f8hasit

I love me some eBay.

There is something about the online chase for the perfect item gets me all excited. I have been known to set my alarm so I can wake to bid at the very last moment. There's no need in driving up the price hours before the auction close or to allow my fellow bidders to outbid me whilst I sleep. Nah…I’ll just wake, hit the 1-click bid button a few times and Viola! , I’ve now got me a North Face for $100 less than I could buy it at Dick’s Sporting goods.

Oh yeah.
I’m that savvy.

I also sell quite a bit of stuff on eBay as well.

It’s like an online garage sale without the people trying to steal your items when you back is turned or offering you ¾ less than what you have it priced for. For instance, at a recent garage sale I had a picnic basket, never used with all the plates, silverware and wine glasses inside staged out on the lawn waiting for the right buyer. It was really quite nice, but a gift that I never used. I had priced it at $50 which was quite the bargain since it was about $150 less than the sticker price.

“Will you take $10 for that basket?” one of the people browsing my wares asked.
“No, thanks so much. But no.” I responded. (I’m WAY to polite, trust me.)
“15 dollar. That’s a good price! I’ll take it for 15 dollar.”
“No, really, thank you…but I’ll just keep it then.”
“You’re crazy! Why you not take $15! That’s a good price! Last offer!”, she persisted.
“ Again, thank you for your offer but the answer is no. It's actually a GREAT price at $50.”  I tried to explain. Her look of exhasperation with me showed. I gathered up the basket and put it on my back porch. I figured that she just might help herself to it when I was talking to someone else.

The next day I listed it on eBay.

Guess how much I got for it?
C'mon, guess!

Yeah, diggity! The bidding went up to $108! 15 dollars…bah. Shame on her. I bet if I'd have let her have it it would be her that would be collecting $100 right now.

For the most part the buyers on eBay are delightful. They’ll send me messages “I love Love LOVE this sweater! THANK YOU!” or “You’re the best seller EVER on eBay!”. It’s these messages that keep me listing.

Oh sure, there have a been a few that were so horrible that I thought I might never get on eBay again. Some that get my blood boiling to a point with the incredulousness of their antics that I can hear my heart beating in my ears and my fingers shaking.

There was the lady that insisted she get her money back that she never received her shoes. She even opened a case against me on eBay. Ummm, yeah right. Delivery confirmation shows they were delivered on your doorstep at 1:01pm September 24th. Don’t mess with me, ma'am…I’ll take you down.

I love delivery confirmation.
It’s saved me a few times. I would never, ever, send anything without it.

I’ve sold everything from lots of old gold jewelry for melt to a hard top for a convertible. From snow tires used one season to antique silverware. From an armoire to an old American flag with only 15 stars on it. If I own it, and I’m not using it, and I see no future for my using it…then it goes on ebay.

In my basement I have 3 bins at the base of the stairs. One is for Goodwill, or Easter Seals, or the veterans…whoever calls me first when the bin is full gets it. The second bin is for the summer garage sale. And the third bin is for eBay. All those goodies, like the picnic basket, that would sell better online than in my yard.

A recent sales transaction I had made my mind wander and think of a story. I had shipped a box to Texas. She asked if I had sent it yet, which I then traced and it said that it was ‘undeliverable’ . Undeliverable? What did that mean? I suggested that she go to her local postoffice and inquiry. The only time I had seen that before was when a woman kept leaving her dog out on the front porch so the carrier wouldn’t approach due to fear of being bitten. He marked it ‘undeliverable’ because in his mind, it was.

I waited a few days to see if it would be returned to me or if it indeed would show up on her doorstep. Nothing. A few more and it was returned to me. Box smashed, my name still on it, but the delivery address ripped off.

I took it up to show my postmaster. They said that I could re-ship it, but I’d have to pay for the shipping again. I pleaded my case that by looking at the shipping itinerary it HAD reached it destination in Austin only to have the label damadged there so they didn’t have a full address. (however, but scanning the bar code all that information is available to them…duh) So someone down there stamped it undeliverable and sent it back to Ohio. The manager at the post agreed with me and sent it again, on it's way at no extra charge.

But what happened to that box?

Obviously a sorter somewhere crushed it. Or someone sat on it. Or someone used it to stand on to reach something else..I mean, it was crushed! Do all packages get handled with such disregard? If this box could talk, what would it tell me…?

