Book cover snobbery

Which is worse: buying a copy of Love in the Time of Cholera that has a scene from the motion picture on the cover or buying a copy of the aforementioned book that has a "normal" cover but "Oprah's Book Club" emblazoned on the front?

This was my dilemma as I stood in Borders Bookstore today.

I wouldn't call myself an avid reader, but I do enjoy a good book from time to time, more often than most people, I would imagine. Somehow, I feel my better than average book habit gives me the right to be a snob about the novels I read, or at least their covers.

Buying a book whose cover is closely associated with its movie gives the impression that I am reading the book because it has now become the "in" thing to d0. On the other hand, I fear that reading a novel with Oprah's Book Club emblem on the front might say that I can't think for myself and therefore must rely upon the wisdom of a talk show host.

It's a no win situation.

I chose the copy of Love in the Time of Cholera that had Oprah's endorsement on the front. In the end, I decided that the book club emblem was much less noticeable than the movie scene, which took up the entire cover, and I would be more apt to escape judgement.

Clearly, I put way too much stock in public opinion.

Other books I bought were: Stephen King's On Writing and A is for Alibi by Sue Grafton (Alan said my writing style reminded him of Sue Grafton so I had to get it.)

I think I have enough reading material to keep me occupied on the plane ride to see The Boyfriend this weekend. (For the second year in a row, we will ring in the New Year together, fulfilling a vow we made to each other early in our relationship.) The books will also be my companions while The Boyfriend goes to work on Monday. Cozying up on the couch with a good read sounds like the perfect way to spend an afternoon.

Besides, I'll need something to break up all the snooping I'll be doing in The Boyfriend's medicine cabinet and dresser drawers.

A stolen meme

I stole this from Zandria, who stole it from someone else, who stole it from someone else.

It's fitting, no?

What kind of soap is in your bathtub right now?

Dove for Sensitive Skin. I use it for everything - body and face. I used to buy an expensive facial soap from Clinique before I discovered that Dove for Sensitive Skin made my skin feel exactly the same.

Do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator?

No, this isn't exactly the season for watermelon. Plus I find those seeds annoying.

What would you change about your living room?

I'd put a mirror or a picture above the couch (I've lived in my house for 2 years and I have yet to fully decorate it to my satisfaction.) I would also replace the my front door with one that didn't have a window because sunlight is overrated.

Are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty?

Dirty. I just took out the clean dishes so I could put more dirty ones in.

What is in your fridge?

It's the day before Christmas. Have you got a minute? Last night's leftovers: burgundy beef tips, rice, peas, carrots, and peach cobbler; tomorrow's dinner compliments of Holiday Ham & Deli: a half of a honey baked turkey breast, cornbread dressing, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole (I asked for a baked potato casserole but they gave me the sweet potato casserole by mistake); milk, soda, orange juice, homemade merlot (a gift from a co-worker), half and half, whipping cream, sandwich meat, pepper jack cheese, Swiss cheese, Parmesan Reggiano cheese, Gorgonzola cheese, cheddar cheese, cream cheese, Velvetta -- I like cheese, okay? -- plus a plethora of condiments that are long past their "use by" dates.

White or wheat bread?

Normally, I like the taste of white, but lately, I've fallen in love with Sara Lee's 100% Whole Wheat Bread.

What is on top of your refrigerator?

A pastry board that is marked with various diameters for pie crusts (a gift from my mom) and some decorative metal bread baskets (a gift from my friend, Lisa.)

What color or design is on your shower curtain?

I LOVE my shower curtain! It's a floral design filled with deep, rich colors like burgundy, gold, and green. It's gorgeous.

How many plants are in your home?

One -- a Peace Lily that was a housewarming gift from the woman I babysit for. I'm not a plant person so it should feel lucky to be alive.

Is your bed made right now?

Hell no. What's the point. I'm just gonna mess it up again later anyway.

Is your closet organized?

If by organized you mean that dirty clothes cover the floor of my walk-in closet, then yes.

Do you drink out of glass or plastic most of the time at home?

Glass. I'm very civilized.

Do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now?

Of course! What kind of Southerner would I be if I didn't have a pitcher of sweet iced tea in the fridge?

If you have a garage, is it cluttered?

No garage. But if I had one, it probably would not be cluttered. I don't like cluttered garages.

Curtains or blinds?

Blinds. I prefer plantation shutters but I can't afford those. I wouldn't mind an attractive valance though.

How many pillows do you sleep with?

Four -- 3 to prop up my head and one to prop up my feet. When The Boyfriend is in town, I let him have 2 of the pillows. I'm very generous.

Do you sleep with any lights on at night?

Absolutely not! My neighbor leaves his outside light on and it shines through my bedroom window. I am this close to throwing a brick at it.

How often do you vacuum?

Let's see. What figure can I come up with that will accurately reflect my disdain for cleaning but won't paint me as a total slob? How about. . .once a month. That's it! Once a month.

Standard toothbrush or electric?

Standard. I need the exercise.

Do you have a welcome mat on your front porch?

No! That's another thing I have been meaning to buy but haven't gotten around to it.

What is in your oven right now?

Two oven racks. I bake quite often, so using my oven as a storage device is not an option for me.

Is there anything under your bed?

No. This is another one of my quirky habits. I don't like cluttered garages and I don't like storing things under the bed. It's makes me feel like I have too much stuff.

Chore you hate doing the most?

Yard work.

What retro items are in your home?

My computer, an antique twin sleigh bed, and a set of vomit green Tupperware storage containers (circa 1976) that I absolutely adore.

Do you have a separate room that you use as an office?

I have a second bedroom that serves as a guest room and an office.

How many mirrors are in your home?

Three -- a mirror over both bathroom vanities and one over my dresser.

What color are your walls?

A light Khaki color. The wall color is one of the reasons I bought this house.

Do you keep any kind of protection weapons in your home?

No. I'd just find a way to hurt myself with them.

What does your home smell like right now?

Clean air that is free from allergens. I just changed the filter on my furnace.

Favorite candle scent?

Roses, I guess.

Ever been on your roof?

Why on earth would I do that?

How many TVs do you have?

Three -- one in each bedroom and one in the living room.

How many house phones?

None. I use my cell phone.

Do you have a housekeeper?

I wish.

What style do you decorate in?

My style leans toward the traditional, but I also love cottage style.

Do you like solid colors in furniture or prints?

Either one depending on how it's executed. A combination of the two in different pieces (solid couch with a floral chair) can be quite attractive.

Is there a smoke detector in your home?

Yes, but it's disconnected right now because it keeps beeping inexplicably. Changing the battery doesn't seem to help. I'd buy a new one but they discountinued making the kind I have and its replacement has a different mounting bracket. I'm not mechanically inclined enough to install something like that.

In case of fire, what are the items in your house which you’d grab if you only could make one quick trip?

My purse.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, PEOPLE!

The Wedding - Revised (with teacher's comments)

I'm finally getting around to posting The Wedding piece that originally appeared on this blog and that I submitted as my final project for my writing class. It's basically the same piece except for the last two paragraphs. I was not happy with the way those two paragraphs flowed so I rewrote them a bit. Once I got the paragraphs to read the way I wanted them to, I found that my piece was 738 words long -- 238 words over the specified limit. At that point, I didn't want to mess with it anymore and submitted it anyway, hoping the teacher wouldn't notice. My plan backfired. She did notice. And the very paragraphs that I spent so much time perfecting ended up hardly being reviewed by my teacher.

C'est la vie.

What I was really disappointed about was that my teacher gave no indication in her comments that The Wedding might be the most intriguing thing she's read since War and Peace. Or at least since Sex and the City. Hell, I would have been happy if she said I was more compelling than the cereal box she read that morning. You see, I was looking for validation, some sort of sign that my pursuit of writing isn't a complete and utter waste of time. I got bupkus.

That's not entirely true. I did get encouragement to continue writing, but she encouraged everyone to do that. She would have said the same thing to Jethro Bodine had he been taking her writing class. Surely, I can put words together better than a Beverly Hillbilly.

I don't have to be told that I'm the next Ernest Hemingway but I would like to know that I don't suck. Is that too much to ask?

The Boyfriend had a different take on the situation. He thought the teacher's comments were encouraging and served as proof of my talent. And he may be right but what kind of writer would I be if I were not insecure and overly sensitive?

The instructor did mention that my final project was a little too detailed. I fault that on having just finished the lesson on descriptive writing when I wrote The Wedding and I was taking my skills for a test drive. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of falling in love with the sound of my own words when I should have been deleting paragraphs to create a stronger piece.

Anywho, here is my final project. The teacher's comments are in bold and interspersed throughout the piece. You can read the whole thing or you can skip right to her final analysis at the bottom.

GrizzBabe,

I like to comment right in the piece as I read, giving you a running commentary on my reactions as a typical reader and also as your instructor. It's a good way for you to see the effect of your words on readers as the piece unfolds. It allows me to make suggestions too.

