If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "living in a single wide trailer makes it difficult for Santa to fulfill his mission without getting noticed."
I remember being around ten years old and it was Christmas time. This particular year I suppose my parents had a little extra cash to spend on Christmas and therefore my mother and I made a trip to Roses Department Store.
We walked through the store looking at all the Christmas decorations and the different toys that they had on display for the children to pitch fits about wanting from Santa. My mom and I strolled the aisles taking a look at decorations first then moving on to the toy section.
Of course as a ten year old little girl I looked at the dolls, barbies and play make up. But then as we kept walking my eye caught the vision of something so magnificent that it took my breath away.
There it was..... the prettiest bicycle that I had ever seen. It was purple and white and it had a banana seat with a basket on the front and tassels hanging off the handle bars. I remember telling my mother that I wanted Santa to bring that to me.!!!
Of course she went through the usual spill about she wasn't sure if I had been good enough that year for Santa to bring such an elaborate gift. She continued to say that most likely I would be getting a bag of switches. (well as long as I don't have to pick them out myself was my thoughts)
The next few weeks leading up to Christmas day were excruciating for me. It seemed a life time had passed before the day arrived. I remember laying in my twin bed at night dreaming about that bike. I asked my mom daily if Santa was going to bring it to me and every single time her response was, "probably not, Santa has been watching you and you probably will get a bag of switches." Was I really that bad.??? Oh the agony.
Now some may not know this but even at ten years old I was a people pleaser and the thought of me making Santa mad, well it just didn't sit right with me. The thought of me getting a bag of switches made me sick. I didn't want switches. I wanted that bike!!!
As many that have read my stories know, at this particular time in my life we lived in a single wide trailer. It had two bed rooms and one bathroom. There was a front door and a back door, however they were both on the front side of the trailer. I shared a room with my two brothers. The room had their twin bunk beds, my twin bed and one dresser with four drawers. Our room was right beside the living room which was beside the kitchen.
In the living room we had a wood burning heater. This heater caused great concern with me. I was very concerned with how Santa was going to fit down that pipe. I guess city kids with real fireplaces never had to worry about that. We had a small Christmas tree about four foot tall that my mom always tried to adorn with the prettiest ornaments. It was placed on top of an end table and in the corner in order to try to give us enough room to function. Needless to say the trailer was not extravagant, but it was home.
Christmas finally came and as with most children I found myself not able to go to sleep. I really tried everything that I could. I flipped the pillow at least twenty times to get the cold side. I hummed. I closed my eyes and counted sheep. I went to the bathroom to pee and was yelled at. I really did try to go to sleep.
I guess my parents waited until they thought we were sound asleep and then my dad ventured out to his destination.... toy storage....
Within minutes I could hear one of the two front doors squeak open and I could hear voices and rambling of paper. Then I heard my mom say, "Lawd she is going to be so excited, she done made herself plum sick worrying bout that bike."
What???? Did I just hear what I thought I heard? I am getting the bike!!!!. After all I am the only she in the house besides my mom and I have never seen her ride a bike.
Excited as I was, a slight disappointment overcame me. I knew what I was getting. But now I didn't want to disappoint my parents by letting them know that I knew. I could hear it in their voice how excited they were to give me what I had requested.
Now I am in a different turmoil.... How will I pull off acting like I don't know what "Santa" has brought me. Morning came and as I sleepily stumbled into the living room I shrieked with excitement at the sight of my new bike. I was pleased and my parents were pleased.
That was a great Christmas.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Veteran's Day and TAPS
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "when it comes to the military service of our men and women I am forever thankful."
As with every year, this year I attended the Veteran's Day Celebration they have at the local Middle School. I have been attending it for quite some time now since I have three children that have attended or is still attending that school. This year my seventh grader seemed especially excited for me to attend. That made me proud.
As usual as I sit through the ceremony and the various components are presented there are instances when a tear or two will come to my eyes. I try to fight back any tears in order to avoid smudging my mascara.
When people ask me about my service I am always proud to tell them that I did serve in the United States Navy as a Hospital Corpsman. Then the next question comes; "How long did you serve." And I always reply, "well I just did my four years."
I am not sure why a part of me feels as if those four years weren't enough. I almost feel that because I only did four years, never was deployed and pretty much remained at one duty station my entire enlistment that I somehow am not a true Veteran.
The truth of the matter is that, I am a Veteran and I am proud to be called a Veteran.
However I will say this, , I realize that my time served is nothing in comparison to the time served by countless men and women of our great country. As I stood there and they called out each conflict in which you stood and received your certificate, I was in complete awe of some of the men and women. There were some that had served during multiple conflicts, was in the line of fire, had been injured, sent back into the line of fire, and was still alive to be recognized on this day. They received their certificate as if they were receiving the Purple Heart.
I felt a sense of peace and pride knowing that these individuals paved the way so that when it came my time to serve I had the freedom to do just that and I did it to the best of my ability.
During the ceremony a young boy was prompted to play TAPS and he did it well. As with every time I hear TAPS a tear trickled down my cheek. I looked up in the bleachers and knew immediately that my son would be looking at me. He was. He knew that TAPS got me in the gut. Now prior to enlisting had I heard TAPS, I would not have been nearly affected. However I know the cost and I know what TAPS represents now and I will cry every time I hear it.
I stood there listening, with hand over my heart, trying to fight back the tears and I thought to myself, "I wonder if this young boy realizes the importance of this piece that he is playing?"
Twenty-four notes. It's a simple melody, 150 years old, that can express our gratitude when words fail. TAPS honors the men and women who have laid down their lives and paid the ultimate sacrifice for the cost of freedom.
I am not sure that all those children in that gym knew that day what they were listening too. However I know that me and all the Veterans that were present knew. Freedom does not come without a price.
I am thankful that I made a decision twenty years ago to join the United States Navy. I learned and experienced things that had I stayed in this one horse town I would have never known. I also met a lot of people that to this day I still call friend. Many are Veterans now and some are still enlisted. I say thank you to them all.
November 11, is Veteran's Day. Be sure and thank a Veteran.
As with every year, this year I attended the Veteran's Day Celebration they have at the local Middle School. I have been attending it for quite some time now since I have three children that have attended or is still attending that school. This year my seventh grader seemed especially excited for me to attend. That made me proud.
As usual as I sit through the ceremony and the various components are presented there are instances when a tear or two will come to my eyes. I try to fight back any tears in order to avoid smudging my mascara.
When people ask me about my service I am always proud to tell them that I did serve in the United States Navy as a Hospital Corpsman. Then the next question comes; "How long did you serve." And I always reply, "well I just did my four years."
I am not sure why a part of me feels as if those four years weren't enough. I almost feel that because I only did four years, never was deployed and pretty much remained at one duty station my entire enlistment that I somehow am not a true Veteran.
The truth of the matter is that, I am a Veteran and I am proud to be called a Veteran.
However I will say this, , I realize that my time served is nothing in comparison to the time served by countless men and women of our great country. As I stood there and they called out each conflict in which you stood and received your certificate, I was in complete awe of some of the men and women. There were some that had served during multiple conflicts, was in the line of fire, had been injured, sent back into the line of fire, and was still alive to be recognized on this day. They received their certificate as if they were receiving the Purple Heart.
I felt a sense of peace and pride knowing that these individuals paved the way so that when it came my time to serve I had the freedom to do just that and I did it to the best of my ability.
During the ceremony a young boy was prompted to play TAPS and he did it well. As with every time I hear TAPS a tear trickled down my cheek. I looked up in the bleachers and knew immediately that my son would be looking at me. He was. He knew that TAPS got me in the gut. Now prior to enlisting had I heard TAPS, I would not have been nearly affected. However I know the cost and I know what TAPS represents now and I will cry every time I hear it.
I stood there listening, with hand over my heart, trying to fight back the tears and I thought to myself, "I wonder if this young boy realizes the importance of this piece that he is playing?"
Twenty-four notes. It's a simple melody, 150 years old, that can express our gratitude when words fail. TAPS honors the men and women who have laid down their lives and paid the ultimate sacrifice for the cost of freedom.
I am thankful that I made a decision twenty years ago to join the United States Navy. I learned and experienced things that had I stayed in this one horse town I would have never known. I also met a lot of people that to this day I still call friend. Many are Veterans now and some are still enlisted. I say thank you to them all.
November 11, is Veteran's Day. Be sure and thank a Veteran.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Their Words, My Voice
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Conversation Detour Is Not Always A Bad Thing
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "never compromise who you are for what anyone else wants you to be."
Wow......
I looked and saw that it has been 16 days since I last posted anything. I guess I just haven't had anything come to mind that I wanted to share with the world. Well maybe not the world, maybe just a few faithful followers. On second thought they are my world so it all works out.