I began to wonder about this poor boxes journey. What happened to it from the time that I carefully packaged what was inside, wrapped in bubble wrap and tissue and tied with a ribbon and note. What happened to this poor little box in it’s travels to Texas? AND on it’s return?

As I stood there and looked at this box, willing it speak to me…by God, it did.

It told me of the abuse it suffered at the hands of a angry postal employee, it told me of the pain it endured from the massive sorting machine and how the figurine inside was so grateful for the little box trying it’s hardest to protect its charge.

It was a sad story.
It was an enlightening story.
It was a heartwarming story.

Complete with a happy ending with the little box making it to its destination and its contents all delivered in one piece. I daydreamed as I saw a short animated film play in my head with the voices of other boxes crying out to this one to ‘watch out!” The Priority Mail eagle stamp on the side coming to life and helping navigate it’s way safely through on the conveyer belts.

I looked at it and smiled and pondered for one more moment…and then I sealed it back up with heavier packing tape and affixed a new label.

“Good little box.” I said to it as I patted its sides. “You are a very, very good little box.”

The postmaster gave me a bit of a quizical look as I stroked the boxes side as I handed it over the counter to him. "It's been through a lot already. Just giving it some encouragement." I awkwardly replied.

He just smiled at me. Tilted his head a bit as he observed the odd behaviour of his patron. "It'll be ust fine ma'am."

It was then that I realized I hadn't quite let go....
:-)


Oh…and yes. Indeed it WAS a happy ending. It got there the second time and the new owner was very pleased with her purchase. Funny thing is she sent me a note that read, “Geez…that poor little box must have been through a lot! I kind of felt sad for it.”

I love playing scrabble.

It was one of those games that we used to play at home growing up. Sure we had the games of Mousetrap, Operation and Twister that all kids had, but when it was game time with the parents we either played cards; Hearts in paticular which usually left someone in tears (me) when my dad would get them all and we would all get 36 points; or Scrabble.

I have fond memories of playing it with my mom and dad. We played lots and lots of games. Most were unmemorable, the ending always the same with my dad winning. My mom was a good player, but didn't have the savvy my dad did. He could get 30 points with just playing one letter. As a kid, it was highly annoying. But I continued to play. My mother used to write down the unusually high scores in the lid of the scrabble box with the date and who was playing.

As you might know, my mother passed away a couple of years ago. We had somewhere along the line replaced the older version of our scrabble game with a new one as one of the tiles got lost somewhere in the 25 years that we had that particular game. But I still have the original box and game. It’s old, the cardboard sides are broken, the velvet bag torn…but I keep it. I pull it out from its nesting spot under my bed and look at it from time to time. I read the entries in my mothers’ neat hand and caress the well worn tiles. It holds a lot of nostalgia for me.

One particular memory holds like it was yesterday. I had come home for a visit from college and played a quick game with my dad before going to bed. It was my dad’s birthday and as a joke I had given him a paperweight. I had it engraved with “Lifetime Achievement Award for Outstanding Scrabble Play”. I thought it was funny. It did bring a smile to his face. And it still to this day sits on the bureau in the living room.

Ironically it was that very night we played a quick game. And I beat him.
For the first time in my life.

I had come close several times, but I had never won. His vocabulary was just superior to mine own, his plays more clever, the use of tiles played close to not allow others free play. Triples were guarded and rather than make the big 6 letter word that might open up one for the next player, he’d be content taking a lesser single score and look for that spot the next turn. It was like when we played chess…he was always severals moves ahead.

But this time it was I who won. And he couldn’t believe it.

Oh sure, he gave me the congratulations. When I went up to get ready for bed and then came back down for a glass of water, there he was...sitting on the couch RE adding all the scores just to make sure.

The game HAD been close.
I won by a mere 6 points.
But I won.

It was the first time that I really felt as if I had become a young adult.

Here we are so many years later; Enter Words with Friends.

Help me.
There must be a twelve step program for me somewhere.

I am addicted.

You’ll find me in a basement somewhere, iPhone tucked into my palm nervously glancing at it to see if any one of my 23 opponents has made a arecent play.

