I have to write something today, if it kills me.  I have no clue where the last few weeks have gone.  I have been so busy with EVERYTHING, I have neglected my passion for writing.  It isn’t very likely that you have noticed, but I notice.  I notice everyday I log on and see that repost from months ago.  

I should have posted before now.  A blog is supposed to be personal, and here I am waiting for some literary piece of magnificence to come to me.  I should have written about my work on my other sites, or how my kids are driving me nuts.  Gabe has managed to make it into the gifted program at his school, as well as more than 59 visits to RTC (responsible thinking center — the schools disciplinary system) almost a record in the history of the third grade I am sure.  Brynn has enhanced her scream to envelope pitches only dogs can hear within a 3 mile radius of her global positioning — quite a feat for a two year old.  I could post how I took above mentioned children to the department of motor vehicles yesterday and finally got my Arizona license… you can put two and two together I know you can.

I have been busy.  AZoverload is really taking off.  I have more than 30 local bands on the bios page, and have recruited a few reviewers for that section on the site.  I have launched the AZoverload series of podcast on Blog Talk Radio, with interviews and a weekly spot to promote the weekend’s venue.  This has been sooo much fun, but it requires a LOT of work.  I have to scour the bands pages, on their site or myspace, for show dates and manually add them to the calendar I have set up on my site.  I also have to contact each of these bands directly to get their permission to add them to the site, etc.  It’s a lot of busy work, but it will all be worth it.  Even if the site isn’t a huge success, it is definitely something I am proud of.

This weekend we are traveling to Oklahoma.  Chris’ daughter, Stormy, is coming to stay, and we are all very excited.  Now the 12+ hour drive with above mentioned kids (each way), may require medication, but it will all be worth it in the long run… your suggestions are appreciated ;-).

ANYway…

That’s what’s new.  Check out www.AZoverload.com. Drop me an email and let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions.  You can visit it on myspace too www.myspace.com/azoverload and on Blog Talk Radio http://www.blogtalkradio.com/azoverload

I promise, once I find my niche…. you can expect real content from me.
~2

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 I was going to try to write something new tonight, but unfortunately I have LOADS on my mind.  I have lots I am doing on the other sites that I can’t seem to get any writing done for me… and if I did, it would be lacking to say the least.  I am in a writing rut once again, but hopefully it will pass soon.

I wanted to repost this one, because it is one of my favorites… it’s amazing where you can find inspiration.  Hopefully when I get my Green Room site up my inspiration will return… until then here’s a repost

CONNECT THE GAWD DAMN DOTS!!!! 

I have been in a bit of a funk lately… so uninspired.  Anyone who knows me, knows that writing is my passion, yet I have been unable to think of anything worthwhile to write.  Sure I wrote of my death, and I was pleasantly surprised that I didn’t lose a single reader.  I am guessing that they were all out of town over the weekend, and will drop my ass first thing this morning.

SO… uninspired, I turned to my trusty friend, my bathtub… up at 4 am… bleah.

Ok, ok… ANYway, I am in the tub thinking, as usual, and I can’t help but notice all my freckles.  The more sun I get, the more spots my body is littered with.  Apparently I don’t tan, my freckles just get bigger and closer together, giving the illusion of a tan.  Oh well, right… they are cute.  I have always loved freckles on other people, I have always had crushes on the boys with them, and always envied the girls with faces entirely covered in them. Weird,I know… but I can’t help it I am a weirdo.

Where was I, oh yeah, I am in the tub, soaking… thinking… looking for inspiration, and all I can think about is how many of these damn freckles I have on my chest and stomach.  Do I have more than I did yesterday?  Where did they come from?  What’s the deal here? 

I let the water out of the tub and just lay there. I always get it too hot, and if I stand up too fast I get really light headed and have to lay down, so I just stayed in the tub and let the water drain. As I am laying there cooling off, I notice a pen on the floor, and I quickly grab it up, and toss the lid.

Looking at my chest I quickly begin to connect the dots… one freckle to the next… interweaving the lines, running the ink down my stomach and across my breasts, not worrying about crossing lines or if they are completely straight or not.  Ink onto my shoulders and down my arm… across my theighs on to my feet… until I am a woven mess of brilliant blue.