Why today? What do I all of a sudden feel like I need to share with the world, my world?
Simple but often forgotten.
The minute you begin to compromise who you are for what someone else wants you to be, you immediately start losing a part of your identity and what you were truly put on this Earth to become.
Couple of rules:
1. Rudeness is not acceptable
2. Dishonesty is not acceptable
3. Laziness is not acceptable.
So if these attributes are a part of your core, then I would suggest a little self-evaluation and a plan to change them in order to get yourself on track. And I am speaking to myself as well.
A Few more rules:
1. Politeness is always the best route
2. Be trustworthy and the friend a friend would like to have
3. Work hard, be productive, keep moving and stay focused
I was recently told by an individual that I have an energetic personality. She proceeded to say that I had the IT factor. She said, "you know what it means when people say she has IT." She also told me in this same conversation that people are either going to gravitate toward my energy and love it or people are going to gravitate toward my energy, like what they see and become less confident with themselves and do their best to bring me down.
What she told me was unsolicited. I hadn't asked her what her opinion about me and my personality was at all. I hadn't asked about how I looked or felt. We were actually speaking about business matters when this topic came to surface.
After the conversation I thought about why on Earth would she feel the need to tell me these things.
Then it hit me........
I do love life. I love to laugh. I love to sing. I love to dance (although I am not great at it). I love to work. I love my family. I love my friends. I love people. I love high heel shoes.
All of these things that I love bring me so much joy but at the same time have brought me sadness. I don't like to disappoint people at all and I have realized after 38 years that I will never be able to please everyone.
My goal is not to please everyone. My goal is to be who I am and be good to those that are in my life. And at moments I have tried to change who I truly was in order to prove my goodness to these people because that is what they wanted. In the end, I lost a little bit of me. The goodness was there all along and it just would have been greater coming from the real me.
I think my friend must have seen the twinkle in my eye start to fade and maybe felt the need to remind me that the person I am is who I am supposed to be. That doesn't mean that I think I am perfect with no room for change for the better.
I know that I have room for improvement. I am impatient, moody at times, and a little bit hard-headed. But I am also accepting, spontaneous, understanding, and willing to listen when the time arises. If I call you friend then I damn well mean it. I will not go down without a fight and I fight for those and what I believe in. And yes I am energetic on most occasions. I can't help it, I am a passionate person.
I am grateful for that conversation that took a detour from business to inspiration. It was just another way of reminding me to not compromise who I am in order to be what someone else wants me to be.
So I will continue on this journey of life with it's little road bumps but I will be wearing high heels and laughing the whole way.
Wow......
I looked and saw that it has been 16 days since I last posted anything. I guess I just haven't had anything come to mind that I wanted to share with the world. Well maybe not the world, maybe just a few faithful followers. On second thought they are my world so it all works out.
Why today? What do I all of a sudden feel like I need to share with the world, my world?
Simple but often forgotten.
The minute you begin to compromise who you are for what someone else wants you to be, you immediately start losing a part of your identity and what you were truly put on this Earth to become.
Couple of rules:
1. Rudeness is not acceptable
2. Dishonesty is not acceptable
3. Laziness is not acceptable.
So if these attributes are a part of your core, then I would suggest a little self-evaluation and a plan to change them in order to get yourself on track. And I am speaking to myself as well.
A Few more rules:
1. Politeness is always the best route
2. Be trustworthy and the friend a friend would like to have
3. Work hard, be productive, keep moving and stay focused
I was recently told by an individual that I have an energetic personality. She proceeded to say that I had the IT factor. She said, "you know what it means when people say she has IT." She also told me in this same conversation that people are either going to gravitate toward my energy and love it or people are going to gravitate toward my energy, like what they see and become less confident with themselves and do their best to bring me down.
What she told me was unsolicited. I hadn't asked her what her opinion about me and my personality was at all. I hadn't asked about how I looked or felt. We were actually speaking about business matters when this topic came to surface.
After the conversation I thought about why on Earth would she feel the need to tell me these things.
Then it hit me........
I do love life. I love to laugh. I love to sing. I love to dance (although I am not great at it). I love to work. I love my family. I love my friends. I love people. I love high heel shoes.
All of these things that I love bring me so much joy but at the same time have brought me sadness. I don't like to disappoint people at all and I have realized after 38 years that I will never be able to please everyone. My goal is not to please everyone. My goal is to be who I am and be good to those that are in my life. And at moments I have tried to change who I truly was in order to prove my goodness to these people because that is what they wanted. In the end, I lost a little bit of me. The goodness was there all along and it just would have been greater coming from the real me.
I think my friend must have seen the twinkle in my eye start to fade and maybe felt the need to remind me that the person I am is who I am supposed to be. That doesn't mean that I think I am perfect with no room for change for the better.
I know that I have room for improvement. I am impatient, moody at times, and a little bit hard-headed. But I am also accepting, spontaneous, understanding, and willing to listen when the time arises. If I call you friend then I damn well mean it. I will not go down without a fight and I fight for those and what I believe in. And yes I am energetic on most occasions. I can't help it, I am a passionate person.
I am grateful for that conversation that took a detour from business to inspiration. It was just another way of reminding me to not compromise who I am in order to be what someone else wants me to be.
So I will continue on this journey of life with it's little road bumps but I will be wearing high heels and laughing the whole way.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Beer or Food - It Really is About the Heart
If These Heels Could Talk on this day they would say, "who am I to say the one with their hand out in need is really not in need."
Most of my days are exceptionally busy and it is a given that at some point there will be some level of stress that I encounter. Of course it is all up to me whether I handle that stress like a champ or a chump. I will not say that the time of the month may or may not play a factor in the champ or chump part. Yes I admit, we get moody. Just no need for anyone to point out the obvious.
I have three children in which I have equipped with cellular devices Yes I am aware that 10 years ago this was not necessary and we all lived perfectly fine during this age. I will admit I do like being able to text or call one of my kids when they are out and about. One of my pet peeves is for them not to answer the phone if I call, especially when I pay and provide them with this privilege. I own it and I am just letting them borrow it, I just request that they use it responsibly.
As with most days, my youngest did not have his phone with him. And just like true Angie fashion I was running a little behind to pick him up from practice. Of course I have no way of contacting him to let him know this very important detail.
Suddenly I received a text from a random number and it read: "this is Jacob where r u." In which I reply, "on the way who is there." He responds, "McNutt".
I know Coach and I trust Coach so I think I will see if he will just drop Jacob off at the track or field house since I have to go there anyway to pick up Victor and I really don't want to hold the Coach up any longer. So I text back, "Can you give Jacob a ride to the track and I will be there to pick him up."
And I get........ nothing.....
So I call Kayla and check to see if Jacob came home since sometimes he will catch a ride, nope not there. So I call Coach and get no answer. By now I am a little on the irritated side that my little lad does not have his cellular device. Oh my bad, that is for Candy Crush anyway.......
I get to the school and they are there and Coach checks his phone and says, "oh yea I see where you call and text, I never check this thing." Well I can't be mad at him, after all he was watching over my little lad and I don't pay for his phone.
I then venture to the pharmacy to pick up my much needed meds, only to encounter a middle aged lady in what appears to be a needful situation. As I am pulling in she and a man are walking in the middle of the driveway, I refrained from yelling out the window or honking the horn and politely smiled. MISTAKE...... That was her GO BUTTON.
I pull into the drive through and since my little lad and I had the windows down letting our hair blow in the wind she walked right up to the passenger window and asked for seventy five cents to get a drink.
It was a little hot outside and her eyes were a little blood shot, she might have had the cotton mouth. Lord knows some know that feeling. I felt compelled to give her some cash and handed her a dollar bill.
Mind you I still have not received in hand what I was really there for, my needed meds. I handed my little lad a twenty dollar bill and said, "run into the store and get you a snack and I will be right around." Meanwhile our new found friend pounced on that and said, "do you have a little more cash, I am hungry too." Well, she did look a little frail and her hair was disheveled. I know when I get hungry I too can look a hot mess. So I proceed to hand her two more dollars, she replies, "thank you Jesus", and begins to walk.
"Well okay ma'am but I am not Jesus is what I was thinking."
As she is walking off my sweet little lad sprints out of the car and says as energetic as he could, "I have twenty dollars I can buy you something to eat." She seems very excited about this. He turns to me and I started shaking my head and mouthing "no". But by then the damage was done. He was on a mission and so was she.
By now the lady at the window has witnessed what just went down and has decided to kick her ass in high gear. I thanked her for being expeditious in her process and pressed the gas. My little lad had already rounded the corner and was in the store.
