Variations on the word rain

fire away! i don't think i can condense or repress my thoughts any more than i have already. now i have no idea what to do for the rest of the evening. it has begun to storm here, the wind is moaning against my door frame, damn the draft. i knew i should have put new stripping in. a towel will have to do for now. every now and then a smattering of hail hits the windows and the panes creak as if they want to give up the fight, i have one cheater log left. can't decide whether to set a match to it now or wait a little longer. the walk to the train station tonight was miserable. the rain, biting cold, like ice water striking my skin. but inside it was warm. the lights shuddered and blinked out. the world looks beautiful from my box. i'm writing in all lower case, and much too long, to annoy glen boyd. to buck against his pedantic rigidness. to show him that all words have their charm, and the variations in their delivery reflect the vagaries in the mind of the writer. i have my charm as well. and vicki feaver on my mind... sharing one umbrella, we have to hold each other, round the waist to keep together, you ask me why i'm smiling--it's because i'm thinking, i want it to rain forever.

 

Currently Reading: The Red Door by Charles Todd
Look for the review soon on my blogcritics writer profile page.

David Kelley: How to build your creative confidence

Guided Mastery.... Creative Confidence  http://support.ted.com/

It happens from time to time that I lose myself inside myself and I must search for the little bits scattered about to remind me of who I am... To remember the things that inspire me to create.

Poetry, a photo, a note tucked into my journal: These things eventually lead me back to my own unique voice.

"Like Raymond Carver I also have a photograph of my father. I found it last night whilst sorting through boxes looking for Christmas ornaments. It's a photo I had put away intentionally, buried deep under old work files and papers I had written in college. A photo that I had no desire to see again.


This picture was not given by him. My aunt had given it to me when I turned seventeen. "You look so much like your father," she had said, and I remember feeling the creep of discomfort, looking away. I didn't know how to respond. As I recall I mumbled something about my uncle telling me that before. She went on as I sat in awkward silence, her tone collusive; the family was just outside on the patio and this was forbidden conversation." A Photograph of My Father

The Commitment to Write

LOGOS

Do You Recognize These 10 Mental Blocks to Creative Thinking? From Copyblogger

Check out who I'm talking to now: Interviews From The Edge on Youtube    Interviews From The Edge on my Technorati Writer Profile    Blogcritics A GEEK GIRL Profile   Currently Gearing Up To Cover the 2012 Concert & Music Festival Season   Look for the reviews soon on my National Music History Examiner page and my Salon Blog: Music & Concert Guide.  Hang with Me on Twitter: @a_geek_girl

A woman of contradictions

Once upon a time I wrote...
I did warn you that the sea reminds me of my own turbulent spirit. Inviting you to dive in one minute and slamming you against the rocks the next. Are you tough enough to weather the gales? Those violent storms?

Shakespeare wrote in 'As You Like It'
"They are in the very wrath of love, and they will together;
clubs cannot part them"

I'm a woman of contradictions. I wonder if you have the strength to bring me to my knees. Many have tried. Few have succeeded. Like water I slip from their cupped hands.

And now I am restless.
Unsatiated.

I sat tonight, candles glowing on the mantle, the moon, a shadowy orb, illuminating the night outside, and thought of this. What would it take to break through this shroud that has covered my mind with darkness? I miss the shipping forecast. I miss the dreams I had of traveling across dark waters to find my peace. I'm unable to find the words to make that connection again. I feel far from myself, the self I used to be. I want to lash out, to get in my car and drive until I'm in a place that holds none of the familiar bonds that are forcing me to be grounded.

And yet I long to be stopped. To be forced by your hands into unwilling submission. I want you prove to me that you'll never let go. To fight for me. I want to feel the leathery bond as you slip it around me, pronouncing your dominion over me.

I want you to make me feel alive again.


Transient

The shipping forecast for tonight...
There are warnings of gales in Viking North Utsire trafalgar Shannon Rockall Malin Hebrides Bailey Fair Isle Faeroes and Southeast Iceland.

Listen to the BBC Shipping Forecast with me.


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A Day In The Life - Grace

I received this email in February from a woman who used one of the breast cancer templates I created to design her friend's breast cancer journal, A Day in the Life

Hello T~

I wanted to let you know that I have created a blogspot template for a friend based on your goinpink_evening template.

Tuesday evening I received a panicked email from one of my blogging friends. She's recently been diagnosed with breast cancer. She found your template, and tried to install it. Unfortunately, she was unable to understand the HTML after switching back to the Classic Blogger format. She was afraid she'd lost all her widgets in the process. She asked me to help her out, and sent the .zip file for the template.

