Thursday, December 8, 2011

There it is, my Christmas rant....


The holidays are upon us again, the economy sucks, again…and yet the masses of people cannot seem to rein in the “wanting of stuff”. Because we NEED more stuff. Lots of stuff. Christmas is my favorite time of year, in that, I love to decorate my house, and love doing Christmas-y things – like just walking around downtown to look at the lights, watching Christmas movies, and of course, indulging in eggnog at inappropriate times. However, I have been called a Scrooge on more than one occasion, because of the fact that for the life of me, I cannot fathom this idea of buying lots and lots of shit for people, just because it is Christmas. I don’t get it.

Santa Claus visits my lil man every year. He still believes in Santa and I am not swaying his thinking. However, Santa also visits lil man’s dad’s house, and then that side of the family of course, goes all out to spoil lil man. Ok, fine. So because of all that, Santa does not explode into my house with a truckload of shit – lil man has enough shit. To counteract this, I decided that instead of buying lil man more shit, that for the week of Christmas break he was with me, we would do things instead, around Indy, such as seeing shows, movies, baking cookies at home, having a game day, movie/pajama day…and it has worked out super well. He cannot tell me who gave him what Lego set, but he knows for a fact that last year we raced down the Yule slide at the Children’s Museum a dozen and a half times, and he beat me every time. It’s the experience that counts.

I am a purger. I purge shit from my house regularly. I have begun to teach lil man the art of purging as well. At Christmas, and after his birthday, we sort through all of his shit, and he knows that he will assess what he actually uses or plays with, and what he does not. Old books, games, toys, etc, are then given to the Wheeler Mission or Goodwill. This controls the accumulation of shit, and keeps lil man in check about what is a realistic amount of “things”.

Over Thanksgiving, we served dinner at the Wheeler Mission for Women & Children, and he got a front and center glimpse into the lives of some kids his age, that have no home. They eat at that center every day, and do not have 1/4 of the amount of stuff that we have. On the way home, after serving dinner, we discussed it in depth, as he asked a lot of questions. He made the comment, “Well, I am just glad that is not us.” And I responded, “Well, I can appreciate your feeling, buddy, but there is nothing preventing that from happening to us. If I was to lose my job tomorrow, and could not make rent, where would we live? That could EASILY be us, and do not lose sight of that. Do not take that for granted.” I am a proponent of getting him to think about the world outside of our little apartment.

At work, we have sponsored 4 families through the United Way who have requested help this Christmas. If you have never done that, please look into it. So we have a list of these families, and their ages, and what they have indicated that they want or need. What is being done is wonderful, but I find it to be interesting how these requests are ‘judged’. One of the families, there is a 9 year old little girl that asked for a TV and a baby doll. Another family has a 15 year old boy who asked for science books and an iPod touch. People look at the “techno” items, and immediately sigh under their breath and make commentary like, “I can’t believe THEY are asking for an iPod touch! They SHOULD be asking for clothes and food.”

Let me tell you that it is all I can do to not jump that person’s ass right then. So IF you would happen to ever be one of these people, to make a comment like this, please let me educate you kindly on something.

The kids are asked what they want. The kids answer. In many instances, the answer is “anything”. Some are specific. A kid is a kid is a kid. A poor child wants the same toys as a non-poor child. There is not a section for “Poor-kid toys” and “Non-Poor kid toys” at the store….they are all kids and they want the same things as your child does. I can just about guarantee, that the younger ones, have no clue that they are seen as “poor”.

When I was a kid, we were poor. My parents would buy their cars off the cash only lots, and this one in particular, was an old white work van, that had no heat and plywood in the back windows. The carpet was stained so badly with oil that you dared not touch it, and my dad worked on it about as much as he drove it. I didn’t realize that was a ‘poor car’. I didn’t realize when I ate stale cereal occasionally for dinner; it was because we had no other food in the house. I do know though, that when Christmas came around, I asked Santa Claus for the same stuff I saw on TV, or that my friends asked for.

So, my point is,

1. Before you buy a bunch of shit for people that you know they don’t need, consider spending time with them instead. They will remember the time long after they would remember the “stuff”.

2. Consider doing a purge in your house to get rid of the current mass of shit you have. Donate it to the Wheeler Mission – they will take everything and put it to good use!

3. If you ARE giving or helping out a family, for fuck’s sake - don’t judge them. We are all only a paycheck away from similar situations anyway.


Saturday, November 12, 2011

Journal Entry of the White Queen


Dear Diary,

That damn dwarf attempted to REFUSE to sing to me today. Said it wasn't Thursday. HOW DARE HE?!?!?!?!? I know it isn't Thursday!!! Well, ok, fine, I technically didn't know at the time it wasn't Thursday, I was still buzzed from the night before. I threw a party and we played "Guess the Stone" - Oh! I love that game! We round up the forest creatures and write down what face we think they will make when I turn them into is great fun! Except that damn owl gets me every time! He always makes the same surprised face, and I can't figure it out...I think he is messing with my head.

Met an Edmund today as well. Is a human, apparently. They smell, and are more annoying than dwarves. Note to self: reread the prophecy - decide if defeating Aslan is worth dealing with the smelly things. I mean I can't get back that deposit on the condo in Rio de much for a vacation it seems. And I just finished mastering water skiing with one ski too!

I did good on my diet today. The Edmund asked for Turkish Delight and I did not even have a bite! I know Morgrin was shocked when I asked him to bring some out, he knows that I told him that I did not want it in the castle!!! He knows if its there I will eat it, but I restrained myself. And I feel good about myself because of it. I know that food does not have to rule me and I am beautiful no matter what size I am.

And now dear Diary, I leave you to drift to sleep. I have to get up early to oversee the ransacking of a faun's house in the morning. I hope Frostbucks is open that early...I will totally need a venti iced cappuccino.



Saturday, September 17, 2011

The A+ Paper

So...I guess it's a good paper. I mean, there were no corrections from the professor for grammar, apa formatting, or anything like that. SO for their standards, yes, it is a good paper.

