Let's Start A Trend

(Day 45 of being smoke free. I have one complaint: No one warned me that quitting smoking might supply so much more oxygen to my brain that I'd think deeply about almost every aspect of life.) 

On to the post:

I was reading some of the trashy "news" I love (judge my honesty, I don't care) when one sentence in the sidebar made me pause.

"We don't remember what's it's like to be normal kids." That was from a member of a family of celeb-realities. (I'm not sure what to call them since they don't sing, dance or act. They are famous for the reality of their life, so ~shrug~)

Isn't that sad? Not that this one person feels this way, but that there are so many kids -even "regular" kids - who feel the same. It's such a trend to have kids grow up real fast. They are pushed (or allowed) to be "grown" so fast that some of them end up confused and bewildered, a danger to themselves or the rest of us.

Being an adult is no picnic so I'm not sure why anyone's in a hurry to get there. But growing up fast is a trend.

Another trend I don't like: People thinking it's okay to be rude. Matter of fact, some time back, "rude" got a new labels: Aggressive, Bold, Forceful... All these make being rude sound like a desired trait.

If I ruled the world (or at least had enough influence), here are trends I'd like to see started:

• Kids being kids - making mud-pies, playing Tag, having giggly sleepovers, getting their non-designer clothes dirty from playing outside.
• Adults being teammates when it comes to raising kids. You keep an eye out for mine, I do the same for you, and we tattle to each other like 5-year olds.
• Schools teaching kids how to read (not why they read, just how); how to add, subtract, multiply and divide; how to think critically - so they can form an opinion of their own from knowledge they pursued on their own.
• Adults who teach their kids how to use their time wisely. Why aren't children being trained to use some time for entertainment and pleasure, some for thinking and learning, some for doing and earning? 
• Women enjoying being women without destroying each other. 
• Men enjoying being men without destroying each other.
• People being happy for those who do well in life while feeling compassion for those who are going through hard times.
• People unafraid to keep the details of their sex lives private. No public announcements needed.
• Food, exercise and socializing being what they are for without becoming industries.

Am I delusional for  believing that things can get back to being simple? Everything that's gotten complicated  was simpler at some point. Can't we run this trend train in reverse?

Just saying.

Peace

--Free

Your Life, Your Choices

A friend of mine is back out there in the Singles' scene. Poor thing. I could just weep for her. Not only is she single, but she is over 40 and never been married before. Oh, and she has a child. None of these are the reasons I worry for her. I worry because she is a avid reader who, at weak moments in her life, nests in the Self-Help sections of bookstores.

If you are, or have been, human in the last fifteen years, someone has written a book, app, or diagram telling you how to go about your life. It's as if we are all so stupid that we need to be told "How To" do anything. How to: date, have babies, get a job, be happy, be assertive, wipe our butts... And if you are single for any reason at all, there are more of those How-To's are in a specialty section just for you.

What the heck happened to common sense? Or getting advice from the people who actually love and know you?

I think I have figured out that life was never that complicated until someone decided to write books about every aspect of it. If you think I am joking about the money being made on our insecurities, just look at what I can dig up on dating in a few minutes while writing this post:

Oh No He Didn't (This book is from an attorney. What does that say about love and romance?)

Women's Guide to Men (Really? What'd the author do to get wiser than God, build men?)

AlphaDog, The Book (I'm scared to think that the women who wrote this want men to thinks of themselves as alpha dogs. I wouldn't want a guy to write one on being a SuperBit*h...)

This advice site has a catchy name. Maybe that's why I don't want to be mad that there is such a place as the Relationship Gym. ~sigh~ Really? Seriously.

Now, I got my ass verbally bullied on GPlus the other day by a rabid Beyonce fanatic; I can't imagine what's going to happen after this post. Actually, I can imagine: I'll get an email telling me that maybe if I took some dating advice my lonely self I might not be such a judgmental bit*h. (By the way & all off-subject: This no-cursing thing is not working out for me too well.)

It only took me just a few minutes to find those helpful books and such. And that's just from a search on dating advice. I'm too scared to look up anything else. I mean, I really might find something on butt-wiping.