I arrive at the counter to find them both alive and him standing there preparing to pay for the chicken that she had got from the deli. My heart was relieved and my heart was full. Neither was harmed and he was being a little man.
Most adults know just as well as I know what she probably really wanted. But my little lad wasn't thinking anything like that, he heard her say, "I am hungry" and felt a desire to fulfill that need, of course at the expense of me, but nonetheless his heart was right.
Once we got into the car I turned to him and said, "she probably really wanted beer." And I immediately felt like the cigarette butt stuck to the gum on the bottom of a shoe.
I was taking away from his blessing and her blessing by the words that I had just let roll off my tongue.
I then said, "you know what son, you did the right thing." "You listened to her and you fulfilled a need and if she was lying about her need then that is on her and not you."
I could see how happy that little deed for the day made him. Maybe, just maybe in my daily routines of rushing here and there and trying to be everything to everyone that I have taught my children something.
We can't let other's deception and cruel intentions sway our decisions to do the right thing. Not everyone is lying and not everyone is out to get you. Yes I teach them to be smart, make the right decisions and know the difference between trusting and being trustworthy. My little lad made me proud.
All three of us received a blessing today.
Most of my days are exceptionally busy and it is a given that at some point there will be some level of stress that I encounter. Of course it is all up to me whether I handle that stress like a champ or a chump. I will not say that the time of the month may or may not play a factor in the champ or chump part. Yes I admit, we get moody. Just no need for anyone to point out the obvious.
I have three children in which I have equipped with cellular devices Yes I am aware that 10 years ago this was not necessary and we all lived perfectly fine during this age. I will admit I do like being able to text or call one of my kids when they are out and about. One of my pet peeves is for them not to answer the phone if I call, especially when I pay and provide them with this privilege. I own it and I am just letting them borrow it, I just request that they use it responsibly.
As with most days, my youngest did not have his phone with him. And just like true Angie fashion I was running a little behind to pick him up from practice. Of course I have no way of contacting him to let him know this very important detail.
Suddenly I received a text from a random number and it read: "this is Jacob where r u." In which I reply, "on the way who is there." He responds, "McNutt".
I know Coach and I trust Coach so I think I will see if he will just drop Jacob off at the track or field house since I have to go there anyway to pick up Victor and I really don't want to hold the Coach up any longer. So I text back, "Can you give Jacob a ride to the track and I will be there to pick him up."
And I get........ nothing.....
So I call Kayla and check to see if Jacob came home since sometimes he will catch a ride, nope not there. So I call Coach and get no answer. By now I am a little on the irritated side that my little lad does not have his cellular device. Oh my bad, that is for Candy Crush anyway.......
I get to the school and they are there and Coach checks his phone and says, "oh yea I see where you call and text, I never check this thing." Well I can't be mad at him, after all he was watching over my little lad and I don't pay for his phone.
I then venture to the pharmacy to pick up my much needed meds, only to encounter a middle aged lady in what appears to be a needful situation. As I am pulling in she and a man are walking in the middle of the driveway, I refrained from yelling out the window or honking the horn and politely smiled. MISTAKE...... That was her GO BUTTON.
I pull into the drive through and since my little lad and I had the windows down letting our hair blow in the wind she walked right up to the passenger window and asked for seventy five cents to get a drink.
It was a little hot outside and her eyes were a little blood shot, she might have had the cotton mouth. Lord knows some know that feeling. I felt compelled to give her some cash and handed her a dollar bill.
Mind you I still have not received in hand what I was really there for, my needed meds. I handed my little lad a twenty dollar bill and said, "run into the store and get you a snack and I will be right around." Meanwhile our new found friend pounced on that and said, "do you have a little more cash, I am hungry too." Well, she did look a little frail and her hair was disheveled. I know when I get hungry I too can look a hot mess. So I proceed to hand her two more dollars, she replies, "thank you Jesus", and begins to walk.
"Well okay ma'am but I am not Jesus is what I was thinking."
As she is walking off my sweet little lad sprints out of the car and says as energetic as he could, "I have twenty dollars I can buy you something to eat." She seems very excited about this. He turns to me and I started shaking my head and mouthing "no". But by then the damage was done. He was on a mission and so was she.
By now the lady at the window has witnessed what just went down and has decided to kick her ass in high gear. I thanked her for being expeditious in her process and pressed the gas. My little lad had already rounded the corner and was in the store.
I arrive at the counter to find them both alive and him standing there preparing to pay for the chicken that she had got from the deli. My heart was relieved and my heart was full. Neither was harmed and he was being a little man.
Most adults know just as well as I know what she probably really wanted. But my little lad wasn't thinking anything like that, he heard her say, "I am hungry" and felt a desire to fulfill that need, of course at the expense of me, but nonetheless his heart was right.
Once we got into the car I turned to him and said, "she probably really wanted beer." And I immediately felt like the cigarette butt stuck to the gum on the bottom of a shoe.
I was taking away from his blessing and her blessing by the words that I had just let roll off my tongue.
I then said, "you know what son, you did the right thing." "You listened to her and you fulfilled a need and if she was lying about her need then that is on her and not you."
I could see how happy that little deed for the day made him. Maybe, just maybe in my daily routines of rushing here and there and trying to be everything to everyone that I have taught my children something.
We can't let other's deception and cruel intentions sway our decisions to do the right thing. Not everyone is lying and not everyone is out to get you. Yes I teach them to be smart, make the right decisions and know the difference between trusting and being trustworthy. My little lad made me proud.
All three of us received a blessing today.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Surviving the Cut - Facebook Style
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "Do you have what it takes to outlast, outwit, and to ultimately survive the cut, Facebook Style?"
This little nugget of inspiration comes from a few Facebook posts that I have read this week. The posts come from some of my Facebook friends and they go something like this....
"I am cleaning out my friends list, if you are still here you know what that means, you weren't deleted."
"I swear to God if people don't stop sending me Candy Crush requests, I am deleting them."
"If you posts to much be prepared to get deleted."
"Time to clean up, some people need to be deleted."
So how am I supposed to take these idle threats? Am I just supposed to be comfortable with them and just sit on pins and needles the rest of the day? Am I to wonder, was I deleted, did they ever care to begin with? What did I do? Did I post too much? Did I not post enough? Where did this relationship fall apart?
Actually here is what I think......
I have myself encountered on an occasion a few people in which I clicked right on their little name and hit DELETE.... But this deletion never came from their posts but rather another annoying habit that some people have that I will share on another occasion.
Other than that I thoroughly enjoy the variety that I have in my Facebook Friends. They all have different personalities. Some post daily, some post multiple times a day. Some never post. Some are stalkers. I know this because they never comment on my posts however when I talk to my mother she enlightens me on how many people ask her about me and what I may have recently posted. Just ask me, I will share my friends. Some are just readers. Some are complainers and complain about everything. Some are politicians and posts nothing but political stuff. Some are advertisers. Some are fitness buffs, some are stay at home moms. Some post a lot of pictures and some post none.
The way I see it is that if you have a page and feel the need to manage it a certain way, that does not mean that the next person will manage theirs the same. And to get angry is quite absurd if you ask me. Unless they out right offend you in some manner, why not embrace the variety and appreciate it? That is just my factual opinion of course.
What does anyone care if Peggy Sue posts 20 pictures of herself and yes maybe she does think she looks good? Maybe just maybe Peggy Sue used to be overweight and she lost tons of weight and now she is proud of her accomplishment. Let her boast for a damn minute. You don't know her story.
And maybe Billy Bob is going through a rough divorce and is lonely and feels the need to vent one night on Facebook. Do I think that this is the best avenue for venting about your cheating slut of a wife? Hmmmm probably not, however maybe it makes him feel better for a second to get it off his chest and keeps him from going completely insane. Be thankful no one was murdered. He most likely will delete it the next day anyway after he apologizes to all that he may have been offended.
I heard on a radio station recently that Facebook was linked to causing people's depression. The depression stemmed from one reader looking at another person's life and becoming depressed because their's wasn't as glorious. You know those friends that are always traveling, etc..... Again, this is absurd. You can travel, you can have fun, you can have an awesome life, you just have to make it happen. And then you can tell us all about it on your Facebook page but only if you feel the need to.
I have been accused of sharing "too much" and I find that rather intriguing as well because these same people accusing me of sharing "too much" come up with some of the most off the wall opinions of me. If I really shared "too much" then those opinions would be facts. I share what I want, when I want and how I want. I decide what is too much. Maybe they don't share enough. Just saying.
The mentality behind the whole "delete" is just what we have resorted to as a society. One day we care the next day we don't. Of course I don't think that all 1217 of my Facebook Friends are really my friends. Quiet frankly if you manage to go through life with one true friend you should consider yourself blessed. I just happen to have a few more than one. And of course my life is not over, so who knows they may "delete" me.
