Friday, May 27, 2016

It's not fair

Popular lament for children, and, God knows, teenagers.  But lately?  Most everyone.

All my children were born in October.  Oldest at the end.  Middle in the middle.  Baby at the beginning.
And let me just tell you that the Oldest did NOT like that at all.  Being the oldest and having the LAST birthday?  Are you kidding???
So sorry my reproductive system didn't take that into consideration.

Then there's Christmas when everyone HAD TO HAVE the same number of presents.  Never mind that perhaps one present was fifty dollars while another one was twenty.
Oh, hell no.
Never mind all that.
sigh

Younger people do not have the werewithal to translate these instances into a mature episode.  They have been disappointed beyond all measure because things are not equal.

Guess what, buttercup?
They're NOT equal.  They will never BE equal.

If life were fair, we'd all live happily to be a ripe old age with the mate and/or children of our dreams.  We'd have the perfect job.  Be the perfect size.  Be paid commiserate to our position.

But it's NOT fair.

I've seen people at jobs who can't count change back to a customer.  I've worked with people who don't care to take on any responsibility because they "get paid by the hour".  Making blanket rules and statements, punishing many while not dealing with the few, is horseshit.  Yet, it continues.
I've been shot down while others have been praised for exactly the same thing.  I've seen people lose relatives and close friends at too young an age.  I've tasted tragedy too many times to count.  I've gone without.

We all have.

Life isn't fair.  You don't get to bitch and whine and moan about the complete unfairness of life in general.
No.
But you can work on changing what you're able to change.

What's the difference between a homeless person with a job and one without?  Drive.  I've seen teenagers live out of their cars.  I've known of some who walk miles to work every damn day.  So having a meltdown because you don't have a car and life isn't fair because how can you do so much with so little???
Shut it.
Help yourself.
Make an effort.

I wanted to pop on here and bitch about the Warriors' referees last night.  Funny thing about their winning home record when those exact three referees are working the floor.
But guess what?
It doesn't matter.  That's past.  We're moving on.  Nothing can be changed there, but I guarantee we're going to hand them their own ass Saturday night.

Be good.
Do good.
And let the whiners worry about what's fair and what's not.
It's simply not worth it.
*******


Tuesday, May 24, 2016

First World Problems

I need a sign in my vehicle that states:  USE. YOUR. FUCKING. BLINKER. YOU. BITCH.

My tortilla around my green chile burrito was hard this morning.  And why is Blogger underlining "chile" like I've spelled something wrong?

Draymond Green should have been suspended for kicking our Steven Adams in his kiwis. Favoritism is bullshit no matter the flavor.

I don't want to be at the day job today.

People who do NOT look back at the toilet after they flush.  SERIOUSLY???

It started sprinkling on the way to work, and I had to close my moonroof.  *insert sad face*

Thinking up a great title only to find out it's been used.

Noticing that it's incredibly hard to teach some people what a work ethic is.

People who don't pay attention.

People who try to talk to me when I really don't want to hear any voices but the ones in my head.

NO ink pens near the work stations even though I put FIVE of those bitches out yesterday.

Adults need a summer vacation, too.

Watching my lone ivy plant thrive at my desk when I DON'T water it.  This flies in the face of my miniscule horticulture conventional knowledge.  ???  And why is Blogger underlining "miniscule"?

Tired ALL THE TIME.

Not being able to go to my local Sprouts Grand Store Opening because I have to be an hour away at work that day.

Trying to find another good book to read.

BUT...here I sit at my desk.  Out of the elements.  Babies and grandbaby doing well.  Working with some good people.  Getting paid for it.

I still need that damn sign for my car, though.

Grins*



Sunday, May 22, 2016

Storytellers

Storytellers are simply the best.  

