July 16, 2018

The only good yellow jacket is a dead yellow jacket

My goal for today was to get some exercise. I've been slacking lately and really just haven't had a ton of spare time, so I figured I'd make this Sunday all about fitness. I had a long list of workouts to do, which included a swim, some kickboxing, and some weight-lifting, but I wanted to start it all out by getting in as close to 10,000 steps as I possibly could before I did any of that.

Earlier this year, I discovered that cutting grass with a push mower is an excellent way to get those steps in and feel like a productive member of society at the same time. I'll throw on some music, plug in my earbuds, and push that mower across any yard in town if I have to. Seriously, if you live in the Atlanta area and need your grass cut, give me a call!

So, on this particular Sunday afternoon, when it's 90+ degrees in mid-July in Georgia, with 90 percent humidity and absolutely miserable, I decided I'd cut some grass in front of my parents' house. There's this long grassy embankment, about three to four feet tall, that covers most of the front of their property. My parents typically use a riding mower to cut their grass, but this area is too steep for that. It's a pain to mow, but I decided I'd tackle it. Not only would I get my steps in, but all that climbing up and down that hill, pushing and pulling that mower would most certainly lead to a nice Kim Kardashian butt when I finished for sure.

I worked for about half an hour on it, but I can't lie; it was grueling. Sweat poured off of me, my feet hurt in my cheap Old Navy flip-flops, and the air was so thick I could barely breathe. I went inside for a drink of water and a quick break halfway through the job. It was tempting to stay in, but I only had like 1,500 steps (in my head, I had 8,000) and I'm no wimp. So, I went back outside, determined to finish cutting this little strip of land and earn myself that Kardashian-like body part.

I powered through until I had a space that was about 3 x 3 feet left. The light at the end of the tunnel. And believe me, I was so hot and tired and delirious, I was seeing lights and tunnels and all sorts of other things that weren't actually there. But just as I started to push the mower towards that strip, I felt a sharp pain in my left thigh. And then another. And another. I thought I was having a stroke or something.

All of these searing pains were happening on the same side and seemingly inside my clothes. I was wearing skintight capri leggings, so it's not like anything could just slide down in there without me noticing it. I just knew this was how I was going to go out. Cutting the damn grass.

But then I felt the same sharp, stinging pains on my right side. And down my shirt, in my bra, on my ankles, on my fingers, on my arms, on my calves...  My first thought was that I'd hit an ant bed, but I've been bitten by plenty of ants and none of them felt this severe, nor did they have time to climb up in my bra in such a short period of time.

I guess I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, because it took a minute for me to realize there were hundreds of angry yellow jackets swarming around me, and it took another minute for me to realize that this is what was causing this searing pain all over my body. Suddenly, I was dancing all over the yard, swatting at the little jerks and screaming every curse word I've ever learned in my life. Thankfully, I'm related to the only close neighbors, and they're used to me doing strange things.

On the bright side, it made me realize there are only 46 days until the college football season starts. Hey, it's July, and I've been without football for months, so if being stung by the mascot of my college team's rival team makes me think about football, even through some of the most awful pain I've been in in a while, then so be it. Go Dawgs!


June 16, 2018

When life hands you lemons, you write stories.

If you know me at all, both in the real world and online, you know life has thrown me many curve balls lately. It started around March 1st when my cousin's dog got a little too excited when he saw my mom and knocked her over onto their cement driveway, breaking her pelvic bone. She couldn't walk for a few weeks, and that set off a chain reaction of new health issues and complicated some stuff she was already dealing with. I won't get into her business here, but I'll sum it by saying I didn't get any sleep for nearly three months, she ended up in the ER six times, and she spent something like 20 nights in the hospital. Maybe more — I lost count. And while there were some scary days mixed in there, she's still here and actually getting better, so I'm thankful for that.

In the midst of it all, my Jeep decided to start going dead at random times. In the middle of busy intersections, at stoplights, in parking lots, in heavy traffic — there was no rhyme or reason to it. It happened dozens of times. Whether or not it would start back up was anyone's guess. I took it to four separate mechanics, and each and every one of them claimed there was nothing wrong. The last guy charged me hundreds to fix something that may have been the culprit, but two days after I drove it out of his shop, it started doing it all over again. When your mom's in the hospital (or has three or four medical appointments a week), and you have no siblings or significant other to depend on for help, having a vehicle that breaks down on railroad tracks at 9 p.m. and on busy highways at 8 a.m. in Atlanta traffic isn't ideal. Thankfully, I am now driving a new SUV, and I thank God for it every time it gets me from one place to another and back home again. 

