2 Lies and the Truth

Our greatest weapon and it's extinction

2009-12-30T10:22:00.000-08:00

With so many things, the answer is usually obvious but we complicate matters and make it nearly impossible to see the path forward. Humanity has devised technological answers to most of its problems. Clever gadgets, impressive detection phenomenology, and futuristic designs based on the evolutionary path clutter the field of a basic truth.

The greatest weapon on most fronts is common sense. Think about it - the use of instinctual preventative motivation in the medical, battle and governance fields of life is usually the most basic truth and protective component of our society.

Something smells bad, tastes bad, looks off - don't eat it, touch it, or give it to someone else.
Someone gives you a bad feeling, acts weird, or says something that raises a red flag - don't be around them, let them be around people you love, and warn others.
The current way of doing things isn't working or is causing harm to the masses, don't do that anymore, change the rules on how it's done or discover if it's the people doing it causing the problem.

Seems pretty simple, right? But it isn't. We insist on painting gray areas and applying them across the board. Every situation is unique, yes, but generally we react to every situation differently.

Unfortunately, Common Sense seems to be what we are intent on killing. Don't trust your judgement, trust this meter or gadget or famous person's thinking. Don't raise your kids with methods that have worked for thousands of years, we've improved it with these gadgets, pills, and techniques that introduce new side effects into your life that we have no way of curing, predicting, or stopping from growing into a new problem.

Cause and effect are thown out of the window on the basis of "well it must be good, it's new and therefore better." Which Common Sense would say is a false motto, but we ignore that for the shiny and "Ooooh Ahhh" effect.

Don't misunderstand, I like my modern conveniences and appreciate what modern medicine and enlightened governing have brought into the world. But allowing those things to override the natural instinct we're born with seems like a poor decision.

In the United States, we used to believe that everyone had the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. What happened to that and where did the caveat "everyone who looks normal, makes enough money, and says what we want to hear" get applied?

Where are the parents, grandparents, and wise council of experience in the world? Why aren't they speaking up when they see the next generation repeating their mistakes? This isn't the first recession? That's not the first disease? Those behaviors lead to the same result EVERY time, and just because the consequences are colored in modern tones doesn't change the result.

It annoys me to look around and see so many people obliviously going through their life based on a book, a celebrity or a computer's blogs advice and not thinking for themselves. I fear it's too late for so many of us and that's the ultimate defeat.

Epiphany Time....

2008-06-03T13:02:00.001-07:00

So what is perfect and why are we all trying so damned hard to achieve it?

Putting all spiritual discussion aside, let's just have an honest airing of a reality check. Not one of us currently walking this round ball called Earth is perfect. None. Not even that newborn over there, his screaming is bothering someone, hence - imperfect.

So, we tell children to "be themselves" and that it's ok "if everyone is different". (Aside: This does not hold true for primary education in America, unfortunately. With the standardized testing ruling the pocketbooks of the education administrators, everyone needs to be the same. Even if they aren't. Lying is encouraged. Learning, sadly, is not.)

Anyway, we feed out kids these lines then suddenly, about puberty, we start telling them they aren't good enough. They are doing it all wrong and if they don't change - they will be failures as adults and human beings. Mind you, two weeks prior we weren't declaring winners and losers at T-Ball because God forbid our kid be a loser.

Then we become young adults and go to college where we get the startling dose of reality that, Hey we are NOT all winners. You can (and probably are) a loser at something. Sometimes it's academia (more and more these days) and sometimes it's sports and sometimes it's social skills. Regardless, we suddenly think our parents were right and we are doing it all wrong.

We begin to buy self-help books, read deep philosophical texts and discuss politics like it's our job. Women start worrying about their bodies (which until now they've abused and used as collateral in the bargaining of life) and whether they are associating with the right kind of people for their future careers and families. Men start worrying about money and toys and having the biggest ones. (Strangely, this is much like little boys, so they don't change as much at first.)

Then at about 26 or so, regardless of where you are in life you suddenly have this epiphany. If you could just be perfect at everything you try (mind you, the main lesson here is - don't try everything), then you will have suceeded. We start climbing that corporate ladder like it leads to God. We bat our eyes and try to attract the person we deem to be the best of the best in the significant other pool. Men suddenly start wondering if they will be old fathers and around 30 decide they want a nice girl to settle down with, but they can't find any because they've trained themselves to look for bad girls (who in theory are more fun).

Women, having been involved with too many men looking for bad girls, give up playing the role. If they are married, they start really nesting or maybe decide it's time to add a career to being the perfect mother. (A lot of kids get lost in the shuffle here, sadly) Single women, who usually have a career by now, find themselves reluctant to be vulnerable to men (I might be projecting a bit here, but whatever...)

Regardless it all boils down to this underlying need to have it all, to be perfect, to get there first, fastest and with the most... everything.

The thing is, we miss so much on the way. We miss the best part of the ride. What's that? The part where you are happy - not content, not biding your time - but genuinely happy with where you are RIGHT NOW. Even if it's enroute to something more, less or different, this moment in time may be your last in all honesty and it should be your best.

I think that's what we miss. Instead of trying to be perfect, we should try to make the time we are in right now as perfect as it can be.

And I didn't even have to read a self-help book to get to that knowledge.

Note: The epiphany came when I was staring in the mirror trying to find something wrong with me. My hair was done and looked ok, my skin is clear, my curves (though generous) are in all the right places and were decently dressed. In all, I should have had no complaints and as I wasted 20 minutes trying to find some, it occurred to me that if I could just be happy for right now instead of worrying about an hour from now and the possibility that some stranger might see me and might see something wrong with me, I could go outside and enjoy the day instead of sitting inside staring at a piece of glass searching for faults. (Like that run on sentence, do ya?)

Dove Promise Messages Update

2008-01-16T07:20:00.000-08:00

DPM #9: Go against the grain...

...CHEER FOR MEAT!
...FIGHT FOR VEGETABLES!

Honestly, who wrote this, Dr. Atkins? What do you people have against a little hearty oat or yummy wheat? I know we're a carb-phobic society, but honestly aren't we taking the hypocrisy a little far when this is wrapped around a piece of dark chocolate?

... it gives your hair volume. Yes, if you brush against the grain, your hair will appear fuller and more beautiful. Why this advice is on a piece of chocolate is beyond me, but hey if you're not gonna eat right and hit the gym - might as well have pretty hair right?

... to remove lint.
... to remove body hair.

