PTSD We Don't Usually Talk About it.

 I decided to write this blog and to do so in such a way as not to harm anyone who may be innocent; someone who doesn't deserve to be hurt.  I'm not talking about the man that raped me, no, he probably hasn't changed much but he may be married or have children - - even grandchildren. They don't need to be stigmatized or feel the need to question the man after nearly four decades.  I won't say his last name, but I won't change his first;  his name is Dale. Dale raped me on July 2, 1981, in Norman, Oklahoma. I was 19 years old. I was a virgin. He had no right, and I don't regret my actions - - just maybe their result. He should be dead.

In the summer of '81, I was dating a sweet and loving soul named David, and we were about at that stage where I may have thought about being intimate with him. We had known each other a few months, he had dated a schoolmate of mine and was no longer on her arm, so I questioned her about it.  With her permission and approval, I asked David on a date; he accepted. This may have been March or early April of the same year.  Just after finishing a 5K run/walk with David at a park near his home, he brought me to his place to meet his mom and dad; again, very traditional, very sweet, very normal.  During the evening David mentioned that he had a good friend at the University of Oklahoma (where he was attending) who needed help with his English project before he graduated. This being late June, I wondered how it was even possible that the friend was in school, but of course, universities have summer classes. Apparently, this guy needed to make up a credit to fulfil his end of the graduation packet, and yeah, I guess English professors can hold up the process if you owe them work. I told David I'd help his friend. I mean, in 1981 I wasn't a professor of English (not yet), but I certainly knew my way around an essay!

I remember so many things about that day; things that shouldn't really stick in my head this long after the fact. I remember I didn't have a car, it was in the shop, so I literally walked over two miles to a friend's house to borrow her car! It was a red 1977 Oldsmobile 442; wow, what a dreamboat, and powerful too. It blew the doors off my little Volkswagen Beetle bug. Cops didn't really pull people over for speeding down I-35 from OKC to Norman, not then, I could have simply dropped my foot and hit over 80 or 90 miles per hour easily in that machine, but no; I drove like I do now, slow and smart! I've been driving since I was 17 and I don't have a speeding ticket - - knock on wood! It was truly an experience to be in this magnificent car of hers.  I made it to Norman in about 30 minutes, normal time.

I knew then, exactly where the man was living because David had lived with him for about a minute at the beginning of our new relationship and I'd visited him a couple of times in his dorm; an outside sort of cottage really, not the typical highrise unit on the proper campus. It was more outback you'd say, more on its own with a small group of other units. I think they've been removed since then, and an entirely new academic building has been built in its place. That's the one thing in my mind that I can't pin down; where exactly did this happen. I just knew how to get there, but couldn't tell you the address now to save my life. I let that slip out of my memory, and I don't know why. Too much maybe? 

I remember knocking on the door, I remember Dale answering. I remember him being polite. I remember him asking me to sit down at the desk and go over his notes. I remember doing just that. I remember the way he grabbed me, the way I fought. I remember the screaming, I remember him laughing. I remember him being naked. I couldn't for the life of me remember when he took off his clothes. I didn't see that, I didn't hear him. I didn't realize this was even a ploy - - there were notes. I was reading notes. I was sitting at the desk, reading when I was abruptly grabbed from behind and lifted off the ground.  I think on that day I may have weighed 120 pounds if I was wet and carrying my dog; in other words, I was not the robust woman I am today. I think I earned the nickname "Stringbean" from my high school years. I stood 5'7" tall, but had absolutely no defense against this man; he was not that tall really, only 5'10" I think, but he was buff, and he was strong, and believe me, he had the advantage of both surprise and force.  He hit me.  He hit me squarely in the face, and he landed that one punch perfectly. I was out.

When I came to I was not completely naked. I still had my purple and white striped Polo buttoned-down dress shirt draped around me, but my bra was undone, my jeans and panties missing, and I had one shoe on my foot, the other I think was just under my thigh, I could feel it. Maybe he tried to take them both off, I will never know. I know that I woke up, I know that I was feeling pressure both on my body and inside my body. It was not just painful it was confusing as I had never been sexually active, I'd never even been intimate at this point; what was happening felt foreign and combative. I know that I knew I was being attacked. I immediately resisted until I felt a calm come over my soul telling me to think, not push, not scream, not react, but think. I put my greatest strength to work - - my brain.

Deciding to pretend I was interested in what was happening was my weapon of choice until such time I could find another more physical and tangible weapon. It wasn't long before the brutish base asshat on top of me, inside of me, decided to relax a bit, thinking the sounds I was making and the moves I was showing were both submissive and engaging - - his folly.  My left eye caught a glimpse of a whiskey bottle, perhaps a Jack Daniels bottle, I don't know. I wasn't a drinker, I wasn't into bottles, but I saw it. It was half full, but it wasn't half full of liquid. I saw pennies, dimes, I think I saw quarters, but maybe not, maybe they were nickels. I saw the change. I saw an opportunity. He didn't see anything. He didn't see it coming - - he felt it. I'm absolutely certain that he felt it. I was free - - I was still pinned under his now more impossible weight, but I was in fact free.

Because I was nervous because I was scared and no longer using my inner strengths, maybe just a whole lot of fear-driven adrenaline, I picked up his jeans and my other shoe, my keys, and my little purse, and I left as fast as possible. I don't even remember putting on his jeans but I had them on when I arrived at my friend's house to return her car. We didn't have cell phones in 1981.  I could have, if I had thought about it, stopped at a gas station and used a payphone. I'm also sure there were about six different police stations between the OU campus and Bethany, Oklahoma. I didn't stop at one of them either. I made it to Carol's house in under 20 minutes - - I wasn't driving my usual slow and easy steady pace I suppose. I don't even remember if I remember the route, but it must have been one that I had taken in the past, and it was probably the same one I took going down to Norman, but I just remember pulling into Carol's driveway and running up to her door with Dale's blue jeans falling off my waistline and hitting the porch! Carol wasn't home - - we didn't have cell phones in 1981. I walked over two miles to my house - - again, not stopping to call my mom, not stopping to call the police, not stopping to call an ambulance for Dale; though I was absolutely sure he needed one.

When I did arrive home I was met by my friend who had been called by another friend of his at a gas station who said he saw me walking home, that I was about a mile away and I was not looking too good. The guy thought maybe I was drunk. It was in the middle of the afternoon -- and I didn't drink, but this man didn't know that. I call my friend my brother; he and I were raised together.  My brother knew that I didn't drink. He knew something was wrong. My brother walked up the hill from our houses just as I was making my way to the same hill to walk down it. It didn't take me very long to explain to my brother what happened; the bruise on my face, the fact that I wasn't wearing my own jeans, both were enough for him to use his greater strengths - - he didn't use his brains, he used his fists. Maybe it was wrong of me to do so, but I told my brother exactly where to find Dale. 

