The canary box on the shelf
Whispers it’s siren call from above.
“Let’s do this, baby.
You know you want to.”
Movie or not,
Let’s do this.
The Duds are not at all duds.
They tumble, jumble out of the box
Into my hand, sticking together
Like a platoon going to battle.
The chocolate shell hits first,
Then the caramel-icious innards.
Sticky chewy caramelly gooey
Chocolatey sugary buttery creamy,
You seduce me with your lusciousness
And you love me with your silky mouth-bliss.
That sunny box smiles like George Clooney and beckons to me.
Hey girl, let’s do this.
Milky chocolate caramel planets of love, decadence, and joy:
Happy Halloween to me.
Sigh. As the pundits and the authorities go back and forth telling us how we aren’t going to get it, more people are getting it and becoming exposed to it. Schools are closing. Quarantines are quarantining. People are calling for firings. I want to take a moment to say thank you to each and every nurse I have ever known. It was reported that nurses are protected less with hazmat clothing than doctors …um, excuse me, why? Everyone knows the doctors don’t handle the messes. The nurses do. I love the nurses’ union coming out and backing up those nurses and calling out the poor treatment they have received during all of this. When I had my babies, those nurses were angels. Cover up our nurses, damn it! Protect them! Give them proper information! They are our mothers, daughters, sisters…why are we not taking care of them as they do us?
Right now, when I think of the CDC, and the hospital management in Dallas and other hospitals like them, and the experts on Ebola, I think of hubris. And yet, they are all we have and we must rely on them. When I think of the exposed people who are flying on airplanes and vacationing on cruise ships, I think of stupidity and selfishness. Shame on them.
Kim Jung-Un Likes Cheese
So weird, right? He disappears and no one really seems to be doing anything about finding him. I mean, I guess we were just all glad he was gone? He reappears briefly and there is still no official announcement regarding his absence, but he had a cane. There was a story about possible gout. Then there was a story about his intense love for cheese. That sounds like an Aesop’s Fable…the ancient, asian dictator who ate too much cheese. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. Sometimes I wonder if he is real.
[Full disclosure, the Georgia Bulldogs are my team, so I am admittedly biased.] If he broke the rules, he should be penalized. No question. Meanwhile, he sits on the sidelines while FSU continues to play and back their scandal-prone star Winston. Fisher has chosen an individual over his team. It’s pathetic. On a side note, how am I supposed to take a guy named “Jimbo” seriously anyway? Go Notre Dame! (you’re welcome, Kristen! :-))
The most popular shirt at UGA games right now says “I’m a Gurley Girl,” (although I prefer “I am a Chubby Girl” [non-UGA fans, see Nick Chubb.]) Why shouldn’t he earn money from his name? Why should the university earn gobs of money from a shirt bearing his name? It is complicated but the universities are making off like bandits while the young men can’t even hold a job. It is an antiquated system and needs to be changed.
Girls in Country Songs
Have you heard this delicious song by Maddie and Tae? Hurray for them!! I am a huge country fan and a women’s rights fan so this is my happy song! The song is brilliant. I love how they reference all of the big bro country songs and shoot a metaphorical bird at the stereotypes and the men who love them. They have the big blond hair, fake tans, southern accents and boots of the hot girl in a country song, but their words tell a different story. It’s not about hating men. It’s about being valued for more than a pretty face and body. Apparently, Emma Watson had a big viral speech about something of this nature, and I should totally watch it, but women’s rights and feminism are about equal rights, not about man-hating. I teach my little girl that while some people think a woman’s only value is her appearance, it’s really about her heart and her brain. It’s ok to be pretty and to look nice. Just know that what matters is using your brain and treating people well. And guys, if you haven’t figured it out yet, as Maddie and Tae say, “we ain’t a cliche.” Preach it, sisters!
During this past school week, this is the question that hounded me. Are y’all the same way? Activities, homework, projects, dinner, kitchen cleanup, getting ready for the next day, Groundhog Day again, “I got you babe”…I long for the days when the kids were in bed by 8 and I had the evening to myself. OMG, why does it not end by 8 pm????? Ever!!!??? More like 10 pm for my 8th grader. I want to shout in my best Samuel Jackson voice, “GO THE F*** TO SLEEP!” Yes, this is old but I am reviving it for those of us who have teens and preteens. They need to make an older kid version.
Foul language alert…if your kids are around, don’t listen. If you are offended, don’t listen. If you are offended, why do you read this blog, anyway?
Writing is a bizarre occupation. Some days it gushes, some days it trickles out, and some days, not even a drop.
As soon as I committed to blogging every Friday, I froze up. So typical of life.
After being all down and out last week, I finally snapped out of it and tried to get it together. I spent a good part of the week organizing and working on writing job crap, and the usual family/kid/activities/household duties. Needless to say, that did not spark any great blog inspiration. So all I’ve got today is to write about writing.
As I’ve said before, I write to help me sort out the chaos of life. Writing helps me understand what I’m doing. I like to analyze things and study why we do what we do. I know when I need to write it out because I will feel a physical and mental tension that tells me I’ve got to get it out.
