If These Heels Could Talk they would say that, "sometimes we have to speak for those that can not speak for themselves."
As you may or may not know, October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month and domestic violence is something that I take very serious. I myself having been a victim of domestic violence in more ways than one and I find the numbers alarming. I am a huge advocate about empowering those that are victims to be brave and speak up. But I also know that sometimes even the bravest can get to the point where they no longer have the spirit to "fight" back. Or maybe they have spoken up only to be told to be quiet.
I struggled as to whether I wanted to write this story or not because it is not a funny story at all and I most of the time try to stick to the humorous side of things. If for nothing else but the simple fact that this world is already full of evil and everyone needs a good laugh. This story will also reveal a part of my history that has never been told.
However as I put more thought into it and God whispered to me like he does sometimes, it was evident that I should go with the flow and do what I do best and that is write about my experiences.
I in no way view myself as a Pulitzer prize writer, I am just a simple person that carries a lot on my mind and in my heart and have found that writing helps get this out. However, it was brought to my attention that sometimes what I write about others gain inspiration from. I never in 100 million years have looked at myself as an inspiration. I was just doing what I needed to do for me, for my therapy.
Recently I had a chance to audition for an upcoming movie that will be filmed near and surrounding my community. The name of the movie is Virtuous and is based on the lives of five different women and their different traumatic life experiences and how they worked through them.
There were a couple of roles that I was interested in, however with the help of a friend (Jenny)
I ultimately came to decide on one that I thought would better suit my personality. It was during my evaluation of which character I wanted to audition for that it was revealed to me that I should indeed write this story.
There was a specific line in the script that spoke volumes to me, it read speak for those who can not speak for themselves; ensure justice for those who are perishing.
Now flashback to me when I was eight years old. I remember loving to wear dresses every chance that I got. I also remember this one particular day my mother, daddy and myself went to visit some of their friends. On this day I wore my wedges with the strap and a cute little dress. This memory sticks out like yesterday for me.
The friends of my parents had an older son. I do not remember his exact age but I remember that he was a teenager. And I remember hating him after that visit. While we were there I made my way back to the restroom that was off from one of the bedrooms. As soon as I came out he was standing there and he said to me, "I see that you are all dressed up for me and I see how you are looking at me."
At eight years old I was terrified. I had no idea what he wanted to do or what he was going to do, but I knew that he was up to no good. I looked over and could see that he had shut the door to the bedroom. In the blink of an eye he had pinned me down to the bed and covered my mouth so that I could not make any noise. The next moments went by so fast and I remember squirming with every bit of muscle I had to get him off of me. I remember kicking, twisting and fighting to get him off of me. And then I remember biting him so hard that he stopped what he was doing and I got the hell out of there.
Now I tell that part of the story to say this. I never told a soul about that day, until I just typed it out. I didn't tell because I was scared I would get in trouble. I didn't tell because I thought that I had done something wrong. I didn't tell because I felt terrible. I didn't tell because I was embarrassed.
Now that I am older, I realize I should have told someone. I should have told someone until someone listened. By me not speaking up, I am almost certain that others were affected by this sick person. Had I spoke up others could have been saved.
So why do I tell now? It is simple. If one person can read this and be encouraged or inspired enough to speak up about any type of domestic violence against them, then that is one person that can be saved.
If others read it and think, I really didn't need to read that or if they wish they never knew that part about me, then so be it and I wish them well. I assure you the pain of anyone reading a story like this has no comparison to what pain a person that experiences it carries.
We have got to stop the cycle of domestic violence and abuse. And the only way to stop it is to confront it and the people that are committing these crimes.
I am a very vocal person now. And for a very good reason. I will never not tell my story again for the fear of embarrassment. I fight for those and what I believe in and I will never be quiet about anything that I know is wrong. And if I see that someone else can't speak up for themselves then I will do it for them. I will use their words but my voice.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Spoons Forks and Switches Oh My
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "even as a kid OCD can be a pain in the rear."
My mom and I made our way to the Roses shopping store. I guess that is what you call it. It is hardly an upscale department store. I was around 9 years old.
