(Picture) Memoir Monday, or Random Thoughts on the Degrees I'm Not Using

Today is the first ever Picture Memoir Monday hosted by Travis over at I Like to Fish. Please go check him out and link up to play along!

Millsaps College Graduation Day - May, 1998

I'm the goof on the left with the bad hair who's still sporting my Freshman 15 20 25. I was a regular old graduate. No cum laude, summa cum laude, or magna cum laude for this girl just *crickets* when they called my name. I majored in English, minored in French, failed out of Intro to Cell Biology my freshman year and squeaked by with mediocre grades in my lit classes. I overdosed on extracurricular activities: wrote for the campus newspaper, taught elementary-level French to second & third graders, and was on the executive board of my sorority. I worked in the Millsaps Writing Center, co-chaired the No-AIDS Task Force, and submitted anonymous poetry to the campus literary magazine. I was well rounded to be sure, but maybe if I'd focused on my classes more I'd have had a decent GPA excelled. There were so many things I wanted to dabble in, I couldn't possibly choose one or two.

University of New Orleans Graduation Day, December 2000

Wait a sec, am I having deja vu? No, this is my graduation from my Master's program. English again. I went back to school because I didn't know what else to do with myself after college.

And I still don't.

But this blog is a start. I can write what I want, hone my mad skillz, and best of all I don't have to deal with those super smart intellectual people who made me feel rather like a chump.

I am starting to realize less is more. I don't post here every day anymore. Perhaps the quality of my posts will improve as a result? Maybe I'll start to get somewhere and figure out where I'm going.

Because it's NOT back to school again.

Because the reality is I can't be a professional student, and the two degrees I've gotten were for nought.They're lying unused, tossed aside in some forgotten corner.

Because I have this nagging need to know where I'm going, what I'm doing, and who I am now that this motherhood gig is well underway.

Because I'm in my 30s and I don't have a career to call my own and I feel useless and small some days. Okay, many days.

Because if I'm not heading somewhere, towards something, it means I'm stagnating. Right?

***DISCLAIMER: this post is in no way intended to bash SAHM-hood. I am a SAHM. I do not mean to imply that our jobs at home are any less important/significant than those who are in the workplace. It just sucks that we don't get paid.

Fortune Cookie Friday

Daffy at Batcrap Crazy did these last week, and I'm giving it a shot today....though mine will surely not be as funny as hers!




Make Funny Fortune Cookies Pictures at Fortune-Cookie-Generator.com




Make Funny Fortune Cookies Pictures at Fortune-Cookie-Generator.com




Make Funny Fortune Cookies Pictures at Fortune-Cookie-Generator.com




Make Funny Fortune Cookies Pictures at Fortune-Cookie-Generator.com





Make Funny Fortune Cookies Pictures at Fortune-Cookie-Generator.com




Make Funny Fortune Cookies Pictures at Fortune-Cookie-Generator.com

Growing Up vs. Dressing Up, or Why I'd Like to be Five Again

This is me, circa 1981 (5 yrs old), about to go to a friend's dress-up party.

I've always loved this photograph. Ironically, this is how I imagined I'd dress most of the time once I grew up. I couldn't wait to be like my mom and get fancy on Friday and Saturday nights to go out on the town. Earrings, makeup, perfume, pantyhose, high heels---these were the tangible symbols of womanhood I quietly coveted.

The amusing reality now that I have actually grown up is that I spend most days in workout gear, sweatpants, jeans, or jammies. Motherhood is lots of things, but glamorous isn't one of them. I spend too much time feeling badly for not putting more effort into my appearance. Yet it hardly seems worth it when my days are filled with snot, mashed up cookies, spilled juice, dirty little hands and the occasional vomitus. I can't play Duck, Duck, Goose in a dress, or even in a nice pair of slacks. Get Play Doh or watercolors on my nice Banana Republic blouse? No thank you! Comfortable and casual clothing is key.

Motherhood isn't glamorous. It's the hardest job I've ever had. I keep waiting for it to get easier, but the joke is on me---because it never will.