Whether it's Eminem:

I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed
Get along with the voices inside of my head
You're trying to save me, stop holding your breath
And you think I'm crazy, yeah, you think I'm crazy


Garth Brooks:

That summer wind was all around me
Nothing between us but the night
When I told her that I'd never
She softly whispered that's alright
And then I watched her hands of leather
Turn to velvet in a touch
There's never been another summer
When I have ever learned so much


Staind:

And it's been awhile
Since I could look at myself straight
And it's been awhile
Since I said I'm sorry
And it's been awhile
Since I've seen the way the candles light your face
And it's been awhile
But I can still remember just the way you taste


Storytellers walk the fine line between genius and insanity with bus routes to both.  They take those 26 letters of the alphabet and do amazing things with them.  They make us laugh and weep and feel so deeply in our souls that we ache.
Whether the storytellers medium is song, book, or television, these words and feelings become part of our make-up.  
How many of us cried during M*A*S*H*'s last episode?  How many of us laughed at the end of Newhart?  How many of us remember seeing those legs walk up the stairs by Cheers after Sam Malone said that they were closed and felt a sense of loss?

THESE are the moments that creative people crave.  They've touched you with something they've plucked from their mind and introduced to you.  They've pushed a thought outside of themselves and offered it up in this oftentimes harsh world.

Books and songs and television changes lives.  It's really that simple.

Why would I want to do anything else?
Grins*

Friday, May 20, 2016

Give me a break

We are an amalgamation.

I'm completely tired of white/black/red appropriation.  Done with it.  White people can have dreads.  Really.  They can.  As far as SACRED costumes or clothing, then that's a different story.  There is honor in those threads.  Not everyone deserves to wear them.

But let me tell you a little story about my lunch time today.

My beloved grandbaby boy had an extremely swollen left side of his face yesterday.  His Mom shuffled him off to the ER.  The local ER.  The local ER sucks.  So she took him to Children's in the city.  So much better.
I went to see him at his apartment yesterday, and both his parents were there.  His dad was picking his hair with a pick.  Little Man wanted to play with the pick.  His Mom told everyone that I had a pick, too.  I use it on my bangs.  So I dug out my little blue pick.  Little Man and I took turns putting it in each other's hair.  I'd put it in his, and he'd grin and laugh.  Then he'd walk a few steps, pull it out, and try to put it in my hair.

I actually forgot to grab it before I left yesterday.

Went back over today to check on Little Man.  My blue pick was there.  So we played with it again.  Then he wanted to grab my sunglasses that slip over my eyewear.  I found his Spiderman shades, and we played with those for awhile.  Oldest child was watching Little Man.  Middle child came over a bit before I left.
I checked the time, stood up to gather my things, when Middle Chicken looks at me and says, "Do you know that's still in your hair?"
Oldest Chicken, hereby known as Oldest Asshat, falls out laughing and said, "I wasn't going to tell her."
The little shit.

Here my 44 year-old self would be, bipping back into work, with a pick hanging out the right side of my hair/head.
Absolutely no disrespect to anyone who does wear a pick in his/her hair.  I was simply playing with my grandbaby and having a good time.

There are ways to handle situations that don't alienate others.  And I'm not saying that we should disregard what some may view as theirs, and only theirs, ancestry/lineage/traditions.

But this world is made up of people holding tight to where they came from while also embracing the good pieces of others out there.  Other people.  Other regions.  Other traditions.
None of us is pure anything.
Sorry, not sorry, if that offends you.

We are an amalgamation.  I'm incredibly thankful for that.
*******

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Social Media Saturation

I know who Kim Kardashian is.  I've never seen any of her shows, but I could pick her out of a crowd.  Same with Snooki.  Same with Nicole Richie.

I'm sure you have a few of the same.  Whenever you pop on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram these social media "celebrities" are all over the damn place.  Kim takes her clothes off.  Done to the nth extent.  Paris Hilton does something incredibly stupid.  Exponential numbers here.
And I don't care.  I honest to God do NOT care.

Celebrities don't float my boat.  I find some of them interesting.  It's true.  I'm more drawn to the good works that they've done or continue to do.  Some idiot taped another idiot saying he cheated on his fiance.  Move on.  This isn't news.  It's a damn clusterfuck, but it's NOT news.
In this day and age, when a celebrity passes gas it trends.
Spare me.
Overexposed much?

