i'm pretty sure i'm not the woman god wants me to be. i'm convinced of this on a daily basis. at a quarter past six almost every tuesday night i drive nineteen miles from conroe to montgomery to go to bible study that meets for ninety minutes beginning at seven p.m. why does it take forty-five minutes to drive nineteen miles on a divided highway that's got three lanes for traffic in each direction? why does it take the better part of an hour to drive less than twenty miles? because people are selfish bastards. they don't want to be behind anyone else. they don't want anyone cutting in front of them. they don't want to go any faster than the posted speed limit of fifty-five miles per hour on that well-constructed highway that's wider than a river because they don't want to get a ticket. but they'll be damned if they move over for you. they won't slow down to let you go by. they won't speed up and risk getting that ticket. they're perfectly content to pace the fucker next to them and block traffic so everyone else gets caught at all the lights with them. they follow just closely enough so that it's impossible to wedge your vehicle between theirs and someone else's.
i am not a patient woman. and the stupid vision issues with which i have been blessed make driving in a pack of metal at fifty-five miles per hour with little to no way out should an accident occur create in me a sensation of anxiety i do not desire to know. i am not a kind woman, and my lack of patience and kindness is never more evident than when i am making that nineteen-mile trek to montgomery.
when i googled the distance i was shocked to know it was only nineteen miles. it feels a HELL of a lot longer.
interestingly enough, the journey to the church this evening was definitely one of the more peaceable ones. this could be because i ran a couple of yellows to avoid getting stuck again when, thanks to the grace of god, i'd managed to extract myself from the pack and put some good distance between us. and maybe i was going sixty. maybe.
usually the ride home is pleasant. that was not the case today. i changed lanes like i was driving in a nascar race. i rode people's asses. in those moments when i saw an opportunity to get by someone, another car would fill that hole, and i'd be stuck again. and none of these drivers were going over fifty. all of them were going the same damned speed.
i want to be the kind of woman god wants me to be. i want to be gracious and patient and kind and good. i know i'm capable of these things. but so often, the lesser demons prevail. i want to be the kind of woman who isn't practically foaming at the mouth and ranting at others with whom i'm sharing the road. i want to be the one who's not screaming GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY even though the only ones to hear me are me and god.
i want the goodness i get from those ninety minutes to last longer than ninety seconds once i've walked out into the night and headed for home. for my heart and mind, my eyes and ears to be open to the lord's will and word.
one of the things mentioned tonight was we are encouraged to hate evil. not the person doing the evil, but the evil itself.
hate's not the answer, and i don't believe god wants us to hate, anyway. i think he wants us to love. i'm not good at loving. i'm good at being hateful. maybe that's why it's difficult for me to believe he would want me to hate anything. it always feels wrong when i do it. i never like myself when i am being hateful. ever. and yet... put me on the highway, and i can't be anything but hateful.
that is not the woman i want to be. that isn't anything close to resembling the woman i want to be.
i want to be fearless.
i want to be able to employ those tactics for safe driving that i learned in high school -- the safe distance, the constant vigilance... the yielding of the right of way. to demonstrate love in my life. i want to have joy in hope and patience in affliction and faithfulness in prayer.
sunday i drove to tyler to find something in that town with earl campbell's name on it. the distance from tyler to hawkins, where i lived from the time was i was three to eight, is about nineteen miles. i'd only been to hawkins once since we moved away, and it's been so long ago that my only memory of that visit is the auditorium at the high school. so i made that twenty-minute trek (which is how long it should take to travel about twenty miles), went to my old school and my old house and had dinner at some restaurant there. i let the waitress surprise me with my order. i told her to order what she felt was the best item on the menu. she served me fajitas, which is not a thing i order, but they were good. i liked them.
in bible study tonight, one of the girls said that she had a friend who would pray, god surprise me.
i want to be surprised. i want this life of mine to feel more purposeful. i want to feel like i'm contributing, like i'm doing the work he wants me to do. like i'm using my voice for good. like i'm not wasting it to curse the folks in the cars next to me.
i want my car out of the shop. i'm driving a rental (which i almost wrecked on the way home this evening, by the way) because some dude hauling a flatbed of pallets stacked to high clipped the right fender of my car at a gas station (i was standing at the pump, getting ready to fill the tank and watched, dumbfounded, as that trailer tore the bumper off). when i'm renting a car (on the day of my older's death, by the way) and tell the clerk that it's the anniversary of my brother's death and i need this process to go smoothly, i want him not to be confrontational and condescending.
one of the songs playing at that restaurant sunday night was brad paisley's i thought i loved you then. when i hear a song like that, when i hear a story like the one told in that song, when a man can communicate the love he feels for another in such a way as to be sweet and good and loving, when it inspires in me a sense of wonder, i want to be happy that a man could feel that way for a woman and not be afraid to admit it. i want to be happy for the woman receiving such admiration. i want my initial reaction not to be sadness and jealousy and to mutter things like even happy country songs are depressing. and when a friend questions whether a happy country song exists, i want to refrain from replying: it's sweet and good and sentimental... and just the sort of thing that could make a single gal want to clobber a couple, and the damned steel guitar makes me want to snatch that thing out of some dude's hands, yank the strings off and wrap them around his throat.
when a handsome man walks into my place of work, i want to be able to speak to him without being anxious or seeming flirtatious. i want to be able to talk to him like he's any other customer. i want to be able to appreciate those physical attributes that are worthy of attention without cataloging all those i lack.
i want to be able to talk with men and not be accused by their girlfriends of being in love with those men. or be accused by other men of flirting with those men.
on the rare occasion a man asks to meet me for dinner or drinks, i want that man to be interesting and attractive to me. i want the words i speak to be the right ones. i want to feel as though i am enough.
a couple of weeks ago i was hired to write an article about a man who manages a cycle shop in the area because so much of that shop's business comes from recommendation... word of mouth... the encouragement of others.
when i'm tasked with an assignment like this, i want the wheels to be greased so well they spin effortlessly. i was chosen to write this story. i'm happy -- excited and honored -- to do it. i want to be able to do it in such a manner as to prove to those who have given me the opportunity that they weren't wrong to do so. but i am being met with reluctance and am frustrated because of it. that reluctance and frustration just feeds the ire i so often feel. i want the fire in my being not to be an inferno but a source of warmth and light.
i want less hate and more love in the world. i know that starts with me, but oh, how quickly i forget. i want to remember.
this is the way i pray
March 20, 2018
March 3, 2018
i've changed things up a bit, and for the sake of my sanity (because i've made this one a bit more convoluted, i'm forgoing spelling out numbers with regards to the dates, even though it goes against my obsessive compulsive tendencies... whatever). there's a LOT of dates in this one. i hope i don't confuse the crap out of yall. all of the information i'm sharing in this post was acquired from on this day: history, film, music and sport.
