If you can't say something nice, at least make it funny!

Thanks for visiting Tinfoil Magnolia, a blog about my life, times, marriage, friendships and all the strange things that happen to me and with me. I hope you find something here that will encourage you, inspire you or at the least entertain you. And if it doesn't today, check back tomorrow because, my life? honestly...

Saturday, December 14

100 Words: Starving


This post is for Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge. 

I've been out for a while, so I'm trying to get back into the swing. No better time than the present. Although the deadline being Saturday is tough for me, I'll do what I can to make it each week. 

Check out the other entries over at Velvet Verbosity's site. This week's prompt is "starving":


“Well, aren't you?” she asked “You just said you were, so what's up?”

He sighed and picked his cell phone up from the table, shuffling his feet. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, he knew something had changed. It was barely perceptible but he saw it; anyone could see it, he thought. She was starving to be full of hope again.

Glancing at the phone he noticed a text message. He pushed a button, darkening the screen, and dropped the phone in his pocket. 

He blinked and drew a breath, knowing that he was at a crossroads.

“Yes.”



Thursday, December 12

Oh, the humanity!


So, every now and then I get stir crazy in my life. I don't know how else to explain it. I love my family, my friends, my job, my husband. But sometimes I just need to not be there. So I go out on what I've come to call walkabout. 

Meaning, I leave home for time to do anything I want and usually stay gone all day, overnight or maybe just an afternoon. Sometimes I go north, sometimes south. I find a good place to write, or read, or shop, or sometimes just drive around. Mostly I pretend the stresses in my life don't exist.

On a warm October day, I was sitting in the northerly wiles of Alabama at a Panera bread having coffee and a bagel, which I can never get in my small hometown. 

I came in to a mostly empty restaurant, located in a more upscale area. The entire back half of this decent sized store is empty, because I waited until about 8 am to get here. I take a booth in the very back corner, where no one is around for miles. 

After about 10 minutes, in comes a couple. Mid-thirties, I'd guess. Blonde and tall, both of them. I'd think they were brother and sister if they weren't wearing rings and arguing so much. He's wearing a dress shirt and jeans, she's in an uber-coordinated work out get up. Shorts, tennis shoes, pullover shirt, backpack-all matching. 

Though they both have a southern accent, she talks with that stiff-jawed style that is usually associated with Boston Brahmin. From the minute they sit, all she does is complain and berate her husband (I assume) who is trying to work. 

And their manners, obviously, are atrocious. She opens her laptop. 

“Ah, mah gawd. Thu cheah'leadahs are doin' a breakfust for eveuhreyone. Cuud you make it more cahm'plicated? I sweaaah,” she says. 

“mhmmm mumbledity mum” says husband, who obviously has a whit of sense about him and is talking in low tones, so I can't always hear what he's saying. 

He's saying something about work. 

“Ah thought yew said yew lahkd working alone?” she counters.

“Well, I did but I mean, it's been 2 years,” he says.

“Wehhl, all I kno es whut ew sahd....”she counters. 

She is digging through her backpack for something. 

“Ahnd, did ew evahr fahnd mah book?” she asks.

“mmuuuumbldy mum, I don't remember having....mmmmmumblety mum..”

With mouth stuffed full of bagel, she raises her voice... “AHRE YEWH KIDDING ME. ALL AH KNOW ESS mmmmTHE LAST TAHMmmmmm I SAW IT, Immmmm GAVE IT TA EYEW. Ahnd thahts all ah kno.”



“What time is it? I really need to get home. I wanna watch that thing,” says husband after about 20 minutes of it. 

“Whaaaat thang?” says she. 

“The, the...the president is talking...” he says.

“REALLY? Really? That's where you prah-or-ahteys awre rahght nahw? Ah yew kiddin meh? Really? Thaht issss sew stoopid. Yew want to go home to watch the pressahdent? Wow. That isss the stoopidiest  thang ah've every hearhd.”

“mumbletiy.....mmmmmm..mmhmmmbletiy mum.” 

Then, later. 

She says, “Ah need a pahpah clip. Dew yew have a pahpa clip?” 

“No, I don't,” he says.  

“WHAT? That hahuge bag and you don't have ONE pahpah clip? Seriously? How cewd ew nawht have a pahpah clip?” she demands.

He's digging furiously through his computer bag. 

“One. One pahpah clip. That's all ah need, and ew dohnt have it.” 

Um. Sister? You need so much more than that. Perhaps paper clips aren't your biggest problem right now. 

“No, but I have one of these,” he says holding up a small binder clip. 

She sighs, rolling the eyes a bit as if he's good for absolutely nothing. Finally she holds out her hand. 

“Ahm gonnah need two more. Two more. Ahm gonnah need two more.”

