I Also Hate Square Dancing

Posted: January 25, 2012 in Me, Random Thoughts
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“I was traumatized by square dancing.,” I declared in response to a friend who had innocently suggested we “allemande left” to get into a restaurant’s parking lot. I realized the moment she offered to let us “mosey left” instead that I had a story to share.

There are actually a few social activities I absolutely can’t stand. Bowling is among them. Sure, I didn’t always hate it. There was a time I gave it a chance, and then I joined a league with the misguided thought, “this will be fun!” In twelve short weeks I lost all willingness to ever walk into a bowling alley again. I have a ball, a bag and shoes. Heck, I even have a matching bowling shirt declaring my name is “Roxie”, because really who wouldn’t want to be “Roxie”? (Ok, I confess I never wore the shirt to the league, but it did match everything I owned in all its hot pink and black glory and I have bowled in it.)

But this isn’t about bowling, this is about square dancing – the ridiculous social dance that I hate with such a passion you’d swear I was carrying on about bowling. The one that makes me spit just at the phrase “dosey doe”. Just try to “swing” me. I double-dog dare you.

When I was growing up our gym activities consisted of jumping over things, running in circles, climbing ropes and attempting to make it up peg boards using chunky wooden dowel rods. When we acted like reasonably civilized beasts, we were rewarded with a bounce on the trampoline. Good times. All were part of our public school’s physical education program. That same regimen also included learning important folk dances like the “Bunny Hop”, the “Hokey Pokey” and square dancing. Clearly some crazy person in charge of minors was hell-bent on throwing us all back into their 1950’s glory days dream where people had fine names that combined nicely with “Sue” or “Joe”. (Later, they tried to throw in names that went well with “Wayne”. Nothing good can come out of a “Wayne” and thus several notable serial killers came into the world. Cautionary note to new parents: avoid “Wayne,” but I digress.) In 1976, the year of our Bicentennial, our 2nd grade class participated in a school-wide celebration in the gymnasium. We wore our best patriotic outfits and square danced our little hearts out with the rest of the school. Nothing really says 1950’s independence in the 70’s like a good ol’ fashioned Virginia Reel at the elementary school. That was a simpler time, when square dancing was fun and our clothes were flammable.

I still liked square dancing reasonably well when I entered 7th grade, but I didn’t like much else. This was the year we moved back to Dallas and I was plagued by bullies who tempted me with such enticing offers as, “if you ride the bus tomorrow, we will kill you.” I became an accomplished walker and an even more accomplished dodger. In 7th grade, walking down the hall was a challenge; I was constantly assaulted by kids I didn’t know. I’ve been joking today that I have “selective mutism” and if that is actually true, it started in 4th grade, but really got locked-in here. Yes, there was a time when I was outgoing. A time when I was constantly moved around the class for talking and acting out. After the 7th grade, my teachers never had a problem with me. It was a pivotal year.

Every day of the week I’d suit-up in my PE finery and Monday through Thursday we’d do the normal things you’d expect to do in PE. However, Friday was special. Friday was the day we’d square dance and do the Bunny Hop or the Hokey Pokey. On that day I was filled with anxiety and complete dread. It wasn’t the square dancing that was the problem, it was the mandate that you had to find a partner. If you didn’t find a partner, you had to repeatedly write a shame filled paragraph about your failure. Approaching people was a horrifying ordeal since I was never sure who I could trust. (My bullies had an endless supply of friends and every day heads would turn as I made my way through the jeering gauntlets that led to my classes and my locker. Yes, I get it. You’re barking and howling at me. I’m the ugliest thing you’ve seen – like a dog.) Fortunately, I stumbled on a partner in the form of a kid named Robert or Richard or something. He was tall and socially awkward; a male version of me sans the bullies. Every Friday in gym we’d meekly approach each other and quietly agree to be dance partners. At least, that was the case until the new girl came. She was cuter (no one barked at her), gregarious, not a hint of awkwardness and on her first Friday in class that brazen hussy just ran right up to Robert or Richard or something and declared he’d be hers from that moment on. He was smitten. I was aghast. Couldn’t she see that Robert or Richard or something was MY partner? I had dibs. I had shyly called them when I stared at his feet that very first Friday. Heck, I was even growing a little fond of what’s-his-name.