Years have passed obviously, and though I never sought medical treatment or anything remotely close to psychological assistance to overcome any post-traumatic stress disorder due to the attack, I have come to grips with two solid facts about myself; I am a survivor, and I will kill if I have to do so. I wasn't trying to hurt Dale that day, I was trying to kill him. I wanted him dead - - I was hoping when my brother found Dale he would be lying in his own blood and not breathing, but that's not what he found. He found Dale sitting up at the desk, holding my jeans, but he was dressed.  He found blood on the sheets of the bed but it wasn't Dale's it was mine. My brother found himself facing a man about the same size as himself, but the advantage went to the man whose friend and sister was abused - Dale spent the next few days at Norman Regional Hospital fighting for his life. At the time, I wished he had lost it. I checked the papers every day to see if he had in fact died. 

Jesus is the great physician.  He healed my soul, He healed my body, He healed my spirit, and He healed my heart to the point that I eventually, years later, was able to pray for Dale and hope that whatever it is that he's doing he would do it with repentance and without hurting another woman. I'll not ever know the truth about what happened to him.  A day or so after the attack, because he had reported a completely different story to the medical staff at Norman Regional, I was questioned. The fact that I had Dale's jeans in my possession and my brother found my jeans at the dorm, was enough for the detectives to start an investigation. I just wanted to talk to David, to let him know what happened - - his mother refused to let me speak to him after she was told what happened. She told me to my face that I went there, to the dorm, knowing what was going to happen and that just because I changed my mind didn't make it rape!  Are you kidding me? David didn't argue with his mom.  Imagine. Just imagine. 

The pain of the event is still very chilling. I remember as much as I remember, but my mind and my heart is always settled when I think about what took place. I know I wasn't asking for trouble. I know I was trying to be helpful and was taken advantage of. I also know I was right to fight back and to get as far away as I could. You'll have to forgive me if I don't apologize for my actions - - today I would have hit him three or four times and stood over his bloody corpse to be damn sure he was dead. I wouldn't need my brother, but I may still explain myself to him. He would understand. Today, I pray Dale has accepted Christ, but that doesn't excuse his actions from before he did; I am a survivor, and I will kill. These two things I know about myself. I hope to God, I never have to prove it.

To anyone who has been attacked, who has been violated, I commend every effort on your part to survive and to cope with the aftermath of what is left in our thoughts, our dreams, our lives after having experienced such hardness; it should never happen, but it does. I pray for peace, and I look for peace. I believe through the years I've found it many times over. I know I raised my girls to think before they act, to be strong and forceful when necessary, and to be mindful of their surroundings. It's the least we can do to create a better tomorrow.

Me at 19. This was taken in May, 1981.

Tax Day - Nope! Not Yet.

 Looks like the tradition of paying our American taxes on April 15th has hit yet another snag. We have not paid our taxes on "Tax Day" now, for at least two years. This year that day is May 17, 2021.  I think blaming COVID-19 has some benefits; it's not all bad. I decided to go ahead and be traditional, however, and to file my tax return today. I can't understand people who wait until the last minute until I am one of those people. This doesn't usually happen, but I was waiting on an employer to get around to sending me my documents. They never arrived so I decided to guesstimate it and see if I'm caught. I'm freakishly close to the right number, so even if I am caught I won't have too much to worry about. 

In 2019 I was a teacher at an elementary school. There I was, doing what I do, teaching, and at the end of the day on December 2, 2019, I was called into the office rather unceremoniously, to be told that I would not be returning after the Christmas break. The school board had accepted the recommendation of the principal to not bring me back for the last half of my contract; there's a clause in the said contract that gives them the option to do that, but oh my, they didn't read the fine print. If they had done so, they would have realized that I in fact, had the option to counter! I did counter. I was not returned, but they had to pay my entire contract because they couldn't prove I had done a damn thing to warrant not being brought back after the break. No one, and I'll say that out loud, NO ONE had ever challenged them in the past. They hadn't hired me in the past; there you go. I won't be stepped on. I do bite back. I was literally let go because the veteran teachers on the same team as me, didn't want to answer questions that the kids were asking about how Bloom's Taxonomy relates to the various subjects these teachers were teaching. Oh, no, we must never allow children to be educated in the public school system - - that would be setting a dangerous president. 

So, in 2020 I was paid the remainder of my contract for the school, I was given my entire teacher's retirement fund withdrawal because I wrote them to say I would never teach again. I meant it too. I may do it, but I certainly meant it at the time! I was paid a sizeable amount by the government as well for unemployment and that was before COVID hit.  After the "plague" hit, as we call it here, the government, under President Trump, literally paid us too much to return to work, so I didn't return to work. I stayed unemployed quite a while in fact, so my 2020 tax return was full of strange and uncommon papers such as settlements, unemployment, government stimulus checks, and my teacher's retirement. I didn't really make any significant charitable contributions in 2020, and I didn't have medical issues to itemize either. I just had a straightforward return and decided today would be the best day to put it all together.  Such a traditionalist. 

I usually don't receive refunds because I owed so many taxes from years in the past when I worked with Faith, and no one got around to sending me forms that showed my income. My manager did his best, but you can't calculate and keep track of everything when you're not registered as a corporation; but you're out there making trips, doing speaking engagements, giving things away, accepting donations for dog food, etc.  It's too complex, and the IRS found a way to make it more so; hence I never expected to see another tax return no matter what the TurboTax people tell me at the end of my filing adventures. This year that may change! I may actually get to keep what the good people at TurboTax claim I will receive and if so I'll live another month or so without needing to go back to work. Gotta love that. I'm hoping I can hold out long enough for the book sales to kick in and I can just up and move to Scotland without fuss.

Believe me, when I say hiring me isn't the easiest thing to do. I'm usually overqualified for most positions even if I need one desperately.  Employers have a hard time keeping employees with both experience and education because they know we'll jump ship the second a "real" opportunity comes around. My agent Kevin knows this; he tends to narrow my choices for me. I don't even interview anymore unless Kevin suggests it. I haven't needed to, but that could change. I may accept, as I did last year, a really base entry-level job, just to relax and not have any responsibility on the job. I like that too. I like laying back, just pittling around, answering the phone, making copies, not being expected to run the ship, and if I do end up walking out I end up walking out; I have never really been all that devastated about losing a job for any other reason than I needed it to pay bills. That sucks. It does. We've all been there.  Well, right now I'm OK with being unemployed because I'm writing and that's still working. 