My first memory of this store was on the kitchen utensil isle. This memory stands out not because we racked up on some shopping but rather because of the mess I made. Little ole Angie was fiddling with the serving spoons, the forks, knives, etc. And my mother had already told me one time to stop it and like any other kid that listens well, I kept fiddling.
I took notice of a set of forks/spoons that were tangled and made an effort to get them straight. OCD can start as a child. As I tugged and pulled and twisted on those utensils the entire shelf came down. I am not talking one shelf, I am talking the entire wall. Utensils went flying everywhere. The noise itself would have woke the dead. I looked at my mom fearing for my life and she looked at me and said, "now what are we going to do about that?" Then she grabbed my hand turned with the buggy/shopping cart (depending on which part of the world you are from) and we walked away.
I was scared out of my mind. All the way home all I could say was, "please don't tell daddy." I wasn't sure of much but I was sure I didn't want my legs switched. She confirmed that she was going to tell my daddy and that he would be the one handling the punishment, especially since she had already told me to leave them alone. My failure to listen and my OCD was going to be my downfall.
We arrived home and parked the Nova on the hill to ensure we would get a good roll back for the next adventure since the transmission was shot to hell. I slowly got out of the car and made my way to the trailer with the two front doors, dragging my feet in the red dirt (grass wouldn't grow), with head hung low. It was definitely a walk of shame. I made it last for as long as I could.
I entered the trailer and made my way past the bathroom with the door off the hinges and mine and my brothers room with the set of bunk beds, a twin bed and one dresser. I plopped on the couch that was directly across from our wood burning heater. And waited......
Once my dad came through the other front door he made his way to the recliner beside the couch across from the wood burning heater. And my mom began to tell him the story.
I immediately felt very nervous and a lump came to my throat. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and my heart was pounding so hard I was certain the mice could hear it.
As she finished telling him the story they both looked at me and started to laugh. They laughed that uncontrollable laugh that makes your belly hurt. I was a little confused. My dad looked at me and said, "now from now on do what you are told or the next time I will get cha ass."
I looked at him and nodded. I left the room wondering what just happened.
Twenty seven years and three kids later I know what happened. Kids can and will do some outrageous things. Some are those moments when they deserve a harsh punishment, maybe a spanking and then there are those moments when the punishment is the fear of the father itself and a spanking isn't necessary.
They weren't laughing at me as much as they were laughing at the situation with all the utensils flying off the wall, people staring and me and mom getting the hell out of dodge. They knew I had suffered enough on the ride home and that itself was my punishment.
Me personally, I am okay with that. I never liked my legs getting a switching. It stings.
p.s. These heels have no relevance to this story. I just happen to like them.
My mom and I made our way to the Roses shopping store. I guess that is what you call it. It is hardly an upscale department store. I was around 9 years old.
My first memory of this store was on the kitchen utensil isle. This memory stands out not because we racked up on some shopping but rather because of the mess I made. Little ole Angie was fiddling with the serving spoons, the forks, knives, etc. And my mother had already told me one time to stop it and like any other kid that listens well, I kept fiddling.
I took notice of a set of forks/spoons that were tangled and made an effort to get them straight. OCD can start as a child. As I tugged and pulled and twisted on those utensils the entire shelf came down. I am not talking one shelf, I am talking the entire wall. Utensils went flying everywhere. The noise itself would have woke the dead. I looked at my mom fearing for my life and she looked at me and said, "now what are we going to do about that?" Then she grabbed my hand turned with the buggy/shopping cart (depending on which part of the world you are from) and we walked away.
I was scared out of my mind. All the way home all I could say was, "please don't tell daddy." I wasn't sure of much but I was sure I didn't want my legs switched. She confirmed that she was going to tell my daddy and that he would be the one handling the punishment, especially since she had already told me to leave them alone. My failure to listen and my OCD was going to be my downfall.
We arrived home and parked the Nova on the hill to ensure we would get a good roll back for the next adventure since the transmission was shot to hell. I slowly got out of the car and made my way to the trailer with the two front doors, dragging my feet in the red dirt (grass wouldn't grow), with head hung low. It was definitely a walk of shame. I made it last for as long as I could.