Life would be much simpler if I could rewind to the dress-up days. I'd put on Mom's party dress, heels and jewelry, prance around for a bit, and then take it all off, leaving it in a puddle on the floor, a dream for another day.

Memoir Monday: The Aqua Net in My Purse, Or Why Those 80s Bangs Didn't Work Out So Well For Me

Despite what you might think, I haven't always been the smashing success I am today. Sadly, I haven't always been this calm, cool, collected, drop-dead gorgeous and intellectually superior woman. No sirree Bob, back in the day I was just a lowly Wannabe. You know that book about the Wannabes and the Queen Bees and how much cliques and junior high girls suck? Well, I was lucky enough to fall into the Wannabe category. The one nobody wanna beez in. Get it?!

I crack myself up.

Anybee, it's 1986, so I'm 10 years old and in 5th grade. This was a stellar year for me because my mom hadn't bought me my first bra yet (which was very obvious given the starched, white blouses we had to wear with our hideous red plaid uniform skirts), but all the other girls had them. Didn't so much matter that I had nothing to put in said bra, but I was already feeling singled out. Fifth grade began the Spin the Bottle parties, UNITS outfits, the rise of Forenza and Girbaud jeans (another thing I didn't own but everyone else did, not that I'm keeping track or anything), lots of hair spray and bangs the height of the Empire State Building.

(See? I wasn't kidding. UNITS + Big Bangs = FAIL)

For my tenth birthday, a friend had given me a new purse. I used my allowance to buy a bottle of Aqua Net like all the other girls whipped out during break to tweak their coiffures. Unfortunately for me, it was not in an aerosol can, it was one of those archaic pump spray bottles. You know, the ones that are better for the environment?

We're in math class with Mrs. L. She's up at the board writing some problems for us to work on. Her arm jiggles like crazy and everyone suppresses giggles while her ample behind sways from side to side. She finishes, turns around, and you can hear her pantyhose-clad thighs rubbing against each other as she heads back to her desk. Suddenly she freezes in her tracks and opens her mouth in horror.

"What is that?" she hisses, pointing to a previously undetected puddle next to my desk. Everyone begins twisting this way and that, trying to see what she's looking at. I look down and blush furiously. I instantly realize that the entirety of my beloved bottle of Make Me A Queen Bee (aka Aqua Net) has somehow leaked through my purse and onto the classroom floor. Everyone titters because it honestly looks like I had an accident, like some brand new puppy.

I apologize to Mrs. L and race to the girls' room to get some paper towels. As my classmates' snickers turn from Mrs. L to me, I sop up the mess and put the soggy paper towels in the trash can. Next, I toss in the now-empty bottle of hair spray. I can feel my face burning, I can't look at anyone, and deep down I already know I'll never be a Queen Bee.

Looking back I can honestly say I'm glad I wasn't a Queen Bee. I'm just not built that way. And I never picked up another bottle of Aqua Net again. Hair spray is just not my friend

To Vlog or Not to Vlog--That is the Question. Or, Why I Embarrass my Husband.

Many of you may have watched my vlog from Thursday about Why Jazzercise is Evil. If you haven't already done so, please check it out here. Then come back and read this.

Are you done? Okay, good.

My husband said my vlog really sucked suggested I quit vlogging and revert entirely to the written word. He told me that I look like an old corpse unearthed from its tomb half eaten by maggots "depressed" in the video and that my real self comes through so much better in plain writing. Last night at dinner my friend, Anne, quipped that perhaps Hubs simply missed the boat with my deadpan sense of humor about those damned Girl Scout cookies (which I bought myself, shame on me---it's all my fault, but that is neither here nor there). She was spot on. I was trying to be funny, but perhaps I shouldn't quit my day job. I will obviously never be Chelsea Lately. Regardless, I patiently explained to Hubs that vlogging is a nice break from the standard stuff, it's fun, and it gives people a chance to see "the real me" in all of my unshowered glory. I mean seriously...you guys don't even have to pay for this shit!