And in the midst of all that, I lost my job in probably the most terrible way possible. I've worked as a freelance writer for the last nine years, and for approximately the last five or so of those years, I've worked almost exclusively for one client. It wasn't my dream job, but I enjoyed it enough, it opened many personal and professional doors for me, and I dedicated an embarrassing amount of time to it. I won't go into the details of what happened, but essentially a higher up person threw me and a few others under the bus to save her own ass. Other people who worked there tried to come to bat for me, but it became painfully clear after a few days that there was nothing I could do about it. I was collateral damage for something that was beyond my control.

I was devastated.

Many other things happened in the midst of all this job/car/mama drama. I spent a couple of weeks with the flu. A tornado ripped through my parents' property. One of my closest friends lost her mom. I nearly killed my poor sweet dog. A hawk did kill one of my poor chickens. My social life became just me calling a few friends, relatives, and neighbors and asking if they could pick my mom up from whatever appointment because I was stranded in a parking lot. And I could go on, but I won't, because I know it could always be so much worse. It just seemed like it got to a point where I woke up and wondered what was going to go wrong that day. I will say I had big and specific plans for this year — huge life-changing plans — and I watched them all get picked off, one by one, as the last few months rolled by. The only thing I really had left was a plan to buy a house later this year.

And last week, just as I began to try to settle back into a normal routine so I could actually afford that house, the person who planned to sell it to me texted me and said she needed to talk. Long story short, she's decided she wants to live in in the house herself. I am actually okay with that. It's one of my favorite people, and she's lived out of state for too long now. I'll get to spend more time with her and her family. But at the same time, it felt like the last little dangling hope for my year was shot down. I wasn't sure whether I should laugh or cry.

I think I spent the rest of the day trying to come up with a plan B. Maybe I should go back to school. Maybe I should fix up my parents' old house and move into it. Maybe I should try again to beg for my old job. To be honest, I've been offered several jobs since losing that one, but I was either not in a place to take them because of everything going on, or those offers came from previous clients who were rude and awful to work for, and I couldn't bring myself to say yes. But maybe it was time to suck it up and do something I would hate. I had no idea what else to do with myself.

After moping around like some sort of emo 14-year-old for a few days, something occurred to me. Maybe I need to stop coming up with plan B. Maybe it's time to get back to plan A.

Like I said, I've been supporting myself as a writer for nearly a decade. It's been great. Sort of. I have a ton of flexibility, but I'm not writing the things I want to write. I've penned stories about everything from politics to Pottery Barn. Somewhere in there, many years ago, I also wrote a novel. And at some point, I started shopping around for agents and such, and it wasn't all negative. But life got in the way, and work got in the way, and I put it all on hold for a moment. And before I knew it, that moment was four or five years long.

I kept telling myself I'd get back to it after this or after that, but after those things, something else would come up. I had so many ideas floating around in my head for more stories, but the few times I'd take a night and try to do something with them or go back to my old novel to fix it up, I'd find myself writing in the style of whatever I'd written for my paying job that day. I'd lost my own voice.

Thankfully, it wasn't gone forever.

What I haven't mentioned yet is that after I lost my job in March and went through all the phases of grief, something sparked inside of me. All of these ideas I've had floating around in my head came to the surface with so much new inspiration behind them. Even though life was really tough, this wave of creativity came over me. All I wanted to do is write for myself. I had some savings to keep me afloat, so I'd tell myself that I could spend this week working on a story I've always wanted to write, but next week I'd take one of the crappy job offers. And the next week, I'd say okay, you can work on these stories again, but next week you're taking one of the crappy job offers.

I couldn't stop working on the stories. And I also knew I couldn't keep going because I had a house to buy in a few months, and I needed to be working one or some of those crappy writing jobs so I could pay for it.

But I don't have a house to buy anymore. I literally have no concrete plans for the rest of the year at this point because of the way everything happened in March, April, and May. At first, the idea made me miserable. Now that I've had time to reflect, I'm thinking maybe that's not such a bad thing. Maybe it's time for me to buckle down and work on plan A — writing what I want to write — without worrying about backups for a while.