I entered the trailer and made my way past the bathroom with the door off the hinges and mine and my brothers room with the set of bunk beds, a twin bed and one dresser. I plopped on the couch that was directly across from our wood burning heater. And waited......
Once my dad came through the other front door he made his way to the recliner beside the couch across from the wood burning heater. And my mom began to tell him the story.
I immediately felt very nervous and a lump came to my throat. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and my heart was pounding so hard I was certain the mice could hear it.
As she finished telling him the story they both looked at me and started to laugh. They laughed that uncontrollable laugh that makes your belly hurt. I was a little confused. My dad looked at me and said, "now from now on do what you are told or the next time I will get cha ass."
I looked at him and nodded. I left the room wondering what just happened.
Twenty seven years and three kids later I know what happened. Kids can and will do some outrageous things. Some are those moments when they deserve a harsh punishment, maybe a spanking and then there are those moments when the punishment is the fear of the father itself and a spanking isn't necessary.
They weren't laughing at me as much as they were laughing at the situation with all the utensils flying off the wall, people staring and me and mom getting the hell out of dodge. They knew I had suffered enough on the ride home and that itself was my punishment.
Me personally, I am okay with that. I never liked my legs getting a switching. It stings.
p.s. These heels have no relevance to this story. I just happen to like them.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Deer Season In and I Am Sleeping In
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "I might be from the country but childhood trauma cured me of ever wanting to hunt."
Thank you dad I am still paying for those therapy lessons.
You see what had happened was.....
Growing up my mother never let me and my two brothers go anywhere with our dad. Well they would get to go hunting and fishing for the most part, but me I always stayed at home with my mom to do our womanly duties: cook and clean.
It wasn't that my dad was a bad dad, my mom was just protective of us and knew that my dad on most occasions was unpredictable and subject to show up at a poker game or some other shenanigan at the drop of a dime.
However, my mom made an exception one Sunday afternoon, the first and only time. Now that I am a mother of three, my thoughts are that she was just shy of losing her last nerve before a complete nervous breakdown and therefore said, "what the hell, let them go." So we went. This is my first and last hunting story.
My dad never traveled anywhere without having at least two different kinds of riffles in his vehicle of choice. On this day, it was no different. I was ten years old.
It was a bright, sunny, yet bitterly cold Sunday. I was wearing my favorite purple and white sock cap and scarf. Actually it was my only sock cap and scarf, nonetheless it was my favorite. It was soft and fluffy and kept my head and neck warm. Since my hair was in the style of a little boy's this attribute of my apparel was especially important to me even at ten years old.
This trip that we set out on came about when my dad got a hankering for something to wet his whistle. And as you may or may not know twenty years ago they didn't sell any whistle wetting beverages on Sunday in Georgia. So off we go, venturing out for someone or something that might sell a fine brew.
We make our way via every possible dirt road that we could find to wherever it was we were going. Traveling on the paved roads would have been too much of a luxury. The first stop was to pick up my dad's friend Bo. There was just enough room in that Nova for the five of us and the artillery that my dad elected to carefully stow away just for rides like today. He was always anticipating the kill. The kill meaning, the kill of anything that could be cooked, fried, boiled, stewed, baked or grilled. Nothing was an exception.
As we continue on this journey in search of the finest brew that could wet a man's whistle on this Sunday afternoon, the car comes to a sudden halt on that dirt road we were traveling. And there she was....... looking out into the pasture all ten eyeballs was on one of the prettiest female deer that I have ever laid my eyes on. "oohhh look!" I squeal in my ten year old voice.
"Shhhhhhhhhh" All four males in the vehicle say to me at once. I was immediately scared to silence.
"You will scare her off with all that chatter." My dad quickly explains.
So I sit there along with my brothers in silence. My dad takes one of the rifles that he always has in tow and slowly raises it up out of the driver's car window and the next few minutes are a blur.