But isn't that social media sensationalism?  Who can have the most tweets or likes or whatever the blue fuck passes for approval these days?
It's enabling the needy.  That's it.  And those who have a need that isn't met up the ante.  You can only take off so many clothes, people.
And before I get whacked for stating the obvious, I have no problem with my own or anyone else's sexuality.  I write Erotic Romance.  Nudity is fine.  Art is beautiful.  I find the human body fascinating.

However, being a type of role model should probably include doing something worthwhile other than creating an app that sucks young people in so you can buy those new shoes.  There is power in celebrity.
Why would you piss away an opportunity to do some good in the world?
Give back.  Find a place that needs something only you can give.  Work with abused children or animals.  Give to the Red Cross.  Volunteer.  Read to children.  Make a damn difference.  Find a cause that speaks to you and give of yourself.

Don't buy into your own flimsy celebrity.
Believe me, that shit is marked down.
*******

Sunday, May 15, 2016

Heroes vs Villains

The only difference between a hero and a villain is perspective.

I remember discussing happily-ever-afters and heroines and heroes during a talk at the Red Dirt Festival.  I stated that I thought every one deserved a HEA and proper romance.  I brought up the fact that Medusa was not evil.  She'd been punished for something beyond her control and TURNED into a monster.  Cinderella's step-sisters deserve their own HEA.  Good God, they'd lived with their mother for far too long.  She'd twist a nun into a psychopath.  They never stood a chance.

Readers love villains.  I'm not talking about the pure evil character who tortures, rapes, and kills.  I'm referring to characters who have their own agenda and don't understand why others are so against said agenda.

Tom Hiddleston is Loki.  Loki is, perhaps, one of the most misunderstood characters of our day.  When I read Norse Mythology in my younger days, I thought he was quite the fucking asshat.  Trickster, indeed.  But the Thor movies cast him in a sympathetic light.  And you really can't go wrong with Mr. Hiddleston.  Even when he is shoving some multi-pronged eye-fucker-upper into some man's ocular orifice and grinning maniacally while doing so.  He is burdened with glorious purpose, and we love him for it.
Readers/viewers simply want to sit down with him over a cup of tea, pat his hand, and tell him that they will try to fix whatever the problem may be.

The Green Goblin in the Spiderman movies.  (Toby not Andrew.)  Dafoe's character becomes deeply twisted when exposed to the green badness.  He completely loses his shit and tries repeatedly to kill Spiderman.  But even in his death throes, his love for his son shines through.

And for some brilliant anti-heroes, how about some Boondock Saints???
Connor and Murphy just living their lives.  Working and drinking.  Then they becomes mixed up in a clusterfuck of gang wars and bodies start hitting the floors.

What do you do when you're a killer and have all these horrible predilections???  You become a serial killer of serial killers.  Thanks, Dexter.

Being a hero isn't simple.  But being a villain is beyond complex.

Have you seen Megamind?  Yes.  The Dreamworks picture with Brad Pitt, Tina Fey, and Will Ferrell as Megamind.
It's amazing.  In the beginning of the film, it shows baby Megamind in his little ejection pod heading for a wonderful affluent home with acres of land and money to spare while his planet blows up behind him.  But Brad Pitt's little ejection pod pings our Megamind away from the house and to the penitentiary.  Brad Pitt's hero character has every possible need met while our little blue-headed friend doesn't have the best role models.
Their lives are shaped accordingly.

Not every hero is a pure hero while every villain is not a pure villain.  There are too many nuances in their stories that need to be peeled away in layers to reveal why they are who they are.  Therein lies magic.

We, as authors, need to be able to craft characters in such a way that readers empathize/sympathize/understand why our characters are the way they are.  We need to let their deepest emotions and secrets bleed through the work so that readers can understand and not simply dismiss.

Not only are we the voice of the hero and heroine, but we are the voice of madness and fear.
Nothing better.
*******





Thursday, May 12, 2016

I just...can't.