He's on the verge of panicking as he digs through the bag. It's so bad I almost, almost, reach in my laptop bag to pull out a small pack of paperclips that I keep in there and toss them at her just to shut her up.

He comes up with another clip, a huge one. I stifle a giggle. She just looks him dead in the eye for about 5 seconds, then takes it with another huge sigh. 

As she is still sitting working on whatever she needs those paperclips so desperately to contain, he is up 
and packing his bags to leave. He basically walked out and left her because his priority was watching the president talk about healthcare and not planning the cheerleading breakfast.

She packed up her things, left their trash on the table, and followed him without a word. I thought how much I'd hate to be in that car on the way home. Or in that house. 

Sometimes I forget how lucky I am when it comes to life partners. I can't imagine being so miserable that you have to make everyone around you miserable too. Well, now that I think of it, perhaps I've done that as well. You'd have to ask husband. He's around here somewhere....

Friday, November 29

Haiku Friday-Black Friday


Just on a whim, I'm participating in Haiku Friday over at ThinSpiralNotebook.


Black Friday madness
I never understand it
Stay home, drink wine, sleep





Thursday, November 28

Gratitudes


I think everyone knows that I believe 2013 is the Year of Suck. It's pretty much universal with everyone I know. 

However, just because this is my truth doesn't mean I am not grateful each and every day. Though I haven't daily posted my gratitude, I've tried to list more than 30 things right here and right now that I feel grateful for each and every day.



I am grateful for having basic necessities. A warm comfy bed, a roof over our heads, jobs that keep the bills paid and food in the pantry. Because we haven't always had that.

I am grateful for small, simple things. Coffee that gets me through the day. Tissues that don't make my nose hurt. A cell phone that works better than most of the computers I work on.

I am grateful for those who give without asking and who take without expectations.

I am grateful for the seasons, sunsets, sunrise and the promise of each new day.

I am grateful for the people in my life. A husband who makes me laugh, not cry. Parents who love me and still think of me as their child. Friends who know just what I need to hear and aren't afraid to say it.

I am grateful for everyone who moves through my life. Because even when people hurt me, disappoint me, anger me or betray me, they are helping me grow and learn and get through this journey toward being a wiser, more understanding human. And those who bring me joy make me a person worth knowing.

I am grateful for science and medicine and doctors and research. Competent professionals have saved my mother's life this year, kept me from getting strep another 7 times this year and eased the pain of other family members this year.

I am grateful for new friends who know the real me and get me. I am grateful for how comfortable I feel with them because of that, and how I can act, say and do everything that is just me.

I am grateful for my sense of humor. Because many times this year, being able to laugh at everything I was going through was the only thing that kept me going.

I am grateful for my ability to read. Being able to create a world inside your head from words on a page is, to me, the most amazing thing. Reading has gotten me through some rough times, helped me pass long, boring weekends, helped me be a better person, helped me become a more informed person and allowed me to do my job.


So, yes, for this and for so much more, I am so grateful. 

I hope everyone has had a wonderful Thanksgiving Day.I know I personally will NOT be leaving the house on Black Friday. Rather, I'm going to be as lazy as humanly possible. Because, y'all. I have the day off work.

Sunday, July 14

Today

Today's post is for Stream of Consciousness Sunday over at Jana's Thinking Place. Join us if you will!



Today is the day. A new week. Begin anew. Reset my brain.

The events of this week have kept me in a state of anger, and I hate being that way. Life isn't just so I have to sit back and watch someone do to me exactly what they accused me of doing.

But from today on it's like it never happened. I am going to forget it and realize there just isn't fairness or justice, particularly when you are dealing with irrational people. The only satisfaction I have is to know that this person will still be angry and stewing over it and I will have moved on. Starting now.

I'm feeling the effects of the weight gain I've had over the past 6 months. 25 pounds. I need to lose about 80, but at least if I could get where I was last summer I know the foot pain, hip pain and back pain will go away, as will the body issues I've been suffering of late because every item of clothing is too small.

I don't need to be skinny, skinny is overrated and I like my full figure. But I do have a very generous number in mind where I'd like to be and I know I can make it. But it's not going to happen with diet and exercise, that's been proven to me. There's more than that going on in this body and the first step is to figure that out, then move on from there.

Monday, July 8

What the eff

I don't enjoy using this blog as an outlet for my negativity. Really I don't. But sometimes things happen, people are so unreasonably stupid, it's impossible to be ok with it. For me, it's impossible to think of anything else.

You know, I am not going to lie. I do and say things. A. Lot. of things. That could piss people off. Sometimes intentionally, usually unintentionally-only because I am just not that wiley.

But when someone who is rude to me turns it around and goes not just to my boss but my boss's boss? That my friends. Is effed. Up.