For me though, IDK, it just feels like it is lacking. It feels...clinical. There is not a whole lot of feeling in it - perhaps that is what they want. A clinical paper with no emotion.

SO if that's what they want, guess they got it. Anyhow, this is the last assignment for this class. Next week I start English Composition 2. With a different instructor. I am hoping that she is more realistic and not clouded by swirls of APA formatting. But we'll see...

Stage and Screen
Lisa Marie Smith
ENG 121
Professor Anna Morrison
September 11, 2011

The art of acting has been around since the dawn of time. Humans would use play acting as a way of entertainment, much like watching a sporting match or a duel, in early years. Watching a play or a movie allows you to forget, just for a few hours, the drama of your own life and causes you to enter in to a glimpse of a world unknown, until it unfolds before your eyes. As you sit there watching this 2 hour world, all you ever see is what the producers want you to see – the finished product. You rarely ever see what goes into making the production. Acting is acting, right? Interestingly enough, it is not. The acting that takes place on a stage is very different than the acting you see in a movie. Similarities are apparent, but differences such as time, performance runs, line memorization, and cast bonding, may not be known to the typical observer. Exploring these differences, perhaps, will give you a greater appreciation for it the next time you see it.
In any production project, one of the first key issues to be concerned with is time. How long will it take to put the final product together? We hear about movies being produced, but often times, it is a year or two before the actual finished product comes out. Many factors affect the movie making industry: budget, location, approval from the production companies, editing, and ensuring you have secured the talent and made all the agreeable monetary deals. For a movie, it is a one to two year process from start to finish, on average. As an actor in a film, you potentially will be playing a character for 2 years before you see the results. However, this does allow you to do other roles as well, in other films. In a stage production, on the other hand, you will have maybe two months, maybe. From auditions to the actual opening night, there are many productions that are put together in one to two months’ time. You must learn your character and your lines in a very short period of time, and have the part ready to go in two months. Everything must be ready in that time. The sets, the marketing, the budget – there is no time to sit and wait. Generally, as an actor in a stage show, you have time to devote to one show at a time. Overlapping shows cause much difficulty since you literally can only be in one place at a time. What many actors will do if they want to overlap shows is to take a starring role in one show, and then a lesser part in another, so they can devote the majority of the time to the show they are starring in. And hope that the show dates are not the same!
Most stage shows run longer than one night. Generally, you will see a show run for two weeks’ time. What that means, as an actor you will be performing the finished product on stage, many times over. Audiences will come to see you perform this show as if it was the first time it has ever been done. The difficulty here is that after a two month rehearsal process, you now have two weeks of performing where people are expecting a perfect finished product. And you have to deliver, every time. In movies, once the final cut is made and printed, that is it. What the audience sees is the perfection – the way it was intended to be. And if they choose to watch it again, they are watching the same finished product over and over. There is not stress on the actors to make it perfect night after night. The beauty of film is the fact it is on film, and can be repeated many times over and over, and it will always be the same. The pressure of perfection on the actors happens once, as opposed to nightly with stage actors.
Pressure in performing comes from many aspects. One of the greatest is the memorization of lines. In a stage show, there is no question, lines must be memorized. You can’t be on stage holding a script, or reading cue cards. You “are” the character. You want the audience to believe what is going on – that all the dialogue is real. This is impossible with a script in your hand, or if you are forgetting lines. This pressure is lessened in a film environment, where many times, you don’t see a piece of the script you are filming until the day of. So you review it, get a general idea of the dialogue, but if a line is flubbed, or if it is not said right, they do “takes”, where they reshoot the scene. Sometimes a scene can have many takes. Many redo’s, until it is right. Once you are performing on stage, you have that moment to get it right – there is no redo.
Many actors will tell you that the greatest benefit in acting is getting to know and work with so many talented people. In a stage show, you are thrown in with a group of people to immediately become close in intimate surroundings…the feeling of family takes over quickly because these people on stage with you support you, and you support them. If one fails, the whole show fails. There is an extreme bonding that takes place in stage shows with the cast. In film, it is a bit different. You may only ever work with one other cast member the entire time you are filming. So while you may get close to one or two people, becoming involved to the rest of the cast is harder. You are not in every scene most of the time, so the opportunity to get to know others is limited.
Being involved in a production, whether live on stage or in a film is a pleasure that many only experience from the audience perspective. It is a limited perspective, since you only ever see the final product. While the similarities are apparent, understanding the differences of time, performance runs, line memorization, and cast bonding, may help you have a greater appreciation for each the next time you watch a film or see a performance.


Thursday, August 25, 2011

Dog-licked toes and burnt popcorn

So I really love reading the "morning-after" Facebook postings that I make when I have had WAY too much to drink the night before....and as I read them the next morning, in the stupor of not getting enough sleep, still being drunk, and waiting for the really strong coffee to kick in, I do find it to be amusing.

Most of the time, I read them going, what the fuck was I trying to say???? Last night, a few gems were me talking about my dog licking my toes, some line from a story I am writing, and that I burnt my, yeah, so I don't remember making popcorn. :)

Always a pleasure


Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Fitting rooms, women's bodies, and Strike

If you ever want a lesson in life, plant yourself outside a fitting room in a women's department store. You will receive insight and education into the female psyche that you perhaps never knew existed, and most often that you wish you could forget immediately.

Now we all know that women as a whole, hate their bodies. In fact, I was listening to the radio one day on the way to work and their was a survey done where women and men were asked would they prefer to have an amazingly perfect body, or would they prefer their partner to have an amazingly perfect body, and they would just be average? The results were of course, what you would expect. 98% of the women surveyed said they would want an amazingly perfect body, and would accept their partners to be average or below average. Interestingly enough, the men also were mostly unanimous with indicating they would be happy being average or below average, as long as their partner had an amazingly perfect body.

So what does this say? That we are all shallow and body-centered with respect to women's bodies? Yes. That we feel, as a woman, we will never measure up? Yes. That we know in our heads that men expect perfection and so we look to the perfect dress, perfect set of fake tits, perfect makeup....anything we can BUY in order to fulfill this ideal of perfection.