I hear the gun shot, feel my ears ringing and I see the deer fall to the ground. The next sounds were some of the most God-awful noises any ten year old has ever heard. The deer was wailing out in pain. My dad had shot her in the right hind leg, injured but not killed her. He quickly hands one of my brothers the gun and tells us to take the gun and hide in the woods.
Well this Sunday ride has really turned into a dramatic sequence of events. "My momma is gonna be so mad." Is what I was thinking.
So my brothers and I make our way over the barb wired fence and lay down under some brush and bushes and we wait for what seemed like an eternity.
As we are lying there we suddenly hear what sounds like another car drive up and then I can hear the squeak of a brake and then we all hear a lady's voice yell out, "I am calling the law, this is private property and you are trespassing."
My little heart was pounding out of my chest, I immediately start to cry. My brothers are loving every minute of this less than desirable turn of events. They both tell me to, "shut up with the crying."
All of a sudden I hear my daddy's voice saying, "c'mon young'uns get cha asses in the car."
Hmmm why is he mad at us, I never wanted to get out of the car.... anyway we make our way out of the brush and bushes and my brothers clear the fence. Of course they do they are boys. I get to the fence and immediately panic at the site of the prickly things sticking up ready to rip my flesh. I really was not up to getting injured on this Sunday.
I continue to slowly try to clear the fence without injury and then feel a hand on my pants at my waist and shirt and the next thing you know I am over the fence thanks to my dad's super human ability to "snatch my ass over the fence." I did make it without injury but not without loss.
My scarf, my favorite scarf, my only scarf got hung on that damn fence and I could see it hanging as I looked out the dusty rear view window. I could suddenly feel a chill on my neck and all the events within the last half hour took control of all my emotions and I began to cry. I was sad for that deer and I was even more sad that I had got my scarf caught on that fence and my dad left it there.
I don't even know if my dad and his friend Bo ever got that deer. If I had to guess they did. They didn't bother getting me my scarf though and that just doesn't sit right with me. To this day I will not hunt, don't care to hunt and you will not find me hunting. I am not against anyone else doing it because as a matter of a fact I love me some deer meat. I will however let someone else do the dirty work and bring me the deer meat.
My mother never let us go back on a Sunday ride with my dad again. I can't say that I don't blame her.
Thank you dad I am still paying for those therapy lessons.
You see what had happened was.....
Growing up my mother never let me and my two brothers go anywhere with our dad. Well they would get to go hunting and fishing for the most part, but me I always stayed at home with my mom to do our womanly duties: cook and clean.
It wasn't that my dad was a bad dad, my mom was just protective of us and knew that my dad on most occasions was unpredictable and subject to show up at a poker game or some other shenanigan at the drop of a dime.
However, my mom made an exception one Sunday afternoon, the first and only time. Now that I am a mother of three, my thoughts are that she was just shy of losing her last nerve before a complete nervous breakdown and therefore said, "what the hell, let them go." So we went. This is my first and last hunting story.
My dad never traveled anywhere without having at least two different kinds of riffles in his vehicle of choice. On this day, it was no different. I was ten years old.
It was a bright, sunny, yet bitterly cold Sunday. I was wearing my favorite purple and white sock cap and scarf. Actually it was my only sock cap and scarf, nonetheless it was my favorite. It was soft and fluffy and kept my head and neck warm. Since my hair was in the style of a little boy's this attribute of my apparel was especially important to me even at ten years old.
This trip that we set out on came about when my dad got a hankering for something to wet his whistle. And as you may or may not know twenty years ago they didn't sell any whistle wetting beverages on Sunday in Georgia. So off we go, venturing out for someone or something that might sell a fine brew.
We make our way via every possible dirt road that we could find to wherever it was we were going. Traveling on the paved roads would have been too much of a luxury. The first stop was to pick up my dad's friend Bo. There was just enough room in that Nova for the five of us and the artillery that my dad elected to carefully stow away just for rides like today. He was always anticipating the kill. The kill meaning, the kill of anything that could be cooked, fried, boiled, stewed, baked or grilled. Nothing was an exception.