What is wrong with me?  What have I done?  I look into the hugeASS mirror above my bathroom sink, and I am in awe.  What a beautiful mess I am!  A walking work of art!

I can make out many pictures… faces of people I have yet to meet, scenes of movies I have always loved… first kisses, new babies, chocolate bars, soft and fuzzy bunnies… ok I made that part up.  Really I could see anything if I looked long enough.

Strangely that stuff has always been there…. hidden inside, there is a beautiful work of art… I can feel it, and I so want to show you, but I am afraid that you will laugh, and only see a weirdo covered in blue ink… vulnerable… naked.

I hopped in the shower and undid the masterpiece… my heart hurts, I am hoping that I didn’t wash it all away.. and my soul is forever ink stained.

~2

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***I don’t remember, but I think I originally wrote this for The Blue Doodle right after we moved here from Oklahoma… so back in September or October of 2006 

Isn’t it strange how as we get older we forget about the things we enjoyed when we were young?  I took my kids to the park today, and I don’t usually do that; I am a bad mother.  I have little patience with my own children (the oldest really), and we don’t spend a lot of time doing things we really SHOULD be doing.  My son was pouty because dad wouldn’t let sister go down the slide with him, so I decided it might be fun to swing.  He got in his swing and I in mine, and I immediately took off.

Who can go higher?  Of course I can, and I am extremely competitive so the challenge is on.  The higher I got the more exhilarated I became.  The wind in my hair and the jump in my stomach as my swing traveled down.  The height I climbed and the speeding ground below.  Why did I give this up?  At what point in my life did this become a childish activity?

Those few moments on that swing freed me of all worries.  As I flew through the air, guided only by my imagination, my eyes were closed and all the world’s ailments where bandaged.  What else am I missing out on?

I have spent so much time viewing things from an adult perspective, that I forgot what it is like to see things as a child; to see the beauty in a rainbow, and the charm in making wishes.  To roll down a hill, not worrying what I will be covered with and how sick it can make me… but rolling for the roll – the tingles in my stomach and that dizzy feeling when I stand to my feet.

Just maybe this is what is wrong with me.  This is why I feel my life is lacking.  A few moments as a child and all my worries will disappear.  I don’t know.  I can tell you this… if I move again, I am getting a swing set.

~2

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Recently I picked up a copy of the Daily Spark’s Journal writing.  It has page after page of journal writing inspiration.  I thought originally I would use it for the Green Room, but I have yet to get the site up… hopefully soon.

ANYway…

DAILY SPARK JOURNAL WRITING 1:  What was your most humiliating junior high experience?  Write a short, possibly funny, description of it.

Wow!  Where to start… junior high.  Well thankfully I can remember lots about junior high, but to be able to establish where one embarassing moment ends and the other begins… well that’s a different story.  Now if you would have asked me about high school, we would be in trouble.  Let’s just say that high school was not just a clever name…

In Elk City, Junior High officially starts in 7th grade.  The town isn’t all that big, and I basically shared classes with the same kids since 5th grade, when the three seperate elementary schools melded into middle school. 

This is the time in life where the girls get mean and the boys OH SO cute.  You have your cliques of various types which seem to be the same everywhere you go, and they seem to pass from one generation to the next.  I can intermingle between them, because I can get along with anyone… but that doesn’t necessarily mean that I like the people associated with those cliques… or they even like me for that matter.

A moment that stands out, would be a particular day the spring of 8th grade.  The country was facing AIDS in epedimic proportion, or so we were led to believe.  A local doctor was asked to come to the school and visit with the students and answer our questions about the virus.  8th and 9th graders were required to get parental permission, and we were of course seperated into two groups… boys vs. girls.  I didn’t necessarily want to go, I had heard the boys gave the doctor a run for his money with their ridiculous questions about aural (yes I spelled that right) sex and masturbation. 