the task: pick ONE of the pieces mentioned here, play it three times -- first with your eyes open, then with your eyes closed, and on the third, write down the things you imagine as you listen -- maybe your high school teachers did this sort of thing during english class. my junior teacher was really fond of this kind of writing assignment. share what you wrote with the rest of the class -- and DON'T worry about writing style and grammatical correctness. just write. let your mind wander. where does the music take you?
two. tennessee williams and edward albee were born on march 26, 1911 and march 12, 1928, respectively. elizabeth taylor won a golden globe march 10, 1960 for her performance as catherine holly in the film version of williams' suddenly last summer. she divorced eddie fisher on march 6, 1964 and married richard burton nine days later. taylor and burton starred in the film version of albee's who's afraid of virginia woolf? she starred with paul newman, who, by the way, won best actor in the 59th academy awards for his role in the color of money, in williams' cat on a hot tin roof.
the task: watch ONE of the three: suddenly last summer; who's afraid of virginia woolf; cat on a hit tin roof. what are the two best lines of dialogue in the film; what two things make the film noteworthy?
the task: find and view the van gogh armchair travel exhibition on screen: van gogh - a new way of seeing. what three things did you learn about the artist from that production? what's your favorite of his paintings? share three things you love about that work.
four. kerouac, campbell, sedaris... jack kerouac, aaron eckhart and dave eggers were born on march twelfth of 1922, 1968 and 1970, respectively. earl campbell, perry farrell, amy sedaris and billy beane were born on the twenty-ninth of march in 1955, 1959, 1961 and 1962.
the task: pick THREE of these celebrities and learn FOUR new things about each of them. read a book or watch a movie that is about them or stars them. if you live in texas, for example, campbell was born in tyler. make a trek to that town and find a statue or mural or SOMETHING the town loves to show off about him. i'm giving yall free rein to interpret this task in a way that suits your abilities and interests. but you must share FOUR things (lines of dialogue or text from a novel, lyric or script... four facts new to you... SOMETHING) of your choosing for EACH of the three.
five. delerue and silvestri. georges delerue and alan silvestri were born on march 12, 1925 and march 23, 1950, respectively.
the task: watch films (FIVE for each, if you can) whose scores were composed by either gentleman. whose music do you prefer? give me five reasons why one's better than the other.
six. jack nicholson won best actor twice: in the 48th academy awards on march 29, 1976 for one flew over the cuckoo's nest; in the 70th academy awards on march 23, 1998 for as good as it gets.
the task: watch BOTH films. share six lines you love from each. give six reasons why you prefer his performance in one film over the other.
February 25, 2018
friday started out well enough. work then pappadeaux's to kill time -- ericka had written a post about the eight songs to which she wanted to see skaters perform in the olympics, and i was going through my itunes library, writing down the songs i'd include in a post: boom boom by big head todd and the monsters; the devil went down to georgia by the charlie daniels band; you haven't seen the last of me by cher; arms by christina perri; a common disaster by cowboy junkies; too late for love by def leppard. i'd intended to tackle this post at some point, and maybe i will some day because it's just my kind of thing, but... i stopped at three because a friend was allowing me to tag along to the mercyme concert at smart financial center in sugar land that night, and i needed to go get ready. her oldest daughter wasn't able to go; my friend's husband suggested she give the ticket to me. wasn't that nice?
so christian music isn't something to which i normally listen. i have a few albums: hillsong united; audrey assad; ellie holcomb; michael w. smith. that's about it.
i'd heard the song i can only imagine before. i hadn't known of the sources of inspiration for that song until i'd seen the trailer a few months ago. it's a film i'm eager to see, actually. but it still didn't dawn on me that the song and the band were connected. that's how in tune i am to christian music.
it was a good show. i'd recommend catching their act if you can. what i loved most about the event was when the lead singer would talk about the things that had inspired him to write songs that were more important to him, like i can only imagine. like even if.
my left leg's been bothering me quite a bit lately. and i know i'm to blame for some of the cause: i've bitched about what it's like to have cerebral palsy and major depressive disorder enough on here before, so i won't regale you with the biological and lifestyle factors again. it hurts to walk right now. a lot.
by the end of the night i was limping. horribly. my friends had left because they were eager to get to their hotel (they were leaving early the next morning to drive to san antonio, and their younger daughters are in elementary school). it was near midnight. i was eager to get off my feet. to get home. to down some advil and rub some ben-gay all over my knee (that shit reeks, yall; i hate using it... but i didn't give a damn about the stench just then). they were selling cds in the lobby for five bucks. i stood in line. waiting my turn to grab a few -- i'd gotten lifer free for sponsoring a child through world vision (one could argue that i'll be paying forty dollars a month for the thing because of that sponsorship, so it's not really free, but... whatever). i fished twenty dollars out of my wallet to pay for two cds: the hurt and the healer and a best of compilation called i can only imagine.
but the song i most wanted to hear was on the lifer album: even if.
his oldest son has type one diabetes. the singer had written it after a particularly bad day.
during the performance of this song that night, i wept. i wept because i thought of how difficult their son's days might be, how difficult their days might be. i wept because i thought of all the battles my parents have fought for me. all the times they've had to push to get what i needed when i wasn't strong enough or willing to push myself. of how there must certainly have been more of those times than not.
when i bought those two cds, i was so eager to hear them, so eager to get out of that crowded arena -- even so close to midnight -- to hobble across the parking lot to my car that i didn't want to wait for my change. i told the man who took it to apply to the next person's cd purchase, turned and pushed my way past the others, pushed the doors open and walked out into the night. alone, like i so often am.
thankfully, a woman saw me struggling to cross the pavement, asked if i were okay and offered to give me a ride to my car. she was driving a white van full of adolescent girls. she was eager to get the door for me, to help me inside, to help me out... it was more help than i needed, and i was grateful for it. she wondered why i didn't have a handicapped plate.
i don't want one yet, i said. there are too many days where i don't look like i have a disability, and i don't want to deal with the reactions from others who might be offended to see me park in such a place. and really, i don't want one. i'm doing the best i can to live as normal a life as possible. that plate would only serve to encourage me to take advantage of things i don't need or want.
i drove home with that song on repeat. i cried the whole way.
i had it on repeat saturday, too. went to pappadeaux's to work on a bible study (one of the things the speaker had mentioned last week was that god doesn't owe you happiness; that may not be his plan for you. i've been trying to come to terms with this.) i read up on an individual who's made quite a name for himself in the publishing world because one of the professors at the local college here wants me to interview this man. it's been quite some time since i've grilled people. i was good at it. this professor and a colleague of his relayed this input to my father: we both think she is the best interview journalist we have ever worked with.
it pleases me immensely that these men think so highly of my work that they would say such a thing, would ask me to conduct this interview. i feel so fortunate that i've been given the opportunity. but also, i'm supremely intimidated. so... sitting at deaux's, reading up on this man, occupying two bar stools (my left leg's elevated on one because the pain was worse saturday than it'd been the day before).