“Hi, I’m Nancy. I haven’t played a word in 46 seconds….”
"Hi Nancy..." all the other people with smart phones will answer.

I wake up in the middle of the night and make a play. I’ll take a break from work to see what the score of a particular game is. The other night my daughter had crawled into bed with me. My phone was under my pillow. I heard the familiar ‘ding’ when someone plays. I pulled out my phone to see…”Mom? Are you playing words? What time is it?” came her voice. I had forgotton she was even there. The glow from my phone illuminating the room. “Uhmmm, yeah. I’ll turn it off. Sorry. It’s late.”

And I did turn it off.
For a moment.

I grabbed my phone and snuck into the bathroom for a quick bladder release and a double word score.
I know. It’s sad.

It’s been years since I downloaded the app. At first I was just playing with my then boyfriend. He had a Blackberry so we would just pass my phone back and forth between us to play. We'd be out to dinner and between bites we'd make plays. I should've seen this addiction coming. But I didn't.

At the time I thought it odd to just pick up a random opponent.  But one afternoon I got bored waiting for him to get home from work to play. I wanted to play NOW. So I did. I hit the Random Opponent button. Enter in Justbreysmom. Turns out she lives in Arizona, her name is Melissa and yes, she has a son named Brey. We’ve now been playing for over 3 years. I can’t even fathom how many games we’ve completed. I feel as if I should send her a Christmas card.

I’ve many games going with people that I feel as if I know. But don’t really. There’s Km in Malassia whom I can’t tell if she cheats or not. Her knowledge of the English language is seamingly better than my own. Or sparkles4u, she (I assume she’s a she…but I really don’t know!) she either plays poorly or really really good. I’ve had to look up a few of her words just to know what they are.

The Facebook connection has gotten me playing with a lot of people now that I DO know. But I still like to pick up random games from time to time. You can always tell if they are newbies by the plays they make. Simple two letter words from the get go. One I started yesterday; her first play was “no”. Which I turned into “noirs” making it a double word, she added “head” to the s which opened up the triple.

Silly girl.
Leaving open a triple.

I’m currently beating her by 160 points. We have 48 more letters to play.
Her screen name is aptly named WeepingGirl.

Joe146 couldn’t take the heat and quit the game when he opened up the triple and I added a s to his play of zinc. It was an 86 point play. C’mon dude. Play it out! Bah.

The highest single play that I’ve ever made was 162 points. I played a triple word with the Q and Z with the Z landing on the triple letter. It was beautiful. My opponent, Jennifer, didn’t resign. She just played harder. She’s a tough competitor. Her husband, also my friend and a good scrabble player, I’ve played as well. He is currently on Words Hiatus as it was taking over his life. I'm sure I'll see him in the basement with all of us trying to desparately break free of the Words bug.

Jen and I are pretty evenly matched. She makes some stellar plays that I even scratch my head at. “Wow Jen….that was a doozy! Take it easy on me!” In our games, the median play is between 30 and 40 points. We’ve had some pretty high scoring games.

That’s all a far cry from when I used to play on that old board with my dad.

And although I love my electronic version of scrabble that I play…the memory of my playing with my folks I will always hold dear.

Oh…and the last time we played as a family?...my daughter joined us.

Guess who won.

Yup.
She did. With a little help from dear ol’ mom when grandpa was in the bathroom. THAT score I wrote on the box.

My mother would have been so proud.
:-)




Happy Thanksgiving!
And if you want to pick up a game, you know what my screen name is: f8hasit. With a little f. Someone out there has taken it with a capital F...but that ain't me. :-)

I love Halloween.

I love the season it’s in, I love decorating the house, I love the costumes, I love the idea of playing dress up. We’re big dress up costume people year round in this house. If anyone ever needs a costume, for Halloween or otherwise, they usually call here first.


And chances are I have it, I can make it, or I can find it.
All I need is an idea…and I run with it.

My daughter a few years ago was going with a group of friends for trick or treat. They gathered at Chloes house for a tete-a-tete to figure out what indeed they would be. They poured over the most recent costume catalogs. “We can pick out whatever you want.” Chloe exclaimed, “my mom will buy them for us!”

My daughter, although enthralled with all the costumes, immediately replied, “My mother would never allow me to wear a store bought costume. Never.”

Smart girl.
And she's right.

