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.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
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.
“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.
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