It's been a pleasure working with you. Keep writing!

All my best,
Ann

The Wedding

Thirty minutes after I had put on a brand new pair of black satin dress pumps, my feet started to hurt. (good opening) The heel was just a bit higher than I was used to wearing, causing my feet to slide forward, jamming my toes into the pointy tip. As I stared at my shoes in the floor-length mirror, I wondered how other women (did) do this on a daily basis. Wearing heels higher than 1.5 inches felt (take out "so") so unnatural not to mention uncomfortable(,) but I decided to tough it out because sometimes it is better to look good than to feel good. (interesting thought for us) And look good I did in my wispy(,) long, (no comma) black evening skirt worn with a sparkly black, square-necked blouse. I didn't feel as put together as I would have liked because I didn't have time to wash and curl my hair so I twisted my limp mane into a bun and secured it with jeweled chopsticks. Not my best look(,) but it would have to do.

The ballroom where the wedding and reception were held (was) is located in one of downtown's most historic locations. The trey ceilings boasted intricate moldings and supported several large, crystal chandeliers. Huge(vague) columns adorned in gold fleur de leaf (spelling) flanked the wedding area while shimmering champagne-hued drapery hung between the columns serving as a visual wall and creating a chapel-like atmosphere. (good choice of details)

Although the setting was gorgeous, the seating was very uncomfortable. The small, dainty chairs were crammed so close together that my shoulders frequently rubbed against my neighbor(,) and the tightly constructed rows ensured that my knees stayed planted in the backside of the woman in front of me for the duration of the ceremony. (that's funny)

The large collection of bridesmaids looked elegant as they paraded down the aisle one-by-one. Their chocolate satin gowns complimented the decor of the ballroom perfectly. The bride wore an antique white strapless dress that fit snugly along the bodice and hips before gradually flaring out into a short, chapel-length train. (I'm starting to get just a tad impatient. Nothing has happened to arouse my interest. It's all description. You'll want to get to the story/conflict very soon.)

The bride and groom, although happy, were not overly sentimental. They recited their vows without any difficulty or visible signs of emotion. The wedding itself was short and sweet. There was no singing or music to draw out the ceremony. Almost as soon as the wedding had started, it was over.

After the procession, guests were asked to wait on the mezzanine level while the wedding area was transformed back into a ballroom filled with tables draped in crisp white linens and dotted with red rose petals. Those same uncomfortable chairs from the wedding were also used for the reception(,) and I stared longingly at them from above as my feet began to swell and throb with pain.

One large helping of dip and three million pictures later (not clear who's taking pictures of whom), we were finally allowed back into the ballroom (period, take out "where") where (G)guests quickly formed lines in order to be one of the first to fill their plates with dry chicken and rubbery shrimp.

As I sat at my table and watched the bride and groom perform their choreographed first dance, I couldn't help but wonder what The Boyfriend's and my wedding might be like. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to finally have our lives joined together permanently. (I'll stop here for word count, but I did read the rest. Final analysis below.) I daydreamed about our first dance and how I would rather do the funky chicken and the robot than pay to learn some stuffy dance moves that we would never use again. I picked at my food and hoped that our guests would compliment us on a menu that had been cooked to perfection. I fantasized about us engaging in the social busyness that a reception requires while occasionally exchanging knowing glances from across the room in anticipation of our wedding night. My mind became so consumed with these thoughts that by the end of the evening I found myself yearning for my own fairy-tale wedding.

Unfortunately, my wedding fantasies will have to remain unfulfilled for a while longer. The Boyfriend and I have vowed to take slow, deliberate steps toward the altar. Not until this time next year will we reevaluate our relationship to determine for sure if one of us wants to move across several states to be with the other. Most of the time I am okay with this wise and pragmatic plan. However, on occasion, my wedding-inspired girly dreams will team up with my growing hatred of long distances to create an impatience that sometimes overwhelms me.

(The core of your piece is the difference between your dreams and this reality. The way you begin to dramatize this is to contrast this flawless but dull wedding with your own fantasies about a more meaningful and fun occasion. You might consider pacing this a bit differently so that you can entertain your readers with the contrasts instead of going into so much detail about a wedding you didn't care for. Keep the funny parts, though. You could use the wedding above, but insert your own fantasies right along with each flawless detail above. Start with the shoes, add the setting, review the seating, toss in the food, compare the music and dancing and this should read well. Your ending about whether this would ever come about would wrap it up nicely. You have all the pieces here, GrizzBabe. See what you think about the idea of rearranging it a bit. Keep going! --Ann)

Don't sweat the small stuff.

Two seconds after I had walked through the front door of my house, I could tell The Boyfriend had been there. All day. Even if I had contracted amnesia and had forgotten that The Boyfriend had come to visit me, I would still have known that someone of the opposite sex had taken up residence in my house simply by surveying the premises. The place wasn't a mess by any means, but there were signs, man signs, that The Boyfriend had taken my advice and made himself at home.

In true bachelor fashion, my coffee table was decorated with empty soda cans and a hastily discarded candy bar wrapper. As I made my way down the hallway, I noticed that the folding doors on the laundry closet, doors that normally muffle the sounds of the washer when in a closed position, were pushed far apart causing the annoying chug of the washing machine to fill the house. In addition, the door to the dryer was standing wide open and the light inside illuminated the hallway.

I remarked to The Boyfriend that I could tell that a man had been here and offered the dryer door as proof.

"It's open so that it will be ready when my clothes are done," The Boyfriend said.

"But there is a very hard to reach light in the back of the dryer that, if it ever goes out, I'll have to call a repairman to replace it," I responded.

And so went our first argument. Only we weren't really arguing because the tone was lighthearted. Although, I can imagine a time (probably after I've closed my 1500th dryer door) when our words might carry a little more tension.

Admittedly, leaving doors open and a few cans littered about are minor infractions but they provided me with a glimpse into what life might be like when I get married. I can tell already that getting used to living with another human being is going to take a lot of work on both our parts. There are going to be many instances, like the one with the dryer, where our methods of doing things are going to clash. We'll even have to get used to our different housecleaning habits.

But if we want our future marriage to be a happy one, we have to be willing to compromise as we both search for the best way to combine our lives. Most importantly, we can't sweat the small stuff. We have to pick our battles and refrain from arguing about issues that are of no real consequence. Empty soda cans and candy wrappers are just not worth starting World War III over. Fighting energy should be saved for much more important matters. . .like dryer doors.

GrizzBabe's Thanksgiving Week in Review

As I type this, The Boyfriend is on his way back to Chicago. All in all, meeting the family was a good experience. I wouldn't say everyone got on famously as neither me, my boyfriend or my immediate family are social butterflies so it will take a while for everyone to get to know each other and to feel comfortable being around one another but I'm happy with how everything turned out. Here is a brief run down on my Thanksgiving week:

• After The Boyfriend's arrival Tuesday evening, I took him out to dinner at a nice little restaurant called Firebirds Wood Fired Grill. I then proceeded to stuff myself silly with honey chile glazed pork chops and some kick ass southwest au gratin potatoes. The Boyfriend ordered prime rib and a loaded baked potato. Yes, it was an expensive dinner but fortunately The Boyfriend put out later so it was worth it.
• I had to work all day Wednesday so I left The Boyfriend at home by himself. This is the first time that he has been alone in my house for any significant period of time. He insists that he didn't stave off boredom by going through my medicine cabinet and dresser drawers. He even says that while snooping through my computer files he resisted the urge to click on the folder labeled "Journal". Humph.
• Thursday was Turkey Day with the family and, as I mentioned, all went well. Everyone was very cordial and welcoming just like I knew they would be. And thankfully, The Boyfriend didn't feel compelled to reevaluate our relationship after eating the jalapeno infused turkey. It was a good day. The only uncomfortable moment occurred when a couple of family members decided to give a mini gospel concert before we sat down to dinner, which was being served 2 hours late. (Can't we just eat already?)
• Being in a long distance relationship means that I rarely get to go out on dates and I do so enjoy the feeling of being courted. That's why I was really excited when, on Friday, The Boyfriend said he was paying for our movie tickets to go see American Gangster. It meant that The Boyfriend was taking me out on a real date. Unfortunately, when we arrived at the ticket window, The Boyfriend realized he had left his wallet at my house so I ended up paying for the tickets. This bothered me more than I let on. It wasn't about the money. (The Boyfriend had already spent hundreds of dollars to come see me.) It was about the feeling that a woman gets when her man takes her out on a date. I realized that I need to feel those feelings sometimes.
• The Boyfriend more than made up for the wallet mishap by taking me out for an expensive dinner at one of my favorite Italian restaurants on Saturday. And yes, I put out later.

Doing Better

The last half of last week was rough for multiple reasons -- I accidentally paid my mortgage twice, The Boyfriend and I had our first real issue to work through, and my insides were ripped out by my gynecologist during a pap smear -- but I am doing better.