I decided to use it for inspiration. She loved the header graphic, and the color scheme you'd created, so I took it from there.

Anyway, long story short, I want you to know that I've given you credit, and a link. If you'd like to go take a look at the site, you'll find it here.

From one geek to another, thank you for your inspiration... it made the gift to my friend a joy to create.

Warmest Regards~
~C

That note made the tears and hair-pulling I went through to build those templates (quickly - Pink For October was around the corner) worth it.
And seeing the final result filled me with so much pride.

I also noted how she credited herself and I on the side bar.
Template created with love for Grace
by :: CeeCi
Inspired by :: WoodNotWood
Awareness Template#4
Just beautiful.
Please swing by and show Grace your support on her brave journey.

 

Currently Reading: The Red Door by Charles Todd
Look for the review soon on my blogcritics writer profile page.

Vertigo

"Vertigo is the conflict between the fear of falling and the desire to fall."
~~ Salman Rushdie

I know I've been absent the last few days, but I needed to shut myself down for a bit. The weekend was a forced rehabilitation time for me, although I did have to work (crazy situation there that I'll explain later). I had visited the doctor Thursday thinking that I might have strep. I've had an upper respiratory infection for nearly two weeks that has refused to be coaxed away by any medication. Last week it migrated into my ear and I started feeling dizzy. Really dizzy. Disoriented.

Then it got worse. I can only relate it to the feeling that I used to get as a child after spinning around in circles. My eyes couldn't focus on one spot. I could only stop myself from falling by reaching out and holding onto something. I would be overcome by waves of nausea that felt like sea-sickness and then a feeling that I might pass out.

The doctor discovered that I've developed an inner ear infection that has caused vertigo. I haven't been able to drive, I can't sit at the computer for long and I can only read when I'm laying down. When my eyes shift right, my body drifts left. I find myself walking into things. If I stop suddenly whilst walking I feel like my body is still moving forward. I have to grab onto something until the feeling passes.

The vertigo is not consistent. It comes and goes. I never know when it will happen and I don't know what sets it off. According to what I've read it can be brought on by simply looking in a certain direction or moving my head in a specific way. I can be feeling fine one moment and then unable to stand up straight the next. And I have no idea how long the spell will last. It has made life miserable.

The doctor gave me medication to help, but the only way to get rid of vertigo is to see a specialist who is trained to do certain head-moving exercises to re-balance the fluid in the inner ear.

For now, I'm taking the meds and resting.
I will be back soon.




Currently Reading: Web of Deceit by Darlene Cox
Look for the review soon on my blogcritics writer profile page.

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The New York Plan HNT

It has been a long time since we did this. A long time since I fell into her and let her take control. And now, after many plans thwarted and agendas changed we had finally settled on a date. We would be together in December, after Christmas. A short visit to re-connect, then back home. Work would be waiting. I wondered if things will be like they were before? I wondered if I could get our favorite room in the Bowery.



Then it all fell apart.

I found myself going through our old photos and thinking of what might have been.
I can't help missing New York.
And her.





The original NYC HNT
Happy HNT
See the man, OS!
Forgive my absence... I've been nearly dead.





Currently Reading: Web of Deceit by Darlene Cox
Look for the review on blogcritics.org A Geek Girl


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A Cold Night in the City

The last two nights have been cold. The kind of cold that wraps itself around, radiating inwards. Making me feel fragile. Flesh over glass. Breakable.

I took the train all week. That has been my favorite mode of transportation since taking an Amtrak trip with my mother when I was little. I traveled by train all over Europe. The subways of New York and DC. I find there's something soothing in the rhythm of locomotion. Particularly on the night train, when the lights blink off randomly and the only sound in the world is the bump and whir of metal on metal.

I missed my train both nights. Projects that ran late so that I found myself sitting at the platform in the biting cold, alone. Wind gusts at 20-25 miles per hour and a wind chill factor in single digits have sent this city into hibernation. They are not accustomed to cold here. They've not experienced the kind of cold that I did growing up on the Atlantic Seaboard. They've never known the bite of a Nor'easter nor the sudden blast of cold air off the Chesapeake-- it sucks the very air from your lungs, like a punch in the chest that makes you gasp.