I make the required applications of course; I do my due diligence for the government, but no one said I had to accept anything if it's offered to me.  In time maybe, but not right now. Right now I'm being as lazy as I can be so I can write, rewrite, submit, resubmit, tweak and correct my books and then start the process of writing the next one.  I'm researching what it will take to move to Scotland. I'm dreaming and pretending to buy a home there. I'm shopping at their version of Home Depot (B&Q) and I'm buying groceries online (again, pretend) at Tesco, Morrison's, Aldi, Asda (their Walmart) and Sansibury markets. I'm reading reviews of restaurants in areas I would buy a terraced home. I'm considering a semi-detached home. I'm even thinking about a bungalow, but they tend to be on the edge of the streets that are a bit too busy.  

I don't know about paying my taxes in Scotland. I'll have to research that as well -- for now, I'm just doing what I can to stay afloat in the good ol' U.S. of A.  I did my part! I'm hoping to keep it going and be the best citizen I can be until I am an ex-pat living abroad. I can't tell you how rewarding that sounds right now.  It's been a long time coming. Uncle Sam will still be my guy, I'm not giving up the red, white, and blue anytime soon - - but I do need to get back to basics and stop all this hooey and madness going on all around me. In Scotland, I can breathe and have my own opinion. There, if I piss someone off they'll blame it on me just being the American that I am - - and they would be 100% correct.

Leave it Alone Already!

     You can't see me, I can't see me either actually, I'm typing this with my eyes closed because they needed a good rest after what I've put them through today. You know by now, if you read my blog, that I often can be found literally minding my own business, but not today; today I was tending to my business! I am tweaking, correcting, and otherwise changing the manuscript for my book "Jude's Almost Daily Blog - Vol. 1".  I have been making corrections and manipulating punctuation and grammar for the better part of two days. Today was a nightmare! After going over the damn thing at least three times since it was given back to me last week, just before the weekend, I have made change after change both in the blogs I am including and in the ones I included to begin with - - LEAVE IT ALONE ALREADY! I'm serious, I'm like a dog with a bone, I just can't stop gnawing on every sentence of every page.  STOP!

    The thing is, I know there will still be mistakes, issues, problems, errors, and flub-ups. No writing is perfect unless you pay for it to be perfect and then, even then, it's not always perfect, but it's probably closer than what I'm going to get for my hard work. I'm having this internal fight inside of me as to whether I should be more professorish or humanish; do I write like I speak, or do I write correctly, and make sure all of the semicolons are in their proper places? It's a back and forth struggle because some of the blogs are more intimately written than others; I don't want to come off as being too strict with myself when I am really just chewing the cud with my readers. I need to put the keyboard down. I need to stop mothering it and just give it the wings I intended to give it; let it fly, and see what happens. I can say all day long that I will do exactly that, but then here I am; not doing that. I'm even correcting myself now so as to not have to go back over this blog in the future when or if I include it in my 2nd book, which will come out in about six more months. (Did you see what I did there? I first wrote out 6 more months, then I went back and thought I shouldn't do that because the rule is that if you say a number under ten you have to spell it out; so I did.) God, I am such a dork! 

    You're going to read my book and look for the mistakes now. I know you are, and that's OK. I need that. I need people to write me and point out every last tiny minute detail of every single error so I can both learn from it, and laugh because I'm not the only one looking at it. If I paid this much attention to my housecleaning I would be under heavy sedation for OCD; can a person have writer's OCD? Is that a thing? I don't even know. I do know that I can't stop going over the blogs one by one and making changes. Most of them resemble the ones I wrote and that are on this website, but some of them have been changed to the point that I really should have just written a new blog and called it done. I've taken to writing little disclaimers that say something like, "Hey, if you see a change in one of my book blogs and you think I'm lying because I changed something, please don't make it a point to tell me, I do actually have a license to write creatively, and I use it from time to time. Thank you." 

What's not cool is that I am harder on myself than I am on my students. I would not allow some of the mistakes I have made to be turned into me without grading down on them; mistakes like misuse of the semicolon of instance. I will, however, with students, allow for run-on sentences when I feel that they don't really know how or when to splice them. I will allow overt descriptions of things because I absolutely love good adjective use. I think adjectives should be giant, big, fat, lovely, and useful. I really do, I'm not just saying that. I'm harder on myself because I am not grading myself, I'm trying to be good enough not to be worried about being graded, but we all know that's an impossibility for anyone. We are all, no matter what, graded by someone, every time we do anything. It's just life, I guess. The trick is not to let it bother us and if it does bother us, not to let it show. Damn the torpedoes woman, and just write! There are times that I literally write something for no other reason than to piss someone off. I can't say I haven't done that a few too many times - - it's passive, I know, but it's better than writing a novel for the sole purpose of murdering them in my mind and applying my plot to paper! (At least when I do that I don't actually commit a crime...just remedy injustice in my brain.) Then I post it.

OK, I'm almost over it. I've about talked myself into just writing and letting it be what it is, I can do this. I can do this as soon as I go over it once more to be sure I don't have anything misspelled or ... damn.

Have I Mentioned That I Love My Son?

 OMG! What a great surprise this morning to have received the text from my son asking me to "Come up stait!" YES...of course, I will come downstairs and let you into my house! I knew exactly what that text really said; it doesn't matter what the words were - - I speak "Reuben"!  I find it somewhat shocking when a parent, especially when a mother will say, "I don't understand a word he just said," when they are speaking about their own son's under the breath mumbling. What on God's green Earth do you mean you don't understand him? You made him! You've been listening to his jumbled mumbling for how many years, and you just "can't understand him"? What does that say about your listening and discernment skills, anyway? I stand here (actually, I'm sitting) and declare with open honesty, as God is my witness, I speak and understand Reuben (nearly) every time he speaks; be it to me, behind me, beside me, even over the phone when he'll let the thing hang to his side while he reaches to get his drink or the remote. However, he's still talking to me - - I, his mother, fully, and usually completely, understand my son's gibberish....unless of course I don't and have to ask him what the hell he just said. (Those times are very rare, I assure you.)

"Come up stait!" it read! That means my Baby Boy is waiting either in the parking lot of our complex, or he's at the front door (there is no doorbell and our unit is inside, so he has to text me to let me know he's there; otherwise, we'll go about our day and have no idea.) The FedEx guy should be so respectful and should also text me to ask me to meet them up stait - - or rather, downstairs. My son's texting skills mimic his speaking techniques at times. I don't know how that works, but it does. I could post what he writes if he didn't spell out the cuss words so articulately, but he does every time. When he was in the Army as a fledgling Private, he wrote to me and asked me to send him some red chopsticks. I did that. I always try to do what my son requests. About a week later, he called me and said, "Mom, I wanted red or cherry Chapstick," wow, Mom fail. I've laughed about it for years. 