Well, our gym teacher declared that not having a partner, even if there weren’t an even number of kids, was a punishable offense. On that Friday when SHE came into class and I was left without an unremarkable guy whose name started with an “R” to call my own, I was sent to another room away from the more successfully partnered kids. I was then given a few sheets of paper and directed to copy down a paragraph that was written on the chalk board. The paragraph basically declared that I was a loser and that because I was a loser I was having to write a paragraph about it. The paragraph was much wordier than that and definitely more humiliating, but that was the gist of it. I managed to write about 25 of those before the class let out and earned a “C” for the day..

So now, when I think of square dancing, it throws me back to a time where I’m standing completely alone against a wall – all the boys are taken including Robert or Richard or something, thanks to some cute, outgoing newcomer. Then I remember the shame of being escorted out of the gym to write, “ Dear Mrs. Evans, I am an embarrassment to myself and this school. I will endeavor to…”

It’s safe to say I hate square dancing. I may even hate it more than bowling, or Houston.

I’m Quitting

Posted: January 20, 2012 in Humor, Me
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Tuesday after work started like most Tuesdays after work do – dinner and the dramatic announcement of “I think this is my last sketch writing class.”. “Yes, I’ll give myself this last class and then I will plan to be home before 10pm from here on out!” My friends never grow tired of this pronouncement and by “never” I mean “always”, because it’s usually followed by a small “I’m the worst sketch writer” pity party with balloons shaped like sad little animals as I recount why what I’m saying is 100% gospel. Their protests to make me see reason are now printed on a colorful flyer so they don’t have to repeat themselves one more exhausting time. I wear them thin on Tuesday The flyers help lessen the need for eye rolling this way. (As you can see, I’m making tremendous strides towards my resolution to work on my self-esteem. You can see that, right?)

Well, I come by my lack of faith in my writing quite honestly. On that very first day of class a couple of months back, I was traumatized when I discovered that I was the only person who wasn’t born with a pen in their hand. As we went around the room establishing our writing creds, everyone seemed to be a serious writer and I, on the other hand, could only offer up “I blog!!” There was smiling, that patient kind you give when faced with someone who is severely mentally deficient that you don’t want to discourage. “Umm, I can also sign some really filthy things in ASL,” but I suppose that’s not writing or anything to really brag about – it’s more a neat pet trick to horrify a friend who does sign. As an educator, she’s quite proud that “this was all that Beth learned.” The only other person who wasn’t a writer was an accomplished fashion photographer, so that left me without a peer and signing quietly to myself.

So, Tuesday evening arrives and I’ve got my first parody sketch prepared and ready for feedback. I wander into the inner calm place in my mind that says, “you can survive the next three hours and as a reward you never have to come back.” YAY! Half an hour into class and I manage to never raise my hand to read anything of mine, because it’s a bit like raising my hand to gargle glass or poke my eye out with a stick. Why would I do that? My friend Morgan strolls in. Morgan is the reason I took sketch writing in the first place; she has a way of making things seem cool. You may remember her from the story about the obnoxiously expensive purse that could feed a third world country. I think, “how sad I won’t see Morgan after this evening, but we still have email.” I’ve positioned myself so I can see the clock clearly. I watch it closely as it ticks down my final hours in class. I make it two hours without volunteering to read my first parody. (Aside: Yes, rationally I know sketch writing is new for me and I’m doing something I’ve never done before, but I want to be the best. Blame my upbringing. Waiting on my brain to understand the fundamentals gets in the way of kudos, awards and a ribbon that says “Best Girl”. I want the bloody ribbon.)

Then the time comes where there are only two parodies left to read. A game of rock, paper, scissors is called to determine who will read next. I can see that Morgan is going to throw “rock” by the way she’s holding her hand in the 1-2-3 lead-up and I immediately throw “paper”, because I like to win. Then I realize, “you threw paper!!! IDIOT! What were you thinking?!?!”

I had to cast my sketch, “I’d like you to play the part of Clara, I’d like you to be my narrator, and…” Once the roles are cast, I immediately proceed to shake as my words are read. I don’t like being a squirrely, twitchy person, but as you know, my writing being read out loud does this to me every time. It’s much worse if I have to read it. I watch everyone’s reactions to see how it’s playing out and to my delight they seem to be laughing. Whew, they get the jokes. I can tell when each one realizes what I’m parodying.

When it’s over, I throw my notebook down on my lap and prepare for the feedback on how to make it better. I can conceal my trembling easier on my lap than I can on the table.