I do have a few odd freelance writing jobs I do here and there for people I like working for, and it's easy work. It's not going to buy me a house (or anything beyond food and utilities for that matter), but it's enough to pay my basic bills, and I really only have to work no more than 10-20 hours a week. I'm basically taking a 80 percent pay cut if I did the math correctly, but maybe I don't have to place weekly Sephora orders or buy every book Amazon has ever recommended right now.  Maybe I can work part-time for a few months and spend the rest of time dedicated to what I really want out of life for once instead of putting so much effort into my backups.

If the last few months have taught me anything, though, it's that you never know what's going to happen from day to day. So, I'm not going to make any promises, but I'd like to revisit my old novel and spend some time on the new one I've started. One is super light and airy Southern fiction and one is super dark and teeters between horror and thriller, so that's fun. I've also got some essays and short stories I've been writing and putting together. Who knows if I'll get anywhere with them, but the idea of dedicating time to work on them is exciting.

One last thing. JT Ellison, one of my favorite authors to read and follow on social media, always posts great advice for writers on her website and beyond. Her online presence has been a bit of a bible for me for several years. This week, right around the time this whole idea came to me, she posted this: The Process Begins by Actually Sitting Down. It couldn't have come at a better moment and felt like the final bit of guidance I needed for this new plan. This needs to be my mantra before I fall back into the same old habits that prevented me from writing before. I may not be working in the traditional sense, but if I'm doing to succeed, writing my stuff needs to be my job. 

April 28, 2018

Reliving the 90s with Little Fires Everywhere + Hootie & the Blowfish tickets

Over the last few months, the book Little Fires Everywhere has been, well, everywhere. I've seen it in places ranging from the grocery store to ads on Facebook, and a few of my good friends were reading it, so I decided to pick it up. 

And that's how it became the second book I've read this year. Yeah, I'm a little behind on that 100-book Good Reads challenge, but when you have to take your mom to the ER four times in less than two months and your car to four mechanics within the same time period, plus you lose your awesome writing job of six years in the midst of all of it, reading kind of gets pushed to the back of the old to-do list. But enough about that. I actually finished this particular novel late one night in my mom's hospital room.  

So, did it live up to the hype? Maybe. I enjoyed it, but I often felt like I was siding with the wrong characters. One of the major conflicts revolves around a baby who is adopted after her birth mother abandons her, and that turns into a custody battle. While reading the second half of the book, I felt like the author, Celeste Ng, wanted you to take a certain side. I felt like she was more sympathetic to one side than the other. After I read it, though, I wasn't so sure. Maybe her goal was to make your feel conflicted. I discussed it with a friend who read it at the same time I did, and I cringed when I admitted to her whose side I took in the custody battle and which main character I couldn't stand. I was shocked when she agreed with me.  

My point, though, is that the book made me think and re-think some of my positions. Adoption, which is near and dear to me, was a central theme. It also took place in a city — Cleveland — that I don't normally read much about, so I learned some things. One of my favorite things about it, though, was that it took place during the 1990s, and there are some music and pop culture references scattered throughout. I wish there had been more, but I'll take it. All in all, I'd recommend giving it a read.  

And if you're into this sort of thing, it looks like Reese Witherspoon and Kerry Washington will be turning Little Fires Everywhere into a miniseries.  



Speaking of the 90s and my glorious teen years, back then, along with the rest of the country, I was a huge Hootie & the Blowfish fan. While I can't pinpoint the exact moment it happened, I'd guess it was circa middle school when Cracked Rear View became a thing, and it was one of the only gifts I asked my parents to get me for my birthday that year. Well, it's 20+ years later, and I'm still a big fan of the band. Next to maybe Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers and REM, I listen to them more than just about anyone. 

The problem is I can't seem to see them live. Ever. 

Every year, they do a concert or two in their hometown and one of my favorite places, Charleston, and every year I'm way too late to get tickets. One problem is that they announce the dates just a week or so before tickets go on sale, and I find out about it a couple of weeks later. This year, however, thanks to many boring days spent unemployed and at the hospital, I saw the initial announcement. This was going to be my year, even if I had to go alone. A leisurely trip to Charleston in August to see one of the greatest bands of my coming of ages years would be a nice reward after the last couple of months from hell, right? 