Someone who was rude to me is trying to get me fired and saying I'm rude to her. Great.

Sunday, July 7

Mondays

Tagging on to JanaA's Stream of Consciousness Sunday.


Because the holiday was on Thursday, my newspaper/work deadline was Monday rather than Tuesday. So I just started the week off with a day missing. Then I was off work on vacation the remainder of the week, which made every day feel like a Saturday.

This week, though, since I was off last week my Monday is going to be rough. I will have 4 days worth of work to get done in one day. Talk about the Mondayest of Mondays!!! I'm glad I have an intern for the next few weeks to help me out or I'd never make it.

The time off was awesome, though. Even though it was only 3 days, it's the most consecutive time off I've taken in a long time. Months. It's good to unwind.

Thursday night around 10 p.m., however, someone I know just HAD to send me a text and complain about her little league tournament and why didn't we have anything in the paper and we are not being "pro community" or working for the kids. This despite the fact that we had already made plans to have pictures and stories in the upcoming paper, and the tournament was still going on when our Monday deadline came!


****Getting that call on Thursday night ruined the next two days of my vacation because I kept getting angry about it. Now I'm irritated at her and myself for stealing my vacation.******

Sunday, June 23

Half a year

Five Minutes on a Sunday morning. With Jana's Thinking Place and Stream of Consciousness Sunday.



My thoughts are spinning this Sunday morning. So much has been going on this week. I find it harder and harder to keep up with it all.

This has been one hell of a month, actually hell of a year. I remember white knuckling it to finish out 2012 with hopes that this would be better. But no such luck.

Mom surgery, twice. Me surgery. Sis in law and mom in law surgery. Friend died. Friend diagnosed bi-polar. Friends divorced. Editor fired. I now have 2 jobs to do until further notice.

However, this year, for some reason, I feel that I've come into my own. Finally. Embraced who I am and what I stand for and embraced the fact that if people don't like that, they don't deserve to be my friend. I've met new people and forged friendships with them based on who and what I really, truly am.

2013 may go down in my history as a very complex year, or a very terrible year depending on how I choose to see it. Only time will tell.

Wednesday, June 19

Callie P.

Callie P. Herndon 1993-2013

She got quiet. She became withdrawn and avoided us. She swayed when she walked and couldn't get up on the sofa to cuddle anymore. She started sleeping almost all the time and stopped eating.

I took my 20 year old cat to the vet to be put down yesterday. By 5 p.m. I was driving aimlessly through my small town, uncertain what to do next, my dead cat in a crate in the back seat of my car.

At the age of 45 and 3/4 I am pet-less for the first time I can ever remember in my life. We always had a dog or a cat or a bird or a hamster throughout my childhood. When I got my first apartment, I adopted a sweet little black cat who I named Spaz. For obvious reasons.

In 1993 some kids in my apartment complex pulled a teeny tiny kitten out of one of the dumpsters. Well, I couldn't just let her die, could I? Or live in a shelter?

She was terrified. Spaz tormented her, and she basically stayed under the bed all day, coming out only to eat and use her box. Eventually, she became braver and more personable, but she always was relatively shy.

Once Spaz was gone, he died in 2007, her personality really changed. She became bolder, friendlier, as if she realized that she was the queen of it all. It was like having a different cat.

Callie was a great pet, aside from all the shedding. She never jumped up on the table, didn't get on the kitchen counters, didn't get into our food. Spaz did all of those things and so much more. She was totally easy to live with and wanted not much more than a lap to cuddle when she was in the mood. She loved to chase the laser pointer.

We buried her at my mom and dad's place, where Spaz rests along with my childhood cat Simon and another cat that I raised from a kitten, a yellow tabby named Bailey. The cat graveyard is now complete.

It's crazy how attached we become. However, after the suffering Spaz went through in his final week of life, and the grieving I went through, Mitch and I decided that when it was time we'd accept it and let Callie go. I didn't want her to suffer.

I can only hope when I am old and I can't eat my favorite food anymore, can't get into my favorite chair anymore and can't walk by myself without great effort....well, someone will be so compassionate with me. Honestly.....

My last look at the cutest speckled ear ever. 













By the way, ask me sometime about how I ended up driving 12 hours with a dead cat in my car.

Sunday, June 16

About my dads



This morning I am taking time for Stream of Consciousness Sunday over at Jana's Thinking Place. I already wrote a long, thoughtful blog post this morning about my dad but I'm also very much in favor of the occasional "brain dump" so I'm doing this as well.

Since I wrote almost an hour on my other post, this is the required, 5 minute, timed and unedited Father's Day edition!