Unless I get inspired on the weekend, I will probably not post again until after the holiday. I have been busy this week getting the house ready for The Boyfriend's arrival on Tuesday. On Thursday, he will meet the family. For. The. First. Time.

Nope. Not nervous. Not in the least.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, EVERYONE!

It's been a shitty week, people!

I was going to spend the afternoon writing a blog post but I just don't have it in me to weave cute and funny words together today. I need a minute. Possibly two.

A Happy Medium

This weekend I made chocolate chip cookies. Not just any old chocolate chip cookies, mind you, but these gargantuan disks of soft, chocolatey goodness. When Elizabeth, the recipe's author, says these cookies are "the pinnacle of perfection", she ain't just whistlin' Dixie. These cookies are so good they make you want to slap your grandmama. (Just how many Southern expressions can I squeeze into one paragraph?)

Normally, when I make a batch of cookies, good cookies, I'll eat a large portion of them before they've even had a chance to cool off and then complain that the recipe didn't make nearly as many as it said it would.

This time, I tried to take a different approach. I vowed to eat only one cookie a day (Remember, these cookies are huge!) and I halved the recipe so that if by some chance I decided to inhale the entire batch in one sitting, there wouldn't be as many fat grams available to attach themselves to my rear end.

My plan seemed reasonable enough and I felt confident that I could execute it without much difficulty. Unfortunately, I underestimated how much of a temptress a giant chocolate chip cookie can be.

The other night, I was minding my own business, washing dishes like the domestic goddess that I am, when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the cookies staring at me, giving me that come hither look. I ignored the visual pleas and continued with my chores. A few minutes later, I heard my name being called. I stopped what I was doing and turned in the direction of the voices. The cookies were now begging me to eat them. They even promised to delight my taste buds until I keeled over in ecstasy. Determined not to cave in, I threw a dishtowel over the cookies and walked out of the kitchen. Their muddled cries didn't have quite the same effect.

So far, I've been successful adhering to my "one cookie a day" rule. I'm finding that if I eat well, meaning I eat food that satisfies my soul as well as my tongue, I am much less likely to snack. And that's a good thing, because I love to bake, and I would hate to have to give up my hobby in favor of a healthier (read: boring) lifestyle. I would rather exercise some discipline and develop the habit of finding a happy medium.

Twenty Questions, Part II or Ten More Questions

Part I can be found here.

11.) How do you like to spend your free time?

I spend the vast majority of my free time in front of my computer. I'm either reading my favorite blogs, surfing the net for websites that cover my favorite subjects: cooking and basketball; writing, or playing endless hands of Spider Solitaire. Occasionally, I'll go to dinner or to a movie with friends. Occasionally, I'll go see my favorite NBA team play. Most of the time I'm too tired to go anywhere. On those nights, I come home and sit in front of my computer until my free cell phone minutes kick in, then I call The Boyfriend. In fact, most of my social interaction involves The Boyfriend. I realize this is not a good thing, especially since he lives 500 miles away, but I find that since our relationship meets most of my needs for intimacy, I unconsciously ignore my relationships with my girlfriends. I know that isolating myself from interaction with others is not a healthy way to live so I am trying to make a conscious effort to maintain all of my relationships, not just my romantic one.


12.) If you could have three wishes, what would they be?

1. To win the lottery so I could be free to live however I want. Right now, living however I want involves selling my house and moving to Chicago to be with The Boyfriend and going back to school to pursue master degrees in two areas: Computers and Fine Arts, all while perfecting my writing skills.
2. To write a kick-ass chick lit novel that is made into a multi-million dollar movie starring Julia Roberts. The critics will hate it but the common woman will flock to the theaters to see it because they find that it speaks to them in a way no other movie has before. And I'll do a jig all the way to the bank.
3. To become so famous for my blogging that doors for other writing projects open for me.

13.) What kinds of people do you dislike?

Dishonest ones. I don't require perfection, but I like to feel like I can trust a person. I don't want to have to constantly look over my shoulder or second guess every move someone makes. I cannot have a relationship with someone I don't trust.

14.) What do you do when you're upset?

I usually get very quiet. This isn't a passive aggressive maneuver but rather an attempt to come to grips with my feelings. Once I've had a chance to sort everything out, then I am ready to talk about the issue that made me upset. There have been many phone conversations with The Boyfriend that have ended only to be restarted later when I've called back to discuss something that bothered me.

15.) Who are your heroes?

My Mother. She has been through a lot in her life and has survived with her grace and dignity in tact, a true Southern Belle if there ever was one.

My Grandmother. She was a hard-working, no nonsense woman of faith. I only wish she was still around.

Mother Theresa. Even though she felt the presence of God leave her shortly after starting the ministry she became so famous for, she stayed committed till the very end in spite of her serious doubts. Give that woman sainthood NOW!

16.) What are some of your favorite expressions?

"Oh, my word!" - My friend, P., says this a lot and I picked it up from her.

"I knooowww!" - I don't know where I got this from but I only recently realized I said it a lot when one of my co-workers, who has obviously heard me repeat the phrase a million times, unconsciously mimicked me. I need to come up with another expression.

"________ needs to go somewhere and sit down." - Replace the blank with some crazy acting celebrity with more money than sense and the expression becomes advice one should live by. For example: "Britney Spears needs to go somewhere and sit down!"

17.) What is a common posture for you when you sit?

The most common way for me to sit is with my back straight and my knees raised slightly higher than my hips. This is the best position for my back. When The Boyfriend's in town or when I go to visit him, I spend the majority of the time laying on the couch with my legs draped over his lap. Very comfy.

18.) What is your attitude when you meet new people?

I'm always a little nervous when I meet new people. And you will rarely find me attending an event where I don't know a soul. I feel much more comfortable going into new social situations with someone that I know.

19.) What distinguishing habits of speech do you have?

Well, I'm from the South so I speak with a bit of a drawl. The Boyfriend says my voice is like honey. I have also been told by numerous people that I sound very sexy on the phone. I should probably do voice overs to earn extra money. Or work in the phone sex industry. Whichever.

20.) How do you feel when socializing?

If I'm having a particularly confident day, I have the ability to capture the attention of a room for short periods and that feels good. If I'm not feeling particularly confident or if I don't feel like expending the necessary energy to be social, then I am more of a wallflower. Sometimes, that feels okay too.

So, what do you think? Do you feel like you know me better? Are there any questions I didn't answer that you would like to ask?

Twenty Questions, Part I or Ten Questions with 10 More to Follow

Below is one of the final exercises for my writing class. The purpose of the exercise is to get to know yourself. My teacher believes that you must know yourself in order to write characters to which your readers can identify.

A lot of times, when people write, they have a tendency to gloss over the bad parts. We were encouraged to be honest when answering the questions and to write the good and bad about ourselves.

The lesson was not intended to be viewed by others, -- we were instructed to answer the questions and then destroy them -- but I want to learn to feel more comfortable with revealing my whole self and not just the cleaned up version of me, so I am posting my answers here.

1.) How would you describe yourself in three sentences?

Believe it or not, I am not much of a talker. I only speak when I have something to say. Also, I am a hopelessly good person who always tries to do the right thing.

2.) What have you done that you are proud of?

Wow. I'm having such a hard time answering this question. I don't know if it's because I feel I haven't done anything noteworthy, or if I feel uncomfortable tooting my own horn. It would be lame to bypass this question without offering at least one thing I've done that makes me want to puff out my chest, so I'll go with this: I was really proud the first time I had one of my posts showcased on indiebloggers.org, but that event was tainted when I emailed the link to all of my friends and only one of them (a freelance writer) wrote back to congratulate me. I was disappointed by the lack of response I received from those who care about me the most, but I was still proud of my achievement.

3.) Do you have any bad habits?

I am a notorious nighttime snacker and have the waistline to prove it. It's a habit I have a hard time breaking. Everyday I make the declaration that this will be the day that I stop snacking, and I'll do fine for a few days, maybe even a week, but sooner or later, I'm back to my old ways. Will someone please volunteer to come to my house at 7 pm every night and duck tape my hands and mouth? I think that's my only hope at this point.

By the way, this was the cleaned up version of my bad habits. I said I wanted to learn to reveal my whole self; I didn't say that I was going to be 100% successful at it. Besides, no one really wants to know that I sniff toe jam on occasion.

4.) How do you feel about the way you look?

Every once in a while, I'll look in the mirror and like what I see, in spite of my imperfections, and I'll feel amazingly beautiful. Most of the time, I feel uncomfortable with the reflection staring back at me. I spend a lot of emotional energy trying to recapture that confident feeling, and it always seems to allude me.

5.) What kind of work do you do?

Incredibly unchallenging, uninspiring, life-sucking administrative work.

6.) How do you feel about your parents?