In the women's fitting room, you hear sounds of sobbing, questions of "why does this make my ass look so bad?", "Fuck, is that cellulite?!?!?"...."Damn PMS!".....

All of the commentary, if you embrace it as you would a warm blanket, and let it wrap you up, can offer great insight.

Women have self-esteem issues. Period. I know that is not news to anyone. But as we each sit on the little bench in the fitting room stall that is entirely too poorly lit, looking in the mirror that somehow makes us look 10 pounds heavier than we really are...we feel alone. As I mourn over the loss of an unstretch-marked stomach, I feel as though I am the only one who feels this way. Just like the gal next to me sobbing because the size 8 dress doesn't fit, and she KNOWS she is a size the dress sizes must be fucked up. She is alone.

We feel we are each other's competition. That we have to look as good as or better than any other woman that passes by. Because we cannot be a consolation prize. We are at war against each other, and if you have a vagina, you are enemy number 1.

The cast of Strike! A New Bowling Pin Musical that I have been privileged to be a part of, is all women. 10 women. The rehearsal process has been relatively normal, in that, we all show up. We do the work. We run lines. The ages of these gals are all over the board. We have young, old, middle...and personalities waver as well.

I recall the first read-thru where we all met each other, and read through the script. Although many of us knew each other, there were new faces. And as I sat at the table staring at these 9 other women, I felt as though I was being sized up...and I felt myself doing the same thing.

As we began to work on the songs, and work on the blocking and running scenes, I felt like I was being sized up. Critiqued. And I knew I was doing the same thing. Someone forgot a cue???? (Damn bitch, get your shit together!) I forgot my cue???? (FUCK, well that is going to go in the rolodex of women who remember EVERYTHING, and I will now judge myself as harshly as I am being judged right now)

There comes a point when you are doing a show, where you are forced to come together as a cast. You are forced to find a common ground and mesh in order to make the show work. In order to make it real. It happens at various times. Once you hit that level, I feel, there is a real bonding that takes place. That whatever happens, you are all in this together, sink or swim.

I admit, I was afraid this would not happen in this show. We are women. We size each other up. We judge each other in the fitting rooms.

Our opening night was Saturday night and we all were sitting in the dressing room, talking, changing, putting makeup on....running lines. And it occurred to me that this was 10 women, 10 strong women, with different backgrounds, different lives, all here, in this one "fitting room" with our asses about to be hanging on the line. Together. We were about to go out on that stage and expose all of our insecurities, body hang-ups, and personality differences for all the world to see. But we were doing it together. We were on the same side. There was no battle. No competition. If the gal next to me forgot a cue or a line, I looked just as bad. We are moving as a collective unit, and I was rather humbled and honored to take the stage with these 9 other women who had my back.

What does this have to do with fitting rooms and women's bodies? Yeah, I know, I do wander a bit when I write, but stick with me, it all does come full circle.

The point is, I was as apprehensive of doing a show of all women as I am going into a fitting room to try on clothes - being judged...subconsciously judging others. Not feeling I am good enough, or that I measure up to what the other women have to offer.

And of all my theater experiences, this one is for sure one of the most revealing of myself, FOR myself. One one level, yes it is a show, and we did bond as a cast, and I feel we are a strong cast....but on another level, this has given me alot of insight into myself and my own insecurities.

Being insecure will never go away, much like the desire to have the perfect body will never go away. For generations, women feel less than best, and most die without knowing their worth. But being able to join arms with 9 other amazing women and sing collectively about "leaning" on each other, has brought me to tears every time. Because we are on the same side.

Now I have no plans to saunter into the dressing room Friday night for a 'group hug' or anything like that....but there are a few fitting rooms at Keystone at the Crossing I may have to visit singing Kum Bay Yah (sp?) this week. I have alot of free time this week - might as well spread the love.....


Friday, August 12, 2011

Please don't

Please don't NOT appreciate me again and again, and all the shit I do, and then whine to me about not being able to get along without me and needing my help, and not sure what you are going to do with out me. Don't do that. It makes you look bad, and I have passed the point of wanting your attention/praise.

The problem is, it isn't about you. EVERYTHING is not about you and MY world does not revolve around you.

You should have appreciated it when you had it.

Swat team at Big Time Rush


Last night I took lil man to his first concert - first concert of HIS choosing. Big Time Rush came to the Indiana State Fair and tickets were $20 bucks, so, sure, why not. Big Time Rush is a Nickelodeon TV show about a boy band and their antics. They are a 'band' on the show so doesn't it make perfect sense to ACTUALLY HAVE THEM TOUR AS IF THEY HAVE REAL TALENT AND SINGING ABILITY?!?!?!?!? Of course it does.

At the fair, for concerts, there is the grandstand, and then they set up seats on the floor in front of the stage. So to be as close as possible, I got the floor seats. We were in the very last row, but I thought this would be good so he could stand up on his chair to see. WEEEEEEELLLL, that was a no go.

This place was covered with security officers, IPD, and state police...swaggering around just looking for someone to do something worthy of allowing them to execute their mass of muscle. Um, did I mention this was a Nickelodeon band?

So I told lil man to stand up on his chair, so he could see, since we are in the back row, we wouldnt be blocking anyone behind us. He does. People in front of us were doing it too. After about 10 minutes, security comes by and says he needs to get down. So of course I assume next he will be talking to the people in front of us. Nope. Just us. Nice.

So naturally, as the concert starts, I tell lil man to get back up on his chair. And after about 15 minutes some officer-asshole comes over, puts his hands on MY lil mans shoulders, and says rather rudely, that he needs to get down, he is not allowed up there. Instead of unleashing the devil on him for touching my son, I calmly asked why? And I am told that he cant stand on the seats because people behind won't be able to see.


I turned around and said, "Uh, people behind what? Us? There is no one behind us." He then tells me that the people that are sitting behind us need to see. "Uh, what people?"

He says, well if there were people.


I think I was giving him this dumbfounded look - and then ended up shaking my head at the ridiculousness of the situation, and his idiocy. The fact that even though we are attending a Nickelodeon concert, where the average age of child there is 9, we have to break out the fucking swat team to 'control' the situation.