It’s true. My thought is you can buy ‘things’ to make or go with the costume, props and such…but going to Target or Sears and picking something up? That uses no imagination. Isn’t that what Halloween costumes are about? Using your imagination?

There are several costumes that I’ve seen over the years that I thought were brilliant. Some are outstanding just because of the attention to detail in bringing a costume to life. Others are because of the wit behind the get up.

I remember one year having a party and Pete came with a head band that read “Go Pete!”. He was wearing medals around his neck and a jacket made of sponges. He carried a book around that he showed to everyone titled “All about Pete”. What was he? Why, the self absorbed man.

Brilliant.

This past Halloween I went to a party and the host had the most elaborate costume with full duster coat, leather gloves, eel skin boots –with spurs mind you, AND a Stetson royal flush hat complete with playing cards tucked into the silver concho band. He had an intricate latex mask of a skull. What was he? Death.

Very cool. Well done, my friend. Kudos to Death.

Guys costumes are usually pretty straightforward. But I don’t understand the trend in the costumes that the girls are wearing. Not the little girls like my daughters age or her peers, but the adults. Going to an adult costume party does not mean that you need to buy your costume at Fredericks of Hollywood.

I was astounded by the amount of fishnet hose, corsets/ bustiers, platform stilettos and ruffled panties. Each outfit seemed to have at least 3 of the 4 and some went even further in pushing the envelope. I didn’t realize that the queen of hearts from Alice in Wonderland had such a low cut top that when bending over her breasts would fall out. Not to mention that her uber short skirt and sheer panties, her outfit pretty much left nothing to the imagination. And she was not a runway model by any means. She was quite the ample girl. I just didn’t get it.

And her friends? They all had that same slutty mindset. Alice in Wonderland - Same outfit…fishnets, stilettos, ruffled panties and major pushup bra throwing her boobs into our faces and drinks. A pirate'ess- again, more of the same but this time with boots that I didn’t even know came that high, or tops that low. Uh, matey...your nipple has fallen into my drink.

There were in attendance all the cliché costumes. The French maid, the pussy cat, the playboy bunny, the belly dancer, the nurse, the naughty schoolgirl, the sexy nanny, the police woman....the prostitute. Yup, they were all there.

Sure, there were a few of us that had on more traditional garb. In that I mean I donned a turtleneck to go with my black angel of death outfit. Or Brookes kitshky white sheet ghost costume. Even the Bride of Frankenstien, which was fabulous, didn't have to expose tons of flesh to look wonderful...and sexy.

As I stood there assessing the costumes that the women were wearing, I started to wonder. Why is it that Halloween, for women, has become a time to get your slut on? I don’t get it? It didn't always be this way. Just because it’s an ‘adult’ party does not mean that you need to dress like an ‘adult entertainer’. This was not the playboy mansion. Our host was not Hugh Hefner. And we were not at a club.

Hell, earlier in the day I was down at Edgewater Yacht Club for their annual kids ‘trunk or treat’. Some of the members get really into it and decorate their cars for the event. There are those that even get dressed up. But the lady parked next to us was dressed with long blond wig, fish net hose, short French maid outfit and heels…at 1:00 in the afternoon for a CHILDRENS costume party. Really? And honey…look at your drivers’ license. Your 62. AND perhaps 40 pounds too heavy for that outfit to begin with. Uhmmm. Can you say ‘Inappropriate’?

There was a documentary shown at the Sundance Film Festival this year that won awards. And for good reason. It was recently aired on the Oprah Network and has a Facebook page. I believe the director, Jennifer Siebel Newsom, has her finger on the pulse of what’s happening. This isn’t about Halloween and the lack of inspiration for appropriate costuming. It’s about the media and how young girls and men perceive themselves and what they feel is the norm, or expected.

When we are constantly barraged with sex, from every standpoint, it’s no wonder that the Queen of Hearts thought her outfit was fitting. Darlin', it was TOO fitting. Trust me.

The documentary is called Miss Representation. (see the trailer here) It’s fantastic.

“In a society where media is the most persuasive force shaping cultural norms, the collective message that our young women and men overwhelmingly receive is that a woman’s value and power lie in her youth, beauty, and sexuality, not in her capacity as a leader.”