You know, for as ridiculous as "Go against the grain" is, I could do this all day. It's funny. Being serious for a half-second, going against the grain is alright if you think first. Know that the "grain" is often the accepted societal norm and going "against" it usually has consequences. Sometimes this turns out well, "Women can vote! Diseases cured! Men stop wearing tights!" but it can also turn out to be something that causes contention. See: Hitler, Marilyn Manson and Saddam Hussein for further information. Sometimes fighting the majority rule is a negative. (For all the Manson fans, this of course excludes you and your idol. *wink wink*)

DPM #10: Get your feet massaged.

Yes sir! Or Ma'am! Whichever, I'm on that like white on rice. Finally a useful DPM.

Two Lies and a Truth

2008-01-16T07:17:00.000-08:00

1. I have never shopped at Abercrombie and Fitch.

2. I have worked as a cold-call telemarketer for a charity.

3. I have never lied about my current marital status.

Hello 2008!

2008-01-03T08:42:00.000-08:00

It's a new year folks. 2008. Wow, isn't it exciting?

OK, I can't pretend anymore. Maybe it's hitting my 30s or something, but each new year seems less exciting than the last. I've got a good job, almost no debt, the best dog ever, good friends, a great family and reasonably decent health. I have no complaints. I travel, enjoy various hobbies and in general enjoy my life.

So... each new year is, eh.. another year. Maybe I need to take my own advice and update my goals list. I've achieved most of mine (save the marriage and kids, but hey that's not a solo production) and find myself... bored.

Bored at 32. That's frankly, pathetic. So, I'm going to institute some new goals and a change of attitude. I don't do resolutions because those are like white lies you tell yourself and you should always be honest with yourself. Lie to other people if you feel the need, but never lie to yourself. So, resolutions - out.

New goals for then next five years - much more plausible.

1. Go back to school. I'm considering culinary school because I am entertaining the idea of becoming a pastry chef. I have the aptitude for it as a layman, with a little training I would be phenomenal.

2. Travel and learn a new language / improve an old language. I think it's time for my Japanese to become fluent. That may take a while based on my current command of the language. I also have a vague desire to learn Gaelic. We'll see about that.

3. Redo my entire wardrobe and house decor. Maybe my boredom comes from being too comfortable in the things I've had for literally a decade. I need to evaluate and make a plan.

4. Stop just paying for that Bally's membership and use it. My brain is sharp but the rest of the muscles in my body are probably atrophying. It's time to invest in myself physically.

5. Expose myself to new groups of people. I've become the cliche. "Can't teach an old dog new tricks." Not that I'm an old dog, and I can learn new things - but not if I keep going to the same places with the same people.

5 goals for 5 years. Seems reasonable. I feel better having made the list. In fact, now I have work to do. Hey, 2008 is looking up already!

Dove Promise Messages Update

2008-01-03T08:28:00.000-08:00

DPMs: (5-8)

DPM #5: Make a list of your dreams...

...because when you're older it will help you clearly understand why you're a failure. Nothing like a bulleted list of all the things you never had the nerve, money, time or initiative to do, right? Ok, sarcasm aside, making a list of goals is NOT a bad idea. Goals - NOT dreams. See the difference? A goal is something you plan to do, you can work towards it with milestones that end in achievement. Dreams are fantasies that revolve around luck, supernatural intervention, and / or large piles of money. Making a list of dreams is for kids, grown-ups make goals.

DPM #6: Wink at someone driving past today...

Great. Now I'm responsible for some old man totalling his car cause you told me to flirt. You people need to be more specific in your instructions because frankly, that's just dangerous. Not to mention bad driving advice in general or haven't you ever been told to "KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD".

Edit/Update: Someone brought to my attention that this DPM could be directed to a pedestrian to wink at a person driving past in a car. All I can say to that is (insert hysterical laughter). Seriously, who pays attention to the targets... er, I mean people on the sidewalks. I'm in a car, baby, and I'm looking at the other people in large machines that can kill me. You can throw eggs and carry signs, but otherwise - you stay on the sidewalks, I'll stay on the streets and out of the crosswalks and we'll be just fine. If I catch you winking at me, I'm gonna think you're a carjacker and nobody wants that drama in their life. As for the times when I'm a pedestrian, I always have the right of way. Winking at drivers will just get you run over - Welcome to DC.

DPM #7: Smile. People will wonder what you've been up to...

...or they will think you're deranged because you go around smiling like a lunatic all the time. They will wonder what you've been up to, alright. "I wonder who he killed, chopped up and buried in his basement today?" That's what they will be wondering. Unless it's Christmas or you're doing the pained "I'm at the mall and surrounded by mouth-breathing morons who can't read a map and don't know what they came for" grin, a pleasant look on your face is enough. Maybe even a small smile. The big smiles and cheese eating grins - just say no. Save those smiles for people that deserve it. It shouldn't look like you're trying that hard to have a good day.

DPM #8: Laugh uncontrollably... it clears the mind.

...or makes you look clinically insane. See the above message advice and pay close attention. If smiling for no reason makes people look at you funny, laughing out loud uncontrollably for no obvious reason will get you committed. Don't believe me? Try it in a crowd sometime. Call me first, I like to put those types of moments on You Tube.

DPMs - Round 2

2007-10-19T11:46:00.000-07:00

DPM #3: Send a love letter this week

What? Why would I do this? That would require me a: having someone to send a love letter to and right now, not even my family members are deserving of a love letter. Can you spell PMS?; b: writing a love letter on actual stationary which is an ordeal in itself. Who writes longhand anymore? Secondly, if you didn't mean that and are ok with email or some form of texting - how tacky are you. Eww. c: remembering to send said love letter - this week. Dude, I pay for everything online. I can't be bothered to remember to mail in anything. I gripe when I have to fax things into the insurance company. I buy birthday, Christmas, and other holiday cards for people all the time. Occasionally I actually write in them but I rarely remember to send them. I, at this moment, have three father's day cards and two birthday cards for my dad, two birthday cards for my brother, three for my sister, a mother's day card (I feel more guilt at this time of year, I actually do remember hers most of the time), three wedding cards (Sorry guys!), and.. an Easter card- for whom I don't know. Love letter? Give me a break.

DPM #4: Watch reruns, they replay your memories.

What kind of crack do you Dove people smoke? Seriously, what the hell does this mean? If I watch old episodes of Dallas, Knots Landing and the Brady Bunch, I can guarantee the only memories I'll replay is being broke and lonely as a kid. Thanks. If I watch Dukes of Hazard, Good Times, Jeffersons or Sanford and Son, all I see is why we don't live in the South anymore and that being a person of color is a hard life to have. If I watch Tom and Jerry, Gilligan's Island and I Dream of Jeannie, I'm reminded that sometimes living in a fantasy world is better than reality. Either way you shake it, I'm going to be giving my therapist a lot of money. Thanks. Jackass.

I embrace my failure!