i'd sat at three different locations at the bar saturday. first in my usual spot. i'd gotten up to use the restroom, and when i returned, a gentleman had sat on the stool i'd been using to prop up my leg, so i gathered my things and relocated. i like to sit by the taps, and all those seats were occupied, so i moved again when another seat by one of them came available. i sat in that third spot for the rest of the evening.
i've got my leg propped on a stool in front of the tap, where people don't normally like to sit. a woman sits to the left of that stool, then proceeds to set her gigantic and heavy bag on my leg, looks at me and asks if it's okay that she put her purse there. i glare at her and tell her that there are hooks beneath the bar top, that i need the stool because my leg is hurt. she bitches to her spouse about me while she hunts for the hook. throughout the course of her meal and for the remainder of my time there, she throws glances at me that make me uncomfortable. i do my best to ignore them.
it gets busy. the dinner time rush starts abnormally early -- before five. i wasn't expecting it. a couple notices that the barstool to my right is empty and asks if i could scoot over one so they could sit there. i tell them that i need this barstool because of my leg. he mutters something about how they were just asking.
fifteen minutes or so go by. they've still not found a place to sit. one of the bartenders comes up behind me and asks if i could scoot down.
here's the thing... all those experiences in my life where others have pushed me around, like the time my peers had said that i should go kill myself because the world would be better off without me in it or that i should go kill myself because i was taking up valuable air and space and there were more important people who needed it...
as much as i would love to brush this shit off, to bury it, i can't. one reason i can't is because of instances like these.
in my adolescence, i'd clung to the notion that life would be better for me once i became an adult. the reason i had this idea is because the adults in my parents' circles were respectable, respectful people. it never occurred to me that not all adults were this way. i was convinced ugliness was a thing one outgrew. i was convinced i would outgrow it because my father'd been telling me the story of the ugly duckling and how one day i'd be a swan since i was eight. i was convinced others would outgrow it because of who my mother and father knew.
but also... for so much of my life i've felt like one of those electrons floating out there that never attaches to anything. useless. when people give me such wonderful feedback, such great opportunity as those two men have, as others have, it's difficult for me to understand why so many more can't see the good in me. when they treat me as though i'm taking up valuable air and space needed by more important people.
i'm alone. saturday, i didn't mind this. saturday i was comfortable enough in my aloneness. that's a really hard thing for me to be, by the way. and it's so easy for that ease to evaporate.
the couple went to one of the bartenders and asked her to ask me to move. they are lurking nearby, waiting for me to vacate the premises.
i turn off my laptop, pack up my shit. as i'm doing so, i'm hearing that bartender talk to her coworkers about the couple who needs a place to sit. i call out that i'm leaving, they can have my spot.
moving is difficult. standing is worse. walking is excruciating. i move the barstools, stand, heft my backpack and haul it over a shoulder. the woman is standing behind me. her husband is a few feet away, leaning against a post. i glare at the woman and say sit in the meanest, coldest way i can. i hobble out. i relay these events to my mother, who says, again, that i need to put my past down.
she cleans out her garden tub, shows me the epsom salts and the lotions and says to get a glass of wine (beer, i say) and take a hot bath, to stay in there as long as i need and keep adding hot water as needed.
i cry. for a long time. i sing the words from that song over and over and over again.
i went to bed with those lyrics in mind. with the thought that as empathetic a woman as i can be, i should imagine scenarios in which people are struggling the next time i've to relinquish my ground: they've just come from the hospital and want sixty minutes of not being there, of not being in a room where his mother is hooked up to machines and not responding and they've just been told they may have to pull the plug... or they've just flown back from three days in north carolina after having to pack up a dead relative's house... or they just lost their son a few weeks ago, and the husband was taking his wife out even though she didn't want to go because he doesn't want her to have to cook and clean up the mess... i can fashion some pretty damned tragic scenarios, yall. i'm good at it. i need to get in the habit of doing it without putting pen to paper.
(it dawned on me just now that i've probably hopped back and forth from past to present tense several times in this post. fuck it.)
i awoke with miley cyrus' the climb in my head:
i slathered ben gay on my leg again. ate my breakfast at the bar with my leg propped on a bar stool, moving a bag of frozen blackeyed peas from one spot to another to another.
i wasn't going to go to deaux's today. i was going to spend the day doing laundry and digging in the dozens of boxes stashed in my closet for my w-2, but i found it in the first box i tried.
so i dressed, packed up my shit and headed out. somewhere between my front door and deaux's, it dawned on me that maybe the least of my brethren doesn't mean the ones who live under freeways or in shelters or battle mental illnesses or physical disabilities much more significant than mine. the least of my brethren could be those people i've encountered in my life who aren't capable of showing others kindness or compassion. the least of my brethren could have been those peers who told me i should kill myself, that i was nothing. the ones who stand too close to me in public spaces. the ones who want to sit where i am. the ones whom i feel see me as though i am less than. those who gawk at me, who whisper to their friends or family about me as i hobble from one side of a room to the other.
i found a spot at the bar, opened up my bible to read. and caught myself staring at the number 3:12. three. twelve. the third month, the twelfth day. the day my older brother died. it's by itself, this 3:12. so i look to the line above and see that it's a passage from proverbs.
i'd come to deaux's on valentine's day, ash wednesday, to read my bible, to dig into the word. as i read those pages, i thought of all the times i'd failed in relationships with men. i flipped and flipped and flipped. the last one i'd come to was a bit from proverbs 4:23:
my bible's one of those that has passages you can color. that day, i'd colored the words guard your heart. i cried as i did so because i've done a really shitty job of guarding my heart, and this is the course my life has taken. this one of anger and resentment and fear, of negligence and hopelessness and hatefulness.
and today when i flipped through it to find what i feel like my older brother, what god wanted me to see, and i saw those words again, i was sad.
and then i read proverbs 3:12:
so christian music isn't something to which i normally listen. i have a few albums: hillsong united; audrey assad; ellie holcomb; michael w. smith. that's about it.
i'd heard the song i can only imagine before. i hadn't known of the sources of inspiration for that song until i'd seen the trailer a few months ago. it's a film i'm eager to see, actually. but it still didn't dawn on me that the song and the band were connected. that's how in tune i am to christian music.
it was a good show. i'd recommend catching their act if you can. what i loved most about the event was when the lead singer would talk about the things that had inspired him to write songs that were more important to him, like i can only imagine. like even if.
my left leg's been bothering me quite a bit lately. and i know i'm to blame for some of the cause: i've bitched about what it's like to have cerebral palsy and major depressive disorder enough on here before, so i won't regale you with the biological and lifestyle factors again. it hurts to walk right now. a lot.
by the end of the night i was limping. horribly. my friends had left because they were eager to get to their hotel (they were leaving early the next morning to drive to san antonio, and their younger daughters are in elementary school). it was near midnight. i was eager to get off my feet. to get home. to down some advil and rub some ben-gay all over my knee (that shit reeks, yall; i hate using it... but i didn't give a damn about the stench just then). they were selling cds in the lobby for five bucks. i stood in line. waiting my turn to grab a few -- i'd gotten lifer free for sponsoring a child through world vision (one could argue that i'll be paying forty dollars a month for the thing because of that sponsorship, so it's not really free, but... whatever). i fished twenty dollars out of my wallet to pay for two cds: the hurt and the healer and a best of compilation called i can only imagine.
