tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-218811442024-03-06T17:52:53.713-12:00Angie SaysThis is where I get to say the stuff I want to say, and you get to read what I said..........Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger125125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-28544373650493990372013-07-20T21:23:00.003-12:002013-07-20T21:23:32.553-12:00Gardens, Wishes and Blessings.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Tipsy sent me a picture of a diy project she just completed. Which led me to think about the many unfinished projects I have lying around. I haven't found a chair for Masons desk. The plant stand in the yard is still not sanded and painted. The new winter coverlets for mason's bed are not complete. And so on and so on. <br />
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So, I started feeling kinda blah. But! I remembered my plan to stay positive and keep a grateful heart. Which led me to think about a project that I had completed. My garden! Yes! My lovely garden. I reminisced on how beautiful it was to see my plants grow big and healthy. I was so happy with the first cucumber I could have danced. And I've enjoyed peppers, zucchini and lots of cherry tomatoes. That garden has been a wish blessing for me.<br />
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Someone once asked me, how I would live my life if I knew I could not fail. My reply was, "I'd be a writer, plant a garden and sit in my yard, drink lemonade and swing." At that moment those things were just wishes for me.......at that time I rarely thought my wishes would ever come to fruition.. But I do now. And I'm grateful for my wish blessing coming through. It reminds me of the possibilities......the ones I've wished for in prayers, through writing or in my mind. I will have them too, if they are good for me and when God decides I'm ready to handle them.<br />
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What do you wish for? What would you do if you couldn't fail?<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-84177037424707176562013-07-15T18:27:00.000-12:002013-07-15T18:30:56.570-12:00Sir Cuss A LotThe chickens have come home to roost - I'm reaping what I've sown and this is some BULLSHIT! Why I can't ever keep stuff I like? Why I can't have no fun? Why is it that my joy must be wrenched from me all the time?<br />
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Here's the thing<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPq6gvnsQ_3PkyVNay3XK5n0chS-5x1vTmNE9Qy4sDqSBgUnbS5vEvhVnLqqohYPG3fnAluaFBdKHOo71wOPdY7aCLv3cZRvGiWkKJ8KDux-LVE7bLaO3ebLKqsV9_p_A1U2X/s1600/i+say+bad+words.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGPq6gvnsQ_3PkyVNay3XK5n0chS-5x1vTmNE9Qy4sDqSBgUnbS5vEvhVnLqqohYPG3fnAluaFBdKHOo71wOPdY7aCLv3cZRvGiWkKJ8KDux-LVE7bLaO3ebLKqsV9_p_A1U2X/s200/i+say+bad+words.jpg" width="200" /></a> A lot. And I like it. A lot!<br />
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But at the prime cursing age of 46 I have to stop. I have to just stop cold turkey - can't do it a bit at a time. I can't slap on a UnoCussNoMo patch from the drugstore and wean myself of the urge to enhance my sentences with expletives. Why you ask? Well, I have a three year old who apparently likes to curse too. Not a good look.<br />
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His dad does not curse as often or as colorfully as I do, so when Mason started letting them rip we knew I was the culprit. *Hangs head in shame*<br />
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I've even tried to downplay it to my hubby, saying shit like, "Man, that boy didn't say that. You trippin'. Well he has never said that in front of me. You need to stop lying on my baby........" Well, no more. I'm busted.<br />
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Hubby's ass is out of town so we video chat with him. Last night Mason was talking to his dad and the flash suddenly went off in his eyes and he said, "Whaaaaat the fuck!?" We "lost" the connection immediately, and when he called back I denied hearing any swear words. *Hangs head in shame again*<br />
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So now I have to give up cursing. And don't suggest I use those cutesy cuss words like "shut the front door." That won't work for me. I'd mess it up and say "shut the fucking front door." <br />
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Maybe I can I find a curser support group. Hi, I'm Angie and I like to curse.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-55017455336267754762012-08-28T12:46:00.001-12:002012-08-28T12:46:05.973-12:00Rap much Idris?<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9p7zsk68js&feature=player_embedded" target="_blank">Check this out</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-62697606432594368292012-08-28T12:03:00.002-12:002012-08-28T12:04:47.664-12:00Somebody said u was lookin' fo me, hear ah go!<br />
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It's been a long time....back now. Did ya miss me. <br />
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I just haven't felt like blogging so I thought Id take a break but I hadn't realised its been so long. <br />
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<br />
So, on today, a day when I need something else to focus on, because of this <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-201_162-57501762/gulf-coast-braces-for-hurricane-isaacs-wrath/" target="_blank">this</a>. <br />
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With that said, I'm recovering from surgery, I'm in pain and I'm aggravated, (glad you came back here yet? LOL). Every. Single. Thing. is working on my nerves. I didn't want to leave, Mr Angie did. We stayed. Hope it was the right call. <br />
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Mr. Angie is under the weather, the Little Man is under the weather and the weather over us is UGLY. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-46092743896142637992012-02-02T17:50:00.000-12:002012-02-02T17:50:03.919-12:00Not The New MeI found out some good news recently. I'm the new me!<br />
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Let me explain, recently I reconnected with a friend from my past. I had been estranged from this person for about 6 years. The break in our friendship was extremely hard for me. Our relationship had become toxic, and it was killing me. I was depressed, confused, sad, tired, and numb - all at once.<br />
<br />