So we moved. There was open space out from the seats, and lil man could see if we stood there, so we ended up standing there. For an hour.

He liked it, and he got a t-shirt, and we survived...but I have to tell you, people wonder why I hate people....THAT is why I hate people. We conform to rules, and we carry things out, even if they make NO sense whatsoever! What the FUCK is wrong with you?!?!??! You have to let people SEE behind you, when there is NO ONE behind you. Where is the fucking logic in that??????


Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Among other rumors...


There has been recent excitement in the Redhothead household lately. A new pup, Jujy...I turned 31 last week...STRIKE rehearsals are going well (as soon as I get my head out of my ass and embrace my inner pin - of course perhaps I am hoping to embrace it more WITH the head up the ass...IDK...), and I have accepted another position, at another company.

I am extremely excited and the opportunity this is going to be for me, I just can't put into words.

Sometimes with jobs/careers, I find it interesting, because most of the time you are literally running FROM a current company, to anything....because you have let it get so absolutely unbearable that you develop an anxiety to latch onto the first thing you come across. I, too, have done that in the past. With this instance, I actually feel that, I have outgrown it - the position. I have essentially done the same thing for the past 7 years, and there were no new surprises or challenges. And with my personality, I need challenge. I need to aspire, need to be creative...and I think basically, I had taken this as long as it could possibly be taken.

So I have alot of 'clean up' stuff to do as I make this transition over the next few weeks. I am super excited, and really looking forward to lots of good things in the future :D


Friday, August 5, 2011

Doing it Better, for College Sake...


I transferred colleges, and one of my first papers I had to write is my life history. Really? Come on. Even the idea of it turns my stomach. Now, this is along with all the forum discussions we have had to participate in on what Academic Ethics "mean to me" and blah blah blah. To me, it means that all the illiterate nimrods that are posting in run-on sentences and text-talk should be given an ethical ass-kicking, but thats just me.

So, yeah, wait for it....I am posting my paper. :D It's long, it's probably painful (for you to read, lol), but it is the first draft. Final draft is due next week, so if you happen to have any constructive criticism you want to throw my way, I am happy to hear it! But at any rate, I think life stories are overwhelming to write, and I hate them. So go ahead....share my hate :D

Redheads Do It Better
Lisa Marie Smith
PSY 202
Dr. Wendy Conoway
August 1, 2011

So, Hawaii 5-0 was a TV show that was popular in the late 70’s early 80’s. TV shows are interesting because we learn to hear the theme songs, and associate the show with the song, so when the theme is played at a later time, we immediately think of the TV show. My dad’s favorite show in the late 70’s early 80’s was Hawaii 5-0. It was in fact, on TV when my mom’s water broke, and as the story goes, my dad asked her if she could wait until Hawaii 5-0 was over before he took her to the hospital. That was August 1980, on an army base in Wurzburg, Germany. Interestingly enough, I have a warm association now every time I happen to hear that theme song, even though, that situation could have been handled much better. I have lived exactly 31 years, beginning tomorrow, August 2nd, and the more I think about the upcoming future, the more I seem to recollect the past for references of what to do and what NOT to do. Deciding not to settle, living life better, choosing happiness better, doing IT ALL better – I will do it better than my parents did, will decide to learn from their mistakes and successes; this gal will do it better.

Being born in Germany, you would think that I came out of the womb with a German accent or my arm raised high in the air paying homage to the most infamous German, Hitler. Nope. My first word wasn’t “Hiel”, either. I have never spoken German, and have only come close to the accent when I have mucus lodged in the back of my throat. But, equally bad, I suppose, was the fact I was born with red hair. Now my mom was ecstatic! She had always wanted a redhead and when my older brother had been born with red hair 2 years prior, she went into a serious depression when it all fell out after two weeks and came in blond. I honestly think she was going to wrap duct tape around my head to keep the hair in place. We lived in Germany a few years and then my dad was transferred back to the states to another army base in Indianapolis, Indiana. My parents were each others second marriages and they had met in the army.

Indianapolis was where I was raised – it has my first real memories. We moved here when I was 3 or 4, and lived off base in a house with a big yard. My parents and my brother were all I knew. We had no family here. My mom’s family lived in Ohio, and my dad’s family lived in Alabama. We would see each of them about once a year at the holidays. There were no phone calls, no ‘relationship’, other than the birthday money we would receive in a card for our birthdays.

When I was 5, my parents almost divorced. I can remember sitting on the floor on the living room, as my dad folded washrags (which I can remember thinking even then, that it was really odd to see Dad DOING laundry, Mom always did that), I asked when Mom was coming home, and didn’t really get an answer from him. I don’t remember fighting or anything bad between them, that I saw. All I know is that Mom came home, and she stayed. They didn’t get a divorce. Not long after that, I began to hear about something called “Amway” and I began to notice people, men, in suits, coming to our house a lot. My parents had gotten involved in Amway. Apparently my dad was very excited about it, and saw potential to really do something with his own business, so he wanted to do it. My mom was very against it and wanted nothing to do with the business. She is shy, and so the idea of having to meet new people scared the poo out of her. She told him that he could do it, and she would watch it fail – which gave him even more cause to do it, to spite her. She ended up eventually coming around, and this became their life. My dad even ended up quitting the army to do Amway full time. Mom eventually quit her job as a respiratory therapist as well.

Working hard was instilled in me from a very young age. With my parents constantly focused on Amway, my brother and I had a lot of chores to do, and responsibilities to help my parents. I always did my share and my brothers, because he was a lazy bum, and still is actually. But Amway did seem to run our lives, and as I grew older, I began to realize my independence, and the fact I had my own ideals and opinions about things. When I was 13, I decided I wanted to get a job, to earn my own money, to get out of the house, to continue to become my own person. I got a job at the Dairy Queen, and worked there until I was 16, when I was made a night manager. I was a hard worker and I was recognized in money and opportunities there. I ended up working there until I was 17, when my family moved to Alabama to take care of my dad’s parents, who were very sick. I lived in Alabama about a year and a half.