2007-10-19T11:40:00.000-07:00

So, I was talking with a coworker today about an administrative problem I will not be able to have corrected until upper management gets their collective heads out of their collective behinds. Jokingly, he says to me, "So, it sounds to me like what you're saying is, you're failing us yet again."

I laughed and said, "Yes. Yes, I am. And you know what, I'm ok with that - in fact, I embrace my failures." Laughter all around because quite honestly, I'm one of the hardest working people in this office. None of the rest of those wiseguys was at work until 9pm last night trying to fix the unfixable - nope, just me.

Anyway, after my comment I hear someone in a nearby cubicle (because privacy is an illusion the government doesn't even try to fake) say, "Hey, I didn't know you were married. You were talking about your spouse right? I call mine 'Failure',too."

I ended up just walking away, but I was left with an important question. Is this normal? Is this where all marriages are destined to end up? Seriously, I would hate to marry someone and one day find myself making jokes at their expense to a bunch of strangers. This is seriously bothering me today.

God, I'm such a girl sometimes. Well, all the time, but you know what I mean.

New Direction

2007-10-17T13:55:00.001-07:00

I've made a decision. (Insert applause - I'll wait.)

This blog is going in a new direction, something more concrete than just the 2 lies and a truth game - which will still be ongoing. I am basing it on those stupid Dove Promises Messages (DPM). Some of them are amazingly insightful - ok one or two, but the rest are just waiting for someone to make fun of them.

That someone is me.

DPM #1: Get your feet massaged
This is very good advice. Everyone should do this at least once. Now, I know you are scoffing at the very idea, citing it as a waste of money and time but hear me out. In the United States, adults are always on the go. In fact, we often neglect our health, dreams, friends and hobbies in search of money, fame or some other ambition you can't take with you. If once a week - heck, once a month! - we took twenty minutes for ourselves for something as simple, pain-relieving, ultimately relaxing and self-indulgent as a foot massage, I think we'd be happier people and more able to focus on the important things. It's very hard to think about work, stressful situations at home, money problems or global warming when your feet are getting massaged. Try it sometime - you'll be amazed.

DPM #2: There's no excuse not to dream
Well... to a certain extent this is true. You should always have goals or life becomes predictable and boring. But that's not what this says, it says there is no excuse not to dream. Like you can control it, right? I mean, daydreams sure - those you can turn on and off and honestly, you shouldn't be daydreaming... you have work to do. But honest-to-goodness dreams, those aren't exactly on the pick and choose menu. You either fall asleep and dream or you don't and sometimes you just don't remember doing it. What if you're drugged and it's a medically induced sleep? How about the mother who is getting two hours of sleep every day with a newborn and struggling for the energy to lift a spoon of cereal into her mouth? Those aren't excuses, they are physical realities. Sometimes, a dream is overrated and the sleep is much more worthwhile. What then Mister-Smarty-Pants-Dove-Message-Writer? Huh?

Those are the DPMs for today. I'll do a couple more tomorrow and see how this goes. It could be fun or it could be a disaster. Either way, we'll learn something.

I'm not dead - yet.

2007-10-01T08:58:00.000-07:00

So, despite the lack of comments on here according to my private emails - there are a couple people who actually read this little nothing blog. Thanks!

I'm not dead. I'm just busy and due to lack of sleep, feel like I'm dead. Not that I necessarily know what dead feels like but if it's an achy, irritable, I just want to lie down and left alone for a few freaking minutes type of feeling... well, then, that's where I am.

If it's a still, dry, decaying, my soul has departed for better places type of feeling then... maybe I'm exaggerating.

Either way, I haven't been here. I think I have a lot to post about, but no time at the moment to post about it.

Kind of like vacations...or bills... Does that make sense to anyone but me?

Wanted: New Neighbors - UPDATE included

2007-06-13T11:06:00.001-07:00

So, I put up with your three miniature shetland ponies you call children romping overhead at all hours. Most of the time, I don't even say anything (except when I have a migraine or am sleeping). My roommate endures your loud television over her bedroom at 5am. We're nice that way.

So, this morning I'm not amused to have water running down my bathroom wall, peeling away the paint and dripping into the hallway through the doorframe. Luckily, the cat staring at the dripping gave me a heads-up before I walked into the full mess.

Now, I know you told the maintenance guy that "you just got the water down in the tub because it was backing up", because I heard you say it.

LIAR. LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR.

I heard the water running full-blast for at least twenty minutes after I woke up. I thought you were taking a shower, NOT RUNNING A BATH. God knows how long it ran before I got up for work, but what kind of moron starts running a bath and doesn't notice it for so long that it leaks through the floor to the apartment below?

Of course, these are just the people upstairs. We're not discussing the two "brothers" who live in the building next to us that play the bass in their stereo loud enough to shake, rattle and roll the deaf into the new year.

Who raises people to live like this when others are so obviously affected by their stupid actions?

UPDATE:

They have moved out. Who says prayer doesn't change things? The guys next door finally went when the roommates got tired of the police showing up for noise complaints. They left in the night, we don't know when. Kinda too bad, we like some of them.

Sunday I noticed the upstairs neighbors taking lots of small items and packing it in their cars. So I deviously asked if they were having a garage sale or something, but no... they were packing. The next morning, my car was blocked in by a huge moving van.

I wasn't upset though. Instead I did the happy dance on one leg. I'll be late for work if it means you're leaving.

Don't get me wrong, they are nice people. They are just loud heavy-walkers with little consideration for others. And they call themselves Southerners.

Fast Forward, Rewind or Play?

2007-06-13T11:02:00.000-07:00

Some of these posts are "recycled" from another blog I had that I no longer maintain. Deal with it.
--
Everyone wants to go backwards or start over. I find this to be a frustrating attitude. It’s like people don’t realize that things happen for a reason. You couldn’t be the person you are today without the experiences that got you there. Good, bad or otherwise benign – all of your past culminates in your present and adds to your future.

Still, everyone seems to want a rewind button. I personally think it’s a lack of faith to even consider it. Does that seem to be a non sequiter? Bear with me. Faith is a foundation and I’m not talking religion here because I don’t care what you believe in so long as you believe in something. Faith is that belief in more than human beings; that there is something or someone more powerful available to help you along the path of life; and that there is a destination for life that goes beyond a 6-foot deep hole and a eulogy.

With faith, the rest of the world has a chance of making sense. All the horrible things we, as humans, do to one another actually have a place in the grand scheme of things. I’m not saying that we necessarily understand that great plan, but the knowledge that it’s there provides hope. With hope, the past becomes a stepping stone to a better place.

If there’s a plan, and I have faith that there is, then even someone hurting me has a place in it. I may have to suffer for a moment so that they can move on to the next step in their part of this enormous production. One day, I’m sure I’ll be the one hurting someone else. The best we can do is acknowledge, learn and avoid repeating mistakes to make our future path smoother.

