Book ’em!

I have a friend who just finished writing his second book. I edited it for him, and I now have a much better appreciation for what a huge task it all is…frankly, I’m in awe.

I continually tell myself that I need to write more, and I get lots of love and encouragement from those who read what I do manage to get in writing. However, being a dues-paying member of the Procrastinator’s Guild, I’ve pretty much just been poking a stick at the process for quite a while. Not a lot of actual writing going on, but I have been jotting down a few initial sentences and notes. In a tentative, half-assed way, I guess I’ve finally started making the first attempts at beginning to write my own book.

One thing that’s been a big challenge for me is feeling like I don’t have a crystal clear vision of what my first book is supposed to be. Hell, I don’t know that I even have a muddified Portland fall morning’s notion of what it’s supposed to be. I keep worrying at it though and (in fun) here are some of the titles and ideas I’ve been throwing around in my head…

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Lessons From Losers

The diary of a middle-aged woman as she reflects back on the more entertaining choices in suitors that she’s made. Not for the faint of heart. (Look for the upcoming sequel   —   Go Ahead…Date the Drummer.)

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The Know-It-All Life

(sub-title: A Professional’s Guide to Pissing People Off Without Even Knowing It)

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Don’t Wear Your Hoochie Mama Dress to Court…The Tammy Kelly Story

A racy coming-of-age tale with just enough bluegrass, booze and jury duty to keep you on the edge of your bar stool. (Come on, you know you’d buy it.)

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Big Hair…Will Travel

She came into town with a can of Aqua Net and a dream. (Soon to be a minor made-for-tv movie…see your local LifeTime channel listings.)

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It’s obviously still a work in progress, but I’m feeling better about it every time I put fingers to keyboard. Stay tuned for further developments!

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Not exactly a DAYdream believer…

So I just read through some old notes about dreams I’ve had, and I ran across this winner…

A few months back I dreamed about being in a movie; I wasn’t sure what the story line for the script was, but there were lots of thugs and tough guys involved. At some point I came up with an idea that ended up being included in the movie, and I got really excited about it. My brilliant idea was to take a Monkees’ song and change the words around…because you know that’s so gangsta. (For those too young to remember the enigma that was The Monkees, they were a goofy teen heart-throb band from the late 1960’s that was made up for a TV show. They had a few songs that were actually good though, and some sad, middle-aged women apparently still have dreams about them.)micky davy final

Back to the dream…the next thing you know, The Monkees themselves were actually there on the movie set! It was big stuff for me, and I decided that I needed to help them ‘get’ my version of their song, so I sang the heck out of it. Not sure how long that part lasted, but it was a big part of the dream and seemed to go on and on. I guess I must have been singing a bit emphatically (as is my nature), because Davy Jones kept staring at me and he didn’t look too happy (maybe he knew I always liked Micky Dolenz better?)

The dream continued for quite a while, with me singing and Davy being all aloof and snooty, just like I knew he would be. I must have eventually worn him down though, because at some point he came up behind me and told me to walk across the room. He then reached out his hands and sort of held my butt while I walked, as he’d requested. In typical non-linear dream style, I suddenly remembered that I had been having a terrible backache…and he fixed it! Then he started to hold my…well…things started to turn a little sexy…but my back felt great!

Sorry Micky, it wasn’t a lucid dream, or I might have made better choices!

When ‘Mother’s little helper’ had crust

I just called my mama to wish her a happy Mother’s Day. Knowing that she wouldn’t ‘get’ the Rolling Stone’s song reference on the gift I sent her, I figured I needed to explain the hooty little pill-box (as shown). I was right and when I mentioned Valium she said, “OH! Heehee…”pill box

During our conversation I mentioned that the anniversary of my marriage to #1 was last week, and Mama asked if I knew what August the 9th was. I couldn’t think of anything.

“That’s the day I married your father…August 9th, 1957.”

Naturally, I immediately started doing the math…let’s see…I was born May 14th of 1958…almost exactly 9 months.

“You weren’t pregnant when you got married, were you?” I asked. (I’ve always sort of assumed that she was, but I’d never asked her outright.)

“NO,” she said, using two syllables. “You were an early baby.”

“I was?” That actually surprised me since I’ve never even been on time to anything I can remember, much less early.