So, dear readers, here is where YOU come in. I want to hear from you---ALL of you. Even if you aren't a follower (sobbing), even if you only read sporadically (boo hoo hoo!), even if this is your first time reading my blog (please come back again!). Leave me a love note in these comments. I've set things up so that anyone & everyone can comment---you don't have to sign in, you don't have to create a username/password, you don't have to be registered, pay anything, sign over your life....all you have to do is click on "Post a Comment" and then write whatever you want in the pretty little white box below. It really is that easy peasy, I promise. I'm begging you to be brutally honest. Tell me the vlog sucks. Tell me you love it. Tell me you're indifferent. Just tell me something. Either prove my husband wrong and stroke my bruised ego or tell me straight up that the vlog is not my forte and to throw in the towel.

And as long as we're on the subject: If you don't ever comment, I have no idea you're reading.

Why Jazzercise is Evil, or, Maybe I Should Quit Working Out Altogether

Blog Housekeeping or Why noreply.com gets you NO REPLY!

I love blogging, but there are a few things that frustrate me, so I'm going to tell you how to fix them in the words of two blog experts, Tami over at Hearts Make Families and Lee of Headaches, Hormones, & Hotflashes fame. They say it all so well that I'm not even going to bother.

Tami did a post last week and here's a brilliant excerpt:

I think I've been double taxing myself. I try to respond to every comment by email unless of course you have the no-reply blogger dot com that drives me nuts.


NO REPLY AT BLOGGER DOT COM

I hate it. I despise it. I want to respond to you all by email. I love responding by emails. I love talking to you all. I want to know about my readers. So I respond to every email I get. Until I see the hated "no reply at blogger dot com." To make it easy for you to remove it, I am going to post directions here for you:

Go to your Dashboard on Blogger.com. Hit your edit profile, right next to your picture, avatar or whatever else you have showing. Scroll down to the line that says : Show my email address and CHECK THE BOX. Hit save.

For those of you who do not want a regular email address to show, go to Gmail, Yahoo or any other number of places and get a FREE, yes FREE, email account and set it up.

WORD VERIFICATION


I hate hate this as well. I don't know why but my eyes do not do this well at all. Or I hit save and then close. Guess what happens? You don't get my comment and sometimes I don't realize. So I might have been commenting all along. Now to turn off this awful thing and to help all of your commenters' eyes, do the following:

Go to your Dashboard at blogger.com. Click on Settings, which is under the name of your blog. Click on Comments, which is on the top of the page. Scroll down until you see this: Show word verification for comments? Click the box that says NO. Click Save settings at the bottom of the page. Please do not leave this page until you have saved settings.

I am begging you to fix these things to help me get to know each of you even better in the future.
_______________________________________________________________________

Lee The Hotflash Queen wrote a post last October about the very same subjects:

**Disclosure. I am citing my own opinions and no other irritated bloggers encouraged or gave me sexual or monetary favors for the writing of this post. I am not responsible for any offended egos in the writing of this post.**


NO REPLY AT BLOGGER DOT COM
How I hate seeing this!! First of all, I can’t tell you how many times I have responded to comments from my email, because truly, some of the comments make me laugh so hard I snort, and then hit send only to realize that my email will be floating in never never land for eternity.

Where do these emails go?? Seriously. Where do they go??

I am not the type of gal who is going to respond to a comment in the post. I’m just not. I like to streamline. I like to hit reply on my email and then respond and hit send. Instead, I go to the respective blog to comment…which I do anyway…and then comment on the post they have written, thus not giving me an opportunity to respond to the numerous fabulous and hysterical comments I receive.

PEOPLE THIS MUST STOP! I am sure the blogger fairies are tired of trying to catch all my emails that are sent out there with no home!! So, I am going to teach you all how to change this, and I am going to do it in a way that there will be no more excuses!!
(end of excerpts/quotes)
and you can read on from there her explicit instructions....

Please please please, for the love of all that is bloggy, fix these things. It will make me more inclined to comment, reply, respond, etc.

THANK YOU!!!!!