Morgan turns around and looks at me and says something like, “Beth, that was great. I have nothing.” Well, she likes me personally. She’s my friend. Did I mention that purse? So, I wait for someone else and that’s Jason, whose writing I admire greatly (in my next life I’d like to be as funny as he is). Jason adds, “I’ve also got nothing and I’d like you to submit this to the Etch-a-Sketch showcase I host on Fridays.” I don’t know any actors and shyly stammer that out. Jason responds, “I’d be glad to play a part.” That’s when the rest of the class chimes in, “me, too!”

The only real suggestion for a change I receive is, “maybe change the mummy’s name from Amenhotep to Tut – it’s easier to say.” (I may have killed my narrator with the number of times he had to say “Amenhotep” until our teacher finally gave him some relief by suggesting, “go ahead and say ‘the mummy’ instead”. Part of the fun of that sketch for me was forcing someone to say “Amenhotep” repeatedly. I’m a simple soul.)

I left class giddy and aglow. Their approval and willingness to play parts in my sketch was almost as a great as a “Best Girl” ribbon. So, tonight my sketch parody will appear in the theater’s sketch showcase and will star my super supportive classmates.

I guess I can’t quit until next Tuesday.

On Resolutions and Mayans

Posted: January 12, 2012 in Humor, Me
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Thanks to some exceptionally  lazy Mayans, who either ran out of large bits of stone or simply grew bored with chiseling, I’m left wondering if it’s really worth the effort to make any New Year’s resolutions.  I mean, we’re talking the end-of-days.  If I decide to exercise more and eat healthier how will that help me come Saturday, December 22nd?  Then there’s all of those apocalyptic pre-show events to ramp us up to the big day.  I definitely don’t want to miss out on any of those.  Everyone whose anyone will be there.  My hope is that they’ll get Ricky Gervais to host.  Fingers crossed! So, I’m thinking I can just write off December entirely and maybe even November as well; those months are officially booked. That leaves me with about ten months to resolve to do something.

Now last year, I also didn’t make any resolutions even without the threat of calendar-hating Mayans, but I did try a few things that challenged me in new and scary ways.  I got on stage a few times and while up there, I even improvised a few songs (we will never mention the gospel number again).  I wrote some of my very first sketch pieces and had one performed.  (Sure, I actually didn’t have a choice.  A flyer was shoved in my hand declaring that this event  was going to happen despite me digging in my heels, but it still counts.)  I made a new friend.  I discovered some great writers through WordPress.  Heck, I even got a new subscriber or two to my own blog. (Thanks, y’all!)  And I received a beautiful compliment from Tom, one of my teachers, that hit home and I’ve been mulling over.  It was: “Beth, you’re brilliant. I wish there were a way I express that to you where you’d believe me.”

I think from this, we may be able to draw-out a list for this year.  Well, for the next ten months:

  • Continue to challenge myself, despite it being insanely intimidating.  (No one needs to know I nearly dropped my new sketch class the day before it started.)
  • Write more – sure, the June Creativity Challenge pushed me a little more than usual, but when I saw the blog stats on my writing over the year, it was kind of pitiful.
  • Read more.  Last year I read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society = a charming little book and I’m sure there was something else.  Surely, there was. (Most pitiful reading year in ages.)
  • Become wise – not wiser, just plain old wise.  I want to sit on a mountain, have pilgrims trek up to see me and bring offerings.  In lieu of that, I’ll settle for more movie nights where friends trek up to my suburban utopia and bring snacks.

Finally:

  • Believe Tom.  Of all the things on my list, this one is the hardest for me.  I’m not certain it’s even achievable, but I’ll try.  I truly wish I could believe him. I know he wishes I could, too.

There’s one last resolution I want to try that I came across on a beautifully written blog titled The Art of An Improbable Life. I want to make a list of the important people in my life and write them a letter that expresses what they mean to me.  Now, I know some of you are uncomfortable with this kind of thing, so you’ll just have to suck-it-up and live with it for the remaining five months we have on this planet.  Yes, that’s right – five months.  You didn’t think I was going to start writing to you tomorrow, did you?  If you’re lucky, I’ll put you at the bottom of the list so you won’t have to endure my love letter for more than a couple of months tops.

I think that’s a pretty impressive list considering the impending doom.  Thank you,  Mayans!  Your laziness has helped me keep that list short.