After lunch we, the girls, were required to head to that auditorium.  I am not sure why I sat where I did.  I can recall fighting with my best friend and we weren’t speaking, so I damn sure wasn’t sitting next that “bitch” (did I mention how fickle a young teen is).  The content of the speech was embarassing to say the least, and I was very uncomfortable listening to the man speak, and I wasn’t about to ask a question… and I don’t think I even got that far into it when a teacher walking the isles pointed me out.
“You!” in her best whisper scream, “come with me” she gave me the finger (not that one) and I hopped up and tried not to make a scene as I rushed past others sitting there taking their verbal medicine from Dr. Gill.  She grabbed me by the arm and escorted me out of the auditorium.

I was at a loss for words.  I was just sitting there listening… not talking… not anything, and now I was getting a scolding like I had shot spitwads at the man from 25 feet. “Get to your class, you should be ashamed of yourself.” she scolded.

“um… what did I do?” I wasn’t being a smart ass or anything, I asked politely.

“Your were slouching… that is so disrespectful.  Get to your 5th hour.” and she scooted me along.

I walked back to my class… embarassed.  I think the scene the teacher made was more disrespectful than me…”slouching”.  What the fuck, really, who doesn’t slouch in 8th and 9th grade?  I am sure ever single catty,  junior high girl was aware that I walked out of that theater, escorted by the arm.  What did they think I was doing?

When I got to class, the boys got a big kick out of it…. “wow, what did SHE DO to get kicked out of that seminar?”  For some reason the slouching didn’t go over well, and my teacher sent me to the office to speak with the principal… for slouching, can you believe it?  He explained to me that it was an act of disrespect, and I explained I wasn’t even aware I was doing it.  I wasn’t sunk down in my seat hiding behind spread fingers… I was just sitting there, paying attention.

ANYway… he walked me back into the auditorium, and I got the priviledge of sitting next to another teacher for the remainder of the “ordeal”.

… and I didn’t even want to go.  I alread knew “everything” anyway.

~2

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I just logged in and deleted my profile on myspace… confirmed via email and it’s gone.

A years worth of ramblings down the drain… well actually I copied the bulk of my blogs there over here. 

I am not really sure how I feel about it.  I think myspace is an excellent tool for networking… take my new up and coming site AZoverload.com.  I made contact with over 100 local bands, and I hope to try to stay in contact with those via email… if you know any good local AZ bands send them my way so I can get them on the site.

Overall it’s a relief.  I think my “real” friends from there will stick with me… and that’s what’s important to me.

ANYway…. I am off to my domestic duties!
~2

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Well today is my 3rd year anniversary… not much to brag about.  It does however bring back memories of times when I actually TRIED to win him over.  One especially sticks out:

After splitting with my ex,  father of my ROCKIN’ son, I gradually entered back into the world of being single.  The world that would keep me up in the middle of the night wishing I was dead.  Laying on the bathroom floor, somewhat disgusted, but too sick to care, as my head lay on the toilet seat.  Don’t tell me you haven’t been there… At this time in my life, My one year old and I are living with my mother.  She works a lot and is gone most evenings, so I thought I would take advantage of this one evening and fix dinner for my awesome beau.  Of course I want to put on a show, impress him.  I have a nice dinner all laid out.  I can’t really remember what we had since this has been about 7 years ago, but at the time I was reading a lot of cooking magazines and trying fancy dishes.

So, he arrived, and I made the finishing touches on the nights menu.  My son just ran about all crazy like.  He’s good at that.  I had fed him before my date arrived, so he was charged and ready to go. 

We started dinner with some light conversation.  Of course, I was trying to win him over with charm (haha @ that).  My son was off in the house being very quiet which in itself is an omen.  Quiet = trouble with him.  He has managed to prove this on multiple occasions.  Once almost totally covering my TV with nail polish.  This was a remarkable feat, for he somehow managed not to touch any other object in the room with the “fire engine red” paint.  Another time, he covered his entire bedroom with baby powder, emptied all the drawers in his dresser, pulled off his loaded diaper, and was running about the room like some butt-naked powdered donut.  To this very day I have the same problem… and he is 9.  You would think he would grow out of it.

