DirtRockAngie

World Portrait Day

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Mon, 09 Dec 2013 04:27:00 +0000

When I agreed to help my photographer sister do a charity event, I had no idea how exhausting but also rewarding it would be.

A few weeks ago she asked me if I would join her in a Help Portrait event. I had never heard of such a thing, but the more I heard about it, the more it sounded like something I wanted to help with. What an idea! To take pictures of families that have fallen on hard times and give them the benefit of a free portrait of their family for Christmas. They do these events across the world and our little community was a part of it. It's a nice feeling to do something so small, that's a part of something big. Not just across the world big, but emotionally big. My job was just to hold things, make sure collars were down, hair falling straight and wrangling this tiny Christmas tree backdrop, but in spite of such a small part, I know that the event would not have been as successful if it weren't for each person's small part. From the person doing crafts with the young ones, to the salon stylists making everyone look pretty, to the assistants printing the photos, all contributed to a wonderful day.

I have to say that I really just thought of it as a "good idea" or a "nice thing to do". But, then I watched women, who came into the salon with shoulders hunched, hair hastily pulled back in a knot, and tired circles under their eyes, sit down in the salon chair with a sigh. The hospitality assistants ushering the kids over to the craft table and playing with the children while mom then underwent a transformation. Mom could relax knowing her children were occupied and as her makeup went on and the hair magic was done, her shoulders began to come up and her back straightened. Suddenly, she was the strong confident woman that we all knew she was. The pride in her children as they were herded in a pose surrounding her was amazing to me. I didn't expect to see something like that.
I didn't expect to feel my own pride in taking part in the event.

It was a great feeling. As one of my sister's friends said to her, it's amazing to think that you were a part of something that will be a part of someone's family memory. They will have this portrait for who knows how long and I was a part of that. It's a pretty amazing feeling.

As of 11p on 12-8-13

Hear ye, hear ye!

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Thu, 03 Oct 2013 03:11:00 +0000

My question to the internet masses is this,

What makes you think I give a rip about your political opinion?

I love gossip. I've never shied from that fact about myself. I do enjoy watching people bicker (as long as it's not with me), break up and get back together, go on trips, talk about their kids, vent about traffic, blast the weather and just in general tell how they are doing. Now I'm not saying that when I turn on my computer and pull up my Facebook newsfeed that I enjoy the blow by blow day someone is having. Don't get me started on that, I'll have to save it for another post. I think there's a limit to information that a person should share with the general public, because let's face it, half the people on our Facebook pages as friends are not our close friends, they are people we know from a job we had 10 years ago, or that we met through a silly online game - the general public.

With all this influx of information, the one thing I cannot stand is the onslaught of political opinion that floods my newsfeed whenever some political figure does something that at least half the "general public" thinks is wrong, stupid, unlawful, unfair, or a lie. It can be either side, Republican or Democrat, either side will leap to judge or defend, it doesn't matter which. I just can't get what makes any of them think that they can change my opinion by anything they post on Facebook. Why must I have to listen to the endless droning? Where are the harmless jokes? Where are the thought provoking quotes? Lost. Lost in this hail storm of hate. Yes, I said "hate". That's how it looks to me. Hate that I'd rather not have shoved down my throat on any given day. You, "general public", force my hand. I must hide you from my newsfeed. Sorry. Now you may spew your animosity without my knowledge. Have fun, for you will not catch me jumping on to your little hatred train.

My mother always said "Angel, you don't hate anything, you just strongly dislike it." Well, I strongly dislike all these posts and can't wait for something else to happen to begin a new subject for statuses. If something doesn't happen soon, I'll have nothing left but products advertising on my newsfeed.

Haunting Melody

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Sat, 24 Aug 2013 23:04:00 +0000

Certain things remind me of my mother.

I knew there would be things that would be hurdles to get over, like walking into the Wal-mart where my mom had worked for years. That was one of the hardest and I still avoid some of the people she worked with. I don't think they realize that just talking to them hurts and that it reminds me that she's not here. I walk into the store to simply buy paper plates and come out a blubbering idiot, but I had expected that to be tough.