Now, let me be clear.....I don't think she was trying to kill me per say. But, she was killing me, because I was letting her. It was a co-dependent relationship, based on guilt, drama, and immaturity. Because of my own issues being friends with this person was the perfect recipe for disaster. I'm a caretaker. I try to fix everything.....make nice.....keep the peace. It's just who I am. It's what I learned to do as a child to deal with a dysfunctional home. But, in my adult life my propensity to put others needs and wants before my own became my undoing.<br />
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So, I put a stop to it. Well, let me be honest - I had to put a stop to "it" because I had began planning to put a stop to myself. I got up, got away, got help and got on with it. And that shit was hard! The hardest thing I've ever done in my life. But it was worth it.<br />
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So when this old friend started exhibiting some of the same behaviours that drew me in and under in the past, I saw it for what it was. I'm not blaming her. She's a good person as people go. She just has unrealistic expectations of me - and she has no problem laying those expectations out. In the past I would try any way I could to do what was expected of me, and ignore my churning insides. I'd feel beholden to do what she asked of me because of things she'd done for me.<br />
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Well, no more. Not now. Not the new me. <br />
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I said, "No" The sun continued to shine, the Earth didn't swallow me up, hell, my stomach didn't even churn. I felt some kinda way about her asking, but more like "da hell?" than like "oh Lord, what am I gonna do."<br />
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And you know what!? She took the "No", and kept it moving. She met the new me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-44183649066120845872011-11-04T16:01:00.000-12:002011-11-04T16:01:25.864-12:00To Do List<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9mHOr4S2X-Mnt_kjjqJ3txA6UIkLW4D-PRNwzU2hviDTxb0Fzqwa6kfGSUxqzNOSfYdQVMUdXLAKE8TnZy2pABBhbjdh5Weet356DcamaI79fU5dWroq2qV2iYAJ5nMI0FebM/s1600/funny-life-to-do-list.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9mHOr4S2X-Mnt_kjjqJ3txA6UIkLW4D-PRNwzU2hviDTxb0Fzqwa6kfGSUxqzNOSfYdQVMUdXLAKE8TnZy2pABBhbjdh5Weet356DcamaI79fU5dWroq2qV2iYAJ5nMI0FebM/s200/funny-life-to-do-list.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
I tend to lose focus on things I need to do for myself. So ever so often I need to remind myself. Here goes!<br />
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1. Stop reading EveryBodyElses damn blog every single day.<br />
2. Write on your own blogs more often.<br />
3. Take 30 minutes for yourself EVERYDAY.<br />
4. Go to church.<br />
5. Trim your split ends.<br />
6. <strike>Finish </strike>Work on one of your projects.<br />
7. Make a date with Mr Angie (get a baby-sitter)<br />
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That's enough.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-72806846852177968962011-10-06T14:08:00.000-12:002011-10-06T14:08:56.357-12:00Say My Name, Say My Name......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkZN1hgqQpdPVVtl1j3h_M5vaGamQ9PyCb4IpQbEJWgm714L7jie3MlzCKP7mRcgRZHcjMSdH3MMLgY0iIFPRREfruB8IfI2lcIkHGee43bJSCiyojLOUzc2zh5vfKrt_uCUj/s1600/nicknames1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkZN1hgqQpdPVVtl1j3h_M5vaGamQ9PyCb4IpQbEJWgm714L7jie3MlzCKP7mRcgRZHcjMSdH3MMLgY0iIFPRREfruB8IfI2lcIkHGee43bJSCiyojLOUzc2zh5vfKrt_uCUj/s1600/nicknames1.gif" /></a><span lang="EN"><br />
<b> </b> <br />
Did you know that somewhere someone is calling you by a moniker that is not your own? They may even be referring to you by the clothes you wear, your hairstyle or the car you drive. Sometimes they know your real name sometimes they don’t.<br />
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One of my friend’s moved to a new neighborhood a few years ago. Her next door neighbor is fair skinned black guy with long wavy black hair that he wears in two pony tails down his back. So we named him Pocahontas…….you see the connection. We’ve even shortened it to just “Poke.” It’s gotten so bad my friend’s husband called him Poke to his face. It just slipped out, “Hey Poke, what’s up?” LOL The guy never even noticed.<br />
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In college one of my friends had a crush on a guy, but we didn’t know his name so we called him “Maxima Man” because he drove a Maxima. I don’t think we ever found out his real name because he had no interest in my friend. at. all. Latter we found out we should’ve been calling him “Gay Maxima Man.” <br />
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There was also a really tall skinny guy who lived in the dorm next dorm. We called him “Noodle Man.” When we saw the really tall skinny girl he was dating, we dubbed her “Noodle Woman.”<br />
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Someone else I know was kind of dating a guy who was about fifteen years her senior. We referred to him as “Old Fella.” She’d say, “I went to eat bar-b-que with Old Fella last night” and we thought nothing of it. <br />
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It’s really easy to slip up and call someone by their nickname to their face. So be careful. And if someone says “Hi” to you and there’s a weird tag attached to it……you just found out your nickname. “Hi, Perch Lips!” <br />
</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-35494747358172987362011-09-14T15:59:00.000-12:002011-09-14T15:59:55.043-12:00Crazy Pink Guns!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR6FTWoefPw1CY8RXOEURYusXEZnKcoB7T7o3LvWawkVxSIk-gyFqs9GHQlbaJpCXLMtq4IuBbkkwT81hEdjV4zvasrC2CJEWBEoFs4tCXj7lW3HFXlvBmT1IaksBJl1SdHvS7/s1600/colorful+guns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR6FTWoefPw1CY8RXOEURYusXEZnKcoB7T7o3LvWawkVxSIk-gyFqs9GHQlbaJpCXLMtq4IuBbkkwT81hEdjV4zvasrC2CJEWBEoFs4tCXj7lW3HFXlvBmT1IaksBJl1SdHvS7/s1600/colorful+guns.jpg" /></a></div>Recently MyKiddo and I were talking about the possibility of me and Mr. Angie purchasing a gun.....safety issues, size, etc. She suggested I buy a pink gun. Now, I'm pretty feminine and all that. However. A gun is not a barrette! It's a freakin' gun! Only you and the person you're about to shoot are gonna see it, right? I mean you don't wear it on a necklace or attach it to your key chain.<br />
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I want my gun to fit my hand and be reliable. Period. They can save the pink paint money and give me some free bullets. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-10220169757967904222011-08-24T19:38:00.000-12:002011-08-24T19:38:52.424-12:00Make it Clap for Me!!!!Everybody wants to feel valued and understood. Some of us need it more than others. I think they call it "high maintenance." I need my gifts and talents acknowledged on a regular basis.....always have. When I don't get that "stroke", I start to feel kinda antsy. Not in a nervous way, in a "let me do this trick in front of a new audience kind of way." I'm a sucker for applause, what can I say.<br />