I love my mom dearly. She is my rock. Whenever things start feeling shaky, I lean on her, and she steadies me. My mom and biological father divorced when I was a baby. He went back to his native country and we haven't seen or heard from him since. I'm a bit unhappy with him for that, but not so unhappy that I wouldn't pursue reconciliation. My stepfather is no longer in my life, and I'd like to keep it that way.

7.) How do you feel about your siblings?

I am an only child so I don't have any siblings. My mom was pregnant once when I was in elementary school. I was happy and all but I wouldn't allow myself to get carried away with excitement. Deep down inside, I knew that I was not destined to be a big sister. A few weeks later, my mom miscarried.

8.) What's your attitude toward money?

I am horrible with money. HOR-RI-BLE. I set another goal this year to save a certain amount of money and have failed miserably. Again. Eating out, another one of my bad habits, was my downfall. My attitude toward money is I wish someone would save me from myself and manage it for me.

9.) Tell me about your childhood in one paragraph?

My childhood wasn't great -- there was a lot of dysfunction and sadness -- but it wasn't completely horrible. There are people out there with much more tragic childhoods than mine. I have quite a few happy memories, most of them involving my mom and grandmother, but some of them involve my stepfather and his side of the family. I spent most of my childhood alone, but I wouldn't necessarily call it lonely. I had one close friend in my early youth, but by the time we reached junior high school, we had drifted apart. I never had any friends that I hung out with after that until I reached young adulthood. Being alone is an environment that I learned to adapt to and enjoy.

10.) What's your philosophy of life?

What?!? You mean I have to pick just one philosophy that I have to live by and apply to every area of my life regardless of whether it's appropriate or not? Well, if you are going to put a gun to my head, I guess my philosophy would be this -- "So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets." Matthew 7:12. I truly believe that this world would be a better place if we all treated each other with more compassion.

To be continued...

Taking a teensy break

The coming week is the last week for my beginning writer's class. I am going to take a bit of a break from blogging while I finish up our final writing assignment. I am actually revising The Wedding post to turn in as my final assignment (Shh, don't tell anybody.) When I wrote it originally, I thought it would be a nice piece to use in my class, so I think I'm gonna go with that.

Another reason for the brief hiatus is so that I can spend more time with The Boyfriend. He's going to be on vacation from work starting Tuesday, and I want to make sure I have plenty of time for phone dates.

After this class is over, I won't be taking any more courses until the first of the year (There's way too much turkey and dressing to eat between then and New Year's.) Then I'll probably take two more of these lightweight workshops before moving to something more intense.

My mom is against me taking endless classes and thinks I should start putting out "product". To a certain extent, she has a point. I don't want to take class after class in an attempt to avoid experiencing the rejection that I am bound to get. But at the same time, I don't think my skills are developed enough to produce "product" that would make it past anybody's file 13.

And so I write, and learn, and write some more. I just pray to God that it's helping.

Sun Chips & Chocolate Cake

L.'s last day of work in our office was Friday and I took on the responsibility of planning her going away luncheon. The menu consisted of typical lunch fare but the star of the show, the reason to drag yourself out of bed and come to work that day was the chocolate cake.

At our office, we never pass up an opportunity to eat chocolate cake. We actually look for excuses to fill our mouths with moist, fudgy goodness. Your grandmother didn't die in her sleep? Let's celebrate the occasion with chocolate cake. You stubbed your toe on the coffee table? Chocolate cake will fix that right up. Your husband left you for another woman? Eat some chocolate cake. You'll feel better.

Even though there are very few questions in life where chocolate cake isn't the answer, woman can not live by chocolate cake alone (although Lord knows I've tried.) With that knowledge, I felt compelled to offer something more substantial to co-workers who don't actually enjoy bouncing off their cubicle partitions in a sugar-induced fit of hyperactivity. For those people, I provided sub sandwiches and chips.

Once she heard about my party plans, Melissa asked if she could do anything to help. I pretty much had everything under control. I had ordered the subs and picked up several 2-liters of soda at the grocery store. My only concern was whether the one bag of chips I bought would be enough for 10 people. Melissa eagerly volunteered to bring another bag. Great, I thought, problem solved.

The day of the luncheon, as I was arranging the sandwiches, plates and cups, I asked Melissa if she had remembered to bring the chips. "Oh, yeah, they're right here," she said and placed a bag of Sun Chips in my hand. "I brought these for people who wanted to eat something healthier." I stared at the bag for a moment and wondered how Melissa could have missed the mark on this one.

I mean, really. Who brings Sun Chips to a party? A party where everyone is looking forward to pigging out on chocolate cake, mile-high sub sandwiches and. . .chocolate cake. When you are eating food this decadent, what difference does it make how many fat grams your chips have?

As I grudgingly opened the bag and placed it on the table, I made a mental note to never ask Melissa to bring food ever again.

After I had eaten my sandwich and the fat-laden chips I brought, I decided to be a little adventurous and sample some of Melissa's Sun Chips. I put a few chips on my plate and then cautiously placed one in my mouth. To my surprise, I didn't feel like vomiting. The french onion seasoning was almost enough to mask the funny taste and texture. The not-so-bad flavor coupled with the belief that Sun Chips might actually be good for me may be enough to inspire me to buy a bag or two at the grocery store today.

I wonder what they would taste like smeared with chocolate cake?

Writer's block

I have a scandalous post swimming around in my head but I am really struggling with how best to tell the story. Please bear with me for a little while longer. I think I may be tired from all the busyness and drama of work.

In the meantime, go check out my interview at BlogInterviewer.com. If you vote for me to win $50, I'll promise the money will go towards important things like feeding underprivileged children in third-world countries. Or I'll spend it all on chocolate. It's a toss up really.

The Wedding

Thirty minutes after I put on my brand new pair of dress pumps (black satin sling backs with a fake, silvery jewel accent on the straps), my feet started to hurt. The heel was just a little bit higher than I am used to wearing, causing my feet to slide forward, jamming my toes into the pointy tip. I don't know how other women do this on a daily basis. Wearing heels higher than 1.5 inches is so unnatural not to mention uncomfortable. But I decided to tough it out because, as Billy Crystal's Fernando Lamas says, it is better to look good than to feel good. And look good I did in my wispy long, black evening skirt worn with a sparkly black, square necked blouse. I didn't feel as put together as I would have liked because I didn't have time to wash and curl my hair so I twisted my limp mane into a bun and secured it with jeweled chopsticks. Not my best look but it would have to do.

The ballroom where the wedding and reception were held is located in one of downtown's most historic locations. The trey ceilings boasted intricate moldings and supported several large, crystal chandeliers. Huge columns adorned in gold fleur de leaf flanked the wedding area while shimmering champagne-hued drapery hung between the columns serving as a visual wall and creating a chapel-like atmosphere.

Although the setting was gorgeous, the seating was very uncomfortable. The small, dainty chairs were crammed so close together that my shoulders frequently rubbed against my neighbor and the tightly constructed rows ensured that my knees stayed planted in the backside of the woman in front of me for the duration of the ceremony.

The large collection of bridesmaids looked elegant as they paraded down the aisle one by one. Their chocolate satin gowns complimented the decor of the ballroom perfectly. The bride wore an antique white strapless dress that fit snugly along the bodice and hips before gradually flaring out into a short, chapel-length train.

The bride and groom, although unmistakably happy, were not overly sentimental. They recited their vows without any difficulty or visible signs of emotion. The wedding itself was short and sweet. There was no singing or music to draw out the ceremony. Almost as soon as the wedding started, it was over.

After the procession, guests were asked to wait on the mezzanine while the wedding area was transformed back into a ballroom filled with tables draped in crisp white linens and dotted with red rose petals. Those same uncomfortable chairs from the wedding were also used for the reception and I stared at them longingly from above as my feet began to swell and throb with pain.

Forty-five minutes, 3 million pictures and one huge helping of shrimp dip later, we were finally allowed back into the ballroom where guests quickly formed lines to consume the extremely mediocre (and expensive) hors d'oeuvres.

As I sat at my table and watched the bride and groom perform their obviously choreographed first dance, I couldn't help but wonder what The Boyfriend's and my wedding might be like. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to finally have our lives joined together permanently. I daydreamed about our first dance and how I would rather do the funky chicken and the robot than pay to learn some stuffy dance moves that we would never use again. I fantasized about us engaging in the social busyness that a reception requires while occasionally catching each other's eye across the room and exchanging knowing glances in anticipation of our wedding night, the culmination of the day's activities.

Unfortunately, my daydreams will have to go unfulfilled for a while. The Boyfriend and I have vowed to move slowly. Not until this time next year will we reevaluate our relationship and determine for sure which direction we want to go in. In spite of our slow, deliberate pace, weddings and the subsequent girly dreams they inspire often team up with my growing hatred of long distances to create an impatience that sometimes overwhelms me.