I knew that the first trip to Downtown Disney after she had passed would be difficult. She loved it there. It was the Disney experience without spending a fortune and had wonderful places to eat, too! It's really hard to think of Disney without remembering my mom. She was a child at heart, loved all the characters and Disney in general. I can't look at an Eeyore figurine or a Thumper toy and not think of her. This one is still hard.

I knew that watching the movies on the Hallmark channel would always remind me of her as well. I can't watch a Love Comes Softly saga movie without thinking of how much she loved those movies and Janet Oke's books. Sometimes, I avoid those channels for fear that those movies will be playing.

But what I didn't know or realize was how much music was going to affect me.

Music.

One of my most favorite things. Music has always had a way of calming me or exciting me. It has been a constant in my life, in fact, almost every memory has a song attached to it. And now, here I am, every time I turn around, there's a song that has me sobbing because I remember how much my mom loved it. Some drives into work are the hardest because it's too long in the car with my thoughts and just the radio for company. It really shouldn't have come as a surprise to me, I suppose, since one of my earliest memories is sitting on the armrests in my mom's old station wagon listening to a Don Williams 8-track tape, belting out "Coffee black, save the rest", which after I got older, I realized he was really saying "Coffee black, cigarette" but mom never corrected me. She just let me belt out whatever I wanted along with the music. I remember riding home from Grandma's house as a teenager and my mom actually listening to Kix "Don't Close Your Eyes". I thought, "Wow, my mom is cool, she likes hair band music". I remember introducing her to Gary Allan's "Smoke Rings in the Dark" and I think we played it at least 5 times in a row in the car on the way from the store after buying the album. I remember playing a Matchbox 20 CD, I had just bought, over and over while sitting in the airport rental car parking lot waiting for them to open so we could return the car we had rented and she didn't mind. She simply said "these guys aren't half bad". I remember dragging her with me to Orlando to a Josh Groban Fan Meet and Greet - several times. In fact, I bought tickets for her to go to a Josh Groban concert with me, but she wasn't able to go. I wish she could've gone with me.
There are so many songs and so many stories that go with them that there are far too many to mention in one blog post. Suffice it to say, music had a huge place in my life with my mom.

I'm reminded of her often.

I've decided that whenever I hear these songs on the radio, television or over a store intercom that it's just her way of saying, "Hello, my Angel, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay, Mom. Not great, but okay. I miss you."

Crap, or not crap?

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Mon, 28 Jan 2013 01:47:00 +0000

I have a Target gift card that I want to use but I don't want to use it on everyday items. I want to use it on something I could consider a gift. When I give someone a gift card, I expect them to buy themselves something they would like, that I wouldn't necessarily come up with on my own, I don't want them to spend it on toilet paper, shampoo or groceries. In effort to practice what I preach, I've been on a quest to buy myself something I like at Target with this gift card of mine.

I was wandering the book aisle today trying to find a book worthy of my gift card.

I picked up several paperbacks, all good choices, I'm sure, but I can get them cheaper on my nook, or off the rack at work a few weeks from now when someone discards it. I put them back on the shelf.
I picked up Beautiful Creatures, another series I've been hearing about being "the next Twilight". I read the first 10 pages, but put it back on the shelf. I'm not sure if I'm ready for another "just like Twilight" book. Every time someone tells me a book is just as good, or better, I'm always disappointed. I wish people would leave "Twilight" out of it so that I could go into it with no expectations.

As I was pondering this whole expectation conundrum I have, I turned a corner and couldn't believe what I saw.

Seriously?

UGH! WHY?? Why must people continue to ride on a previous star's coat tails?
Granted, I did get a chuckle out of the play on the author name, but then I just had to cringe. I will also give the author kudos for going a different direction with this book in the fact that it's a cookbook and not just another novel with a suspiciously familiar storyline.
I just keep wondering, when will this Fifty Shades trend end?

If you're curious about the book, Barnes & Noble has an excerpt, that I must admit was rather funny.
The only problem is, I'm not sure I could eat what I had made using the recipes after reading the chicken's "thoughts" on the page.
Just something wrong about that.

Motherly Inspiration

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Sat, 29 Dec 2012 04:36:00 +0000

I've been toying with a couple of story ideas in my head the last few days.
I'm not sure which one I'll end up tackling first, if any of them.