The Jury Dance

Posted: January 11, 2012 in Humor
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Last week one of my more soft-spoken co-workers popped into my cube, lowered her voice and said, “Beth, I need to ask you a question and I need you to take it seriously.” My curiosity was piqued; this isn’t someone who would normally seek me out for advice. I mean, I sit over here, she sits over there and there’s all of that distance between us. I worried that this was possibly something I couldn’t and maybe shouldn’t handle. I mean, I am the token blonde among my friends and when forced into being overly serious, my mind tends to flit about in protest and I develop fuzzy animal Tourette’s. “Your marriage is in shambles and you need my advice? FLUFFY BUNNY BEAGLE EARS!! Sorry. You were saying?”

“Beth, I need you to promise me you’ll take this seriously.”

I leaned in a little closer and adopted my version of the serious and concerned face. I threw in some forehead wrinkles just for show. “Of course.”

“Beth, I was speaking to Lillian and she said that you helped her get out of jury duty.”

“I did?” I was confused, I really couldn’t recall ever doing this or even claiming I could do this.

“Yes. Beth, she said you did a dance.”

“What?” Now I was surprised. It’s not that I doubted her word. I mean it completely sounds like me, but I couldn’t recall the specifics. Heck, I’d do a pratfall for a laugh under the right circumstances so a dance wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities.

“Beth, I’m serious. I need you to do your dance. I don’t want to go to jury duty. Will you do the same dance you did for Lillian for me?”

She had absolute faith in my abilities and I did my best not to let her down by trying to imagine what ridiculous movements I previously made to drive off a jury summons (or get laughs) – nothing specific came to mind, so I was left improvising a goofy chair wiggle dance. I waved my arms about in the air, shook my tush, threw my head around and then declared, “that’s the dance”.

She was impressed and a little awed (as you would be, if I cornered you and your fight-or-flight instinct didn’t kick-in fast enough). “Beth, thank you sooooo much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’ll let you know what happens.”

This encounter stressed me out a bit, because she was actually placing a great deal of faith in my antics. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say when this blew up in my face and she was selected to be a juror. “Shoot, I forgot I needed to stand up.” “Shoot, you asked on a Tuesday. This never works on a Tuesday.”

The following week I received the update, “Beth, I called the courthouse and they said I didn’t have to show-up. They’ve already selected the jury and they’ve released me. I can’t thank you enough. Your dance worked just like Lillian said it would. I’m going to call her and thank her for sending me to you.”

What I’ve taken away from this is either I have the potential to be a charismatic cult leader or I may actually have magical dance powers that impact our judicial system. I should probably use these powers for evil. I mean good. Crazy typos. (Note to karma: I appreciate your humor and accept that I am going to be sequestered for a year.)

That’s One

Posted: January 4, 2012 in Friends, Humor, Me
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My friends occasionally like to hear certain stories over and over again.  At least that’s what I tell myself as I see their eyes glazing over.  I know deep down that look expresses profound “enjoyment” and is in no way an indication that their minds are racing as they try to think up a polite way to exit.  The one I’m about to tell has received several (or two) requests.  It’s the story about the time I gave another adult a mom-style countdown.  You know, those countdowns you’d receive as a kid where the closer your mom got to that final number the more likely her head was to explode and the greater the chance that you were about to be grounded for life.  There was usually the added guarantee that your father would be told and you’d be shamed in front of every single relative you’d ever counted as “living” on your family tree. I’ll explain in a bit, but first I need to set it up.

In my mind, this story happened earlier in the summer, but it looks like it actually happened a little over a year ago.  Not that the day matters.  The day was beautiful, John Stewart’s “Rally to Restore Sanity” had occurred earlier in the day and a group of us were gathered at a local spot for some pre-improv show food and drinks.  I invited some friends we hadn’t seen in a while, my friend April, some improv folks and one of April’s friends who I used to work with back in the day. We’ll call him Craig.

I was the designated driver that evening.  I mention this because it might partially explain why I was in a serious mood. It didn’t help that as I’ve grown older, I’ve become a lot less tolerant of things and I’m really quite prissy when pressed.  Combine all of that with the fact that everyone around me was rapidly devolving on an evolutionary scale thanks to copious amounts of alcohol and were moments away from knuckle-walking in search of a spacious cave and scavenging for food.  What that left them with was someone who wasn’t the most gracious or appreciative of designated drivers nursing an iced tea.