ANYway, where was I — dinner, missing kid… oh yeah conversation.  This guy is so cute, and I was nervous with butterflies and everything.  In comes kiddo, stage left, walking rather awkwardly with something in his mouth.  OH CRAP!  I jump up running like crazy, now he thinks it’s a game… and the stinker is fast. SO —  I am chasing this little guy around my house, who cares what my date is doing, to try to grab this THING out of my son’s mouth. I wrestle him to the floor and pry his little mouth off… wait for it… here it comes….
the applicator to my mom’s reusable rubber douche bag.

I’m dying, my face is beet red… somehow while I was entertaining my guest, my son rummaged through the drawers in my mother’s room, and thought this looked like something good to put in his mouth.  DISGUSTING!! I put it away and went and brushed my son’s teeth….bleah.

Where’s my date?  Oh yeah, he’s sitting at the table.  I am sure he is thinking of some way to make sense of the wirlwind that just took place.  I guess the night was successful… I did put on a show afterall.

To my chagrin, he had no clue as to what the BIG deal was.  He didn’t even see anything in kiddo’s mouth. Thank GOD!  He must have just thought I freak out whenever I have company. You know I am not sure if he even knows today what happened that night.  He will if he reads this blog.

So children, the moral of this story:  Your kids are going to embarass you the rest of your lives, so you might as well get used to it.

~2

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You would think being in Oklahoma this last week would quench that thirst for home.  I mean I did grow up here, but something is missing.  My mother, sister, and neices are all here… and I do love them so, but something just isn’t right.  My rotten seeds are here as well, soaking up as much sugar and absolute evil as possible… but what is it?

I can’t sleep… I lie there for hours just going through all the possible blogs in my head… I even wrote some ideas down… I miss home.

All this time I thought home was Oklahoma… was my past, my family here.  I am tired of living in the past.  I am tired milling over the “what ifs” and “why nots”.  I am so hungry for now it’s not even funny. 

I am missing my bed, my things, and DH (dear husband as he is often referred to).  I am missing that awful smell of the area rug in my living room… like the way your hands used to smell after basketball practice.  I miss being snuggled up on my fluffy couch watching a movie… just hanging out with DH.  I miss my bathroom rug tickling the bottoms of my feet… the climb into and out of my ridiculously tall bed… the sound of the alarm clock in the morning and DH struggling to climb over me to get to his morning routine.

I miss the calmness in the AZ air…  the quiet in my head… the beautiful scenary.  I miss the new life I have created for myself totally independent of my past. 

I miss the warmth of DHs arms and the most perfectly soft kisses.

Home truly is where the heart is… I can’t wait to get back to mine… back to normal.
~2

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If I am in my car, and the windows are up - HELL, even if they are down.. you can’t see me.  My windows have a little bit of tint, but that’s not the point; when I am in my car/truck… I am myself.

I sing… not just a little “la la” either.. I fucking wail, and dance too… and nobody sees me…. I’m invisible.

I am guilty of picking my nose…  who’s going to see that… I’m invisible.

I make faces, apply makeup.. I am even guilty of plucking my eyebrows - if parked of course… who’s going to know… well besides you… I’m invisible.

It’s funny the weird things we do in our cars, and we assume no one can see us… I mean I can drive down the road with a soda in hand… stuffin’ a burrito in my face, dripping shit all over my pants, and I could CARE LESS if anyone sees me. 

Call me disgusting if you will, but you know as well as I… you think you’re invisible too.

You do… don’t you?

~2

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Isn’t it strange how a community of people can somehow become the stereotype for a whole state of people… 

When I lived in Oklahoma, I totally hated watching the news.  They always picked the worst case to interview… it was always the toothless hillbilly who made no sense what so ever.. trying to explain that his house, which was of course a trailer protected by a layer of tires strategically placed on the roof… just blew away, and it was “like nuttin’ I’d never seen b’fore!”

I just rolled my eyes and shook my head

Now in Arizona, a whole new breed of people are causing me a bit of mental anguish.  I hate to even mention it, but something is just wrong here.  I am not a person to make fun of anyone with a disability, but if I have to question that there is even a disability to begin with… stupid people are fair game.