Goals

Recently, The Boyfriend and I each made a list of 5 goals that we wanted to accomplish in the next 3 years. None of the goals we came up with were outlandish and all of them were fairly practical and attainable. I wrote the goals down as we were naming them and sent them in an email to The Boyfriend for posterity's sake. Always up for making a competition out of anything, The Boyfriend suggested that the loser perform certain. . .favors. . .for the winner until the winner determines the finish. I accepted his challenge and decided that unless I wanted to, as coffeypot would say, learn to suck a golf ball through a 20-foot garden hose, I'd better get cracking.

One of my goals is to take 3 six-week writing courses over the next year. I've never taken any sort of writing classes whatsoever and was a bit nervous about the whole thing but felt that it was time to get serious about improving my craft. Published authors say all the time that the way to become a better writer is simply by writing. But I'm finding that I need a bit more than that. I need some guidance to ensure that my skills are progressing in the right direction. I also need the encouragement and critique from other aspiring writers. A writing class promised to provide just the type of challenge I needed.

I signed up for an Internet course -- Beginning Writer's Workshop. An Internet writing class seemed like the perfect setting for a timid soul like myself. The anonymity makes it easier to submit your work for review by your classmates. Besides, standing up and reading while 40 eyeballs burn holes in your flesh is very nerve wracking.

One of our first writing assignments was designed to hone our descriptive writing skills. The teacher asked us to light a candle and then write one paragraph describing the candle. We were encouraged to let ideas emerge from the description and to allow emotion to come into play.

Below is the assignment I submitted. You may notify the Pulitzer committee if you wish.

The Candle on my Desk

The candle burning on my desk was a housewarming gift I received almost 2 years ago. Tonight is it's inaugural lighting. Even though the candle is barely the size of a shot glass, it casts a mighty shadow. The image projected on the wall of my office makes my computer monitor look as if a giant owns it. The flame on the candle is strong and bright without being overpowering. It's warm, yellow glow is the perfect amount of light for a cozy dinner. I blow out the candle quickly to save it for a more romantic occasion.

Okay, so I won't hire an agent just yet. But what I'm learning to do that the words may not reveal is to trust myself and the creative voice inside me. I'm also learning to tune out my inner critic so that ideas flow freely without judgment. I'm learning to harness the power of my critical voice so that it may be used to build up a piece and make it better instead of tearing it down. In essence, I'm learning to take the very first steps toward becoming a better writer.

On dryers and making apologies

I have been fortunate enough that most of the apartments I've lived in during my lifetime have always had a washer and dryer located inside my living quarters. Only in college was I ever subjected to the indignities of communal washing. And that was so long ago that I barely even remember the embarrassment I experienced while watching my unmentionables tumble in the large, industrial dryers. For the last 16 years, my unmentionables have tumbled in the privacy of my own home.

As with all conveniences, they can easily be taken for granted, causing you to not fully realize how good you have it until you come across someone who is not as blessed as you are. In my mind, not having your own washer and dryer is almost akin to living in a third world country. I want to adopt that "underprivileged" person who is forced to wash and dry their clothes in public and send them .25 cents a day so that one day they too can experience the joys of laundering in their own home.

The Boyfriend is one of those poor souls who is unable to wash his clothes in his own apartment. Once a week or so, he packs up his dirty clothes and does his laundry at his aunt's house a few blocks away.

Ordinarily the opportunity to do laundry for free in a semi-private environment would seem like a pretty good deal. Unfortunately for The Boyfriend, his aunt's dryer has not worked properly for some time making an already long process even longer and effectively negating a portion of the benefits he receives.

The Boyfriend and I were joking one night about how long it takes him to do laundry when I remarked, "Why didn't your aunt get the dryer fixed instead of buying a big-screen television?"

Sure, it was a tacky thing to say but I was joking. It's not like I actually expected her to forgo the purchase of a big-screen television in favor of repairing the dryer. I was simply trying to be funny by making a offhanded comment. Besides, I felt pretty confident that my joke would never make it past the two of us.

I was wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

A few weeks later The Boyfriend revealed that his aunt doesn't have a very high opinion of me. When pressed further for an explanation he added, "Well, I told her what you said about..."

"Oh, God," I groaned as my head fell into my hands. He didn't finish his sentence. There was no need because I knew exactly what he had told her.

The Boyfriend tried to reassure his aunt that I was just joking and meant no harm but she wasn't hearing it. She was offended. And, to be honest, she had every right to be. Joking or not, it was a horrible thing to say.

My first inclination was to call and apologize but I don't know The Boyfriend's aunt that well and wondered if I would be making too big a deal of it all. I decided to let it slide. When The Boyfriend mentioned a few weeks later that his aunt had fixed the dryer but was still mad and asked for my phone number to, presumably, give me a piece of her mind, I knew it was time for me to act.

I called The Boyfriend's aunt and offered a sincere, heartfelt apology. I added that even though my comment to her nephew had been in jest and was without malice, it was still tacky and uncalled for.

During our phone conversation, The Boyfriend's aunt tried to downplay her offense, making it seem as if she hadn't given my comments a second thought. I knew better. I knew that she was mad as hell. But she was very gracious. She accepted my apology and assured me that "all is well" between us.

I don't know for sure if all is well or not. Some people can hold grudges for a long time and I don't know The Boyfriend's aunt well enough to decipher if she is one of those people. Sometimes though, a simple apology can go a long way toward smoothing the most ruffled of feathers.

I hope I did just that.

A little too racially sensitive?

Recently, three employees who worked for the local municipal theatre were fired by the city for leaving hangman's nooses dangling from the stage rigging. Another city employee, who happened to be African-American, saw the nooses and complained to his superiors that he was "hurt and offended" by the racist message they conveyed.

The stagehands claimed that they were unaware of any racial connotations surrounding nooses. They stated that they were simply practicing their knot tying (knowledge of knots can be very useful in stage work) and left the nooses hanging so that the ropes would stay off the floor while it was being refinished.

City officials found it improbable that anyone living in the South would be unaware of the racial imagery associated with nooses. In addition, officials questioned why the men, if they were indeed concerned about keeping objects off the floor while it was being refinished, left a chair in the stage area.

After an investigation it was determined that the young men created a hostile work environment and they were relieved of their duties.

********

I am interested in knowing what you think readers? Were the men intentionally trying to create a hostile work environment? Or were they just goofing off without giving a second thought to the racial overtones associated with nooses? Do you think the city act appropriately? Or did they overreact?

TMI Tuesday. . .on Wednesday.

I normally do not participate in TMI Tuesday but I always enjoy reading the posts of those who do. This week, I thought the questions were interesting enough and safe enough that I could give it a whirl.

Without further ado, my first, official TMI Tuesday post:

1. Define "infidelity" as it relates to a relationship. Have you ever been guilty of infidelity? Have you ever been the victim of infidelity? Have you ever been a participant in someone else's infidelity?

In my mind, infidelity occurs when you give yourself (either emotionally or physically) to someone who is not your significant other. I have never had an affair and I've never had a significant other to be unfaithful but I have been a victim of infidelity. Because my stepfather was a notorious adulterer, I can honestly say that infidelity is an act of betrayal against not only the spouse but the entire family.

2. What is the last thing you stole?

Our competitor's newspaper out of one of their news stands. I put in enough money for one paper and took four. Shh, don't tell anybody.

3. Name one place in your country that you have never been but would like to visit and why.

New York City. It seems like such a lively and diverse place. And I have always found the sight of concrete and tall buildings exhilarating. I believe I was born to live in a big city even though most big cities are known for having naive, Southern Belles like me for lunch.

4. What movies can you watch over and over again?

All of the movies in my collection were bought with the intention of watching them over and over again. However, I rarely watch the same movie more than once a year. There are a few movies though that I've seen multiple (3 or more) times. They are: Happiness, The Matrix, Brokeback Mountain, Simply Ballroom, Bridget Jone's Diary, Barbershop, Dirty Dancing, Rope, About Adam, Clerks, Under the Tuscan Sun, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, In the Company of Men, Bound, El Mariachi, Something New.


5. Who is the last person you saw naked?

Look, Mom, at the pretty flower! Over there. To your right. Away from your computer screen.

The Boyfriend.

GrizzBabe's Week in Review

Sorry that I've been absent from the blogosphere for the last couple of weeks but my life has been incredibly busy as of late. My 24-day housekeeping plan in preparation for The Boyfriend's arrival (now a mere 6 days away) was for naught as my activities this week have thrown a monkey wrench of epic proportions into said plans. Let's review exactly what GrizzBabe has been up to for the past 7 days:

• The week started off with 2 nights of overnight babysitting only I didn't find out about the second night until I had arrived for the first night (that kind of knowledge is always fun to learn at the last minute.) Like the professional that I am, I rose to the occasion but I was very tired at the end of those two nights.
  

