The Unhealthy Single

Most people know the type of woman that can't live two seconds without being in a relationship--most would call her needy or desperate.

I usually make fun of these women...

Ok, I'll stop it. Sorry. 

So, what do you call a woman that's Never or Rarely in a relationship?

The majority of my life, I would have called her independent, confident, and Badass--You know, like Jesus or something.

But lately, I've been thinking my singleness doesn't always stem from good, positive things like the the prior list; it stems from something much deeper seated:

Fear.

Pride.

Hurt.

Unforgiveness.

Shame.

In the last year, I've shared my testimony a handful of times to groups and individuals and I started adding an aspect that I had been hiding away for a lifetime. My shameful secret. 

It's an aspect that actually made, and makes me still need a Savior then and now. 

It's a part of me that even my family doesn't know and I never wanted them to know.

I was suicidal.

No, I'm not suicidal now, I believe I was completely healed of that the minute Jesus met me, but I do see the repercussions of the Damage done and the lessons God is teaching me through my life. 

You see I was a tomboy growing up, and well, I also looked like a boy to most people too, in those

middle school years. 

Right about the time I started liking guys (even the ones I was friends with), I was brutally beginning to be teased, bullied, and taunted daily for how I looked and acted. 

I secretly brought it home with me and just pretended to be a normal kid. Anyone who knew me just thought of me as a quiet, to herself kid. I got more quiet the more I was teased; I thought by not

talking that it would give them less ammo, but in fact, it gave them more. 

An

11

12

13

14 year old girl.

Four years of being asked "Are you a boy or a girl?"

Four years of being told I'm ugly

Four years of being asked if I'm gay because of how I looked. 

My young mind went right to wanting to drown myself silently in Bogue Sound.

Didn't tell a soul because I thought I could handle my problems on my own and what is more shameful than wanting to kill yourself?

14 years old. 

Why was I thinking of suicide?

I'm so grateful that there is a God out there that was Paying Attention. 

God woke me up one night, the week before my first day of high school and I can honestly say 

I've never felt more loved and adored, joyful, 

or healed of those thoughts. 

It was a snap of a finger.

But as an adult--the Redemption isn't over.

People ask me Every Day two questions:

1) How old are you? (No, seriously, I'm not 18, etc.)

2)Are you Married?

Of course, when I say no, the follow up is about me not dating anyone.

I actually love hearing the line "But you're so Beautiful." Mind you, it's more believable from old people (I work in a nursing home). 

What I tell people when I say I'm single:

*Jesus and Paul are; let me read you 1 Cor. 7

*I actually enjoy who I am and my life, thank you.

*I have so much (listing examples).

*A man doesn't define me and my life doesn't depend on men. 

But what I'm leaving out is:

*I'm Broken

*I'm Scared.

*I don't believe men when they say I'm beautiful.

*I especially don't believe men when they say they like or love me.

I run to Singleness because it is safe and I have a Great big God that I know loves me. 

I have run to Singleness because it has allowed me to serve and love God back for saving me.

But Yet.

But yet, there is something within me telling me my Singleness may be my chains

But yet.

But yet, I may need some wings. 

Now, Now, some of you are saying, "alleluia, amen." 

Don't get ahead of yourself. 

All I'm really saying is that I think it is time to forgive, trust, and rely on God to open doors and take me out of this box I'm in. 

I can't keep saying as I do, that I have the door closed 80% and cracked 20% to marriage. 

I'm at least opening myself up for obedience and, You know, 50/50 door open. 

I'm definitely not doing online dating--I've actually been there done that.

Anyways, I'm not sure what the moral of the story is. All I know is, is that God is still loving me and working out those wounds. 

They have often been unseen and unfelt--I was going to make an actual wound analogy, but I'll abstain. 

Gross. 

I want to choose Both Singleness or Marriage for healthy reasons--whatever God has for me.

Whatever God brings in my Life--I know it will be for my Good. I also know it will be for His glory. 

Psalm 121:

"I lift my eyes up to the hills--

Where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord, 

The Maker of heaven and Earth.

He will not let your foot slip--

He who watches over you will not

slumber;

indeed, he who watches over Isreal 

will neither slumber or sleep.

The Lord watches over You--

The Lord is your shade at your right 

hand;

the sun will not harm you by day, 

nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm--

he will watch over your life; 

the Lord will watch over your coming and 

going

both now and forevermore." 

Don't Speak.

No doubt. Don't Speak. One of my favorite songs.

So what, you say.

Today it matters because of a Nation wide fundraiser for ALS awareness and research called Don't Talk-a-Thon 2018.

Instead of just one hour though, I'm doing an entire day.

Now, I've done silent retreats, stuck in a retreat center with a handful of people around doing the same exact solemn, reflective, religious act, but this was different and extremely emotional so far.

I love Sundays because I get to socialize and SING at church with people I have grown friendships with. This morning I had to stop conversations and "How are you's" with a weird look of "I can't answer back" and a handout I personally made of why I'm not talking. I specifically only handed it out to the people who spoke to me. I'm not sure that I'll raise much money, but it was moving enough to see people read my flyer and give a look of understanding and sympathy and sometimes a hug.

I'm not sure I've ever felt the power of worship songs (or the service itself) the way I did this morning not being able to sing and the words stuck in my head that "He came to love, heal, and forgive"

Or the verse:

And then one day, I'll cross the river,
I'll fight life's final war with pain;
And then, as death gives way to victory,
I'll see the lights of glory and I'll know He lives.

I stood and imagined not being able to sing every church service, or not being able to speak encouraging words to people, or speak to my patients, etc.  Most of all though, I feel regret and sorrow for not having more interactions with my Aunt throughout my life and even since the diagnoses--distance being no real excuse.  I visit her next week and I can't help but to think this may be the last time I see her, especially as I pass the graveyard on my bike ride to and from church this morning. How do you really say goodbye to a person without saying goodbye directly?