Watching this film really got me to thinking about these girls dressed in their hooker outfits and what they really must think about themselves. I do believe that we, as women, are extremely influenced by media. The magazines, the catalogs, the movies. Who doesn’t want to look like a Victorias Secret model? But what is the cost?

When I was a manager at VS I found it amazing how men coming in the store would talk to us. Making sexual based comments when we would ask what they were in shopping for.

“You know, something to make my girl sexy…like you.” he said as he obviously checked me out from top to bottom.

Brushing the comment aside and trying to be polite and proffesional I asked, “is there a specific color or item you have interest in?”

“Red. Red is sexy. And slippery. I like slippery...Like silk or something.”

Alright, got it.
I steered him over towards the satin chemise’s. They are always a big seller at that price and I could add on other things to go with it depending on his input.

“What size do you think she is?”  I asked. Always a loaded question but one that you need to know to go forward. I’d almost cringe immediately after asking because you know that that's when they would look stare at you, stare at your breasts, hold out their hands like about to grab melons and say “About this big.” Or “Her tits are bigger/smaller/same as yours.”

Yeah. Amazing, huh? And a completely true story.

Many times after work the girls would go out for a drink before heading home. I loved the gals I worked with…still do! Our uniform was to wear a black suit. Didn’t matter if it was a skirt, or pants or what you wore or didn’t underneath it…just as long as it was a black suit. When we’d walk in an establishment it was pretty much known that we were the VS girls. It was like the girls in the Robert Palmer video “Addicted to Love”, heads would turn and the men would flock around us like WE were the supermodels. It was really weird.

I work for VS.
I am not in the catalog.
I am not your fantasy dream girl.

I do, however, own a lot of their lingerie…perk of the business. I am STILL after all these years pulling out of my drawers bras and panties that I bought that still have the tags on them. Thank goodness too since I like the old construction and material to the new one!

I’m a not a big womens libber or anything, but I was raised with the notion that there is nothing that I can not do…just because I’m a woman. I’ve lived by that statement my dad made to me at a very young age my whole life. I’m strong. I’m capable. I’m fierce.

I like to look good. I like to feel sexy.
But I am a very capable and smart woman too. I can’t, nor do I wish to, live any other way. I’m not going to be the one saying “Honey, I can’t get this…can you do it for me?” while batting my eyelashes and twirling my hair. Chances are that I’ll have figured out a way to accomplish my goal before I would even think about asking for help.

That being said, you can place a safe bet that it will not be me you find at a Halloween party displaying my goods. You want to see them? You’ve got to earn that right. Now granted, I’m not about to don an unattractive outfit, but I think one can look fabulous without all the low cut, up to there gear!

“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” – Alice Walker.

So what is really up with the kinky, racy, naughty outfits?

Personally, I don’t think that wearing itsy bitsy costumes brings out anything fierce in a woman. It leaves precious little to the imagination and feminine mystic. I understand that Halloween costumes are a chance to don another persona for a short time, but is that to say that every womans other self is a whore? Say it isn’t so.

Halloween in America has become a 5 billion dollar industry. And the media drives it, so all those little outfits bought? It just feeds the machine that continues to demean. And women have bought into it. The costumes used to be bought for private role play and bedroom use…now it seems everyone has deemed them appropriate for public wear.

I took another glance around at those at the party. I shook my head and I vowed that if one more girl walked in the door with one of these get-ups on, I would have to spew my drink....
THAT would have been a horrible trick.

What are your thoughts?
As women? And as guys?
…enlighten me.

:-)

I’ve been bad. I've been very bad.

Well, not in the normal sense of the word. I’ve been good really. Very, very good. But I’ve still been bad.

I’ve neglected my blog. I’ve neglected my blog reading. I’ve neglected my bloggy friends. And I am sorry.

I have been writing. I just haven’t been posting.

The other day I was on Facebook. Yes, I know…the ultimate usurper of time. It doesn’t help that I have the app on my phone. Thank goodness I had the sense to turn off notifications pr I might not get anything accomplished. However I would know when Chrissy was stalking the Home Depot paint counter…again. Lots of people have been complaining about the new interface that Facebook has. I kindof like it so haven’t entered into that arena of conversation. I personally like that little ticker on the right for updates and the section that gives you the ‘people you may know’.  Most times they aren't people I know, or perhaps people I have known and don't care to know now and then surprise, surpirse! today that little box showed a name and face of someone that I hadn't thought about it awhile. There it was! A bloggy friend from across the pond.