“Yep, the doctors told me that if I didn’t lose a lot of weight, they were going to put me in the hospital until you were delivered. So I just went ahead and had you before my next appointment!”

I had to sit on that news for a minute. My 4’11” mama weighed 98 pounds when she got pregnant with me and (according to her) she pretty much doubled her weight while carrying me (she claims that whole pies trembled and then disappeared in her presence). Naturally, when given the choice to (A) Stop eating treats or (B) Go into early labor and shoot me out into the world early…well, duh. I didn’t have to do the math on that one!

I love you, Mama. You’ve taught me so many lessons just by being who you are, and I know how hard you always worked to keep Lynnie and me happy. And now I know exactly where I got my addiction love for food!

Happy Mothers Day ya’ll!

 

Rules of the road

I haven’t lived this long without picking up a few important things worth sharing. Here are some simple rules that I live by:

  • Never. Drink. Tequila.
  • Shake hands like you mean it…that limp girly thing is just nasty.
  • Never buy a piece of clothing that comes with jewelry already attached to it.
  • Don’t expect a confirmed liar to ever tell you the truth.
  • Know how to cook at least one meal that will impress company.
  • Understand that, if everyone threw their troubles out onto a pile on the floor, you really would pick your own right back up. (Thanks for that one, Grandmama.)
  • If someone tells you you’re pretty, just hush up and accept the compliment.
  • Don’t ever wear leggings without something covering up your important parts (or you won’t get any compliments to accept).
  • If all else fails and you have to lie…do it big. (Especially if you’ve been drinking tequila.)
  • Always wear a bra to work. (I stole that one, but it’s too important to forget!)
  • Sometimes all you actually have to do is breathe.
  • Floss those damn teeth!
  • Love yourself first.
  • That 3rd helping only sounds like a good idea.
  • Go ahead and dance…you’ll probably never even see those fools again. (Warning…disregard this one if there’s been any tequila involved.)
  • Learn to say no.
  • You can set as many alarms as you want, but it’s all about eventually getting your ass out of that bed.
  • A blinker doesn’t turn a car. (Thank you, Mama.)
  • Don’t leave until the credits are over.
  • You deserve top shelf liquor. Just no tequila…seriously.
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Just say “NO!”

Less of me around

And no, I’m not writing about my recent lack of writing. I’m working on that even as we speak! This time I’m writing about my favorite subject…ME.

I’ve talked before about having been a bigger girl most of my life. By the 5th grade I was 5’1″ and (almost) towered over my 4’11” mama. I already had a womanly shape, complete with boobs and the accompanying embarrassment over needing a bra before the other girls in my grade did. It took me years to understand the power of those curves, as well as to realize that they could betray me if left to their own devices…it’s a sad, sad tale.

By high school I was still shapely, but in a bigger boned sort of way. I still loved my southern food (hello, Banana Puddin’…I wish I knew how to quit you), and I never was one for sports. By the time I got to college and met my new best friend Michelob, I had been introduced to a whole new set of adventures and opportunities for getting even fluffier.

Curves aheadIt turns out that there’s a point for some of us when voluptuousness can take a left turn down a dark road called Chunky Lane… a byway littered with empty SnackWell and Quarter Pounder wrappers, Halloween candy bowls with only the nasty orange-colored marshmallow things left at the bottom, and the occasional half-drunk can of Slimfast. It’s a path that I’ve known intimately my entire life.

In my twenties I stumbled into one of those give us your money and we’ll give you nasty food that will make you skinny companies. I gave them a chunk of change, lost 10 pounds and crashed so badly from a potassium deficiency that the word attorney was actually thrown around (to no avail). Not being one to learn give up that easily, a few years back I tried yet another diet plan that involved plastic (both the food and the payments). I figured, hell, if it’s good enough for Marie Osmond, who am I to judge? Much to my surprise, I was miserable on the plan and couldn’t get past 10 pounds, and the counselor kept looking at me and shaking her head. Let’s just say that Marie wouldn’t have been very happy to see me eating about 10 bags of those teeny tiny cardboard cookies at one sitting!