My emotions and thoughts are all over the place today. I wish it were easy to organize and that I was capable of telling you something significant and meaningful, perhaps joyful and life changing. I leave you with a simple request for prayer for my Aunt (and my visit next week) and a consideration
towards donating to ALS research.

Donate here:    https://fundraise.projectals.org/fundraiser/1458032

Shoved Another Direction Part 1

I met a guy two weeks ago....

No, matchmaker friends, this isn't a romance journal.

I was filling in extra hours at a nursing home in Jacksonville, NC, about an hour from home all week. On the way home, on Tuesday evening, my car decided to blow a tire in Hubert. Hubert is podunk and without much shopping civilization. Unfortunately, it was coming close to 6pm and most places were closing even in Jacksonville.

Most people would assume that I'm level-headed, calm, collected, and know my business, under stressful situations--at least, I like to think you think that.

Panic and an automatic call to Daddy is more my reality. Throw in a regretted curse word or two, groveling for help, and bouts of stupidity in conversation with Dad to complete my hysteria. Dad said he was too far away of course..."call triple A or your credit card", he says. "Be an adult, handle it."

Ok, fine!

In that split second though, I realize I'm going to have to act professional on the phone to the credit card company (they provide roadside assistance) and so I change my tone with Dad and say, "I love you, thank you" in the most sweet, pitiful voice.

During Daddy convo, I had already pulled over to a small strip mall with a big warehouse that reads "Oriental Marketplace". There were two places open out of the mostly abandoned storefronts--a print shop and a church. I stepped into the print shop first to get away from the traffic noise for a call to my Delta card and get an address in this middle of nowhere. The clerk was busy and seemed annoyed when I walked in on my cell phone. Ok, step out it is.

Next up.

Can I just say that strip mall churches have always rubbed me uneasy? Can't pinpoint why.

I still needed an address and the guy from Delta was starting to give me money figures that I don't like the sound of. I started debating how much time I could change the tire to spare tire all by myself or maybe I'll walk into the creepy church. Free labor, right?

Naturally, this is what a church is for...

Kidding aside, In that moment I was grateful and humbled that when I opened that door those two men seemed already alert as to why I was in their parking lot and asked immediately if I needed help. All my anxiety and my miserly calculations dissipated. As they are starting to help me, the guy on the phone gave me one last, actual useful information, that Sam's Club was the only place still open and about to close in a half hour. Therefore, I told him I no longer needed Delta's roadside service.

David and David came out and changed my tire to spare tire within 5 minutes.

Two Davids. That's confusing for telling a story. I would distinguish them by saying "tall and skinny" and "short and stout", but if they end up reading this, I'm going to catch flack. I'll refrain from calling short-n-stout Mr. Carl Winslow...

Whoops.

So, tall-n-skinny David says his friend is preaching on Sunday and decides to invite me after bragging about short-n-stout.

I took them up on it....

Internal Hurricane!

News! News! A Storm is a brewing.

A hurricane?

Wow.
Entertaining to hear the frantic spiels of newcomers to Eastern North Carolina.

The Sky is falling! Gather your nuts, young squirrels!

Introduction of a drama queen and a local:

Possessed

There are some things in this world that happen that just seem illogical, impossible, mythological, or just plain nut job.

I'd throw being possessed by the devil in that category, despite my strong belief in the Bible. Some of those stories just seem slightly over imaginative to my naturally cynical mind.

I mean, How many people have you met that were possessed by the devil?

And don't say, "Your Mom".
Or Your own mother...

Serious here. Really? The Devil.

I can make some crazy sound affects--I'm quite talented actually, but I can't fake the devil's noises.

I had no clue what that sounded like...
Until...

My last year of college.
Man, You learn so much at college.

Yes, One of five catholics on campus; I know about garlic and vampires, and holy water can melt anything evil and pop the suckers into thin air.

Who am I kidding?!
I was horror struck and yet amused when I walked into my 8man suite to hear from 6 girls barricading the bathroom door, "Don't go in there, funny noises are coming out of there."

"Hmm, that's not uncommon", I say.

"No, Lindsey is talking in strange voices on the toilet; it's not her at all.", Sally says.

Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?

"Wait, what? I want to hear; that is so cool. Let me get my cross and some holy water.", I say.

I proceeded to extend my ear through the bathroom wall, but the praying warrior freaks (aka: SEU RAs) came to the rescue.


Sometimes, I wish I could sound like a babbling baboon when I pray too. They spoke intimidatingly fast and furious; loud and ferocious--they scared us all into our bedrooms.

Couldn't stop the roommate and I for very long!

We took up the Cross! Literally.

And we went around praying in every room (made an X on the bathroom door). I pretended I had holy water and robotically sprinkled it on all the beds. Don't want a devil in our beds...

The whole time, I couldn't stop thinking...
Why, How tragic! The devil possessing you while sitting on a toilet!

Opportune time, I guess.

Some might think it was a bad case of diarrhea or Salmonella.

In this case, I had my doubts about her sanity in the first place.

But when I heard her--I knew it was the Devil.
No Denying it.
She was Possessed.
And did I mention?
On the Toilet?

I don't know what happened to the Devil; I didn't see it go into a horde of swine, but it was gone in a few hours.

I fell asleep to the incessant praying RAs.

The possessed girl went home forever. And we got a new suitemate.

No more Toilet Ghosts of "Christ"mas Past.

Beware, the Devil is out there. Next time you're on a toilet; I'd say a prayer...

"The Help"

I saw "The Help" this weekend and can't help to think how similar Eugena and I are.

I can't help but to think how similar our society is. You're probably thinking, I'm going to preach on the blatant racism, but I'm skipping that topic.

I'm more addressing the annoying trait of society that advertises that every woman needs a man and if you don't have one there's something wrong with you...and you can't possibly be happy.