So how do you survive the cut? How do you make all these cyber Facebook Friends pleased? I really don't know and I really don't give it a second thought. But my friends that do posts about deleting friends certainly give me a chuckle. I think, "uh oh who done made them mad?"
In the meantime, I will be watching for more of Surviving the Cut Facebook style
with my Heels Kicked Up!
This little nugget of inspiration comes from a few Facebook posts that I have read this week. The posts come from some of my Facebook friends and they go something like this....
"I am cleaning out my friends list, if you are still here you know what that means, you weren't deleted."
"I swear to God if people don't stop sending me Candy Crush requests, I am deleting them."
"If you posts to much be prepared to get deleted."
"Time to clean up, some people need to be deleted."
So how am I supposed to take these idle threats? Am I just supposed to be comfortable with them and just sit on pins and needles the rest of the day? Am I to wonder, was I deleted, did they ever care to begin with? What did I do? Did I post too much? Did I not post enough? Where did this relationship fall apart?
Actually here is what I think......
I have myself encountered on an occasion a few people in which I clicked right on their little name and hit DELETE.... But this deletion never came from their posts but rather another annoying habit that some people have that I will share on another occasion.
Other than that I thoroughly enjoy the variety that I have in my Facebook Friends. They all have different personalities. Some post daily, some post multiple times a day. Some never post. Some are stalkers. I know this because they never comment on my posts however when I talk to my mother she enlightens me on how many people ask her about me and what I may have recently posted. Just ask me, I will share my friends. Some are just readers. Some are complainers and complain about everything. Some are politicians and posts nothing but political stuff. Some are advertisers. Some are fitness buffs, some are stay at home moms. Some post a lot of pictures and some post none.
The way I see it is that if you have a page and feel the need to manage it a certain way, that does not mean that the next person will manage theirs the same. And to get angry is quite absurd if you ask me. Unless they out right offend you in some manner, why not embrace the variety and appreciate it? That is just my factual opinion of course.
What does anyone care if Peggy Sue posts 20 pictures of herself and yes maybe she does think she looks good? Maybe just maybe Peggy Sue used to be overweight and she lost tons of weight and now she is proud of her accomplishment. Let her boast for a damn minute. You don't know her story.
And maybe Billy Bob is going through a rough divorce and is lonely and feels the need to vent one night on Facebook. Do I think that this is the best avenue for venting about your cheating slut of a wife? Hmmmm probably not, however maybe it makes him feel better for a second to get it off his chest and keeps him from going completely insane. Be thankful no one was murdered. He most likely will delete it the next day anyway after he apologizes to all that he may have been offended.
I heard on a radio station recently that Facebook was linked to causing people's depression. The depression stemmed from one reader looking at another person's life and becoming depressed because their's wasn't as glorious. You know those friends that are always traveling, etc..... Again, this is absurd. You can travel, you can have fun, you can have an awesome life, you just have to make it happen. And then you can tell us all about it on your Facebook page but only if you feel the need to.
I have been accused of sharing "too much" and I find that rather intriguing as well because these same people accusing me of sharing "too much" come up with some of the most off the wall opinions of me. If I really shared "too much" then those opinions would be facts. I share what I want, when I want and how I want. I decide what is too much. Maybe they don't share enough. Just saying.
The mentality behind the whole "delete" is just what we have resorted to as a society. One day we care the next day we don't. Of course I don't think that all 1217 of my Facebook Friends are really my friends. Quiet frankly if you manage to go through life with one true friend you should consider yourself blessed. I just happen to have a few more than one. And of course my life is not over, so who knows they may "delete" me.
So how do you survive the cut? How do you make all these cyber Facebook Friends pleased? I really don't know and I really don't give it a second thought. But my friends that do posts about deleting friends certainly give me a chuckle. I think, "uh oh who done made them mad?"
In the meantime, I will be watching for more of Surviving the Cut Facebook style
with my Heels Kicked Up!
Monday, August 26, 2013
Bikini Tops and Pressure Washing
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "When you see me in shorts and a bikini top with the pressure washer out, that is not your cue to stop because you need to chat a second, that is your cue to keep damn driving or be pressure washed yourself."
Yesterday as I tried to relax for half a second in the pool and maybe catch a little vitamin D, Jacob was upstairs playing sniper out of his bedroom window. As I am looking up and watching him, because frankly every time I would try to look away he would yell, "Hey mom are you watching?" I realized that the house is in need of a little pressure washing........
So I get out of the pool, sling on some shorts and set off to get the pressure washer out of the shed. Four hours later, the back side of the house and one side of the house is done, along with half of the driveway. Just as I had one approximately three foot spot left of the driveway, I look up and get the living day lights scared out of me..... A man is getting out of his car, coming towards me and immediately starts talking to me, "are you Jacob's mom?"
Well isn't this awkward? I am feeling a little underdressed for this casual meeting. And now I am concerned, "What the hell did Jacob do?" Was my first thought. My second thought was, "are you freaking kidding me?"
I turn off the pressure washer in effort to show a little respect to hear what he has to say, trying to figure out if I should just continue to stand there feeling very under dressed or panic and run into the house. So I just stood there. Ain't no shame in my game.
Meanwhile in my mind, there is still an approximate three foot section of this drive way that needs to be done and I am really not hearing a thing this man is saying. Please ADHD don't fail me now. Don't show your colors now.......
He proceeds to explain that his ex is out of town and is curious if two of his kids can catch the bus at my house with Jacob since one of them is in the same grade as Jacob. He continues telling me that his other kid will drive the other two to school because one of them is special needs.
"Damn mister don't you know what causes all them children?" Was really where my mind was going.....
He said since he saw me outside he thought he would go ahead and stop since it was next week that this arrangement would be occurring.
"Whatever mister, sure all of the Walton's can ride now carry on so I can finish the damn driveway I am losing daylight while you ramble."
He was grateful for my generosity and finally departed ways. I return to finish the job at hand....... and the pressure washer won't start.
"Are you kidding me?" I will not rest until that spot is gone.
Thank you neighbor. Glad I could help you. You just contributed to part of my insanity.
Yesterday as I tried to relax for half a second in the pool and maybe catch a little vitamin D, Jacob was upstairs playing sniper out of his bedroom window. As I am looking up and watching him, because frankly every time I would try to look away he would yell, "Hey mom are you watching?" I realized that the house is in need of a little pressure washing........
So I get out of the pool, sling on some shorts and set off to get the pressure washer out of the shed. Four hours later, the back side of the house and one side of the house is done, along with half of the driveway. Just as I had one approximately three foot spot left of the driveway, I look up and get the living day lights scared out of me..... A man is getting out of his car, coming towards me and immediately starts talking to me, "are you Jacob's mom?"
Well isn't this awkward? I am feeling a little underdressed for this casual meeting. And now I am concerned, "What the hell did Jacob do?" Was my first thought. My second thought was, "are you freaking kidding me?"
I turn off the pressure washer in effort to show a little respect to hear what he has to say, trying to figure out if I should just continue to stand there feeling very under dressed or panic and run into the house. So I just stood there. Ain't no shame in my game.
Meanwhile in my mind, there is still an approximate three foot section of this drive way that needs to be done and I am really not hearing a thing this man is saying. Please ADHD don't fail me now. Don't show your colors now.......
He proceeds to explain that his ex is out of town and is curious if two of his kids can catch the bus at my house with Jacob since one of them is in the same grade as Jacob. He continues telling me that his other kid will drive the other two to school because one of them is special needs.
"Damn mister don't you know what causes all them children?" Was really where my mind was going.....
He said since he saw me outside he thought he would go ahead and stop since it was next week that this arrangement would be occurring.
"Whatever mister, sure all of the Walton's can ride now carry on so I can finish the damn driveway I am losing daylight while you ramble."
He was grateful for my generosity and finally departed ways. I return to finish the job at hand....... and the pressure washer won't start.
"Are you kidding me?" I will not rest until that spot is gone.
Thank you neighbor. Glad I could help you. You just contributed to part of my insanity.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
I Don't Have a Butt Like J-Lo For a Reason
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "ladies please stop lying to yourselves and trying to take short cuts to looking and feeling better."
As I was checking my daily news via Facebook, (by the way can someone please start posting the weather that would really help me out) I scrolled across yet another post on dieting or how to make yourself look skinny. This particular post was about drinking something that will help your belly be flatter.
Now I didn't even waste two seconds reading this material because quite frankly I was trying to catch up on the latest scandals, outburst, vents, rants, promotions, confessions, obsessions, and bragging of all my Facebook Friends. I must say that on most days I am very blessed and realize I am not as crazy as some of them. Just saying.