My Dads

As an adopted child, the word parents, dad, and mom take on so many extra layers. There's so much meaning, so much left out, so much missing and so much extra to the words that so many people take for granted. I get to live first hand the nature v. nurture debate every day of my life. I will never know who my biological father is, or if I look like him, walk like him or act like him. I will never know if he is an artist or a writer or athlete (doubtful) or a postal clerk, cpa, or english professor.

But what I do know is that I've had two men in my lifetime who have been fathers to me. One is the dad I grew up with and the second is my husband's father, who treated me like a daughter from the moment I met him.

My dad, a salesman, taught me how to bargain, how to adapt and change to fit in, and how to get up and go to work every day. He taught me to appreciate and even crave more in life and to want nice things and be willing to bust my ass to get them.

My late father-in-law taught me that dads can be hands on, working around the house, going out and farming, hugging on their kids, demonstrative, emotional, fun loving people.

I have to great and very different examples of fatherhood before me and for that I am eternally grateful. Who could ask for more?

About my dad.....

Today is Father's Day. I've written here in the past about my husband's father, who passed away in 2006. But I've never written about my own dad.

I love my dad very much. However, I have never felt especially close to him. I've always thought it was because of his old-fashioned views about women and my extremely liberal, modern view that we are as good as men. It caused a lot of issues between us and while I've often wondered, as someone who grew up in a family with a very WWII inspired family dynamic, how did I get to be who I am?

The biggest thing I remember about dad from my early childhood is that he just wasn't around a lot. True or not, that's how it seemed. He had a job that kept him on the road a lot. I remember my brother and I would snuggle in and sleep with mom in their huge king-sized bed while he was gone. We would be so disgruntled when he came home and we were kicked out back to our own beds!

But as an adult, I know that he was working to provide for the family and being a responsible dad. So this morning I was thinking, I wonder what else has caused distance between us because I, as a selfish child (lets face it all children are selfish), saw it as a negative. Many of these things, looking back as an adult, are really a positive and have made me who I am today.

My dad has always been a good provider. He was in sales, and he was damned good at his job. The man could sell ice in Alaska. He worked hard to provide for us and while we weren't wealthy by any means, I grew up for the most part in a middle class home. Well, back when there was such a thing. There were times when things were tough, but I know he always hustled to keep us fed, sheltered and clothed.

As a good provider, he set an example of how to be a hard worker. I don't remember a day ever in my childhood that my dad did not get up, put on a suit and tie and leave the house in the morning. This includes an extended period of unemployment in the late 1970's when things were less than ideal economically in our country. I don't know or need to know where he went every day, but I know he was out hustling to find a job. He was never one to sit around and wait for anything.

My dad was always a dreamer. He always had plans and ideas and wishes to make his (and by extension, ours) life better. He liked having nice things, nice cars, clothes, and homes. Though I know it was frustrating for my mom, ever the down to earth realist who had to reel him in, he was always looking for that pot of gold.

My dad is adventurous. He has always had a serious wanderlust and moved around like a gypsy most of his life, following his job or just his instinct. One of my earliest memories is of my mom, brother and me in my pajamas on the runway at the airport picking dad up from a business trip. He used to travel a lot and was gone a lot when I was little, but I know it was just part of earning a living for the family. And it taught me how to change and adapt and make new friends easily.

After he had to take early retirement around 60, I thought he'd wither away without somewhere to go every day. He found something to do part-time and within a few years started a business that has grown to epic proportions. It has provided him and mom with a retirement income that most people don't have, and more than that it has given him a purpose for getting up and going every day. He's now almost 85 and still running that business almost 20 years after it started.

My dad is good with people. He always has a smile, a joke, a story. It's part of what makes him good at sales. He truly enjoys being around people, visiting, joking and talking to them.

My dad knows how to bargain. This is a skill that I believe is getting lost in our culture, and one that I believe every parent owes it to their child to teach. I know how to bargain if I am in a situation to do so, and I don't hesitate to do it. We, as Americans, don't like to do it– we cringe at the thought and as a result are taken advantage of way too often.

I once bought a used Mercedes, offering the dealer $13,000 on a $16,500 pricetag. I called my dad proudly to tell him about my victory. “I got it for 13,200!” To which he replied, “Tsk. He would have gone to 13! If he could do 13,200 he could do 13.” That's the kind of no holds barred bargaining he enjoys, and he's much more bold about it than I am.

My dad was our fearless protector. He did anything and everything to help us out when we were kids. He was one of those dads who took up for us and stood up for us no matter what. And now that we're adults I know we could still count on him.

My dad is a very old-fashioned man. Although sometimes that is a bone of contention for me as a very modern woman and someone who has always believed in women's equality (I honestly don't know WHERE I got it from) I believe it is a virtue, in a way. Because it makes him who he is. He is the type of man who got up, got dressed and went to work every day to provide for his family. He took care of my mom and is her best friend. He took care of us, and still does in many ways.