I am Single.
I feel Fulfilled.
And I'm very Much Satisfied with who I am and who I am in God.


I tell people this occasionally, and then I smirk and knowingly await the oncoming predicted response.

It comes, just as expected, on par.

"Oh, you'll find a man one day; he's out there."

It is said as if my previous statement was perceived to be some self-deprecating diatribe--as if I was looking for some sympathy vote, or if it was said, on my part, as some rationalized emotional booster.

Are we Living in the 50's?!

At 26, I'm surrounded by married women.

Anytime I go out with a boy, the reaction is equivalent to the latest gossip of "The Baccalaureate."


"So, Who is he?"
"What does he do?"
"What's his last name?"
"Does he believe in Jesus?"

Apparently, I will never be so interesting to talk to as when I have some kind of potential husband material to hunt down.

It consumes the focus of their conversation with me, until I throw the guy in the gutter.

Then, well, the next best item of conversation, in which, I am rarely involved, is about furniture, what shade of curtains to hang, and what's the best kind of diaper to use on their new arrival.


You know, worldly stuff.
Exciting.
Adventurous.
And Life-Changing.


Have I missed something?

Is my life supposed to be about finding a man?
And living to satisfy said man and his family?

Sounds so narrow-sighted.
Sounds like a half-life for me--unfulfilled.
Living short of what I'm made for.

Oh yeah, so many girls, living the American Dream.



I'm out to Find MY Purpose--not merely a man.
Now That's Exciting.


PS. If you are married; live life with a purpose...with a partner.

The Escape of Amedei Wilson

Welcome back me! Sorry for my absense. My return is due to two weeks off from life commitments, yay!

Anyways, since last visit I have been scattered brain writing--mostly short stories that for a long time I had no idea where they would fit in the whole scheme of my book. Well, things are looking good folks--clarity has entered my world (and no, I don't need those mind drugs like in the movie "Limitless).

I do have several starts, but I'm leaning towards this one (just a set-up to the story). An intro...for you. I don't want to give it away just yet, but tell me what you think with the little I have, for your reading--do you want to read more?

Basic Info for you: It is a fantasy/sci-fi set in a futuristic/altered Morehead City, NC. Young Adult perhaps?

Book Title: The Escape of Amedei Wilson.
Chapter Title: Operation: Meeting

Glade Garrison likes to pretend like she’s not the boss, but she ain’t fooling nobody. She’s the oldest of Outfit 7—the Shepard Street kids on the block. Glade is fifteen and has a pimply face of a twenty year old on a twelve year old body, meaning to say; she is a gangly thing that looks like she doesn’t quite know how to walk. Yet, this girl has power; power of the mouth—power of young hearts. Her poor little brother, Calder, just can’t stand tall against her (although, physically speaking he does) and he certainly rarely gets a word in edgewise. He sure is a goofy looking guy; a little chunky and hairy, and probably much smarter than he looks. They both are sort of the hosts of Outfit 7—they have the perfect hangout house with the indoor play room—not to mention, Mrs. Garrison is the most humorous, friendly nut job and Mr. Garrison is the town’s favorite PE teacher. The other two houses are just regular, boring, two bedroom cottages, only fit to merely sleep in, and the owners are just normal parents with normal jobs.

Glade, is in fact, hosting a meeting today—a very important meeting. Well, at least she thinks so.

“Guys, take a seat. I just received a verbal from Twitty and his gang.”

“Please tell me we’re not going to the other side of the tracks again; it’s so abysmal,” said Valerian.

Intimidating Terrible Toilets: Part One

Short Story (based off a dream) by Amanda Wade:

“Let’s get this weekend started, already, shall we? So many toilets and so few rooms. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asks Jon to his six roommates.

Everyone nods in assumed agreement so Jon continues discussing his plan.

“So we came all this way to the beach from Detroit to see Amanda’s hometown and to do beachy things, like surfing, swimming, riding whales and dolphins—Can we do that, Amanda?—oh, I guess not; sad—rowing in kayaks, wakeboarding…”

“Hate to interrupt, but can you get to the point?” asks Marissa.

“Ah, yes. Yes. So we came here scrounging dimes from our savings from recycling our beer bottles and soda cans, hence, we needed a cheap and short vacation. We found the perfect place according to this ad Jeff, the homeless man from Marissa’s work gave her—we probably should have seen the fault in that scenario—but it did seem sound, regardless of the source. So here we are inside a house, on the sand nonetheless and overlooking the ocean, but there is one thing that is somewhat wonderful and disturbing at the same time—the toilets.”

Amanda had opened the door to the beach house with her roommates following close behind—she expected a normal beach house like all the other ones lining the beachfront—you know; a bathroom for each bedroom or perhaps a bathroom per every other bedroom.

No. Not this one. This house is right out of Alice and Wonderland or some sci-fi channel movie. There are toilets placed sporadically around the house—in and outside bathrooms, with and without stalls, some white, green, pink, blue, and even an orange one with a white striped lid, in different shapes and types, and some urinals too, they’re even in places normally considered unsanitary to have a toilet in, like the kitchen, and toilets on walls which somehow manage to still flush--these ones, you can lean back on because they are facing upwards; although I can’t figure out how it’s feasible to use in the first place. By chance the wall toilets were purely for finalizing the décor taste of the Mad Hatter or Lemony Snicket—strong odors don’t seem to be emanating from the inhouse stations.

“Maybe these people have a really big family? I mean I’ve got five brothers.” Gabe says.

“Yeah. I’m sure your family loves to poop in front of each other. I wonder what your guests think?” Amanda jokes and everyone snickers.

“Uh huh, this house was definitely made by the seven dwarves, despite us not being in a forest.” Kate adds.

“Guys, I don’t think Jon was finished. Jon?” Christine pauses the conversation and everyone turns back to Jon who is starting to have a sly smirk on his face.