I felt the subtle vibration of the metal rails that signals the approach of a train and began gathering my things. My hands were numb, even with gloves and liners on, so that I had a difficult time making a fist around the straps of my bags. As I stood up to wait for the train to show itself around the bend in the tunnel a homeless man wandered past, wearing most of what he owned on his back and carrying the rest in black garbage bags. He walked past me, his mouth moving with words that I could hear, but not understand; the specific cadence that all city dwellers recognize immediately, the song of insanity. He did not look at me. I did not exist in his world.

I moved towards the edge of the platform to wait for the doors to open, anticipating the blessed rush of warm air that was sure to come. The homeless man had stopped talking now. Standing rigid on the far end of the platform he suddenly turned and shot me an angry look. He crooked a dirty finger at me and said "You're all done for." Then he turned and continued on his way.

When I got home I followed an old, familiar routine. A routine born on the Eastern Shore as a teenager. I immediately put the kettle on to boil for hot tea, turned on the stereo and then went into the bathroom to start the shower. I stripped off the many layers of my winter clothing, leaving them on the floor where they fell. Too cold to bother with them now.

I stood under the water, slowly raising the temperature from warm to hot. Letting the heat melt away the rigidity in my muscles. I listened as James Morrison sang from the other room.
I've been twisting and turning in a space that's too small
I've been drawing the line and watching it fall
You've been closing me in, closing the space in my heart
Watching us fading and watching it all fall apart


I felt my body begin to relax. Memories of home filling my thoughts.

I dressed in warm, flannel pajamas with thermals underneath and then poured a cup of hot Lady Grey. I picked up the package that had been sitting on my doorstep, abandoned no doubt, by my poor half-frozen postman after a few quick bangs on the door that got no response. I ripped off the parcel paper to find a hardbound copy of The Red Door by Charles Todd, the next book I'm due to review -- another commitment that I made to myself. I felt the momentary tingle of anticipation that I get when new review material arrives, then I stuffed it into my book bag for safe keeping and sat down to write.

The words of the homeless man are with me still. "You're all done for." I remind myself once more that this is not my home, it's just a place I'm staying until I get back there. I fear that if it's not soon his words might prove prophetic. The Sea is calling.





Currently Reading: My Life and Other Lies: Tales from the Writer's List <-- Click to read the full review. by Steve Pitt. A collection of wickedly funny short stories from a man whose name nearly became a social disease." A Geek Girl at blogcritics.org

Links:
Read with me?
The next book for review is The Red Door by Charles Todd.
Listen with me?
The song is called The Pieces Don't Fit Anymore from the album Undiscovered by James Morrison



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The Commitment to Write

Most of us who are passionate about writing find at some point that the desire to write and the words to express ourselves have disassociated themselves. Some people call it 'Writer's Block', others 'a dry spell'.

I call it 'The Slough' and I immediately set about looking for inspiration to overcome it as soon as it begins to rear its ugly head in my world. I habitually read several blogs on writing tips and it always rejuvenates me when I find other bloggers who write well. There are three problems I've found with using this approach:
1) I find myself reading and reading, but not writing a word myself.
2) I write (at least on this, my personal site) in rich and slightly florid prose. A self-affirming response after being forced to write more rigidly elsewhere. Most of the sites I enjoy reading are more journalistic, geeky, which only serves to reify my feelings of literary alienation.
3) I get great advise from sites on writing, but find that most of them are focused on writers who write in 'niches' with sites dedicated to one subject or one theme, whilst my writing is based on the vagaries of my emotions and my own chaotic experiences.

I've always assumed that I write geek for my living, but the Muse is only truly with me when I'm writing from my heart. And when I cannot get to the place where I can express myself the Muse will eventually return and free me from my cursed bindings.

That whole ridiculous idea was shaken when I landed on Joanne Huspek's website.
joannehuspek.wordpress.com.
For the first time in a long time I was getting useful writing advise that would change my philosophical view of writing. She impressed upon me the idea that writing is work no matter what the subject, and that I must make a real commitment to it. A commitment of time and attention. The saving grace for me is her approach to writing; it makes no difference what I write, as long as I write. That I don't have to look at writing as a packaged product. A 'thing' that must have a beginning and end. And that I don't have to write with the idea of anyone else reading it, I just have to write. I've now realized that the only real defense I have against 'The Slough' is to commit myself to a certain amount of writing time and/or a minimum amount of writing.