It was in high school I began to get involved in theater. It peaked my interest as I was choosing elective classes as a freshman, and I chose to take it. I was hooked. In middle school, I knew I was not an athlete – I am not competitive, so sports were never a good fit for me. I was not the fastest runner, never the quickest in gym class, and this really begins to wear on you, as you grow up and try to find yourself and determine who you are. Acting was something I excelled at. I was in the shows in school, and even began to work in the community theater circuit, acting in productions on the Indianapolis theater stage. I have continued to be involved in theater, after a 6 year hiatus, and know I will be for the rest of my life. It is a passion of mine and something that I will not give up. It has never been a career path for me, although many people have told me that I should consider it. Sadly, there are so many starving artists, and I did not want to be another one. Plus, I did not want to DEPEND on my craft for the roof over my head. Because then you lose the ability to enjoy doing it, and it becomes a “have-to” – similar to the other obligations we end up surrounding ourselves with, like marriage and kids.

I was married when I was 18. And divorced at 28. I was living in Alabama at the time, and I recall the Ex asking me to marry him. I said yes, because I saw that as a way out. A way to become independent of my parents. The Ex lived in Indianapolis, his family was all there, and I was happy to get away from mine, and really BEGIN my life. I did not see that I could do that on my own in Alabama. My parents, by this time, had moved on from Amway, as their business fell apart (they found out people were stealing money from them) and they were both trying to cope with “What the heck do we do now?” My brother had enlisted in the army, so he was gone, and it was just me…trying to start my life, while living in my parents house. So the Ex asked me to marry him; he had a good job, made good money and he was enamored with me. So I masked my excitement to be on my own, as love, and said “I Do”.

The best thing that came out of that marriage was my lil man. He is 10 now and lives with me full time. His dad will get him on the weekends, but I am the primary parent, as his dad lives an hour away. I never wanted kids. There are some people who are conditioned to be mothers, and others who like kids, accept kids, but really are entirely too selfish to be a parent. I am the latter. I admit it, and I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. I am selfish. This is one of those things that I have come to know and accept about myself. I don’t want to have to watch cartoons, or buy video games, or have a room that is completely overloaded with toys…but…I do. And we make it work. My lil man is a wonderful person and I have never understood the parents that can say they never wanted to be a parent, and then they just up and leave, abandoning their flesh. Every decision I make or don’t make is going to shape who my lil man becomes, and that is my greatest living, daily fear.

So we divorced 3 years ago, after a long struggle with the Ex’s bipolar disorder. When we were first married, I knew something was ‘off’ – something not quite right. He would display erratic behaviors like going and buying excessively priced golf clubs, timeshares, etc, without telling me about it – lying about everything, performing personality ‘180’s’ to where anything I said or asked could and would be turned around and used against me. There was always mental abuse. I tolerated it, for a few reasons. One, because you get conditioned to your surroundings. If someone comes along and hacks off your arm in one swoop, you notice that right away. However, if someone slowly and over time just scratches your arm, you never really notice until years later that, “Huh, half my arm is gone”. Secondly, after being conditioned, I did not feel strong enough to do anything about my situation. I have no family in Indianapolis – early in my marriage, my parents decided to divorce, and now my mom was in Ohio and my dad was in Alabama – both close to their families. So there was no one I could turn to for help – my current job was unstable, and I knew I could not support myself – and quite frankly, I held out hope that things would change. Things finally came to a head about 8 years into our marriage, my lil man was 7 and really began to notice the fights. Although it was usually past his bedtime when the Ex would start in on me, I know lil man heard it. He would ask about the yelling, ask why Daddy was mad at me, and then one day, the Ex grabbed me and shook me before shoving me off into a corner. That shake, I believe, woke me up – and I decided I had had enough. I was done. I said I was leaving and I wasn’t taking anymore. The Ex then told me he would go get help, and I said it was too little, too late. That he should have considered it all the other times I suggested WE go get help. Now, I didn’t care. And I found a place, and moved out, took lil man, and we have been on our own ever since.

Being a single mother with an Ex who doesn’t put his son first is hard. Trying to be in my lil mans life playing the mother AND father figure while working 40+ hours a week, and making sure there is food on the table, and clothes to wear, and still have the energy to play and do things with lil man is admittedly, hard enough. But I never went to college. I married, remember? And me going to school then was out of the question financially; not to mention the fact that I would have not had time to take care of all the other ‘chores’ I did as a wife. So 3 years ago, I decided to enroll in school. I loved school and always wanted to go. I really didn’t have an idea of what I wanted to do – my thought was to take a few classes to see what I liked, and begin to narrow it down. My company reimbursed 100% tuition, and so I was very excited about the possibilities. I love school and decided to major in English. I love literature and history, and studying words, and so every class I take is exciting to me. Ideally, I will be in school the rest of my life. I don’t know what I want to ‘do’ with my degree – I have worked in Marketing at a stable company that has treated me very well for the past 7 years, and so I am not in a hurry to jump careers as of yet.

I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason, and each day brings new opportunities for you to grow and mature as a person. This brings me to today. Today, I live in Indianapolis, with my lil man, alone. My closest family is 500 miles away. I have red hair and the fiery personality that goes along with it. I have 2 friends, and dozens of acquaintances. Although I am a very outgoing, friendly person, I don’t have friends. I don’t trust people. Quite frankly, I always hold everyone at arms length, because the ‘other shoe always drops’ – at least in my history. People do not immediately get to know me, I am very closed off, cynical, and always looking to see what your angle is…how to you plan to hurt me in the future? No, I don’t think this is a prime way to live, but I have a lil man to think about, and preservation of self is the only thing that I can control. Am I an unhappy person? Absolutely not! Everyday is a growing process for me, to become better and stronger and to realize that I don’t have to settle. That I DO deserve the best that life has to offer me, and I will choose to welcome it, and not take less than what I deserve. I want to let people in; I don’t want to feel like a caged animal – but the process is slow.