So, going back gains you nothing but a different set of mistakes with potentially better or worse outcomes. Of course, there are those people that don’t want to go backwards, but instead want to just quit where they are right now. The past was so bad to them that they can’t foresee going forward.

In both of these cases, the root of the problem remains the same. People have an inability to let go of the past. They walk around holding their hurts, grudges, anger and memories like medals of honors pinned to their bare skin. They wallow in the rationalization that if their parents, siblings, extended family, friends, schools, churches, or neighbors had only been better, nicer, smarter, richer, prettier or holier they could have a different life. However, since that isn’t the case, they are doomed and there is no reason to go on.

Sounds pretty foolish when you read it, doesn’t it? I’ve always believed you “be a living example”. In other words, if you’ve come from the gutter, fallen in the gutter, currently abide in a gutter – your goal in life should be to demonstrate to others how to escape the gutter. Everyone takes a different path to do this. For some people, the gutter is something tangible like drug abuse or criminal behavior. In some cases it is poverty or lack of education. Even a cycle of abusive relationships is a type of gutter. Bad family history? Gutter.

Whatever your gutter, you can climb out of it. Because there is hope, you can work towards a better place than where you are currently. It might just mean climbing onto the curb for a while, but hey – it’s not the gutter, right?

People don’t seem to think this way. Let’s say your family has a history of alcoholism and poor money management. You have a couple choices, you can either learn from this family history or repeat it. Even if you do repeat it, you now have the knowledge to recognize the problem and potentially have the solution already in your past.

Erasing that only makes you as dumb as your ancestors who have already walked that broken road without the experience of what such a life could bring. This is only my opinion of course. It’s all based on faith, hope and an unwillingness to dwell in the past. I can see the gutters I’ve sidestepped because of my experiences to date and I’ve pulled myself from the ones I wasn’t smart enough to avoid. I just hope that anyone watching me is learning from my life so they can improve theirs.

Living examples don’t erase the past, they push the dirt into a mold and make it into bricks to build something from. So, let me ask you, are you a living example, another person wishing for a rewind button that doesn’t exist or a quitter unwilling to give true life a try?

Horses, Cows and Sheep: Honk Honk

2007-06-13T10:42:00.000-07:00

I hate people who can't drive. I know you've said the very same thing, likely about me, but honestly - I don't care. I can drive. I've had two accidents EVER and both were caused by other people. (Technically one was caused by a spider, but we won't get into that.)

When driving down the street there seem to be three types of drivers and at one time or another, we've all been one of these people. Imagine you're going down a three lane... err, lane and riding a horse. It's a nice horse, nothing flashy like those damned Arabians but a sound quarterhorse (Bay or Pinto - they are just lovely) with good speed in the straightaway. (Besides, Arabians are expensive and high maintenance. They are high-stung and cost a bundle to fix when they go lame. And they always go lame.) You're riding along when ahead of you in your lane is someone riding a cow.

Now, cows have the potential to be quite fast. Ever seen those bovines stampede? Me either, but I hear it's a sight. I'm a city girl and if ever cows stampede here, I'm going to have some serious issues with the city planners. Anyway, so you're riding along and there's a cow. It's plodding along. Not necessarily a slow animal, but why is it in the horse lane? It's obviously not traveling at the same speeds as the horses. (Unless you've confused a mule with a horse or you're riding a draft of some sort that's older than dirt, you know the ones - they looked like they were frisky three-year-olds but they have dyed manes and are drugged up so they look like they are in shape.)

You look around, thinking to pass the cow behind the next thoroughbred to zip by you, but instead you see another cow traveling just fast enough that you can't slip past. Or worse, it's a sheep. Sheep travel in long lines behind a cow that seems to be moving quickly to them. Sheep are stupid that way. They will follow whomever is in the lead, but they don't have the discernment to follow behind a horse that will get them where they are going in a timely manner.

So you and your excellent steed are stuck in traveling hell. Cows and sheep everywhere you look. This is my experience driving on the interstates in the Baltimore/DC Metro area. In Virginia, there are a lot of people either riding cows or pushing along nags that need to be retired to pasture. In DC, everyone is lost. It's not that big of a city, but seriously - you could wander in circles for days. Plus, they are all on sheep. I'll give Maryland credit, they mostly ride horses there - from nags to racers, but most of them have bad seats and no riding etiquette.

Horses, cows and sheep - God help you if one of them turns up lame.

Other people

2007-06-13T10:20:00.000-07:00

My family is Southern. That's right, a capital S is required. Not only are we Southern, but our roots are the Southern Genteel. You know, the cotillion-having, who-are-your-people-asking, butter-wouldn't-melt types. If we were white, we'd be rich to boot, but we are Creole and that's a whole other ballgame.

Anyway, my family is Southern. Which means I was raised with certain tenets:
1. Do not wear out your welcome. (Friends, family or stranger alike - you spend a little quality time and always leave long before they start hinting for you to go. Always think about the fact that they may have other things to do.)

2. Manners are your responsibility, not someone else's. (The idea that most people are not raised right is instilled at birth. We, on the other hand, know how to be polite and considerate. Even if it kills you, the person is your enemy or they are rude to you - you will be courteous or else.)

3. Spare the rod, spoil the child. (Originally this was a religious thought, but it's basically part of the Southern charm. If you're raised in fear of your parents and other authority figures, you're less likely to be a problem child later in life. At least that's the way it worked in my house.)

4. Don't show up empty handed. (Wedding, party, house-warming, football game, sick friend, just passin' by - doesn't matter. Have something with you. I'm not entirely sure why, but this is a hard one to shake.)

5. If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. (to their face. Because, while Southern people are as nice as can be to you in person, they can outgossip anyone you know. In church. During service. With the pastor's wife. About the pastor.)

Now, these aren't all the Southern tenets that make us who we are - there are too many to list. I'd have to write a book and even then, it would differ from place to place. The gentility of New Orleans differs greatly from the Southern charm of Atlanta or the brisk intelligence of Virginia.

I've just noticed that I spend a lot of time commenting on, reacting to, or feeling guilty about being rude to other people. I have tried to figure out where that sensitivity has come from and realized, it's a Southern thing. We're raised to think of other people first.

Of course this does not explain my road rage, frustration with repeating myself and lack of empathy for stupid people. I think it's part of living up North for the latter half of my life.

Damn Yankees.

Straight Line or Crooked Path?

2007-06-05T14:19:00.000-07:00

The fastest way from here to there is a straight line.

Think about that. That piece of wisdom only works if you know where "here" is and where "there" is supposed to be.