So I find magazines and journals to send my writing to and write the dreaded cover letters, striving for just the right blend of professionality and personality, and hoping someone will actually receive it and read it. The first time I subjected my creative writing to a trained eye was years and years ago in a creative writing continuing ed class. The woman returned it to me covered in red ink. I mean, like it was bleeding. And nothing positive. Not one single encouraging comment. Not even one kind word. Just lots and lots of red. But I prevailed later in that class when I got up my courage to read something I wrote and my classmates loved it. They encouraged me and that was when I knew I could do this. To this day, I do not use red ink pens. Sometimes on Christmas cards, but I have a visceral reaction to that color of ink. I choose a friendlier green ink or pencil to edit, whether it’s my own work or someone else’s.
You have to have a thick skin to do this. After lots of red ink, along with a great deal of helpful criticism, lots of learning, and eating humble pie, I should have the skin of an 80 year-old beach bum.
You also have to be a wee bit stubborn. Fortunately, I’ve always had a hard head. I don’t like hearing “no” and I like a good challenge. The best way to get me to do something is tell me I can’t. If you want to write for a living, you’d better grow a pair.
And I guess I’m an optimist at heart. I’ve gotten plenty of rejections but I’ve gotten acceptances, too. I just choose to focus on the latter. My first article I had published was a crazy exciting high. You have to have the lows along with the highs…it keeps you balanced. The truth is that your writing might not gel with some editors; you have to find the right ones who get you. What you write must be a good match for who you’re writing for.
It doesn’t mean that it’s fun to get rejected. It’s not fun to hear “it’s just not right for us.” The worst I got was something like “you should read our magazine to see what kind of content we accept.” I thought that was rude. I had read it. Grrrr… But you just pick yourself up, find inspiration where you can, and find someone else to send it to.
Speaking of inspiration, I was thrilled to hear today that Malala Yousafzai won the Nobel Peace Prize today. Her book, I Am Malala: How One Girl Stood Up for Education and Changed the World is incredible. I highly recommend it and thank goodness there are people in the world like her. I can’t imagine being that young and that brave. We can all learn a great deal from her.
I just threw away the frozen pizza I cooked for dinner because it turned out to have expired. I just bought it two hours ago. It tasted like ass, which is how I discovered the expired date. And that, my friends, is the perfect metaphor for the past several days.
I have set a goal to blog every Friday. I spend the week accumulating various random stimuli and then try to organize it all into a blog. I also try to make my blogs fairly positive, even if I deal with controversial issues or stressful topics. So, this week’s blog, barely coming in by 11:59 pm Friday, may just be a tad less inspiring than usual.
Which I know is life. Sometimes, as hard as we try, that silver lining is hard to reach. From time to time, we all get beaten down by something or someone and really want to shoot a symbolic bird to the universe. The universe giveth and the universe taketh away.
The news this week is part of my sour mood. Holy mother of crap, the news has suuuuuuuuucked this week! Between Ebola and enterovirus no. something, to war and terrorists and beheadings, to violence towards women by men who should know better, to the freaking Secret Service acting like idiots…it’s enough to put me to bed for the week. However, I have children to raise, dogs to feed, groceries to buy, dinner to cook, blogs to write…so I get out of bed like the rest of you and hope for better days. Anyone else feel like wrapping your kids in a hazmat suit to go to school these days? Anyone else using hand sanitizer to the point that it doesn’t even probably work anymore? Sheesh. It feels like a matter of time til it gets around to my community. Meanwhile, life goes on.
I know, I said it wasn’t going to be lollipops and rainbows, ok?
Another part of my mood is the fact that an old friend of mine is having an affair with another old friend’s husband. You know that is brutal. Everyone knows, so it is what it is. But what I don’t understand is the selfishness of two adults who don’t seem to care about the collateral damage they have caused. By the time you reach your 40s, you should know that any impulsive action you commit will affect not only you, but your ex/spouse/children and even old friends. Granted, you don’t have to care. You can be a total selfish bastard/bastette and go about your disgusting business and simply. not. care. But what about the rest of us? The rest of us care. The rest of us are completely hurting and sad and pissed and grossed out. Every day I have to try hard to be an adult because half of the time I still feel like I’m 25, but come on, every single day I have children and a spouse I have to look in the eye and feel good about myself. I also like to sleep soundly at night. Interestingly, my ex-old friend told me she had problems sleeping. I now know why. Dude. Golden Rule. Use it. It’s pretty simple. That’s why they teach it in preschool. #peopleIwanttopunchinthethroat
In times like these, it helps to count one’s blessings. (See how I’m trying to find the lollipops!!!) I have other wonderful, fabulous friends. I have some old friends who have come together like junkyard dogs to protect and love on our amazing friend who has gone through this hell. I have local friends who make me laugh and who love my children and keep me entertained and connected. I have family who loves me and my little family and drives long distances just to watch my children participate in activities. I have two children who I would die for, and a husband who puts up with my crazy and called me “shmoopy” tonight on Facetime. He was joking, but still! I have a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food in my belly. Life goes on.
And I surprisingly, shockingly, incredibly have blog readers who read these ramblings and make me keep going. So, blog readers, thank you for being a blessing in my life. Especially during weeks where the lollipops and rainbows are hard to find.