Charater Names

I didn't realize how fun/hard it is to come up with good character names.

I think I've played around enough with my characters' names (the main people anyways) for my fantasy series.

Here we go:
1.Valerian Wilson (boy)
2.Amedei Wilson (girl)
3.Kai Wilson (boy)
4.Kelby Adair (girl)
5.Melodi Adair
6.Glade Garrison (girl)
7.Calder Garrison (boy)
8.Dagner
9.Mabel


I won't give anything else away for now.

HP Pureblood

Naturally after a Harry Potter movie is released, I have the inner lure to re-read the whole series all over again just so I can nostalgically experience the joy, laughter, and adventure that HP delivers.

So, in one week's time,instead of writing, I have re-read the first 3 HPs and am now in the 4th. I have also been analyzing J.K. Rowling's structure and dialogue techniques.

Luckily, and ironically, the Harry Potter movie marathon was on last weekend! Oh, thank you Warner Brothers and Fox Family!



There's a scene in The Chamber of Secrets (#2) where Tom Marvolo Riddle (a young Lord Voldemort) writes his name in the air with his wand and then swirls it around to reveal "I am Lord Voldemort" to Harry.

I dorkishly, wanted to play around with my name as well, plus I've heard sometimes that pen names are created this way (and perhaps character names).


I found that I clearly have too many letter A's in my name.

Amanda Wade
1. Wanda Namad
2. Dawna Demaa
3. Adanea Mawd

Amanda Aloise Wade
1. Laandi Osa Mawadee
this one really fits the HP theme, but it sounds more like a spell than a name. Man, I have too many A's!


Perhaps, a more interesting post will be arriving soon--this was more of an attempt at filling space and feeling accomplished at my blog...

Dacey Garner

Dacey stepped out of her green back screen porch door out onto the skinny strip of sandy beach. When she wasn’t in her boat, she had it parked right up in front of her back yard turned over with it’s backside in the air. It was a small boat, wooden, maybe 8 feet, and it needed a paint job over its fading white décor. It also had a set of wooden oars that probably were more effective when it didn’t have chips of wood missing. I often passed by this boat when my brother and I would spend all day at the sandbar—I’d catch myself dreaming about borrowing the yacht and leaving my brother alone on the beach while I floated in freedom.



She was a lonely, old, wrinkly lady across the street from my house—she was a little nutty because she frequently walked around in waders and a full yellow rain suit. I never knew what she did in that odd outerwear; it was never raining when I saw her in her gear. If only I could catch her in flippers and follow her to see dolphins—darn fantasies never come true. I never understood a word she said to me either—just nod and agree was my trick to successful conversation. Most of the neighborhood didn't bother her; she was simply watched from a distance--she gave people bewildered curiosity.



(I'm in the process of developing characters. Dacey is a minor character I'm playing around with. I could use some input. I realize I don't often get input, but I'll give it a go. I know where I'm going (I think) with Dacey, but I want to hear if you are correct in just the little I've written and what you assimilate. What genre do you see her in? Villain or hero? What do you think her background is? What questions are unanswered about her that you want told?)

T for Turkey. Gobble, Gobble.

I only have thanksgiving off; boo hoo. That's alright; the only addition to the house for the week is my little brother--no one major. I love you, Cory.

I really want to ditch the turkey, create a new tradition, and eat oysters instead. The craving is becoming unbearable--obviously not enough for me to go to some sketch street oyster vendor van (those are the best).

I'll suffice for egg nogg and pumpkin pie...that can be my whole meal.

Well, my next story will probably be somewhat soon. I am making an expedition to the archives of my local newspaper next week to look up a plane crash that happened in 1983 a few streets from the house I grew up in. I am planning on including something about that in my fiction series. I'm also toying with the idea of submersibles (personal submarines).

I got a brand new journal purely for character development--I got all white and nerdy and organized it with colored tabs.

This journal will be my dear, dear spouse for the next few years--it will submit to all my words.

The pages are filling up quick.

Happy Thanksgiving, all.

Mamby Pamby Land

As promised, a sample from the novel I currently am working on--a compilation of short stories. I'll add pictures for blog affect! Disclaimer: I know none of the pictured kids; they're just taken from the web.

Titled: Mamby Pamby Land

One of the main differences between an adult and a child is not the disappearance of mistakes, but how we resolve our mistakes when they happen. That’s what I love and hate most about this whole adult thing—I have to ask for forgiveness and suck it up even when I know deep down it wasn’t my fault, or it was a very small percentage of my fault.

Who am I kidding? I had to do that as a kid too. Only now, I can’t hide behind my parents or blame it on one, or both, of my brothers.

Sure, I suppose I can admit, on that rare occasion, I am in complete error and should step down in all words (all of them!) of defense. That rare occasion is not now.

If only there was a No Fault Insurance policy in life. Let things lie as is, no talking and resolving. I don’t even want to look at you. How about never meeting you again? Would you like to move somewhere else, so I don’t ever have to experience another awkward second with you? I’ll be willing to move away, if you so kindly give me the allowance to do so.

I was fired. Yesterday.

Not because I said those things; I actually didn’t release those emotions until just now.

I’m a hard worker; and I even consider myself sufficient at curing the heart of conflict. My hands are my best friends; they rarely fail me. Silent, laborious work is sometimes the best kind. All my thoughts take a hold over me—they encompass me in a world where no other person can enter unless they succumb to my game of pre-made responses. People always seem to be better when you can put words in their mouths. Doing the dishes, sweeping and mopping, taking the trash out, and sanitizing high-traffic surfaces, bring a sense of accomplishment and control when in the rest of the workplace there isn’t much to be found.



My ability and diligence in carrying out the tasks nobody else wants to do usually wins the boss and co-workers over to an un-wavering love for me.

Apparently, working at a daycare involves so much more than the menial labors of cleaning and baby excrement disposal.

Silly me.