The thing is, I have always believed that my dad and I were total opposites and that's why we didn't get along great. I always envied the "daddy's girls" that I knew. But only today do I realize that we are so much alike it's scary.

So, happy father's day to my dad, Jack Peyton. I love you very much and appreciate all you've done for me in my life. I know I can always, always count on you.

Thursday, June 13

Here's to you!

Lately I've had a ridiculous and overwhelming urge to get out my sewing machine, blow off the dust and start sewing things.

Now, while I'm not a novice behind the sewing machine, I'm no expert either. I've made curtains, hemmed skirts, tailored in t-shirts-easy things that aren't a big deal. But pleats, zig zags, anything with curves or any kind of detail, forget it.

I can sew a straight line. On a good day. But for some reason right now I feel like I can totally slipcover my sofa cushions, make that tank dress into something cuter by adding material from a skirt that doesn't fit anymore. Or take a skirt that is too big and attach a shirt that is too short to make a cuter one piece dress from it.(Damn you Whitney!)

I know. Anyone who knows me knows. I am delusional. It's like when I watch Olympic ice skating and actually believe in my mind that I could pull off a triple axel or a salchow. What? Like it's hard?

In reality, I'm sure my sewing machine will stay safely tucked away in the closet where it allegedly is, but I have no idea because I've never unpacked it since we moved here 4 years ago. I am not even sure it made the trip here from Pennsylvania.

But the reason I'm so delusionally inspired?

I'm surrounded right now by a lot of artistic people. People with talents who actually earn a living, no matter how modest, through their arts. This, I love. This, inspires me. This, is necessary for me.

Friends who paint, dance, take pictures, write, design and create clothing, paint pottery, make soaps and candles, run galleries, and just “imaginate” their way through life.

As someone who spent the first 15 years of my adult life in a profession that was very, very wrong for me, it's hard to explain what this means to me. I now make my living in an artistic profession and have done so for almost 3 years now.

I returned to my writing almost three years ago, first through my blog and then through freelancing for the newspaper where I now work. I have written a novel that needs some serious attention and editing, and have begun a memoir that needs a lot more of everything before it is complete.

My point is this. If I weren't surrounded by so much creativity I wouldn't be nearly as inspired to be creative, artistic and offbeat. I feed off their energy. And I hope they do mine as well, in some small way.

I know now something that I never realized before. It is...stifling for me not to have other people around me who understand what it is like to have this....thing. And equally as energizing to have them around.

But artists, we're a different breed, all of us our own kind of crazy. Some reign it in and try to maintain a normal fa├žade while others revel in their eccentricities. But we all have it, whether we like to admit it or not.

We're neurotic, hyper, depressed, schizophrenic, bi-polar, split personality sons of bitches who'd run off all our friends if only they weren't as batshit crazy as we are. And the people who love us, well they'd better really love us. 1,000%, especially if they are a non-artistic ilk. We can only hope they love us not only in spite of our crazy but because of it (at least a little bit of the time).

It's been just over 3 years since I kicked off Tinfoil Magnolia in April, 2010. Although I've neglected her somwhat over the past year or so, she is not forgotten. I feel every other day that I will reign my life in just enough to at least commit 3 days per week to posting here. Sometimes (well most of the time) it just doesn't happen. But this blog means a lot to me.

Yesterday a friend of mine told me that he'd received a pretty serious diagnosis. Not one, I don't think, that he was entirely surprised to hear, not one he hadn't suspected. But hearing it in black and white, sometimes that's another thing, isn't it?

Although we've never met in person, I consider him a friend. He was the first non-relative or friend to comment or follow Tinfoil Magnolia when I began the blog. I had no idea who he was or how he found me, but I am so glad he did.

So I'm thinking of my friend and his wife and family today. His new diagnosis? Well, it's always been part of who he is. Part of the artist crazy. It doesn't change how I think or feel about him. I don't have to deal with it daily as his family does, but to change that part of him, I would think, would change who he is on a basic level. As it would for any of us.

The fact of the matter is, and this goes for all of us, it makes us who and what we are. Our narcicissms, our addictions, our faults, our neuroses-they are all part of us. Our insecurities, our grandiose thoughts, our voices and all of our personalitites. It makes life wonderful and difficult and passionate and thoughtful. And I embrace that about all of my friends.

No matter how crazy they might make me. :)

Sunday, April 28

Home is where.....

So periodically I participate from here and there across the interwebs. I'm the worst sort of lurker lately. I used to have time to participate 100% in everything and now it's just hit or miss.

But, I love the Stream of Consciousness Sunday over at Jana's blog and I really try to participate when I can because she always has goodness over there. Here's her post idea for this week, so here goes. Set a timer and riff on it for 5 minutes.