• Wednesday night, after working my ass off on my day job, I went to dinner with a friend that I had not seen in a couple of months. We ate and talked for hours, catching up on all that we'd missed in each other's lives. A fun time to be sure but it wasn't a situation where my body could truly rest and rejuvenate. I came home and collapsed, too tired to even have a phone conversation with The Boyfriend.
  

• Thursday, again after working my rear end off at the newspaper, I went to the storage facility where I work on Saturdays to be trained on the new credit card processing software. Afterwards, I went to dinner with my boss and her husband at a local steakhouse where I pigged out on a ribeye steak, loaded baked potato and broccoli. Yum, yum. But once again, I was pooped.
  

• I actually had Friday off from work. The plan was to get the hole in the eave of my house fixed so the birds in my attic can find someplace else to call their happy home. The company I hired to do the repairs got my work number confused with my home number. When they called my office to confirm our appointment and received no answer (even on my day off, no one can find it within themselves to get to the office before 9 a.m.), they assumed that I was not at home and went to their next job. We rescheduled for next week.
  

• I had a 3 o'clock hair appointment (in preparation for The Boyfriend's arrival) and decided to laze about the house until 1:30. That's when I decided to take a long, hot shower. BIG mistake. Little did I know that the heat and moisture from the shower would open the pores in my scalp causing the straightening chemicals my beautician uses to burn. It felt like my hair was on fire. My hair dresser promptly rinsed the chemicals out of my hair but because she had overbooked, I still didn't get out of the salon until 7 p.m. Once I got home, I decided to sweat out my $60 hairdo by spending the next 2 hours cleaning up.
  

• Saturday I worked all day at the storage facility and then went clubbing with a friend at a honkytonk bar near my house. The last time I was at that bar several years ago, some drunk guy who smelled like vomit wouldn't leave me alone. I had hoped to experience a better time on my second visit. I was wrong. The weirdo magnet that has been surgically implanted into my brain was operating at full strength last night. Out of over a hundred patrons in that bar, some woman desperate for female companionship (the platonic kind) picked me to try and convince to be her new best friend. Do you like to read? I love to read. I read lots of erotica. I have over 50 books in my library. We could be book buddies and exchange books with each other and everything. Wouldn't that be fun? I really would like to get to know you better. You are so calm and I am so all over the place. I need to be around someone calm. I'm having a housewarming party on the 9th and I would really like you to come. You don't have to bring your friend if you don't want to. After spending five minutes giving me directions to her house, I know you have a pen in your purse. If you wanted my phone number, you could write it down.

It was a fitting ending to a long, tiring week.

My most painful childhood memory, part 2

I don't have much recollection of the conversation that occurred in the car immediately after dropping my aunt off at her home. I just remember that it started off angrily but calmly. The term "conversation" is a bit misleading because my mom hardly said a word; it was my stepfather who did all of the talking. He would make a snide remark here, a disapproving statement there. For 20 minutes, the argument was very constrained, that is until our vehicle stopped at the light of a busy intersection. It was there that my stepfather decided to let loose.

There were 3 lanes of traffic going in each direction of the intersection. Our vehicle was in the middle of the westbound lane, which means we were hemmed in by cars in front of us, behind us and on the side. By this time, my stepfather's one-sided conversation had gone from occasional nasty comments to an angry rant. My mother's continued silence seemed to bring confusion as to whether his points were getting across so he began to accentuate his statements with violence.

Right in the midst of talking, in front of God and everyone who had stopped at that intersection, my stepfather lifted the back of his hand and smacked it across the side of my mother's face. The first hit not only caught my mom by surprise but it had damaged her ear drums as well. She immediately placed her hands over her ears to protect them and to stop the intense ringing. My stepfather, undeterred by any injury he may have caused, continued to hit my mother again and again.

From the backseat, I began to scream and cry hysterically, partially because my mother was being hurt and partially because I was incredibly embarrassed. With each slap, I scooted farther and farther down in my seat until my head could no longer be seen through the car window and I was almost on the floorboard. I reasoned that if I could not be seen then this couldn't be happening.

The violence continued when we got home but the tool changed. Once home, my stepfather began beating my mother with a belt while he chastised her for actions like she was some misbehaving child. I watched in horror as my mother quietly fought off the punishment with her hands. Eventually, I decided to put a halt to this situation before an ambulance needed to be called.

I ran to the kitchen and called the only person I knew who possessed enough righteous indignation to get involved in such a messy situation -- my grandmother. She lived less than 3 minutes away and I knew she would put a stop to this nonsense immediately. In my hysteria, I managed to confuse my elderly grandmother and by the end of our conversation, she thought that I was the one being abused. It didn't matter because my call had the effect I had intended -- it made my grandmother mad as hell. She sent my uncle over to settle things down and to make sure that my mom and I were okay.

Once the incident was over and the dust had settled, my stepfather somehow convinced my mother that he was really, really sorry and that he would never do such a horrible thing again. He even apologized to me for behaving so poorly. Unlike my mother, I was not so easily swayed. His apology fell on deaf ears. All I could think about was how my mother was violently beaten for making such a personal and admirable decision. She didn't deserve that sort of treatment and I decided at the time that he didn't deserve my forgiveness.

Blogging vs. Cleaning House

Have you ever felt like you would rather clean house than blog? That's what I've been feeling lately. It's not that I have lost the desire to write. I have not. Like all good narcissists, I get life-affirming satisfaction from droning on endlessly to total strangers about the mundane details of my life. But, right now, I really want to clean my house.

The Boyfriend is coming to visit in exactly 24 days and I'd rather not be running around at the eleventh hour like a chicken with my head cut off trying to give the false impression that I am a paragon of domesticity. I prefer to slowly build that illusion over a period of weeks. Besides, it will take me at least that long to wash the mountain of dirty clothes that reside on the floor of my bedroom.

Not to worry, though. I'll be back in a few days. If past experience is any indication, this cleaning up business will get old really quickly. Until then, I'm gonna ride this wave of motivation until it crashes.

My most painful childhood memory, part 1

My mom and stepfather were not very big church goers. We rarely went when I was a young child. Like all good Southerners though, we believed in God and The Holy Trinity but we never exercised that belief by crossing the threshold of a church sanctuary. At least not until I was about 10 or 12. That was about the time my mother must have had some sort of spiritual epiphany because we started going to church more regularly. My stepfather tagged along, not unenthusiastically but not with fervor and commitment either.

During this time, my stepfather's aunt would often accompany us to church on Sunday mornings. We usually picked her up on the way to services and dropped her off when it was over. My aunt, a bitter, angry woman, must have decided she needed some religion too.

The church, pastored by one of the city's more popular ministers, was your typical predominately black, Missionary Baptist church. The music, easily the best part of the service, was soulful, spirited and uplifting. It's entertainment value was only occasionally surpassed by the flamboyant choir director's energetic and rhythmic arm movements. The congregation was always lively and vocal and could easily be whipped into a frenzy whenever the pastor yelled in a sing-songy fashion while simultaneously dancing up and down the aisles. The services were long (3 hours or more) but my mother and aunt seemed to enjoy them so we kept coming back.

On one particular Sunday, my Mom, being moved by the message, decided to accept the pastor's invitation. Invitation to what I don't exactly remember but, with tears in her eyes, she went forward for prayer and made a decision to become a full-fledged member of the church.

The church was so crowded that day that our family had to be separated. My mom and I sat in one section of the church while my aunt and stepfather sat in another. Even though I could not see where my stepfather was sitting, when my mom went up for prayer, I immediately sensed the intensity of his disapproval. I knew he would be angry that my mom made such a decision without consulting him. Our unusual seating arrangements coupled with the fact that no one ever plans to be moved by the Holy Spirit would mean nothing to him. His permission was not sought and so there would be hell to pay.

As I watched my mother receive prayer, the muscles in my stomach began to constrict into a large, tightly wound mass. I was concerned for my mother and secretly wished that she had not gone forward. Didn't she know what this would do to him?, I thought.

The ride home was a silent one except for the occasional nervous chatter from my aunt. Could she feel the tension in the air? Was that why she kept talking when no one else said a word? Was she aware of my stepfather's angry state? Did she sense that his wrath was being contained because she was in the car? Did she fear, as I did, what would happen once she was no longer in our presence? My aunt was not a pleasant woman to be around but that day, I wanted nothing more than for her to stay with us for as long as humanly possible. I knew that once she got out of that car all hell would break loose.

(To be continued)

Open mouth, insert cell phone

When I pulled up to the house where the family that I babysit for has recently moved and noticed the gray truck outside, I knew it meant one thing -- David, the college-aged son of my boss Janice, was back. Despite the fact that David has always been nothing but nice to me, I still hated to see that he followed the family from the old house to the new one.

David is lazy and irresponsible (the fact that Janice has to hire a babysitter to take care of the kids when there is a grown man living in the house rent free should tell you something.) In addition, the kids and I feel more relaxed when he is not there. The boys can have the run of the house without fear of being yelled at for simply being kids. Not having David there would have made all of our lives a little more pleasant.

