New Year's resolutions- do you make them? Are they just promises that you make to yourself but in the end get broken? Like the first few days you're totally I got this, but then a month or two in and it's like uh I'll try again at this when Lent rolls around. So in the mean time you end up feeling all depressed and I'm a failure like because you didn't lose the weight, or quit smoking, or save money. And then the next resolution you'll have is to get off those anti-depressants.
Every year I say I'm finally going to get around to doing my grown-up stuff like updating my will- don't off me yet because 1) My other previous resolutions haven't happened so I don't have any cool stuff to leave anyone and 2) I haven't made my funeral arrangements- another grown-up thing I was supposed to get to. And then there are the other resolutions that I make like volunteer more- or just volunteer period, eat healthier- just because candy is strawberry flavored it does not count as fruit, and don't drink anymore or any less- actually I've accomplished that one so check mark that.
I'm not gonna lie, every time New Year's rolls around I use it as a time of reflection and think about what it is I would like to achieve.Three years ago I just wanted to be able to walk upright and although I may still need a cane/walker to assist me, at least I'm standing. This year I think I'm going to go for something a little less extreme like not always saying yes when they ask me if I want fries with that. Yeap, gonna fall back on the eat healthier one. 2014, the year of cardboard. Speaking of fries, I've been trying unsuccessfully for months to learn French so maybe I should stick with that and it can be 2014, the year of a la francaise. No, I totally just used google translate to write that. See, very unsuccessful. Anyway I still have 3 days to come up with something.
So whether your resolutions are short-term or long-term, at least you are thinking about setting goals for yourself. You are imagining the possibility that things can be different or even better for yourself and therein lies the hope that brings in the New Year. A recent post by UglyDucklingsInc.com pretty much sums it up though: "If you want something you've never had, then you've got to do something you've never done."
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Friday, December 20, 2013
Give
The Christmas season is upon us and it seems that it's always at this time of year when people are most generous. I'd like to think that it's because people truly do want to think of others and that they're not just trying to get in those last minute tax deductions. One organization my partner and I have always contributed to is the Salvation Army. Every time we pass a red kettle we put our coinage in it and we always get the bell ringer some coffee/hot chocolate to keep warm. And every year we each grab a handful of names off of the Angel Tree and take care of the wishlists. I'm talking we go to the store and get the kids real presents like bikes, skate boards, dolls that god only knows what they do, and of course anything that makes lots of noise! It kills me when I see other people bring in things like socks and underwear-it really does happen. I'm like really? Just because these kids are poor, it doesn't mean they should receive anything less than what you would buy your own family. And if you're buying your family socks and underwear then insert eye-roll right here on my behalf.
But this year an article came across my screen in regards to this organization claiming that the SA had openly refused assistance to a gentleman and his partner due to their sexual orientation. The author stated that according to the SA, LGBT people are rejected because they are deemed sexually impure and would be denied assistance unless they renounced their sexuality and attended services. In addition there was a SA representative that stated he "wished death upon homosexuals." Later he re-worded his statement to say that he was referring to a "spiritual death." Yeah, I don't think it sounds any better the in his attempt at rephrasing... but at least I can take comfort being told that he no longer works for the SA.
So as a homo I was conflicted. Do I still contribute to this organization? My mom said that when I was a toddler it was mine & my brother's name on that Angel Tree (no wonder we always had plenty of socks!) and that the SA had helped us on several occasions. So should I give back to an organization that had clearly helped me as a child?
The SA has been documented in the past to undermine the equality movement of LGBT people: '86 New Zealand, '98 San Francisco, '01 Washington DC, '04 NYC, '12 Vermont. The SA is a faith-based organization and they do not believe in the homosexual lifestyle per their interpretation of biblical scripture. And I'm ok with that. If that is what they want to believe, then so be it. I mean there are people who believe in fairies and unicorns. And um Santa. Do I agree with their beliefs- no, but my concern was that while their mission statement says "to meet human needs in His name without discrimination" were they truly living up to that? If I were in need of assistance would I be turned away for being gay? I contacted the SA and spoke to Steve who represents our area. I informed him of my concern and his words were "I don't care if you are straight, gay, whatever. If you need assistance, we will help you."
And for me that's what it should be about. If someone is hungry, give them food. If someone is cold, give them warmth. If someone is without shelter, offer them a roof. A person's sexuality has no bearing as to whether they are in need.
I passed a red kettle today and I dropped my coins in and handed the bell ringer a cup of hot chocolate. I also walked up to a homeless man, handed him some cash and a sleeping bag. I think maybe the best thing to do is just to give. Give without stipulation, judgement, or prejudice. Just give what you can, even if it is underwear.
But this year an article came across my screen in regards to this organization claiming that the SA had openly refused assistance to a gentleman and his partner due to their sexual orientation. The author stated that according to the SA, LGBT people are rejected because they are deemed sexually impure and would be denied assistance unless they renounced their sexuality and attended services. In addition there was a SA representative that stated he "wished death upon homosexuals." Later he re-worded his statement to say that he was referring to a "spiritual death." Yeah, I don't think it sounds any better the in his attempt at rephrasing... but at least I can take comfort being told that he no longer works for the SA.
So as a homo I was conflicted. Do I still contribute to this organization? My mom said that when I was a toddler it was mine & my brother's name on that Angel Tree (no wonder we always had plenty of socks!) and that the SA had helped us on several occasions. So should I give back to an organization that had clearly helped me as a child?
The SA has been documented in the past to undermine the equality movement of LGBT people: '86 New Zealand, '98 San Francisco, '01 Washington DC, '04 NYC, '12 Vermont. The SA is a faith-based organization and they do not believe in the homosexual lifestyle per their interpretation of biblical scripture. And I'm ok with that. If that is what they want to believe, then so be it. I mean there are people who believe in fairies and unicorns. And um Santa. Do I agree with their beliefs- no, but my concern was that while their mission statement says "to meet human needs in His name without discrimination" were they truly living up to that? If I were in need of assistance would I be turned away for being gay? I contacted the SA and spoke to Steve who represents our area. I informed him of my concern and his words were "I don't care if you are straight, gay, whatever. If you need assistance, we will help you."
And for me that's what it should be about. If someone is hungry, give them food. If someone is cold, give them warmth. If someone is without shelter, offer them a roof. A person's sexuality has no bearing as to whether they are in need.
I passed a red kettle today and I dropped my coins in and handed the bell ringer a cup of hot chocolate. I also walked up to a homeless man, handed him some cash and a sleeping bag. I think maybe the best thing to do is just to give. Give without stipulation, judgement, or prejudice. Just give what you can, even if it is underwear.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
sir charlotte
"Hello Sir, Yes Sir, Can I help you Sir?" Yeap I get called Sir a lot. This week especially and so I decided why not write about it? I was even called "It" once by the nursing staff while having one of my numerous back procedures. That one I didn't understand because hello I was naked and if they couldn't tell that I had female anatomy, then maybe the nursing field shouldn't be in their line of work... I don't know maybe my name threw them since Charlotte is such a masculine sounding name?
But I am ok when people accidentally call me sir. I mean the look of mortification on people's faces when they realize their faux pas is really quite amusing. I always tell them No Worries, but there's just no going back from it. It's kinda like when you congratulate a woman on her pregnancy but she's not actually prego- let's just say awkward.
I'm somewhat of a small stature. I'm just under 5ft 5in and I weigh in around 118lbs- maybe more if I eat pizza, smell pizza, or just look at a pizza box. Note to enemies, Italian food is my downfall. My body is not curvy, voluptuous, or any of those sexy words that women use to describe themselves. I'm not blessed by any means up top and my butt is kinda small. So basically I'm built like a 16yr old boy. Excuse me while I beat off all of these admirers. Currently my hair is short, but even when I've grown it out people just assume I'm a dude with hippie hair.
I'm often asked why is it that I don't wear girls clothes. Yes, people think it's ok to just look at me and then say "why are you dressed like a boy?"And I of course tell them because it's totally their business.