What ever happened to just living life the best you know how? I guess that went out the window when our role models stopped being people we could observe up close and personal. When you admire someone like a pop-singer or reality show "star" so much that you will act like a five year old to defend them, it doesn't say much for your own confidence or maturity.

A conversation with someone else I know the other day was eye-opening. He doesn't date anymore. Doesn't want the drama and likes the idea of just being peaceful and comfortable. I can get down with that. It's a fantasy of mine - except I want it to be with someone. How sad is it that there are so few people out there to meet who want the same thing and who act as if they do?

I truly am starting to believe that the only good advice is stuff that's been around forever: Live your life the way you want, as long as you don't hurt anyone else. Treat people the way you want to be treated. Live decently, make honest mistakes, learn from honorable people, grow in peace. It's okay to be confused when we are young and learning, but no one should be stuck at ten when they are years past that age.

Anyway...

My girlfriend told me that she is going to look for someone who can fall in love with the best that she is while accepting the worst. Now, that sounds like good advice to me.

Peace
--Free

A Flash of Feel Good (#Quickie)

Day 44 of my smoke-free lifestyle. Feels good. This is what my insomniac self is listening to (at 4:14 a.m.):

Peace
--Free

Rich Shopper, Broke Shopper

My roommate and I love to shop, but we have different shopping styles. The real shoppers out there know what I mean when I say that. There are distinct types of shoppers (and several more sub-types). The two types of shoppers who fascinate me the most are the ones who browse and the ones who buy without blinking.

The Browser is the shopper who practice that form of first-world torture called "Window Shopping." Unless you're in the market for windows, that's stupid anyway. Who the heck ever came up with the idea of just browsing is one sick son of a you-know-what. (I gave up smoking. Trying to lose the cursing.) For someone like me, browsing in, say, Walmart, would be like a lonely sex addict hanging out in The Pleasure Palace Adult Toy Store. Impossible.

I don't even like to talk about Browsers. They make me feel inadequate. They make me feel like I should be able to do what they do without being medicated and trussed up like Hannibal Lecter.

Moving along.

The shoppers I envy are those who can buy without blinking. I think of them as the Bored Who Can Afford.

I rarely hang where I can observe the super-wealthy, but I've had moments. This shopper is easy to spot. Look for the person who doesn't blink, swallow, or shudder really hard, when they see a ridiculously high priced common item.

When living in Arizona, I once wandered into a Williams Sonoma store by accident. (It was an accident because I never should have been anywhere near the Scottsdale Fashion Square. Let me quit playing - I shouldn't have been in Scottsdale, period.) As soon as I walked into the store, I knew I was like Pretty Woman wandering into a Chanel boutique. But my pride made me resist running and screaming back to a Walmart in my part of town. I decided to make a casual cruise-through and then just sort of saunter out of the place before an employee offered to help me find something. I almost made it out of there without embarrassing myself, but then...

~sigh~

Have you ever seen one of those food graters that have multiple attachments? I have (because I watch a lot of cooking shows). Barefoot Contessa be damned, I have no need for a grater that does more than the $3.25 one I use for cheese (okay - and for reaching things in the back of my spice cabinet), but I saw one at Williams Sonoma that looked pretty cool. Another lady stopped to look at the same item. She smelled like new leather and good perfume. She smiled at me (acceptance). I smiled back and, caught up in the moment, lost my mind for a minute and forgot exactly where I was. When I reached up and flipped over the price tag the grater which looked a lot like this,

Does it grate Cheddar into "chedda"?

I almost had what my mother would call a "conniption fit." That #$%# thing cost over one hundred and twenty dollars.

I swallowed my gum. Ms. New Leather didn't even look toward the price tag, but she smiled at me again and picked up two of the graters before she strolled away. The heifer did it just to put me in my place. I know she did. Rich people...

Call me a hater if you want, but giving more than ten bucks - maybe twenty - for a small kitchen tool is just snooty. But that's how the rich can do it. I bet New Leather has never even used her graters. She probably has a private sous chef and cook. And I can't even curse about it. $%#%*!