I'm currently reading a book called "What Got You Here, Won't Get You There" by Marshall Goldsmith. He discusses 20 things successful people do that worked to get them to point A but will actually prevent them from gaining greater success.

I'm guilty of about 12 of these. Suffice to say, as I'm reading the book, I keep thinking - but if the fastest route is a straight line then I would think you'd keep on behaving the same way. Now then, let's be clear the fastest route would be considered the most efficient route in some circles. Certainly the most cost-effective or best use of time, but is it really the best route of all.

I look at my life and know I did not take the fast route to my level of success. I'm not super-famous or rich, but I have my personal level of achievement. However, to get here, I took the most non-traditional, round-robin, convoluted, mistake-laden route possible.

I think I'm better for it, however. I'm smarter than most people my age about things only experience and wisdom can teach you. Instead of waiting for life to happen to me, I happened to my life. For good or bad.

This is just a ponder for me, at the moment, but I will revisit this idea in more detail later. Right now, I have a book to finish.

Men: Signs and Wonders (1)

2007-05-23T12:09:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed in our conversation...

I choose to think of this as a conversation so it's less like I'm just talking to myself. Only crazy people do that. You represent the silent listener and I finally get to talk. Like being at the therapist, only you don't get to ask me stupid questions like "How did it make you feel when that happened?" because I will hit you. How did it make me feel? Bad, you idiot, otherwise WHY WOULD I BE AT A THERAPIST?! Seriously, they give a degree to just anyone these days.

... that I have not discussed men. This is because I believe you should talk about what you know. It is quite obvious by the relationships I have had with men, I that I don't know anything about them. At least nothing about picking a good one, so instead we'll focus on my other strengths.

Signs in men of which you should take note:
These are going to be bad signs since I miss the good ones and frankly, they can be misleading sometimes. There are some signs that have proven through clinical trials (also known as my love life) to be true that I feel I should share. Unlike me, you should not date men with these signs regardless of the fact that they always prove to be bad. Learn from me people, learn!

1. He never meets your friends and family.

Whether through timing, location or bad luck, I've managed to get hooked up with several of these men. At first, you don't even notice it. They go out with you in public and maybe have introduced you to some of their friends. Surprisingly, they have never made it to a party YOU'VE invited them to where your friends will be present. They can never quite make it to the social events with family. There is always a really good reason. Work, family, accidents, illness or some other truly understandable reason is always in place. Sometimes it's even a last minute thing, not his fault right? Right, until you realize it's been almost a year and your friends have still never laid eyes on the guy.

We are discussing relationships of some invested time here. The first time it happened to me, I started losing touch with some of my closest friends. Even my roommate complained of my being gone all the time. Eventually, I started skipping social events if he couldn't attend. He never asked me to do this, but it seemed like the right thing. We'd go to HIS social events instead. Mine never worked out.

What does this sign mean? Well, every woman could tell a different outcome. For some, it meant her man was a control freak and didn't want her planning things. For others, he didn't want to get involved in her personal life any deeper because he knew the relationship had no future on his end. For me, it was a mind game to separate me from people he felt could influence me against him. Exact words: "But you're with me, if they are your friends they should understand you'll be with them less." Innocuous? Maybe... if you're a Stepford wife.

In my case it turned into much larger issues we won't discuss here and the relationship ended. Strangely, it was a hard ending emotionally for me because I had come to depend on him socially after alienating and ignoring my closest friends. I had sworn never to be one of those women, but there I was.

Point to wonder: Why do men do the head tilt/jerk thing at each other in public but they are perfect strangers? Is it the male version of smiling as you walk by? You never see women doing this.

From the Archives: Black History Month

2007-05-21T14:56:00.000-07:00

Happy Black History Month to you. This holiday began in 1929. The month of February was chosen to celebrate this month because of the momentous occasions that took place in Black American heritage during this month.

Such as Groundhog’s Day.

A day when a lazy little creature goes outside to check the temperature and if he sees his shadow, he decides to either check out what that strange sound is or go inside and hide beneath the bed. No, wait, that’s “White People in Horror Films week.” I get them confused.

In all seriousness, the month was picked because Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln were both born in February. If you don’t know why they are important to Black History, then you should go back to Canada or Miami – whichever one you’re from.

What’s interesting is that it’s also the shortest month of the year and it’s confusing because every fourth year, it’s actually a day longer. I would complain about black people getting the jacked up month, but honestly – Hispanic Heritage month is Sept 15 – Oct 15 which is even worse. You can’t even get a whole month, you have to share… just like at home with the entire family living in your 2 bedroom apartment. This observance began in 1968.

Asian Pacific Heritage Month is May – Which celebrates Asian and Pacific Islanders. This lumps Chinese, Japanese, Korean Americans (for example) with Hawaiian Americans. I consider them totally separate and different, but maybe that’s just me. Eh, so they have to share – they all look alike, right? This observance began in 1978.

Native American Indian Heritage Month is… wait for it… November. It’s like salt in the wound. What’s even better is the fact that although the first "American Indian Day" was declared by the State of New York in 1916, a month long recognition of Native Americans was not achieved until 1990. In that year, President George Bush Sr. declared the first National American Indian Heritage Month on August 3.

You’ll note that the people who came first got their month holiday – last. Now, perhaps you’re sitting at your VP desk in your $3k suit frowning because you don’t see your heritage represented here. You’re right, there is no White People Month – cause that’s called “Every Day” for the rest of us. The one exception is in March.

The public celebration of women's history in this country began in 1978 as "Women's History Week" in Sonoma County, California. In 1987, Congress expanded the celebration to a month, and March was declared Women's History Month. Yes, even women got recognized before Native American Indians.

So, that covers the major minority groups (that I know any details about) and thus ends your educational moment for the day.

So, it’s February – do something Black. (Just don’t arrested, pregnant, or be a guest on Maury Povich.)

PS: No, I'm not racist. My family background has so many races in it, I'd have to slap myself with one hand and protest with the other. However, saying "Caucasian People" month is pretentious and frankly, doesn't match how I think. I'm not PC - sorry.

Victoria's Secret and other well known facts

2007-05-21T14:51:00.000-07:00

You know when you go into a store (doesn't matter what kind of store) and you kind of know you want or need something there, but you can't quite put your finger on what it is that you want?

In the grocery store, it's that vague suspicion that just that morning you ran out of something vital (milk, cheese, bread, anti-depressant, whatever) and if you go home and walk in the door (which is always the 'AHA' moment you remember what you needed to get) you will be one pissed off person.

At the Target-type playgrounds, it's even worse because you have so many choices. Was is a food, pharmaceutical, clothing, household, or recreational item? This is when you end up with a basket of crap you didn't set out to buy and possibly don't need.