After going inside and getting settled in my room, I pull out my cell phone and send The Boyfriend a text message that reads: "David is back. Ugh."

Sixty seconds later, as I'm talking to Janice in her bedroom, her cell phone makes a noise. She removes it from her purse, flips it open and begins reading.

"Did you send this to me?" she asks, " 'David is back. Ugh.' "

I gasp the mother of all gasps. After sucking all of the oxygen out of the room, I cover my mouth to hold it in for a moment before releasing it.

"Did I send that to YOU?!?" I exclaim as air rushes out again.

Janice chuckles. "Yes, you did but that's okay. I feel the same way."

We proceed to have a good laugh (I'm SO glad she has a sense of humor about the whole thing) and she went on to explain how she loves her son but hates it when he's an ass and wishes he was out of the house too. She also added that he is only staying temporarily while he looks for a second job. I was relieved to hear that.

Janice should consider herself lucky that the text I sent her only contained disparaging remarks about her son. I could have accidentally sent her one of those naughty messages that I'm prone to sending The Boyfriend. Talk about embarrassing.

I can hear it now -- You wanna do what to me?

C.S.I. Grizzbabe's World

I had gotten to work at my normal time that morning carrying my usual breakfast that I have on workdays that follow a night of babysitting - a sausage biscuit and a large orange juice. Nothing about the morning seemed unusual. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping. Everything pointed toward a typical start to a typical day.

Even the front door of the office being unlocked and slightly ajar didn't immediately strike me as odd. The graphic artists have been known to leave the back door unlocked after a late night at the office. I just figured that this time they decided to change things up a bit by leaving the front door unsecured.

After rolling my eyes at the absentmindedness of our staff, I walked through the door, sat down at my desk and proceeded to consume my breakfast, just like I do every morning. Little did I know that this would not be a typical morning.

About 15 minutes later, my co-worker, Martha, called. I recount to her my experience of finding the office door unlocked and we both reasoned that the graphic artists, having spent an exhausting night of production trying to make deadline, must have inadvertently left the door open.

As I'm talking to Martha, I get a funny feeling. It was a familiar sensation similar to the one I had when I lost my house key as a kid and got a hunch to open the freezer door. To my amazement, I found the key suspended in a small block of ice in an ice cube tray.

This time the hunch was telling me to open my right desk drawer and look in the petty cash bin. I obeyed because my intuition has yet to steer me wrong.

The bin was empty. The only thing that was left were some receipts.

I spin my chair around and opened the left desk drawer. The cash for the payment of several small ads was missing as well.

I sunk in my chair as the realization set in. We had been burgled.

I said goodbye to Martha and immediately called the local police department. They arrived surprisingly quickly. At first I thought it was because the police station is so close to our office but in actuality they were already in the office complex investigating other burglaries.

Despite the fact that there were multiple burglaries in the area that occurred on the same night, I felt rather uneasy. Our burglary seemed to differ from the other burglaries because there appeared to be no sign of forced entry. Entrance to the other offices had been gained by prying open the door. It was obvious by looking at our door that no prying had taken place.

I began to fear that The Controller, who already looks at me suspiciously, would blame me for the missing money. After all, I'm the one who controls the petty cash bin and accepts money for ads. Couple that with the accounting-gate incident and I felt like I would be a prime suspect.

Fortunately, once the crime scene investigator got there and did a more thorough examination of the premises, it was discovered that entry had been gained through a window. The window was open and there were pry marks on the outside sash.

We didn't immediately notice the open window because the purps had returned the blinds to the down position - just as they had found them. In addition there was a huge desk in front of that window that had to be moved in order to enter the building. The desk had been returned to it's rightful place as well. We are so fortunate to have had such considerate burglars.

We are also fortunate that only about $100 in cash was taken. It could have been a lot worse. They could have chosen to wipe us out completely by taking our computers as well. Not only would that have been a bigger financial loss but it also would have created an administrative nightmare. It's even possible that the paper may not have been printed that week.

The incident was good for adding a little excitement to our day though. We watched as the detectives dusted the window for fingerprints and took photographs. I also got to yell, "Don't touch anything!" to everyone who walked through the door. It was all very CSI.

Despite the diligence of the investigators, I doubt they will find the people who broke into our building and 4 other offices in our complex. There's simply not much information to go on and I'm sure they have bigger fish to fry (not to mention lots of donuts to eat).

The burglary did serve as a not-so-subtle reminder that there's never a dull moment at my company. Whether it's financial scandals, tawdry affairs, conspiracies or criminal activity, there's always excitement to be had in Grizzbabe's World.

Doubts, the conclusion

Parts 1 and 2 can be found here and here.

Oh my God, he's touching me!, I screamed silently. Some strange guy from Chicago that I hardly knew and who wears white socks inappropriately had invaded my personal space and was touching me in an intimate way. This was one of the weirdest feelings that I've had in a long time. And not in a good way.

The Boyfriend sensed my uneasiness but he was undeterred. He kept his arm around me for the duration of the movie. And I allowed him to mainly because I believed that the only way to get over the uncomfortable feeling of being touched by someone I hardly knew was to allow someone I hardly knew to touch me.

You would think that on our next "date", when I vistied him in Chicago, I would have been more relaxed. And I was at first. I remember sitting with The Boyfriend on a loveseat in my hotel room. I had my arm stretched out over the top of the couch and The Boyfriend's arm was on top of mine and wrapped around my shoulders. I distinctly remember thinking , This is not so bad. I kinda like this. I felt as if I was having a breakthrough and that I might finally turn into a normal person. As it turned out, my breakthrough was very short-lived.

The next day while we were waiting for the train to take us to downtown Chicago, The Boyfriend, being convinced that it was now safe to touch me (silly boy!), put his arm around me again. For some unknown reason, I had a flashback. I tensed up and repeated that freakout scene that occured in my living room a few months before. I wanted to yell "Stop touching me!!" at the top of my lungs. I believe The Boyfriend must be a mind reader because he immediately pulled his arm away.

What would cause me to want to react so violently to The Boyfriend's show of affection when I had been fine with it the day before? I don't know. The only explanation I can offer is that I'm a fruitcake in need of serious medical attention.

Fortunately, my uncomfortableness in The Boyfriend's presence eventually went away. As I spent more time getting to know him, I began to want to be close to him and express myself physically. Now, I can't keep my hands off of him and I want some part of his body touching me at all times.

Wow, I'm amazed at how far I've come. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get to this point. It took some time, more than most people need, but I am finally able to relax around The Boyfriend and not only let him touch me in an intimate manner but allow him into the deepest areas of my soul.

It seems the doubts have disappeared.

I KNEW there was something in my attic!

Almost a year ago, I wrote a post proclaiming that something, I didn't know what, had taken up residence in my attic. Well, I've finally discovered what loathsome, mythical creatures have chosen to make my home their permanent abode.

Last night, as I am talking to The Boyfriend on the phone, I suddenly realize that I hear birds. They are chirping. Loudly. And at midnight. I am accustomed to hearing birds chirp at ungodly hours but never before the sun's up. It was rather strange, like living in a place that's cold in the Summer and warm in the Winter. The laws of nature, as I understood them, seemed as if they were being violated. I chalked the noises up to my bedroom being in close proximity to the Bradford Pear tree in my back yard and continued my conversation.

This morning, I was about to get in my car and head to the office when something told me to walk to the side of the house and inspect the outside wall of my guest bedroom. I spend a lot of time in that room on my computer and that is where I hear noises most often.

Well, Mother Nature must have read my mind because as I'm coming around the corner, I see 3 or 4 black birds flying hurriedly out of a huge hole in the eave of my house. The wood looked as if it had been peeled back like a banana. I walked a little closer and I swear I could see the eyes of another bird hiding in the hole praying to that bitch Mother Nature that I wouldn't notice him.

My first instinct was to scare him and any of his remaining friends out of the attic but I've seen that Alfred Hitchcock movie. I know what their kind did to Tippi Hedren and I wanted no part of that. Scaredy cat that I am, I tiptoed back to my car and left for work.

I realize this is a situation that I can't ignore. These critters, over time, could do some serious damage to my house if they haven't already. Unfortunately, I have no intention of going up in the attic and forcibly removing the birds from the premises. I have every intention of hiring someone else to do it for me. Then I have to get the hole in my eave fixed. If all goes well, maybe I won't be so afraid to go in my own attic anymore.

Oh, who am I kidding!

A poisoning of the mind

I had a very lazy day Sunday. So lazy in fact, that I didn't turn on my stove once to cook a meal, unusual for someone who loves to putter around in the kitchen. Instead, I opted to make fast food my main form of sustenance. I had a steak and biscuit from Mrs. Winners for breakfast and fish from Captain D's for dinner.