As we continue on this journey in search of the finest brew that could wet a man's whistle on this Sunday afternoon, the car comes to a sudden halt on that dirt road we were traveling. And there she was....... looking out into the pasture all ten eyeballs was on one of the prettiest female deer that I have ever laid my eyes on. "oohhh look!" I squeal in my ten year old voice.
"Shhhhhhhhhh" All four males in the vehicle say to me at once. I was immediately scared to silence.
"You will scare her off with all that chatter." My dad quickly explains.
So I sit there along with my brothers in silence. My dad takes one of the rifles that he always has in tow and slowly raises it up out of the driver's car window and the next few minutes are a blur.
I hear the gun shot, feel my ears ringing and I see the deer fall to the ground. The next sounds were some of the most God-awful noises any ten year old has ever heard. The deer was wailing out in pain. My dad had shot her in the right hind leg, injured but not killed her. He quickly hands one of my brothers the gun and tells us to take the gun and hide in the woods.
Well this Sunday ride has really turned into a dramatic sequence of events. "My momma is gonna be so mad." Is what I was thinking.
So my brothers and I make our way over the barb wired fence and lay down under some brush and bushes and we wait for what seemed like an eternity.
As we are lying there we suddenly hear what sounds like another car drive up and then I can hear the squeak of a brake and then we all hear a lady's voice yell out, "I am calling the law, this is private property and you are trespassing."
My little heart was pounding out of my chest, I immediately start to cry. My brothers are loving every minute of this less than desirable turn of events. They both tell me to, "shut up with the crying."
All of a sudden I hear my daddy's voice saying, "c'mon young'uns get cha asses in the car."
Hmmm why is he mad at us, I never wanted to get out of the car.... anyway we make our way out of the brush and bushes and my brothers clear the fence. Of course they do they are boys. I get to the fence and immediately panic at the site of the prickly things sticking up ready to rip my flesh. I really was not up to getting injured on this Sunday.
I continue to slowly try to clear the fence without injury and then feel a hand on my pants at my waist and shirt and the next thing you know I am over the fence thanks to my dad's super human ability to "snatch my ass over the fence." I did make it without injury but not without loss.
My scarf, my favorite scarf, my only scarf got hung on that damn fence and I could see it hanging as I looked out the dusty rear view window. I could suddenly feel a chill on my neck and all the events within the last half hour took control of all my emotions and I began to cry. I was sad for that deer and I was even more sad that I had got my scarf caught on that fence and my dad left it there.
I don't even know if my dad and his friend Bo ever got that deer. If I had to guess they did. They didn't bother getting me my scarf though and that just doesn't sit right with me. To this day I will not hunt, don't care to hunt and you will not find me hunting. I am not against anyone else doing it because as a matter of a fact I love me some deer meat. I will however let someone else do the dirty work and bring me the deer meat.
My mother never let us go back on a Sunday ride with my dad again. I can't say that I don't blame her.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Concert Attendance Can Teach You A Thing Or Two
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "I never let a day go by without learning something new. A trip to a concert was no different."
This past weekend me and some of my friends headed a little south to take in some tunes at a concert of one of our favorite, fine as wine, country singers, Mr. Luke Bryan himself. All but one of them had ever had the pleasure of partaking in adult shenanigans with me and I was not about to disappoint her.
First of all, in true Angie fashion I wheeled it up in my girl's driveway at fifteen minutes past the time I was due to arrive. Hey it wasn't my fault the lady at the nail salon had a malfunctioning swipper machine and I had to drive to the bank, get money out and take it back to her... just saying....
So I scramble out of my car, grabbed my necessary adult beverage, my purse with everything but the kitchen sink in it and head to get in my friends vehicle. All eight of us packed it in like a can of sardines and set off to make a few memories.
Within ten minutes of the trip I am politely asked, "Hey Angie do you have any more stories about Cooters Catching on Fire?" In which I respond, "no however when I do you will be the first to hear it." Of course those that had not heard the story had to be filled in quickly. p.s. if you wish to know that story read about it in my blog....... it is a knee slapper.