In my younger days I mostly had girls clothes but I was fortunate to have an older brother so I could get away with swiping his shirts from time to time. But when I'd visit my mom's and she'd make me wear a dress to church it would devastate me. I was so uncomfortable and really I just looked like a little boy in a dress and if that doesn't make you popular in Sunday School nothing will. However for most of my youth I was able to dress in a mixture of both boys/girls clothing and if it got too boyish it could just be chalked up to me being a tomboy. However for one of my male cousins who wanted nothing more than to wear dresses, heels, and make-up, life was often cruel to him. He grew up to be almost 7ft tall, 300lbs, and makes his living as a professional drag queen. I don't think I'd be making fun of anyone in size 14 Prada heels.
In all honesty, I'm not sure that I can give a definitive answer that fits into a nice little box as to why I've always favored mens clothes. Some want to say it's because I'm gay, but then if you look at my partner she's all womens clothes and make-up. Mens clothing is definitely more comfortable, and just tends to fit my body correctly. I've never understood why we had to compartmentalize clothing to begin with. Why can't clothes just be called clothes? Just be glad that I wear clothes!
So I get called sir a lot, but if that's the worse thing I get called then I'll take it. And maybe the next time you see that guy carrying a purse or that woman wearing a tie you won't worry about why. You won't over analyze it or snicker at them. You won't call them It. You'll just think, well that's what makes them comfortable and at least they're not naked.
But I am ok when people accidentally call me sir. I mean the look of mortification on people's faces when they realize their faux pas is really quite amusing. I always tell them No Worries, but there's just no going back from it. It's kinda like when you congratulate a woman on her pregnancy but she's not actually prego- let's just say awkward.
I'm somewhat of a small stature. I'm just under 5ft 5in and I weigh in around 118lbs- maybe more if I eat pizza, smell pizza, or just look at a pizza box. Note to enemies, Italian food is my downfall. My body is not curvy, voluptuous, or any of those sexy words that women use to describe themselves. I'm not blessed by any means up top and my butt is kinda small. So basically I'm built like a 16yr old boy. Excuse me while I beat off all of these admirers. Currently my hair is short, but even when I've grown it out people just assume I'm a dude with hippie hair.
I'm often asked why is it that I don't wear girls clothes. Yes, people think it's ok to just look at me and then say "why are you dressed like a boy?"And I of course tell them because it's totally their business.
In my younger days I mostly had girls clothes but I was fortunate to have an older brother so I could get away with swiping his shirts from time to time. But when I'd visit my mom's and she'd make me wear a dress to church it would devastate me. I was so uncomfortable and really I just looked like a little boy in a dress and if that doesn't make you popular in Sunday School nothing will. However for most of my youth I was able to dress in a mixture of both boys/girls clothing and if it got too boyish it could just be chalked up to me being a tomboy. However for one of my male cousins who wanted nothing more than to wear dresses, heels, and make-up, life was often cruel to him. He grew up to be almost 7ft tall, 300lbs, and makes his living as a professional drag queen. I don't think I'd be making fun of anyone in size 14 Prada heels.
In all honesty, I'm not sure that I can give a definitive answer that fits into a nice little box as to why I've always favored mens clothes. Some want to say it's because I'm gay, but then if you look at my partner she's all womens clothes and make-up. Mens clothing is definitely more comfortable, and just tends to fit my body correctly. I've never understood why we had to compartmentalize clothing to begin with. Why can't clothes just be called clothes? Just be glad that I wear clothes!
So I get called sir a lot, but if that's the worse thing I get called then I'll take it. And maybe the next time you see that guy carrying a purse or that woman wearing a tie you won't worry about why. You won't over analyze it or snicker at them. You won't call them It. You'll just think, well that's what makes them comfortable and at least they're not naked.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Thanksgiving Plate
It's only taken me 22 days to finally sit down and think about what I'm thankful for. Everyday in November I see where people have posted that they are thankful for everything from bendy straws to electricity. Let's face it, bendy straws are freakn awesome! It kind of disturbed me that I should have to really sit down and think about what I'm thankful for. Have I finally succumb to the depression that threatens my existence due to my current status in life? No, I just have some serious attention deficit disorder so getting me to sit still and focus is the issue here. Oh look something shiny..
So I'll start off with the basics. I'm thankful for air, food, water- water that's mixed with hot chocolate. Hey if people can be thankful for bendy straws, then I get hot chocolate. I'm also thankful for strong, positive female role models like Harriet Tubman, Hillary Clinton, and Mannila Walker. You know that Dr. Seuss quote: 'To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world' - well that quote is kind of fitting to describe Mannila Walker.
Mannila was a soft-spoken woman of very meager means. At 44yrs old she had five children and a deceased husband; thus she had a cow and worked the ground to provide for her family. Everyday was a struggle but her children knew they were loved first and foremost. Clothes were made of feed sacks and lunches consisted of potato biscuits. Sweets and any extras were practically unheard of but it was one of the children's birthdays and she wanted to be able to make him a cake. She would need to walk at least 5 miles to get to the closest store. It was February 18th, 1960 in Boone, NC.
Mannila was successful in her journey to the store after the local postman saw her and offered a ride into town. After purchasing her groceries along with the coveted sugar and flour, she proceeded on her trek back home. The weather began to turn and that date would begin the Blizzard of 1960, one of the worst storms ever to hit the high country in history. It was three days later that her son saw a piece of Mannila's dress flapping in the wind exactly 100 yards from her front door. They would find the sack of groceries hid under a rock overhang for safe keeping. The children would be sent to an orphanage, never adopted out. The oldest girl would eventually run away at 17 only to return married so she could retrieve her siblings. A true testament to the determination that had been instilled in her by Mannila.
That oldest girl is now my mother-in-law and while she sits at the head of my Thanksgiving table, we have an empty plate at the other end. That plate represents Mannila's place. It serves as a reminder of the love that a woman had for her children. A woman who made the ultimate sacrifice in an act of trying to provide for her family. It is a symbol that maybe family is what we are most thankful for on Thanksgiving and every day.
So I'll start off with the basics. I'm thankful for air, food, water- water that's mixed with hot chocolate. Hey if people can be thankful for bendy straws, then I get hot chocolate. I'm also thankful for strong, positive female role models like Harriet Tubman, Hillary Clinton, and Mannila Walker. You know that Dr. Seuss quote: 'To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world' - well that quote is kind of fitting to describe Mannila Walker.
Mannila was a soft-spoken woman of very meager means. At 44yrs old she had five children and a deceased husband; thus she had a cow and worked the ground to provide for her family. Everyday was a struggle but her children knew they were loved first and foremost. Clothes were made of feed sacks and lunches consisted of potato biscuits. Sweets and any extras were practically unheard of but it was one of the children's birthdays and she wanted to be able to make him a cake. She would need to walk at least 5 miles to get to the closest store. It was February 18th, 1960 in Boone, NC.
Mannila was successful in her journey to the store after the local postman saw her and offered a ride into town. After purchasing her groceries along with the coveted sugar and flour, she proceeded on her trek back home. The weather began to turn and that date would begin the Blizzard of 1960, one of the worst storms ever to hit the high country in history. It was three days later that her son saw a piece of Mannila's dress flapping in the wind exactly 100 yards from her front door. They would find the sack of groceries hid under a rock overhang for safe keeping. The children would be sent to an orphanage, never adopted out. The oldest girl would eventually run away at 17 only to return married so she could retrieve her siblings. A true testament to the determination that had been instilled in her by Mannila.