I work around the beloved books.  Sometimes one will catch my eye, and I'll discover a new author. LOVE when that happens.
Other times, I'll see something so outrageous or funny that it haunts me.
A couple of examples would be:  Dick and Jane and Vampires.  Her Dearly Unintended.

Now.  I thought this whole Dick, Jane, and "creatures of the night" shit was a joke.  I grew up on Dick and Jane and Spot.  They are SACRED to me.  SACRED.  So when I stumbled across this book where this bloodsucker was a misunderstood miscreant who simply wanted a friend or two, I lost my shit.  It's a children's book.  I would have found it a bit entertaining if there was an adult riff on it.  There would have been some humor in there.  This?  Not so damn much.

Came across "Her Dearly Unintended" and simply gaped at the cover.  I think it may be a Buggy/Bonnet Romance (Amish), but I'm not sure.  I'm quite sure, however, that it would be rated G or PG if such things were applicable.  Or, at least, that's what I would think before I got a good look at the cover. This girl is about to fuck some shit up.  She has a hammer and some rocks in a bucket. Say hello to your maker because your time here is through, sucker.  I think the trees behind her are where she'll hide the body.
Anyone else feeling "The Lottery"?

Book covers go through stages/phases.  I remember when all romance showed a man's pectorals. Then we moved to only legs.  The "clean" romances usually show a young woman with a pastoral backdrop looking off into the ether.  Do they all live on farms or around livestock?  Curious about this.
I watched a TED talk one time where a gentleman who spent his professional career putting together book covers for clients spoke of tying story to art.  THAT, I understand.  But if we're going to cookie cutter it, at least choose something BETTER than that instead of worse.  Put as much effort into the cover as the book.  Don't simply slap that shit together and think it will ride.
It most certainly won't.
Grins*



Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Thunder Up!!!

It's no secret that I love our boys.
I've loved them losing, and I've loved them winning.
I love the community activities and book bus.  I love the Why Not? Foundation.  I love Serge's foundation.  I love KD's multiple charitable acts.  I love Dion's playground.  I love the fact that these wonderful young men give back to our local and national communities.
I'm so incredibly proud of their good works both on and off the court.

But can I just say...DAMN!!!

I mean, holy shit!

I'm, unfortunately, used to ESPN and cable analysts gushing and fangirling all over our opponents.  Waxing poetic about Nowitzki and Ginobili and Duncan.  My NBA twitter feed was exploding last night with gifs about Leonard's makes and steals and whatnot.
The Thunder?
Not so much.
I found it incredibly rude.

All these naysayers need to grow up and move on.  We're not a first-year team.  We are, however, being coached by a first year coach.  As much as I like Pop and Leonard and Duncan, I just have to say...BOO-YAH!!!

As Russ so aptly pointed out, we've been here before.  It's not our first rodeo.  Our young men are locked in.

Yes.  The Warriors are a great team.  With a record like theirs, you can't show much except admiration.  And I heartily concur with Curry being the MVP.  Fine.  Great.  Good.
Moving on.

Our team is better.  It's deeper.  It's multi-talented.  We're a cohesive group that works together for the betterment of the entire roster.
I'm sure we'll beat the Spurs and move onto the next round with the Warriors.
I'm also sure that NBA will continue its lovefest with Curry and Company.
But that's okay.
Because we know what we have.  We know what we need.  And we are not scared to take it.
Warning shot fired.
Grins*

Monday, May 09, 2016

What it's worth

I tend to keep an eye on Oklahoma authors.  I like to see what they're writing.  See the new releases. Things of this nature.

One of my FB friends follows Gena Showalter.  And I thought she put out an AMAZING post that my friend liked.

To sum up, apparently she had been receiving a plethora of displeased emails from fans because her newest release would be hardback.  Instead of backing down, God bless her, she doubled down.  It was a wonderful post stating that she had worked her ass off for five years before being published.  That she continued to work on her craft.  That she was intensely PROUD of the fact that this newest offering would be in hardback.
I may have stood up and cheered.
Because that's the thing, isn't it?
Those of us with artistic bents are expected to nearly give away our offerings.  Painters, writers, dealers in the abstract making it concrete.
It's horseshit.