Anyway, after seeing the title to that post about dieting and making your belly flatter I started thinking about how ridiculous women can be when it comes to wanting to look skinnier, myself included. Notice I chose skinnier and not better. Skinnier does not always mean that you look better and skinnier does not always mean that you are healthy.
Nothing great in this lifetime will come to those that think taking a short cut to achieve your goals will work. Let me give you some things to ponder and I will use myself as an example. And this is all in relation to what we think we want versus what we are willing to do to get what we want. Of course in this post in means a perfect body.
I think that the female body is a beautiful thing. And I say this without questioning my sexuality at all. I still don't bat for the home team. I just think all in all women are beautiful. There are some women that you look at and you think, "dang I would love
to have her legs, or her abs, or her butt, or her arms." But in order to even begin to have what they have we have to do something we haven't done. And that is work for it. Here are some of my, "dang I wish I had that." I will start from the bottom and work my way up.
1. Carrie Underwood's Legs: Good Lawd she has the sexiest legs and if I believed in reincarnation I would love to come back as her legs when I die. They are perfect. I don't have legs even remotely close to looking like these because I do not put forth the effort in getting them to look this awesome. Here is what she does:Front Lunges with a Torso Twist- Holding a medicine ball step forward into a front lunge. While in a lunge position, hold the medicine ball out in front of the body and twist sideways, keeping the medicine steady. Twist back to the front and stand, bringing the feet together and lowering the medicine ball. Note: Twist in the direction of the lunge. (If you lunge with your right leg, twist towards the right.) This move works your core, shoulders, and legs.
Jump Squats: One of the best ways to “force your body to change” is to add plyometric or dynamic moves into your routine. Squat (as if you are going to sit into a chair while keeping your torso straight), from the squat position, JUMP into the air as high as you can, landing back into the squat position. Repeat for 20-25 reps. Great for the glutes, hamstrings, and it also gets your heart rate up.
2. Jennifer Lopez's Butt: We all know this famous rear. And while I have a rather round rear of my own it looks nothing like this fine piece of art. I don't have that ass or as some may reference DAT ASS because I again do not put the effort in getting it to look this grand. Not to surprise you but Jennifer Lopez also uses squats and lunges to workout that rear.
Follow this link and it shares her entire workout plan: http://www.popworkouts.com/jennifer-lopez-workout
Now I also believe that the key to a great looking rear when you have a larger than most other rear, is to pick the right articles of clothing. You can't hide it so you might as well embrace it's beauty and enjoy the curves you have been gifted with. Just do us all a favor and let it hang out.
3. Someone With AWESOME abs: As I was surfing the Internet and looking through pictures for awesome abs, I originally looked for some celebrity pictures. After not really finding what I was looking for I ran across this picture. Now this lady has some nice abs. If I were to have some nice abs this is how I would like them to look. I don't have abs like that because again, I don't do what is required to get those results. And yes I have had three children and no I do not believe that is reason they do not look like this. Again I don't put in the effort. Since I have no clue who this person is I can't google her ab workout. But I did some research on other ab workouts. And I came across this one: http://www.womenshealthmag.com/fitness/get-rock-solid-abs
I was going to continue up the body to the arms, but decided to just stop right here. I think this gives us enough to go on for now. I do realize that there are certain medical conditions that cause a person to gain weight and makes it harder to lose the weight. This is not about people being overweight anyway. It is about doing what needs to be done to get the results you want.
When I look at all three of these women I am not jealous of what they have that I don't. And I don't hate the way I look. I actually feel pretty confident about my appearance. I do however know that I could always improve to look better and feel better not for anyone else but for myself.
At the end of the day we have to decide if we want to do the work to get the reward. And that is the bottom line. Just to add a little humor to this post I researched some of the most ridiculous diets that have ever existed. Number one is actually my favorite. The the sad part is people actually believed them.
http://www.womansday.com/health-fitness/15-most-bizarre-diets-in-history-106514
Saturday, August 17, 2013
No Sense of Humor = You Suck
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "people that lack a sense of humor really do suck."
I am a very matter of fact person when it comes to business and the serious things of this world. At no point would you have to guess where I stand on an issue because I have no problem what so ever letting you know. I am at times thought to be mean until a person "gets" to know me and then the realize that I am just handling business.
There is most definitely a time and place for everything, however I really believe that you have to find a way to incorporate laughter into each and every day. Without that laughter the world would just be a big blob of frownie faces and nobody likes a frownie face.
On most any given day you will find me cracking a joke or being sarcastic (in a loving way). And a lot of times people get me and my sarcasm. But there are times when there are those weirdos among us that take everything so serious that they wouldn't know a joke if it slapped them in the face.
I recently had an encounter with an individual. I didn't know him and had never met him. He happened to be acquainted with two people that I happen to know and have known for a long time. They have witnessed my humor and sarcasm. They have laughed at my humor and sarcasm. They themselves have been humorous and sarcastic with me, in which I returned the favor and laughed a long.
During this encounter he asked me for something that he had been sent to retrieve and I "sarcastically, jokingly said, "tell blah and blah to take a chill pill or I will roll their house because I know where they stay. " He laughed at me. I even said, "I'm just joking as soon as I have it in my hands I will get it to blah." "And by the way, tell them both I said hey and I hope to see them soon."
Well apparently his little laugh was a fake laugh. Which by the way don't fake a laugh just to attempt to make me think you got the joke or that I might be offended if you didn't, that in itself is just dumb.
The next thing you know I was told that I had been rude about his request.
Hmmmmm........ at no point did I tell him he looked ridiculous in that shirt and those jeans. At no point did I say that his haircut was ridiculous. At no point did I tell him to take a chill pill. At no point did I tell him that he was ugly. All of those things would have been rude.
I cracked a joke. Since when is joking rude?
People take some things entirely too serious. I can't imagine living that way. And I won't live that way. If you find my humor and sarcasm offensive then I find your lack of a sense of humor offensive.
Laugh a little. It is so much prettier than crying.
I am a very matter of fact person when it comes to business and the serious things of this world. At no point would you have to guess where I stand on an issue because I have no problem what so ever letting you know. I am at times thought to be mean until a person "gets" to know me and then the realize that I am just handling business.
There is most definitely a time and place for everything, however I really believe that you have to find a way to incorporate laughter into each and every day. Without that laughter the world would just be a big blob of frownie faces and nobody likes a frownie face.
On most any given day you will find me cracking a joke or being sarcastic (in a loving way). And a lot of times people get me and my sarcasm. But there are times when there are those weirdos among us that take everything so serious that they wouldn't know a joke if it slapped them in the face.
I recently had an encounter with an individual. I didn't know him and had never met him. He happened to be acquainted with two people that I happen to know and have known for a long time. They have witnessed my humor and sarcasm. They have laughed at my humor and sarcasm. They themselves have been humorous and sarcastic with me, in which I returned the favor and laughed a long.
During this encounter he asked me for something that he had been sent to retrieve and I "sarcastically, jokingly said, "tell blah and blah to take a chill pill or I will roll their house because I know where they stay. " He laughed at me. I even said, "I'm just joking as soon as I have it in my hands I will get it to blah." "And by the way, tell them both I said hey and I hope to see them soon." Well apparently his little laugh was a fake laugh. Which by the way don't fake a laugh just to attempt to make me think you got the joke or that I might be offended if you didn't, that in itself is just dumb.
The next thing you know I was told that I had been rude about his request.
Hmmmmm........ at no point did I tell him he looked ridiculous in that shirt and those jeans. At no point did I say that his haircut was ridiculous. At no point did I tell him to take a chill pill. At no point did I tell him that he was ugly. All of those things would have been rude.
I cracked a joke. Since when is joking rude?
People take some things entirely too serious. I can't imagine living that way. And I won't live that way. If you find my humor and sarcasm offensive then I find your lack of a sense of humor offensive.
Laugh a little. It is so much prettier than crying.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Things That Fire Up My Panties
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "some things are just not called for and can down right peeve and annoy the living day lights out of me."
I know I got you all excited by the title of this post, sorry for all you pervs out there this isn't a post about what gets me "fired" up. What gets me "fired" is not of importance nor any one's business at this moment.
What I am talking about is those things that down right annoy me, get under my skin, gets me hot under the collar, gets my panties in a wad, peeves the pee out of me, gets on my last nerve.... well you get the picture........
So as I am folding the mountain of clothes that my 17 year old son assured me that he would handle, I got to thinking, this right here is something that really gets me fired up. Then I started thinking about other things that I just have zero tolerance for and I thought I would share with the world. Some things you may agree on and some things you might think, "what the hell." I do not pretend to me sane.