Most of my mistakes originated from unknowingly being too much of a comedic smart-ass with the parents or from simply being too focused on the moment to answer correctly their concerned, over-protective questions about the scraped knees, their my-toy tantrums, and their wetting the cot at naptime. Understandably, parents don’t want to hear that their child is so bossy that they’re practically Hitler reincarnated or that their child spent most of the day in timeout because they have a fetish for licking, bruising, and screaming at other kids. Another favorite, I can’t express, is that your kid likes to shape shift into the National Whiner of the Year every time another kid pokes him or her.





Instead, at the end of the day, I have to give a report more like so: “Oh, she had a better day than yesterday. Only a few timeouts for some minor scruples—she likes to be Ms. Bossy-Pants a lot.”

My most memorable blunder was with a two year old named Damon when his mother came into the classroom that afternoon to pick him up.

I had been giving out hair bands to the girls that I had accumulated throughout the week on my desk, so when the mother arrived I was not fully paying attention to her. It was five o’clock because the movie was on in the blocks center and I was the only employee left for the day.

One level shy of yelling, the mother said, “Hey Damon! How was your day? We got to go, come on!”

Damon, who had been watching the movie intensely for the last fifteen minutes, without a peep or complaint, inched his way up in a sudden full-blown whine of pain. He’s walking like he’s constipated, in a full squat position; he’s stomping his feet one whiney step at a time towards his mother.


“What’s wrong with you? Do you have an owey?”, questions his mom.

No response other than more cave man walking and crying.

I’m at this point, staring at him in an amazed daze of awe. Do you want me to fluff your pillow, Damon? Let’s get some whine with that cheese--underage drinking, perhaps not such a bad idea.

Momma again, except this time, more directed to me, “What’s wrong with him? Why is he walking like that?”

Now in the past, this particular mother has been quite the wise-cracker. So, I’m feeling I have some leeway to be the little jokester that I usually am in close company with people. I did not read her mood meticulously enough, and to add to dynamite, words slipped out of my mouth that I did not plan. The joke turned into disaster. I knew it as soon as the sounds fell from my lips.

“Ah (with a little snicker), he’s making it up.”

Lightning strikes!

What did I just do?

Everything is slowed down and sped up all at once. Her mouth drops in utter disbelief and into automatic Xena: Warrior Woman.


Momma follows suit with her son, stomping, except a lot more speedily. She scurried and ducked down to grab her son in rescuing fashion from her newfound perceived acknowledgement that her child was being, clearly, not watched by an unsympathetic bystander.

“What do you mean making it up? He’s hurt and you don’t care? This place is ridiculous.”

In my desperation, “ah, hold on. I didn’t mean it like that”

As she’s parading out the door, “Tell your boss I’m putting in a two week notice.”

The one word description of what I was feeling: overreaction! Immediate guilt pursued which turned into inner anxiety attack and even shifted into self-destruction, but I am a trained chameleon, I can disguise most all emotion. Despite my sweaty palms, increased heart rate, amplified thoughts, and the adrenaline pumping through my body, in the matter of seconds, I’ve told myself I can handle anything and that anything can be fixed. Be calm and just let it go; I’ll call her and apologize. I’ll call my boss too and let her know before I’m in even more trouble. I’m an adult; I’m an adult. It’s my responsibility to mend what I’ve torpedoed.

The next few moments, I pretended to watch the movie with the kids; what I was really doing was rewinding and replaying the last ten minutes of my life.

Oh no! She’s not done; she’s back! Still in her take charge mood.

She takes me off guard.

“What are these scrapes and bruises all over his knees and legs?”

She shoves those little knees right in front of my face only to make sure, in case I was visually impaired, that I could see them.

Damon is a child that I normally wouldn’t acquire, under my guidance, until later in the afternoon when the daycare starts to combine classrooms due to parents’ arrivals. So, unless it is reported to me that there is an accident or an injury, I normally just assume something happened at home or it was minor enough to not get reported to me. Kids hurt themselves several times a day; it’s so easy to not write up (and then forget about it) the slips on sidewalks or the bumps into furniture. Why should I write anything up that doesn’t involve a little blood?

“I don’t know; I don’t remember anything happening this afternoon. Teri and Briana didn’t say anything either.” I say innocently.

Suddenly, mid-sentence, I get a flashback to an hour earlier. I had just the two year olds for a short stint before the combining. We went outside for a bit until it started to appear like Percy Jackson, Poseidon’s son, was forging war upon us in the rain clouds that were above us. Do you know how long it takes to line eight two year olds up? Time is not in our favor. This particular class has a leash with ten loops in it for each kid. I quickly go around to each kid, cramming a loop in each hand. We start to walk.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Thunder. Boom. Boom.

And now, screams. Child, high-pitched screams.

I have us walking as fast as possible. Which means we are still going slow. There’s always that one that doesn’t understand that the rest of the class is walking faster than him or her and that when they are not going the same rate, they cause collision and downfall.

And here comes the rain. Pouring and Pouring.

“Oh wait, I’m sorry. He did fall on the sidewalk, earlier when we were rushing in from the rain.”

Strike Two...You’re not watching my kid again.

“That’s what I thought; tell Jane, two week notice! I’m through!”


She’s out the door, finally.

I’m back to pretending to watch the movie while I prepare a mental script of the next two respective lashings to my self-esteem and pride--a phone call to my boss and to the mother that went berserk.

Step up; be a real woman, Clate—not one of the unapologetic, prudish, hoebags that so many people seem to be.

Ring. Ring. Ring. The daycare phone alarms me of my pending doom. I scurry to answer, but first I need to examine the caller id—it’s Briana, my coworker and assistant manager. Briana is the very coworker that happens to be the second mom of Damon.

AKA: Momma’s best friend!

My muscles sag into agony as all my bones in my body are cowering. Hesitantly, I spit out “hello?”