Her advise is simple.
Five Tips that have changed my perspective on writing.
Adventures in Writing: Kicking Your Muse to the Curb

"There is NO such thing as a Muse.
Getting anything accomplished, including the task of writing, takes blood, sweat, tears and more tears."
I must confess how vulnerable I felt in finally admitting to myself that what she says is true. There is no Muse who will eventually come to my rescue. Sad. I had wanted only ever to be her amanuensis. I had been so patiently waiting-- and at least I had someone else to blame when 'The Slough' was upon me. Reassured in my conviction that Erato was just being coy.

"Set up a daily minimum word amount."
I'm definitely going to put this advise to work. I've the terrible habit of avoiding writing until I feel that I have something of substance, and quantity, to write. She has inspired me with the idea of a daily writing minimum. I used to carry a mini-journal of sorts, jotting down random thoughts and observations that usually opened my mind's creative eyes and also gave me material to fall back on when I was feeling blocked. When I stopped lugging it everywhere I don't recall. I would imagine it had to do with not having room and time for it at work. I dug it out of my old briefcase on New Years Eve as I made my commitment and resolution to write every day. I must admit to being overcome with panic when I realized that it was no longer in my book bag. I had poured my thoughts, and my heart, into that purple-striped, elastic bound journal. I had stuffed its pockets full of scribbled notes and photos during my travels to New York, Las Vegas, Paradise Island, not to mention the hastily jotted fragments that screamed in my head for release at red lights and whilst standing in line at the grocery store.

And the time commitment?
"Set up a daily time for writing."
Needless to say this is the most difficult part for me as a woman. More and more over the years I've allowed my own desires to be usurped by feelings of guilt. Guilt that I'm being selfish. Guilt that I'm being negligent in some way if I put my writing ahead of the priorities of other people. Resentments that build on all sides when I refuse to be at the beck and call of my career, and all the while I feel my internal clock ticking a mournful countdown on the woman that I had thought I would be. All of the goals that I've put off thinking that I had so much time. I had broken my vow to myself. My own desire, a jilted lover left at the altar. 'I want you, I do. So much. But not right now, just sit quietly and wait for me. Don't change. I won't be long.'

But I had been long. And I returned changed. My passion had become inconvenience, I had acquiesced to the label that others had forced upon it.

I have decided on a time, either very late or very early depending on your geographical perspective. I will not let work interfere. If the words are there, the journal comes out. But I must learn to sit myself down with the intention of writing, no matter whether the words are in the mood to be had-- I have to put pen to paper. This is about training and self-discipline. Changing my habit of waiting until I have something 'worthy' to write.



In a moment of Epiphany I realized that I've treated my desire to write and my commitment to writing as two separate issues, when they should have been one all along. The commitment to write should be the fulfillment of desire, not a burden to be overcome. I don't know when this changed for me, when the passionate writer that I once was became so hard on herself. When my self-criticism became so severe that I found myself unable to enjoy writing just for the sake of doing it.

I could blame it on writing geek. A very specific format. Rigid. I feel like it locks me into a particular way of writing and it takes time for me to find my own voice again.

My Commitment to Write
So the commitment I've made is to write a minimum of two paragraphs every day. It matters not what I write-- or if it is on the web or in the little journal that I have once more secured in my book bag. I just have to write.

A Place to Write Your Heart
As I had written in Logos I have many scraps of paper lying about with half finished thoughts. I've decided that this blog should be the place for such fragments, the pieces of myself that I cannot bear to throw away-- although it will no doubt confuse anyone who doesn't understand my purpose. I started another journal elsewhere. It will be used for more formal writing. I cannot link it here, not yet, but I'll explain all of that later... Just know that there will be nothing there that will not be, or is not already, here first. This space will remain the home of my 'private' writing as well as random thoughts and observations. Probably far more interesting in the long run.

Some posts here will go down and be moved as I weed through and begin the process of dividing myself into two selves.
In the words of Anais Nin
"There were always in me, two women at least".
"The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say."

I shall attempt to say all that I could not.
This will be my journey.

Joanne Huspek is one of my favorite fellow writers on blogcritics.
She's smart, funny and very prolific.
You can visit her profile page here.
http://blogcritics.org/writers/joanne-huspek


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Currently Reading: My Life and Other Lies: Tales from the Writer's List by Steve Pitt. The review will be going up on A Geek Girl at blogcritics.org

Christmas Humor

The story of how the angel ended up on top of the Christmas tree.

When four of Santa's elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones, Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule.

Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her Mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more. When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out Heaven knows where.

More stress.