First… I live on the 3rd floor in an apartment complex.  Across the hall of the THIRD floor is an older couple… ahem the THIRD floor.  Our apartment doors face the courtyard, for us to go to the lot… we must first exit out of our apartment doors… walk down a somewhat long cooridor and then decend down the stairs to go happily on her little motorcade way.  My neighbor, who lives across the way, that walks down the same flight of stairs I do, has a handicap parking place reserved for him. 

I understand that if he has a disability… I have no problem with him having a reserved spot… and actually I park out front, so I could care less that he has one altogether.  What bothers me is that he walks down the stairs to get to his car.  Why is he on the THIRD floor to begin with?  Why not the first level?

I shake my head at that

Here is where the community that defines the whole state come into play…

I picked my son up from school last Friday early, since they were having parent treacher conferences (my son is brilliant.. just saying) and decided to grab a bite to eat, since the baby and I hadn’t had lunch yet.  He decided we should go to Jack in the Box - since he had never been there.  While sitting there waiting for the baby to finish throwing her food in the floor, a Phoenix fave pulled into the lot - a fucking MONSTER truck.  I have yet to see what the deal with these are, but everyone has them here.  I noticed that they had pulled into a handicap spot, and I was starting to get pissed… I don’t care if someone jumps out and you are just standing there… that place is reserved for a reason.

So.. as we are walking past the truck I noticed the plate… and it was handicapped.  WHAT THE FUCK?!!  That thing required a ladder to get into.  I am not even going into how much I SHAKE MY HEAD AT THIS!!

What is wrong with Arizona?  I am always one of the first people to help a person in need… I would go out of my way to help someone with a disability, but this is ridiculous. 

What do you shake your head at?
~2

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Driving home today, I couldn’t help but think about all the things going on around me.  I have been a bit discouraged by the new job, and of course, sleep deprived, so while taking a moment to breathe I decided to take a break from the cd of choice at the present time…. King for a Day Fool for a Lifetime (Faith No More).. I slipped in something different… something I hadn’t listened to in ages, and I was pleasantly surprised on how much I had forgotten. 

okokok it was the Bloodhound Gang’s Hooray for Boobies… yeah yeah don’t give me shit - it cracks me up.

Have you ever been listening to something… of course loud… and noticed how it seems life outside the vehicle is somehow in tune with the music?  The shaking leaves on the passing palms, the bouncing vehicles… the peds crossing the street mouthing the words. Even each breath I took seemed to somehow fit, and that maybe I cracked some sort of secret code… there has been something going on all along behind the scenes, and I am just now beginning to understand it.

I drive on and there is a girl dressed like the statue of liberty, waving at me, smiling at me.  It’s a tax service.  Would someone standing on the side of the road waving at you really sway your decision on who you let process your taxes?  I have always wondered why do that… and how much does it pay, because on this same stretch of road, less than a mile long, I have seen the statue of liberty, a guy waving a flag, and a few others… and it’s a busy street.. they drive like 40 mph and I can’t see someone slamming on their breaks.. crap… I need to have THEM do my taxes… RIGHT NOW.  Just something I think about. I drive down the same street everyday to pick my daughter up from the sitter.

I pick up pretty girl, and drive back down the same road… palm reader…. 5 bucks.  I would so love to stop, but I know Brynn wouldn’t let me… so I drive on with music — giggling “they said vagina”… hehe

Stop at the light, and in front of me is a vehicle… I can’t remember what kind, but I remember the sticker and it totally brings a smile to my face:

I brake for saucy wenches!

Suddenly I am wishing I was a saucy wench… I am not 100% sure as to what that’s talking about, but it just rolls off the tongue.  Oh to be a saucy wench!

It’s amazing how many things stand out on this drive, and it makes me wonder what I am missing.  Am I suppose to be seeing something, but I keep overlooking it.  Like some sign from a higher power.   I am not religious by any means, but I like to think I do have a purpose here.  I so wish to know what it is.  Maybe I should get my palm read… maybe I should get my taxes done, or maybe I can get some lessons and become that saucy wench I so long to be.

~2

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