That oldest girl is now my mother-in-law and while she sits at the head of my Thanksgiving table, we have an empty plate at the other end. That plate represents Mannila's place. It serves as a reminder of the love that a woman had for her children. A woman who made the ultimate sacrifice in an act of trying to provide for her family. It is a symbol that maybe family is what we are most thankful for on Thanksgiving and every day.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
blanket
The other day a friend of mine was in the hospital having a colonoscopy/polyp removal procedure. Now it all sounded pretty crappy so I decided I would go to the hospital as well to offer moral support even though I really have no morals. Truthfully I was just hoping to score some of that hospital jello! My friend has a family history of cancer and these visits in particular are somewhat more taxing for her. So what better than to have me there, a klutz, that will hopefully not trip over her IV or unplug anything important? Forget about having white-coat syndrome, just make sure Char doesn't doodle on the medical chart or press any shiny buttons. In my defense I really did think that chain hanging in the bathroom was a way to flush the toilet -irregardless if it had the words Emergency Only on it. Hey, I've seen what goes in a commode and believe me sometimes it could constitute an emergency. In all seriousness, I was there because at one point in my life this particular friend was an extremely important part of my life. She was like a big brother to me and we were inseparable. Unfortunately last year we had a misunderstanding which caused a falling out of sorts between us. I've been told that I have a way with words, but it was my words in this instance that helped fuel the flame of indifference between us. Things are now somewhat awkward and even tense between us, but not only do I believe in forgiveness, I believe in owning up to being an idiot. And even though we both played a role in the rift, I wasn't going to let heavy air and unsaid apologies outweigh my being there for her procedure.
My friend was scheduled to be there at 7:45am and I'm not sure who had the worst end of that deal- her for having to be violated that early in the morning, or the doctor for having that be his early morning view. I know we've all worked with assholes, but this is... Anyway I'm certain that someone with an ist in their name realized that hospitals must be the exact temperature as Siberia in January due to some scientific reason for killing germs and all. However, why then do I usually get sick after visiting a hospital? But I'm not a scientist so anyway it was cold in there. My friend made it through her procedure just fine and while waiting for her discharge instructions, she looked over at my frozen self and then proceeded to take off her blanket and throw it at me. Now my rear-end has always been an "exit-only" portal (but I don't judge those that can find pleasure in that orifice) so I can't even begin to imagine the discomfort she was in and then couple that with her only having a hospital gown on in sub-zero temps. She just looked at me and said "take my blanket." I was dumbfounded. Here I am, we barely even talk anymore and you are giving me your blanket! Mark your calendars because I was speechless - which would've helped a year ago. I could not fathom why she would do this for me, clearly the morphine had not worn off. But no, she was lucid and there I sat with what felt like more than just a blanket around me- it felt a lot like love, and maybe even forgiveness.
My friend was scheduled to be there at 7:45am and I'm not sure who had the worst end of that deal- her for having to be violated that early in the morning, or the doctor for having that be his early morning view. I know we've all worked with assholes, but this is... Anyway I'm certain that someone with an ist in their name realized that hospitals must be the exact temperature as Siberia in January due to some scientific reason for killing germs and all. However, why then do I usually get sick after visiting a hospital? But I'm not a scientist so anyway it was cold in there. My friend made it through her procedure just fine and while waiting for her discharge instructions, she looked over at my frozen self and then proceeded to take off her blanket and throw it at me. Now my rear-end has always been an "exit-only" portal (but I don't judge those that can find pleasure in that orifice) so I can't even begin to imagine the discomfort she was in and then couple that with her only having a hospital gown on in sub-zero temps. She just looked at me and said "take my blanket." I was dumbfounded. Here I am, we barely even talk anymore and you are giving me your blanket! Mark your calendars because I was speechless - which would've helped a year ago. I could not fathom why she would do this for me, clearly the morphine had not worn off. But no, she was lucid and there I sat with what felt like more than just a blanket around me- it felt a lot like love, and maybe even forgiveness.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Candy
And so today finds us at Halloween, All Hallows Eve. When I was a kid my mom made me watch the Adam Walsh story which scared the shit out of me and all I could think was don't talk to strangers- but because it's Halloween that gives stranger danger a free pass. Not only do we knock on their doors, we take their candy! I always figured though if someone were to kidnap me they'd bring me back due to my inability to behave. They'd get a much better deal if they took my brother, he was the good child. I couldn't even manage to do trick-or-treating right. When we were about 8 my brother was the ghostbuster and I was the ghost. He had the brown suit and the jet pack (which was a covered cereal box and a dryer hose) while I had a half a sheet thrown over me with randomly placed eye holes. I'm trying not to see the favoritism in this. Anyway, back then after you went out, you then went to the hospital and they would x-ray your candy because what's a little radiation with your ten thousand calories? Of course me not being the child that listened, I just had to keep sneaking candy which I could do successfully due to my sheet so it didn't take long before all of those candy bars began getting to my delicate digestive system. We were sitting in the back seat of the car heading to the next neighborhood when I realized everything I had eaten was going to make a reappearance. So being me, I grabbed my brother's little orange pumpkin and proceeded to toss my cookies, or more like toss my candy in his bucket effectively ruining his Halloween haul. Needless to say that put an end to our evening festivities because there's only so much one of those little pumpkin buckets can hold and well, so much for my brother having the best costume after all. My brother really did get gypped that year because I couldn't even make it up to him by giving him my candy since I had been secretly packing it away all night. I should send him some candy.
And then there was the year that some nut job decided to jump out from the bushes to scare us while we were on the door stoop causing me to urinate. I guess the irony is that I went as a mummy that year and I was wrapped in toilet paper so you'd think I would've been ok. If you can't stand the smell of puke in the car, well sitting beside your urine soaked sister isn't much better. Yeah, I really should send my brother some candy.
Shocker, but Halloween has never been my favorite holiday. Maybe it's because of these two traumatic experiences or maybe it's because my mom gave me the gift of paranoia. I'm literally that person that checks their backseat before getting into the car. And I don't do scary because my bladder is obviously incompetent when it comes to being frightened. However, All Hallows Eve is upon us and I wish everyone a safe and Happy Halloween!
And then there was the year that some nut job decided to jump out from the bushes to scare us while we were on the door stoop causing me to urinate. I guess the irony is that I went as a mummy that year and I was wrapped in toilet paper so you'd think I would've been ok. If you can't stand the smell of puke in the car, well sitting beside your urine soaked sister isn't much better. Yeah, I really should send my brother some candy.
Shocker, but Halloween has never been my favorite holiday. Maybe it's because of these two traumatic experiences or maybe it's because my mom gave me the gift of paranoia. I'm literally that person that checks their backseat before getting into the car. And I don't do scary because my bladder is obviously incompetent when it comes to being frightened. However, All Hallows Eve is upon us and I wish everyone a safe and Happy Halloween!
Friday, October 25, 2013
just friends
My last blog entailed an abbreviated version of my sexuality awareness as well as my coming out of sorts. In response to that entry, I had someone ask me to tell the story of how it was I met my partner Tina- clearly the best day of her life for sure! Anyway, so I present you with the "story of us" also known as "Char thinks she has swagger but really doesn't."
I had just finished my first year of teaching and I was working a retail job during the summer months because you all know how wealthy teachers are. A friend of mine at said retail job asked me if I'd like to befriend one of her friends who had just recently came out. I of course had no qualms about helping someone out- no pun intended- and I was assured that it wasn't a set-up, just you know show her where all the gay places are kind of thing. My friend then proceeded to show me a picture of said gay newbie and after I put my tongue back in my head, I was dialing up her digits to arrange dinner plans. Initially Tina was somewhat hesitant, and I'm sure now there are days that she had wished she had stayed steadfast in that shyness. However, because I am totally smooth I told her that "you gotta eat" - yes those were my exact suave words to her to convince her to have dinner with me. So we made the time/place arrangements and I was to be on the lookout for one leggy feminine brunette in a grey van. I wasn't going to judge, cougars were in. Truth was her car was in the shop.