but the song i most wanted to hear was on the lifer album: even if.
his oldest son has type one diabetes. the singer had written it after a particularly bad day.
god, when you choose to leave mountains unmovable
give me the strength to be able to sing it is well with my soul
i know you're able, and i know you can
save through the fire with you mighty hand
but even if you don't...
when i bought those two cds, i was so eager to hear them, so eager to get out of that crowded arena -- even so close to midnight -- to hobble across the parking lot to my car that i didn't want to wait for my change. i told the man who took it to apply to the next person's cd purchase, turned and pushed my way past the others, pushed the doors open and walked out into the night. alone, like i so often am.
thankfully, a woman saw me struggling to cross the pavement, asked if i were okay and offered to give me a ride to my car. she was driving a white van full of adolescent girls. she was eager to get the door for me, to help me inside, to help me out... it was more help than i needed, and i was grateful for it. she wondered why i didn't have a handicapped plate.
i don't want one yet, i said. there are too many days where i don't look like i have a disability, and i don't want to deal with the reactions from others who might be offended to see me park in such a place. and really, i don't want one. i'm doing the best i can to live as normal a life as possible. that plate would only serve to encourage me to take advantage of things i don't need or want.
i drove home with that song on repeat. i cried the whole way.
i had it on repeat saturday, too. went to pappadeaux's to work on a bible study (one of the things the speaker had mentioned last week was that god doesn't owe you happiness; that may not be his plan for you. i've been trying to come to terms with this.) i read up on an individual who's made quite a name for himself in the publishing world because one of the professors at the local college here wants me to interview this man. it's been quite some time since i've grilled people. i was good at it. this professor and a colleague of his relayed this input to my father: we both think she is the best interview journalist we have ever worked with.
it pleases me immensely that these men think so highly of my work that they would say such a thing, would ask me to conduct this interview. i feel so fortunate that i've been given the opportunity. but also, i'm supremely intimidated. so... sitting at deaux's, reading up on this man, occupying two bar stools (my left leg's elevated on one because the pain was worse saturday than it'd been the day before).
i'd sat at three different locations at the bar saturday. first in my usual spot. i'd gotten up to use the restroom, and when i returned, a gentleman had sat on the stool i'd been using to prop up my leg, so i gathered my things and relocated. i like to sit by the taps, and all those seats were occupied, so i moved again when another seat by one of them came available. i sat in that third spot for the rest of the evening.
i've got my leg propped on a stool in front of the tap, where people don't normally like to sit. a woman sits to the left of that stool, then proceeds to set her gigantic and heavy bag on my leg, looks at me and asks if it's okay that she put her purse there. i glare at her and tell her that there are hooks beneath the bar top, that i need the stool because my leg is hurt. she bitches to her spouse about me while she hunts for the hook. throughout the course of her meal and for the remainder of my time there, she throws glances at me that make me uncomfortable. i do my best to ignore them.
it gets busy. the dinner time rush starts abnormally early -- before five. i wasn't expecting it. a couple notices that the barstool to my right is empty and asks if i could scoot over one so they could sit there. i tell them that i need this barstool because of my leg. he mutters something about how they were just asking.
fifteen minutes or so go by. they've still not found a place to sit. one of the bartenders comes up behind me and asks if i could scoot down.
here's the thing... all those experiences in my life where others have pushed me around, like the time my peers had said that i should go kill myself because the world would be better off without me in it or that i should go kill myself because i was taking up valuable air and space and there were more important people who needed it...
as much as i would love to brush this shit off, to bury it, i can't. one reason i can't is because of instances like these.
in my adolescence, i'd clung to the notion that life would be better for me once i became an adult. the reason i had this idea is because the adults in my parents' circles were respectable, respectful people. it never occurred to me that not all adults were this way. i was convinced ugliness was a thing one outgrew. i was convinced i would outgrow it because my father'd been telling me the story of the ugly duckling and how one day i'd be a swan since i was eight. i was convinced others would outgrow it because of who my mother and father knew.
but also... for so much of my life i've felt like one of those electrons floating out there that never attaches to anything. useless. when people give me such wonderful feedback, such great opportunity as those two men have, as others have, it's difficult for me to understand why so many more can't see the good in me. when they treat me as though i'm taking up valuable air and space needed by more important people.
i'm alone. saturday, i didn't mind this. saturday i was comfortable enough in my aloneness. that's a really hard thing for me to be, by the way. and it's so easy for that ease to evaporate.
the couple went to one of the bartenders and asked her to ask me to move. they are lurking nearby, waiting for me to vacate the premises.
i turn off my laptop, pack up my shit. as i'm doing so, i'm hearing that bartender talk to her coworkers about the couple who needs a place to sit. i call out that i'm leaving, they can have my spot.
moving is difficult. standing is worse. walking is excruciating. i move the barstools, stand, heft my backpack and haul it over a shoulder. the woman is standing behind me. her husband is a few feet away, leaning against a post. i glare at the woman and say sit in the meanest, coldest way i can. i hobble out. i relay these events to my mother, who says, again, that i need to put my past down.
she cleans out her garden tub, shows me the epsom salts and the lotions and says to get a glass of wine (beer, i say) and take a hot bath, to stay in there as long as i need and keep adding hot water as needed.
i cry. for a long time. i sing the words from that song over and over and over again.
i went to bed with those lyrics in mind. with the thought that as empathetic a woman as i can be, i should imagine scenarios in which people are struggling the next time i've to relinquish my ground: they've just come from the hospital and want sixty minutes of not being there, of not being in a room where his mother is hooked up to machines and not responding and they've just been told they may have to pull the plug... or they've just flown back from three days in north carolina after having to pack up a dead relative's house... or they just lost their son a few weeks ago, and the husband was taking his wife out even though she didn't want to go because he doesn't want her to have to cook and clean up the mess... i can fashion some pretty damned tragic scenarios, yall. i'm good at it. i need to get in the habit of doing it without putting pen to paper.