The one just blaring in my ears is my mother's story. It keeps sort of calling to me. I don't know enough about the solid facts of her life to write what would pass as an autobiography, but I'm thinking. I'm thinking I could make a really great story based on some events of her life and when possible, throw in some of the stories she's told me over the years, with names changed to protect the not so innocent.

Is it arrogant to think that I could do ANY of my mom's story justice? Is it foolish to think that my mother's limited life could make any kind of scintillating reading? Is it cheating?
I honestly think I could. I think her life could be interesting and many women could relate to much of her story. I think my mom would be flattered and would tell me to do it, that it's not cheating, that it's simply telling a story, and isn't that what all writers do?
I've always been told that I'm a great storyteller when it comes to sitting around a table telling each other about our insignificant lives, why wouldn't I be able to tell her story even better in the written word?

Why don't you do it?

Those are the words I can hear my mom saying.

Mom, I'm listening.

Sweet Memories

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Sat, 10 Nov 2012 06:17:00 +0000

Today would have been my mom's 68th birthday.
I'm awfully sad that I didn't get to celebrate it with her.
I miss her something fierce. When she moved to Ohio, I thought I would never get used to her not being here in our house everyday. I thought I would never get used to not seeing her crooked smile. Not hearing her sighs of "Oh, Good Grief, Angel." I thought I would never get used to Birthdays, Thanksgiving or Christmas without her here. But I did. I missed her with each occasion. I missed her but I could still call her and talk to her. I could wish her a "Happy Birthday", "Happy Thanksgiving" and a "Merry Christmas" and still hear her chuckle and say she loved me.
I miss her voice. I miss just knowing she was there.

I'm trying to focus on my good memories for her birthday today. I was talking to a friend the other day and she told me that there was something I had shared with her that had always stuck with her. "Oh? Me? I had something profound to say?"
I talk a lot. I admit it. I talk a lot about a lot of random things. I share lots of things that it doesn't occur to me that people don't usually share. It's probably why people share odd things with me in return. One day we were talking about furniture, for whatever reason, and I had mentioned this big clunky furniture we had when I was a teenager, around the age of 15 or so. It was big sturdy wooden furniture that had these massive wooden arms. I don't think anyone in the family really liked the furniture once we got it. It wasn't very comfortable and you definitely couldn't slouch or lie down on it without a wooden corner poking at you. No one liked it, but me. The reason I liked it was not what you'd think. The reason I liked it is because I could sit on one arm of the chair, or rocking chair, and stretch my legs to the other side while my mom was sitting there. I'd long grown past the age of sitting in my mother's lap or being rocked, but I still indulged and she let me. Sometimes she would rock me in the rocking chair and hum. It was like going back in time to when I was little. Teenage years are brutal. They are hard to get through, no matter what generation you are a part of, but somehow, I think, those few moments spent in her arms helped me to get through those years. I told this to my friend. She said it really made her think and now when her girls want to climb up in her lap (they aren't teenagers but they aren't tiny any more either) she says she lets them. She makes sure she takes a moment to let them just sit in her lap and BE. I think that's the sort of legacy my mother would love to know she has left behind.

My mom always said that if she had no other accomplishments in life she wanted to make sure that her children were happy and that they knew they were loved. I have no doubts in my mind that I was truly loved, but this grief has taken a lot of my happy away. I'm trying to regain it because I know that's what she would want. I know that she would want me to keep going and not mourn her overlong, but for the moment, if she's watching me, I hope she's content in knowing that I'm working on it.

"One of these days..."

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Fri, 02 Nov 2012 20:50:00 +0000

Can someone wake me when 2012 is over?

It started out as an okay year. Nothing too exciting, but non exciting is not a bad thing. Too much excitement gives me heartburn anyway.

I had a few car issues and we had a few air conditioning mishaps. Nothing to write home about or get all in a tizzy over. Annoying for sure. But handle-able.