My mind jumped and I smiled at the computer screen. “No! Can it be? Matthew!”

I found Matthew by accident a little over two years ago. One day early on with Blogger I was clicking the ‘next blog’ tab. I was new to the whole blogging experience, didn’t have any followers and wasn’t following anyone myself except for Chrissy who got me into the whole damn thing. I was entertained by what would come across my computer screen. Some blogs were in languages I didn’t even know existed, some were on topics that I had no interest in, some were just online photo albums so Auntie Gam and Uncle Ed could see how big the twins were getting. But one more click brought me to AbodeOneThree.

He stopped blogging a little while back, took some time for himself. I used to go and check...sneak in to see if indeed he truly had. He DID announce that he was shutting it down, but I didn't want to believe that he would, so I would check. He was a man of his word and nothing new would appear. And one day I just stopped checking. So imagine my surprise to see his name. And then to find that he IS writing again! (However...he didn't renew the domain name AbodeOneThree and someone snatched it up. He is current;y under the moniker of ReloadAbode-which you can click on and find here...)

Sometimes I ponder on how amazing the effect of “coincidence”. Is there truly a thing of coincidence? Is it really fate in some other form? Is it destiny? What IS it, exactly.

I’m a believer in free will. I always have been. I like to have a certain amount of control over my life. Oh sure, there are times that I’ve not had any control and hand my fate and happiness over to others. THIS practice has not turned out well for me in the few times I’ve done it. Note to self: I am my own captain. This is MY ship. I’m at the helm. And double note: DO NOT EVER FORGET THAT.

I never thought of myself as a control freak, but the other day during a small dissagreement my ex-husband told me that I was. Personally, I think that he was just trying to push my buttons and wind me up, which it did, but his comment got me to thinking about control, free will and coincidence. How much of my life do I really control? I find that in my life ‘things’ happen that I have no control over, some things I force into being and others…well, who knows. I’m still on the fence whether those things actually happened or if it’s was just some huge conspiracy to make me believe that they did.

Was it coincidence or fate that brought me to AbodeOneThree? Was it fate that landed his blog on my computer screen? Was it fate or coincidence that by reading HIS blog I strove to be a better writer myself which in turn gave me many followers? And was it coincidence that made me write this post today after seeing his name 6 hours ago? The many followers then became friends of sorts. Many of whom I’ve never met, but feel a connection to just the same. Is it fate, coincidence or destiny that two of my followers, Jules and Carlos, who live in different countries altogether are now a couple because they were both followers of my blog? Is it coincidence that when I am in need someone or something just pops in and takes care of it? Or is it fate that I met this man whom I really enjoy on the anniversary of my breaking it off with my old boyfriend? He whom I met the day that my ex-husband was getting married? Is that me that is controlling these things, or is it a destiny of sorts…

After his comment, I had to look the actual definition of ‘control freak” up in Random House. It’s answer: “to exercise restraint or direction over; dominate; command…To hold in check; curb.: it’s origin is the Latin “contra” meaning “against” and “rotula” (wheel), indicating movement. So essentially – control means to move against. The exact origin of freak is not known, but possibly can be traced back to the old English “frician” which means “to dance”. To put this all together then, we could say the control freaks are those who “command the dance” or those who “move against the dance”.

Maybe I am in a way a control freak. I DO like things the way I like them. I would rather drive than be a passenger. I feel more comfortable when I know where it is I’m going…so I plan ahead and map things out. I like being on time. And like it even better if I’m early. One way to stress me out is to be late meeting me for a tee time…I’ll be the one jumping about from foot to foot looking like I have to use the toilet simultaneously looking at her watch every 5 seconds! And I AM one hell of dancer that commands the dance. So do those things make me control frenzied?

I also did a Google search just to see if there were lists of signs and symptoms control freaks. Then I thought…”Wow. Is this being too controlled researching control?” Yikes. All this thinking about control is making my head spin. And the list? Yowzer…look at the list!