(it dawned on me just now that i've probably hopped back and forth from past to present tense several times in this post. fuck it.)
i awoke with miley cyrus' the climb in my head:
there's always gonna be another mountain
i'm always gonna wanna make it move
always gonna be an uphill battle
sometimes i'm gonna have to lose
i slathered ben gay on my leg again. ate my breakfast at the bar with my leg propped on a bar stool, moving a bag of frozen blackeyed peas from one spot to another to another.
i wasn't going to go to deaux's today. i was going to spend the day doing laundry and digging in the dozens of boxes stashed in my closet for my w-2, but i found it in the first box i tried.
so i dressed, packed up my shit and headed out. somewhere between my front door and deaux's, it dawned on me that maybe the least of my brethren doesn't mean the ones who live under freeways or in shelters or battle mental illnesses or physical disabilities much more significant than mine. the least of my brethren could be those people i've encountered in my life who aren't capable of showing others kindness or compassion. the least of my brethren could have been those peers who told me i should kill myself, that i was nothing. the ones who stand too close to me in public spaces. the ones who want to sit where i am. the ones whom i feel see me as though i am less than. those who gawk at me, who whisper to their friends or family about me as i hobble from one side of a room to the other.
i found a spot at the bar, opened up my bible to read. and caught myself staring at the number 3:12. three. twelve. the third month, the twelfth day. the day my older brother died. it's by itself, this 3:12. so i look to the line above and see that it's a passage from proverbs.
i'd come to deaux's on valentine's day, ash wednesday, to read my bible, to dig into the word. as i read those pages, i thought of all the times i'd failed in relationships with men. i flipped and flipped and flipped. the last one i'd come to was a bit from proverbs 4:23:
guard your heart above all else,
for it determines the course of your life.
for it determines the course of your life.
my bible's one of those that has passages you can color. that day, i'd colored the words guard your heart. i cried as i did so because i've done a really shitty job of guarding my heart, and this is the course my life has taken. this one of anger and resentment and fear, of negligence and hopelessness and hatefulness.
and today when i flipped through it to find what i feel like my older brother, what god wanted me to see, and i saw those words again, i was sad.
and then i read proverbs 3:12:
for the lord corrects those he loves,
just as a father corrects a child in whom he delights.
February 19, 2018
one. steel magnolias.
released: 1989.
starring: sally field, julia roberts, tom skerritt.
what makes it awesome: i've seen this thing i don't know how many times, and still, after almost two decades and even with the sound off, field can make me BAWL. and skerritt makes me giggle a LOT. it's damned near perfect.
two. dead poets society.
released: 1989.
starring: robin williams, ethan hawke, robert sean leonard.
what makes it awesome: williams and leonard.
three. turner and hooch.
released: 1989.
starring: tom hanks, mare winningham, craig t. nelson.
what makes it awesome: hooch.
four. parenthood.
released: 1989.
starring: dianne wiest, steve martin, jason robards.
what makes it awesome: the story. and wiest.
five. gross anatomy.
released: 1989.
starring: matthew modine, zakes mokae, christine lahti.
what makes it awesome: modine and lahti.
six. when harry met sally.
released: 1989.
starring: meg ryan, carrie fisher, billy crystal.
what makes it awesome: ryan and crystal.
seven. major league.
released: 1989.
starring: tom berenger, dennis haysbert, charlie sheen.
what makes it awesome: the story.
February 18, 2018
It’s like that old saying, everything a man does a woman has to do backwards, wearing heels, while a foreign superpower systematically tries to take her down via network of operatives using false identities.
How much longer do we have to put up with a mentally ill sociopath? When the fucked up psyche of the leader of the free world comes before the horrific deaths of innocent children, it’s time for GOP patriots to stand up and end this sickness.
People keep telling me that Trump will never meet with me because he is afraid of powerful women. I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.
It’s so sad that at literally any moment you can tweet “What a vile petty little man” and everyone will know you’re talking about the President of the United States.
They can actually do more than one thing at a time.. all you can do is divide and spew hate
You can think Melania Trump is a bad person and also feel bad about a society that made it seem like a good idea for her to marry a clearly uncaring monster like Donald Trump.
Think you meant to say my thoughts go out the families affected by this event and I Will do everything in my power to ensure that this never happens to our children in the future??????
It’s 11:30pm, and the President is holed up alone at his Florida resort, his wife angry that he cheated on her with porn stars and Playboy models, while he yells at Fox News and tweets batshit conspiracies at the rest of us.
Very sad that the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES doesn't know that there's a difference between the FBI's counterintelligence and criminal divisions. JFC he's such an embarrassment.
This is your president exploiting the murder of children to discredit an investigation that already has multiple indictments, 2 guilty pleas & at least 3 cooperating witnesses; and to make his followers believe that investigation is only about collusion.
one. one side is screaming about how hateful the president is. that side is COMPLETELY oblivious to the hate it spews. hypocrisy knows no bounds.
two. words are meaningless and forgettable. that line from the depeche mode song rings in my ears so much more frequently than it used to. i scroll past this shit so often, looking for something good. SOMETHING JUST LIKE THIS.
three. many of these tweets were written by men and women who have money to affect change in the world. but it's so much easier and cheaper to bitch on twitter.
How much longer do we have to put up with a mentally ill sociopath? When the fucked up psyche of the leader of the free world comes before the horrific deaths of innocent children, it’s time for GOP patriots to stand up and end this sickness.
People keep telling me that Trump will never meet with me because he is afraid of powerful women. I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.
It’s so sad that at literally any moment you can tweet “What a vile petty little man” and everyone will know you’re talking about the President of the United States.
They can actually do more than one thing at a time.. all you can do is divide and spew hate
You can think Melania Trump is a bad person and also feel bad about a society that made it seem like a good idea for her to marry a clearly uncaring monster like Donald Trump.
Think you meant to say my thoughts go out the families affected by this event and I Will do everything in my power to ensure that this never happens to our children in the future??????
It’s 11:30pm, and the President is holed up alone at his Florida resort, his wife angry that he cheated on her with porn stars and Playboy models, while he yells at Fox News and tweets batshit conspiracies at the rest of us.
Very sad that the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES doesn't know that there's a difference between the FBI's counterintelligence and criminal divisions. JFC he's such an embarrassment.
This is your president exploiting the murder of children to discredit an investigation that already has multiple indictments, 2 guilty pleas & at least 3 cooperating witnesses; and to make his followers believe that investigation is only about collusion.
one. one side is screaming about how hateful the president is. that side is COMPLETELY oblivious to the hate it spews. hypocrisy knows no bounds.
two. words are meaningless and forgettable. that line from the depeche mode song rings in my ears so much more frequently than it used to. i scroll past this shit so often, looking for something good. SOMETHING JUST LIKE THIS.
three. many of these tweets were written by men and women who have money to affect change in the world. but it's so much easier and cheaper to bitch on twitter.
February 1, 2018
so the river oaks theater in houston had two midnight showings of this film. i'd forgotten about the first. i'd hoped i could stay up late enough to watch the second, but my days of staying up late have long since passed. i DID go to the theater and deliver the ticket and the candy to a cashier and bought a ticket for her to pass on to someone interested in watching the film.
two. january fifth. home of the whopper was trademark registered in nineteen sixty-five. find the oldest burger king restaurant in your neck of the woods and treat yourself to a whopper meal without modifying the order (like i always do... unless you have food allergies, of course).three. january ninth. campbell's soup's trademark was registered in nineteen six. find your local food bank and deliver nineteen dollars worth of campbell's soups to them.
four. january thirteenth. mickey mouse cartoon first appeared in newspapers throughout the united states in nineteen thirty. visit your local library and find a copy of that cartoon.
i visited a library and sought the assistance of a reference librarian who was unable to find the thing, and i, not being THAT interested in finding it, opted to cancel the search.