The other day, the roomie and I went to Bed Bath & Beyond. This is a big deal because I almost never go there. For one thing, I want every single item in the store. For another thing, I'd have to take out a small loan to afford some of the stuff they sell. Nevertheless, I needed a set of those Magic Hangers that have been on my Wish List for a minute. I say I need the hangers because that's the truth. Number One, I have a small closet and clothes in at least 3 different sizes. Number Two, I am a woman. I guess Number Two kind of explains it all, right? Anyway, Magic Hangers really do maximize the use of a closet.

Understand that I am a frugal sort of person. The difference between "frugal" and "cheap" is that a frugal person goes for quality and best price while a cheap person will buy condoms from a Dollar Store.

My roommate is a spendthrift. The woman shops like she's Oprah. She will spend her last dime today without giving a damn about the gas money she needs tomorrow.

We get to B.B.B. and I go off-course only once. There is a sale on bath sheets and I have been dying for some new ones since I left the old ones with the ex. I get ONE bath sheet and then go straight to the Magic Hangers. In the end, I left the store with the towel, the hangers and a couple of .99 cent candles. I was so proud of myself. I pretty much felt like this:

"Can't touch this, baby!"

My roommate? ~another sigh~ I have no idea what all she bought, but I heard the clerk giving her total as a high seventy-something. What the heck? I was the one going for hangers. She was only going along to keep me company!

I didn't want to ask her what she bought, but I felt bad for her when we got home. I saw her sitting in the living room, looking from her receipt to her wallet. Her face looked something like:

"Wha? Huh?"

That evening, she asked me to stay with her in any store at all times. I have best friend orders to pimp-slap her if she buys anything that looks unnecessary. I told her to do what I do: pile your cart as high as you want - as long as, before you get to check-out, you put back everything you don't need or can't afford.

Peace
--Free

What Will I Have Left?

So....

As everyone who has read this blog in the last month or two knows, I have quit smoking. (Day 41 9 hours, 8 minutes. I've given up counting the seconds so I must be getting better.) Giving up cigarettes was easy compared to my next inhuman feat: I am giving up ~sigh, gasp and clutch my freaking pearls~ cursing.

Do you know how hard this is gonna be for me? Cursing was my second language. It was my poetry.

Ask me why I am trying to be cleaner with my vocabulary and I can spit out a dozen reasons (I'm more mature, I'm better than bad language, it's not ladylike, I'm Christian, and on and on), but the real reason?

He walks. He talks. He COPIES everything I do.

Yep. It's all because of that little kid there.

I adore him. Everything he does is a wonder to me. No matter what is going on or what he's getting into, if I do just a couple notes of a song, he starts smiling and bopping his head. He's a huge piece of my heart. And in the past few weeks, he has started watching every word coming from between my lips.

The other day, I was visiting with my niece and sister and we all sat around my sister's room, chatting and looking over some recipe books. Baby D.J. was back and forth, going from my sister's room and down the hall to his mom and dad's room. No worries, he's gated in from the stairs and he's got his puppy to play with. It was a very "family" kind of scene - all quiet and cozy (and quiet is rare for us). I was at peace with the world until we heard D.J. talking to his puppy.

"Shit, Sadow!"

("Sadow" is really "Shadow," the little lab mix puppy.)

We ladies went dead silent and waited to see if we had heard D.J. right.

"SHIT! SHIT! No, Sadow, SHIT!"

Right. Now, I don't think it's fair that my sister and my niece were suddenly looking at me like I was the one who farted in church. It's not like they never use a curse word...

But, okay, okay. I am woman enough to admit that I have had, on occasion, a bit of a potty-mouth. But, understand this, I am not a half-stepping kind of chick. When I love, I love hard. If I am mad, I'm boiling. When I curse... Well, let's just say, I don't mess around with the playground type of language. I get down and dirty. Am I proud of that? I used to be, yeah. I have 4 brothers and, for years, I worked around a bunch of mean and stressed out men - not my brothers. I can run rough with the big boys when it comes to "cussing." If D.J. had picked up a word or two from me, it wasn't going to be something found in the Bible - like "ass" or "damn." The ess-aitch-i-tee word is not a whopping big deal, right?

Still, I had Mother Theresa and the Queen of England looking at me like I'd better go handle the situation. As if I can make a baby understand bad words when he can't even say five "good" ones... But I decided to try.