Today’s post needs no real introduction. There are places we all feel are “home” even if they’re not physically our homes. They invoke emotion in us that can’t usually be put into words, but today we’re going to try. Today’s (totally optional) prompt: Going Home

 When I was younger, we moved around a lot. So home always meant something different. Mostly it meant family though. Because we were always in a different city, had a different house. I never had the house with the pencil marks on the doorway, marking my brother and my growth.

But as an adult, living with my husband in Nashville, I always sort of thought "home" was where our stuff was. Like when you're on vacation and say I want to go home. Well, you mean your house, to sleep in your bed and smell the familiar smells and cuddle up on you own sofa to watch tv.

Until we moved to Pennsylvania, I believed this. However, once we were there, I never stopped saying "I want to go home" and he'd say, "oh, you're ready to go?" meaning leave whereever we are and go back to our house. but I meant Nashville. Home.

It's where I was at 18. It's where I was in my 20's. It's where I grew up, had bad and good things happen, learned to drive in traffic,  had my first apartment. When we would come to visit I felt like I was seeing a lover I'd missed for years and not realized it. I love that city. It's home. And I'm not back there yet, but home isn't so far away now....


Wednesday, April 17

Dear...well....everyone,

I have a lot on me right now. I am dealing with a work situation where I'm doing two full jobs. I have more responsibility than I ever expected or wanted. I am stressed out. Beyond the limits of what I ever in my life imagined stressed out to be. So. far. over the edge.

I wake up thinking about work. I got to bed thinking about work. For the past month I've worked at least partial days seven days a week. I come home and check email and upload pictures. I work 12-14 hour days when I need to and take off days if and when I can.


I'm getting about 5 hours of sleep a night-which for me is NOT enough. I'm not the most pleasant person to begin with. I'm gonna be bitchy and snappy and dismissive. It's just gonna happen. I'm stress eating, or else I would be an alcoholic by now.  I can't wear any of my clothes from last summer. I fantasize about running away sometimes.

So. When I'm a little grumpy? I know you'll forgive me. Instead of being smart back, or yelling back, or being otherwise hateful and getting mad at me, please try to show the least bit of empathy for my current situation, especially when you work with me and know what I'm going through.

If I actually ask for your help with something? Please help. It takes a lot for me to ask for help. I don't do it very often. And when you dismiss me and just flat out say no? Well, that makes me less willing to ask next time. And it makes me a little angry. Which will make you mad at me. And it is much more helpful to me for you to take an hour to help than you just being mad at me.

Love,
Marsha

p.s. I am not looking for any sympathy comments here, my life isn't worse than anyone's and I don't post this to win any votes, contests, or anything else. It is what it is and I'm dealing with it. I just have to vent sometimes.

Sunday, April 14

What am I thinking?

I'm trying something new this week. I dunno I just woke up. Saw Jana's post and I've wanted to try SOC Sunday for a while but I never had the courage. Five minutes of stream-of-consciousness writing? Brain-dump? Like I usually reserve for my journal, certainly not what I put up on my blog. But here it is.


My moment in time is now.



This morning I woke up thinking about work. It seems every morning lately I wake up thinking about work. I've had things put on me that I've had neither the experience nor the training to be ready for, and it makes me angry. Angry. Angry.

I'm doing it. I'm finishing the paper every week. I'm play-acting editor. Because I have to, not because I think I'm remotely qualified. I won't win any awards, I won't get any recognition but it is getting done.

This is hard for a perfectionist person like me. I don't like doing things, especially public things, until I'm confident in what I know. Doing this week after week is making me angry. Angry. Angry. It's making me tense. It's making me boring. It's making me ... well, a bitch. To put it mildly.

No one. No one. Gets it. Not really. Their days can go on as normal, basically. They can miss the person and be outraged that he was fired. I'm stuck with his work and with being angry with him.

Saturday, March 30

I'm the kind of girl....


I used to blog about things I did or saw every day or people who made me laugh or shake my head. My life right now is just too complicated for my blog postings. Too much back story. However, on a happy note, my work right now is amazing inspiration for a book.

So my blogger-writer-tweeter-book of face-published-damn-author friend Lance did a blog post about what kind of guy he is. I really enjoyed reading it and thought it would be a great idea to use that as inspiration for getting me back into regular blog posts. It's also an amazing way to get to know people.

So here goes-a fascinating (though unsolicited) look into the real me:

I'm the kind of girl who should wear a warning sign. Specifically "Ensure coffee delivery before engaging in conversation." Or maybe something like "contents are not what they seem."

I am the kind of girl who believes that people owe one another a basic amount of respect. It's not to be earned, it's to be lost. That being said, I'm also the kind of girl who won't forgive easily when you've pissed on me.