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Well my present audience members care more about getting their shitty diapers changed, having clean uniforms for work, and living with their boyfriends. Baby Beaux, Mr. Angie, and MyKiddo.<br />
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Well yesterday a friend of mine clapped for me. He was entertained by something I wrote and he texted me to say so. That one atta-girl helped me remember I'm more than a diaper changer, a uniform washer etc. <br />
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Thank you Lone Clapper......you have always managed to remind me of who I am.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-66846140469127952542011-07-06T17:21:00.000-12:002011-07-06T17:21:21.753-12:00Outside Children?If your father was married and had a family when he got your mom pregnant, do you consider yourself an outside child? Do you tell other people about your situation? How do you feel about your dads kids from his marriage? How do they feel about you? <br />
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I'm dealing with a situation similar to this one, and I'd like to know what some other people think?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-18660217838834626132011-07-04T09:42:00.001-12:002011-07-06T17:06:02.776-12:00Family Edited<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrEPVUoWxtFgxfDi21lR7aDlwHkRtgpdSgl7oKlsBUqXg5Z_NS_5VH1WV0tWHehM9r1lHY42zvNJiNH4T9MU_UniJ6M8aObSsVpCjWi9xR7f32tx4WZ9cLS7ywHTFBp1kQBRY7/s1600/shut+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrEPVUoWxtFgxfDi21lR7aDlwHkRtgpdSgl7oKlsBUqXg5Z_NS_5VH1WV0tWHehM9r1lHY42zvNJiNH4T9MU_UniJ6M8aObSsVpCjWi9xR7f32tx4WZ9cLS7ywHTFBp1kQBRY7/s1600/shut+up.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I'm starting to write about things that I've wanted to write about for a long time , and it feels good. That is until I go back and read what I've written - and try to decide what to do with it. I love to write, but I'm still learning. I'd like to be a published author. But, there are some downsides to letting other people read your writing.<br />
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I saw Tyler Perry on the Oprah show a while back. He exposed physical and sexual abuses he suffered as a child. He said he didn't want to speak about it in depth publicly until after his mother. She had died the year before the interview so he felt free to speak about his abuse. That's such a heavy burden to bare. <br />
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Do I have to wait until my friends and relatives are dead before I can freely write about situations in my life that involved them. do I have to let my mom and dad edit my writing before I air our dirty laundry? Do I just change the names and places and let the chips fall? How do people who write about thier lives deal with this?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-61291121954181761052011-07-01T08:59:00.001-12:002011-07-06T17:08:32.537-12:00Motivation<span style="font-size: large;">I just finished reading <a href="http://nineteen69.wordpress.com/2011/06/26/my-1st-triathlon/">1969's</a> entry about her first triathlon. It pushed me to get back to writing even though it's been a while.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When I read about 1969 and <a href="http://www.traveldivastories.com/">Travel Diva</a> doing a triathlon, I thought to myself, "Here they go again, doing fabulous shit that I can't do" I followed their training and preparation for the races with interest - but I was still a little jealous. Here lately its hard for me to imagine myself accomplishing fabulous things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well baaaaaaby, after reading 1969's post I saw things through new eyes. 1969 was a neophyte triathlete, and she didn't do as well as she thought she would. In fact she came in just about last in every event. From her description it was not pretty. But, she pushed on anyway, through fear of drowning, pain, hurt feelings and tears. And she finished! And after all a win is a win no matter how ugly or pretty right? So she won. The medal she received wasn't the only payoff for all of her hard work - she also knows that even if it's hard she can still do it. More over she was able to experience her friends and loved ones supporting her right through to the end, no matter the sacrifice. We need that, it helps us feel like we can do anything. And what's better than that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've been pretty stagnant lately. Just doing enough to get by. Hiding behind my age, my baby, and my responsibilities to my husband and family. But, those are just excuses. God has blessed me with everything good that I dared to ask of him. Who am I to become afraid and stop now, to sit complacently and forfeit the other blessings He wants to give me. Today I asked him to help me do some fabulous things that I've been too afraid to try and I'm sure he'll bless me with his favor again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've been motivated.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-25150712633280466242011-03-22T07:58:00.001-12:002011-07-06T17:09:45.594-12:00After the Rain.......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUp4WUIrSCYE14JVm4dAO_EEahfvvSGiznJsdu83eL2H_9nlEm_PPKE5XzPCPAJ2qU4Gl0iJAkJOvZ-TUngzZuCOrIrXYEhfm-l_55Nn1csj4qfAz2bca-TjEAt7KFGoHngdWR/s1600/rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUp4WUIrSCYE14JVm4dAO_EEahfvvSGiznJsdu83eL2H_9nlEm_PPKE5XzPCPAJ2qU4Gl0iJAkJOvZ-TUngzZuCOrIrXYEhfm-l_55Nn1csj4qfAz2bca-TjEAt7KFGoHngdWR/s1600/rainbow.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Yesterday, while driving home from the doctors office, I had a major breakdown. One of those boo-hoo, tears and snot breakdowns. My eyes were left red and puffy and my nose was raw and tender. It was all I could do to just to drive home.<br />
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I didn't get any horrible news from the doctor, just a litany of tests and new appointment. I wasn't the Dr's visit on it's on that caused the breakdown. It was just the last straw. This emotional break down had been building for a while now. I think it started with my birthday last month. I have never felt old. Ever! Thirty years old, no problem. Forty years old, no problem. Forty-four years old, problem! <br />