In July, we realized our front yard was underwater and for once, it wasn't raining. UHOH. Horror of horrors, the darn well was broken. How can a well be broken? Easily. Now, I don't know much about wells, I just know when I turn my faucet on, water should come out. I know that they are deep and ours should've always been deeper than it was. I've lived many years in this house with hard water, but again, it was tolerable. Not preferable but tolerable. We lived for 7 weeks without running water. I was beginning to feel like I had gone back in time and should be wearing a bonnet as I lugged in gallon jugs of water. In the beginning we were able to get our water from the pump on our property, but after a while we began to flood the yard so we would take late night trips up to the BP station that had a spigot off the side of the building. We would back our car up to the side and fill up endless bottles of water. It wasn't preferable, but tolerable.

Just when I thought we were all about to lose our minds, we found a way, thanks to a truly wonderful and generous friend, to have a new well drilled. During the last week of our water woes, my mother and step-father came to visit from Ohio. I was so happy to see my mom.

Mom had a "mini" stroke earlier this year. She could no longer read and she was having a few memory issues. She had mixed up her medicines and was refusing to eat meat. My sister straightened out her meds and put her on a diet of foods she liked and also needed to eat. She began to improve quite a bit. We tried to find things she could do instead of reading, the one thing she had truly always loved to do. (I truly inherited my love of the library and books from her.) We encouraged her to color with us hoping that the exercising of her brain would help her improvement.

We gathered some art supplies because she'd always been a great artist, even though she truly never realized how talented she was. I had hoped that she would stay for quite a while, unfortunately, her visit was over far too soon and she went back to Ohio despite our protests.

I knew she wasn't really ready to go home. I knew that she was not doing as well as I wanted to believe. I knew this, but I preferred to bury my head in the sand.

When I received the call from my sister that she'd just gotten the news that my mother was in the hospital and not doing well, I froze. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. We were told to get there as fast as we could if we wanted to say goodbye. I booked the first flight I could get which wasn't until the following morning and I prayed I would make it there on time.

By the time I arrived, she was essentially gone. Only the machines were keeping her alive. A purely desolate feeling washed over me. I wasn't ready. I didn't get to say good-bye. I was asked to give permission to turn off the machines and I couldn't do it. As I held her hand and pretended she was holding mine, I wished for things I would have said, or done. I wished for things I was not going to get the chance to do with her. I pretended she was squeezing my hand when the blood pressure cuff would turn on and cause a slight reflex. I sat there and prayed my brothers would arrive soon and take the responsibility from my shoulders of giving that final order.

I spent some time sitting on a bench outside pondering life and why do we love? Why do we love just to have to say good-bye?

I never imagined a hurt so deep. I never imagined a heartache that will never seem to ease.

When my brothers arrived and said their good-byes we agreed as a group to turn off the machines and to let go of the beautiful sweet woman I called mom. I never imagined how my heart would feel as if a piece had been yanked from it. I never imagined the pain.

Over the next few days, I went through the motions of helping to plan the funeral, sort through some of her things and wished with every other breath that it was all a dream that I'd wake up from soon.

I want to believe that she truly is still with me. I know that she is never far from my thoughts and as I write this with tears in my eyes, I'd like to believe that she is here beside me watching me, patting me on the back telling me "It's okay, everything's going to be alright."

I really am having a hard time with finding the reason in all of this. The pain of this loss makes me want to close myself off and not love anyone. She was an easy person to love. You couldn't help yourself.

Why can't we live forever? Why do we have to get old? Why do we have to leave those we love behind? Why do we have to say good-bye at all?

"I'll be gone like a wayward wind, one of these days." The words of one of her favorite songs we used to belt out together in the darkness of her room late at night keep coming to mind. "There'll be peace of mind for me, one of these days." I know she has her peace, but I can't seem to find mine.

This I find unbearable.

This I find quite intolerable.

I'm waiting for "one of these days" when it doesn't hurt quite so much.

50 Shades of Crap

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Sun, 06 May 2012 05:47:00 +0000

The newest craze.

There's been quite a buzz about a new book series, 50 Shades of Grey by EL James. Apparently, this book has been all over the morning news shows and various other programs. Dr. Oz has even mentioned the book in one of his shows. Supposedly, this book is breaking ground with it's subject matter. Women all over are learning about themselves and it's transforming their sex lives.

I'm not a watcher of Dr. Oz, or the morning shows, but I am an avid reader. My news-watching-Dr. Oz- loving-friends asked if I had read the book, as they were curious what my thoughts on it were. They were surprised to know I hadn't even heard of the book before. They told me that this book has been said to be the "Twilight" for grown women. I heard that this book was "HOT", as in the sex scenes were supposed to be really something else.