When I got to the hallway and saw D.J. pointing his finger at the dog and tapping him on the head, it dawned on me what was really going on.

"Shit, Sadow."

I reported back to the Inquisition panel.

"He's trying to make Shadow sit," I told them before we all fell out laughing. I just about wet myself.

Still. That episode gave me something to think about. This little kid loves me and, for the time being, he thinks I'm fabulous. He's pretty amazing to me and I have a responsibility to be a good example to him. He already knows about love - because we show him every day what that is. He knows not to spit and hit. We are teaching him to count and give hugs and feel empathy. The only thing I don't want him to learn from me is how to curse. At least, not before he learns how to pray for someone.

So, yeah. No more cursing for "YaYa Tru." Damnit. (Give me a little break. This is only Day 4.) I think I will learn sign language. Can you curse in sign language?

Peace
--Free


Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not depart from it. Prov. 22:6

"Intelligence plus character - that is the goal of true education." Dr. Martin Luther King

Cleanup On Aisle Four!

So. I woke myself up laughing this morning. Dreamed about going back to work. I'm so excited at the prospect, I don't know what to do with myself. That said, I am having serious jitters just thinking about....~drumroll~... The Hunt. You know, the job hunt.

It's a well-known fact that looking for employment is the worst part of working. How ironic that I last worked in an unemployment call center. I could actually get back on that job but I don't know if I can handle the stress that I could post-sarc. Previously, a call with a cranky claimant would go something like this:

Them: "So, I'd have been better off to get fired from my job instead of quitting?"

Me: "Well, I don't know about better off, but since you did quit - without allowed reason - you are subject to a waiting period."

Them: "So you're saying I should have just bitch-slapped my supervisor instead of restraining myself long enough to tell her I needed to resign before I had to go to jail for her smack-down?"

Me: (Marveling at that long recitation without a breath being taken.) "Um, sir, I'm pretty sure it's not a good idea to slap or smack down anyone you work for. I'm just informing you of your wait-period."

Them: "No, I get it. You can't come out and say it, but you are letting me read between the lines. Why else would you tell me that I have to six weeks JUST BECAUSE I QUIT THE LOUSY JOB???"

Me: "Sir, if you'd like to take a moment and calm yourself, I will explain the next steps you need to take  in filing your claim."

That was the old, nothing-ruffles-me me. Yeah. Well, I don't know if it's the sarc or if it's the fact that I haven't had a cigarette in FOREVER (or 40 days), but I know that I just would not be that nice this time around. The conversation now would go more like this:

Them: "So you're saying I should have just bitch-slapped my supervisor instead of restraining myself long enough to tell her I needed to resign before I had to go to jail for her smack-down?"

Me: (Taking a deep breath and restraining myself so I don't go too far and get fired.) "I'm saying that I'm going to come and bitch-slap you unless you shut up and let me get your claim filed before I have to leave here today. I am just not in a freaking mood for any bullshit. Okay? Okay."

Hmph. These days I can itali-talk with the crankiest of them.

That might not go over too well, so I have been envisioning interviews for other types of employment.

Since I love to shop (even on a tight budget), it's occurred to me that I should go into retail. Like, say at,  I don't know... Walmart. But then, I thought that even though I have to survive on a dime for now, I'm too uppity to work anywhere less bourgeois than maybe... Nordstrom? Now, that is a real wanna-be central. The only problem there is, I also hate the types of people who shop at Nordstrom - including myself whenever I do shop there. Ever notice how a perfectly nice, normal person walks into Nordstrom and, all of a sudden, their nose tips up just a notch and they start acting like they have their own reality show? Yeech! Not for me.

My other option is to do something in the field of job training. I did it for a big company for five years and I was damn good. (It's a true story that I once taught a Polish man - who spoke very little English -how to classify imports. If you think that's easy, try miming your way through your job for a few weeks.) Of course, I might end up validating that old stereotype of those-who-can't-do... On the other hand, that's one job, outside of acting, that approves of cue cards...

I do know that, when jumping into the job pool, I have always managed to land on my feet. Don't be surprised if you see me directing aisle traffic at Walmart. I think I could convince them that they need someone for that.