My plans for tomorrow are wide open. The one girlfriend I have has told me that she doesn’t look at the glass being half full or half empty. She looks at the glass and goes, “Where is my refill?” I have since adopted that philosophy, in that, I know that there are big plans for me, to live a full life, to give a full life to my lil man, to do things, and go places, and travel, and cross off my bucket list. Everyday, I wake up and ask for my refill. While I seek satisfaction from giving back, and doing things in the theater, helping people, etc, I also feel stagnate at times as well. I use the stagnate times to reflect, relax, and begin to wrap my head around what I want to do next.

Jean Piaget believed that the overriding goal of children is to make sense of their world. (Witt & Mossler, 2010) While I agree with that statement, I do not believe that stops when you become an adult. Growing up is more learning, more understanding, more taking in of the realities of the universe, and being able to make sense of it, as we live it. Reflecting on my life thus far, I feel like a child. With everything that I have been through and all of the things I have accomplished and have yet to accomplish, everyday is brand new. Every day is another day that I am trying to make sense of, to understand, to see how I fit into the world, into my world. How to make my world, fit me.

Knowing where I have come from and digesting what I have been through and all of the things I have done on my own, I should feel like a strong, unstoppable force all the time. I don’t. I am laden with guilt and the ‘coulda, shoulda, woulda’ phenomenon – but I try not to dwell on it. Because that is what my parents did. They spent a lot of time going through the motions of life, as opposed to living their lives. And I won’t do that. Life is not to go through the motions, but to MAKE the motions. And I will, because I will do it better.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Busting out of the garage


How do you get ahead? How do you keep plugging away, doing "all the right things", with the hopes of someone eventually realizing your potential, and get ahead?

What do you do when you are told that you, in all angles, are a "Wow"...but yet you are continually looked over, rejected, and assumably held back?

You are a car. You have the wheels, the energy of a brand new Mustang, the inner workings of an internal electrical system that is stellar, an engine that has not been run into the ground with burn out or wear and even have the full tank of gas and the ability to find more for whatever 'journey' or task you need to accomplish. You sit there, in the garage, doing all the things you are instructed to do, being told, "keep doing what you are doing, you are an AWESOME car!!!! I am SO glad you are in MY garage!!!!" But when you say, "Hey, wave the green flag, I am ready for the ride!!!"
You get told, "You are a WOW car! Impressive! Your abilities outshine so many others!! But, you ARE just a car, after all."

My second car ever was a Ford Taurus that was my grandma's. She bought it brand new, and it was a great car. She had it for 3 years before I got it. So essentially, it was 3 years old. She drove this thing to church on Sundays, to the store, and to the doctor. That's it. It sat in the garage the rest of the time. Hardly any miles. Hardly any wear and tear.
I was excited when I got this car because to me, it was practically new! SHE NEVER DROVE IT! I was excited thinking of how little I was going to have to deal with regarding maintenance and I wouldnt have to worry about it not being was practically new!

That car had more issues than I can remember. I recall my dad explaining it by saying that the car just sat most of the time. It did what was asked routinely, but nothing else. So when I got it, and began to use it regularly, and challenge it - the car gave me a burnt out, exhausted, "Fuck you", and would die. As a rule, the cars potential was never unlocked when my grandma had it. And so it burned out.

So what's the key? Sit in the garage revving your engine, HOPING someone will see that while sitting there, you do that so well, but you really perform at your best when you are let out of the garage????? Or do you turn into a Stephen King's 'Christine', and bust out, scaring the shit out of everyone in your way?

Getting ahead in life, love, career, whatever, you must bust out. Before your fire burns out.


Saturday, May 14, 2011

I'm a nerd


I know you get to points in your life, defining moments, where you learn alot about yourself. This does happen on a daily basis, but I am referring to these outstanding moments where you go, Wow - that's interesting.

I have been in school now for 2 years, initially starting out to take a few classes here and there to see what I like, and what I don't. I did not go to college right out of school. I worked, I got married, I had a kid. So the opportunity to be able to do this, on my decision, and because I want to is a liberating thing.

Along with that, being able to dabble, and take a class just to see if I like it and want to pursue more classes like that has been an interesting journey. I originally was taking marketing classes, event management classes, because I am good, extremely good at that, and I thought that was an area I wanted to get a degree in. I did well - because as i said, I am good at it.

Last spring, I took an event class, and a microeconomics class, because they were required if I was going to major in this event marketing/management class. I second guessed myself when i signed up for them because both of these classes were more about the numbers (economics clearly) - but the event class was not so much about planning and executing the class, but more about the numbers. I am not good with numbers. Never have been. Math really does my head in and makes it spin. I am math stupid, and I am ok with that. It takes alot of brain work for me to "get" math concepts, so much so, that I have to call on friends for help when my lil man (4th grade) has math homework (especially story problems) because there is a disconnect in my head. I am ok with that.

I got a D in the event class and an F in the econ class. It was my worst and best moment, actually. It clearly illustrated to me at that point that - perhaps, although I am really good at marketing, at, event planning, etc, perhaps that is not the area of school i want to focus on as far as a degree. What I am extremely good at, is the relationship building. The people skills. The creativity. Not the numbers or the statistics that go into it.

Last fall I took a literature class and LOVED it. Fell head over heels in love. Aced the class. I love literature. I love writing. I love being able to develop relationships through the feelings you read.

I decided this spring to major in English with a writing concentration. I had a good friend question the decision, because clearly I am so good at the marketing piece, and could really do something with that. True. I could.

But I don't want my choice to go to school to be about a 'have to' - that I have to take these bullshit business classes in order to be great. Life is too short. If I am going to spend the money, time, brainpower on school, it is going to be on something I am passionate about. My life is not about working for 50+ years doing something I 'kind -of' enjoy. My life is about pursuing things I am passionate about.

I have thought about the answer of, well, what are you going to do with an English degree? I don't know. I don't really care. I already have a job. So I am not in a huge hurry to finish school to "get started" on a career. Right now I am loving the learning.

Yeah, I'm a nerd.