Craig arrived at our haunt with his rally sign proudly displayed and proceeded to plop down next to me in order to brag about his many life accomplishments which included a delightful tale about mocking a person with autism.  Inside I began to growl as I listened and continued to sip on more iced tea.  The mood of everyone at the table was brightening with each fresh margarita and mine was rapidly darkening with each tale of “look at me, I’m amazing! I abused someone with a mental handicap!!  Aren’t I a paragon of humanity? Did I mention, my article was published? Perhaps I’ll read it to you. You would love that! You know, people all over were asking for pictures of me with my very clever sign.  I’m sure I’ll be on several internet pages before the night is over! No, I’m not at all interested in anything about you. Please stop talking.”

At some point, I turned away to join the conversation my husband was having with our friends, which seemed like a much better deal.  They were in the middle of telling a story about a mutual co-worker, Linda, when Craig, realizing he’d lost his captive audience of one, made a dramatically snarky remark along the lines of, “ohhhhhh, Linda!”  I realized it was probably his way of letting us know we were being rude and excluding him so I attempted to catch him up to speed with, “Linda was their supervisor when they worked at…” and he cut me off with a snide, “oh, I really don’t care.”  That’s when I lost my ability to be polite thanks to a lot of tea, enduring margarita giddiness and being subjected to a person who mistakenly thought his endless nattering was actually engaging.  I held up my index finger, looked directly at him and in my best mom voice declared, “that’s ONE.”  He laughed uncomfortably and stared.

We then made our way to the theater and despite being promised, “he doesn’t like improv” he tagged along.  I felt betrayed.  They said he’d go home! Of course, he stuck to my side and blathered away about how awesome he was.  My patience was tanking, but I was alone since the rest of the gang were in tequila induced oblivion.

You’ve really reached a special place in my heart when I start describing you as “boorish” or a “dullard”, which were the words that immediately sprang to mind every time he spoke and since he never stopped speaking they were flashing like little neon signs.  Unfortunately, he was attached to my hip and wouldn’t stop despite the fact that I was now visibly rolling my eyes at him.  I’m certain several long dead Southern relatives rolled over in their graves in that moment. “What appalling cads raised such an uncivilized young lady? Surely, this came from YOUR side of the family!” When the show ended our group stood around discussing what we’d seen, reciting our favorite lines.  His only contribution was an exceptionally graphic description of a physiological event that was occurring in his pants thanks to one of the actors he admired. Delightful.  I was aghast and told him he was being inappropriate and crass.  After a heated and very intellectual debate along the lines of “no, I’m not” “yes, you are” “no, I’m not” I clinched my teeth, held up my hand again and declared, “THAT IS TWO!” I’m not sure what would have happened had I gotten to three, but neither did he.and that caused him to finally shut-up and wander off to his car..

And that my friends is how I made Craig stop talking and why he isn’t allowed to come play with us anymore.  My friends enjoy this story because it’s pretty uncharacteristic of me to snap especially in public. I’m more the quiet seething sort and I never give people countdowns (or count ups as the case may be) .  Plus, Craig is really just one of those guys who has it coming. So, the very idea of quiet me actually breaking down to say something sends them into fits of giggles.  You’re welcome, guys!

No Ads in 2012!

Posted: December 29, 2011 in Random Thoughts
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Yesterday, I learned something exciting and fun – that there are ads attached to my blog.  Who knew?  Well, apparently some of you did.  You’d think I’d know this, too since it is my blog, but I had no clue.  You see, when I view my blog it’s completely clean and ad free.  So, huge apologies if you thought I was promoting brie filled crescent rolls yesterday.  That certainly sounds lovely, but I’m more a sausage wrap kind of person.  Those who know me should have immediately noticed and said, “Brie.  Brie? That’s so uptown. Beth is more an Easy Cheese girl, this can’t possibly be her doing.”  (Thank you Jerry for recognizing that I’m really  more Kraft Singles (blech) than Brie.)

My goal is to have those removed in 2012 or, in other words, on payday.  Yes, Christmas shopping is preventing me from providing you with much needed ad relief.  Darn that Christmas!  In the meantime, enjoy some brie filled croissants!

My croissant-free view (left). Your delicious pastry-filled view (right).