Today he was hanging out with me because he had to run over to the Insurance Commission to take care of a little business; any excuse is a good excuse to see my firstborn. It also gave his siblings reason to attack him both physically (Laura went in for a brutal hugfest) and verbally, as the second he came into my house, my phone went off as if Caity had a radar pointed straight at her brother and knew where he was. It was eery, but it was pretty funny too. Her first words to him were, "You're not wearing those g*y boots, are you?" He was wearing his American boots, but why she doesn't like them is unknown, but with these three, they are always throwing out insults to one another, so you really don't know and can't tell when they're serious. His response was rude, and I can't post it - - makes me wonder if that's yet another Mom fail - - but I don't think so, I think the Army did most of that training - - and he rubbed off on Caity, so there you go, I'm free and clear; when I meet up with Jesus He won't necessarily hold me responsible....not necessarily, we'll see.  (Can I plead the 5th in Heaven?)

One thing that was really weird was that he sat down on my couch and was going to sync his phone to my WiFi. He attempted to do it, and my phone was pinged, asking me if I wanted to share it with him. Wow, I guess I didn't know that could or would happen -- 2021 is a very scary place to live, isn't it? At least I have the comfort of knowing that if someone wants to use it, they have to ask first. Reuben and Laura spent the next few minutes bitching and complaining about and to each other about Caity. She called back (again, radar) and began defending herself as she assumed that in her absence, she may be the topic of their conversation. I was privileged to have been able to make him a cup of coffee, give him a few dates to eat, let him try some new chocolate I had purchased, and let him take a spin on my vibration plate - - so I could listen to him mumble under his breathe about how much money I had wasted on it, but he liked the way it made him sound - - it's the little things.

After a few more minutes, hugs, kisses, and exchanges of rudeness between his sisters and himself, my Baby Boy had to go, and I guess we did too. Surprises are great, but it wasn't planned, and we had an appointment to meet.  I love a day, a morning, any moment whatsoever when I can see my son and give him a big hug or two, or six. He's good for that. His best friend Jonathan lives about a block from me, and as I drove Laura to her appointment, we could see Reuben's truck in Jon's drive. That's another good feeling for a mom....my boys laughing and talking about life! I really am a sentimental moron, but better to be one than to have never known true love.  God knew exactly what a woman truly needed; He gave her baby. In my case, He gave me three. 

I Don't Have a Penis, I Should Be Fine.

 Whew! It's a good thing I don't actually have a penis because if I did I would have to worry about taking the new dietary supplement that was suggested to me for weight loss! The supplements I've been taking are in liquid form and I'm about to run out of them - - I called the nutritionist who sold them to me about a month ago and she informed me that she can't sell me another bottle without me first agreeing to go through her program again; which if you read my other posts about ChiroThin, you'll know I wasn't a fan. I was, however, a fan of the liquid drops that helped me stave off cravings and keep me from cheating too badly -- which of course, if you think about it, having a penis does not always stop one from cheating, now, does it? But we're no longer talking about dieting - - I digress!

The nutritionist is in it for the money, I get that. She's a sweetheart, and I love the stuffing out of her, but she's more interested in the bottom dollar than she is really helping me get the fat off my gut - - if she really wanted me to be thinner, and knew or thought that the drops really worked, she would find a way to sell them to me; but it's OK, I get it.  I really do understand the concept of needing to make a killing, I mean, a living off of drops that probably come in pill form somewhere.  Even if I have to find out what the ingredients are, and then buy them either in combination(s) of two or three of said ingredients, or just individually, which may or may not require me to score (cut in half) the pills! I can do that. I own a knife. 

Well, that is EXACTLY what I ended up doing. I contacted a new friend, a person I met online through blogging and researching about ChiroThin; there are many of us who were wondering what the drops were made of since we were being obedient test subjects and loading them into our bodies every day, three times a day - - one should never really trust (blindly) anyone so well as to do that without first knowing the base ingredients.  I found out that the two noted ingredients were both cell salts or amino acids, and they were (respectively) L-Arginine and L-Citrulline.  You can go search for yourself what they do, but basically, in a nutshell, one is turned into the other naturally in our bodies, and they aid the blood flow in our veins to allow nitrite oxide to increase; here is what the Women's Health Network had to say about it:

"L-arginine is an amino acid that has several jobs in the body, two of which are especially important. The first is to build specific proteins, like other amino acids. The other is to increase the amount of nitric oxide, a powerful neurotransmitter, in the bloodstream. More nitric oxide circulating through your system relaxes the blood vessels, which improves blood flow. You can actually feel the positive effects!"

By "positive effects" they're talking about what it may do to my penis! I don't have a penis, as I mentioned earlier, but if I did have one, it would be positively affected by these amino acids. The question then becomes, am I still wanting to take it knowing I don't have a penis, and there may or may not be any "positive" effects? I have to assume my lady parts will be blessed or at least think they're being blessed by these gentle encouraging supplements; but how does that equate to weight loss, which is my goal? Apparently, the opening of the veins for blood flow will assist with the increased amount of nitrite oxide, which in turn will allow more oxygen (I'm paraphrasing what I read) and the greater amount of oxygen flowing in your bloodstream while you're working out is going to also have a positive effect on your...well, your weight loss! WHO KNEW? (Obviously, the makers of these supplements knew, the doctors who tell us about them, other people who take them, and the cashier at the pharmacy! But I did NOT know this until this week.) The best news is, I can lose weight without having to go out and get a penis because my kids would have a real fit if I did that! They think I'm nuts as it is; I don't need to prove it to them!

Besides the L-Arginine and L-Citrulline, I also bought something called Boiron Natrum Phosphoricum which if you have to ask what the hell it does you're exactly like me. I had to look it up and be sure I wasn't going to need anything "special" for that purchase too! Boiron Natrum Phosphoricum is a homeopathic medicine used for bloating and gas build-up - - OK, that means the nutritionist's magical drops have a way of breaking down gases so I can release it; like baking soda in water! I'm telling you, there's no reason to go out and spend $$$ on drops that promise the Moon when really all you need to do is a bit of research, put two and two together, come up with a solution that mimics their product, and don't overdo it to the point that you end up with more supplement than you need - - there may be Math involved. Be very careful - - there may be MATH involved. Use that knife accordingly. If you don't have to cut, don't cut, if you need to cut, do so.