There was one odd thing about my fish dinner. When I picked up one of the last remaining fries and put it in my mouth, I noticed that it was cold, colder than the rest of the fries, and wet. Not wet like it was a victim of condensation from being on the bottom of a pile of hot fries but wet like it had come in contact with some sort of contaminate. At least that's what my overactive imagination thought. I took the fry out of my mouth and placed it back in the styrofoam container and finished the rest of my meal.

I felt fine for the rest of the evening but when I woke up Monday morning, I didn't feel so hot. I was extremely nauseous and I had an unusual pain in my abdomen that I would later identify as stomach cramps. I dragged myself to work but left the office around 11:30, went home and promptly collapsed in my bed.

My symptoms (nausea, stomach cramps, low grade fever, chills) and the suspect fry all pointed to food poisoning. As the evening progressed, the stomach cramps became less severe and save for an occasional reminder, they have all but disappeared. Today, however, the diarrhea has started. Fun.

I probably could have been a trooper and gone into work despite the fact that I still don't feel my best but I decided to stay home an extra day to give myself a chance to heal completely and to get some much needed rest. It's a shame that I wait until my body violently revolts against me before I allow myself to take time off from my 3 jobs. Surely, that must be some sort of sickness too.

Doubts, part 2

Part 1 can be found here.

Even though The Boyfriend and I had spent countless hours talking on the phone, the idea of holding hands or cuddling on our first date made me feel more than a bit uneasy. I am well aware that most normal people would not be unnerved by this, but, as my significant other has already attested, I am not normal.

With regards to closeness (emotional and physical), I tend to move at a much slower pace than the rest of society. Before I can display even the slightest intimate gesture, I need time to get to know a person. And when the potential object of my affection lives in another state, I also need time to acclimate to their physical presence. Unfortunately, it wasn't until The Boyfriend's first visit that I started to understand this about myself.

Our very first date was a simple one - dinner and a movie - made simpler by me choosing to cook the meal and opting to watch a video rather than go to a theatre. After a bedazzling display of culinary skill, we settled in to watch one of The Boyfriend's favorite independent movies.

We had talked about this moment before the visit and we both expressed a desire to cuddle on the couch while we watched the movie. Even though my brain had agreed to this and my mouth uttered concordance, when the time finally came, my body decided to resist any attempts at physical intimacy.

After placing the video in the VCR, I scoped out a place on the couch. I decided on a spot right next to The Boyfriend, a spot that was closer to him than I had been all day. After sitting down, The Boyfriend tried to initiate the cuddle portion of the evening by putting his arm around me. I immediately felt myself tense up. I tried to maintain a calm and cool exterior but on the inside I was freaking out.

(To be continued)

The production staff is trying to kill me

My co-workers seem to be at the center of a plot to force me to commit suicide. And they are using the subtle yet subversive tactic of bad music to do their dirty work.

Monday morning I arrived at the office to discover the production department listening to Dolly Parton. That's right, I said Dolly Parton. For an hour, I was tormented while the twangy vixen belted out her deadly melodies. Luckily, the constant phone ringing was enough of a distraction to stop the fatal bleeding from my ears.

Yesterday, after the failed country music attack, they went right for the jugular and pulled out John Denver. Although his syrupy, folksy brand of music produced much gagging and dry heaving, I'm proud to say that I am still standing.

Today, the production staff has gone a step further and is currently playing the obnoxious sounds of various 80's hair bands.

Is there no end to their torture?!?

Fortunately, I have finally come up with a defense that will, at the very least, spare me much pain and suffering and maybe even my life. Whenever life-threatening noises start emanating from the back of the office, I race to find my radio and put in my earphones. The music from the stations I have programmed is able to miraculously repair any damage that has been done to my internal organs.

Plan thwarted.

A day of rest

I'm aware that I promised a conclusion to my Doubts post but I've decided to postpone it for a few days.

Okay, maybe a week.

I've had the week off from one of my part-time jobs (that means I worked only two jobs this week instead of three) and I've used the extra time to catch up on some things around the house. Consequently, I'm exhausted. Too exhausted to put the kind of mental effort into Doubts, part 2 that it deserves. And since I'm a perfectionist, I will wait until I can do the post justice instead of spitting out a bunch of drivel like I'm doing now.

I'm postponing the post for a whole week because I looked at my schedule the other day and realized that I will have to babysit overnight 3 nights in a row next week and I'll need some time to recover. Normally, two nights in a row is enough to knock the wind out of me. I can only imagine what 3 nights will do.

Needless to say, I am not looking forward to it. Not because the two young boys who have been entrusted to me aren't cherubs (they aren't but that's beside the point) but because 3 nights of not sleeping in my own bed takes a lot out of me.

Maybe I'll take a pad and pencil with me and in between breaking up fights and enacting the discipline of strangulation, I'll find some time to work on the Doubts post. I also have to tell you about the nutcase we almost hired to replace The Stripper.

I know. A moment of silence for the boobs.

Doubts, part 1

When I saw him for the first time in the airport he was easy to pick out because he looked exactly like his picture. This would relieve some people but I never had any doubt that the tall, husky yet handsome man in the photo that resided on my hard drive would resemble the man that stepped off the plane to greet me. My doubts didn't start until we had gotten back to my place and I had an opportunity to observe my future boyfriend’s mannerisms and pick apart his dress. It was then that I began to question our ability to have a relationship.

My biggest male fashion pet peeve is white socks, especially when worn with dark colored pants. To me, it just screams nerd. And not the Yes-I-like-computers-and-play-fantasy-sports-but-otherwise-I’m-really-cool kind of nerd but the I-play-computer-role-playing-games-and-attend-Star-Trek-conventions kind of nerd. It's a brand of geek that emanates from the core of one’s soul and can’t be disguised by wearing contacts and throwing away your pocket protector. Regardless of how hard you try to hide it, eventually this form of geekdom will always come out. White socks are a woman’s only early warning signs alerting her to a life of sex while wearing a Klingon costume. I wasn't sure I was prepared for that.

The more serious threat to my relationship with The Boyfriend was the effect his mannerisms had on me. It’s not that his tendencies are offensive or repulsive. They are not. The problem was my overactive imagination.

After spending months talking on the phone to someone you’ve never met, you start to develop an idea in your head of how that person’s face must look when they say certain things and what hand motions they use to accentuate their words. More importantly, you start to fall in love with those make-believe characteristics. When you are finally face-to-face with that person, you discover that the daydreams that had become your reality were anything but real. In a long-distance relationship, that can take months to get over. It wasn't until the third visit, when I had enough tangible knowledge of The Boyfriend’s actual mannerisms, that I was able to replace the images that were created in my head with something more real.

Incidentally, this is about the time that I became more physically comfortable around The Boyfriend.

(To be continued)

Low Carnal Intelligence Quotient

I like to think of myself as an intelligent person. In elementary school, I always scored above my grade level on standardized tests. And in high school, I was enrolled in a college preparatory program where the course work was more academically advanced than the average student's. So, despite what I am getting ready to tell you, I am not an idiot. Really, I'm not. It's just there are some things that traditionally I have been slow to grasp, particularly things of a sexual nature. I have what you could call a low carnal intelligence quotient. If there is a colloquial term referring to anything sexual, chances are I will not only fail to pick up on the innuendo but I will have to have it spelled out for me as well. And maybe even have a picture drawn.

My naivety can partially be explained by my Bible belt upbringing but mostly my carnal ignorance comes from spending my youth being a goody two shoes. As a teenager, I did all the "right" things. I didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't cut school, didn't sneak out of the house and never hung around with people who did. While most kids my age were out partying, losing their virginity in the back seats of cars and generally being educated in the ways of the world, I was doing my Calculus homework. This trend continued until I reached young adulthood but, by this time, I was so far behind that there was no catching up.

The Boyfriend often chuckles at my innocent nature (I think he thinks it's endearing) and bears much of the responsibility of explaining sexual references to me. Recently he had to point out that a Prince Albert wasn't just a tobacco product. And he practically had to pull out charts and graphs when he mentioned that an ex-girlfriend of his was into water sports and I responded, "You mean like scuba diving?"

My ignorance doesn't stop at sexual terms. When it comes to songs with sexually suggestive lyrics, I often give the impression that I rode the short bus to school.

Not too long ago, The Boyfriend explained that Mtume's Juicy Fruit is not about chewing gum. Only recently it was brought to my attention that Grace Jones' Pull Up To My Bumper is not about cars. While listening to the radio several years ago, my mom and I both realized the meaning of the song Afternoon Delight a full quarter century after the song was made.

Apparently, this affliction is hereditary. And that pretty much means there is no hope for me. I should just wear a bracelet that announces my handicap to the world and lets people know that if the subject of a conversation should change to a sexual nature then they need to speak slowly and plainly in my presence. And have a drawing tablet nearby. Then maybe, just maybe, I'll have a chance of catching on.