Blog “Wisdom”

Posted: December 28, 2011 in Random Thoughts
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It seems like every time I find a new blog, I also find another author dispensing advice on how to write.  It makes me feel like I’ve really let you guys down by not sharing my own bits of writing wisdom.  Yet, I applaud you all for continuing to persevere without my keen insights.  Still, I’d be remiss if I didn’t share my very own list that you could learn from and use to grow into better writers.  As the self-proclaimed Queen of run-on-sentences and comma splice errors, I feel like I’m clearly the authority on this subject.  I’m also the Queen of Sarcasm, I feel I need to spell that out since sarcasm isn’t always easy to express in writing and I don’t want you to have read the first few sentences and thought, “wow, she’s really pompous”.  I mean, I am actually pompous, but in this case I’m just being sarcastic since I can’t offer you any actual wisdom on this subject.   I will make this promise to you, though – I won’t tell you about the proper use of “their, they’re, and there” or “your, you’re”, because I figure if you flub that, you typo-ed and everyone makes typos – in my case, blame Jay for failing at his editing duties.

  1. Write with your audience in mind.  Your audience may be your Aunt Gladys.  Write to please her.   In my case, my audience is anyone who knew me before and during college.  This includes a large chunk of family and friends.  It’s where I tell anecdotes (sometimes theirs), since this is what they like to hear in person.  I’m an exaggerator.  I add meaning to insignificant events for the sake of a better story. Anyone else who chooses to read my blog is just a happy bonus.  I tend to avoid politics and religion, because that’s not the purpose of this blog and my mother taught me that there were certain conversational taboos. I’m also quite rabid in my beliefs (especially politics) and you don’t really want to read some crazy rant that would be high on vitriol and low on humor.  The only time I will venture there is if I bump into a politician or something interesting happens in a church.  Like the time at Anna’s wedding where Anna (or maybe her husband Jonathan) said, “I do” and Anna’s priest responded with something along the lines of, “if you say so.”  That response made those vows memorable and caused a ripple of snickers throughout the church.  See, a church anecdote is born!
  2. If your goal is to be a writer, then practice writing at least 30 minutes every day at the same time of day whether you publish it or not.  I cheat, since my blogs are written in the same style that I would write a letter so I spend 30 minutes a day writing letters.  I need to follow my own advice, though.
  3. If you want your audience to be chubby middle-aged women who knows way too much about geek culture, just leave a comment and I’m sure I can think of more specific advice on how to draw-in more readers like me – God help you.

I’m assuming that most bloggers are hoping to get a small amount of popularity, because we all get a thrill when someone aside from Aunt Gladys finds us and are willing to follow us along our written journeys.  We write for our own purpose and  hope for some connection as proof that we’re not alone in our thoughts.  I guess, for me, I don’t want some homogenized blog reading experience and I sometimes feel that I’m alone when I read “Do’s & Don’ts of Writing Your Blog”; it seems like others want a more uniform experience.  I enjoy the blogs I read because they’re different – each person telling their own story in their own specific way.  If everyone told their story in the same way, what a boring place the blogosphere would be.  So, that’s why my advice is basically: write for the people you want to attract to your blog and write every day – don’t worry about everyone else unless you really do want to be the next Dooce or 1000 Awesome Things or The Blogess and in that case read every Do and Don’t you can get your hands on and get fired from your job for writing satirical pieces about your co-workers and have the national media cover it (seems extreme, but I have faith in you if you’re truly committed to your dream).

Aside: I now get to mark this off as my writing task for the day. Woo hoo!  Yes, I used you all for my own personal growth.  You’re welcome.  Errr I mean, I dispensed wisdom.  That’s it.

Aw Shucks!

Posted: December 23, 2011 in Humor
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Jacqueline from Mature Student Hanging In There kindly awarded me with the Kreativ Blogger Award. Jacqueline lives in the highlands of Scotland where I understand it gets to be very cold – the kind of cold that would instantly kill a Texan. She’s also a proud mom, a non-traditional student, a caregiver, a puddle jumper and one of Santa’s jolliest elves. You should take a moment to check-out her blog.

This is a pay-it-forward award and rules state:
For this award, I have to share 10 things that you may not know about me (lucky you). Then I have to pass the award on to at least six other bloggers.
I shared 12 things about me, because I can and I really wanted to add a music video at the end.

As for my six+, I’m going to cheat a bit and point to my blog log – like Miss Staten Island of My Old NY. All of these people deserve recognition for the blogs they write. I enjoy each of them for a variety of reasons. If I named them individually (like Miss Staten Island of My Old NY ) then someone might get the idea that I loved one more than the other (or were being pushy again about someone posting) and you should all know, I love you all just the same (at least when I’m talking about you in an open forum. ;) The ones that buy me presents, I actually do love more – like Thistlecloud). There’s only one I would add, which is not on that list, and that is my friend Anna’s blog. I’m not allowed to link to it. :( I know. It’s very sad. You would enjoy it, too. It’s very funny. (I’m suddenly Hemingway.) Thanks for depriving the world of your funny, Anna.