You might be a control freak if you are:
Preoccupied with negligible details?
Want to present the “right” appearance?
Fail to let go of unfortunate details from the past?
In ‘work mode’ while not at work?
Huff, rage and/or pout when you don’t get your own way?
Critical of others or yourself?
Concerned that others may do things “wrong”?
Attempt to get another person to change?
Feel paralysed to act because you might not get it “just right”?
Tell others how they should live?
Feel uncomfortable if you don’t’ get the last word?

As I was reading through, I was nodding my head in agreement “Yup”, or nodding in dis-agreement “N.O. with a capital on both!” or tilting my head from one shoulder to the other “Well- it’s all in the interpretation….see.”

I mean, I DO like details. And schedules. But I can roll with it, I just like a plan. It keeps me in my comfort zone. I prefer to be knowledgable or have knowledge of stuff so I’m not caught by surprise. MacGyver would be proud. Present the right appearance? Sure. I’m not about to show up to a black tie affair in a pair of cut-offs, or a wake in a low cut red dress. You probably know me well enough by now to know that I probably wouldn’t WEAR a low cut red dress anyway, but you get the idea.

How about details from the past? Sure sometimes. It’s hard not to! If you were me you’d still hold a little grudge against someone who daily judged you and withheld physical and emotional love all the while taking everything you had and gave with nothing given in return. But I don’t consider it dwelling… I consider thinking of it as a warning to myself so I will never, ever be in that predicament again. It’s a good thing.

Work mode? Bah. That’s my parents fault. THEY taught me work ethics. And again, it’s good. My home is always ready if guests arrive. Huff and rage? No way. Critical of others? Guilty. But YOU would have criticized that gal at the Bier Market too if you’d seen what she was wearing! And of myself? Not too much. There’s always room for improvement. One more lunge set couldn’t hurt. But no…I’m now on the top of my game: emotionally, physically and mentally.

Yes, yes, no, no and well yeah, maybe.

As I finished with my nodding and taking notes I realized that I didn’t WANT to be considered a control freak. There is such negative connotations with that phrase and yet as I’m bobbing my head to the beat of the sentences, I guess maybe I am. A little. But that would mean my ex-husband was right?! That I am? Oh boy. THAT in and of itself could land me into more therapy sessions if I actually subscribed to the practice.

Recently I hung a board on the wall in my daughters room next to her bed. It looks like a big shiny opaque glass sheet but it’s a dry erase board and it’s magnectic. I like to sneak a peak at it from tine to time to see what she’s put on it. Photos are posted, like the one of her above; quotes and sayings floating around her group of friends at school; names of some of her 'besties'...you know, little pre-teen girl stuff.

The other day she added in bold letters: “I wasn’t born perfect. I was born my SELF.” Pretty cool statement from a pretty cool kid. I love that. Maybe I'll turn her statement into a self mantra or tattoo it on my arm so I won’t forget. 'Cuz I like it. She's got a great attitude and view.

No. I don’t think I’m a control freak. I just like a reasonable amount of control. It’s more of a responsibility thing, something that I've aquired over the years. That and knowing I’m just in a position now that I know what it is I want and know how I should be treated by those around me. My friend Harlan left me amessage the other day on the one year anniversary of my kicking shithead out of my home...he said "Yea is right nancy and BRAVO! You found the self respect to demand the same in return adn you deserve to settle for not ONE IOTA short of that!" If I’m not agreeable it’s probably because I’m now learning that I don’t have to bend to others demands or wishes. I AM Helen Ready singing “I am woman”.

And this woman, whether a control freak or not, has had one hell of a summer. (and early fall...)

I apologize for not sharing that with you earlier. I bought a picture at an art fair this summer that reads “Life is a Daring Adventure or Nothing.” Something about it spoke to me. Was it coincidence that I found it? Or divine placement of something that I needed to see. Whatever you want to call it, I like it.

Yes. Guilty. I’ve been bad. I’ve been gone. I’ve been away.

But I’ve been living an adventure. MY adventure.
It's been pretty awesome.

And look-y here! I’ve lived to write about it! You can thank Facebook for that too. Because I wrote this after I saw Matthews name on that little sidebar of 'people you may know'. See how this works?

Coincidence?
Bah. It’s kismet.
:-)


Footnote: Thanks you Matthew for your silent inspiration! It feels good to be back amongst my friends...

My daughters most loved shoes.