THIS MOVIE WAS GODAWFUL BAD. WHY, WHY, WHY WAS THIS EVER MADE?
six. january eighteenth. lerner and lowe's musical motion picture my fair lady was registered in nineteen fifty-seven. find and view that film.
i watched this one a few years ago. if i could've found it in itunes, i would've made myself watch it again, but i couldn't so i didn't.
seven. january twentieth. the first outdoor feature-length talking motion picture, in old arizona, was made in nineteen twenty-nine. find and view that film, too.
ironically, itunes DID have this one available. i was kind of dreading watching this one because i thought it was going to be shit, but i liked the dude who played cisco kid and the ending.
eight. january twenty-first. john fitch, inventor of the steamboat, was born in seventeen forty-three. if it's at all feasible for you to do so, take a ride on a steamboat. if you can't, find some kind of a riverboat and take a ride on that. nine.
i was thinking of roadtripping it to louisiana or something, but then we had a fucking ice storm, complete with snow that managed to stick for a significant period of time. then i was thinking i'd go to san antonio or kemah or something... but i'm lazy. of the month's tasks, i was most interested in this one, but i was also interested in cleaning out the chaos that is my room. the chaos won.
i've seen this one before, too. several years ago, one of the theaters in town was showing it, and i figured i should watch it. i LOVE humphrey bogart and like ingrid bergman, and with all the fanfare for this film, i expected to like it. i did not.
a friend suggested i watch it and find three things i do like. so... i enjoy it up until the flashback to paris. it has moments of awesome throughout. the dialogue is really good in places. i actually think victor laszlo's the most admirable character, and i like that rick blaine does the right thing in the end.
but dude. that here's lookin at you, kid. i hate that line. and he says it WAY TOO MUCH.
ten. january twenty-ninth. lawrence hargrave, inventor of the box kite, was born in eighteen fifty. find a box kite. go fly it.those things are a BITCH to fly, yall. don't bother.
eleven. january thirtieth. bell chimes were invented in fourteen thirty-seven. find a cool set of chimes and send them to someone, preferably a stranger because in my opinion giving to people you don't know makes the giving so much better.twelve. january thirty-first. coca-cola registered its trademark for "nutrient or tonic beverages" was registered in eighteen ninety-three. find a bottle of coke with your name on it. enjoy!
GAH. there was a gas station that had GOBS of the named cokes. and when i went back to get one, THEY WERE GONE. and none of the others i checked had them either. people are selling them on amazon for like twenty bucks. no, thank you.
January 17, 2018
so i used to work at pottery barn kids, and the chevron print was all over everything: chevron curtains; chevron fitted crib sheets; chevron rugs; chevron blankets; chevron canvas storage; chevron diaper bags. it got to be that i loathed those stripes, that word. it got to be that i don't even like to buy gas at chevron stations. it was so prevalent in our store that associates and even customers would utter i wish the chevron trend would die.
i wish partisan politics would die. i wish people who run for office, who seek to serve this country would SERVE this country, the people they represent. NOT their party, their lobbyists, their campaign contributors. THEIR PEOPLE.
this afternoon senators and representatives gathered to present the congressional gold medal to senator robert dole. i listened as they lauded his service and sacrifices. i watched chuck schumer gab with nancy pelosi about god knows what during those speeches. i watched as paul ryan sat there looking bored out of his mind, as mitch mcconell sat there looking a hell of a lot like a shell. i listened as schumer spent half his speech talking about how dole had once joked about the space between chuck and the camera, as pelosi insisted people applaud during parts of her speech. all paul ryan did was introduce dole... as if he couldn't put a half dozen sentences of praise together. these people, they're commending this senator for his ability to cross party lines and get shit done. i couldn't help but think they're all a bunch of hypocritical asshats. we're facing yet another government shutdown because they'll be damned if they budge an inch.
i wish to god our congress would have that same ability. i wish they'd hold more regard for their constituents than their campaign hopes and promises. it's bullshit. all of it. there's not one good seed in the bunch right now. not. one.
i wish people would stop, please god STOP comparing the president of the united states of america to fucking HITLER. the two are NOTHING alike, jackasses. NOTHING. it's incendiary and revolting, and goddamn, there are still survivors of the holocaust on this earth and those we have lost have loved ones. it's an insult to what they've endured. it's disgusting and deplorable and childish and just. FUCKING. STOP. NOW. please. you don't have to like trump. i didn't like president obama, but i would NEVER dare to call him anything so vile as that, not anything that comes anywhere close to that. EVER. he's the PRESIDENT, for christ's sake. he was elected to that office. maybe not by you, but by somebody. and don't you dare come at me with those who voted for him are FASCISTS. they're human beings. they're AMERICAN CITIZENS. they've reasons for their choices, and by god they don't have to defend them to you.
i wish people would stop insisting their way's best and everyone else's is wrong. that they would stop being such insensitive fucking assholes, stop losing their shit over petty things, stop being bitches to each other.
i've seen this pinned on people's twitter feeds with comments on how it's the best thing ever.
no. NO, it's not. i can name about a million things that are better than this trash.
spouting opinions about how vile our president is MAKES YOU LOOK JUST AS VILE. the ones who appreciate that gif? they're hulk in that scenario. of all the avengers, he's my least favorite. why? because his anger gets the better of him ALL THE TIME. that's not brute strength. that's rage. that's how bruce banner becomes the hulk. he gets SO pissed off that he can't control himself, and then he breaks shit. smashes it to bits. is that the kind of person you want to be?
i know how powerful rage is. i struggle to contain it on a daily basis. most days i can. other days are like this. and i'm embarrassed by my behavior on those days.
barack obama was granted eight years to serve as president of these united states. he believed he could offer something of value. he said and did what he could to provide the american people what he thought was best.
for better or worse, donald trump has been given the opportunity to serve. maybe you didn't vote for him. maybe you did. either way, it's okay. if hillary clinton had been given the opportunity, i'd feel the same. these were our choices in the end. these were the candidates for president. this is how our democratic republic works. one winner, one loser.
i'd written those words days after the election. i felt like saying them again. i wish all this hatred and animosity would die.
spouting opinions about how vile our president is MAKES YOU LOOK JUST AS VILE. the ones who appreciate that gif? they're hulk in that scenario. of all the avengers, he's my least favorite. why? because his anger gets the better of him ALL THE TIME. that's not brute strength. that's rage. that's how bruce banner becomes the hulk. he gets SO pissed off that he can't control himself, and then he breaks shit. smashes it to bits. is that the kind of person you want to be?
i know how powerful rage is. i struggle to contain it on a daily basis. most days i can. other days are like this. and i'm embarrassed by my behavior on those days.
barack obama was granted eight years to serve as president of these united states. he believed he could offer something of value. he said and did what he could to provide the american people what he thought was best.
for better or worse, donald trump has been given the opportunity to serve. maybe you didn't vote for him. maybe you did. either way, it's okay. if hillary clinton had been given the opportunity, i'd feel the same. these were our choices in the end. these were the candidates for president. this is how our democratic republic works. one winner, one loser.
i'd written those words days after the election. i felt like saying them again. i wish all this hatred and animosity would die.