Then when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards cracked, and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys. So, frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered that the elves had hidden the liquor, and there was nothing to drink. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider pot, and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw end of the broom. Just then the doorbell rang, and irritable Santa trudged to the door. He opened the door, and there was a little Angel with a great big Christmas tree.

The Angel said, very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't it a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?"

And so began the tradition of the Little Angel on top of the Christmas tree.



(Repost)

HNT Writing Geek

I've been writing all week. Every spare minute. All geek.
The little mouse on the wheel in my brain has packed his cheese and left a note that says 'Gone Fishing'.

It's good to be home again.

Happy HNT.
See the man, Os


Repair Windows Files Using System File Checker
HNT themes for December:
Thursday, Dec. 17th will be the Christmas HNT
Thursday, Dec. 24th will be the Three Christmas Wishes HNT
Thursday, Dec. 31st will be your Year's Favorite HNT

Currently Reading: I'm working on my latest book review for Blogcritics. Dead Air by Deborah Shlian and Linda Reid ~ due for release in December.


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Logos

Halfway through shaving it came–
the word for a poem.
I should have scribbled it
on the mirror with a soapy finger,
Gone Forever ~~ Barriss Mills

Lately it seems as if words have lost their meaning. Where once there was a wealth, seemingly endless, now there is a dearth. I feel empty. Exhausted.

Mnemosyne has cradled my head and brought me back to places past. Places which I have no desire to revisit. I wake up in the middle of the night to whispered words, the voice my own. Yet they will not stay with me. I force them from my mouth again and again, as if speaking them aloud will transform them into something substantial, some form that I can retrieve in the morning's light. But this is an exercise in futility. What I have left, the gossamer remnants, are scattered on random slips of paper that I leave where they fall.

I find them later and wonder why.

Her memories have been lost in death.
I mourn for them.

My blood runs, thick as stones

The mind's eye is deceitful.
It shows us a face we can live with.

Perhaps I just need rest.
so that we may sleep... when sleep will have us

I have no choice. I can never connect the psyche and the logos in this state.

I will sleep
when the last star
has lost its light
and my love is
wrapped around me
Like my own skin

Let me tell you this once
(I will not be able to say it again):
I have lost the meaning of words.
Heavy, they ripped
away from the sounds,
fell into cracked ground.
Naming ~~ Nancy Mair

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Currently Reading: I'm working on my latest book review for Blogcritics. Dead Air by Deborah Shlian and Linda Reid ~ due for release in December.

Shakespeare for Telemarketers

Featured Blog: Fizzle and Pop

Collin is one of my oldest blogging buddies. We also worked together on the Fizzle and Pop Writing Forum a few years ago. A project that was a blast to be a part of, but extremely time consuming to moderate -- it ended with a fizzle and no pop.

That may have been my fault. I was moderating at the time and the last writing challenge ended with people wondering in comments if I was dead. And I was. Okay. No I wasn't. But don't tell them that. They might want their burial donations back.

So we never got to the voting stage on the last challenge. And now the writing forum stands as a memorial to the community of brilliant, witty writers who once played there. We may still have links on sites like a Harley Davidson shop who apparently thought their visitors would like the Motorcycles Vs Carousel Horses discussion. And the pet store who must have thought that when Collin wrote about 'petting his chinchilla' he actually meant a real chinchilla. I'm sure their visitors must get a kick out of it when they read and realize what he was actually talking about. Unfortunately this has become a Members Only section with a note from Collin:
These are games that are open to members only.
Because they're dirty and stuff.
The games.
Not the members.
I told you he was funny.

I was reading a post on the beefjerky blog on 101 Creative Ways to deal with telemarketers.
* Tell them you have that stuff for sale that they've always wanted, but this time it's gonna cost them. If they ask what stuff, tell them 'you know the stuff i'm talking about'

That made me laugh.

Then I read The Job Search Continues by Collin...

I came across a posting for "Phone Actors & Actresses"... I'm thinking "Sex Line." That, or perhaps they call up people and do Macbeth at them until they're paid to stop.

*ring*ring*

"Hello?"

"And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence."

*click*

I thought to myself that perhaps if you combine the two...
Shakespeare For Telemarketers.



You might actually have a real solution to the telemarketer problem. I would recommend that you memorize some Richard III and recite it in a loud, obnoxious, Shakespearean voice. Think Lawrence Olivier... only louder and roll your rrrrrrrrrs longer.

Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not;
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries...

Do not be detered from your speech no matter what they say on the other end of the line. This is war! You must bring them to their knees.