As I scan the parking lot prior to going into the restaurant I see a dilapidated grey serial killer van pull in. The woman that proceeds to get out of the sketchy vehicle has a buzzed head, sleeveless NASCAR t-shirt, homemade cut-off jean shorts, and a long cigarette hanging from her mouth. First off, if you smoke that's your business, I just personally do not prefer to lick an ashtray if there's a possibility that I'm going to kiss you. Secondly, this woman scared the hell out of me not solely due to her fashion choices, but she looked like she could kick my ass. I swear there was a chain gang missing a member. I will admit that I was a much more shallow person back then and I had half a mind to high tail it out of there. But then I thought how callous of me for even thinking that I should judge this book by it's cover. Clearly if this was indeed Tina, if she had somehow went beyond butch since that photo of her had been taken, then that was ok. It's hard enough to be gay as it is without being judged for your outward appearance as well. So as I was entering the vestibule of the restaurant, another grey van was pulling into the parking lot. I have no idea who that other woman was, but it was clearly not Tina. Nope, my dining companion for the next three hours was indeed all legs, long brown hair, and riveting blue eyes that clearly told me that my own eyes should be brown. Yeap, she saw right fast that I was a complete dork with nerdy glasses that talked too much. Since we were meeting as friends, there was no pressure although the whole time all I could think about was how she wouldn't taste like an ashtray. Much to my surprise she agreed to continue hanging out with me and eventually while at a concert I got dunk enough to finally kiss her, because what's better than ashtray- beer breath. My philosophy was that if she didn't reciprocate then I could blame it on the booze- I have mad skills! We won't mention how later that evening due to my intoxicated state I fell completely into a water fountain and had to ride home sans clothing with only a blanket. Irregardless that was the night we officially started dating and now 8 years later I still have no idea how I landed such an amazing woman that was just supposed to be a friend.
I had just finished my first year of teaching and I was working a retail job during the summer months because you all know how wealthy teachers are. A friend of mine at said retail job asked me if I'd like to befriend one of her friends who had just recently came out. I of course had no qualms about helping someone out- no pun intended- and I was assured that it wasn't a set-up, just you know show her where all the gay places are kind of thing. My friend then proceeded to show me a picture of said gay newbie and after I put my tongue back in my head, I was dialing up her digits to arrange dinner plans. Initially Tina was somewhat hesitant, and I'm sure now there are days that she had wished she had stayed steadfast in that shyness. However, because I am totally smooth I told her that "you gotta eat" - yes those were my exact suave words to her to convince her to have dinner with me. So we made the time/place arrangements and I was to be on the lookout for one leggy feminine brunette in a grey van. I wasn't going to judge, cougars were in. Truth was her car was in the shop.
As I scan the parking lot prior to going into the restaurant I see a dilapidated grey serial killer van pull in. The woman that proceeds to get out of the sketchy vehicle has a buzzed head, sleeveless NASCAR t-shirt, homemade cut-off jean shorts, and a long cigarette hanging from her mouth. First off, if you smoke that's your business, I just personally do not prefer to lick an ashtray if there's a possibility that I'm going to kiss you. Secondly, this woman scared the hell out of me not solely due to her fashion choices, but she looked like she could kick my ass. I swear there was a chain gang missing a member. I will admit that I was a much more shallow person back then and I had half a mind to high tail it out of there. But then I thought how callous of me for even thinking that I should judge this book by it's cover. Clearly if this was indeed Tina, if she had somehow went beyond butch since that photo of her had been taken, then that was ok. It's hard enough to be gay as it is without being judged for your outward appearance as well. So as I was entering the vestibule of the restaurant, another grey van was pulling into the parking lot. I have no idea who that other woman was, but it was clearly not Tina. Nope, my dining companion for the next three hours was indeed all legs, long brown hair, and riveting blue eyes that clearly told me that my own eyes should be brown. Yeap, she saw right fast that I was a complete dork with nerdy glasses that talked too much. Since we were meeting as friends, there was no pressure although the whole time all I could think about was how she wouldn't taste like an ashtray. Much to my surprise she agreed to continue hanging out with me and eventually while at a concert I got dunk enough to finally kiss her, because what's better than ashtray- beer breath. My philosophy was that if she didn't reciprocate then I could blame it on the booze- I have mad skills! We won't mention how later that evening due to my intoxicated state I fell completely into a water fountain and had to ride home sans clothing with only a blanket. Irregardless that was the night we officially started dating and now 8 years later I still have no idea how I landed such an amazing woman that was just supposed to be a friend.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Coming Out
I'd have to say my first crush was most certainly Wonder Woman, err Diana Prince. I didn't want to be Wonder Woman, nope I wanted to hug her- alot! As an adult, I can totally see why Lynda Carter would be the one and the Lasso of the Truth of the matter is that I was most definitely gay.
My favorite childhood movies were The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas and Flashdance. We won't even begin to analyze how inappropriate it is that I was able to watch said films at such an early age, but I am forever grateful for that lack of parental judgement on my parents' part.
I detested dresses, make-up, and instead wanted to wear boys' clothes and play army in the woods. I wanted Hot-Wheels and GI Joes to play with- Lady Jane was my favorite ;) In the 5th grade I wanted spiked hair like Roxette. I instead received a complete buzz cut by a very inexperienced hair dresser, but instead of being upset I relished in having the almost non-existent locks. Unfortunately my father was extremely displeased and we went immediately to purchase a hat and have both of my ears pierced. By the time the 6th grade rolled around I had a freaking perm and although my ears were still pierced I refused to wear earrings in both ears- such a rebel.
It wasn't until the 8th grade when I really started noticing that I was noticing girls. There was this one that really grabbed my attention and I was scared to death. I always knew I was different, had a quirky personality, bookworm, tom-boy, but the revelation that I was attracted to another girl was something I had to push down. Needless to say I did not come out in high school. In fact the only guy I had any notions of romance with just celebrated his 9yr anniversary with his very male partner. And that girl from the 8th grade, well she's now happily involved with another female- damn I should've trusted my young gay-dar!
No, I didn't come out until I was in college. Initially I told my best friend whose reaction was to tell me that I was going to Hell. He's the same best friend that just celebrated his 9yr anniversary. But all is forgiven because my coming out helped him with his and he will always be the Will to my Grace, or more like Jack. The next friend I told decided to tell my minister who then also proceeded to tell me that I was going to Hell. It's like the number one answer for homosexuality here in the south. Irregardless I was told to either choose the church or be gay. I tried to explain that it wasn't a choice, and they would no longer be receiving my tithes. Fortunately I had a very dear college professor who told me that I wasn't going to Hell and it allowed me the freedom to to live without fear. When I told my mom it was on Mother's Day. Now that's a gift she'll remember more than flowers. She was not surprised and initially supportive. As she has grown more religious she has opted to say that although she loves me and my partner very much, our way of life is is in God's hands. Ouch, but I will not argue with her if that is what she has to believe to find peace in her heart. Let me be clear, my mom has not wavered in her love for me or my partner, she just struggles with the idea of homosexuality a bit from a religious standpoint. Coming to terms with being gay was one of the hardest things I ever had to do because of the level of intolerance there is. I tried very hard to not be a lesbian. You could even say that I tried to "lay the gay away" because I slept with more men than I care to think about. My nickname was easily 32 flavors because I tried every race and ethnicity.
Of course I lost some family and friends due to nonacceptance but all in all I have been very fortunate with my coming out experience. However, not everyone is and it was 15yrs ago on October 7th when Matthew Shepard was beat mercilessly and died a few days later. He was "out" and it cost him his life. October 11th is National Coming Out day and it is my hope that if any of you are on the receiving end of someone's coming out, that you will react with compassion and love even if you have issues with the idea of homosexuality. We are people first, then we are gay.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
#PrayForDalton
Lately NC has received a lot of negative publicity. Whether our state is on the news due to The Justice Department suing NC because it claims a new state law discriminates against minorities, or because of the reports of NC Rep. Mark Meadows and his August letter signed by members of congress demanding Speaker Boehner to use a government shutdown, or to the ABC 20/20 investigative report that showed numerous NC law enforcement officers excessively exceeding speed limits, not to get to a crime scene, but to get to an honest-to-God doughnut shop. One officer was actually on his way to teach a class because he was the driving instructor- shaking my head.