These are in no particular order and they all pretty much have the same affect on me.
1. DISHES LEFT IN THE SINK. Oh this really gets me hot under the collar, especially since this is the year 2013 and we have a dishwasher. When I was a kid we lived a whole year with no running water and dishes were
never left in the sink.
2. CLOTHES ON THE FLOOR. Just not acceptable and down right lazy if you ask me. We own hangars, we have closets, we have dressers. Put the clothes away. When I was a kid my brothers and I shared one dresser that had 4 drawers in it. We had no clothes on the floor.
3. A NASTY BATHROOM. I can't stand it. I find it repulsive. I know we go in the bathroom and what we have to do there is downright nasty, but I at least want my throne to be clean if I am sitting on it.
4. TOOTHPASTE LEFT IN THE SINK. This goes a long with #3. This will send me straight over the cliff. We still have that same running water that helps clean those dishes referenced in #1, wash all those little germs right on down the drain please.
5. CABINET DOORS LEFT OPEN. Really not that hard to close them people. Open, Close, Open, Close.
6. AN UNMADE BED. I can not leave my house with my bed not made. I don't care if I running so far behind and I couldn't catch up if you fast forwarded me into time. I can't do it. There is not a ounce of energy in my body that will allow this to happen. If I die I don't want anyone to come in my house and accuse me of being a nasty white woman. They can call me a crazy white woman all day long. Just don't call me a crazy nasty white woman.
7. DUST. I hate dust and I can't stand if I am sitting and I can see dust on my floor or coffee table, etc..... I will immediately switch from relax mode to military drill sergeant inspecting with the white glove.
8. TOWELS AND LINENS NOT FOLDED PROPERLY. How hard is it really to fold all things in a uniform pattern? How hard is it really that after you fold them properly to put them in the proper resting place.? Towels with towels, rags with rags, hand towels with hand towels. Really a simple process.
9. NOT PUTTING THINGS WHERE THEY BELONG. This applies to the refrigerator, the pantry, shoes, hats, book bags. The ketchup does not go on the same shelf as the milk. The bread does not go beside the baked beans. Your shoes do not go in my shoe closet. Hats belong on the hat rack not my counter. Book bags do not belong right in front of the door so that I can trip over them when I come home from a 12 hour work day.
10. ASKING ME WHY I HAVE TO YELL WHEN GIVING INSTRUCTIONS. Well you see I never start off yelling. I usually start off with, " hey sweetie bring your clothes down and I will wash them." Then I go to, "hey did you hear what I said, I said to bring your clothes down and I will wash them." Then it finally escalades into something you see out of a Samuel L. Jackson movie or the Exorcist. Because once it gets to this point I am yelling, "bring me the damn clothes down here before I rip every one of them to shreds and you will be going to school in nothing but your birthday suit." (that is really the edited version of the situation)
I realize that in the grand scheme of life what I have referenced is probably not all that important to some and they function perfectly fine with none of these things ever affecting them. I can only wish for such a day to arrive in my brain.
Now to hop off of this and go fold the towels the right way.
I know I got you all excited by the title of this post, sorry for all you pervs out there this isn't a post about what gets me "fired" up. What gets me "fired" is not of importance nor any one's business at this moment.
What I am talking about is those things that down right annoy me, get under my skin, gets me hot under the collar, gets my panties in a wad, peeves the pee out of me, gets on my last nerve.... well you get the picture........
So as I am folding the mountain of clothes that my 17 year old son assured me that he would handle, I got to thinking, this right here is something that really gets me fired up. Then I started thinking about other things that I just have zero tolerance for and I thought I would share with the world. Some things you may agree on and some things you might think, "what the hell." I do not pretend to me sane.
These are in no particular order and they all pretty much have the same affect on me.
never left in the sink.
2. CLOTHES ON THE FLOOR. Just not acceptable and down right lazy if you ask me. We own hangars, we have closets, we have dressers. Put the clothes away. When I was a kid my brothers and I shared one dresser that had 4 drawers in it. We had no clothes on the floor. 3. A NASTY BATHROOM. I can't stand it. I find it repulsive. I know we go in the bathroom and what we have to do there is downright nasty, but I at least want my throne to be clean if I am sitting on it.
4. TOOTHPASTE LEFT IN THE SINK. This goes a long with #3. This will send me straight over the cliff. We still have that same running water that helps clean those dishes referenced in #1, wash all those little germs right on down the drain please.
5. CABINET DOORS LEFT OPEN. Really not that hard to close them people. Open, Close, Open, Close.
6. AN UNMADE BED. I can not leave my house with my bed not made. I don't care if I running so far behind and I couldn't catch up if you fast forwarded me into time. I can't do it. There is not a ounce of energy in my body that will allow this to happen. If I die I don't want anyone to come in my house and accuse me of being a nasty white woman. They can call me a crazy white woman all day long. Just don't call me a crazy nasty white woman. 7. DUST. I hate dust and I can't stand if I am sitting and I can see dust on my floor or coffee table, etc..... I will immediately switch from relax mode to military drill sergeant inspecting with the white glove.
9. NOT PUTTING THINGS WHERE THEY BELONG. This applies to the refrigerator, the pantry, shoes, hats, book bags. The ketchup does not go on the same shelf as the milk. The bread does not go beside the baked beans. Your shoes do not go in my shoe closet. Hats belong on the hat rack not my counter. Book bags do not belong right in front of the door so that I can trip over them when I come home from a 12 hour work day.
10. ASKING ME WHY I HAVE TO YELL WHEN GIVING INSTRUCTIONS. Well you see I never start off yelling. I usually start off with, " hey sweetie bring your clothes down and I will wash them." Then I go to, "hey did you hear what I said, I said to bring your clothes down and I will wash them." Then it finally escalades into something you see out of a Samuel L. Jackson movie or the Exorcist. Because once it gets to this point I am yelling, "bring me the damn clothes down here before I rip every one of them to shreds and you will be going to school in nothing but your birthday suit." (that is really the edited version of the situation)
I realize that in the grand scheme of life what I have referenced is probably not all that important to some and they function perfectly fine with none of these things ever affecting them. I can only wish for such a day to arrive in my brain.
Now to hop off of this and go fold the towels the right way.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Damnit MaMa Was Right All Along
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "damnit my mama was right all along."
Those that are close to me have heard a story or two of mine. They have heard of how I grew up in the country. They have heard of how I didn't have even a phone until I was 14. They have heard of how during hunting season (which was year round for my dad) we never bought meat at the grocery store. The list of stories are endless.
I always joke with my mom when we talk about the "good ole days" and I say that I am going to bill she and my dad for the therapy sessions. She will say, "ahhhh Angie it wasn't that bad, look at the person you have become, it made you work that much harder." She is right about that. I do value everything that I have been blessed with. Nothing I have was given to me and I have worked hard so that my children never want for anything.
Every now and then my mom will say, "Angie your kids don't know what it is like to rough it." And I always reply, "and I don't want them to know what it is like." "I want them to have more than I had and do better."
Here is the deal.... my mom is freaking right....... My kids don't know what it is like to rough it. My oldest son's idea of "roughing" it is the time when a tornado (yes a tornado) had come through and the power was out and his IPhone 5 was down to 2% battery life. You would have thought he was a crack head and someone just stole his rock. He was freaking out... "Mom my phone is down to 2% and I don't have a car charger." "Mom your charger won't fit mine because yours is an IPhone 4."
My daughter's idea of roughing it is there is no Dance Moms on to watch or her little brother recorded WWE over Pretty Little Liars.
My youngest sons idea of roughing it is that there are no more eggs and all he wants is an egg sandwich. Or "who took the last of the freaking milk." " Or why isn't Netflix working?"
Don't get me wrong, my kids are not the spoiled, let me pitch a fit kind of kid if they don't get their way. Because they know I won't put up with that. However they know that when they do come to me, whatever it may be, I will do everything in my power to make it happen.
I was 14 years old when I started working. First babysitting jobs then of course real paying, tax deducting jobs. I bought ALL of my clothes that I wore in high school. I bought my class ring, my prom dresses, my Senior pictures, all my shoes, I put gas in my car that I paid $500.00 for and I paid my own insurance. Never was I upset that I had to do this. I did it because I knew it was a burden taken off of my mom. And quite frankly there is nothing more satisfying then paying your own way.
I know what it is like to have no running water for over a year because the well went dry and there was no money in the budget to dig another one. But I also know that in that year's time, our house was ALWAYS clean, our clothes were ALWAYS washed, and we were ALWAYS bathed. My mom made it work. And yes it was rough. And I really don't need therapy for my years of roughing it. Looking back it was a true blessing.