I'm the kind of girl who believes that everyone on this earth should be equal. It's something that was instilled in me since my days as a little girl in church singing "Jesus loves me." As an adult who is non-religious (humanist/questioning/agnostic/atheist)  I realize singing that song, and taking it to heart as I often do vs. things I heard and saw those adults in my church say or do in life....well, it is a prime example of the disconnect I felt while I was in religion.

I'm the kind of girl who shakes my head and/or roll my eyes at couples who say "we do everything together." That's just. not. right. And don't get me started about sharing an email or facebook page. That's not rooted in love, it's rooted in jealousy and control. Just sayin'.

I'm the kind of girl who believes in that overwhelming, explosive, passionate, take-your-breath-away, all-consuming type of romantic love.....but also knows that isn't the kind of love to last you a lifetime. That kind of love? It's much deeper, constant, steady.

I'm the kind of girl who says things like "I will kick his (her) ass," while sitting at an opera or a play.

I'm the kind of girl who has always gotten along better, and been closer friends, with guys than girls. Bitches be crazy. Also, I'm apparently the kind of girl who says things like "bitches be crazy."

I'm the kind of girl who can't take a compliment, I feel sometimes like people are making fun of me. i.e. "Your hair looks great!" me "What's wrong with my hair?" or "I love that dress!" me: "Well, it's a little tight on my hips."  I know, it's messed up. I'm sure there's someone in my grade-school years who instilled this belief and I'm pretty sure I know what her name was.



I'm the kind of girl to whom integrity is utterly important. I like people who are what they say they are, who act what they speak, and who show the same person to everyone in their life. Because that is who I struggle to be every day. I am not nice all the time. I'm not nasty all the time. But anyone, anywhere can be on either side of me.

And by the way, I am the kind of girl who is opinionated, passionate, strong, determined, open minded, and honest about who I am. What kind of girl/guy are you?

Wednesday, March 27

Complexities

Every time I look at my blog these days I do it with regret. I have ignored Tinfoil Magnolia for a long time now. Not purposely, but life gets busy.

When I first started blogging, there was a purpose. It was an outlet, a place for me to write and communicate and enjoy it. When I went to work full-time at the newspaper, writing became a part of my full time job and that became an outlet of sorts.

And then there's the matter of time and inspiration. More time at the job equals less time for creative writing. And less time equals inability to wait for that inspiration, which for me is important. I'm at my creative best in the mornings. Sundays, when I used to get up and blog and write 100 words, have now become the refuge for me to write feature stories or anything else work related that I can't do at the office.

It isn't that I don't have a use for my blog anymore. I have about a dozen posts that I've started and never finished in the past few months. I'm just struggling to make it work and struggling inside my own head. I start out writing with a purpose in mind. I get interrupted. I forget where I'm going and leave a half-finished post hanging until I "remember." Just like I've done right now. Too many clicks over to answer an email or a Facebook message and it flies right out of my head.

Anyway, the past couple weeks have not been great for me, but I have to admit. I am feeling incredibly grateful. For my life. For the people in it. For my beliefs (or lack of in some cases) that seem to always cross the mainstream. For those who accept me because or in spite of it and for those who reject me because of it.

For my lifes partner M who is always there for me no matter whether I deserve it or not. For having my best friend, (also M), with me every day. His respect, love, consent and forgiveness are all I need in my life. For not having to please anyone, but wanting him to be proud of me.

For new friends I've made over the past year who have made my life a lot better. While I don't surround myself only with those who are like me, it's amazing to have two ladies who can think as I think and tell me what they really feel.  Who can show me a different side of life and how to cope. Who have been through (and are going through) things I never had to go through.

I am thankful for all of these things today. And more. In the past 60 days I made it through my tonsillectomy, mom through her bypass surgery. Husband's sister and mom are recovering from their surgeries. It's been 2 weeks since my boss was unceremoniously fired and I have made it through 2 editions of the paper (with help from others in the office) and hey. The paper went out. On time. Who would have thought?

Although I haven't pulled as much overtime as I would have thought, I am utterly stressed at the thought of what I'm doing right now, and the thought of screwing something up or doing something wrong. Half of me worries and the other half says "it is what it is" (my school friend Amanda will love me saying that) what gets done first is the important stuff and the other stuff will have to ride.

Still, I fight between feeling heartbroken for him (which gets less and less) and knowing that sometimes we make our own bed when we do things we shouldn't. I believe first and foremost in taking personal responsibility and owning your actions by accepting consequences. So that makes it hard.

I also fight with anger that his actions have resulted in the rest of us having work piled on as a result. And the way all of this likely affects his family and kids. And the anger of how easily things can be swept under the rug in a small town. Actually, shock for that last one.