But NC has also been in the news for a very different reason as well. Last Friday the community of Statesville/Iredell County learned that a 16yr old high school football player had been diagnosed with liver cancer. Although Statesville boasts about 25k residents, it is a tight community and where I have spent most of my life.
When the news of Dalton's cancer came out, an unprecedented united front of supporters came forward. Iredell County became encased in Carolina Blue (Dalton's favorite color) and then the color spread across the country and overseas. There are pictures of people who have never met Dalton or his family showing their support by wearing t-shirts, displaying signs, and sending cards. There is a social media blitz via facebook and twitter with #PrayForDalton. Rivalry teams are now made up of friends, and Dalton is showing us all what is important in life.
When I was 17 I worked with Dalton's mom (Geri) at a local clothing store. She was pregnant with Dalton at the time and I was scared to death she would go into labor on my shift. I had seen that Miracle of Life video in school and I had no desire to pass out again. Years later, Dalton would be a student at the Elementary school that I taught at. He has one of those smiles that can light up a classroom and he's so full of positive energy that you can't help but love the kid.
Cancer is a vicious disease. It does not limit itself to age, color, or gender. Dalton is strong, his family is strong, and the community around him is strong. I am not a religious person, but I would be lying if I did not say this unyielding movement of support for Dalton has not made me hit my knees and pray for his family. I love you Geri Edwards and dedicate my simple blog to you in honor of your birthday and in honor of your Dalton.
So while NC may be dominating the national news for other reasons, a small town called Statesville is doing amazing things for an amazing boy. #PrayForDalton
But NC has also been in the news for a very different reason as well. Last Friday the community of Statesville/Iredell County learned that a 16yr old high school football player had been diagnosed with liver cancer. Although Statesville boasts about 25k residents, it is a tight community and where I have spent most of my life.
When the news of Dalton's cancer came out, an unprecedented united front of supporters came forward. Iredell County became encased in Carolina Blue (Dalton's favorite color) and then the color spread across the country and overseas. There are pictures of people who have never met Dalton or his family showing their support by wearing t-shirts, displaying signs, and sending cards. There is a social media blitz via facebook and twitter with #PrayForDalton. Rivalry teams are now made up of friends, and Dalton is showing us all what is important in life.
When I was 17 I worked with Dalton's mom (Geri) at a local clothing store. She was pregnant with Dalton at the time and I was scared to death she would go into labor on my shift. I had seen that Miracle of Life video in school and I had no desire to pass out again. Years later, Dalton would be a student at the Elementary school that I taught at. He has one of those smiles that can light up a classroom and he's so full of positive energy that you can't help but love the kid.
Cancer is a vicious disease. It does not limit itself to age, color, or gender. Dalton is strong, his family is strong, and the community around him is strong. I am not a religious person, but I would be lying if I did not say this unyielding movement of support for Dalton has not made me hit my knees and pray for his family. I love you Geri Edwards and dedicate my simple blog to you in honor of your birthday and in honor of your Dalton.
So while NC may be dominating the national news for other reasons, a small town called Statesville is doing amazing things for an amazing boy. #PrayForDalton
Monday, September 23, 2013
order up
Clearly it was my turn to cook so we found ourselves at a fast food joint. Although I have been trying to learn how to cook I am barely one step above opening a can and heating. Even ramen noodles can be quite tricky for me.
Anyone that knows me knows that I am a terribly picky eater- kind of hard to believe I'd eat fast food, but I had coupons. When I order I always have to alter the dish in some form or fashion. If you've ever seen When Harry Met Sally and remember Meg Ryan ordering- no not that scene- but the one where she's ordering pie, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnlm2e3EN78 well that's me. For example if I order a cheeseburger I have them put ketchup/mustard on it but then I scrape it off because I only want the flavoring of the condiments. I only want the ends of the tomato because I can't stand the seeds or the wet insides. Same goes for pickles. Sometimes I order the burger but have the meat taken off because once again, I just want the flavoring. Other quirks I have are: any meat I east must be super thin, my food can't touch, and I have an unnatural fear of mayonnaise. I seriously tell food establishments that I'm allergic to it so they won't put it anywhere near my food. Hey, everyone has their demons and mine is mayo- don't judge.
It's actually odd that I'm so picky with my food because growing up we were happy with government cheese and anything else food stamps would provide. Tina (my partner) has told me repeatedly how incredibly ridiculous I am with my food idiosyncrasies. One of my favorite cereals is Special K but when it went up to $4 a box she decided to buy the off brand instead. Unbeknownst to me she placed the off brand in an empty Special K box and don't you know I was looking all over that damn box for the words "New & Improved" because I couldn't figure out what Kellogg's had done to make their cereal so much better. She had her fun watching and listening to me go on about how happy I was Special K had decided to make their flakes bigger and crispier before finally busting out into a fit of laughter at my expense. I'm just wondering what else has she fed me?
Ok, so we're at the restaurant and because of my complex ordering it is not a new experience to me when my order comes back incorrect. To me, it's not a big deal. I actually expect my order to be wrong just because there are so many alterations and the restaurant always fixes it so no worries. However, the dude in front of me evidently does not have that same easy-going attitude. The guy comes barreling up from his table and unpleasantly pushes himself past me so that he may lean across the counter and demand a manager. When the manager arrives, the disgruntled man proceeds to literally shove his receipt in the manager's face belittling and screaming the staff because there was lettuce on his sandwich. Ok first off he didn't even buy a real chicken sandwich, he bought the $0.99 one made out of unidentifiable compressed something so he should've been happy there was lettuce because at least it's organic. I was completely appalled by his degrading behavior towards the manager, and totally impressed with how the manager just stood there, listened, and was nothing but complacent with the man. The manager could have handled things very differently and no one in line would have thought less of him because the customer was completely out of line with his "you put lettuce on my sandwich" tantrum. After his order was corrected and he sat back down, I walked over to his table and stated these words of Martin Luther King Jr: "If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well."
I then proceeded to tell him, that even though that man may just be a fast food manager to him, he handled himself as a great street sweeper and he could learn a lesson on how to conduct himself properly from someone whom he thought was so beneath him. Unfortunately and unsurprisingly my message did not resonate with the irate man. However, I let it be known that no matter someone station, everyone's job is important.
Anyone that knows me knows that I am a terribly picky eater- kind of hard to believe I'd eat fast food, but I had coupons. When I order I always have to alter the dish in some form or fashion. If you've ever seen When Harry Met Sally and remember Meg Ryan ordering- no not that scene- but the one where she's ordering pie, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnlm2e3EN78 well that's me. For example if I order a cheeseburger I have them put ketchup/mustard on it but then I scrape it off because I only want the flavoring of the condiments. I only want the ends of the tomato because I can't stand the seeds or the wet insides. Same goes for pickles. Sometimes I order the burger but have the meat taken off because once again, I just want the flavoring. Other quirks I have are: any meat I east must be super thin, my food can't touch, and I have an unnatural fear of mayonnaise. I seriously tell food establishments that I'm allergic to it so they won't put it anywhere near my food. Hey, everyone has their demons and mine is mayo- don't judge.
It's actually odd that I'm so picky with my food because growing up we were happy with government cheese and anything else food stamps would provide. Tina (my partner) has told me repeatedly how incredibly ridiculous I am with my food idiosyncrasies. One of my favorite cereals is Special K but when it went up to $4 a box she decided to buy the off brand instead. Unbeknownst to me she placed the off brand in an empty Special K box and don't you know I was looking all over that damn box for the words "New & Improved" because I couldn't figure out what Kellogg's had done to make their cereal so much better. She had her fun watching and listening to me go on about how happy I was Special K had decided to make their flakes bigger and crispier before finally busting out into a fit of laughter at my expense. I'm just wondering what else has she fed me?