I don't know. The possibilities are endless (and that's the scariest part) and my hopes are high. I will just go on my searches with something in mind that one of my brothers taught me: When interviewing for a job, act like you might not really need one.

Peace
--Free

**REVIEW** L'Oreal's Magic BB Creme

Got my sample of this in the mail a few days ago from SheSpeaks (love those guys). Has only taken using it twice to know that it's not really for me. (BTW: My sample came in the "Deep" shade.)

Cons:

• The creme had a sort of gritty feel when applying it. Almost like a very fine-grained exfoliating cream. (That freaked me out because I almost never use anything exfoliating on my face. No. No. No.)
• The shade was a lot lighter than what most dark-skinned women would want. I would say it best suits someone with a darkly olive tone than someone with a dark red or blue coloring. (I'm just plain dark, with red tones.) I decided I could only use this as an under-eye brighter. ~shrug~
• Once on, the creme dried my face to the point of being uncomfortable. I was afraid to smile because I was sure my smile lines would look like cracks on the bottom of a dry lake bed. The drying effect also made my skin break out just a little. (I don't know what the hell the word "hydrates" is doing in the description on the tube!)

Pros:

• While not for my skin-color or type, this might be okay for someone with very oily skin. Matter of fact, I imagine it would be perfect for the oily skin type. Maybe L'Oreal should break this out (heh heh) by skin types - label this one for oily skin and formulate another that actually does hydrate.
• The tube is cute and will tuck nicely into a handbag. 

Seriously, those are the only positives I can think of for this product.

The one thing I envisioned when I heard about this and other "correcting" creams, is that I could get good effects with minimal coverage. I'm not a full-on makeup type of woman. There are just days when I think I could just use a little bit of help to look my "natural" best. 

No worries yet. I have heard of similar creams by Garnier (comes in only 2 shades, but bound to be reasonably priced) and those put out by Asian companies. See if you can get samples from several producers so you can find your best match. As for me, this one ain't it.

For the other brown gals out there (love that), this might help get you started on a search for your own.

Peace

--Free

Pssst Script:

In case, like me, you were wondering, the "BB" in the name stands for Beauty Balm or Beauty Blemish.

The creams are trendy. In other countries, they might be used differently, but here in the U.S., they seem to basically be tinted moisturizers. Olay is honest and cops to the description. (You know I will be all over the Olay one - depending on the price and shades.)

**DISCLOSURE: I received a free sample to review as part of my SheSpeaks membership**

Distracted Much?

As if I am not air-headed enough on a normal day, just put something on my mind and watch the comedy ensue...

Woke up fighting the start of some sniffles, so I fixed a big pot of chicken noodle soup this morning. Chicken soup has been "proven" good for colds. As if we ever needed proof. For one thing, it calms my whole soul to just be  in the kitchen, chopping up pieces of chicken and dicing my celery, onions and carrots. Seriously. By the time I had everything going at a nice slow boil, I could feel my mother's presence.

Once I spooned out a nice bowl to enjoy, I realized I'd forgotten to add the noodles. That was today's first sign that I will never be a rocket scientist.

Later on, (after I added the noodles) I decided to toast a couple pieces of Italian bread. (Trying to get in the habit of eating any breads before 8 pm. You can ask me in a couple of weeks how that's going.) The microwave the roommate and I are so proud of ourselves for choosing has a nifty little grilling feature. What would be nifty to the max is if either one of us had ever read the manual or could just figure out how to use the feature. Yeah, so, I ended up putting the bread in the oven. Went away to check my email and came back a few minutes later to discover that bread only cooks when you turn on the oven.

Second sign of the day.

I figured, screw it. I'm not trying to find the third sign for anything today. I just popped some bread in the toaster and called it lunch.

Just a few minutes ago, I got into a fight with the bedroom window. Since my roommate (who has the circulation of a 90 year old mummy) is out for the day, I wanted to let in some fresh air. Damn window started acting like this apartment is prison and I'm the most dangerous inmate. I spent maybe three minutes hitting my fist against the edges and cursing the moisture that must all be outside (cos it's dry as Mesa inside) and sealing the window. Around Minute Four, I realized I hadn't unlatched the locks.