I hope you enjoy a visit to Collin's blog.
He's a brilliant, witty writer.

Observations From a Mall

Rotten kids. Horrible Parents. Shopping has become a nightmare.
Even Versace can't save us now.



I've been noticing it more and more lately. Perhaps it's due to the economy, the heated political environment or maybe just a cultural shift towards impatience with anything that doesn't bring immediate gratification.

This is an observation I made last week as I was setting up displays for the latest changes during Fashion Week.

The Setting: An upscale fashion store.

A mother is waiting for a fitting room. There are 6 fitting rooms and each one is occupied. She has her 3 children with her. A daughter about 12 years old. A son about 10. A little girl about 4. Mom is around 30, she has a fantastic tanning bed tan and she is in incredible shape. No doubt she keeps her personal trainer very busy. She's wearing enough diamonds and gold to give Queen Elizabeth an inferiority complex. She's carrying Dolce and Gabbana (the big blue bag, not the little one). And she's driving a gas-guzzling SUV. Her clothes are high end. The kid's clothes are high end as well. She is extremely rude to the sales staff and other patrons. She is gaudy and ostentatious; one of the patrons hand-coughs bourgeois as she walks by and others titter at the joke. However she seems blissfully oblivious to this fact. And also to the fact that she strongly resembles a ridiculous caricature of a late night TV drama character.

Mom has dragged the kids into the store so she can shop for herself. She has loaded up her arms with clothes that she wants to try on and now, a good hour or so into shopping, she is starting to get angry and impatient that she can't get into a fitting room right away. She starts to yell at the sales associate, demanding to know why there aren't more fitting rooms.

In the meantime baby is running around grabbing clothes off of racks and screaming 'I want this!', stamping her little feet and glaring at mom with an 'I dare you to say no' look on her face. Mom turns to her and says 'No. You can't have that'. Baby angrily throws the garment on the floor and goes back to the rack to grab another garment and return with it--she repeats this scenario over and over. Mom turns to big sis and yells at her 'I told you to keep an eye on her! Go get her now!' I'm thinking... It's your kid lady, you go get her.

Big sis looks overwhelmed trying to wrestle garments from baby and drags her, literally kicking and screaming, back to the fitting rooms where she promptly breaks loose and runs back out onto the sales floor.

Brother has been completely ignored during this time and he's obviously been trained that negative attention is better than no attention at all. He's been knocking over displays and taking swipes at big sis while she wrestles with baby. Mom yells at him to 'cut it out or else'.

Mom demands to see a manager. When the manager arrives mom starts yelling at her that she needs a fitting room now! Right now. She starts to curse. She wants to know what's wrong with 'you people'.

As her agitation mounts the kids become more agitated as well. They're all angry, stressed out. Lashing out both physically and verbally. Big sis looks like she's going to cry, and she is becoming increasingly rough in her handling of baby who is now slapping, kicking and pulling sis' hair to try to escape her restraint. Brother has School Bully written all over him. He's actually enjoying the negative attention he's getting for his acts of violence. He reaches over and thunks baby on the back of the head with his thumb and middle finger, making her scream like someone has poked her eye out. Big sis says 'you're a jerk!' He mimics back at her 'You're a jerk.' in a nasally voice that makes me want to pop him one. Then smack! He slaps big sis in the face while she tries to hang onto the squirming, kicking baby. Mom shouts 'I mean it! You're both going to get it!'

When a fitting room finally comes available mom turns to the fitting room attendant and says 'Watch them while I try these on'. Not a request. An order.

My jaw almost hits the floor.

She chooses to bring the children. She chooses to overload her arms with clothes to try on, at least a good hours worth of clothes changing, and now the fitting room attendant is expected to be her babysitter.

The fitting room attendant declines politely, explaining that she can't be responsible for the kids.

Mom begins another cursing fit, throws the clothes on the floor next to baby's rejected wish list, and starts yelling for the kids, with another severe outburst at big sis for not keeping baby under control. She storms out of the store screaming about what a horrible place this is and that she'll never shop here again. She's going to call corporate and complain. She stalks out to her SUV, her face distorted into a mask of insanity as she screams and yells unheard instructions at poor big sis who is trying to wrangle baby into a car seat.