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I even spent all of my 42nd year thinking I was 43 (long story for another time) and that didn't bother me. But, forty-four has thrown me for a loop. The day of my actual birthday went to crap. I got the usual happy birthday calls, but it just wasn't enough for me. The Sunday before my birthday Tipsy took me to breakfast at a really cool restaurant in Mandeville, and she bought me a very nice cook book. I was so grateful........she always makes a big deal of my birthday. That helped, but I still felt uneasy in my heart. It seems that I've been on a declining slope ever since my birthday.<br />
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I've been sleeping a lot lately, which is a sign of depression for me. Negative thoughts have been dancing through my head now and then, but I had been able to shake them off. But, on the drive home from the doctor's office, I could no longer contain myself. I started to think about at my age, my health, my lack of money and my parenting skills in a bad light. Just every single thing I thought of was negative. It was like the devil himself was talking to me. I cried it out. I prayed. I called my mama. I cried and prayed some more. Then I went home and went to sleep.<br />
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Today is a better day. I feel rested and restored. I've given some thought about my "incident" yesterday and I've come to the conclusion that some stuff just had to come out. The reason I couldn't be pleased on my birthday is because I DON'T WANT TO BE 44! It had nothing to do with anyone else, it was all me. <br />
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I haven't been in therapy for about two years and I don't have an opportunity to share my feelings and fears often. I've gone through a lot in the past two years......moving from Ohio, having a baby, getting married and buying a house and then moving again, then turning one year from 45. Not having that "unbiased, outside" person to talk to has left me stuffing some of my thoughts and fears. Not good.<br />
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But, in my <em>right mind</em> I know I am so very blessed and I have so many things to be thankful for, a great marriage, healthy happy children and a family who loves me. I just need some help putting things in perspective sometimes. So, as part of my new Take Care of Angie First Campaign, I've made an appointment with a therapist. <br />
<br />
Like I said before , "Today is a better day."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-2711198597663498752011-02-07T12:23:00.002-12:002011-07-06T17:11:04.362-12:00Too Cute to Breath<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7octbgUy8Iu7ZjWnYIE8eSwxiMaKFQcrFvI7H0w6UQIVxucd80MfLl3riSgYeZBw146rYBq-nikZMeKEmfEbvZKCn821acYL2akBy4h882XQsxqxxqYBLheUsPl5FkPUprIow/s1600/c-pap+machine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7octbgUy8Iu7ZjWnYIE8eSwxiMaKFQcrFvI7H0w6UQIVxucd80MfLl3riSgYeZBw146rYBq-nikZMeKEmfEbvZKCn821acYL2akBy4h882XQsxqxxqYBLheUsPl5FkPUprIow/s200/c-pap+machine.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">C-Pap Machine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>About five years ago I was diagnosed with sleep apnea ( not getting enough oxygen while sleeping and tired during waking hours). I had to use a c-pap machine to help me breath while I sleep. At the time I was living in Ohio alone. I was so tired and sleep deprived I would have done anything to get some real rest. So, I used the c-pap every time I went to sleep, and it worked. Within a few weeks I felt rested when I woke up. It was great. Especially, since no one had to see me wearing it, except my daughter when she came to visit.<br />
<br />
Then about 4 years ago I met Mr. Angie. We dated long distance for a year because he lived in Louisiana, and as I said before I was living in Ohio. When he'd come up there to visit for weekends I would forgo using the c-pap, because I would look like this :<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwo2ZZMbg-U5C8nbe9xrVIDYSdKlfvdEXLmamCv43OJy7YoDWdxeoprDGdiptULZ_XvTefI9IbxbD0_qa0P6UlRoMqFc3O_n2MJRoefdzehnzG0i3Swa5fJ5O43g6PK16Q86Kv/s1600/Lady+w+cpap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwo2ZZMbg-U5C8nbe9xrVIDYSdKlfvdEXLmamCv43OJy7YoDWdxeoprDGdiptULZ_XvTefI9IbxbD0_qa0P6UlRoMqFc3O_n2MJRoefdzehnzG0i3Swa5fJ5O43g6PK16Q86Kv/s1600/Lady+w+cpap.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And that was not the look I was going for, even though my mask looked more like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXbwDUNGb_DTryrbABQBH4hl-xKL3DxbjHnJUuW2BKMEVnH9miUiiamyakR0SCXTMN9CueN26S1ys0rjMwyO2UoxLqwn_BG2JR9-wiBfvafM9sCB2bptcH4HwQVcLDx2WH1uKF/s1600/lady+w+cpap+mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXbwDUNGb_DTryrbABQBH4hl-xKL3DxbjHnJUuW2BKMEVnH9miUiiamyakR0SCXTMN9CueN26S1ys0rjMwyO2UoxLqwn_BG2JR9-wiBfvafM9sCB2bptcH4HwQVcLDx2WH1uKF/s320/lady+w+cpap+mask.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>You get the picture. NOT CUTE! <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I used the c-pap less and less between his visits, and pretty soon I convinced myself that I didn't need it any more. Yep, I was healed! I moved back to Louisiana almost two years ago, and my c-pap has been in the box I packed it in ever since. I became preggers after being home for only a few months. Subsequently, I had terrible nausea and vomiting the entire time. I couldn't stand to smell anything! So there was no hooking my self up to that plastic smell. And I was too sick to care if I was sleepy or not.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well here we are today, and I don't give a damn about being cute! I need some rest. I went to the doctor today. He examined me and scheduled me for a sleep study. Which I will be happily attending. (A night away from the baby and an Ambian, thank you Lord!) I'll probably have to get a new c-pap because they've been upgraded a few times since I got the old one. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I showed Mr. Angie how I look wearing the sleep mask and you know what, he was like, "Girl, ain't nothing wrong with that thing - you betta put it on so yo ass can breath!" Aww, isn't he sweet? And rest assured no c-pap face mask or tubes will stop him from trynna git some. o_0</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyway, I got my mind right. I am <strong>not</strong> too cute to breath. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-34664955339534759842011-02-02T14:18:00.002-12:002011-07-06T17:13:19.278-12:00Randomness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tEWZusxrVj8JD0djzdb3_Ylg96UZt9pPTB8Fg_sGVIGaKZFbDEAg_D2ROuqkdaEmaftVqoltEZHj5kvPFBlPhET-RkBLTcTKaVBSbZCP5F63A4GiWybzr854cWuFLUDVWmw0/s1600/thinking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tEWZusxrVj8JD0djzdb3_Ylg96UZt9pPTB8Fg_sGVIGaKZFbDEAg_D2ROuqkdaEmaftVqoltEZHj5kvPFBlPhET-RkBLTcTKaVBSbZCP5F63A4GiWybzr854cWuFLUDVWmw0/s200/thinking.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">Steve Harvey works on my nerves. Nothing to do with the issues between him and his ex-wife, he just works on my nerves.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">There should be a Barnes & Noble's in every town. I miss hanging out there. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm so ready to start renovating the house.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I apparently need more roughage in my diet. : (</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My husband and I need to get out more (alone).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The weather here is funky, cold and wet! I like the cold, not the wet.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My son finally got his second front tooth. It came in so very slow and the other one is kind of big. One big tooth and a space is not a good look. Welcome second front tooth, you had me worried for a minute.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I wanted to marry the guy who played Shaka Zulu when I was young. *Crickets*</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm wondering how I can get one of the "house shows" to come and re-do my house.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I think I'm gonna grow my hair out. I've been wearing it short for about 3 years now.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-33900653649912002962011-01-23T11:55:00.002-12:002011-07-06T17:15:17.259-12:00.......But Gawd!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HFxHfl7qeGXaIlI1VtTdAAz48g7_AUHS-d3sNsyzlcbA52SBI8KZc9qGy2cfJulQWlFabsuF2Tqe8srehMhc8gI5F7UmPZB4bq6wD8WFyegeAxOjKPQY1Cov3beJF8_Pg8Dx/s1600/pastor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HFxHfl7qeGXaIlI1VtTdAAz48g7_AUHS-d3sNsyzlcbA52SBI8KZc9qGy2cfJulQWlFabsuF2Tqe8srehMhc8gI5F7UmPZB4bq6wD8WFyegeAxOjKPQY1Cov3beJF8_Pg8Dx/s320/pastor.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I visited a church today for the second and last time. After I went the first time I said I wasn't going back but I did anyway. I mean it this time, I'm not going back. The minister talks in this infomercial voice that I can't stand and they do a lot of "form and fashion" stuff I don't care for. When I say form and fashion, I mean, stuff for show. The "tithers" get to <em>take</em> their offering up to the alter, while the people who don't or can't tithe sit and watch. What part of the game is that? What, shame the non-tithers into tithing by singling them out? Hmmm, maybe some people tithe but just don't like to get up? Also, there is too much shit on their offering envelope for my nerves too. Tithe, offering, seed offering, debt free offering, and Pastor's love offering......stop it! Y'all gittin' six dollars, split it up however ya see fit.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, this morning I again promised myself, "No, you will not be coming here again, I don't care if you have to go to the Catholic church with Mr. Angie and do the up-and-down-on-yo-knees dance." Here's what did it, the Minister was hyping up the congregation with the ".......But Gawd!" piece. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this, it goes something like this, "I could have been dead sleepin' in my grave, but Gawd!" and on and on like that. The straw that broke my fat camels back was when Reverend Infomercial said, "I could be wearing my shoes on my head and my hat on my feet, but Gawd!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you know anything about me you know I laughed. Out loud. And my shoulders went up and down a lot while I laughed. I laughed so hard I had to take off my glasses and wipe my eyes. Yep, no more Reverend Infomercial for me. I can't laugh quiet enough for that foolishness. Your hat on your feet?! C'mon man! Really......you are doing to damn much to sound all old and religious. Your shoes on your head?</span> <span style="font-size: large;"> Again, C'mon man!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I used to go to church with my grandmother when I was a little girl, and there was this old deacon who would pray the longest prayer know to man every communion Sunday. He used to say all kinds of funny stuff in his prayer. My favorite was, "Thank ya Gawd for not lettin' my bed be my coolin' bowd <em>(sounds like bode)</em>." Even then I giggled, thinking, you have to cool off on a board when you die? Can't you just cool off wherever you die? How cool do you have to be before they can take you off the "coolin' board"?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">See, I'm too silly to go to back to that church. If anyone knows of a good Baptist, Full Gospel or Non-Denominational Church in or near Slidell Louisiana, please let a sistah know. Clearly, I need Jesus. o_O</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-24418432884884026092011-01-22T14:03:00.002-12:002011-07-06T17:16:46.967-12:00To Speed or Not to Speed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc52Y9Cd0aC0rk_0hy-q09Rk5xvPCfadgSfw9-Wx_RQmLtTaVmW2E1bpHjj-fdOF50QnvoZwzWq-uUPQro-sGSJKkptLoFhNKgQjNqQNLejZb1UHMqnMzCPRrgrDCvqnR21p-e/s1600/mph+here.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc52Y9Cd0aC0rk_0hy-q09Rk5xvPCfadgSfw9-Wx_RQmLtTaVmW2E1bpHjj-fdOF50QnvoZwzWq-uUPQro-sGSJKkptLoFhNKgQjNqQNLejZb1UHMqnMzCPRrgrDCvqnR21p-e/s1600/mph+here.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I've got a few hours to myself because the little man went to bed extremely early this evening, which means he'll be up in the middle of the night looking at me all crazy. But, for now I'm free!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I finally got my desk cleaned off and put my to do list and goals for the year on paper. Both are staring down on me from their perch on my bulletin board right now. I feel a sense of accomplishment just from getting them printed out and up there. My inspiration is, "And the LORD answered me, and said, Write the vision, and make it plain on tables, that he may run that reads it." Habakkuk 2:2</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am the runner. And I need to see it written plainly and run towards the vision and all that make it possible. I have to imagine myself running.....not waking, because only running relays the sense of urgency I feel about my life now. It seems like my thirties just flew by and next month I'll be turning 44. Hell, that's almost midway my life if I live to be in my late eighties (I'm hoping for 100). So, I have a lot of living to get done in this second act. I've got places to see and people to meet. I want to do and experience so many things while I'm able. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I read an article this morning about a new movement in "Slow Living." The point of slow living is to do everything on purpose and be conscious of doing it. For instance eating more slowly and enjoying the experience. Really paying attention to everything and taking it in slowly. I think that's an interesting concept. I'm surprised someone else has finally come around to my way of thinking about things. I like to pay attention to the little things and enjoy the movement of my life. I'm so thankful for everything in my life right now I can't even tell you. Many times every day I thank God for my life, my family and my friends.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's to slow livin'. I think I'll have a glass of wine and practice living slow.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-76289886526304643172011-01-14T15:59:00.001-12:002011-07-06T17:20:39.459-12:00Up-Date This House! #1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibpgRdXtcqw2PUMWOl2U3qW3NZyHaZSmtNdEZNNSVUTtbISwzyYiYbYTQiKteGklclRIE3O-Zh88U6v099unkyG210vZVqmlRFn12D6BPXY9oMzwoGnjKJcj-cW0ktha_ldRDV/s1600/House+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibpgRdXtcqw2PUMWOl2U3qW3NZyHaZSmtNdEZNNSVUTtbISwzyYiYbYTQiKteGklclRIE3O-Zh88U6v099unkyG210vZVqmlRFn12D6BPXY9oMzwoGnjKJcj-cW0ktha_ldRDV/s1600/House+1.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">We've been in our new (to us) house for almost 4 months now, and have made zero changes. What's crazy about that is the first time I took a tour of the house I saw hundreds of changes I would have to make if we decided to buy. The house was built in the late 60's and it looks like the prior owner bought the current appliances in the late 70's. You know the Br.ady B.unch wall oven, wall paper on bathroom walls, and ....wait for it........paneling. The dark brown paneling in the great room has become the bane of my existence. I don't have a problem putting in a little sweat equity so the paneling didn't scare me at first - I thought I'd just take it down and paint the walls. Well, after closer inspection, I realized there is no dry-wall behind the paneling. What the hell?!! Who does that?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mr Angie is fine with the paneling. He says it's cozy. What?! Oh, it's cozy because he doesn't want to deal with taking it down, plus his ass is country enough to think dark brown paneling is cozy. *sigh*</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, we went looking at tile for the sun room the other day at the Ho.me De.pot and damn it that shit is high! Mr Angie was looking at the expensive stuff and I had moved all the way over to the damn Linoleum aisle. It's the sun room man, I'm not trynna do all that. I know you're thinking, "But not the Linoleum, hunh?" My answer to that is yes, yes the gottdamm Linoleum. Ya'll know I ain't got no job! And Mr. was over there looking at that high ass tile, but he ain't really trying to dole out that kind of money for tile.......he likes to window shop. Not me. I like to look at the stuff I can afford, figure out how to make it mine, and move on it. Period. "Sir, can you cut me off enough of dis here Linoleum to cover 297 square feet please?" We're done.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I gotta get the sun room together first. I need at least one room to reflect me and my style. Not to mention I always wanted a sun room to sip coffee and read in. So, that's the first project on the Up-Date House Tour. I'll try to post pics of the process. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-54024615127797727982010-12-12T19:21:00.001-12:002011-07-06T17:23:38.576-12:00I don't deep condtion my hair anymore.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBtj3YemWEpCsF2uXV9GLGaIQSRC07u3pdaSCbT6gn9x481wKUqsRM3UwTXqu1cdDKmhMpi_GrWjCAbF_MUEQ-pTAgd-2CfNSnoi_wVMErmnWrK6VTl2xQaIUB89aV57W5neu/s1600/2+tooth+smilin%2527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqBtj3YemWEpCsF2uXV9GLGaIQSRC07u3pdaSCbT6gn9x481wKUqsRM3UwTXqu1cdDKmhMpi_GrWjCAbF_MUEQ-pTAgd-2CfNSnoi_wVMErmnWrK6VTl2xQaIUB89aV57W5neu/s320/2+tooth+smilin%2527.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I've decided to stop reading other blogs so much. There are a few I usually read every day and as soon as I read them I'm sorry I did. Don't get me wrong their blogs are great....their lives are great. That's the problem. I feel totally inadequate and mentally challenged in comparison to these chicks. They cook, sew, direct and produce movies, go out to dinner and have drinks, deep condition their hair, know the latest fashions, work out, eat healthy, tweet, travel, down load pictures the same day they take them, and on and on. <br />
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I do not! I can't! Well wait, I can, but I can't right now, because I have a one year old baby. I can and do cook, but it's not so enjoyable with a small person pulling on your leg and sometimes pulling your pants down (while whining). I can sew, but I have to do everything at night when the little prince is asleep - it's not happening during the daytime. I'd like to have dinner and drinks with friends, however I don't have a baby sitter and all but one of my friends were not crazy enough to have a baby at retirement age and they can go out whenever they want to. Uhh this is tuning into a rant....let me pull up.<br />
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Woosaaah. <br />
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I'm going to have to find some blogs for stay at home moms with small children. I need to see some other women with boogers and breast milk on their shirts. It's sad, but yes I need to see other women with the same struggles I'm having right now. <br />