That damn third sign came all on its own.

The best thing I can do now is crawl into bed and pray for deliverance from my own stupidity.

Peace
--Free

Listening for God's Voice

This may seem like a strange post, but it came to me tonight and I can't let it go.

I have been doing a lot of contemplation and prayer in the past couple of weeks. So many things sitting restless on my mind. Now that I can look forward to a more healthful future, I am in a constant state of anxious joy. Anxious and jittery, but joyful. And thoughtful. My mind just won't be still.

As a Christian, I have prayed so many selfish prayers that I'm used to God just silently shaking His head and waiting for me to get over myself. I usually do. I know which of my prayers are silly and not even fit to have been uttered in the first place. The tough thing is listening for God's voice when I have prayed out of a sincere desire.

In the past few days, I have prayed for something that is truly between me and God, and I am wondering now if God leaves even some of our most sincere prayers unanswered.

My prayer this time is so real for me. This time I am not praying only for myself and I'm not praying for anything material. I even think that I am being given an answer - slowly and in stages - but how do I know that it's God's voice and not my own hope?

I have been known to run off on the wind, working under my own will and making things happen while convincing myself that it was God leading my success. I have learned the hard way that just because God let me get away with something, it doesn't mean He approved.

Once a long time ago, God gave me a significant blessing. I didn't understand that it was a blessing and I didn't give it the reverence and care that I should have. At another time in my life, I took what I thought was a blessing and ran with it. That was a disaster of my own making. I hadn't taken the time to even try to discern that situation before it got out of control.

Now I am at a crossroads of a sort. I've been stubborn and willful for so long, ignoring His voice and listening only for what I have wanted to hear. I am now trying to remember what the Lord sounded like to my heart.

I was taught as a young woman that we know and hear God's voice because we belong to him (John 10:1-4 *), and that we are supposed to flee from the voices of strangers. My problem has not usually been the misleading voices of strangers; my problem has been listening to myself.

Taking the advice I remember from childhood, I am going to do a prayer and fasting because I need to block out my own voice. I need to hear God and I am listening for Him.

If you are a praying Christian, pray for me.

Peace
--Free


*“Most assuredly, I say to you, he who does not enter the sheepfold by the door, but climbs up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber.  But he who enters by the door is the shepherd of the sheep.  To him the doorkeeper opens, and the sheep hear his voice; and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.  And when he brings out his own sheep, he goes before them; and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. (John 10:1-4)

Pictures & Memories in the Making

My sister and I have a box of pictures that have traveled more than most air hostesses. That box holds memories of births, weddings, holidays, funerals, just about everything in this world of ours. For the past five to ten years, paper photos have been replaced by digital cameras and phone cameras. I wonder if my little nieces and nephews will yearn for the days when their parents and I sat around, looking through albums of paper photos.

Of course, maybe digital is the way to go. Just a few nights ago, my sister and I had to pick through one of our old boxes, trying to salvage what we could of photos that had gotten damaged in storage. It broke my heart to peel photos out of their pages. I saw tears rolling down my sister's face when we just could not save a couple of really old photos - some of my mother's brothers and sister. To me, if felt like Mama had left those memories with us for safekeeping and we failed her. It does not help my hurt to know that real memories are kept inside us and not on film.

So, here I am, taking pictures of pictures so that I can save them to my computer and an external drive. Irony?

That's my dad! R.I.P.

Me & my bro. So cool...*

I was happy. He was a little scared.*

A soldier to the end.

Don't know who that baby is I'm holding...?

And we are best of friends to this day.*

Remember the Gheri Curl? Yep. (17yrs old)

Me & my (shadow) little bro & his dog. (Big Spring, TX)

What the hell? Bad hair day. (My sis says I was 8 or 9)

The 3 besties. 16yrs old. Supposed to be doing homework.
Still friends. Still a little crazy.

Young, young, young. 21 yrs old.

My "kid" was only about 25 y/o. The backdrop is real, folks.

Too grown for my own good...

I feel a little bit better now. At least these photos will always be somewhere out there.

Peace
--Free
*photos blurred for privacy