The Aftermath:

When she was safely out of the parking lot and on her way back to her happy life, I walked over to the fitting room attendant, she looked up at me sheepishly, with tears in her eyes from the verbal beating she had just taken, I felt bad for her. I let loose a few choice names for 'crazy mom', telling her not to worry about it. If anything we should feel sorry for those kids. She's creating monsters that she's going to have to deal with later on. Her life must be horrid. Can you imagine being that stressed out all of the time? And teaching her kids to get that stressed out whenever they don't immediately get their way?

The ladies waiting patiently in line for their fitting rooms chimed in with their own support...
'I don't take my kids shopping with me. It's not fair to them...'
'She can afford that purse, but she can't afford a babysitter?'
'I've got news for you. That purse is a knock off.'
'It's not your fault honey, that woman is nuts...'
And then a woman who was old enough to have finished raising her kids said the most profound thing.
'I wonder why people like that even have kids? Some sort of self gratification I guess.'

Oh yeah.
Definitely.

I can't think of anything that will guarantee that your kids will grow up to be frustrated, miserable people more than teaching them that they, for whatever reason, should have an expectation of immediate gratification. That their wants and desires should become someone else's priority, simply because that's what they want. Now. And they absolutely should not be made to wait.

I see similar behaviors every day in different forms. From the grocery store to vacation spots, I see kids stressed out because they cannot get what they want immediately, and I see their parents and how they behave, how their stress and frustration is passed on to their children. It won't be long before those chickens come home to roost.

If all kids grow up to think that others should acquiesce to them, they are bound to live lives of frustration and anger. Because no one is going to give them what they want all of the time. Particularly not others who have been raised to think that what they want, they should get as well.

It is a vicious circle.



Disclaimer: This story is based on actual events, however the names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. If you see yourself or any of your family members in these characters, I can promise you that I probably was not writing this about you. And you should seek family therapy as soon as possible.

"Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfils the same function as pain in the human body. It calls attention to an unhealthy state of things."
Winston Churchill

This was originally published on Blogcritics. Heading there to answer comments.

I hate and I love

These chains that bind me are not of metal nor silk.
They have been forged by my own hand. My own heart.
I know I should go and yet I cannot move.

Why is it that the more cruel he behaves the more I fold myself into him? Why is it that one sharp word from his lips can send me into the darkest of places? And yet every word from my own lips is of love.

There is most certainly betrayal here. But is it his betrayal or mine? And who is being betrayed? Does he betray me or do I betray myself?

Thank you Catullus for seeing the truth in contradictions.



I HATE and I love. Why I do so, perhaps you ask.
I know not, but I feel it, and I am in torment.
~~Gaius Valerius Catullus

I knew a ferryman before.
But he was not so old as you.
He spoke from unembittered lips,
With careless eyes on the bright sea
One day, such bitter words to me
As age and wisdom never knew.
Sappho Crosses the Dark River into Hades
~~Edna St. Vincent Millay

Thank You

My first article for Blogcritics, 'Broken House - A Look at Life One Year After Foreclosure' has been selected as an *Editors Pick*. Let me say this quickly, before Kanye West takes the mic from me. I'd just like to thank my family and the fans...

Vampire

A man has only one escape from his old self: to see a different self in the mirror of some woman's eyes.
Claire Booth Luce

Isn't that what we all strive for?
To be seen by our lover as a better person than we see ourselves?
We hope that they can look beyond all of those idiosyncrasies, those things we cannot abide in ourselves, and see instead the person we wish to be. That they may help us become more like that which we desire to be.

So why does it always seem that women get the short end of this stick? That we are supposed to tolerate constant comparisons to embryonic twits that leave us only more ambiguous, more fearful to gaze at ourselves? Smaller, diminished in some way, in order to keep him happy? While he grows and blossoms under our loving touch.

De Beauvoir --I think?-- says that it's women only that possess the amazing power of reflecting a man's image back to him doubled in size...
and only half of her own.

That's how I am feeling today.
Half of myself.
The least important half of a happy couple.
My first instinct is to beat myself up for feeling this way. Some form of my vicious hatred of self pity. If you know me at all you know that I don't tolerate antagonism well. Yes, not one of my better qualities. I do not suffer fools either. And if you want to go rounds with me you'd better do it wearing armor because I like to fight. I didn't come by my former name accidently. I earned it.

And so my first instinct is to lash out when I'm feeling any form of self-loathing. Lash at myself, lash at anyone within scratching distance. Never unjustly though - it does take a lot to piss me off.

But protecting loved ones is one point where I never hesitate - and my wrath is awesome. But with every drop of blood drawn I become less. And he grows. I swear love is leeching. It sucks the blood from my very veins sometimes. I give my strength and once given it can never be restored. That part gone.