Ok, so we're at the restaurant and because of my complex ordering it is not a new experience to me when my order comes back incorrect. To me, it's not a big deal. I actually expect my order to be wrong just because there are so many alterations and the restaurant always fixes it so no worries. However, the dude in front of me evidently does not have that same easy-going attitude. The guy comes barreling up from his table and unpleasantly pushes himself past me so that he may lean across the counter and demand a manager. When the manager arrives, the disgruntled man proceeds to literally shove his receipt in the manager's face belittling and screaming the staff because there was lettuce on his sandwich. Ok first off he didn't even buy a real chicken sandwich, he bought the $0.99 one made out of unidentifiable compressed something so he should've been happy there was lettuce because at least it's organic. I was completely appalled by his degrading behavior towards the manager, and totally impressed with how the manager just stood there, listened, and was nothing but complacent with the man. The manager could have handled things very differently and no one in line would have thought less of him because the customer was completely out of line with his "you put lettuce on my sandwich" tantrum. After his order was corrected and he sat back down, I walked over to his table and stated these words of Martin Luther King Jr: "If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well."
I then proceeded to tell him, that even though that man may just be a fast food manager to him, he handled himself as a great street sweeper and he could learn a lesson on how to conduct himself properly from someone whom he thought was so beneath him. Unfortunately and unsurprisingly my message did not resonate with the irate man. However, I let it be known that no matter someone station, everyone's job is important.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
choosing life is hard
September 8th kicked off National Suicide Prevention Week and World Suicide Prevention Day is September 10th. Being mentally, physically, and sexually abused on a daily basis up until I was 18yrs old, there were plenty of times when I thought suicide was my only option. If I could just make it all stop then I'd never have to deal with any of it ever again. God how I hated hearing that last school bell ring because I knew what I was going home to.
Suicide had it's appeal, but somewhere inside of me I wasn't going to let what was happening to me win. My body may have been abused, but I would not allow my soul to be taken as well. Choosing to live really is the hard way. Now that I'm older and no longer in that situation there are still triggers, nightmares, bouts of self worthlessness. However there is also laughter, love, and friendships.
I've recently spoken with a youth who has also questioned her ability to go on due to the bullying she receives. She often "self-harms" or cuts herself as her coping mechanism and while I told her that I am by no means a professional, I could tell her that she has worth, that who knows who she will grow up to be, whose lives will she touch in the future? One of my mantras is "Life will not always be this way."I had to tell myself that growing up, and even now there are some days when those words are enlightening.
So this week I encourage everyone to get involved with helping for Suicide Prevention Week. One of my favorite organizations is The Trevor Project www.thetrevorproject.org that deals predominately with LGBT youth. There's also the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention www.afsp.org who helps with understanding/coping and preventing suicide.
And because there are so many out there like me who would have never contacted an organization, just be nice to those around you. Give of yourself, show kindness, and truly love one another.
Suicide had it's appeal, but somewhere inside of me I wasn't going to let what was happening to me win. My body may have been abused, but I would not allow my soul to be taken as well. Choosing to live really is the hard way. Now that I'm older and no longer in that situation there are still triggers, nightmares, bouts of self worthlessness. However there is also laughter, love, and friendships.
I've recently spoken with a youth who has also questioned her ability to go on due to the bullying she receives. She often "self-harms" or cuts herself as her coping mechanism and while I told her that I am by no means a professional, I could tell her that she has worth, that who knows who she will grow up to be, whose lives will she touch in the future? One of my mantras is "Life will not always be this way."I had to tell myself that growing up, and even now there are some days when those words are enlightening.
So this week I encourage everyone to get involved with helping for Suicide Prevention Week. One of my favorite organizations is The Trevor Project www.thetrevorproject.org that deals predominately with LGBT youth. There's also the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention www.afsp.org who helps with understanding/coping and preventing suicide.
And because there are so many out there like me who would have never contacted an organization, just be nice to those around you. Give of yourself, show kindness, and truly love one another.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
fashion in the field
Last weekend I was invited to attend the Happy Valley Fiddlers' Convention which takes place in a cow field- nope, I'm not lying. And it's not so much that a cow field is so unusual to me, I live in NC and I went to a high school where tractors were considered "first cars" and cow patty bingo was an actual fund-raising activity. Just wrap your mind around that for a second. If the cow relieves himself in your square, you are the winner... Anyway I truly loved my high school and the memories made there, but as I have gotten older I realized my heart has always belonged to the city. Nothing makes me happier than being immersed in the hustle and bustle beneath towering sky scrapers. And oh how I am deeply in love with fashion! I dream in Dior and believe that Coco Chanel is the 8th wonder of the world. The Devil Wears Prada is not only one of my favorite movies because Meryl Streep is so Haute in it, but because the clothes are just as much a character in the film as well.
This being said, you can imagine my skepticism to attending a function where hay would be one of the main attractions. Immediately I allowed every stereotype to enter my mind. I was about to embark on a journey of hee-haw proportions.Would there be out-houses? Would there be full sets of teeth? As we approached the venue I whispered to my partner- "Don't let them know we're gay because rope doesn't look good on anyone." Normally when attending functions I embrace bow ties and dress shirts, however, I decided on my most inconspicuous A&F ensemble of a t-shirt and cargo shorts. Besides, I've never seen Tim Gunn wearing overalls so I wasn't about to. I did wear a toboggan to complete the look because accessories are what tie an outfit together.
Alas, I could have been wearing a paper bag for all anyone cared because the focus of that function was one of pure harmony amongst the musicians as well as the attendees.It was an atmosphere where surprisingly there were all walks of life and economic statuses- we weren't even the only gays there! And while there was plenty of hay, tractors and overalls, there were also port-a-johns with antibacterial soap, full sets of teeth, food from hotdogs to prime-rib, and most importantly, friendliness. We were embraced by those around us who even held our hands as we participated in the cake walk and square dancing. We took a hayride along the river, and I even hung out with a band backstage.
And although this Eva Gabor has no desire to go all Green Acres, it was definitely an experience that left me feeling richer. My heart still beats for the city, but there is a small piece of my soul at the base of a mountain in a cow field.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
a little kick
Last night, well technically this morning (2am) there was a man trying to break into our home via the back door. Had he not been scared and chased off by our next door neighbor who was letting their dog out for a potty break he would have been successful. I was actually up and heard the noise at the back door, but at 2am you can somehow justify that the noises you are hearing are either the wind or a stray cat. Because really, who doesn't have a stray cat on their back porch trying to unlock the door? Had the guy made it in, he would have ultimately been disappointed in scoring any type of valuable loot. The tv in my bedroom is from 1999 and I'm just glad it shows in color. Even the flat screen in the living room came from a pawn shop- how ironic would that have been if it had just ended up back in one? I don't have a game system, an Ipad, or an Iphone. ( Really, my phone is like one step above a jitter-bug.) The only jewelry I own is a ring made out of a quarter from 1964, and it's worth more than what's in my bank account at the moment. Seriously, I'm changing my name to Insufficient Funds because that's what shows up on all of my bank paperwork anyway. Had I come face to face with the intruder I'd probably have just told him to go to the neighbors across the street because they have a lot nicer stuff.
So today finds us gun shopping. No matter your belief about guns, I have no desire to be Nancy Grace's next 8 o'clock special. On some level I am hesitant about having a gun simply because anyone that knows me knows that when I speak I use my hands emphatically so God only knows where the barrel would end up while I'm yelling "Stop!" or more realistically "oh shit!" Irregardless, the time has come where I must upgrade my golf club and mace for something with a little more kick because I understand that last night's incident could have gone very differently.
I'm not sure what has happened to this guy to make him turn to criminal activity. Maybe he has fallen on hard times, or maybe he's just bad news? Whatever the case, I hope he is able to find his way back to a path of giving instead of taking.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
anything
Yes it is the inevitable "Back to School" blog. As a former teacher, I can't help but get a little nostalgic during this time and miss my old classroom terribly. The room I had with peeling paint and some unidentifiable stains on the one-time-clean carpet. I don't miss the roaches though, those things were so big even they carried book bags. It definitely wasn't the dog eating anyone's homework, it was those damn roaches eating the assignment before the dog had a chance! But even with it's worn out facade, that room was filled with magic. Nothing could impede on the imagination and creativity that came forth so strongly that it made it's way out of the classroom, down the halls, and into the real world.