I guess now I am trying to figure out how I can mix up a little bit of what my mom did with a little bit of what I do. No I don't have it all figured out and I still have my moments. But at the end of the day, every day, I know that I have given it my all and I can still hear my MaMa telling me that, "one day I will appreciate all that I am going and have gone through."
Damnit MaMa was right!!!
Those that are close to me have heard a story or two of mine. They have heard of how I grew up in the country. They have heard of how I didn't have even a phone until I was 14. They have heard of how during hunting season (which was year round for my dad) we never bought meat at the grocery store. The list of stories are endless.
I always joke with my mom when we talk about the "good ole days" and I say that I am going to bill she and my dad for the therapy sessions. She will say, "ahhhh Angie it wasn't that bad, look at the person you have become, it made you work that much harder." She is right about that. I do value everything that I have been blessed with. Nothing I have was given to me and I have worked hard so that my children never want for anything.
Every now and then my mom will say, "Angie your kids don't know what it is like to rough it." And I always reply, "and I don't want them to know what it is like." "I want them to have more than I had and do better."
Here is the deal.... my mom is freaking right....... My kids don't know what it is like to rough it. My oldest son's idea of "roughing" it is the time when a tornado (yes a tornado) had come through and the power was out and his IPhone 5 was down to 2% battery life. You would have thought he was a crack head and someone just stole his rock. He was freaking out... "Mom my phone is down to 2% and I don't have a car charger." "Mom your charger won't fit mine because yours is an IPhone 4."
My daughter's idea of roughing it is there is no Dance Moms on to watch or her little brother recorded WWE over Pretty Little Liars.
My youngest sons idea of roughing it is that there are no more eggs and all he wants is an egg sandwich. Or "who took the last of the freaking milk." " Or why isn't Netflix working?"
Don't get me wrong, my kids are not the spoiled, let me pitch a fit kind of kid if they don't get their way. Because they know I won't put up with that. However they know that when they do come to me, whatever it may be, I will do everything in my power to make it happen.
I was 14 years old when I started working. First babysitting jobs then of course real paying, tax deducting jobs. I bought ALL of my clothes that I wore in high school. I bought my class ring, my prom dresses, my Senior pictures, all my shoes, I put gas in my car that I paid $500.00 for and I paid my own insurance. Never was I upset that I had to do this. I did it because I knew it was a burden taken off of my mom. And quite frankly there is nothing more satisfying then paying your own way.I know what it is like to have no running water for over a year because the well went dry and there was no money in the budget to dig another one. But I also know that in that year's time, our house was ALWAYS clean, our clothes were ALWAYS washed, and we were ALWAYS bathed. My mom made it work. And yes it was rough. And I really don't need therapy for my years of roughing it. Looking back it was a true blessing.
I guess now I am trying to figure out how I can mix up a little bit of what my mom did with a little bit of what I do. No I don't have it all figured out and I still have my moments. But at the end of the day, every day, I know that I have given it my all and I can still hear my MaMa telling me that, "one day I will appreciate all that I am going and have gone through."
Damnit MaMa was right!!!
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Walmart Hell On Earth
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "I really have no clue what I want to say, I just know I feel like talking."
Today I ventured out to what I consider one of the most dreadful places in the universe. I believe that it is close to being what I imagine hell on Earth would be and it goes by the name of Wal-Mart.
I freaking hate Wal-Mart. I hate Wal-Mart with a passion. And I also dislike many of the people that visit Wal-Mart. They have no shopping class. What is shopping class you ask?
Well for starters, you don't stand in the middle of the isle having a mini family reunion. You can greet your cousin of your cousin that just gave birth to her fifth baby at church tomorrow. I am on a mission here. Get out of my way.
Secondly, I realize that Wal-Mart may not bring out the best in every one, but wearing a bra in public is highly recommended for many.
Please practice proper hygiene. Today as I was trying to get a pack of pencils I brushed up against an individual that clearly had not bathed in days, possibly months. There are plenty of rivers, ponds and creeks surrounding us and the last time I checked a bar of soap ain't that expensive.
I do realize that it is extremely hard to quit smoking, but please do not take a toke off of your cig only to walk in the door to exhale every bit of cancerous nicotine you can in my face. I would like to live a little bit longer. Thank you for keeping your second hand smoke to yourself.
Keep your camel toe and your a double s cheeks to yourself. Unless you work at a gentleman's club these things really should not be exposed. I really don't have the time to explain such creatures to my young son. I will let him learn them in the locker room.
And lastly, when you are walking in front of vehicles, remember you might think that you are in control, but really your hip and back will never recover from an accidental bump by that vehicle. Move it!!!!
Today I ventured out to what I consider one of the most dreadful places in the universe. I believe that it is close to being what I imagine hell on Earth would be and it goes by the name of Wal-Mart.
I freaking hate Wal-Mart. I hate Wal-Mart with a passion. And I also dislike many of the people that visit Wal-Mart. They have no shopping class. What is shopping class you ask?
Well for starters, you don't stand in the middle of the isle having a mini family reunion. You can greet your cousin of your cousin that just gave birth to her fifth baby at church tomorrow. I am on a mission here. Get out of my way.
Secondly, I realize that Wal-Mart may not bring out the best in every one, but wearing a bra in public is highly recommended for many.
Please practice proper hygiene. Today as I was trying to get a pack of pencils I brushed up against an individual that clearly had not bathed in days, possibly months. There are plenty of rivers, ponds and creeks surrounding us and the last time I checked a bar of soap ain't that expensive.
I do realize that it is extremely hard to quit smoking, but please do not take a toke off of your cig only to walk in the door to exhale every bit of cancerous nicotine you can in my face. I would like to live a little bit longer. Thank you for keeping your second hand smoke to yourself.
Keep your camel toe and your a double s cheeks to yourself. Unless you work at a gentleman's club these things really should not be exposed. I really don't have the time to explain such creatures to my young son. I will let him learn them in the locker room.
And lastly, when you are walking in front of vehicles, remember you might think that you are in control, but really your hip and back will never recover from an accidental bump by that vehicle. Move it!!!!
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Out of the Mouths of Southerners
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "boy us Southerners can come up with some garbage."
A friend of mine recently posted a video to my Facebook timeline that was titled "S$IT Southern Women Say". I must say it certainly gave me quiet the chuckle. So of course in good ole Angie fashion I started thinking back to some of the Southern sayings that I grew up on.
Every culture has it's own slang terminology. I know this because anything I ever learned in Spanish class went right out the damn window when I sat in between to people that spoke fluent Spanish or as we from the South would say, "they spoke Mexican."
I was able to pick up the cuss words, and to this day I impress myself when I can make out that someone is cussing in Spanish. It really is the important things in life you know.
Well anyway, back to the real reason for this late night round of rambling....
I thought I would sling some of our sayings down here on this here computer to give ya'll out there a little chuckle....
Here goes....
And so tonight in closing I would like to say.... Good night John Boy.....
A friend of mine recently posted a video to my Facebook timeline that was titled "S$IT Southern Women Say". I must say it certainly gave me quiet the chuckle. So of course in good ole Angie fashion I started thinking back to some of the Southern sayings that I grew up on.
Every culture has it's own slang terminology. I know this because anything I ever learned in Spanish class went right out the damn window when I sat in between to people that spoke fluent Spanish or as we from the South would say, "they spoke Mexican."
I was able to pick up the cuss words, and to this day I impress myself when I can make out that someone is cussing in Spanish. It really is the important things in life you know.
Well anyway, back to the real reason for this late night round of rambling....
I thought I would sling some of our sayings down here on this here computer to give ya'll out there a little chuckle....
Here goes....
- Bill is busier than a one legged man in a butt kickin contest.(well you get the idea)
- Give me them there fish so I can wrench them off. (Just caught a mess of fish and need to rinse them off)
- If you don't stop that crying, I'm gone giving ya something to cry about. (You's about to get your tail tore up)
- Oh Billy Bob was about as high as a Georgia Pine. (He was tore slap up.... drunk)
- She'd complain if Jesus Christ came down and handed her a dollar bill. (She ain't never happy)
- I brought cha in this world and I will take you out. (Mom when she is ticked off)
- I am a full as a tick. (Just ate the whole buffet)
- She is about as dumb as a box of rocks. (Really don't get dumber than that)
- He was driving like it was a Sunday afternoon. (Driving entirely too slow)
- I have known you since you were knee high to a grasshopper. (Knew me since I was a little one)
- You is the spittin image of your Daddy. (It means you ain't the mail mans kid)
- Damn it's cold enough to hang meat in this place. (Turn on some heat)
- I don't know whether to scratch my butt or wind my watch. (Someone is a little on the confused side)
- It is cold as a witch's tittie in a brass bra. (Turn on some heat)
- Good Lawd woman how do you walk in them shoes?
