, once he was dead, the mother would have years of agony and crushed hopes to live with. It would have been a death that kept on giving, so to speak.

Hey, I write horror stories, get used to this.

Choices

When it comes to life we are where we are today because of the choices we have made. My sister chooses to live with a jobless mooch who sucks the life out of her as fast as her paycheck. My best friend chooses to live with an immature jerk who has no desire to work hard for his family. My mother chooses to live in pain because she would rather do that then use a cane or a wheelchair. That would hurt her pride.

I've chosen to write these words knowing damn well it could piss these three people off.

I know what your saying, " I didn't choose to get hit by that car the other day." No, but you did choose to drive you car the way you were going when you got hit. It wasn't your fault, but you did contribute to the situation.

When I was 18 I met a guy who, I thought, farted the sun out of his ass every morning. There wasn't anything this guy could do wrong in my eyes. We moved in together pretty soon after we met. This guy was an artist, as such he didn't bring in a whole lot of money. I worked a steady job, paid the bills, bought the food, fixed the cars, so on and so on, while he took whatever money he made and spent it on drugs or parts for his bike. He didn't pay for shit. When the lights were turned off it was my fault because I couldn't pay the bill. When we couldn't go to Chicago with the rest of his friends it was my fault because I didn't make enough money. I chose to live this way, I chose to put up with this shit.

One day I chose to stop. It was a hard decision, one I have grappled with up until today. I loved this man with every cell in my body, but I chose not to be his bank/lover/punching bag anymore. I chose me. I second guessed this decision for months, sometimes I think years. I sat on my bed one night looking at a bottle of pills that would kill me. I could not choose. I didn't know what to do. I hated my family at that point, I was alone, I didn't like my job, I was alone, and I was sure I'd just lost any chance of happiness. And I was alone. Drinking hadn't helped. Looking for another man didn't help. I wanted to die.

I chose to live.

A few months later I met a man. I chose to give him a chance. I chose to move to Savannah, GA, to be with him. I chose to say yes when he asked me to marry him. I choose to put up with my husbands video game addiction, and I choose when I tell him I've been alone too long. He chooses to listen. It's great that way.

People who float through life acting the helpless victim make me sick. If life was a huge river, and the shores were lined with boats, some people would make the effort to swim to shore, while others would drown waiting for someone to come rescue them. I'm disgusted when someone creates a life for themselves (with their choices) and then act as if they have no say so in what happens. You made the choices, take responsibly for the results.

Whoever you are, you are living the life you've chosen to live. Your decisions have brought you where you are, who you are with, and how you are living. You, no one else. And no one else can fix your life if you're not happy with it. No one is going to save you, you must choose to save yourself.

I've been preaching these words for a long time, and today I've finally made the choice to listen to myself. I'm great at telling other people what they should do to make their lives better, but I chose to ignore my own advice. No more. I've been starring in the helpless victim role for the last few months (okay, years). I want things for myself, I want to live a certain life, but I've been sitting back waiting for it to happen. I've made excuses for myself, given myself unconditional understanding. No more.

I have chosen to pursue my writing with the utmost seriousness. No more "I'll write that someday." Someday is here. I'm not going to get anything published if I don't write it. The rejection letters I've been dreading will come, and they will probably make me feel bad. There will probably be a lot of disappointment, false hope, and roller-coaster days. I will shed a few tears. It's quite possible I will never be the great writer I want to be, but I will never know if I don't try. I chose to open myself up to the bad, because I can't get anything good if I don't open the door. I have to expose myself and see what comes.

It is my choice and I will live with it.

That boy I chose when I was 18? He chose to contact me a few months ago. We're friends now, the past firmly kept in the past. We're different people. It's a good relationship, perhaps the one we were meant to have.

I'm All For It!

There is an initiative to give sex offenders bright green license plate holders so we, the public, will be able to tell they are sex offenders.

Why the hell should we give unanimity to those who prey on children sexually? I think we should tattoo "SEX OFFENDER" on their foreheads. We could give murderers red, rapists pink, and politicians shit brown. Then we would all know what kind of scumbag we're dealing with.

I think our society has gotten a bit too engrossed in hurting other's feelings. Oh, we can't single anyone out, it might make them feel bad. Um....SO! How offended did you think the children he molested felt? How about the parents of those children, think their feelings got hurt? We're such a hypocritical, ignorant society.

You do something bad, you pay for it. I don't care if your feelings are shot in the head execution style, you break the law, you give up your right to bitch about your feelings. Am I alone here?

The Stone Has Passed!

Hubby swears it went "tink" when it hit the toilet. Life is good again.

How? Wha...What?

How is it Ryan Seacrest gets a star on the walk of fame before The Doors? I mean, who decides these things? Is there a committee for this? Is it comprised of pre-teen girls with too many hormones and not enough brain cells?

My husband is passing a kidney stone today. It actually started last night. He didn't go to work today. This is awful! I wish I could do something for my baby. The dog was extra gentle with hubby last night, I think he knew Daddy was having a terrible time. He stayed by his side but didn't try to wrestle with him. Hubby was as white as I am this morning, it scares me. I certainly hope it's a kidney stone and nothing else.