I wasn't sure if I'd be home at 10 a.m. on the big sale day, so I had other people ready and waiting to buy my tickets for me. But I ended up being home and awake at that, so I was also working on my laptop and my phone at 9:55 a.m. I did everything right.  

I still didn't get tickets.  

I took to Twitter to vent, because it's good for that, and I actually made friends with other people who also didn't get tickets. Despite all the limitations put in place to prevent scalpers from scooping them up, that's exactly what happened. By 10:07, the $50 tickets were on StubHub for $400. I'm all for capitalism and everything, but something about this just seems wrong.  

So, I guess I'm not going to see Hootie & the Blowish yet again this year. I'll definitely try for 2019, though. Hopefully, Ticketmaster and whoever else handles this stuff will get their act together.  If you happen upon this blog and you did manage to snag tickets, though, I'd love to hear from you. 

Especially if you have an extra one or two you'd like to sell for a reasonable price. I'm just saying....  

April 02, 2018

Politics: I learned to stop caring, and I couldn't be happier


If you know me at all, either online or in person, you know that I've always been pretty passionate about politics. Even as a little kid. It's something my grandfather (who agreed with me on most things) and my father (who doesn't agree with me on most things) and I all bonded over. Many of my conversations with both of them always reverted back to current events, elections, and the news stories of the day. I volunteered at voting booths, ran social media campaigns for candidates, and stuck signs in my yards and bumper stickers on my cars. My interest in politics even landed me my some of my first writing jobs. I've interviewed everyone from local politicians and gubernatorial candidates to congressmen and people who've worked in the White House. I kept the TVs in my house on various news stations from the time I got up to the time I went to sleep. I cleared my calendar for debates and conventions. I'd say at least half of the friends I have right now I made through various political ventures over the last decade or so.

And now I'm kind of over it.

Exactly one year ago, I went to great lengths to remove as much political stuff as I could from my life. I unfollowed all news sites on social media. I stopped watching the "news" channels. I stopped reading the newspapers and websites. I even cut back on interactions with people who were nonstop talking about current events and stopped posting about them on social media myself.

Guess what? The world didn't come to an end. The only thing that happened was that I had a little less stress in my life and a little more time to focus on what's real. Because, as it turns out, a lot of this stuff isn't even real. So much of it is manufactured so that people have something to be outraged about. I was tired of being outraged and being around outraged people. Sign into Facebook or turn on a cable news channel, and you'd think everyone hates everyone else. Go spend a day in the world with people who aren't just like you, and you'll realize that for the most part, most people don't actually hate each other and just want to mind their own business. Everyone's not racist, sexist, or homophobic. Everyone's not offended.

Lately, I've spent a lot of time with my parents, and no matter what's going on with them, they have to watch the same network news program at 7 pm every night. My mom gets kind of irritated when I point out how much of it is not really even news at all, or point out how biased it is or whatever. My dad also gets irritated when he says something like, "Did you hear what (random politician) said today?" Nine times out of ten, I didn't and don't want to. 

Admittedly, it's cost me some friendships. Then again, being overtly political did, too. But I've kind of come to the conclusion that I don't want to be friends with people who are going to judge me based on my political views anyway. And I don't want to judge other people based on theirs anymore. I do think social media is to blame for much of it. I managed to go years without knowing how every kid I went to high school with felt about gun control, abortion, or gay marriage. And I'm sure many felt the same way about me.

It doesn't mean I don't have strong opinions about certain issues. It doesn't mean that I will stop voting for the candidates I think are best or doing what I can to stop true injustices. It doesn't even mean that I'm not paying attention. It just means that I'm filtering out the noise. I'm finished listening to everyone shout and argue at each other when it's not going to amount to anything.

I'd rather spend my time hanging out with friends and family. I'd rather spend my time playing with and taking care of my pets. I'd rather travel, see the world, go on adventures, read good books, watch good TV, write stories, swim, hike, plant something, grow something, eat good food, create stuff, explore historical sites, remodel a house, take pictures, enjoy nature, watch sports, listen to music, help people and animals in need, be in a play, go for a drive, or meet interesting people. Not to be cliche, but we're only here for so long, and I'd rather fill whatever time I have left with those things.