- Ain't cha afraid ya is gonna break your neck in them shoes?
- Just how high are those heels?
- Did ya shoot a hooker for those heels?
- I can't wear nothing but flip flops I swear.
And so tonight in closing I would like to say.... Good night John Boy.....
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Heels and a Beer
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "walk a mile in my heels then you you can judge if the direction I'm headed is right."
I haven't written anything in almost a week. I have missed writing and I have missed seeing the amount of people that read my posts. I especially like seeing the different countries that visit my site.
I've never thought of myself as a writer and I suppose I really don't now. I have just had friends to encourage me to write. Especially when I tell them some off the wall story that most would only think was make believe. Nope my imagination isn't that good.
Sometimes I wish my stories were make believe. But they are real. They are genuine. I wish they were all funny. But they aren't. I like to laugh. It's one of my favorite things in the world. I also like to make people laugh too. I believe I feel better doing that then when I'm on the receiving end. Laughter really is the best medicine.
Recently I got to meet up with some of my best lady friends. I had worked all day long and had originally planned on meeting them but didn't figure I could after getting off so late.
Since I had to go that direction anyway I thought I would check on them. I wanted to make sure they weren't having too much fun without me.
To my surprise they were sitting outside and as soon as they saw me they were excited. They genuinely wanted me there. Of course that made me feel good.
There were a few ladies there that I know however I had never just hung out with them. Of course I as usual proceeded with breaking them in good ole Angie style. We had a blast.
During our little gathering it saddened me when one of them said just don't tell anyone I was drinking a beer.
What are we 12? Why would anyone care? Why would anyone oppose of an adult enjoying some laughs and a beer?
People are so quick to judge others by the choices they make. And although I've never been one to concern myself of the opinions of others I realize there are some that do. And I understand that.
We laughed, we drank a beer or two and someone may have told an "inappropriate" joke. No one was harmed and we all walked away feeling the love of each other.
It was an awesome night.
It is my wish for those people that find time in their day to judge others based on their weekend activities that they find them self something a little more exciting and fulfilling.
You would be amazed at how your life could change just by focusing less on others and more on yourself.
In the meantime I will continue to laugh, have a drink or two and possibly tell an inappropriate sarcastic joke.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Laughter In the Darkest Moments
If These Heels Could Talk they would say, "laughter can be found even in the darkest moments."
Everyone has their own coping mechanism. Some use alcohol, some use drugs, some use food, some use sex, and some use gambling. Most of the time the coping mechanism is used to get the person through a moment that is painful. It helps them to forget what is either happening or has happened.
My coping mechanism is laughter. My coping mechanism is the ability to take tragic moments that either I was subjected to or chose on my own and poke fun at them. Most of the time when I am telling my story to someone I don't realize that this is what I am doing. I just know that usually the other person is in some kind of shock from either the story itself or the fact that I am laughing about the story.
I believe that we all have our poor pitiful why me moments. My mom hates when I tell stories sometimes and then I follow that story up with, "and that is a damn therapy session and that is going to cost someone."
I have had those poor pitiful why me moments. I will not lie. When you are growing up and some of your "friends" own nothing but name brand clothing and are getting brand new cars at the age of 16, you wonder why not me? Why can't I have that? Why can't I have the in ground pool and enclosed garage. Why can't I have central heat and air? Why can't I have a telephone at the house? Why can't I have running water?
I really don't remember if I was ever angry about the way I was feeling. Maybe it was because my mother always instilled into my brothers and I that all of that really didn't matter and that a friend was a friend no matter what.
We were NOT white trash we just didn't have the means that others had and now some 25 years later I understand why I was chosen to experience the things that I did. My experiences although tragic to some, bring humor to others.
In one of the hardest times of a friend's life I was able to bring laughter to her life. That laughter came from my experience, my childhood and it was a true story. And just so you know I laughed until my stomach hurt.
My dad was able to scout out this fine jewel of dwelling at the tune of $125.00 a month. I remember this place I called home for four years. I had my own room for the first time at the age of 14. My room actually had it's own door to the outside world. My brothers still shared a room and my parents of course had their own room. There was one bathroom that was right off from the kitchen (really is that necessary, put it somewhere else people)
The electricity of this dwelling was something to be desired. One memory that stands out the most is that at Christmas time when we would turn the Christmas tree lights on EVERY light in the house would dim. And that Christmas tree lit up like the fourth of July. And when we turned them off all the other lights started to light the house normal.
My mom always liked to decorate and still does for the holidays. And like any Southern household there were lights that adorned the outside of this dwelling during the holidays. On one or two occasions a couple of people stopped to see if we were selling catfish plates. Hmmmm o.k.... we are not a catfish house.
After further research it was discovered that this dwelling that I called home for four years was actually an old convenience store. Wow, what a shocker!!!
My mom and I painted it one summer a nice turquoise blue. But since it was just her and I laboring over this task with a paint brush we opted out of painting the back of it so we just painted three sides and left the back to remain barnyard red.
I told my friend about this home and we laughed and laughed. I do not poke fun at what my parents best efforts to raise three children were. I KNOW THEY DID THE BEST THEY COULD WITH WHAT THEY HAD. I poke fun at the experience. I poke fun at the fact that I am blessed to not have to live that way today. I poke fun at how crazy we must have looked to others. I poke fun at the electrical wiring and how crazy that was.
I am blessed to have lived the way I lived and I now know that what may be tragic to some can most definitely bring laughter to others.
Everyone has their own coping mechanism. Some use alcohol, some use drugs, some use food, some use sex, and some use gambling. Most of the time the coping mechanism is used to get the person through a moment that is painful. It helps them to forget what is either happening or has happened.
My coping mechanism is laughter. My coping mechanism is the ability to take tragic moments that either I was subjected to or chose on my own and poke fun at them. Most of the time when I am telling my story to someone I don't realize that this is what I am doing. I just know that usually the other person is in some kind of shock from either the story itself or the fact that I am laughing about the story.
I believe that we all have our poor pitiful why me moments. My mom hates when I tell stories sometimes and then I follow that story up with, "and that is a damn therapy session and that is going to cost someone."
I have had those poor pitiful why me moments. I will not lie. When you are growing up and some of your "friends" own nothing but name brand clothing and are getting brand new cars at the age of 16, you wonder why not me? Why can't I have that? Why can't I have the in ground pool and enclosed garage. Why can't I have central heat and air? Why can't I have a telephone at the house? Why can't I have running water?
I really don't remember if I was ever angry about the way I was feeling. Maybe it was because my mother always instilled into my brothers and I that all of that really didn't matter and that a friend was a friend no matter what.
We were NOT white trash we just didn't have the means that others had and now some 25 years later I understand why I was chosen to experience the things that I did. My experiences although tragic to some, bring humor to others.
In one of the hardest times of a friend's life I was able to bring laughter to her life. That laughter came from my experience, my childhood and it was a true story. And just so you know I laughed until my stomach hurt.
My dad was able to scout out this fine jewel of dwelling at the tune of $125.00 a month. I remember this place I called home for four years. I had my own room for the first time at the age of 14. My room actually had it's own door to the outside world. My brothers still shared a room and my parents of course had their own room. There was one bathroom that was right off from the kitchen (really is that necessary, put it somewhere else people)
The electricity of this dwelling was something to be desired. One memory that stands out the most is that at Christmas time when we would turn the Christmas tree lights on EVERY light in the house would dim. And that Christmas tree lit up like the fourth of July. And when we turned them off all the other lights started to light the house normal.
My mom always liked to decorate and still does for the holidays. And like any Southern household there were lights that adorned the outside of this dwelling during the holidays. On one or two occasions a couple of people stopped to see if we were selling catfish plates. Hmmmm o.k.... we are not a catfish house.
After further research it was discovered that this dwelling that I called home for four years was actually an old convenience store. Wow, what a shocker!!!
My mom and I painted it one summer a nice turquoise blue. But since it was just her and I laboring over this task with a paint brush we opted out of painting the back of it so we just painted three sides and left the back to remain barnyard red.
I told my friend about this home and we laughed and laughed. I do not poke fun at what my parents best efforts to raise three children were. I KNOW THEY DID THE BEST THEY COULD WITH WHAT THEY HAD. I poke fun at the experience. I poke fun at the fact that I am blessed to not have to live that way today. I poke fun at how crazy we must have looked to others. I poke fun at the electrical wiring and how crazy that was.
I am blessed to have lived the way I lived and I now know that what may be tragic to some can most definitely bring laughter to others.
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