Last but not least, I bought a probiotic that had the two most likely ingredients to be found in the most powerful and/or effective probiotics. I think I paid $9.88 for 120 pills, or a 60 day supply, and not $90.00 for a 30 day supply at the clinic. Go figure. Again, I get it, they're in it for the money. The other ingredients in the clinic's pills were raspberry and elderberry extracts, green coffee bean extract, and fillers. If I take the probiotics with my morning coffee and my afternoon tea I should have the caffeine needed -- and as for the raspberry and elderberry extracts? Hey, they come in gummies!! I do gummies!! 

So yeah, my cupboard has something like 14 bottles of pills and gummies that mimic and mirror the two expensive supplements I could have and did purchase once from the nutritionist - - but I think I have something like 60, 90, and 180 day supply of the respective supplements and I still have most of my money in the bank where it belongs!  As for any hopes of me ever getting a penis, only God knows! I have lived without one this long, maybe it's not necessarily something I have to have. If I do get one I can always test it out on the two amino acids and see if the article was telling the truth. I'm into research, and I'm into truth(s).  It's a thang! I'll pencil that into my 2021 Planner and see what happens. I just have to find a good penis on sale because I am not paying full price for one. Nope, that is not happening, but you know at this point a million or so men have just read my blog and are darting down to the drug store and/or Walmart to pick up a bottle of these positive little pills!  Happy trails, boys! (Oh, and just so you know, KSM-66 Ashwagandha also helps with testosterone and semen strengthening. I didn't even know they exercised!) 

Red Light, Green Light - - Well, Blue Light too!

 It's been a minute, but a few weeks back I decided I wanted to try the new red light treatment using infrared light therapy on my entire body, as I have been using it on my face for about three months now. I really enjoy the results I've seen from the simple lighted mask that covers my neck and face; so why not try the entire body wrap too? There aren't many things I won't try as long as they're safe, legal, fun, and/or inexpensive -- did I say inexpensive? Well, the treatments are NOT necessarily inexpensive, but I want my investment(s) in myself to reflect that I am not only saying I'm worth it, but showing I'm worth it too. I won't spend a dime on myself if I don't think it could be helpful.  The reviews, comments, and testimonials online about the light treatments were valid and for the most part, they came from reputable places; not just advertisements including discounts to show up for a trial session.  

Facebook did have an advertisement on one of their health pages in my area, and it was for an inexpensive first trial session for what would have been a $149.00 experience, I could pay less than 1/3 of that and have a free consultation with the nutritionist to see if the light treatment therapy was a good fit for me and my lifestyle - - what that really means is, it gives me a chance to say no it's too expensive, and it lets the nutritionist know whether or not I can afford the sessions and just how many sessions she thinks I can afford before realizing that it may or may not be doing what is actually advertised. It's a game. We all know it's a game, but the treatments do actually show results and the only game part of it was the costs...or lack of costs. I had the upper hand.

I spoke openly with the nutritionist and decided to let her know I was an author, I was writing a blog, and I would be writing about my experience with the red light treatments and I would not be biased. I would tell the truth; if they worked, I would blog about it, if they did not work, I would still blog about it. I would probably throw in a lot more detail if they didn't work.  She let me have the session for $49 as promised, and if I agreed to try her ChiroThin supplements with the light treatments, she would (and was) willing to let me have 8 treatments and the supplements for $599, which is supposedly a $1000 savings (since I was blogging about it, and she hoped to be able to use my testimonial).  That was about what I expected to pay for the treatments alone, so yeah, I agreed to do it. 

I began my trial session with her measuring me and getting a baseline so we could see how much if anything was reduced after the first light treatment. She marked all over my body with a red marker before the lights, then afterwards she remeasured me and marked me with a purple marker so I could see there was in fact a difference. I watched her. There was in fact a real noticeable difference.  She was expecting me to lose between 15 and 20 inches all over my body after 8 more treatments. I was hoping to lose anywhere from 10-12 inches, but yeah, I'd take 15-20 - thank you.  She was also hoping I'd drop at least 11-15 pounds in just 4 weeks which is not unheard of; if you're losing 3 pounds a week, it would be common to see 11-12 pounds lost, right?  But that didn't happen. It may or may not have been my fault because I simply would not and could not follow the ChiroThin platform to the T. Nope. I'm not ashamed to say it either; I just could not do what they asked me to do which was to cram over 5000 calories into my body for two straight days as a LOAD period -- not going to happen. 

The ChiroThin diet has 3 parts: The first 2 days are LOAD days, and they expect you to put literally 5000 calories in so your body has a complete shock of calories to work with. I have been disciplined to only eat around 1200 calories since August 2020, so that was not going to be realistic. I could see myself taking on 2500 calories a day, maybe, that's adding things I won't eat now like donuts, ice cream, and fatty cake burgers and fries. I can go to Braum's Ice Cream and Dairy and load up yeah, but that's again, maybe 2500 and there's no way I could stomach doubling that - - but I did do the 2500 and I did do the less than 600-700 calorie diet for the 2nd phase, which takes place days 3-32 I think. I've just ended that so I'm now introducing more protein (6 ounces rather than 4) and I'm adding back a bit more fats such as olive oil, coconut oil, and peanut butter, but the ChiroThin doesn't allow for dairy products, nuts, seeds, etc during the day 3-32 and yeah, I cheated ... a lot.

I don't even remember what the last part is, days 33-39, and the reason I don't know is I threw the booklets away. I had no intention of doing it. I just wanted the light treatments. I don't mind being disciplines and yeah, I took their little cell salt drops which they claim are proprietary and they won't tell you what's in them - - I found the ingredients through another source, and they're safe. I can buy them at a health food store for virtually nothing, but ChiroThin claims that they are in fact proprietary and therefore they get away with charging an arm and a leg apparently, but I didn't pay anything extra for them so I won't complain. They're nothing special, nothing that you can't find at the GNC or Akins. I used them correctly, they helped, but so does BHB powder, so does lemon juice in water, so does Apple Cider Vinegar and lemon with honey. It's all the same to me and to my body. I did lose weight, but was it because I exercise, diet well, sleep well, drink a ton of water, or was it because I was on their special liquid magic drops? You decide.

After the last treatment, which was Friday, this is Sunday. I was measured one last time. I lost a total of 14.76 inches and I lost a total of only 8 pounds; still, I consider it a win. Eight pounds in a month is not bad and nearly 15 inches off my entire body is a good start really. I'm going to keep using red light therapy, but I bought a band from Sharper Image and will use it around my waist and belly every day for 30 or 40 minutes when I do my face and neck mask. I use red light for weight loss and wrinkle removal, the red light stimulates collagen and helps with the reduction of fat cells, which is my primary reasoning for using light; but there are other reasons to use light for a better and healthier you.  The blue light helps with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and inflammation. The purple light also helps with inflammation and it works on your circulatory system. The light blue light, one I use now and again, helps with metabolism and keeping the weight in control or at least the cravings to eat when you're not really hungry.  I don't use the other colors really, the yellow, the green, and the amber -- basically, they help with moods and clarity of thought processes. I feel that I'm pretty clear on what it is that I want and think about. I need the wrinkle reduction and the fat cell sucker outer - - that's what I need, but it's nice to know I have options. 