Well, need is such a relative term - what is a want but an unsubstantiated need at a later date? Exactly, you may not need that new CD right now, but when you're on that long drive and realize you've listened to all your other stuff - you'll be glad you have it. That want suddenly became a need, didn't it? Don't argue with my shopping rationalization - Logic has no place in shopping.

The worst, however, is when you walk into a specialty store (Best Buy or Victoria's Secret) and can't quite remember why. I went into PetSmart and wandered for 20 minutes before remembering what the puppy needed. I also purchased another 10 things she may not actually "need" but well, you know my argument there...

Here's the problem - at these specialty stores, you're not exactly getting a bargain. You don't have coupons (usually) with you or discounts beyond the store card (sure, 10% the FIRST time, what about the three years of purchases afterwards - where's my discount then? Huh? HUH?!) So, you're random purchasing is less defensible and infinitely more expensive.
Note: Keep your receipt! You may want to go back and get some of that cash back. See: Returns and Impulse Buying in an upcoming post.

I'm standing in Victoria's Secret staring at perfume and lovely frilly things. I swear to you, the second before I walked in that store I knew exactly what I wanted, in which line and color. I had spent time perusing the catalogue to make my choices. But the minute I entered the store, the sweet perfume smell (which might contain some sort of drug to cause this state of confusion) and pretty frilly things made me forget.

Do I need new bras? Well, I can always use a new bra, but I think I just bought 5 - so I'm probably good. What about panties and thongs? Well, I bought some new ones before the trip to France but I don't like some of them. Maybe I should get more, but my panties drawer is full. I would have to throw some out. I hate doing that because then when you really need to do laundry, you don't have any backups. Well, ok - did you come for pajamas? Sadly, I'm single and the men who want me naked don't want a relationship and are not concerned with my cute sexy garments. Not that men in a relationship would be either, necessarily. Why are you here? Good question.

And that's when I walk out of the store with nothing.

I hate that.

Returns and Impulse Buying

2007-05-21T14:49:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if everyone has this mentality - probably not - but nonetheless when I shop I always keep the receipts.

This is why I buy random things I'm not entirely certain I want. It doesn't matter, I can return it. What's better - that money becomes free shopping dollars.

I know - it's not really, it's still the same money coming out of my account, only it doesn't seem like it. Now it's free money not tied to my budget. YAY, let's go buy frivolous crap.

Which brings me to impulse buying. These crafty people are very smart with the items they put in creative spots (like right by the line as you're leaving). You can't get out of line and you don't have enough time to really analyze if you NEED that item.

Though, need is a relative term... you may have heard my reasoning with this before.

Then "Tada", you come home with some new and creative tool, gadget, whatever. Sometimes, this turns out to be something really awesome. You congratulate yourself on your amazing find and brilliance. Other times, it turns into a return item.

See the vicious cycle here?

You never call or write me anymore.

2007-05-18T15:02:00.000-07:00

Now, I know a thing or two about guilt. I was raised Catholic for the first seven years of my life and the remaining years by people who were raised Catholic for their entire lives. I should write a book about guilt. I could give training lessons about guilt, but I would need my mother and grandmother as guest speakers. Experts in the field, you know.

Anyway, I have enough Jewish friends to know that supposedly they have the corner on guilt, but honestly I think they go to the same training school. On one side of the hall the teachers dress like penguins and discipline with rulers. This would not be experience talking at all. Thanks Mrs. Walker for looking out for your third graders in Wednesday Mass. Oh yes, a big shout out to my mother and father for signing the permission slip giving those repressed women the right to beat me at will. What were you thinking? I bet that's why they closed that school. For beating little kids. How do you feel about that - you were an ENABLER! On the other side of the hall, men with funny accents and hats that give you money for doing things right. I'm not actually sure that's accurate but that's what I choose to believe, how else do Jewish people learn to be rich?

Back to guilt - actually, wait - back to letting those nuns spank me. Why would you do that? I mean, it's not like you guys spared the rod at home. I could see if I didn't get any discipline at all. I'm not saying I didn't deserve what I got, because until my little brother and sister came along - I definitely deserved what I got. Later, however, is a subject of much debate. Maybe it's that in our family we like to share the pain. You know, all for one and that crap. My parents were raised Catholic and got their fair share of beatings. I wasn't there but I know I inherited my smart mouth (Thanks Dad) and my inability to pay attention (All you Mom).

Mom - don't even try to deny that by the way. You are the same woman that sits in the movie with the rest of the family that has to ask, "What? What happened? What did she say? Why did he do that? Oh my God, are they going to die? What happens next?" That's you right? I mean, I understand that you were distracted by say the alarming way Kirsten Dunst could NOT act her way out of a paper bag with directions and flashlight in Spiderman 3. Or maybe the horrid screeching she called singing along with the possibly worse clothing they kept putting her shapeless form in made you miss a word or two, but seriously - we're going to rip into the movie afterwards anyway, can't it wait? (Note: My sister (theatre major) and I (theatre minor) both act, I occasionally direct and coach, my mother is a costumer, my brother is an engineer with a memory for every detail of a storyline (especially sequels) and my father is ex-military, so your protocol and weaponry better be dead-on: we're a tough audience.)

What the hell was I saying? Oh yeah, guilt.

Anyway, my mother swears she was sane before she had children. My father, who has known her since age 7, says this is debatable but in my opinion the pot can't talk about the kettle, so we'll let that go. Suffice to say, she is the family title holder for Guilt. No, wait that's my grandmother, my mother has to be content with runner-up.

My entire life, I have sworn I would never be this way. I wouldn't hold the emotional ax over people I love to make them be more attentive or encourage them to work harder. I would never manipulate my actions to make them a direct result of someone else's failure, thereby alleviating myself of any responsibility.

I lied. Hooo Boy did I ever. Once I started working for the government I found out the only way to get things done around here was to threaten or guilt trip people into doing their jobs. Otherwise, you get ignored. I don't do "ignored" well. Ask around.

Suffice to say, I've noticed what are efficient work skills spilling into my personal life. Recently, and this phenomenon seems to be limited to the men in my life - go figure, I have found myself being "that girl". It's my birthday and I want you to come out with me - I turn into that girl. The women that backed out... ok, that's cool I understand. The men that backed out... well, there weren't many that did because, well - it's me! But the few that did (you know who you are), have all (almost all) apologized and tried to make it up to me.