As soon as I realize she is not in automatic destructive mode, I’ve gained enough confidence to interrupt the war monger, but only because she’s currently playing out of character.

“Oh good, I was just picking up the phone to call you; I couldn’t reach Jane and I wanted to let someone know what just happened.”

The London Dead

Clearly, I have abandoned my duty of blog making and voted upon adventure taking. Since the last time I was here, the trips I have taken are 1)to Florida for an Alumni soccer game 2)road trip to Murfeesboro, NC for a soccer game and 3)London to visit my cousin and her husband, and Melissa (a college soccer buddy).

For warm-up into the blog world again, I am supplying an assignment (due tomorrow too) from my creative writing class. We had to do a 1 page story that included the words: fragrant, hazy, frosty, coo, and nutty. Perfect words to describe London, right?

Alright, have fun and do a wordsearch!

The London Dead

Behind me I let the door to the flat slam closed. Since my arrival in London, a few days ago, I have acquired the stride of a prison escapee. There is no particular reason why I need to rush at all, but I certainly feel like I fit in now and it seems to be more exciting this way too. It’s a hazy morning—typical London air for November.

I walk a block to go to the Maida Vale Tube station. The tubes are generally frequented by both people and pigeons alike—if these people would slow down once in awhile they’d probably realize their inner desire to put a bb gun to each and every one of those rodents due to their never ending coo. No worry though, the constant scurry of the crowd drowns out all their annoyance—well, maybe not their calcium deposits.


I scan my oyster card and I’m through the gates of the underground. The smells of London and the heat emanating from the stagnant air below waft to my nose—what a fragrant whiff; one of sewage and sweat, and perhaps bird pooh too.


By now, I am a tube connoisseur; I am master of tube navigation—then, I have to get off. I probably walked past the road the Highgate Cemetery is on three times before realizing it is the right road after all.

The gate to the cemetery is built of stone and is quite medieval looking; I find my way through and there is a small building past the entrance that looks like an American fair booth. There’s a ticket master for self-guided tours—I was under the impression that there was a guided tour that would include ghost stories and real life stories about the dead people living there. I head on my way through the grave paths and, unmarked paths too, only to crunch the frosty leaves below—I’m careful not to step on the graves just in case my childhood fear of zombies comes true.

While I’m alone in the woods among the dead, I suddenly feel like a nutty person walking around a graveyard with no purpose—taking pictures purely for the sake to make-up my own stories about them later. At the end of my hour or two of perusing for the best written marker, I call it quits. I didn't encounter any engraving that stood out, but I did procure a love for the name "Mabel" and a curiosity for the meaning of "Ruhe Sanft."



Later when I get back to America, my mother is appalled and disappointed at my picture taking because I took more grave pictures than all of London. Maybe what she really wanted was a picture of me next to the graves.


I head back to the tubes much more speedily then my arrival to the graves. I conclude my travels, for the day, at the Museum of London.






Being that the Event/Travel journal doesn't enable me to really post as often as I would like I think I'll be mixing it up a little. I will include random stories I'm working on and a space for dreams, dream places to go, and asilly idea journal.

I'm Back....bachelorette!

Taking a hiatus was not such a great idea, and I didn't officially inform the blog readers.

I thought since it was summer, I would be occupied with my new hobbies of surfing and sailing, and then the old past time, soccer. Not so. Not having a sailboat makes things a whole lot more difficult to sail. Weather and waves are determining factors for both the new sports.

Anyways, I'm back because I need things to do and people to meet. I miss writing too :(


So, let me start off with a little life story.

Beth Seitz Arroyo's Bachelorette Party 2010: Tampa Bay, Florida

I stumble off the plane into Tampa at 9:30am after basically four hours of plane-riding, airport-waiting slumber and back into the reality of my past college friendships and acquaintances. I was overjoyed and ignorant of my near future.

Jamie Willis ever so graciously accepted me into her home for the weekend, and chauffeured me around!

Fatigue and the longing for a body pillow could not escape me that day, but nonetheless, the morning turned into dancing.

I caught up with an old roommate, Charissa, for lunch at the Southeastern cafe. Good Times.

I came back and took a nap!

Frankly, pretty much nothing happened until, I don't even know what time, because the girls took forever to communicate and coordinate where and when we were meeting.

Let's just say around my normal bedtime, is when we finally left to join the wedding party girls.

The party participants primarily consisted of Southeastern Alum. Now, Southeastern girls are a different breed entirely from the rest of the college world purely in the fact that we signed a contract, and followed the contract (aside from a rare "hooligan") to not drink alcohol. That being said, while attending Southeastern it felt like most students were either priorly prone to radical religious beliefs against drinking entirely or they were being sucked into judging every action and mistake a person made involving that "sinful" activity.

That might be a little dramatic and I certainly don't have that feeling for all people at Southeastern. No doubt, there was a prevalent feeling towards that in my classes and in the general population. That Catholic background could have made my interpretation whack as well.

Regardless, the beginning of that night gave some merit to that. We went to Howling at the Moon which is a bar-club type restaurant that has two piano players taking song requests. Everyone belts out the songs along with them. Well, there were these buckets (almost a gallon?) of margaritas at pretty much every table with probably 10 straws--we ordered one. Our first alcoholic order. Two, maybe three of us had drank alcohol before (myself included).

The looks on the girls' faces were classic. Should I drink this or not? Will I be judged? Is this still taboo for me? Will someone find out? I could feel the peer pressure, the spiritual battle in the atmosphere.

I dove right into that Margarita! That gallon isn't going to waste--too tasty...and expensive for that matter.

Beth followed. And a few others (I think). They may have been pretending to drink because I could almost swear that Beth and I drank that whole bucket between the two of us. The other's sipped for the pictures.

It took a good while for people to get loose and sing; have fun.