January 1, 2018
one. january fourth. willy wonka's trademark was registered in nineteen seventy-two. find a theater showing the film and watch it on the big screen. also find a golden ticket and give that and your favorite willy wonka candy to the box office cashier.
two. january fifth. home of the whopper was trademark registered in nineteen sixty-five. find the oldest burger king restaurant in your neck of the woods and treat yourself to a whopper meal without modifying the order (like i always do... unless you have food allergies, of course).
three. january ninth. campbell's soup's trademark was registered in nineteen six. find your local food bank and deliver nineteen dollars worth of campbell's soups to them.
four. january thirteenth. mickey mouse cartoon first appeared in newspapers throughout the united states in nineteen thirty. visit your local library and find a copy of that cartoon.
six. january eighteenth. lerner and lowe's musical motion picture my fair lady was registered in nineteen fifty-seven. find and view that film.
seven. january twentieth. the first outdoor feature-length talking motion picture, in old arizona, was made in nineteen twenty-nine. find and view that film, too.
eight. january twenty-first. john fitch, inventor of the steamboat, was born in seventeen forty-three. if it's at all feasible for you to do so, take a ride on a steamboat. if you can't, find some kind of a riverboat and take a ride on that.
nine. january twenty-third. casablanca the film was copyrighted in nineteen forty-three. find and view that film, too.ten. january twenty-ninth. lawrence hargrave, inventor of the box kite, was born in eighteen fifty. find a box kite. go fly it.
eleven. january thirtieth. bell chimes were invented in fourteen thirty-seven. find a cool set of chimes and send them to someone, preferably a stranger because in my opinion giving to people you don't know makes the giving so much better.
twelve. january thirty-first. coca-cola registered its trademark for "nutrient or tonic beverages" was registered in eighteen ninety-three. find a bottle of coke with your name on it. enjoy!
October 15, 2017
two. the big bang theory - carrie fisher. the blues brothers.
three. the crown - jared harris. the man from u.n.c.l.e.
four. downton abbey - douglas reith. the queen.
five. elementary - john heard. awakenings.
six. firefly - alan tudyk. forty-two.
seven. game of thrones - liam cunningham. war horse.
eight. how i met your mother - rachel bilson. life happens.
nine. it's always sunny in philadelphia - david hornsby. flags of our fathers.
eleven. knight rider - jason bateman. tropic thunder.
twelve. lethal weapon - hilarie burton. the secret life of bees.
thirteen. ally mcbeal - john michael higgins. g.i. jane.
fourteen. ncis - chris o'donnell. men don't leave.
fifteen. outlander - caitriona balfe. now you see me.
sixteen. parenthood - lauren graham. it's kind of a funny story.
seventeen. dr. quinn, medicine woman - jane seymour. austenland.
eighteen. rizzoli and isles - michael massee. last man club.
nineteen. sex and the city - justin theroux. the broken hearts club: a romantic comedy.
twenty. true detective - taylor kitsch. american assassin.
twenty-two. veep - allison janey. trust me.
twenty-three. the west wing - hal holbrook. the firm.
twenty-four. the x-files - gillian anderson. the mighty.
twenty-five. the young pope - guy boyd. while we're young.
the fall film challenge: bonus round
THE RULES: if you've seen the twenty-five films selected for your original list, you are eligible to compete in the bonus round. this one's a bit more complicated than normal. i've chosen twenty-five television series, past and present. for each program, choose a film which stars an actor or actress who has appeared on that show at least once. that individual does not have to be a member of the main cast. for example, a (short) sample bonus round list:
one. ally mcbeal - robert downey jr. spider-man: homecoming.
two. the young pope - jude law. king arthur: legend of the sword.
three. true detective - rachel mcadams. doctor strange.
four. above suspicion - kelly reilly. pride and prejudice.
five. the crown - jared harris. allied.
the catch (and this is what makes it a wee bit tricky): two actors on your list can't be in the same movie. if you choose a robert downey jr. movie for one series, he can't also star in another film selected for a different show, i.e. both he and rachel mcadams are in sherlock holmes, so you couldn't pick that film for true detective. you'd have to pick another mcadams flick, one in which he does not star, like doctor strange (and make sure you check the other actors listed alphabetically section on imdb's site... sometimes filmmakers will sneak in an uncredited cameo. what if instead of chris hemsworth as thor, the director of doctor strange had opted to include a scene with iron man? i wouldn't let you count that film, that's what, and you'd stand to lose some points. but rachel wasn't cast in spidey, and robert's not got a role in strange, so you're good. got it? god, i hope so.
there's no extra credit this time, like there was in the original round. every film's worth ten points. if you change a choice, you lose ten points, so choose wisely.
two. the young pope - jude law. king arthur: legend of the sword.
three. true detective - rachel mcadams. doctor strange.
four. above suspicion - kelly reilly. pride and prejudice.
five. the crown - jared harris. allied.
there's no extra credit this time, like there was in the original round. every film's worth ten points. if you change a choice, you lose ten points, so choose wisely.
THE CATEGORIES
one. above suspicion.
two. the big bang theory.
three. the crown.
four. downton abbey.
five. elementary.
six. firefly.
seven. game of thrones.
eight. how i met your mother.
ten. judging amy.
eleven. knight rider.
twelve. lethal weapon.
thirteen. ally mcbeal.
fourteen. ncis.
fifteen. outlander.
sixteen. parenthood.
seventeen. dr. quinn, medicine woman.
eighteen. rizzoli and isles.
nineteen. sex and the city.
twenty. true detective.
twenty-one. the unusuals.
twenty-two. veep.
twenty-three. the west wing.
twenty-four. the x-files.
twenty-five. the young pope.
October 5, 2017
(from the back cover): emily portman is an up-and-coming new york city editor whose life is everything she imagined it would be. she has a job she loves and a beautiful upper west side apartment with her husband, sandy. but everything changes in one night, when sandy dies in a tragic accident, and emily is stunned to discover that her marriage was made up of lies.
okay. not the name of the dude so much, and definitely not the inclusion of tragic in describing the accident that kills him (because redundant), but...
in my favorite english class, taught by the fantastic dr. william weitzel, whose instruction i do miss -- that man was a genius -- we spent weeks discussing tennyson's idylls of the king (a book i did not read, by the way... we'd just finished our mutual friend, and i was depressed because we couldn't spend the whole semester talking about how awesome it is). but i remember weitzel's fascination with how this one bad thing that starts out so small can become so huge and wreak such havoc, a germ inside of a beautiful bubble. sandy's the germ; i wanted to see just how bad he could be. and yall, he's a DICK who most definitely deserved to die.
then there's this bit his wife says about him: sandy portman drew me in, like the draft of a manuscript where perfectly constructed sentences hinted at but didn't yet reveal a deeper truth (page 11).
she must be some kind of a sucker. or a saint. i was curious to know which it was. turns out, it's a little of both.
what i liked: that bit on page eleven, and...