My interest was peaked.

I found the book on the Barnes & Noble site and paused. It was $10 for the first book and the reviews were all bad. Did I really want to spend $10 on something that no one but the talk show circuit liked?

I decided to "borrow" it.

I tried to keep an open mind. Honest. I did.

I tried to ignore the eighth grade level sentence structure and elementary character building, this was, after all, this author's first book.

I tried to ignore the use of "crap" as an expletive...until I couldn't anymore. My borrowed copy of this book was a pdf format, so I counted. The word "crap" was used as an expletive 93 times and 2 times as a regular adjective. In 513 pages. A bit excessive.

I could ignore that, possibly, if the rest of the writing didn't read like the novice erotica novellas that I've seen on various blogs. I couldn't ignore the fact that the sex scenes were better written than the rest of the book. It was as if the writer wrote 50 sex scenes and then built the somewhat less than scintillating story around those.

Midway through the book I found that this book had actually been a piece of fan-fiction for Twilight.

Here again I'm seeing the word "Twilight" associated with this book, which of course put my antenna up. I started noticing things within the book that were written almost the same or mimicked scenes in Twilight.

I have to be honest here, fan-fiction is something that has always annoyed me. I understand the want to carry on side stories or even a different kind of ending to a favorite book. I understand falling in love with well-written characters so much that you want them to be real people and the only way to make them seem real is to write your own stories in your head about them. Key words: IN YOUR HEAD. DO NOT steal another writer's children. Be brave enough to come up with your own characters and their own background. Be brave enough to depart from a story enough to make it truly your own. When your main character has all the same physical characteristics as another story except for some sparkles, it just smacks of plagiarism to me. Granted, 50 Shades of Grey is not about a sparkling vampire, but it may as well be. It might have been much more entertaining if it had.

Speaking of plagiarism, I also found lines that sounded suspiciously like those found in "Pretty Woman" and also Pride and Prejudice. It's very disconcerting as an aspiring writer to read something so poorly written and know that this person made a ton of cash off of a piece of trash, basically, because of the very tenuous relationship to Twilight.

"Standing on the shoulders of giants, leaves me cold", the truthfulness of that song lyric has never been so clear to me.

I'm a writer.

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 03:21:00 +0000

I am a writer.
That’s what I like to call myself.

Lately, I haven’t been writing, so how can I call myself a writer?
Life has gotten in the way. I haven’t had time to sit down and organize thought enough to make any sort of sense whatsoever.
That’s what I like to tell myself.

But, oh how I’ve found time to gain 35 pounds over the past year. I’ve also found time to NOT be in class since April of last year. I’ve found time to read more books than I can count. I’ve found time to go to Disney at least six times over the past year. I’ve had a lot of fun this past year.
That’s what I have convinced myself.

I’ve had too much on my mind. I’ve been dealing with a job I hate. A job that saps me of any creativity. I’ve been dealing with the disappointment of not being able to find my way out of that job. I have had a lot of stress trying to fight my way back to school and into USF. I have been busy getting my health back in order, since every level imaginable is all out of wack. It’s important for me to figure out this job thing, get back in class and of course, get my health in shape.
This I’ve decided for myself.

I need to just sit down and concentrate. Revive those creative brain cells. I know they are there. I just have to find them. Once I’ve found them, I have to nurture them back to health. They’ve been so neglected. Those poor creative brain cells have been so mistreated that the other day, when I was assisting with a letter of complaint, I was actually enjoying myself. Putting word to paper and making the sentences dance across the page and wrap around ones brain, even though the context was not pleasant, the feeling of writing was blissful. I could feel those little creative brain cells waking up and blinking bleary eyes at me, asking “where have you been?”. I’ve been here. I’ve just been distracted.
This I know about myself.

I am a writer.

It's about dang time!