10 Things About Myself

  1. I was born on Christmas Day.
  2. I’m often asked “do you mean THE day” – yes, there is in fact only one Christmas Day that I’m aware of, but you may have two – if you do, that’s ok, I was born on the one that gets all the recognition on the calendar.
  3. I played viola through college and received a small music scholarship and I’ve played professionally.
  4. In the last orchestra I was in, I spent most of the time wanting to beat up a particularly obnoxious flautist. If I described her to you in detail you would, too. Since I can’t handle the tremendous responsibility of unleashing a mob on a helplessly annoying flute player, I’ll refrain from continuing the story. However, please feel free to send her a psychic “stink-eye” on my behalf.
  5. Most people outside orchestra aren’t aware of this fact:  the viola is the most beautiful instrument in the orchestra.
  6. I was 18 before I ever crossed the Texas state line.
  7. When I’m in Texas, I do not have an accent – you do. We’ll renegotiate the next time I’m outside of the state.
  8. I used to hold a blue belt in Tae Kwon Do before I was hospitalized for an unrelated injury that took me out of that sport. I’m 100% confident you could beat me up, but let me say it only takes 10 lbs. of pressure applied to the right spot for a person to permanently wreck your day. I happen to weigh more than 10 lbs.
  9. I struggle with writing. I’ve never been a “verbal” person and prefer gesturing and grunting as a way to communicate. (My friend Anna is the only one person who can translate this with any accuracy. We’ve held many serious conversations where no actual words were spoken.) Where my cousin spoke at an early age, I tended to walk up to things (like people who talked too much) and hit them – who can stand sassy talking types with their clever little words? Seriously, I do blog to work on my writing skills so I don’t devolve into a ragged creature that scrambles around on the floor and scurries off to hide in dark places.
  10. My all time favorite movie is Sex, Lies & Videotape.  What can I say? It really speaks to me.
  11. (because I can) My friends are all scarily brilliant people who keep me around for their amusement. They don’t think that I’m aware of this because of my excessive drooling.
  12. Finally -  I’m going through a huge Mumford & Sons craze. Enjoy! (New album in 2012!)

Sketch Writing 101: The Sketch

Posted: December 22, 2011 in Humor
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On Sunday we had a showcase for all of the Sketch 101 writers featuring one of our pieces (we’d written 5 over the course of the class).  Throughout the course of the class, I had some lows and some very lows and an extremely dramatic meltdown that I dragged several people and my teacher into (lucky them!) because I felt like I was completely outclassed and over-my-head.  I mean, what was I thinking? I write a series of run-on-sentence style blogs.  Whether true or not, I felt like I was the kid with the Big Chief pad and jumbo pencil trying to muscle into the table with actual writers.  I spent the first part of the class trying to spontaneously combust.  Did you know that turning to ash on cue is actually a lot harder than you’d suspect?  You probably never thought of that, did you?  Errr… me either. *cough*.  Then I kinda found my writing legs.

So, without further ado here is my sketch:

WARNING: It’s PG-13 for suggestive language – if you’re easily offended, it might not be your cup of tea.  Also, it’s from a 101 class.  Several improv teachers just cringed because I typed that, but there you have it.  Oh, and watch the guy 2nd from the right, he has some subtle stage directions at the beginning and you may need the audio turned up a little to hear.

Confessions

Thanks to my super supportive friends and my awesome husband, Jay for putting up with me during this process.  A huge thanks to Tom Booker, my teacher (the guy on the far right – he was in Babylon 5!) who talked me off the ledge and read my stage directions for this performance.  Also a huge thanks to the actors who brought my words to life.

This Sunday at 6:30pm!

Posted: December 17, 2011 in Writing Group
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Finished your holiday shopping and looking for a way to spend that last $5? Why not come join us tomorrow at 6:30 pm for our Sketch Writing Showcase?  We have some truly hilarious and amazingly gifted writers in my class, so you won’t be disappointed (and I’ll be there, too!).  Of course, if you have something better to do, I completely understand and I’ll only hold this against you until my memory fades.  Oh, and Happy Holidays!

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