I don't know how I feel about the ChiroThin, to be honest with you -- it's not bad, it's not great, it's nothing to write home about, and certainly nothing to pen down or pin down either. I will say what I say and leave it at that. Could it have helped if I had been willing to follow it more closely? We'll never know, I think it could and should be modified to be healthier and have a better foundation for those who are not disciplined in their diet. There's no way a person who normally eats 3000 calories a day could safely go to 600 and expect to stay focused - - drops won't help with that. It takes time to get your body and your mind wrapped around the fact that you're not going to be eating between meals, after 6 p.m. and before noon - - yeah, ChiroThin wants you to skip breakfast 100% and wait to eat until noon! They want you to intermittent fast, and that's cool, but people who have never prepared themselves to do that are simply not going to follow those guidelines. It takes a long time to adjust your body and mindset to that life change - - it really does.  I eat from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. now and have since August, but again, they wanted me to forego my morning green smoothies - - Oh, heck no!  I gotsta have my green smoothies. Sometimes I even use Brussel sprouts!  Yum.

So there you have it, my experience with the infrared light on the table at the clinic was powerful. I drove 28 miles one way to do it, and I did it two times a week for four weeks. I didn't feel like making the drive and paying the fees she was throwing out at me once my initial treatment program had finished. She wanted to charge me $399 for six sessions or $499 for eight.  Nope.  I decided Sharper Image will get my money ($268) for a strong infrared belt that I can wrap around my belly, my butt, my thighs, my arms....yeah, it will take longer, but I'm OK with that too - - I have time. I'm a Lowlander, I'm eternal (people think it's the Highlanders that are, but no, that's what WE want you to think. Smiles.)

How Old Are You?

I get the question nearly every single day and more now that I've lost weight and can be seen either riding my bike, my horse, going to the gym to work out, or just walking the parking lots surrounding my domicile (I like using words that make you grab a dictionary and learn something).  "How old are you?", they want to know. I usually don't mind answering anyone who asks, but it does make me a bit curious as to why they are asking in the first place.  What is age? Is there a certain rule or law that says a person is bound to act a certain way if they happen to be a certain number of years old? I don't think so. I mean, let's face it, some of the people I run into or see at the supermarket are in their 80s or 90s but their driver's licenses say differently. I bet if you give any number of them a physical fitness test or ask them to stop chain-smoking long enough to run a mile on the treadmill they either couldn't do it, wouldn't do it, or probably in most cases, they shouldn't do it. Death by trying to act their age would not be pretty!

I was born in 1961; a year that if you were to turn it upside down would still be 1961. I remember I was about four when I told my mother this and she shook her head at me and told me to play outside! Mom was always telling me to go outside and play and somehow that never offended me. I wasn't all wrapped up in a computer game or watching some show on television that I just couldn't pull myself away from - - mainly, I would say because we didn't have a computer then, they weren't even thought of really, and our television was controlled not by remote, but by my dad who had final say over literally every single thing we kids were to watch -- that's how old I am. I'm old enough to remember that going to church was a blessing and you could always count on seeing your grandparents, uncles, aunts, friends, cousins, and besties there too; who wouldn't want to go to church in Oklahoma? Baptists know how to cook; every last woman in the church grew up in their momma's kitchen, their grandma's kitchen; they cook, they bring it to church, we go, we eat.  I'm that old.

I'm old enough to remember to say "thank you", "please" and "you're welcome". We didn't text our friends to see if they wanted to hang out, we walked to their house and asked them. Hell, we didn't even have to go that far, they were usually outside by the lamppost or the creek and you just hung out, no one asked anyone else to schedule a play date! I'm old enough to remember to pray at the dinner table, and again at night with my family before bedtime. I'm old enough to open the door for you, to expect you to open it for me if I need you to, and I think I'm old enough to say "God bless you" if you sneeze. I'm certainly old enough to remember to stand for my flag, the National Anthem and to show respect when someone much older than me walked by me. I'm that old.

All that being said, I'm nowhere near as old as most of the people I went to school with. I'm eating right, drinking over 100 ounces of water a day, consuming no alcohol, and I don't smoke anything. I used to smoke rolled up Earl Grey tea, but only because it really annoyed my kids when I did it. I'm that old too; I still like to embarrass the tar out of one or the other of them when I can. I'm not so old that I can't dance and dance and dance and dance myself silly over two or three hours a night; after having jammed to my music choices in my headphones for several hours before that. I'm not so old that I have emotional issues either - I pray and I let God have those. I simply will not and do not worry about anything. God said not to fret, I don't fret. Fretting causes wrinkles and dammit, I don't want more wrinkles. I'm old enough to afford prescription creams to take away my wrinkles and I'm nowhere near old enough to allow them to show up where they are not wanted. Not this face! NOPE.

I'm going to meet my goal weight of 140 pounds soon, and when I do I'll likely be younger than I have been in so many years. I don't mean to brag, but this old lady has so much more energy than people half my age, and I have a lot more to look forward to because I won't let my mind sit still long enough to sprout weeds. Sunflowers! I do sunflowers in my brain people! BIG, BRIGHT, happy sunflowers! Who wants to be negative all the time anyway? Moving forward is the only direction a sunflower knows how to move - - UP!

At 58 I decided I was fat. I decided to change that. I changed that. I also decided to teach myself to play guitar, to write the book I knew I needed to write, and to move to Scotland, a place I have wanted to call my own since I was able to spell Scotland. (By the way, I'm old enough to remember card catalogs at the public library, and I had memorized the Dewey decimal system by the time I was 10.) I KNOW where books on Scotland are found at these public libraries - - today I order them online, but there was a time I checked books out and actually returned them! I'm old enough to have been blessed and able to walk to my public library alone at the age of 5 and never expected to be hurt or harmed. Damn, that's old.

I won't slow down, not now. I have no reason to do that. I wouldn't if I had a reason, I'd simply change the rules of the game. If you can't keep up with me you're welcome to sit this one out, but I'm moving -- I'll slow down when Jesus takes me home; that's the plan anyway. How old do you have to be to be able to love yourself and know you're worth every day you've ever lived? That's how old I am. 

Who Put the String in Stringfellow?