So my point is, my gpa went WAY down obviously, due to the D and F. After this spring semester where I got excellent grades, it has raised a bit, and will continue to go up. Sometimes you do have to get hit hard with something in order to see that that is not the path you should be taking.


Tuesday, March 8, 2011

My breasts and I say FUCK YOU



"I have been viewing your pictures on FB for awhile now and I have to say, you have a great face but you would do well will a boob enhancement. You look ok, but would be hotter with bigger tits."








Saturday, March 5, 2011

My Life in the Toilet


I think you can tell a lot about a person/s and their relationship based on one thing:

Send them out to agree on and buy toilet paper.

Now, this is not some task that will make or break a relationship, like choosing Skim or 2% milk, tucked or un-tucked covers, or even Pepsi vs. Coke – but it IS a very valuable gem of knowledge that can clue you in on a person.

Let’s be honest here – toilet paper can change your life. For those of you who are rolling your eyes, I would just like to share that at the place I work (and probably most large companys) they buy their supply of toilet paper from a wholesale office supply company who probably gets it from some other country. (why we can’t get our own “made in the USA” ass wiping mechanisms is beyond me, but anyway).

So regardless, wherever it comes from, it is made, I am guessing from the bark of the prickly pear tree, because the stuff that is in every corporate office I have ever been in, feels like using a cheese grater to wipe my ass – and the ironic part, is that it has the flimsiness of cotton candy. And so NATURALLY, we are going to put this cotton candy-like prickly pear ass-wiping bark onto a roll that is the size of a semi tire, and laugh in our offices hysterically when we visualize people in the stalls, trying to get the momentum of this “Price is Right” wheel of toilet paper spinning so you can attempt to break off more than just a ply, or a corner….I really don’t think I am alone in this when I say I find this to be a frustrating task. A public bathroom in general is not where you want to be for any extended period of time (refer to earlier “Poop Row” blog) and much less do I want to be sitting /squatting, ripping off tiny snips of paper to gather enough to clean up the crime scene!

Morale is lowered, people. When I get in to work in the morning and I realize I have drank too much coffee too early, and the first thing I have to do is make a visit…I know it is going to take some sort of “good” to improve my mood when I walk out of that ladies’ room.

But when I am home, with access to my own CHOSEN toilet paper, the bathroom visits, are pleasant, no bark, no cotton candy flimsiness…almost a joy, if you will.

So toilet paper IS a big deal.

You realize this more when you are the shotgun rider for someone who needs to buy toilet paper for. This was me, yesterday. I was the accompliss on a very daring, very informative toilet paper caper.

A good friend of mine realized he needed to buy some toilet paper for his business location, as the person actually RESPONSIBLE to buy the toilet paper, had not. So this was strike 1. He had to go do it – or else his customers would be unhappy. (the whole morale thing)
Strike 2, was actually having to go buy the toilet paper, with me present. Toilet paper is tricky business, much like if you realize you need to go buy tampons and you are with opposite sex. Not that it necessarily is bothersome, but just puts an odd, embarrassment in the air.

So myself, of course, I am all about it – its JUST toilet paper. We venture to the local grocer or drugstore, wherever was closest. On the way, I see a CVS and a Walgreens. Both of which have toilet paper for sale. So the decision is put to my friend, “CVS or Walgreens?”. And the answer I received was, “They don’t sell toilet paper.”



Sitting in the middle of the 3 lanes, almost slowed to a stop, while I try and convince this (college-educated) man, that yes! in fact, they DO carry toilet paper, along with many other products. He indicates there is a Marsh just north of us, and they have it there. I say, “Well, actually that’s a Kroger, but yes, they do have it there too. But they really do have toilet paper at CVS.”

He takes my suggestion, after an unconvincing, “Ok, whatever you say” and we head into CVS.

Of course, finding the toilet paper was easy enough, but then we get to the actual decision making. Granted, at a place like CVS, you are limited with options. I was already told, “I don’t buy CVS toilet paper.” So the generic was out. Ok fine. Charmin? Cottonelle? The Good Earth recycled kind?

We did not want ridges. The recycled kind looked scary. No patterns. I don’t want any that is too soft. Ohhhhh, that looks like it will leave the powdery-residue…can’t have that….is that a single roll or a double roll? I want a big roll, but not too big. I need to be able to hold it with one hand, I don’t want to have to use 2 hands to carry 1 roll…12 rolls is too much! Well how come they don’t have this in more than 4 rolls? Hey this one has 12000 sheets in the package, but I don’t see where this one has the number of sheets listed…here, we need to look and get a sheet comparision…..

Needless to say, I stopped making toilet paper suggestions and shut the hell up – mostly, to watch as this very common, potentially daily decision was being tossed around in the head of my friend. Finally a choice was made.

We went with the 9 roll pack of the Charmin in the red. (Big squeeze? Or something like that) He liked that, the Big Squeeze…I found that on an endcap and eyes lit up like Christmas lights – so that must have been good! I think it made his day…

In the end (har har har), never underestimate the power of toilet paper.


Thursday, March 3, 2011

The Pointless Pitfalls of Potholes and Pitstains


I feel there is no point to certain things. We have things in this life that we have to do, have to see, have to deal with...and frankly, there are a few on my list which there is no clear point to me.

1. Potholes

These fucking things. I don't understand them. Clearly, yes, every year, the ice and water and all that gets down in the cracks of the street and due to all that scientifical bullarcky, it causes the pavement to crack. Perhaps it is just me, but you might think we ought to come up with a better material to make a road out of. Quite honestly, I would be happy with gravel. Give me a nice gravel road to floor it - and then I would be like those handsome guys speeding off in the General Lee - clouds of gravel dust flying, and that great sound!!!! But - this is not Hazard County, and the doors on my car actually DO open.

But I don't get it. And I must say, THIS year, there seem to be more than potholes. There are pot-craters, pot-grand canyons....ever drive north on College Avenue???? Don't be in the fucking right lane or you will have no car left! Literally I am at the point where it is a toss up, swerve and hit the fucker beside me, or hit the potholes. (hmmmm)Well you know, I have to assess which one may do more damage - and the potholes are winning

I wish the mayor, or someone with SOME balls and authority, would drive around and hit every single one of those fucking goddamned things, because unless you HAVE to drive them, you have no idea of the additional stress it causes me on my way to and from work.