I'm pretty sure that no one, other than the above, realizes exactly how much time is put INTO our work.  There's not a per hour wage.  There's not usually a set fee for work.  It fluctuates.  
And it's as important as teaching or plumbing or driving truck.
Because it's OUR craft.
When I first began to write, I couldn't believe how many people wanted me to simply give them the stories.  Just email it to them like I hadn't birthed and slaved and bled over each page.  
Like my work was less than.

Fuck a bunch of that.

Simply because my work is a titch different, that doesn't make it free to whoever wants it.  Could you imagine?  Going to a car lot and picking one out and simply driving it away?  No money for those who put the vehicle together and hundreds of man hours for nothing???
It's the same damn thing.

I research.  I write.  I edit.  I pick apart and put together.  I will not apologize for charging for my stories because it's my WORK.
It's my heart, but it's also my job.
So before you pop off with some nonsense about writing being easy, or start making noise about a "real job", I strongly suggest you put that in check.
Before someone does it for you.
*******

The Human Condition

My silly ass is sitting at my desk right now with a heating pad stuffed down the back of my shirt because I decided that doing weights yesterday, after a two-week hiatus, would be a splendid idea.
I'm full of such ideas.  Some I discard.  Most, I implement.
Mom calls it "getting a wild hair".
I frequent this mindset often.

I think that trying new things and being open to change are incredibly important.  I subscribe to the thought of "I'd rather be ridiculous than boring."
I believe that the only way people grow and not stagnate is through healthy forays into different settings and places.

Now.

I see a wide demographic of people daily.  I see rich, poor, male, female, literate, illiterate, functional, and dysfunctional.
Sometimes I want to weep.  When a young man in his early twenties cannot spell the word "south". Or when a thirteen-year old girl doesn't know her address.  When a mom in her forties with a daughter in her twenties and a granddaughter on daughter's hip cannot write down their address correctly, it takes my breath away.
These people will likely not be given chances for a different life.  And most are so downtrodden that they don't wish to try.  Drugs are a huge issue.  Alcoholism.  Abuse.  No sense of self-worth.  People who slipped through the cracks so often they should have one named after them.
And so much apathy that I nearly choke on it.  Some want a better life.  Most don't.  They go through the same routine day after day after day.  Existing but not living.

I don't understand it.
I suppose that's a good thing.

So while I'm in my mid-forties, I haven't given up the ghost yet.  Nor do I plan to anytime soon.  I want to embrace this time I have.  I want to spend it as productively and lovingly as possible.  I want to push my boundaries and do stupid shit.  There's simply so much out there to get into.  Why wouldn't I want to give it a go?
I would.
I will.
Grins*

Sunday, May 08, 2016

An app that tries to kill you

I want to be a runner.
Not some long-distance marathoner all lanky and muscled with 2% body fat.
No.  I simply want to run.

Thought I'd download Couch to 5K app so I could get a hold of that.
Holy Mary, Mother of God.
I can easily walk an hour and a half on a treadmill.  I'm all sweaty and funky, but I can DO it.
I created a playlist with songs containing 123 beats per minute and had that in the background while this sadistic animated bitch with red hair told me when to brisk walk and then jog.
I  made it 12 minutes of the 20.

I'm unamused.
My body is also not laughing.

Right hip is trying to secede because she's saying she didn't sign up for this shit.  Poor girl has arthritis.  But not so debilitating that she can't run.  She just doesn't WANT to.
Neck is all stiff and out of sorts.
And the calves?
Mutiny, I tell you.