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My little man started walking yesterday and let me tell you.....seeing him reach these milestones make all the rest of this worth it for me. His funny teeth and silly laugh keep me off the ledge. So, bye bye fashionista blogs, and blogs about fly women doing it up big. Hello to mommy doing it up small blogs.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-25416671779286013402010-10-31T16:22:00.001-12:002011-07-06T17:26:02.512-12:00Damn a Hayride!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0dYrAtgcpDakdg9KWSLfEo3kgRO5ROZAMQS1nW756G6z3Tw91xECM1Slbq3TvwUiwDwevzd9wknR-5kZTlBsqzD4UQOaqhyphenhyphenEdDPZaNRamXavgh6-NZv03aBWnol6mFp7CseT/s1600/john-deere-animal-sounds-hayride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0dYrAtgcpDakdg9KWSLfEo3kgRO5ROZAMQS1nW756G6z3Tw91xECM1Slbq3TvwUiwDwevzd9wknR-5kZTlBsqzD4UQOaqhyphenhyphenEdDPZaNRamXavgh6-NZv03aBWnol6mFp7CseT/s320/john-deere-animal-sounds-hayride.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Since I've moved out to the sticks I live closer to Tipsy than anyone else. She's been in the area for a couple of years so she knows the area and she's been showing me around - and I appreciate it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday our adventure included the Prejudice White People's Hayride & Festival. <em><span style="font-size: small;">Note: We were the only four African-Americans in attendance.</span></em> First of all, I think all hayrides should be held in the daytime, and this one started at 5:30 p.m., so I was a little skeptical. And it turns out I had every right to be.....</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">When we arrived only half an hour after the shindig began we were told we could not go on the hay ride because their were no more "tickets." A older white lady in a Witchy Poo costume explained to those of us waiting to get tickets (not purchase them, the hayride was free) that they only printed 30 tickets for the hayride and had run out. What the?! There were around 60 people in line at the time she told this tale. So, a few of the other PWPHF goers balked and argued. Tipsy and I took our kids and kept it moving.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've never been on a hayride before and I thought it would be fun - but it wasn't a big deal for me if we couldn't go. However, Tipsy's little one is 4 years old and had been looking forward to her first hayride all day, so she was disappointed. We moved on to the puppet show, but Tipsy kept an eye on the hayride line so we'd know how to proceed. After the puppet show we went over to the Ring Toss game so Tipsy's little one could play the game. The object of the game was to toss a ring over an apple on a stick. The prize was a very small apple. Well, let's just say Tipsy's baby won't be able to get a job as a ring thrower, however, I thought for sure she'd be given an apple for her effort. I thought wrong. The old white guy manning the game asked her to move aside and went on to the kid in line behind her. I WAS FURIOUS!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Baby girl cried and Tipsy consoled her and we walked away. At that point I was ready to go the eff home. Tipsy spied the hayride line moving so she went to check it out. Meanwhile, I'm watching little white kids playing the apple toss game. A few of the little kids missed by a mile or walked up to the apple on the stick and placed the ring over it...and they got a gottttdammm tiny apple. I was too through!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Tipsy found out we could take the hayride without a ticket - like all of the other white people in line. Ughhh! So off to stand in that line we went. At this point mosquitoes the size of humming birds were biting the hell out of Tipsy (on her forehead of all places) and it was totally dark. By this time my 11 month old (who I had been carrying on my hip for what seemed like hours) started to get cranky because he was hungry and sleepy. I was done, done, done with the PWPH&F!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I took my baby to the car fed him and put him to sleep. While I sat pondering my situation I wanted to shake the negative thoughts swirling in my brain, so I prayed. I thank God for the beautiful weather that day, I thanked him for Tipsy and her baby girl, and I asked him to bring them back to the car safe. After all they had just went off into the woods at night on a wagon full of mean white people. lol Praying helped me feel better about the whole thing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">If we had it all to do over again I think I'd put Tipsy's baby girl back in the ring toss line and tell her to walk up to the apple and place the ring over it, like some of the white kids did. Then if he didn't give her an apple ask him why not and handle it from there. At least that way she would have probably gotten an apple. I was too focused on the guy treating her unfairly so I wasn't thinking of a way to get around him. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, here's what I learned from that experience, #1 I have to develop thicker skin if I'm going to remain in this community and have peace, #2 I should always take my own car, and #3 See title of post.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-15941139817067065852010-10-16T17:08:00.001-12:002011-07-06T17:28:39.255-12:00Quiet Night and ApologiesIt's late and the house is quiet. I like this time. I'm getting used to the new house, its sounds and smells. I'm starting to get into a lil groove in my office/sewing/writing room. I'm trying to decide what color to paint it. I'm tempted to paint everything green - my favorite color. <br />
<br />
The baby is getting used to sleeping in his bed in his new room. And it feels so good to put him in his bed and have grown up time. I'm starting to feel like myself again, slowly but surely. <br />
<br />
I need to write more. I need it. It makes me better in a lot of ways. It gives me an outlet for my thoughts and it's proof to myself that I'm still Me. <br />
<br />
One of my best friends dad died yesterday. She and I have known each other for almost thirty years, so we've been through a few things together. We both had contentious relationships with our fathers when we were teenagers. I've become much closer to my dad as an adult and we've pretty much ironed out most of our issues. I don't know if my friend and her dad ever worked out their differences. I don't know if her dad ever said the things daddy's need to say to their daughters after they haven't been very good fathers. It doesn't change the past but it does help us to know that they know they screwed up and that they regret it. <br />
<br />
My daughter and her dad have had conversations about his short comings as a parent. She still has a few issues with him, but I know it helped to hear him take responsibility for his failures and try to make amends. <br />