2. Pitstains

I don't understand why God gave us the capability to make pit stains. Why? When I die, I for sure have that on my top 10 list of things to ask. What is the purpose? I know for ME, the ONLY purpose they serve is to ruin a perfectly good white shirt.

For background please see -

Because I have posted about this before. BUT it has happened AGAIN and I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY THE FUCK I KEEP BUYING WHITE SHIRTS!!!! Someone, please...cut my hands off. Give me a straight jacket (just make sure it isn't white - or I will pitstain that shitup!)

I mean, so today I looked super cute in this short babydoll jumper and leggings and boots and a longsleeved white fitted t-shirt (ADORABLE)

I don't even notice that I sweat much today, for fucks sake. And I do, actually, I sweat. Like just sitting at my desk, I will sweat. But just my pits. No sweat dripping from my pit sweat. Its fucking nasty and I don't understand it

People wonder why I have an obsession with body splash and stuff, well goddamn its because I am sweating like a whore in church! Don't wanna fucking SMELL like it. (eyeroll)

Anyhow, I go down after work to get a quickie workout in, and when i take off my shirt I will be damned if there aren't 2 HUGE pit stains!!! And so at first I am thinking, oh fuck, did I raise my arm up at anyone today???? Did I give anyone a high-five, cause if I did, damn that is major trouble....

Well I end up getting done with the workout, and then having to walk with my arms down at my sides, not swinging them like a Molly Shannon in that one episode of Seinfeld - when she refused to swing her arms.



I am literally...beside myself.

So here is what eHow says:

"The cause of sweat stains is not the sweat itself as it is colorless. The discoloration in the underarm area of a garment is caused by a chemical reaction that takes place between urea, which is a component of human sweat, and deodorant. Most people apply several layers of deodorant to their armpits prior to dressing in the belief that it will keep them dry and odor free all day. However, deodorant only clogs the sweat pores for a certain period of time. A large amount of sweat can push the deodorant from the pores and right onto clothing. Due to its acidic nature and high aluminum content, the deodorant combined with sweat causes the yellow discoloration on light colored clothing." (ehow -

So lookit, I am not dirty - quite the contrary - perhaps I just wear alot of deodorant. But I mean, how many swipes of the stick are too many??? There is no directional number on the packaging...if I had some instruction I would follow if it avoided the pitstains of death!

As far as there being no point to them...there isn't. What does a pitstain signify other than you are a sweathog that CLEARLY uses too much deodorant??? Nothing. The ONLY purpose it serves (seems to be) to piss me off and make me wonder why I can never look hot in a white t-shirt after I wear it once.

So here is to one more fucking white shirt down the toilet.

Holy fuck I just spilled red wine down the front....

Mother FUCKER all to hell.....


Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Cervantes and the MicroMachine Man


One fo my classes for spring semester is a literature class. I love literature, love to read, yes, I am a nerd.

So the first book we are going to read is Cervantes' Don Quixote. Ok fine - I have never read it, so I have no idea what to expect or even think about it. At first thought, I think the name is retarded, that is my first thought.

So I pick up this book from the bookstore and this fucking thing has 800 pages. 800. Pages. (Desperately hoping for some wicked 1600's sex scenes here...) and the first 34 pages of the book is the "Editor's Note". The next 21 pages is an introduction and explanation. I don't get this...what, you failed so miserably as a writer that we are 'blessed' with NOT reading YOUR book, but reading your fucking INTRO into a book. You aren't good enough to write your own, so we will let you take up 55 pages of THIS book, just to add to your resume.

And yes, I am required to read that. Why? Why dear Professor, are you making me read 55 pages of someone elses blowharded shit who I don't give a flying fuck about? Thank you, Samuel Putnam, for your translation and editors notes, but your opinions about what I SHOULD think about this book are null and void.

So first assignment, we read 253 pages, last week and then this week we are writing about it and discussing with each other (online class IUPUI)...and we get commentary about what a "great, pivotal piece of work this is" and blah blah blah. I look to next week, we fucking end up skipping pages 253 - 456. What? Why? Why, because this is simply a story about a moron who contiually fucks up over and over and the story is OLD after page 150?

If this is supposed to be such a pivitol piece of literature, why arent we reading the whole thing?
If this is supposed to be such a pivitol piece of literature, why did you instruct me to read the entire 55 page intro (written by some asswipe) but NOT the actual literature piece???

Am I missing something?????

To Cervantes credit, I must say, in what I have read so far, yeah its pretty good, and I can see why people enjoy it. Clearly it is a total "male-book", especially during the shitting scene. Literally, that shocked the hell out of me. For those of you who haven't read it, it IS classic, this scene. Don Quixote is trying to rest on his horse for the night and he has his squire, Sancho keeping watch. Sancho all of a sudden realizes, he needs to shit. Badly.

So what is a squire to do? Well he unbuckles his breeches to take a shit right there by his master...hoping the master won't hear or smell. Ummmmm....

Don Quixote hears it, and then smells it....but is so retarded, he tells Sancho, "Oh it must be your fear I smell" .....LOL Riiiiiiiight.

All I can say is, that's alot of fucking fear....

Another scene, Don asks Sancho to check his mouth to see how many teeth he has left, after a fight, and Sancho goes over to look and feel in his mouth, and yeah....Don pukes all over Sancho...

Needless to say, I can see the mass appeal to the book - it is dirty and grimy and funny, and WAY over the top. But for fucks sake people, can we not just read and enjoy something? Why do i have to read some jackasses thoughts on why DQ's character continues to exhibit "dramatic irony"????? Why does it matter? Does it change the book? No. Does it change how it ends? No.

At any rate, I am now trying to make the decision if I try and speed read through the 200 pages we are instructed to skip (I WILL FEEL LOST IF I DON'T) before next week, or just go along with the masses in this conforming literature class.

I need the micromachine man...