So needless to say, I am out on the edge right now. If ever I need an outlet it is now. I'm tired of being nice and smiling and I'm tired of feeling guilty when I am cross with people who waste my time. I am tired of being told by christians that I need church to be good when sometimes I (the atheist) am the only one who is practicing appropriate behavior.

I am tired of listening to small minded people and their small minded theories. I am tired of the straight white American male having all the power, and I am tired of everyone else just handing it over. I am tired of women handing over decisions on our bodies and health issues and our reproductive health to the government while simultaneously being outraged that they won't be able to carry an assault rifle. I mean W. T. F. is that all about????? I am tired of gun nuts, wing nuts, religious nuts, misogynists and good ole boys.

And if you read this and say these don't exist, you're in denial or you're on that list.

So, I'm grateful. I'm tired. I'm angry. But I'm thankful. And I think I have a right to feel all of these things.


Thursday, January 3

Resolute

I am only making one New Year's resolution. NO New Year's resolutions. Ever.

I just don't do it anymore, I don't believe in it. Oh, sure, I used to sit down each and every Dec. 31 and make a list of what I wanted to change in the New Year. The possibilities open to me were endless on that last day of the year. And like with everything in my life, I over committed.

Which means I failed, because no one could ever have kept all those resolutions.

Today I happened upon a blog when I was searching for details on a project I was doing. I was reading her current post, it was a blog I hadn't seen before and someone I don't know. But I glanced down the list at past blog posts and saw one titled "Resolutions 2011: No dessert for a year." Needless to say that caught my attention.

"Wow!" I thought. "No dessert for a whole year? I can't even imagine." I was fully prepared to be impressed that she had actually done it. Gone an entire year without dessert. Not on a birthday, or easter or July 4 or Thanksgiving. No cake, ice cream, pie, or pudding? Wow. That's a serious commitment. So I clicked on the post.

It was dated Feb. 28, 2011. "I have given up on the no desserts for a year."

Yep, that sounds about right.

It turns out that really what she wanted was weight loss. And giving up desserts wasn't getting her there. This was interesting to me because I know when I used to make resolutions they were always so very specific. And I know people tell you when you set goals they have to be specific-heaven knows I took enough seminars and classes when I was in real estate to learn that.

But sometimes I think we have to really think about why we want what we want. Because honestly? I don't think we're ever honest about it with ourselves or anyone else, for that matter.

Why do I want that new purse? Because I want a purse like all my friends carry.
Why do I get those new boots? Because my co-worker wears boots all the time and looks so cute.
Why do I think I should exercise? Because all the cool/fun/cute/popular girls do it.
Why do I want to lose weight? So boys will notice me. So I can wear that cute dress. So I can be smaller than my friend. etc., etc.

On and on it goes. Now there's nothing wrong with any of these things. But I think the issue is we aren't honest with ourselves about the WHY.

So I looked up the word resolution. It is a noun, a thing. A decision. Well, I've NEVER been good at making those!

resolution n.
1. the act or an instance of resolving
2. the condition or quality of being resolute; firmness or determination
3. something resolved or determined; decision
4. a formal expression of opinion by a meeting, esp one agreed by a vote
5. (Law) a judicial decision on some matter; verdict; judgment
6. the act or process of separating something into its constituent parts or elements
(I'm leaving out the medical, musical and legal definitions)

Then, on a whim I looked up resolute. An adjective.

resolute adj.
1. firm in purpose or belief; steadfast
2. characterized by resolution; determined a resolute answer
From Latin resolutus, from resolvere

Hmmm. Firm in purpose or belief. Now that sounds like me. It's more an attitude than a decision. And I have attitude. So I was thinking that perhaps adopting a resolute belief in what I want accomplished, then changing my actions to get there might just be the way to go.

Pick the big goal, the end game, the final outcome. Your path might change throughout the year as to how it is accomplished. But keep the resolute faith that you will accomplish it somehow.

For example in the above resolution, the end result she wanted was weight loss. Attack that with a resolute attitude. Try changing diet, try exercise, keep pushing until it's gone, yeah? I don't know. I just feel like resolving to not eat dessert for a year is a losing proposition whereas remaining determined to be healthy and taking steps in that direction is much more easily accomplished.

Either way, I am going to adopt a resolute attitude to change the things about myself that are a worry to me. I will do the best I can during the year this year. My blog needs attention, I need to finish my novel, I have to stop over committing, I should learn to enjoy some down-time, I want to improve my mental outlook. All of these are things that are in my control.

But what do I know? A friend called me out the other day on my commitment issues and you know what? She is totally right. So maybe this is just a way to dodge another commitment.

What do you think? Honestly....