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 04:12:00 +0000

FINALLY.
It's really hard for me to believe that I have actually got an AA in hand.
Really.
I keep waiting for it to be a mistake. Like I'll get a call from the school telling me that I'm really missing some credits and I need to bring back the certificate they sent me. Isn't that awful?
I must also go on record and say that the LOOK of the certificate was a little disappointing. I was significantly UNDERwhelmed. I think that my high school diploma had more character with a little bit of embossing and a picture of the school silhouetted in the background. This was a plain piece of paper. What's that about?? But then again, I suppose most AA's do not take 12 years like a high school diploma, that's just me. Ack!
Just the same, I'm so unbelievably happy to now be able to check that box when asked "Last completed education". Associates - check! and bypass that salt in the wound "some college" box. Argh. That has really got to be the worst one. Some fellow with PhD after his name is undoubtably responsible for it, the jerk.
Now it's "what's next?"
I keep getting asked this question.
Believe me, it is OH SO VERY tempting to stop now. BUT, there is even more of a push to keep going. I don't want to stop here. This is just one more step on this journey to being free of the accounting/finance world. How ever in the world I ended up there is beyond me!! Not that I'm knocking a good paying job that some people would think was the best thing since refrigerators, but it's just not ME. I don't think in numbers. I think in words. Words are like food to me. I need them or else I'll suffocate under balance sheets, reports and dead nets. UGH! I need beauty in poetry and short stories. I feel like someone who has been thrown a life raft by getting this AA. I'm not out of the water yet, but at least my head is above it. I see a distant shore and I can't wait to get there.
I just pray that the storms are kept way out at sea and don't drag me under.

In the meantime ... I'll just celebrate.

Inspiration Lightening

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 02:47:00 +0000

I have these brief flashes of inspiration to write. They literally are flashes.
It's becoming quite frustrating. I was on a roll for awhile and now I feel like each idea floats past like a whiff of perfume that just barely wafts in front of your nose. You can't quite identify the smell, or who it belonged to. You know it was there, but it wasn't there long enough to even describe.
Frustrating.
It's making me crazy.
I'm used to having an idea and putting it to paper - or word processor - and manipulating it into something. Some times it's something good, sometimes not so good, but at least it's something solid.
I'm not sure if it's being plunged into this world of accounting in this new position that has stunted my creativity, or maybe that my brain is on overload since I'm taking 3 classes this semester instead of 2.
It's like having something on the tip of your tongue constantly. You keep waiting for someone to say that little bit of something that will jumpstart that brief whiff of a thought.
I'm waiting on it. I need some inspiration.

Half-Full...maybe?

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 03:30:00 +0000

I was listening to a song the other day and a particular lyric struck a chord.
"Under every scar there’s a battle I’ve lost"
I thought to myself, that's a very poetic lyric. Kind of cool. Pretty true.

Then I thought some more.

I think of all my visible scars...then I think of all the ones no one can see.
Every harsh experience and every difficult lesson learned. Every physical hit and every hurtful word that was hurled at me. Every childhood wound and every adulthood pain.
I choose to believe that was a battle I've WON.
I survived.
Isn't that winning?
I'll take my scars, those that show and those that don't (or is it just that I THINK they don't show) and I'll hold my head up, I'll raise my fist in triumph and say "That's a battle I have won!"

Seeing Things in a New Way

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 04:05:00 +0000

In my early 20's I decided it was time to ditch the glasses and try and join the real world and get contacts. My sister-in-law, ever the cheer leader, encouraged and loaded me into the car to the eye doctor. We were there for at least an hour (if not longer) while I tried desperately to insert them. I was never successful. By the time I left the office, the doctor, the nurse, Holly and I were worn out and laughing ourselves silly over my futile attempt.

As I've been waking up these past few weeks I've been thinking of it again. The "what if" rears it's head. What if I just tried again? What if I could actually get them in this time? Would it make that big of a difference to me? Would I like them? And again, would I be able to get them in?

I gathered up my courage and made the appointment.

I wondered, how many people wait until they are 37 to get contacts? Would the doctor think I was nuts?

She didn't think I was nuts. She was very sympathetic and understanding. She observed that I'm a "blinker" and that's probably why I had such issues when I tried them before. She taught me a few tricks then thrust me upon the newbie assistant waiting in the hall. I was nervous about my first attempt to do this by myself, but after a couple of swear words and a bit of frustration. I did it.