My first "a-ha" moment in life came from my Kindergarten teacher. We were all sitting in the floor in a semi-circle around her, and Mrs. McCombs simply stated "You can be anything you want to be when you grow up." She was the first person who made me believe that I really could be anything I wanted to be and that it would all be possible. Educators are the fuel that light the lamp of knowledge. That symbol of education that represents the search for unyielding wisdom.
I never took an art class, but the Art teacher at my high school had a smile and kind word for me everyday as my locker was near her classroom. I was blessed with two of the most amazing Spanish teachers anyone could ever ask for who gave me an appreciation for culture awareness. I had a middle school History teacher who gave me a passion for politics and once I make it into office (because I can be anything), I will always think of her while listening to the constituents. Along the way there have been other educators, each making their impression upon my soul, each igniting that everlasting lamp of knowledge.
May we welcome this new school year with hope and promise for the teachers and students. May the creativity outweigh the often outdated learning environments. And may every student believe they can be anything they want to be. Thank you Mrs. McCombs.
My first "a-ha" moment in life came from my Kindergarten teacher. We were all sitting in the floor in a semi-circle around her, and Mrs. McCombs simply stated "You can be anything you want to be when you grow up." She was the first person who made me believe that I really could be anything I wanted to be and that it would all be possible. Educators are the fuel that light the lamp of knowledge. That symbol of education that represents the search for unyielding wisdom.
I never took an art class, but the Art teacher at my high school had a smile and kind word for me everyday as my locker was near her classroom. I was blessed with two of the most amazing Spanish teachers anyone could ever ask for who gave me an appreciation for culture awareness. I had a middle school History teacher who gave me a passion for politics and once I make it into office (because I can be anything), I will always think of her while listening to the constituents. Along the way there have been other educators, each making their impression upon my soul, each igniting that everlasting lamp of knowledge.
May we welcome this new school year with hope and promise for the teachers and students. May the creativity outweigh the often outdated learning environments. And may every student believe they can be anything they want to be. Thank you Mrs. McCombs.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
curve ball
"Never look down on someone unless you're helping them up."
When I did a brief stint working for HUD I had hundreds upon hundreds of clients in just one little town. And I knew that if I had that many, the much larger city just south of me had thousands. It could've been so easy to look across my desk and to tell my clients that if they'd just go back to school, or if they'd just get a job, or if they'd just stop having kids... ugh or any of those other hurtful stereotypical responses that spew from so many. I'm not completely blind to the fact that yes there are those who do abuse the system. They exist and they cast a negative shadow on the establishment of assistance. Those that have no desire to better themselves, or those that feel an entitlement of sorts. Personally I do not understand the mindset of said individuals, however I do understand that there are those who are truly in need of assistance.
I had elderly clients whose retirement savings were just not enough to get by. I had disabled individuals whose bodies betrayed them from earning income. I had clients who had found themselves with nowhere to turn. I had clients that consisted of all types of ethnicities and familial make-up. There was no status-quo. I received phone calls everyday from people losing their jobs and their homes. People that had never needed assistance before in their lives were now on the other side of my desk.
And now it is on the other side of that desk I could easily find myself. Three years ago I had a very ungraceful and unfortunate accident which has left me with a most inconvenient back injury. Thirty plus procedures later and the doctors have uttered the words "permanently disabled." Since I was 14 I've held numerous jobs and careers. I have two collegiate degrees, yet all because of one ten second event I have been unable to work for the last three years. I stay on a concoction of narcotics and muscle relaxers because "all we can do is make you comfortable." And while the State, the insurance companies, and the lawyers continue to fight everything out, I have found that my retirement was not enough for me to stop working at 31.
I write this blog entry not for pity because despite what the doctors have said I have hope.I have to have it. I write this because I have seen so many posts recently putting others down and I just want to remind people that you never know about the curve ball life may throw you. I write this because the next time you drive by a government housing development, or you see someone paying with their EBT card, or you see someone coming out of the health department, I want you to think of what "curve ball" must have occurred in that person's life instead of putting them down. You never know when you might end up on the other side of the desk. And really, is it that hard to just be kind to each other?
When I did a brief stint working for HUD I had hundreds upon hundreds of clients in just one little town. And I knew that if I had that many, the much larger city just south of me had thousands. It could've been so easy to look across my desk and to tell my clients that if they'd just go back to school, or if they'd just get a job, or if they'd just stop having kids... ugh or any of those other hurtful stereotypical responses that spew from so many. I'm not completely blind to the fact that yes there are those who do abuse the system. They exist and they cast a negative shadow on the establishment of assistance. Those that have no desire to better themselves, or those that feel an entitlement of sorts. Personally I do not understand the mindset of said individuals, however I do understand that there are those who are truly in need of assistance.
I had elderly clients whose retirement savings were just not enough to get by. I had disabled individuals whose bodies betrayed them from earning income. I had clients who had found themselves with nowhere to turn. I had clients that consisted of all types of ethnicities and familial make-up. There was no status-quo. I received phone calls everyday from people losing their jobs and their homes. People that had never needed assistance before in their lives were now on the other side of my desk.
And now it is on the other side of that desk I could easily find myself. Three years ago I had a very ungraceful and unfortunate accident which has left me with a most inconvenient back injury. Thirty plus procedures later and the doctors have uttered the words "permanently disabled." Since I was 14 I've held numerous jobs and careers. I have two collegiate degrees, yet all because of one ten second event I have been unable to work for the last three years. I stay on a concoction of narcotics and muscle relaxers because "all we can do is make you comfortable." And while the State, the insurance companies, and the lawyers continue to fight everything out, I have found that my retirement was not enough for me to stop working at 31.
I write this blog entry not for pity because despite what the doctors have said I have hope.I have to have it. I write this because I have seen so many posts recently putting others down and I just want to remind people that you never know about the curve ball life may throw you. I write this because the next time you drive by a government housing development, or you see someone paying with their EBT card, or you see someone coming out of the health department, I want you to think of what "curve ball" must have occurred in that person's life instead of putting them down. You never know when you might end up on the other side of the desk. And really, is it that hard to just be kind to each other?
Sunday, August 11, 2013
scrape
I am very fortunate that anyone will put up with me for 8 minutes let alone 8 years, alas it's true though because my partner has been with me for 8 years and tomorrow is her birthday. In the words of Ouiser from Steel Magnolias she "must be on some mission from God."
And ever if the words "opposites attract" were true, then that depicts us to a tee. We're ying & yang, light & dark, right & left - you get the picture. We really couldn't be any more different yet it works. While I'm reading Vogue she's reading Handyman's Workshop. If I were ever recruited to be on Survivor I'd want to take her as my one item. In the first 15 minutes of being on the island, she'd not only have a shelter built, but a row of condos. I on the other hand would have a sunburn and about three thousand bug bites. I don't do outside very well. In fact I don't do a lot well. I have attempted to cook, but then there was that call to poison control. I've tried to do laundry, but they're serious when they say to separate your lights and darks. I've even tried to hook up the dvd player, but those extra sparks were not supposed to be there. So I do what I can, which is um, well I'll get back to you on that.
Anyway, tomorrow is her birthday and while the cupcakes I will make her will undoubtedly be burnt, she will just scrape until she finds the good stuff- kinda like what she has done with me. I love you hunny bunny. Happy Birthday.
And ever if the words "opposites attract" were true, then that depicts us to a tee. We're ying & yang, light & dark, right & left - you get the picture. We really couldn't be any more different yet it works. While I'm reading Vogue she's reading Handyman's Workshop. If I were ever recruited to be on Survivor I'd want to take her as my one item. In the first 15 minutes of being on the island, she'd not only have a shelter built, but a row of condos. I on the other hand would have a sunburn and about three thousand bug bites. I don't do outside very well. In fact I don't do a lot well. I have attempted to cook, but then there was that call to poison control. I've tried to do laundry, but they're serious when they say to separate your lights and darks. I've even tried to hook up the dvd player, but those extra sparks were not supposed to be there. So I do what I can, which is um, well I'll get back to you on that.