Doesn't mean I won't try again.  Simply means I need to ease into instead of cannonballing, which is my way.
Think I'll pick back up Wednesday after work.
See if I can convince myself that baby steps forward are better than sprinting and then crashing.
Wish me luck.
Grins*

Saturday, May 07, 2016

Potatoe Potatoh

Had an eye appt yesterday.  You know, on that RARE day off.
piffle
I've worn glasses since I was twelve.  So I became rather pleased when I realized I could take my glasses OFF to read books.  This was whole new territory and rather exciting.
Unfortunately, the eye doc did not concur.
I have a prescription for "progressive" lenses.  That would be...bifocals.
Color me displeased.
Also seem to have a bit of pressure behind my eye so that's all sorts of fun, too.  Going to have to go back beginning of June to have some more tests.
Good times.

I never wanted to wear bifocals.  Does anyone else think of Ben Franklin, or is that just me?  Won't be offended if it's just me.  Oftentimes, it really just is.
sigh

Doc was asking about people in my family, and if there was a history of eye issues and whatnot.  I had the pleasure of telling her that no.  I believe I was the only one with such issues.  Along with the only one to wear lenses at such a young and tender age.

It sucks.

Speaking of days off, what a rot.
On those rare days, we are expected to shove everything we don't have time for during the week into a day or two.
This also sucks.
Sucks butt.
Both cheeks.
Do you ever simply want to WALLOW in your non-working day?  Stay in your pajamas?  Leave the toothpaste on the side of your mouth?  Look like Einstein on a bad hair day?  You know...just not give a shit?
Me, too.
Until the realization dawns that at least one of those two days will be spent running around with a list on your phone from five different places that needs to be done before you can go home and collapse.
Is this just me, too?
Doubtful.

Working the day job today.  Off tomorrow.  Already have a couple things I need to do.
Of course I do.
*******

Tuesday, May 03, 2016

It's a trap

I don't understand why I'm not independently wealthy.  Just doesn't seem right.
Bought a new car Friday, and I want to quit adulting for awhile.  Just want to open the moonroof, crank the tunes, and annoy the shit out of everyone driving around me.
Not too much to ask, right?

I would have loved to have anything remotely like I have now back in the day.  Couldn't have afforded the SOB, but man, it would've been brilliant.
And now that I can afford the SOB, I have to work in order to do that.
What fresh hell is this?

So.  Must work to afford car.  Just want to go drive car but can't because of work.
Quite blows.

I always thought it would be a great thing to be an adult.  All adulting and stuff.  Making decisions. Working for my own money.  Spending my hours like I want.
Ha.
Ha some more.

It's a trap.
I didn't have the knowledge I have now when I was young and so were my kids.  I didn't realize, at the time, how precious that time was.  I don't remember any Christmas Break or Spring Break with any degree of clarity.  But I do remember grabbing books from the library and going home to read FOR HOURS uninterrupted.
Total.  Complete.  Bliss.

Now most of my hours are spent doing something else for someone else so I can afford my shiny new car.  Her name is Pearl, by the way.  She's a good kid.

I will, however, instruct my precious grandson about what I've learned.  Teach him to embrace the moment he is in.  To not wish away time because it doesn't slow down.  It spins faster and faster.  I'll try and show him to appreciate what he has, when he has it.
And maybe view childhood and adolescence with a little more love instead of disdain.
I'll enjoy those moments with him.  Treasure them.  So when I'm old and dotty, he'll know that our time together was one of the best gifts I had ever been given.

And Syrus, don't grow up too quick.
It's a trap.
Love,
Mimi*

Sunday, May 01, 2016

Three day weekend

I love three-day weekends.

Took off Friday but didn't rest.  Went car shopping.  Now I have a beautiful Honda CR-V something or other with a moonroof.  The process is incredibly exhausting.

Saturday was grandson's first birthday party!!!  Can't believe Little Man is already one.  We drove an hour and a half, one way, to get there.  All totally worth it.

Came home to watch Game 1 of the second round of NBA Finals.
Holy shit, the Thunder stunk it up.  Awful damn game.  Painful to watch.  Hoping they watch film, adjust, and come back to beat the Spurs' ass.
So that was Friday and Saturday down.

Picked up a few groceries this morning.  I've actually been awake since 6:45 am.  This is the highest order of horseshit.
gah
I HATE mornings.  Not so much mornings, per se.  I loathe WAKING UP.