It's been interesting to say the least. Some people know right off what the difference is. Some just keep giving me this puzzled look as if they can't quite put their finger on what actually is the difference. For me, it's been quite a difference. I liken it to driving a standard shift for over 10 years, I still catch myself going for the clutch or the stick shift. In the same way I find myself reaching up for my glasses. I also feel old when it takes my eyes a moment to shift from far away to close up. I usually cheat with my glasses and kind of peek over the top of them when I'm trying to adjust. Can't quite do that with contacts. My depth perception is completely different with the contacts as well. I suppose that's to be expected when you are used to looking through lenses that are an inch from your eyes versus right ON your eyes. I think the absolute worst part, and I'm not sure if it's just me, or maybe because my prescription is so strong, but when I take my contacts out and then put on my glasses, I get really nauseous. I actually get a little dizzy. It's very odd. Almost like I've just stepped off of a crazy carnival ride.

Despite these things that are making me crazy, I'm enjoying not wearing glasses. I'm getting faster at the insertion and removal, so it's not taking as long in the morning. I like that I can SEE everything and not just through the glass and have blurry edges. I like not having them fog up when I go from the hot outside into the cold air conditioning of a store. I like not sweating around the edges. I'm enjoying looking at things almost as if I had naturally perfect vision. There are lots of pros about contacts, until my allergies rear their ugly head. Then I'd rather go back to the tunnel vision of my glasses any day, that way I can rub the crap out of my eyes with no worries of shoving a contact back into my brain.

Music To My Soul

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Thu, 13 May 2010 04:50:00 +0000

Waking up from my fog.

It's been said that I've been not quite myself for some time now. I think I agree.

I'm not sure exactly when it happened, or if it happened so slowly that I didn't notice. Slowly I began to not really care what was going on around me. I've been going through the everyday motions of life and fooling those that do not know me that well. I've been letting everything keep in motion around me while I've been standing still. I'm not sure if it's my health that put me in this fog or if it's what is responsible for bringing me out. All I know is that suddenly, I'm feeling like the "old" me again.
What caused the awakening of the old me? I'm not sure.
I'm not sure that I care what did it, just that it did.

A couple of weeks ago, after a particularly hard day at both work and home, I was in my car driving and a song came on. One I've heard several times but hadn't really "listened" to. Suddenly, I was crying and chills were running down my arms. This song spoke to me at that particular moment so profoundly that I felt almost as if God had reached down and patted me on my back and said "Hey, it's okay, everything is okay, did you have a nice sleep? It's time to wake up."
Since that day, I've tried to continue this waking up process. I'm trying to be the person I know I can be. The person who cares about everyone around them. The person who cares about themselves as well. The person that enjoys the simple things in life, like a really good song on the radio.

"Hello World, How've you been?
Good to see you my old friend."

Hello World by Lady Antebellum
Traffic crawls, cell phone calls.
Talk radio screams at me
Through my tinted window I see
A little girl, rust red minivan
She's got chocolate on her face
Got little hands, And she waves at me
Yeah, She smiles at me

Hello World
How you been
Good to see you, my old friend
Sometimes I feel, cold as steel
Broken like I'm never gonna heal
I see a light, a little hope
In a little girl
Hello world

Every day I drive by
A little white church
It's got these little white crosses
Like angels in the yard
Maybe I should stop on in
Say a prayer
Maybe talk to God
Like he is there
Oh I know he's there
Yeah, I know he's there

Hello world
How've you been
Good to see you my old friend
Sometimes I feel as cold as steel
And broken like I'm never gonna heal
I see a light, a little grace, little faith unfurled.
Hello world

Sometimes I forget what livin' for
And I hear my life through my front door
And I breathe it in,
Oh I'm home again
I see my wife, little boy, little girl
Hello world
Hello world

All the empty disappears
I remember why I'm here
Just surrender and Believe
I fall down on my knees
Oh hello world
Hello world
Hello world

Remember Me

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 21:32:00 +0000

I watched "Remember Me" at the movies the other day. One of the opening lines is
"Gandhi said that whatever you do in life will be insignificant. But it's very important that you do it. I tend to agree with the first part." said by the main character in the movie who is basically floundering through his life.
This was not a happily ever after movie and normally I will avoid these like the plague. I really didn't realize it was going to be what it was. I am still glad I watched it just for the fact that it made me think.
Think about several things.