"i can't do this."
i turned around and fled... but when i got to the building, the odd old man was already there shaking his head. "you really can't outrun me, alexander."
the sheer staggering force of it brought me to my knees, literally, my topcoat pooling around me in the frozen slush. "you can't do this. i have so much left to do."
"technically, that isn't true." yet again he looked apologetic.
my mind raced. "i have a wife. if i die it will kill her."
"i can't disagree with you there. that woman loves you. really loves you. too bad you didn't think of that sooner" (pages 20-21).
i knew i was feeling sorry for myself, and i tried to swallow it back, but i hated that i was losing so much. my home. my husband. my belief in our marriage. the belief that i was loved (page 97).
no matter where we lived, my mother loved giving parties... one night, a woman arrived that i hadn't seen in a while, a woman i had always loved. i took coats and made sure everyone had their drinks, and when i handed her a martini, she looked at me closely and then laughed.
"every time i see you, you're more grown up," she said, and looked around for my mother. "no wonder you don't need a husband, lillian. you've got emily to take care of all the things you don't like to do."
my mother looked at me across the room. i couldn't read her expression. the set of her mouth wasn't quite a frown, but it wasn't a smile either. "yes, she plays the perfect caretaker. but i wonder, is that what you really are, em? or are you hiding what you really want to be?" she paused. "please tell me a daughter of mine wants to be more than a housewife and a hostess" (pages 129-130).
a man who hadn't felt something intense for me would never have held me like he was afraid of what would happen if he let go (page 152).
lillian barlow thought i should learn about currents and tsunamis, but she hadn't thought to teach me how to swim (page 156).
emily had been my biggest victim, not because of horrible things i did, but because i had dared her to love me, and when she did i was unprepared for the enormity of that love, the responsibility -- something that deep down i had known i didn't know how to give back. but i had taken it anyway, handling it without care.
the fact was that i had married her because in her eyes i saw the man i could be. i ended up wanting a divorce because living with her every day was forcing me to see myself for who i really was, a man who didn't have the strength to work hard and persevere and do what it took to be something beyond ordinary (page 348).
what sucked: i'm not a huge fan of the author's writing style and wish she could've told the story in fewer pages.
having said that: i had read a few pages yesterday, but i basically got the thing finished in a day, which is always a plus in my book. i liked the ending. it's kind of a weird and cheesy story, and i definitely preferred the pages told from emily's point of view. it's nothing stellar -- definitely NOT an utter triumph like j.r. ward said -- but it's cute.
October 2, 2017
one. october first. national homemade cookies day. bake a batch of cookies (and NOT chocolate chip) from scratch.
two. october sixth. come and take it day. this is a damned fine day in texas. mexico wanted their cannon back. we dared them... and eventually we won. be especially daring on this day. what's a thing you've been too afraid to do? do it. if you can't think of something... get some suggestions from your friends.
three. october sixth. mad hatter's day. wear the weirdest hat you own for the entirety of your day.
four. october tenth. angel food cake day. bake an angel food cake, but don't eat it. it's not for you.
five. october eleventh. emergency nurses day. take that angel food cake you should bake for the tenth to the nearest hospital emergency room. those nurses are angels. let them know they're loved.
six. october eleventh. southern food heritage day. according to the folks at mental floss, if you're not eating chicken and waffles on this day, you're doing life wrong. where's the best place in your neck of the woods for such a meal? go there and grab some grub.
seven. october twelfth. jon kevin's day. that's my big brother's day. have a beer for him. he'd be one away from fifty.
eight. october sixteenth. dictionary day. find sixteen of the coolest words in the world. what are they?
nine. october twenty-first. count your buttons day. so apparently the bloggess is fond of buttons. visit your local fabric store and purchase twenty-one (or somewhere thereabouts) of the funkiest buttons you can find and send them to her (mailing address here).
ten. october twenty-eighth. frankenstein friday. share ten lines you love from mary shelley's masterpiece.
two. october sixth. come and take it day. this is a damned fine day in texas. mexico wanted their cannon back. we dared them... and eventually we won. be especially daring on this day. what's a thing you've been too afraid to do? do it. if you can't think of something... get some suggestions from your friends.
three. october sixth. mad hatter's day. wear the weirdest hat you own for the entirety of your day.
four. october tenth. angel food cake day. bake an angel food cake, but don't eat it. it's not for you.
five. october eleventh. emergency nurses day. take that angel food cake you should bake for the tenth to the nearest hospital emergency room. those nurses are angels. let them know they're loved.six. october eleventh. southern food heritage day. according to the folks at mental floss, if you're not eating chicken and waffles on this day, you're doing life wrong. where's the best place in your neck of the woods for such a meal? go there and grab some grub.
eight. october sixteenth. dictionary day. find sixteen of the coolest words in the world. what are they?
nine. october twenty-first. count your buttons day. so apparently the bloggess is fond of buttons. visit your local fabric store and purchase twenty-one (or somewhere thereabouts) of the funkiest buttons you can find and send them to her (mailing address here).
ten. october twenty-eighth. frankenstein friday. share ten lines you love from mary shelley's masterpiece.
October 1, 2017
downtown houston, as seen from some steps near lee and joe jamail skate park.
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three. september eighth. pardon day. what unforgivable curses have been used on you and by whom? find the strength to forgive one person, and be brave enough to confess the forgiveness.
i wrote a letter, though i didn't get around to it until today, so technically, this was a bust. won't share the details here. hopefully it'll be received well. if not, so be it.
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five. september twelfth. national video games day. what was one of your favorite video games to play in your childhood? find an arcade that has that game and play some.
i played a couple of games of ms. pacman at the movie theater before seeing spider-man: homecoming on the first, but i didn't take a photo... so i'll let yall decide if it counts or not.
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mine said: you will be happily surprised by a long time friend.
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i wrote a friend i'd made when i was three. i've not seen her since i was eight. but we found each other on facebook last year, and i'm so, SO happy we did so.
eight. september twenty-first. world gratitude day. this one's got two parts. ONE) on this day, make a concerted effort to say THANK YOU if someone pays you a compliment. women are so bad at shrugging off positive attention, like we don't deserve it. like the other day when a friend commented how sweet i was, i contradicted the compliment. if someone says THANK YOU, instead of saying NO PROBLEM say YOU'RE WELCOME. TWO) as you go through your day, make a list of everything you see for which you are thankful. there's a notes app on your phone. USE it. if you do it right, by the end of the day, it should be a rather long list. type it up. send it to me. i'll be grateful for the mail.
nine. september twenty-eighth. national good neighbor day. check in with one of the folks who lives nearby, if not next door. take fifteen minutes out of your day to visit.
i didn't do this one, either. she has a black and white cat that likes to hang out in our yard. i played with him a couple of times. does that count?
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