The real party started when everyone became loose enough to have a drink and celebrate this weekend. We left Howling at the Moon; we went to a club and danced. I didn't dance much; I just got hit on by someone who was staring at me for 20 minutes. Poor guy; I didn't pay any attention to him and he went away after a sad attempt at conversation.

Then we went to a lounge/bowling alley. By this point, Beth had a little too many to drink; the other SEU alum had had one drink, and that was one too many. My eyes were on the heavy side which is usually my stopping point--I actually have a fear of drunkenness. So, perfect time for a whole group of guys to buy us shots--I couldn't tell you what of.

These guys, they were on their game; well, they were playing a game. Not sure about the well part. They were making the rounds to all of us, striking up conversations; hooking up was written all over their eyes, their drunken eyes. I was woozy, but I could tell that much. I had two come around to me, one didn't last long in conversation before moving on; the other....

Jay was his name. He made sure I knew that and made me feel guilty if I didn't.

We connected because he is a Marine; then he thought that meant we could kiss and "hook-up".

Italics = Me
" " = Jay

"Where you from?" North Carolina

"Oh yeah, I'm in St. Louis, but I'm going to be moving to NC because I'm being stationed there." oh, are you in the Army or the Marine Corps...or perhaps the Air Force?

"What do I look like?" ahh, I don't know; is there a look? I'd guess Marine though


At this point he goes on to tell me about being in Iraq twice and Afghanistan once. I could see past the drunkenness and into the pain in his eyes. I have no idea what has gone on in his life, but I felt the need to listen to him even with his current game playing. Plus, I wanted to hear his strategy of winning me into seduction.
It was somewhat amusing.

The next lines may be out of order and missing transitions because of my memory--they need to be included.

"so, I won't get you pregnant; you can trust me. You know. Us Marines; We good guys. What you think about hooking up?"
You do look like a trusting guy....when you're sober. I don't believe in this "hooking up"(I even did finger quotations); I have values.

At this point he was getting desperate, puppy eyes too; he proceeded to unexpectedly make out with my shoulder.

"You know you are a beautiful woman and we have things in common..."

Bam...this awkward kiss/lick directly on my shoulder. The shoulder of all places--I sneeze on that shoulder constantly throughout the day.

I look at him in astonishment and shock with a little smirk in there too. He interprets that as....

"Kiss me. I know you want to; I saw the way you just looked at me."

I am dead staring straight ahead in the opposite direction because he looks like he is about to pounce on my lips--I have never been so scared in my life.

"Look at me; look at me." No, I'm scared

Interpretation issues again.

Wham! Another make-out session with my shoulder. Why, are you licking my shoulder?

Alright, I'm done with this game; this isn't amusing anymore.

It looks like my wedding party has left; it's my responsibilty to hang out with them all weekend. I'm going to go look for them now. Nice meeting you, was it Jay?


"Come on, you know my name. You gonna do me like that." Yes. I need to leave.

He sticks out his cheek for a kiss and I refuse twice.

I'm only doing this because it is a custom greeting


And off to my friends for more laughter and witnessing to more crazy night. It was rewarding to see Beth enjoy the moments before getting married. Good times to share together.




On Voting for next activities:
I need to do some more research on what's coming up; then I'll post.


-

Bachelor Auction: Time/less

I may have waited a tad long on posting the news story from the Bachelor Auction--I'm already forgetting how lonely and embarrassed I was feeling.

Oh, no, no....I didn't forget; the memory is still there.

So, it was a friday night and I get home from work thinking it's a typical friday night with no plans. I was double Wrong! I found out from a post on facebook that the auction was that night, not the following night that I had perceived it to be. It was starting 30 minutes after I read the FB post.

Debate: Go or not to go?

Yes, I am a woman of principle and a woman of word. True, not many words, out loud, but still "word."

Granted, now I have no one to go with because I am not taking thirty minutes to figure out logistics of multiple people's schedules--their on their own now with disappointment to follow on the next day.

I don't stop to think about how lonely I will be or the fact that I have no people skills with strangers....

I only rush, rush, rush into whatever suits my fancy--jeans and a semi-formal top. I look good in anything; I tell myself.

Make-up: check
I got to look a little older than 15...(my aging might be a little too slow)

I grab a camera and run on out to my car.

Fashionably, scratch that... I just arrive late. $25

I envisioned bar setting/restaurant setting...perhaps standing and cheering within a crowd.

Not so. There were round tables of women of all ages just drooling in their seats in anticipation. There was no room for me among such women; I had to stand embarrassingly alone amongst the majority sitting. If you don't know women by now, you should note that women travel in groups when they have no men attached to their belts. I felt like a beached whale paddling for the ocean--Can I go home now?

Inner screaming was subsided by a little rum and coke and the start of men being sold on the dance floor. Some of them did dance.

The men ranged in age of 21 to who knows; I wasn't paying attention to the old guys.

I probably would have bidded on three of them had I had a million dollars--$500 would have sufficed. Everyone went for over $200; I didn't think stranger men were that worth it. Although, that one curly, dark-haired...

I left at intermission. I couldn't take watching these men get bought off--I can't enjoy it that much if I can't buy one myself. Plus, that alone part was still a significant factor for leaving early.

I cowardly didn't take any pictures--it felt awkward standing in the middle of a sitting crowd, alone, to take pictures of men prancing around, selling themselves.

Perhaps, next time...I'll be the one being auctioned. My turn to dance...that belly dancing class would have come in handy...


My sailing trip was canceled due to high winds.

This past weekend I painted my surfboard all weekend.

Before


And After...



Next Week: I am going to take off due to exams coming up/end of spring class. I am hopefully starting my "cheapest meal on the menu tour" if the scheduling pans out.

Vote for: May 7-13
1. Drum Circle
2. Beaufort Music Festival
3. Crystal Coast Beach Music Festival

Also: I'm looking for a male (great way to get a man, ask for one!) who would like to take a tango class with me on any given saturday. I'm seeing some newspaper posts offering... If I get some volunteers, that can be voted on in the future too.