It’s now been about 8 years since that last foray into $$$ for pounds. I started thinking recently about how my eating might be affecting me and somehow, in spite of myself, I managed to figure out that eating entire bags of ‘baked not fried’ carbs, adding just a little sugar to my morning coffee and hitting the Burger King once or twice a week might actually be a real problem…who knew?! What I did know for sure was that my curves were leaving Chunky Lane in the dust and Butterball Acres was coming up fast on the right. I had to get serious.

As it turns out, it’s not food in general that I have a problem with…it’s sugar. No, I’m not diabetic yet, but that was looming on the horizon, so I cut out all processed sugar, artificial sweeteners and am severely limiting my total carbs (oh bread and taters…you betrayed me!) On my new plan my old pal known as ‘The First 10 Pounds’ came off, just like it always has…but this time was somehow different. Once I got past the I’m definitely going to hurt someone if I don’t have a candy bar phase, things started falling into place for me. I stuck to it and am now hitting the 20 pound mark. I certainly have a long way to go, but I feel so much better that it’s easy to stay focused.

At this point I’m just setting the GPS for straight ahead…and we won’t be stopping at the Krispy Kreme.

 

Has anyone seen Tammy???

I’m afraid that I haven’t been very successful at writing for a while, but I’m still here!

I’ve actually been working a lot and have also been very involved with a special project that I call ‘Time to Grow the Hell Up, Girl’. The primary goal of this particular endeavor is to get my wounded heart and bruised ego healed from the long overdue, extremely nasty breakup of a relationship that didn’t really exist.

So, you may be wondering to yourself, how exactly does a relationship not exist…isn’t that sort of an oxymoron? And, assuming that such a situation is even possible, exactly how does a witty, sweet, kind, not altogether unattractive, and (otherwise) intelligent woman find herself in the middle of such a faux-lationship?

Well, in this case, I just opened my heart up to the wrong person…but I’m hardly the first person to make that mistake. My real blunder was that I didn’t have enough sense to listen to either my gut or my family and friends when they told me to open my eyes and acknowledge the truth about the situation. I didn’t know how to put myself first, or to love myself more than someone else. (Especially THAT someone else!)

Nope, I insisted on clinging for far too long to the hope that things would somehow miraculously work out, and to the belief that I couldn’t possibly have trusted the wrong person so completely. (So much for any assumed intelligence on my part!)

Thankfully, things have finally changed. I’m happy to report that my eyes are now WIDE open, my heart is on the road to recovery, and I’m focusing on learning to love myself. Thank you for bearing with me…you should start seeing more of me here in the very near future!

 

healing

 

 

 

Do mannequins dream of electric curlers?

“I’m goin’ to Walmart… ya’ll need anything?”

I had a long, extremely detailed dream the other night that involved (what felt like) hours and hours of me trying to put my hair up in those old-fashioned black brush curlers…the kind your grandmama might have worn. I fumbled with a myriad of bobby pins, psychically willing the aforementioned demonic brushy tanglers curlers to stay put, but most just slipped out, clattering to the floor. A few stayed put, but only because they were hopelessly caught in my hair like lame crickets dangling from a fat mama spider’s web. I tell you, I woke up exhausted the next morning!

After waking and checking the mirror to make sure that I hadn’t really turned my hair into a mass tangle, I looked up curlers in my dream dictionary: To see curlers in your dream suggests that you are thinking in circles. You may be going over the same problem/ situation again and again without any conclusion.

Then I looked up bobby pins. Shocked to actually find a listing for such a random item, I learned: To see or use a bobby pin your dream represents your need for order and neatness. Everything needs to be in place. You are feeling insecure about something.

pinsWhen I looked online today to find pics of these outdated rollers (as the beauty parlor set calls them) for this post, I found plenty of pics of the brushy things, but I also saw that there were PINS that go with them. Not bobby pins at all…big honkin’ plastic party skewers that hold things in place by basically stabbing them to your head. No wonder I couldn’t get my hair up in the black monsters…I was so insecure that I had to pick dream bobby pins instead of the appropriate dream tools!

I’m not going to lose any sleep over the interpretation of this particular dream (see what I did there?) Lucky for me, I happen to already KNOW that I’m neurotic.

Oh, and my apologies to Philip K. Dick for the title of this one. I couldn’t resist!