 "Buy a cheap guitar", he told me, "I'll teach you how to play it."  That was 1982 and my good friend Edgar Cruz (yes, THAT Edgar Cruz www.edgarcruz.com) has yet to teach me a single chord! I guess life got in the way; we move forward. I think I've owned about half a dozen acoustic guitars since that time, but I just bought another one today! I own Checkers already, and he's my number 1, but he's more or less for show as he's literally checkered black and white, and though he's an Eleca brand, he was purchased to basically make me smile when I look at him.  I have picked him up and played around with him, but I've never taken him too seriously, he's my buddy and he realizes he's not going to be "the one" to make me sit myself down and go through my new "Guitar for Dummies" book that I bought after nearly 40 years of waiting on Edgar...a girl has just so much patience; mine is gone. (LOVE YOU, Edgar!)

Normally, when I buy a guitar I go to the pawnshop. For me, it's tantamount to going to the animal shelter to rescue a dog or cat. At the pawnshop, you find castaways, surrenders, and estate purchases that just didn't work out. I don't think you'll find anything that will be put down for food aggression, but you may find a friend with a broken neck, misaligned frets, popped strings, missing plates or worse. I hold each guitar to see if it speaks to me, and if it does I want to know everything I can about it to see if we're going to get along - - I've only found a few that were just a bit too wild for me bring back to my abode, but I have found them!  Stella was a good guitar; she was handcrafted from a small town in Mexico, and when I bought her I knew she was worth much more than what I was being asked to pay for her. I took her to Guitar Center to be cleaned and restrung, the masters there told me just how valuable she was. I guess someone else found out how valuable she was too; she was stolen from my home when I was out on tour with my dog Faith. Stella was the only thing taken too. So sad. 

Today I found Wally! Wally is named for William Wallace, the 13th Century Scottish knight who along with Andrew Moray, defeated the English at the Battle of Stirling Bridge. You remember Mel Gibson played the role in the movie Braveheart.  With April being Scottish American Heritage Month (who knew?) I decided to buy myself a good guitar and name it after a famous and handsome Scotsman. Who knows if the real William Wallace was hot? Mel did him a big favor; boosted his ego, I'm sure. My Wally will be taught (along with me) what it means to be happy, played, befriended, and loved. My Wally did NOT come from a pawnshop, however; he was purchased from a home. That has never happened before. I've never simply answered a Craigslist ad for a guitar, but today that's what I did.

Yesterday I spent about 3 hours driving around looking for a new friend. I went to 7 different pawnshops close to me; I say close, they were within 6 or 7 miles of my home.  I went to one right after the other, even calling the shops before I arrived to find out if they had anything. I ended up finally just throwing my hands up in the air because there wasn't a single six-string acoustic guitar near my house! I was going to have to drive about 20 miles to find one with a relatively good price; one that wasn't broken wasn't cheaply made, wasn't going to cost me more than my horse board! I do have my senses about me. I haven't learned to play yet, so I didn't want to put the money into a Gibson, Fender, Martin, or Takamine - - it was going to need to be foreign made guitar, as all or most American made instruments are pricey pricey and they just can't be found. I wanted one that was either 3/4 or full, nothing too fancy and he needed to be a he - - yes, guitars have genders.

Not finding a single guitar worth picking up at the shops I did the next best thing; I went to Craigslist, and you know, I may have even looked at Facebook Marketplace too.  I think people got their stimulus checks and 34% of Oklahomans went out and bought acoustic guitars this week. I looked up "acoustic guitar" on Craigslist and there were three.  One was $1000 price firm.  One was black with rhinestones and a big rose right in the middle of it...so not a guy guitar, this was most most most definitely Rosey and she was a Spanish beauty probably made in China.  She was also a no-go.  Then there was Wally. Wally was not named of course, not until he was in my hands.  He was in a small town just about 20 miles away from my house - - I knew it, I knew I was going to make a trip.  He had been waiting for me and when I picked him up he was instantly smitten; just as smitten as I was.  

The man who sold him to me, and only for $100 I may add, had purchased Wally from Guitar Center in 2017 and he was new, or at least he hadn't been purchased beforehand. I don't know when he was actually made, but he was in fact made in China as well. He's a Yamaha, and I guess I thought they were Japanese, but he has a certificate glued to his spine saying he's an FD10S and he was in fact, made in China.  That's OK, he's an American now. He's mine. He'll stay mine. I don't think he'll be stolen or carried away; he's average, basic, normal, nothing too fancy, but sweet and concise. He came with a nylon bag, new strings, picks, a little stand, and even a cheap strap that will be soon replaced with an Armstrong tartan one for sure. Wally doesn't have a backstory, he doesn't even have an interesting front story either. The man bought him, played him maybe a dozen times over the next few weeks,  and just put him back into his case and in a corner of the garage studio where he sat until the man decided to clean up the garage.  When I asked him why he didn't play the guitar he said he's a drummer and he thought it would be cool to learn but never did. OK. I guess that makes sense.  Checkers hasn't been played much and I'm not even a drummer. 

I brought Wally into the bedroom to meet Checkers and they've been hanging out together today. I'll be sure and give Checkers a bit of attention as well when I do learn a chord or two, so as not to come off as being partial to Wally, but as I mentioned before, Checkers is really more for show and conversation - - he knows his role. He's OK with it too, but I can only imagine he'll still feel that he's lead guitar in the room. I don't want there to be any animosity before bedtime - - too much drama can lead to really crazy dreams you know.  So that's it. This blog is just to introduce you to my new friend and let Edgar know he's officially off the hook -- but he still has to bless Wally and Checkers when I next see him, so I'll swing by wherever he's playing soon and let him test drive them both. He'll smile - - I'll smile, and that's all that really matters. 

Two Books are Better Than One!

 God is soooooo amazing!!  I don't even care how "churchy" that may sound. He is just OUT THERE awesome, and we all need to be aware of His love, His power, His promises, and how He keeps those promises.  I tell people all the time that if they will just listen to God, listen really well, and do what He asks of them, they will have every last desire of their heart. No joke, He promised it in Psalms 37:4. (I mean, King David probably wrote the Psalm, but yeah, it's God's promise to us.) It says, "Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart."  It doesn't say, "Do what feels good", and it doesn't say, "Go off half-cocked whenever you think it's necessary, it will be OK."  God is very specific about what He wants in our lives, we just don't have the patience most of the time to pay attention to His calling. I listened. I obeyed. He's giving me so much more than I ever imagined. Thank you, God, thank you, Jesus! 