Anyway, tomorrow is her birthday and while the cupcakes I will make her will undoubtedly be burnt, she will just scrape until she finds the good stuff- kinda like what she has done with me. I love you hunny bunny. Happy Birthday.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
price-check
The following may or may not have happened. It could be a purely hypothetical situation, yeap that's what I'm going with...
Ok so when you have to go to the store to buy something embarrassing like let's hypothetically say hemorrhoid cream, you totally look around for something else to buy too. You don't want all the focus to be on that one single item, so you pick up something else completely random like a loaf of bread. You don't even know if you need bread at home, and you're not going to buy just any loaf either. Nope, you're going to get the king size loaf because even though no one is actually paying you any attention, you want to make sure that the bread is the only thing anyone sees. To make matters worse, you may have a back injury so you already walk funny...
So you proceed to the checkout hoping you can find one without someone else in line and at the same time praying that no one else walks up behind you at said check out. Although the clerk is probably 16 so he more than likely has no idea what hemorrhoid cream is and even if he did he could care less about any issues you may have. Seriously, he just cares about what time his shift ends.
After nonchalantly stalking the check-out lanes, at least you think you're being nonchalant, in fact the security cameras have probably picked up the fear in your eyes so now management is watching you thinking you're about to steal a ginormous loaf of bread. You really don't want to be tackled to the ground for bread since you know what it's hiding. Headline News: Pain in the Ass Criminal Taken Down.
The coast is finally clear, you choose your lane and internally you breathe a sigh of relief because the clerk is indeed 16. The bread goes through without a hitch! Butt, um but of course the cream refuses to scan. Yes, you managed to pick out the only box with a scratched barcode. Attention to the one item you so desperately did not want to be seen has been thrust up front and center into the spotlight! You should have just went for all or nothing and picked up some feminine hygiene products, adult diapers, and anti-diarrheal medicine too.
At first the 16yr old is determined to make it scan. You know it's futile, because this is your life. And while he's trying to get it to scan, a line undoubtedly forms behind you. You now have witnesses. Next, the inevitable occurs "I need a manager on 4 because I have some Preparation H that's not ringing up. It's the family size box with with the extra large applicator." Thus the awkward silence begins while not only you, but the line behind you waits for a price too. At this point you just want to throw a $100 bill at the clerk and run, but then you realize you're poor and you don't have $100.
There are those moments in life when you want the world to open up and swallow you whole. This would qualify as one of those moments. Hypothetically of course.
Ok so when you have to go to the store to buy something embarrassing like let's hypothetically say hemorrhoid cream, you totally look around for something else to buy too. You don't want all the focus to be on that one single item, so you pick up something else completely random like a loaf of bread. You don't even know if you need bread at home, and you're not going to buy just any loaf either. Nope, you're going to get the king size loaf because even though no one is actually paying you any attention, you want to make sure that the bread is the only thing anyone sees. To make matters worse, you may have a back injury so you already walk funny...
So you proceed to the checkout hoping you can find one without someone else in line and at the same time praying that no one else walks up behind you at said check out. Although the clerk is probably 16 so he more than likely has no idea what hemorrhoid cream is and even if he did he could care less about any issues you may have. Seriously, he just cares about what time his shift ends.
After nonchalantly stalking the check-out lanes, at least you think you're being nonchalant, in fact the security cameras have probably picked up the fear in your eyes so now management is watching you thinking you're about to steal a ginormous loaf of bread. You really don't want to be tackled to the ground for bread since you know what it's hiding. Headline News: Pain in the Ass Criminal Taken Down.
The coast is finally clear, you choose your lane and internally you breathe a sigh of relief because the clerk is indeed 16. The bread goes through without a hitch! Butt, um but of course the cream refuses to scan. Yes, you managed to pick out the only box with a scratched barcode. Attention to the one item you so desperately did not want to be seen has been thrust up front and center into the spotlight! You should have just went for all or nothing and picked up some feminine hygiene products, adult diapers, and anti-diarrheal medicine too.
At first the 16yr old is determined to make it scan. You know it's futile, because this is your life. And while he's trying to get it to scan, a line undoubtedly forms behind you. You now have witnesses. Next, the inevitable occurs "I need a manager on 4 because I have some Preparation H that's not ringing up. It's the family size box with with the extra large applicator." Thus the awkward silence begins while not only you, but the line behind you waits for a price too. At this point you just want to throw a $100 bill at the clerk and run, but then you realize you're poor and you don't have $100.
There are those moments in life when you want the world to open up and swallow you whole. This would qualify as one of those moments. Hypothetically of course.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
the letter S
One of my all time favorite quotes by Maya Angelou is : There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.
And it's so true, because it is our own personal stories of failure and triumph that can help others. I have two very dear friends that literally live continents apart, yet they have started a movement that has eclipsed their distance and it has traveled to all the corners of the world. Their website is http://uglyducklingsinc.com/ and it provides a safe haven for anyone young or old to tell their story. The website was inspired by Jennifer Morrison's character role of Emma Swan in ABC's Once Upon A Time. If you haven't seen the show or are unfamiliar with it, PLEASE lie to me and say that you have. It's a show that encompasses all of the complexities of family, love, and loss while set against the backdrop of every fairytale story you've ever read. I mean seriously, the town is called StoryBrooke. How clever is that? Anyway, just watch the show because it's kick axe (seven dwarfs reference.) Jennifer Morrison gave her fans the moniker The Ugly Ducklings and thus the website was born.
So what makes an Ugly Duckling? It is someone who despite what life has thrown at them, they have succeeded. It is someone who has not let life harden them and instead they have taken their own personal tragedies and used them to help others. We all have a story and when we start sharing, then that's when the healing begins. Your story just may be someone else's story too. And you'll see that you don't have to play a super-hero or a story book character on t.v. to maybe save someone.So today's blog is brought to you by the letter "S" because eventually all ugly ducklings grow up to be Swans.
And it's so true, because it is our own personal stories of failure and triumph that can help others. I have two very dear friends that literally live continents apart, yet they have started a movement that has eclipsed their distance and it has traveled to all the corners of the world. Their website is http://uglyducklingsinc.com/ and it provides a safe haven for anyone young or old to tell their story. The website was inspired by Jennifer Morrison's character role of Emma Swan in ABC's Once Upon A Time. If you haven't seen the show or are unfamiliar with it, PLEASE lie to me and say that you have. It's a show that encompasses all of the complexities of family, love, and loss while set against the backdrop of every fairytale story you've ever read. I mean seriously, the town is called StoryBrooke. How clever is that? Anyway, just watch the show because it's kick axe (seven dwarfs reference.) Jennifer Morrison gave her fans the moniker The Ugly Ducklings and thus the website was born.
So what makes an Ugly Duckling? It is someone who despite what life has thrown at them, they have succeeded. It is someone who has not let life harden them and instead they have taken their own personal tragedies and used them to help others. We all have a story and when we start sharing, then that's when the healing begins. Your story just may be someone else's story too. And you'll see that you don't have to play a super-hero or a story book character on t.v. to maybe save someone.So today's blog is brought to you by the letter "S" because eventually all ugly ducklings grow up to be Swans.
Monday, August 5, 2013
after all
Ok, so this is my first blog entry ever. And it may end up being my last as well since I really have no idea what to write about. I mean, I talk alot in real life so I should be able to type alot too? But is what I say in real life all that interesting? I don't know? I'm sure there is the occasional person that glazes over during conversations, hell, sometimes I glaze over when it's me doing the talking. Anyway, I am going to try this "blog" thing. Yes, I'm only about 10yrs coming into this too late, but why not? Who knows I may just have something important to say after all!
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