And would he prefer that? To see his lover diminished? No. That's what he finds attractive. So when she has drained her very spirit for him he looks upon her as weak. And he must look for someone new and vibrant. Someone to feed the appetite of a strong man like himself.

I find it sickening.
And gross.

And I will staunch that flow and restore myself.
No one may take from me and I have no need.

Going Pink For October

When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something's suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful.
~Barbara Bloom

That time is almost upon us again.

Are you ready to Go Pink in October to show your support for breast cancer awareness month?

The Pink For October site is down, but that doesn't mean that we can't still show our support by decorating our blogs in Pink, carrying the Pink Ribbon and adding the button to click for free mammograms.

Here are the buttons and link if you need to copy them.






The link is http://thebreastcancersite.com


I still have the free pink blogger templates to download -- or just to look at for inspiration.

Here they are:
Here are the Pink For October Free Blogger Templates.
Email me if you need help.

• Pink Template - Hott Pink


• Pink Template - Hearts


• Pink Template - Feathers


• Pink Template - Evening


• Pink Template - Skyline


• Pink Template - Roses


• Pink Template - Simply Pink


• Pink Template - Erotic


• Pink Template - Pink and Purple


Learn how to revert to classic blogger and how to switch back to new blogger.

Here are the zip files to download these templates.

If you just want to make an easy switch I'll be adding some of the hex color codes so you can just change your background color to pink.

Do you have a breast cancer story?
Please feel free to share.
These are the stories that inspire and empower us all in our Race for the Cure.

Sarong Song HNT

Lecram wanted to see us in our sarongs.


(All photos ©Tricia.Weight-->gmail)

There are several different ways to wear a sarong. Tied around your waist or tied around your breasts. My favorite is criss-crossed at the top and tied behind my neck.

For me, with my boot fetish, I decided to wear my mid-calve boots with one of my sarongs.

Just goes to show you that there are no rules. And you can wear a sarong in the Fall with a sweater and boots. They look great together!




This goes along with AnotherSuburbanMom's idea to highlight what we think are our best features. For me it's my legs. I do like my legs.

And here's some inspiration for your boot fetish.
Shakira Objection Tango.


That should whet your imagination for what you can wear with your boots this Fall.
A short skirt with a shawl tied around your waist and a pair of over the knee boots is really hot! Maybe next week?


The boots are from Charlotte Russe.
The HNT is from Osbasso.


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

 

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Free Pink Templates for October

It's about that time. Breast cancer awareness is almost upon us.
Are you Going Pink For October?
Are you ready to learn how to revert your blog to old / classic blogger?
And how to switch back to new blogger as well?
You'll need to know how to back-up your blogger template.
The process is really quite easy, but it does take a lot of copy /paste if you're used to using blogger widgets.

I'd advise starting a 'template_test' blog so you can practice before going live on your home blog.

I'm starting to work on some new additions to the free 'going pink for October' blogger templates. I have to make some corrections to the old templates as well. Some are not working in Mozilla as they should.

You'll see the templates move up on the sidebar as we get closer to the date.
And as always, I'm happy to help anyone who needs it, whether you're using one of my templates or another you've found elsewhere.

Boobiethon 2009
October 1st-7th
And it's time to start thinking about your Boobiethon pictures. Bloggers baring it all to save the bOObs.
You can see some of last years submissions in the Boobie Gallery.
Don't forget to send out your Boobiethon Tweets.
Remember: It's for a good cause.

Here's the HNT I did with my daughter on Breast Exams. The Greatest Gift. It's important to teach them yourself. You're the only one who can really show them correctly.


Here's a way to waste 5 minutes.
A 41 Question Personality Test from www.41q.com
My Personality Test results.



Not at all accurate, and yet... completely accurate.
Much like my horoscope in the newspaper.
If you take the test make sure you post your results in the comments. I'm more interested in others than in myself as my results clearly show.

Nottingham Outlaws

This is my band.
This is our album cover.



The Band Meme

You are about to have your own band and create its album cover!

Follow these directions to the letter.
It's fun and requires no thought at all.

Go to......
1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first article title on the page is the name of your band.
2. http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four words of the very last quote is the
title of your album.
3. http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
4. Use your graphics program of choice to throw them together and
make your band's album cover."




I got this a while ago from kuanyin moi at Blog-Blond.

If you create an album cover please link to it in the comments.
I can't wait to see what you come up with!





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