Oink oink Oink

Pig Cookin' 2010....Yes, I purposely left the "g" out because it's southern. I'm a grammar fanatic myself...

Technically, I went, but many could claim that I did not. I went through the drive through to get a BBQ plate from the FFA.

I cheated; I know.

Only because I had forgotten, and was reminded the day of by my family, that there are only rides there and bbq plates.

My master plan fell to pieces.

Plan #1: Call my old FFA advisor to set me up with a chef/pig cooker man or woman whom I can assist.

Fail #1: I perceivably waited too long to act upon it--I'm giving the excuse of Easter.

Plan #2: Go around to several cooks on Saturday, at the fest, and taste test them all in order to give a review. Then go interview my chosen best cook about how to cook a pig.

Fail #2: That's not how things work....you buy plates without knowing who made the bbq.

Well, it was good and the vinegar based sauce is to die for.

Despite all that tomfoolery, the rest of the weekend was pure sweat and labor--hoeing them weeds and throwing down the rubbers...I mean rubber mulch, of course. Oh, the Spring!

Looking stunning and making me ecstatic...plants are popping up and growing in.








Two, maybe three weeks ago, I bought a surfboard! Hopefully I'll be riding some waves this summer. I'll be giving it my artistic touch in the next few weekends--here's the before picture. Painting it with my own design...


Next Event: Not surprisingly, the Bachelor Auction won out. This should be fun, as long as all the men aren't over 35...and I don't spend a million dollars. Prior to the event, I finally am learning to sail--all day Saturday!

Following event (Vote):

1. Maritime Museum's Wooden Boat Show: The museum’s Annual Wooden Boat Show has celebrated wooden boats and traditional skills since 1975. Free boat rides will be offered all week from 1-4 PM outside the Watercraft Center (April 24-30). At the Boat Show enjoy traditional skills demonstrations & displays, educational activities, historic vessels, nautical crafts, boat models, sailboat races at 11 AM and 3 PM, and sailboat rides from 12-3 PM. Parking at Gallants Channel with free van shuttle 9 AM - 5 PM (Saturday, May 1).

2. 6th Annual Beaufort Wine and Food Fest: Great wines plus the food of coastal Carolina's finest restaurants are a perfect pairing. Visit the quaint seaport town of Beaufort in grand style while attending tastings, seminars, dinners, wine and cheese pairings and much more. With 18 different events, there is something for everyone - don't miss this culinary experience.

The Fun Begins--Vote!

I have the week off for Easter and next week I'm going to the Newport Pig Cookin'.

I thought I would put some descriptions down for the next vote though--April 16-22.

1. Tahoe Rodeo:
EVENT RUNS APRIL 16-17
Gates Open 6:00 pm/ Rodeo begins at 8:00 pm Both Days
Location: Newport Flea Mall, 196 Carl Garner Road (off highway 70), Newport NC

2. The Bachelor Auction:
The Beaufort Music Festival hosts its annual Bachelor Auction April 16 at the Beaufort Grocery Co. Annex in downtown Beaufort. Benefitting the 22nd annual musical event, set for May 7-8, the bachelor auction offers a chance to bid on bachelors paired with unique date and/or gift packages. Beginning with a bachelor preview at 7pm, participants can enjoy heavy hors d’ oeuvres and a cash bar, followed by the actual auction at 8pm. Advance tickets are $15 ($20 at the door) and available at the Backstreet Pub in Beaufort.

If you are up for this one--maybe you would like to increase my chances of winning a man by donating....if you would like to do that email me (aawade25@gmail.com)

3. Publick Day:
Colonial style market with crafts, antiques, food, music and games.
500 attendees expected.

4. Blue Tie Casino Night:
The first Blue Tie Casino Night – complete with music, fine food, signature drinks, a host of casino-style games, and a live and silent auction – will be held on April 17th, starting at 6:30 p.m. Proceeds will benefit children and adults with disabilities in the New Bern/Greenville NC region. Preferred attire is “dressy cocktail” with an emphasis on blue rather than black tie.

Walking with the Dogs

Yesterday, I went all the way to Wilmington to walk about 1 mile in the park.

Pretty nuts--I should of brought my dogs too because it seemed like every person/maybe every other person had a dog.

I was walking in Wilmington for a Walk-a-thon for those who can't walk or need help walking with service dogs.

I saw the biggest dog I've ever seen, a bull mastiff (the Sandlot dog) take on a black lab--obvious winner there. I was walking behind a team of Boston terrier rescuers at one time--probably about 20 carbon-copies of those dogs surrounded me. The other half of the time was spent talking to a little old lady from Wilmington about dogs (my basenjis, her dogs) and the smell of dog waste in the air from the overwhelming numbers of them in the park.

We were fed free food from Papa Johns and McCalisters Subs. They were even handing out free doggy poop bags all along the trail...

Free t-shirts too! Large T-shirts and Extra Large T-shirts. This I do not understand. Every free event I ever go to--oversized t-shirts. The majority of the population wears small or medium, right? Do they think that there will be much advertising success in nightgown-wear? How about on Salvation Army racks? If people could actually wear these shirts in public, they might be able to sell a product or sell an event for the future--just a thought.

Terrible pictures this time, sorry! It took me awhile to figure out that the camera was on video setting, in which, I was merely snapshooting--so no video really either.

Here's what I got:

Notice the nightgown the girl is wearing...


Next Week:
Easter Week: I'm taking off.

Next Event:

1. The Newport Pig Cookin':The annual Newport Pig Cookin'Contest is a tradition in eastern NC. Try the "best of the best" eastern NC style barbecue in Newport Community Park. Rides, food, pretty much a festival again, but some really good bbq.

That's all that's listed that I'm available for. The following week looks to have a lot though--I'll post that as a poll to vote on later this week--after a little more research.