This is not good. It wasn't even a milestone birthday. I'm not that kind of person. I'm really not. So like Bart Simpson, I'm going to start writing myself some very pertinent reminders. Guilt is not a weapon to be used to get hugs, treats, gifts or other positive rewards.
Guilt is not a weapon to be used to get hugs, treats, gifts or other positive rewards.
Guilt is not a weapon to be used to get hugs, treats, gifts or other positive rewards.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to call my only living grandmother because I'm her only grandchild that never calls and she could die any day you know and won't I feel horrible if I haven't called and to at least find out how she's doing?

Mom, I'll see you Sunday. *sigh*

Walk and Chew Bubble Gum

2007-05-17T16:29:00.000-07:00

I was a lucky kid. (If you don't get the inherent sarcasm in this phrase, you have NOT been paying attention.)

Anyway, being military meant going to schools (Every two years. Seriously, who else has 3 elementary schools? Raise your hand. Yup, which branch were you in?) in different countries and states. Other countries were a treat because you got to experience the same classes in different ways. For instance, in Italy, our PE class included gymnastics and ballet. Yay for the girls - and in some cases - Yay for the boys too.

Mind you, this was first and second grade, so we were pretty much willing to try anything. I was going to be the next Nadia Comaneci by God. My favorite event was the beam and when we got to finally play on one (it was a foot off the ground, but at 6 and 7 who cares!) I was in seventh heaven.

I was actually kind of good. I was good at swimming and didn't do to shabby at ballet either.

My problem is one that is inherently not my fault. I blame my french and Irish ancestry. Seriously, the graceful french genes were in direct conflict with the falling down drunk Irish genes coursing my veins. We won't discuss the feisty Spanish genes that were the cause of my showing off. Damn them for their confidence! They never listen to the sage Native American gene (singular, it's lonely in the group) that warns of impending doom and thunderstorms.

Anyway - I'm a klutz. This is the nice term for stupidly clumsy. Let's see...

Age 4: Been swimming since I was 18 months old. Climbing the super high ladder on the high dive to jump into the 12 foot water below. I'd been doing it all day, but this time around the whiner in front of me gets all the way to the top and decides she doesn't want to jump. She's scared. Puhleeze. So, I just climbed around her. Well, that's what I would have done if not for those damned drunk Irish genes and gravity (who knew!?) pushing me towards the earth at a fast rate. Luckily, I landed on my head.

You laugh, but I got up and went back at it with no obvious affliction. Unless you ask my mother, which you are not invited to do, thank you.

Age 6: Gym-gymnastics - balance beam showing off. I could do actual flips on the beam. Just not backwards. With my eyes closed. Landed on my knee. Cue major knee problems for life.

Age 7: Not to be stopped by a bum knee - BALLET! First position, Second.. and so forth. My extension sucked and my turnout is worse. The European culture is tough in this genre. So died my dream of dancing in the corps for the Nutcracker. Eh, who cares? I really just like the costumes. (Note: This is where my love of theatre is born.)

I'm going to stop naming all my injuries here, because neither of us have that kind of time. Let's just say, I've broken both ankles, both wrists, damaged both knees and have some lovely scars.

You'll notice I used present tense above. I AM a klutz. Yes, that's right, there are some things you don't outgrow like allergies and skin color. Seriously, I could do an entire discourse on how I thought I would get lighter when I was older so I could finally NOT be the dark one in the family. Hey - this is a blog, maybe I will. Later.

My scrapes and bruises add character and texture to who I am. Those are the Spanish genes talking. Between them and the Irish genes, going out with me is dangerous. This has not stopped me from dancing on bars, in musicals, or in ballet classes.

How old can you be in the Nutcracker?

Edit: I want you to know that I spellchecked this file. Every nationality in here was in lowercase and the spellchecker appropriately slapped my hand and told me to capitalize them.

All of them but the french. I'm not sure what that means, exactly, but it's not really good social commentary when an unbiased program (probably not even written in the United States) won't give that country the respect it's due.

I'm leaving it that way for humor purposes. If my grandparents and great-relatives start haunting me, however, I'm changing it. Just so you know.

2 Lies and a Truth: The Game

2007-05-17T15:56:00.000-07:00

1. I am a recovering alcoholic.

2. I have been engaged twice but never married.

3. Having a family is more important than having a career to me.

Medical Rollercoaster: Part 1

2007-05-17T15:14:00.000-07:00

I had this recurring dream for eleven days between my biopsy and my next appointment. Occasionally, I have it when I don't feel well or life is stressing me out. Because it's hard to write about, I prefer to put it into a fictional context, but this is the honest to God truth.
---
Oh God. Is this what a heart attack feels like? I am standing in the middle of a very busy hallway, two feet from a door bearing the stenciled letters, ‘Dr. Miriam Eder, Oncology.’

Oncology. What did I ever do to deserve this? I swear I’m sorry and it won’t happen again, just tell me what it was.

As of two minutes ago, I am officially late for my appointment. My hands are actually sweaty and my blood is racing through my veins so fast I can actually feel it. It hurts, a pain I’ve experienced when I’ve had too much sugar and it’s rushing through me. I know, from experience, that the crash will be hard and difficult. I feel moisture filming my eyes and I bite my lip. I will not cry.

The door opens and a man steps out. He’s probably 60 if he’s a day. He smiles and holds the door open for me. I see the receptionist inside the office and she looks up at me puzzled. I can’t move. I’m sure if I do, my heart will explode my chest. The man says something, but over the rush in my head I can’t tell what it is.

I am shaking, but I don’t realize this until I reach to grab the door the man has just released. I miss and it closes in front of me. I stand in the hallway, cutting off the flow of traffic around me with my outstretched arm, frozen in place.

The door pushes open slowly and the receptionist is there. She smiles sympathetically and takes my outstretched hand. “Carter? 2pm appointment?” I don’t know if I actually responded, I was too busy hyperventilating. I hate myself for the weakness.

She doesn’t let me sit in the waiting room. I don’t need the additional apprehension. Instead she takes me to a small office with a leather chair before a desk. I sit and stare at a very bad Monet print.

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, but I’m not crying when Dr. Eder walks in with her coffee. She’s short with graying black hair and sits on the edge of the desk facing me. “Well, dear, I got your biopsy results back...” Black spots begin to form on the edges of my vision.

Dr. Eder takes my hand and I try to focus. She begins to repeat herself, going into medical detail, but I’ve heard enough. Now I cry. “… need to come back for tests in a few weeks, but we ruled out cancer for now. Your acute anemia and…”

Someone bumps into my shoulder.

I am standing in the middle of a very busy hallway, two feet from a door bearing the stenciled letters, ‘Dr. Miriam Eder, Oncology.’ The door opens and a man steps out. He’s probably 60 if he’s a day. He smiles and holds the door open for me. I smile back.
---

So here's the odd part. Dr. Eder is my endocrinologist. I did have a biopsy. My first visit actually went quite closely to this dream. But in the dream I ended up smiling and there were no subsequent visits. This is the difference between make-believe and reality. I'll write about the reality of it in a bit.