I hope my friend had that time with her dad before he passed away.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-38557074066189670152010-09-11T15:25:00.000-12:002010-09-11T15:25:55.467-12:00Happy Birthday to Mykiddo !<span style="font-size: large;">I was 22 when I had my daughter.</span> <span style="font-size: large;">I thought I knew every damn thing. Though I was very responsible for 22, I didn't know half the stuff I thought I knew. For starters, I didn't know myself. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I didn't know what I wanted from a man (that didn't stop me from getting married that year too.) I didn't know my worth and I didn't know how much God loved me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My beautiful daughter turned 21 yesterday, which forces me to look back at my 21st year. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She is pretty much doing what I was doing when I was 21. I was attending college, working and I had a serious boyfriend. Money for school was scarce, I didn't like my job and my relationship with my boyfriend was rocky. Then the following year I dropped out of college got pregnant and married. Just like that. What a difference a year made! I was divorced a few years later and it took me nearly twenty years to return to college and I still have not graduated. As they say, herein lies the rub. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I want so much more for my daughter. So much more. I want her to make decisions that are in her best interest - decisions that are based on her knowledge of her worth and knowing herself. It takes some of us longer than others to aquire that kind of self-knowledge and self-value. I don't want it to take her as long as it took me to get it. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, I worry, and I pray, and I talk to her CONSTANTLY. That's all I know to do. I try to impress upon her how much difference a year can make in her life and how one desision can affect the rest of her life . But, she's 21. She thinks she knows everything, just like I did. That scares the hell out of me and makes my heart heavy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">All I can do is what I've been doing and continue to pray that her 22nd and subsequent years will be well spent, productive and happy. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-22329968851749675082010-08-25T13:08:00.000-12:002010-08-25T13:08:10.904-12:00Where Did Angie Go?<span style="font-size: large;">I used to be smart. Now, not so much.</span> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">After Tipsy had her baby she said she felt "dumb." I pooh - poohed her, and told her she's still the same person, blah, blah, blah. I didn't think much of it at the time.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Now that my baby is 8 months old I'm experiencing the "I'm dumb" phenomena. I don't know things I used to know, like how to spell stuff. And I'm a good speller.....well I used to be. It's sometimes difficult for me to sort out my thoughts and I can't remember stuff that just happened. I'm blaming it all on having a baby, but truth be told it could be because my as is getting old. I mean 43 isn't so old, but when you throw a baby in the mix you feel all forty-three of those years.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You know what as I'm typing this I'm thinking about other reasons I could be turning into a <strike>slow witted jackass </strike>"mentally challenged person." One reason may be, I'm not getting enough sleep. Then there's the not eating right, and sometimes I forget to take my vitamins. I don't take enough time for myself anymore (hence the sporadic blogging).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I wonder if as the baby grows and I can get back to my old schedule, will I also get the full use of my brain back?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Hope so. I miss being smart.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-48215885440081785632010-08-14T18:29:00.000-12:002010-08-14T18:29:04.578-12:00Random Thoughts and Musings<span style="font-size: large;">I intend to be debt free soon. I used to hate to hear financial planners and Sooozie Ormaaan talking about money matters. Hearing them made me feel afraid and ashamed of the mess I've made of my finances. Recently I've gathered up all of my bills and assessed my debt. I've been reading financial help books and researching the best ways to save money and get out of debt. I feel so much better about the prospect of getting out from underneath this debt. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm much skinnier in my mind than I am in reality. LOL Do other people do that too?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My sister and her 16 year old daughter look like twins. My sister has the real life body that I only have in my mind......but she thinks she's fat. : (</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My daughter has always seemed proud of me or at least not ashamed of me, but I just met her boyfriend today and she's been dating him for three or four years now. What's up with that?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I wonder what kind of man my son will be?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I wish I had met my husband when we were both younger so we could have had more time together.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21881144.post-91962970628278526002010-07-22T16:25:00.001-12:002011-07-06T17:30:06.655-12:00.......and I deserve it.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tbzkVjLntDrx4GG5NQpbxBl0XIN6OxM-vnWDaBIy5MDC-4YgwzIuBixJrVZ0qiEtB0NQAk98t7h09w8sS83RUr56e4CQOVZqsK5RMKxBHWorZNg8z2M0oY3TXD8SMSQ8ZaGa/s1600/SDC10062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tbzkVjLntDrx4GG5NQpbxBl0XIN6OxM-vnWDaBIy5MDC-4YgwzIuBixJrVZ0qiEtB0NQAk98t7h09w8sS83RUr56e4CQOVZqsK5RMKxBHWorZNg8z2M0oY3TXD8SMSQ8ZaGa/s200/SDC10062.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Best Teacher Ever</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border: currentColor;">Long ago, when I was young and naive I wanted a knight in shining armor to come along and take me away. I wanted him to take care of me and make all that was wrong in my world right.</div><div style="border: currentColor;">Needless to say, that never happened. It never does. There are no knights in shining armor. That is <strike>bullshit</strike> a fairy tale. </div><br />
Not so long ago, when I was a little older and wiser, I met someone who taught me how to take care of myself and right the wrongs in my life on my own. And right around the time I began to fully understand that I'm my own knight in shining armor I met my now husband.<br />
<br />
He is no perfect knight in shining <em>anything</em>. But, he is a good man and he does "good man stuff." He treats me with love and respect. He's honest with me, and he has mine and my children's best interest at heart. He is consistent and reliable. He is loving and kind. And he sees me. After you've saved yourself who could ask for anything more?<br />
<br />
Thanks Irma C for teaching me that I deserve it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1