Now it's the last day of the weekend with Monday looming like a zit on prom night.  And I'm tired as hell.  But I don't want to take a nap because then I'll feel as though I wasted the whole day.
Man, talk about a dilemma.

I'll work on the writing a bit and see what pops.  Maybe notes.  Maybe editing.  Maybe I'll amaze myself, and my grey matter will rebound with a force that is unstoppable.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I kill myself.
Grins*


Thursday, April 28, 2016

More short stories

I tend to forget what a writing blitz I had with my short stories.  Found at least two more that I can publish after I look through them and add covers.
I had one each in seasonal offerings.  Then another Winter one.  Looked through my zip files to refresh my memory.

Weather didn't do much here the other day.  While I sometimes become increasingly agitated with local weathermen, they try to outdo each other daily, I am happy that we have some of the best radars and equipment available.  Now we're looking forward to a wet Friday.  Meteorologists in this state are bashed quite a bit with some in particular exposed to more venom than others.  They do, in fact, need to dial it down before they "cry wolf" one too many times.

Off tomorrow with boy child's first birthday Saturday.
I'M SO EXCITED!!!
Yes.  Caps.  Because...my grandson.
I'm sure he'll be burnt around the edges from overstimulation by the end, but I'm sure he will enjoy the festivities.  Going to a local children's museum.  Since Little Man is walking now, it'll be interesting to see what he gravitates to.

I like to read cookbooks.  Read them like regular books.  I have simple tastes and often look for recipes that I can try at home.  Good luck with that.  More than half a dozen ingredients, and I will move on now matter how good it sounds.
Put "It's All Easy" on hold and received it at the library today.  Gwyneth Paltrow's offering.
Let me start by saying that I've read quite a few stories from and about her.  Most of it stating that she can't possibly understand what less affluent people need or want.
But this cookbook is kick-ass.
Kick.
Ass.

Just goes to show.  One man's bullshit is another man's fertilizer.
Grins*

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Not me

I've tried for a small eternity to pull a ponytail up and have that neat fishtail/fan look that women with straight hair have effortlessly.
Mine looks like a pig's tail.  Thanks curls.
I've tried for years to straighten my bangs so they look halfway decent when I get to work.
I have a nice cowlick right in the middle.  And let's hear it for Oklahoma humidity.  Looks like I've been in a sweatshop for three days.
I don't look cute when tired.  I give "resting bitch face" a whole new definition.
My fingernails grow out square.
My middle big toe is the longest.
I won't pretend to laugh if something isn't funny.
I have bags under my eyes that you could pack a whole family's wardrobe in.

I'm not Tigger.  I'm more Kanga without the cool pocket I can put shit in.

Why is any of this important?  There's a war out there about image.  What is "right" and what is "wrong".
How a person should act.  How they shouldn't.

But I don't give a flying fuck.

I'm forty-four years old.  I'm a mother of three and grandmother of one.  I've loved.  I've lost.  I've picked myself up and brushed myself off.  I've cried.  I've laughed.
There are days I simply struggle to make it through.
And I used to kick my own ass for this.  Why wasn't I doing more?  Surely I could add three or four more things to my waking hours to be more efficient?
What a slacker.
Um...no.

It's hard when you're conditioned to go and do and do and go until you drop.  I still kick myself every now and then for not doing "enough" in my opinion.

I used to work a twelve-hour shift from 7 pm to 7 am.  Pick up my kids from daycare at 11 am.  Take the Pre-K and Kindergarten babies to school and stay up with the baby to do it all over again.
I was freakin' Superwoman.
Now I drive an hour to work nine hours and drive an hour and a half back home.
Guess what?  I'm STILL fucking Superwoman.
And that won't change because of what I do or don't do.
I need to accept my limitations and learn to say "enough" even though I sometimes wonder if that's in my vocabulary.
So cut yourself some slack, my friend.
You do you.  Do what you can.  And quit kicking your own ass.  Your time and energy are better spent elsewhere.
*******