So we continue on our merry way, and within twenty minutes, as I am telling a story I drop the F bomb and my girlfriend politely nudges me in the arm. This was just her way of reminding me of my ability to use this F bomb more often than I probably should. I think we even said something about getting me a shock collar or something. Well the young lady and a new found that had never been around me said, "and here I was worried about my foul language skills, I don't feel so bad about myself." It is always a good day when I can make someone else feel good about themselves.
After a stop at the gas station for a top of fuel and my adult beverage and a stop or two for me to pose with a pallet and a truck since apparently I could not find any other photo props, we arrive at our destination.
The place was not short of teenagers and young twenty some things.....All dressed in their concert attire, drinking their beer, wearing their boots, smoking their cigs. The guys trying to impress the ladies and the ladies sticking their nose in the air.
I like to watch these creatures in action and I will say that they did not disappoint me at and taught me a few things.
THE THINGS I LEARNED FROM THAT TRIP
This past weekend me and some of my friends headed a little south to take in some tunes at a concert of one of our favorite, fine as wine, country singers, Mr. Luke Bryan himself. All but one of them had ever had the pleasure of partaking in adult shenanigans with me and I was not about to disappoint her.
First of all, in true Angie fashion I wheeled it up in my girl's driveway at fifteen minutes past the time I was due to arrive. Hey it wasn't my fault the lady at the nail salon had a malfunctioning swipper machine and I had to drive to the bank, get money out and take it back to her... just saying....
So I scramble out of my car, grabbed my necessary adult beverage, my purse with everything but the kitchen sink in it and head to get in my friends vehicle. All eight of us packed it in like a can of sardines and set off to make a few memories.
Within ten minutes of the trip I am politely asked, "Hey Angie do you have any more stories about Cooters Catching on Fire?" In which I respond, "no however when I do you will be the first to hear it." Of course those that had not heard the story had to be filled in quickly. p.s. if you wish to know that story read about it in my blog....... it is a knee slapper.
So we continue on our merry way, and within twenty minutes, as I am telling a story I drop the F bomb and my girlfriend politely nudges me in the arm. This was just her way of reminding me of my ability to use this F bomb more often than I probably should. I think we even said something about getting me a shock collar or something. Well the young lady and a new found that had never been around me said, "and here I was worried about my foul language skills, I don't feel so bad about myself." It is always a good day when I can make someone else feel good about themselves.
After a stop at the gas station for a top of fuel and my adult beverage and a stop or two for me to pose with a pallet and a truck since apparently I could not find any other photo props, we arrive at our destination.The place was not short of teenagers and young twenty some things.....All dressed in their concert attire, drinking their beer, wearing their boots, smoking their cigs. The guys trying to impress the ladies and the ladies sticking their nose in the air.
I like to watch these creatures in action and I will say that they did not disappoint me at and taught me a few things.
THE THINGS I LEARNED FROM THAT TRIP
- A lot of young people and I refer to anyone that is younger than myself, have no sense of humor. I find someone with no sense of humor repulsive.
- A lot of young people have no sense of direction. When I ask, "hey do you know where I can find a good corn hole game?" then by George I want to know. There was only 1000 games of corn hole being played at one time. Point me in the general direction. They just looked at me like a deer in the head lights. Clueless I tell ya.
- Some young men can be quiet handsy. If I have to say to you, "touch me one more time and I am going to punch you, and don't cry like a bitch when I do", then you best not try to pinch my ass. Just saying.
- Most of these same young people do not know how to seize the opportunity. Yes security was around but there was also a stage there calling my name saying, "jump up here Angie, you apparently don't have enough excitement in your life." So that is what I did and I have the picture to prove it. See it is right there. ------------->>>>>
- Some young people have no manners. If you want to be by the stage then show up early with the rest of us. But do not expect to show up late then push your way to the front with out even saying excuse me. If they would have at least said, "excuse me" I would have let them by. Manners go a long way people.
- And finally something I already know but reaffirmed it at this concert, heels, holes and gravel don't mix. That deadly combination will twist an ankle in a heart beat.
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