Monster in the Closet

2007-05-17T15:12:00.000-07:00

Some memories are harder than others to face. I spent years in therapy dealing with a lot of major events. One of the techniques that worked for me was talking about things in the abstract. It's easier if it happened to other people. If other people got hurt or hurt someone else then there is no guilt, blame or personal responsibility associated. That's the beauty of fiction, right? So, here's a story I wrote that I never shared with anyone before. Aren't you lucky?

Some things, even my parents don't know.

---
There’s a monster in the closet. Mom and Dad always say there are no such things as monsters, so I don’t bother telling them about this one. I wish I had an older brother, I’d run and get him to help me kill the monster.

I don’t really remember the first time I saw the monster. I was lying in bed at Stephanie and Andrea’s house. The three of us crammed into one bed, but we’re only little so it’s ok. Well, I’m the little one. They are older than me by two and three years. My parents like it when I play with them because they are my only friends in this country. It’s very hard to make friends when you don’t speak the language.

Anyway, this wasn’t the first time I stayed at their house. It was the first time that the monster showed up. We were lying in bed giggling. One of them, the eldest but I can’t remember which that was, tried to teach me a new game. I didn’t like the game. Maybe if I had played the game the monster wouldn’t have come. Too late.

We were supposed to be asleep, so when the door started to open, no one moved. I saw the big dark shape in the doorway. It was dark in the hallway too, but I could still see the darker shadow. It didn’t make any noise when it came by the bed. I have a bad habit when I sleep. I like to kick my feet out from under the covers and roll into a cocoon around my shoulders with the blankets. Pig in a blanket, head and feet out. Oink oink.

This is why I am sleeping on the end of the bed by the door and not in the middle. Usually the littlest has to sleep in the middle, but my friends knew I would just mess up the covers so I slept on the end. That’s how the monster got me. I thought he would gobble me up, like the monsters in the books.

For a long time, he just looked at me. I had my eyes squeezed shut really tight except for the tiny place I peeked out at it. I felt the covers move away. In my head I just kept saying, ‘Monsters aren’t real. Don’t scream. Don’t scream.’

A touch on my leg pulled my Strawberry Shortcake nightgown higher and I must have made a sound. Behind me a hand tugged on the back of my gown. They knew the monster was here and they were afraid too.

‘Please don’t eat me.’ It was the last thing I can remember thinking. The rest is blurry in my mind. I remember being cold and scared. I know I never fell asleep and felt very dirty. The next morning, when the sun was high enough in the sky that people started venturing outdoors and street noises woke my friends, I begged to go home.

No, I didn’t want breakfast. I didn’t want to play. I didn’t want to watch a movie. I just wanted to go home. Home, where there were no monsters. My dad finally came for me and I was very happy to leave.

Two weeks later, I had to go to my friends’ house again. “You like Stephanie and Andrea. Why are you being difficult? I already told them you were coming over.” I knew she wouldn’t believe me about the monster, because monsters aren’t real after all.

That night, I tried to climb into the middle. Then I tried to sleep on the side of the bed that was farthest from the door, but Stephanie complained that I pulled the covers and Andrea was afraid to sleep by the window. I was just afraid to sleep. Then I thought, maybe if I go to sleep really fast, the monster will ignore me.

I kept my feet tucked under the covers and pulled the sheet over my head. I fell asleep like that, but when I woke later in the middle of the night the covers were gone. My nightgown was bunched around my thighs. I saw the door swinging shut and felt tears in my eyes. The monster had come anyway.

That was the last time I went to their house, even in the daytime, to play. I cried and pleaded with my mother. She thought I had a fight with my friends and I let her believe that. They had not protected me from the monster and I couldn’t trust them.

Then one night, I woke up in my bed tangled in the covers. The door was firmly closed and I was all alone. I lay in the dark and shivered. I had been dreaming of a dark shadow in the room, pulling my blankets and touching me. That’s when I knew the monster had followed me.

Instead of creeping in my room at night, it crept in my thoughts. Invading my dreams, it turned every night into a nightmare. I started to hear noises from the closet, or at least I think I heard noises.

I woke up screaming one time. Just once. My mother ran into my room and touched my forehead. “What’s wrong? What is it?” She was breathless.

“There’s a monster in my closet.” I said in a small voice. She looked at me disbelieving.

“There are no such things as monsters.” She firmly pushed me back onto my pillow and tucked my sheets around me. “You are too old to believe in such nonsense.” She looked angry and disappointed. When she left, though, she kept the hall light on and cracked my bedroom door.

I rolled onto my side and stared gratefully at the light. My mom was wrong, you see. There are monsters. Years later, I find myself cracking the bedroom door open and leaving the hall light on. My friends ask me about it, but I never try to explain. My little brother and sister think it’s funny. I don’t care if they laugh because I know what they don’t. There’s a monster in the closet.

---
I keep debating posting this story. What if my sister and brother read it? What if my parents or someone from my church stumbles across this? Is this an anonymous enough forum?

Screw it. Maybe someone will read this that has a similar story. If you do - if it's happening to you right now, tell someone. I was six, almost seven, when this happened to me. I wish I had told someone. I wish I had known it was ok to talk about the monsters. Instead, I the lesson I learned was to hide the things that scare you and lie about the things that hurt you. This will only lead to more hurt in the end.

Also, if you have monsters in your closet - you're not alone. It doesn't matter how old you get, how small they eventually seem, or how much you recover - a monster is a monster. There's no shame in that.

Where to begin

2007-05-17T15:06:00.000-07:00

For three years, I've tried to write a book about my life. This isn't because I am some egotistical maniac that thinks everyone in the world wants to know about me. Honestly, I'm fine sitting in the back keeping my mouth shut - most of the time.

The problem is, I see people going down paths I've already trod. Dangerously close to the same slippery slopes and sometimes, not always, but sometimes they just don't know better. If I say nothing, I'm a lousy human being. The worst that can happen by sharing my experiences is adding knowledge and perspective. That's always good and sometimes, it can save your life.

I'm the oldest of three kids, so I've always been raised to "be the example". Read: Guinea Pig, Culprit, Holder-of-the-Bag, One-to-be-Punished, First Try, Test Case, etc. I'm not bitter about it... much.

Anyway, this basic understanding has spilled over into the rest of my life and now that I've gotten to do some autobiographical speaking, I'm realizing it's a good thing. I can help others. All those crappy things that have happened to me aren't just wasted years of my life, therapy bills or nightmares that wake me from my tear-stained pillow. They are life-enriching experiences that have shaped me into the complex, wonderful and interesting person I am today.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.