Am I doing some aimless wandering? Am I looking for answers to questions that can't even be asked yet? Am I expecting things from other people that I should be happy without? Am I living a life that is true to who I am inside? And I if I died tomorrow, what would people remember about me? Is any life really insignificant?

I hope that I do have some direction though some days the endless day in and out really gets to me. I'm glad that I am continuing with school and working on my degree. If I never did anything with it, at least I'd have the sense of accomplishment that will come in it's completion. The ever looming question though is always "what next?". After I have gotten the degree, do I switch jobs? Or do I stay where I am and continue on toward my BA. Then what? But maybe it's better to sit back and just focus on the move forward rather than what happens after.
I hope that I do not look for my happiness within others, but to be happy with others. I've finally embraced the thought that you cannot make everyone happy at the same time. You cannot live up to everyone elses expectations. You cannot expect people to act how you want them to in every situation. One of the best and worst things about people is that we are all different, if we change to accommodate one another we are changing who we are. We become boring in our sameness. At the same time those differences can be like nails scraping down a chalkboard to us.
I want to think that I do everything with the best of intentions and that I do not hurt anyone while I bungle my way through this life. I hope that I leave behind me a string of people that I have loved well. I hope that when I am gone those who have known me remember me with love and patience for my faults of which there are plenty. I guess what I hope the most is that people remember me at all.
Is ANY life truly insignificant? I don't believe that any persons life is too small to be important. A life that lasts 1 minute can leave as much impact as a life of 100 years to those who felt it's imprint. We are all significant. We all affect and change each other unknowingly until we are gone.

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 06:58:00 +0000

Merry Christmas to me!
Another year has passed. I must say it passed by very quickly. Is this because I'm getting old?
Christmas seemed to be here before I knew it. Why is it that when we anticipate something with such excitement it seems to take forever to arrive? Christmas is like that for me. We look forward to the next Christmas as soon as the last one is done. The worst thing is that though it seems to take so long to finally arrive, the last two weeks prior to it seem to fly by. How can something be slow and fast at the same time??

Now we arrive at that after Christmas but before New Years day time.
This week between Christmas and New Years Day leaves us for some much needed time to reflect upon the year. Time to decide what we did well, and what we did not so well. Hopefully, we'll also make use of this time to plan how to not repeat those not so good choices we made. A time for those dreaded resolutions we set out with such good intentions to achieve.
So, here's to some soul searching and honest decision making!

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 03:39:00 +0000

For some annoying reason, this semester is turning out to be so much more difficult than the last.

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 00:50:00 +0000

Happy Birthday to me.
Another year has passed and I'm feeling old. I know, I know, I'm only going to be 36 tomorrow, no reason to feel old, right?
The reason I feel so old is the fact that I am BACK in college striving to achieve that ever elusive associates degree. One would think that I would have had it by now. Just goes to show that what you plan for yourself at age 20 is NOT how your life will necessarily turn out. If life turned out how we planned at the ignorant age of 20, would we be happy with it?? Well, I'd for darn sure be happier WITH a degree right now. I'm amazed with every class that I take how immature and ridiculous the newly out of high school crowd is and feel like my grandfather when I hear the words "when I was that age..." coming out of my mouth.
Which brings me to another subject...is the youth of today different than the youth of our generation? I have to say yes. They have been given a completely different set of experiences, so they are definitely different. Different good or different bad? Well, I'll start sounding like Grandpa again, because I think it's not so good a difference. This next generation, whatever one calls them, is much more selfish and ...miserable, than the ones before them. I'm truly stunned when I see one have a temper tantrum in public. I'm even more surprised when I see them talk back to their parents or authority figures and act as if it is the norm. I can't even begin to explain my shock when the adult does NOT react. We've become so used to this crappy treatment from this next generation of narcissistic brats that I fear for their futures. (Ok, I'll stop channeling my grandpa).
One thing I am certain of, I'm certain I am oh so very glad that I am not a mother. That part of my 20 year old self's plan was a good choice! I'd like to go back and pat the 20 year old me on the back for that one.

noreply@blogger.com (DirtRockAngie) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 21:15:00 +0000

Setting my blog....let me check this out.