I knew I would write Jude's Almost Daily Blog book someday. That day has arrived. The book is in the publisher's hands right now and is being produced for the last round of corrections.  I'm so happy Palmetto Publishing was kind enough to let me make the first round of corrections without laughing at me too badly.  I mean, c'mon, I'm a freakin' English professor and I made over 100 mistakes in my own book. Most of the mistakes, nearly 87% of them, were not putting things into italics or not putting quote marks around certain words.  Believe me, I would NEVER EVER forget to put quote marks around an actual quote, or fail to give credit where it is known! Oh my gosh, can you imagine? I doubt I could ever breathe again if I was to plagiarize! Stop the thought! Get out of my head!! NO!  The book will be finished in 1 month and it will be sold online as a PDF as well as a print-on-demand book. I'm taking control of the distribution of this particular book so that I can control the price. I don't want it to be very expensive. I want as many people to be able to afford it as possible. That was intentional. You give up the rights for publishing and you give up the right to costs. 

Secondly, I wrote a book several years ago now, called "Faith Walks".  It is a delightfully lively book about a dog who came into our lives in 2002 and stayed with us as a family companion until her passing in 2014.  During those years she became known as the miracle dog who walked upright like a human. Faith was trained to do this, and it became her technique of mobility. She was taken around the world and seen locally, to show people that you didn't need to look perfect or have everything everyone else has to be perfect yourself. She could not have had a higher level of self-esteem. Faith walked by her own faith and God's grace. We were blessed to call her our own. The book "Faith Walks" was self-published many years ago and will be resubmitted to be republished through Palmetto Publishing in the near future. or I may leave it with Xlibris and just promote it.  I am creating a website to host and promote both books as well as books I write in the future. So far this has been an amazing journey. I hope you will consider following me!

Two books at one time! Wow! I am overwhelmed with excitement and humbled by God's amazing timing. He alone is able to make all things come together.  Once the book has been picked up I can submit the YouTube video for you to see the book trailer. We want to keep it a little private until the houses have a chance to see it. Thank you for your prayers and love, kind words are always welcome.

PEOPLE Suck! That is All.

 DANG it! Ding and dang it! I'm not the happiest camper today and because of that, I've decided to blog about all the sucky sucks out there who feel it is their given right to be both annoying and inconvenient. I am so over this; but alas, here I am, living it. Well, ha! I get the last word, and these people will forever be written in my book for eternal prosperity! In 2525 people will read about how so and so sucked! (That is, "if man is still alive, and woman can survive") True story. I'll begin with just people who suck today, but I'll get around to angling my suck stick at others too. I am just going to vent, and I really hope you don't mind - - I'll even add myself to the pot! I suck sometimes too, but today it's not me! Today, I don't suck. (giggles because I'm an adult and I can say "suck" whenever I feel like it!)

This is Saturday, a day I could and should be sleeping in, but my nutritionist wanted me to be at her office rather early so she could get to her son's baseball game. I do a light treatment thing where I lay down on "pads" that have thousands of LED lights.  The light pads are then wrapped around my entire body except for my shoulders and below my knees.  Over my face, neck and upper chest is a thing that looks like a welder's mask, it too is chock full of tiny lights. When she puts my eye goggles on I can still very much see the really bright red lights, but it's better than not having the goggles on, I'm sure.  The light treatments last about 25 minutes each time, and I do them twice a week. So far, and it's been about 6 treatments, I've lost 12 inches and 11 pounds, so yeah, I'd say it's working. 

I was REALLY looking forward to being there today and doing my treatment, but when I arrived the nutritionist wasn't going to be there to get me out of the contraption, she had an assistant. NO.  No...I am not going to get naked for someone I don't know. I'm really rather picky about who I get naked with. I didn't know my nutritionist, but she was in fact a nutritionist, and the one I'm paying to assist me. Sorry, I'm not being a bitch, I swear, but my boobs and boo-boo don't get seen by that many, and certainly not some random someone you paid $10 an hour to take people off the lights. Heck, I don't think she was even of legal age! (No, she probably was, but she was tiny and pretty so yeah, no.)  NOPE.  We rescheduled. I drove the 28 miles back home and got the text asking me to come back in literally 3 hours -- sure; why not? YOU SUCK!

The text said "I'm really sorry, I wish I had known" and I thought really...because I wish I had known too because I would not have woken up so soon, showered, driven 28 miles one way, and had to tell someone they're not worthy to see me bare-skinned. I got another text saying how sorry she was again, and she'll give me a free treatment for my inconvenience. OK, well, I'm not going to lie, I do appreciate that, and I'll take her up on it, but you don't do that. You own the shop, you get paid to do the work. Show up! I do. I always show up and do my job. I don't know, I guess it's a First World problem, but there you go - - call me an impatient and impetuous American, and I'll probably agree with you, but dammit I do my job when I'm called upon to do it, and I don't push it off on someone else; never have. My Mom raised me to be that way. I'd like to think I've done the same.

Who else sucks today? Oh, there are at least a dozen people I could rattle off to you. Let's start with Karen M. of Texas. She was supposed to buy my horse today and didn't show up.  She's one of four who have all called, all texted, all wasted my time explaining every last detail of my horse and her behavior, and then they swear, promise, and affirm that they will show up and take her home. We spend hours talking about their ability to ride, their desire to have MY horse, and how MY horse is the ONLY one they could possibly consider. I have learned that horse people are good for about two things; telling lies and not showing up when they say they will, which is sort of the same thing as lying, but it's worse. I have driven out to the barn four times now to wait on people who don't show. When I call them they don't answer. When I text them they don't answer. I am left to wonder if they're dead on the side of the road or if they are like so many are, just sucky people with sucky lives who have nothing better to do than to suck. I am usually not wrong.

Oh, and yes, my daughter sucks! Caity sucks!!  She grounded my grandson (my one and only grandson) from his phone so now Gramma can't call him and Facetime! YOU SUCK THE WORST, but maybe she only sucks the worst because all the others suck and I wanted to talk to my booger bears (Copeland and Sailor) so I could moan and complain. They listen to me. They have to, I'm the Gramma. I mean, yeah, most of the time they tune me out, I know they do, but that's because I suck and they know it. At least they love me. I believe that. I'm going to have to get in my car and drive 110 miles to get a hug now. Tell me that's not the most unfair treatment in the world!  Again, First World issues, yeah, I know. I'll get over it. I'll get over all of it really; it's just that people need to be more ... I know, better!

OK well, that should do it. I'm about to make myself a chocolate banana smoothie because I can. I need this, and it's going to help with all the sucky poo poo I've had to deal with today. Maybe I'll just tell the dogs I need a hug and I won't have to drive 110 miles. I can just wait a week until my grandson isn't grounded - - what did he do anyway? C'mon! He's a sweety!!  No way he said THAT! (must have gotten that from his Gramma too...oops!)